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Ginny was very used to bad reviews of her performances.
She had it far, far easier than people like Lee Jordan or Cho Chang, of course, but rich prats liked people like her intruding in their precious little circles of private performance very little.
She didn't mind, of course, that a review by D.M. had scathing things to say about her run as principal in the last season. It hurt, obviously, since she had poured her heart and soul into Rory, but it was whatever.
Her brother's angry owls complaining about what an arse Malfoy was were sweet, heart-warming even, but unnecessary.
What was the latter but not the former was the response to Malfoy's article.
Ginny paused in lifting her soothing cup of tea to look through it. The byline said it was by H.P., and as she looked through their repertoire, she saw someone whose writing was less engaging than Malfoy's, but also less inflammatory, and far far more complimentary to her.
Ginevra Weasley's dedication, playful flourishes and the undeniable beauty of her executions undoubtedly make her deserving of being this season's principal, as they do for at least the next five, they'd written.
Her colleagues quoted the article at her every five minutes. Lee, her brothers' best friend, took up the whole break teasing her about her secret admirer and weeping as he wished someone would admire him like that.
Ginny was far less impressed.
She wrote to the Daily Prophet swiftly in reply, that day itself: As flattered as the recent review makes me, as gallant as the defence was, I am wounded people think I require intervention or consolation regarding opinions of people who need hobbies other than criticizing others.
Not in the least, came the reply just as swiftly. No one who has seen you dance can believe you do. I merely offered my services as a fellow performer who was actually wounded by the sheer wrongness of his family member's opinion.
She hadn't known Malfoy had any relatives around her age, who would compete against him. His mother was a socialite wife, of course, and his father a large donor to the Royal Magical Ballet, but that was about all she knew.
She looked up his family and was surprised to see quite a large family on his mother's. He had an aunt who was imprisoned, an aunt who had been disowned for running away with a lowly scriptwriter turned bestselling author, and a cousin who was an actress. Only the last seemed plausible to Ginny as her mysterious defender.
Almost enjoying it, she wrote back: While I offer my sympathies about your relations' opinions, she had to be careful not to offend the Malfoys, who were important and could derail her career with a snap of their fingers. Being a fellow performer should make one more likely to remember that bad reviews are part of the package, and that defences causing people to fancy one is in love with said performer are entirely unnecessary, and even aggravating.
While I would never elevate my sentiments to such a level, they wrote back - at this point, on the front page. Clearly the Daily Prophet was having slow news days. It wounds me that - this person was having far too much fun using the word that she'd used in response - such feelings would be dismissed so harshly. As a musician who saw you play transcend acting into becoming Rory in a dance with such skill it could tear the heart, I feel my admiration can only be expressed through these messages and contradicting summarily judgmental and terrible reviews that will inevitably spread more than accurate and good ones.
They were clearly not particularly concerned with the Malfoys' opinions, which made her admire them.
And proving them right, the review they'd written had gotten far fewer newspapers sold than Malfoy's.
However right they are regarding the traction of negative reviews over positive ones, I would suggest the writer is more in love with Rory and the idea of defensing a supposed damsel in distress than me and should therefore stick to music, she wrote back swiftly and eager to know what his rebuttal would be.
It was a pages long article about her entire career, from Sugar Plum Fairy as a small child to principal at twenty, analyzing and complimenting all her signature moves, referring to inside jokes she played in her dancing to love her characters more, calling her arabesque divine and her scissor jette ethereal.
They ended with: As someone who loves his violin more than almost anything, I can say it expresses emotions and describes phenomena better than anything else. Yet, it would be able to do no justice to Ginevra Weasley's ballet.
Ginny did not know how to respond to that.
"Can you keep your flirting off the newspaper?" Ron asked in disgust as they made their way to family dinner together. "It's gross."
"What flirting?" She asked, confused.
"That bloke, H.P., obviously." Ron said incredulously. "It's fucking annoying seeing my sister plastered all over the newspapers. Couldn't you fall in love in private?"
She defended herself immediately - she was hardly in love! After enduring George's jokes about how her secret admirer wouldn't last past seeing her squabble with them and hexing him, she gathered all the letters, reading through them and swiftly came to the dreaded, impossible conclusion: Ron was right.
She had been flirting. And she wouldn't say she was falling in love, but. . .
As flattering and uncomfortable it is to know I have someone stalking my career, she wrote, heart fluttering, I think such a missive can only be responded to in person.
I'll be the one in the VIP box at your final performance of the season, eyes fixed on you and Rory, he wrote by private letter this time.
And soon she would know enough to be able to write him privately too.
She couldn't wait.
Little did she know that the H.P. she was so eager to meet was son of the late Chair of the London Royal Magical Ballet, godson to the majority shareholder of the Daily Prophet, son of a late world-famous ballerina, brother to the up-and-coming choreographer, best friend to the pianist who'd shaken the world and violinist in the London Symphony Orchestra Harry Potter.