The Right Time by cwarbeck



Summary: Harry had promised himself that when he ultimately got rid of the Dark Lord, he would finally tell Ginny how he really felt about her. Regrettably, fate seemed to have other plans for both of them. But then again, perhaps fate was merely waiting for the right moment to come along.
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstarstar
Categories: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2007.06.06
Updated: 2007.08.09


Index

Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter 2: An Unexpected Accident
Chapter 3: Family and Fortunes
Chapter 4: Release from St Mungo's
Chapter 5: Meeting at The Burrow
Chapter 6: Rekindling Flames
Chapter 7: An Invitation
Chapter 8: Floo Calls
Chapter 9: The Wedding Date
Chapter 10: A Spot of Tea
Chapter 11: Girl Talk
Chapter 12: Something as Normal as a Wedding
Chapter 13: Like a Lover
Chapter 14: The Right Time
Chapter 15: A Beginning


Chapter 1: Prologue

Author's Notes: Hello! It's been ages since I posted, so I'm really nervous! This story was happily languishing away in my laptop when I suddenly realised that there was only a little over a month before the release of Deathly Hallows! That was enough for me to kick my muse in the bum and yell at it.

Thanks, as always, to Chreechree, my amazing beta and friend, who listened patiently to my whinging, and then ordered me to get my arse in gear. Thanks also to herekittykitty and Athea who both took a peek at the first chapters and didn't feel the immediate urge to spiff their biscuits. :)

Oh, and just to make it clear - in this story, Harry and Ginny never got together during Harry's sixth year, although I did use some canon details from HBP. I hope you lot like it.


Prologue




“So?”


“So… what?”


“So, what were we talking about again?”


“I don’t know. What were we talking about?”


“Ginny!”


“What? I’m too stuffed to think. I reckon I overdid it on the dessert. Ugh. I feel like Madam Maxime.” Ginny, in a most lady-like manner, put her hands on the waistband of her jeans and undid the top button. “Ah, that’s better.” She let out a sigh of relief and tucked her feet under her.


“I did tell you to stop after your fourth helping. But did you listen to me?” Hermione shook her head in mock sorrow. “No.”


“But it was strawberry shortcake! You know how much I love strawberry shortcake. Besides, I wasn’t about to let Ron and Harry eat all of my birthday cake,” said Ginny defensively.


“You know better than to get into an eating contest with those two, especially Ron. You’re going to be sick later, mark my words.”


Ginny moaned and rubbed her stomach. “Shut up, Hermione.”


A companionable silence fell between the two witches sitting on the back porch of The Burrow. They had come out for a quiet talk whilst the rest of Ginny’s guests — comprised mostly of her brothers and Harry — lingered inside, drinking Butterbeer and exchanging bawdy stories courtesy of Fred and George. Fleur had put her children to bed, and Mr and Mrs Weasley had repaired to the living room with Professor McGonagall, Remus and Tonks. The sounds of laughter and conversation drifted out from the partially open kitchen window into the warm August night. Ginny settled back more comfortably into her rocking chair, idly contemplating the constellations in the sky. Her eyes sought out Canis Major, and she sleepily noted that Sirius was bright tonight.


“So, Ginny…”


“Hmmm?”


“It’s your birthday.”


“It is? I didn’t know that.”


Hermione ignored her sarcasm. “How does it feel to be eighteen?”


“Same as being seventeen. I’m still short, still freckly, and still as pale as milk. Not to mention being flat as a pancake.” Ginny looked down at herself critically. “At least you’ve got boobs, Hermione.”


“Ginny!”


“Well, what do you want me to say? It’s true, you do have boobs.”


“My breasts,” Hermione gestured impatiently to her chest, “are not what we’re discussing here. Aren’t you thrilled to be eighteen? Don’t you feel more mature? More responsible?”


“You’re mature enough for the both of us, Hermione. Heck, you’re mature enough for the entire Weasley family.”


“Come on, you know what I mean,” said Hermione in exasperation. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now that you’ve finished Hogwarts?”


“I dunno — be a bum for the rest of my life? Go live with my Auntie Muriel in Bedford and take care of her thousands of pet Kneazles? Be a conductor for the Knight Bus?” offered Ginny. She looked sideways, and then chuckled softly at her friend’s horrified expression.


“You cannot be serious!” squeaked Hermione, sitting up straight in her chair.



“Why not?” said Ginny with a straight face. “Working for the Knight Bus could be fun. I could travel whenever and wherever I want, plus there’s the added bonus of working with Stan Shunpike.” She pretended to swoon. “He’s dead sexy, you know, and last I heard, his spots have cleared right up.”


