Patented Daydream Charms

Things don’t go as expected in Ginny’s chemically-induced daydreams (© Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes). Sort of rehashes the up-and-down history of Neville/Ginny in the books. I’m too tired to decide if I really like it or really hate it.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Ginny Weasley said sharply, fixing Neville Longbottom with a scrutinizing gaze. In her impatience, she found it difficult to be mindful of his feelings. “I’m waiting for Harry.”

“I know,” he said simply, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling his feet. “D’you mind if I keep you company?”

“I suppose you’re at liberty to do whatever you like,” she ceded, giving him a quick once-over, her eyes taking in the unseemly gap between his crooked front teeth and the smudges of dirt on the cuffs of his robes. ‘Slightly pathetic’ was the first phrase that came to mind (‘downright embarrassing’ was the second) but something about him persuaded her to keep him around.

“But when Harry gets here, you’re going to have to skedaddle,” she said, laying down the rules for their engagement. Neville shrugged his shoulders and said that he could wait – he was used to waiting after all. Even at such a tender age, he knew that the good things in life never came easily.

Days and weeks melted into months and years.

He asked but one favor of her.

He asked her to dance.

At first she pulled a face, unable to bear the thought of being seen with someone so unseemly, but he persisted. “It’s cliché, but it’s good to know how to dance,” he said, fumbling for words to win a smile from her.

“I won’t laugh if he never shows up,” Neville said quietly, after quite some time had passed. Their dancing shoes lay forgotten in some dank corner and her Yule Ball gown hung limply on a hanger in the very back of her wardrobe, reduced to a faded memory two sizes too small.

She wouldn’t admit that Neville’s words, his gentle demeanor, comforted her. Around Neville she was not just the youngest of seven children, not just a little sister in hand-me-down robes, not someone too young or naïve to be of consequence… A defensive “he’ll show up” was all she said in return.

And show up he did, on a flawless summer day and Ginny Weasley smiled, secure in the belief that the planets were in alignment and that all was – finally – just as it <i>should</i> be. Her years of waiting had paid off and now she would reap the rewards. In keeping with his promise, Neville Longbottom smiled sadly and wished them all the best, but though he maintained his distance, he did not leave. He waded out into the shallows of the Lake while Harry and Ginny lazed on the shore. He still cheered her on from the top row of the stands during Quidditch matches, even though they both knew that the altitude gave him nosebleeds. He defended her from detractors as surely as he’d attempted to spare her the Inquisitorial Squad’s brutality. No matter how far away she strayed, he lingered on the periphery: ever watching and waiting in the wings, always ready with a shoulder to cry on, with gentle reassurances and careful remonstrances where remonstrances were due. He made her a better person, a better Ginny Weasley. She didn’t recognize it then. She was far too busy trying to be anything <i>but</i> Ginny Weasley.  

And then one day, Harry Potter was out of her life, gone for good and no singing Valentines, no Quidditch victories, no empty promises would bring him back to her.

“This wasn’t what I wanted,” she sobbed. “We were supposed to have a happily ever after. That’s just how it’s supposed to <i>work.</i>”

He stood by her still, through her fits and tantrums, letting her soak the neck of his robes with her tears, letting her lay the burden of her childish hopes and fears on his able shoulders. It would turn out alright in the end, he promised. She gulped and nodded, needing to believe in someone – needing to believe in <i>him.</i>

And then the scales fell from her eyes and she saw what had been there all along. Neville Longbottom, her constant, her mainstay, her <i>rock.</i> When she wiped away the tears and peered up at him from the cradle of his collarbone, she no longer saw the smudges of dirt as signs of clumsiness and unworthiness but as evidence of his steadfastness and devotion, be it to fledgling plants or wayward girls. In the unevenness of his smile, she saw only its sincerity. Wasn’t that a beautiful thing too?

MUSHY. Or sweet. One or the other.