Lucky?

Ginny picked at her dinner, only half listening as Ron droned on about Quidditch. Normally she would have been quite enthusiastic about the subject, but tonight her mind wandered and her eyes kept falling on the clock in the great hall. She only had another fifteen minutes of freedom until detention with Snape. She shoved her meat loaf and mashed potatoes (her favorite meal, actually) angrily around her plate and glanced up at the teacher’s table, where Snape was talking quietly to Professor Slughorn.

So far her day had been far less than incredible. After getting detention for failing to produce an acceptable Shield Charm, she’d tripped down half a flight of stairs and done a spectacular series of somersaults down the steps, much to the delight of everyone watching. Although she made it through the fall surprisingly unharmed, she had torn the knee of her jeans and been late for Transfiguration. There, she’d somehow managed to turn her left hand to stone instead of the apple on the desk in front of her and it had taken much of the afternoon before dinner to get it sorted out again.

Ginny sighed and flexed her now flesh again fingers, which still felt strange and stiff despite Madam Pomfrey’s insistence that they would be fine. She wondered if it was possible that Slughorn has botched the potion, or given her a bad luck potion as a joke. Just then, the professor broke out in a loud laugh, his jowls quivering. Her stomach turned and she slammed her fork down and pushed her plate away.

Snape’s eyes flickered toward her for a moment, as if he’d seen her sudden movement, and then swept up to check the time on the clock above her. He cocked an eyebrow at her then leaned sideways to say something quietly to Professor Slughorn, who nodded and seemed to raise his hand in farewell. Snape rose from his chair gracefully, Ginny couldn’t help but notice, and swept out of the room, his black robes billowing.

Ginny glanced up at the clock again, stomach sinking as she wondered what awful task Snape would assign to her. She wondered how late he’d keep her, and if she’d have time to finish her Charm’s paper before it was due on Friday. It was only Wednesday but she had Quidditch practice the next night.

“Seven more minutes,” she mumbled, clamoring to her feet. She excused herself and bade Harry and Ron, who called Snape a couple names that made her feel a little better, a good night. As she passed the Slytherin table, Crabbe started shouting and waving his arms, probably a poor imitation of her tumble down the stairs. The rest of the Slytherins sitting nearby cackled and clapped him on the back. Ginny shot him a very rude hand gesture, hoping McGonagall’s hawk-like eyes hadn’t seen her, and hurried out of the great hall.

She arrived to the door of Snape’s classroom before she knew it and paused, unsure if she should knock or just go in. She’d raised her hand to knock when she heard the soft rasping of fabric on stone and turned to find the professor standing a few feet behind her, looking sour.

“You’re on time,” he commented, almost seeming disappointed.

She shrugged, unsure what to say, and moved out of the way as he brushed past her, threw the door open, and made his way into the room, leaving her standing alone in the dark corridor.