Hermione struggled to contain her laughter, but lost the battle and began giggling. “Ginny, where do you get these mad ideas?”


“It’s a gift.” Ginny raised one shoulder nonchalantly.


“You should consider returning it and exchanging it for something else,” replied Hermione, smirking. “Like maybe one of those new Quidditch brooms that Ron and Harry keep raving about.”


“Ooh, you’re a cheeky one tonight,” said Ginny approvingly, smirking back at the older girl. “Seriously, though, I did get an owl today from the Ministry of Magic.”


“Really?” Hermione leaned forward eagerly. “And?”


Ginny grinned widely. “I got the job.”


“That’s fantastic news. I knew you could do it!” Hermione clapped her hands in delight.


“Yeah, I’m really excited about it. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait to be independent.” Ginny rolled her eyes expressively. “I should really move out of The Burrow and live somewhere near the Ministry.”


“Why don’t you come live with me?” volunteered Hermione. “I need a roommate for my flat. It would be like Hogwarts again.”


“That would be brilliant, Hermione! We’d have loads of fun, and it would get Mum out of my hair.”


Hermione looked surprised. “What’s wrong? I thought she would be happy for you.”


“Oh, you know my mother,” said Ginny, crossing her arms in front of her chest and huffing in disgust. “She was pleased that I got the position, but when she realised how much time I’ll have to spend at the Ministry, well, she started harping about the fact that I’ll never meet anyone decent if I concentrate on my work.”


Hermione made a noncommittal sound in her throat. Ginny looked at her friend and groaned dramatically. “Oh no! Et tu, Hermione?”


“Well, she does have a point. You have been single for quite a while now, Ginny,” the brunette said cautiously.


“And so? Not all of us are fortunate enough to win the man of her dreams, Hermione.” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “However, I’ll never understand why the brightest witch of her generation would think that Ron Weasley was man-of-her-dreams material. Hasn’t spending most of your life with my brother taught you anything?” she teased.


“Ron has an excess of marvellous qualities, Ginny,” said Hermione rather proudly, her eyes lighting up.


“I bet. He must be doing something right,” said Ginny, winking slyly at the other girl, “because you’ve always got this very satisfied look on you nowadays.”


Hermione’s cheeks coloured but she raised her chin defiantly. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said archly.


“Ugh, thanks but no thanks,” said Ginny, shaking her head. “There are some mysteries in this universe that should remain a mystery, and my brother’s prowess in the bedroom is most certainly one of them.”


“Oh, you,” replied Hermione, laughing at the sour face that Ginny was making. “But back to my question. Aren’t you interested in dating anyone?”


“No,” said Ginny, shaking her head so vigorously that one of her hair grips flew off and clattered to the wooden floor. Ginny reached down to pick it up. “I don’t want to date. I’m not interested in anyone right now,” she declared with finality, straightening and pinning her auburn hair back into position.


They both turned at a loud thud that sounded like something hitting the wall behind them. Ginny thought she heard someone muttering, but when she peered into the window, she only saw Harry listening to Ron’s prattle. He looked up and locked eyes with her for a moment, before Harry gave her a small smile and resumed his conversation with Ron.


Ginny stared longingly at Harry’s handsome profile for a few more seconds before she reluctantly pulled away from the window to find Hermione looking at her shrewdly.


“What?” Ginny asked, with a touch of irritation.


“You’re absolutely certain you’re not interested in anyone?” Hermione sounded sceptical. “Anyone at all?”


“Oh, all right,” sighed Ginny. “Although I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”


“Because I’m your best friend and you love me dearly?”


“No, I think it’s because I’ll never hear the end of it until I tell you, Miss I’ll-find-out-anyway-so-you-might-as-well-tell-me Granger.”


Hermione looked mildly insulted, and then she smiled sheepishly. “Well, that is true. So?” she prompted.


“What I meant to say was that I’m not interested in anyone new. There’s only one man I ever really wanted, and it’s absolutely pathetic, you know, me carrying a torch for someone this long.” Ginny gazed out moodily into the garden, unhappy with herself and with the fact that she was still, after all these years, pining for the same person. She peeked into the window again, catching Harry throwing his head back and laughing at the twins’ antics, which mainly involved balancing an empty Butterbeer bottle on their noses and prancing around like buffoons.


Why couldn’t she just move on with her life? Why couldn’t she just find someone else to fall in love with?


Ginny knew the answer to those questions. It was because of the boy — no, man, she corrected herself — standing just beyond the window right in her mother’s kitchen, happily drinking Butterbeer and joking around with her brothers. The most handsome, bravest, dearest, sweetest, and, quite possibly, the thickest man on the face of the earth.


Hermione nodded and patted Ginny’s hand in sympathy. “Harry?”


Ginny smiled weakly.


“Harry.”

*


Back to index


Chapter 2: An Unexpected Accident

Author's Notes: Blimey! I'm overwhelmed by the warm welcome this story has received so far. Thanks to those who so kindly left reviews, and to everyone else who read the story. I hope I manage to live up to your expectations.

Grazie to my wonderful beta, Chreechree.

Just to remind you lot, this is AU, but I did put in some details from HBP.


An Unfortunate Accident



Harry James Potter — Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, Hero-Who-Conquered-the-Dark-Lord, or just plain Harry — squinted in the glare of the early afternoon sun. He was hovering several feet off the ground, astride his broom, looking around for a flash of gold that would tell him the location of the elusive Snitch.


Harry, Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps, had joined the team after fulfilling his obligation to the Wizarding world (trouncing Dark Lord whatshisface and sundry). He considered himself lucky that he had been finally allowed to do something that he enjoyed immensely; fortunately, the rest of the Wizarding world agreed that he deserved the break after he had sacrificed so much for them.


If he caught the Snitch now, he would be able to break the deadlock (score was tied at three hundred and forty points). The match had started out early that warm and sunny May morning, but it soon became obvious that neither team could outmanoeuvre the other; the Chasers were too evenly matched in skill. The outcome of the game had been left to the Seekers, and both had been searching for nearly half the day. Everybody, Harry included, was becoming tired.


The initially rabid cheering of the fans had died down to the occasional half-hearted shout and feeble wave of the brightly coloured team pennants; the last time he had passed by the stands, Harry thought that he had even seen a fan stretched out on the one of the rows, dressed in too-short pyjamas and his head on a pillow, snoring for all he was worth, earning him looks of disgust from the other fans sitting around him.


His best friend, Ron, was among the few still standing as he hollered enthusiastically at Harry and his teammates. Hermione, his other best friend and Ron’s girlfriend, was engrossed in a book, although she did look up occasionally to squint at the scoreboard before going back to her reading. Harry had been a bit upset that only Ron and Hermione had shown up for this game, but he had become used to not seeing the one person whom he really wanted to be there. He had swallowed his disappointment and concentrated on the game.


A sudden movement near the opposite team’s Keeper caught his attention. Was that the Snitch? Harry casually let his broom drift towards that direction, hoping not to attract the notice of the Seeker for the Tutshill Tornados, Calvin Patrick.


Luckily for Harry, the other Seeker was looking in the opposite direction, his attention apparently drawn to the sight of several comely female fans who were wearing shirts that spelled out his surname in individual letters. Unfortunately for Patrick, the witches who had the letters A and T on their shirts had apparently become tired of being on their feet for the better part of the game. The ones who remained standing up looked puzzled at why the Wasps supporters on the other side of the pitch were pointing and jeering at them.


Taking advantage of Patrick’s distracted state, Harry glanced almost indifferently towards the hoops and determined that the miniscule golden ball was indeed hovering around the left foot of the Keeper, who seemed unaware of it, as he was too busy shouting out unwanted instructions to his disgruntled teammates. Harry chuckled dryly to himself. Cormac McLaggen would never change, and Harry revelled in beating his team every time.


Harry suddenly swerved to the left, accelerating at breakneck speed. He barely registered the renewed screams from the crowd and the loud stream of curse words emanating from the other Seeker when he realised that he was a little too slow on the uptake. Harry shot towards McLaggen, who momentarily froze at the sight of a smirking Harry Potter heading straight for him. At the last minute, Harry dove downwards and grabbed the fluttering Snitch. Raising his hand in victory, he did not see McLaggen’s foot kick out. He only felt a sharp pain behind his right ear, causing his vision to dim.


Before oblivion claimed him, he thought, I can’t believe it. He’s knocked me out again.



*




It was over. It was finally over.


Harry sank down to the ground and stared at his wand, which was still emitting a soft, golden glow.


He had finally defeated Voldemort.


He couldn’t believe it.


“Harry!”


He looked up to see a small figure with flaming red hair darting towards him.


“Ginny…” he said weakly, trying to get to his feet again.


The last thing he remembered was the worried look on Ginny’s face as she rushed to his side.


Then everything faded into black.



*



“I can’t believe that git’s done it again! It’s like sixth year all over again!”


“Shh! Could you not speak so loudly? Harry’s still asleep.”


“No, he’s awake. Look!”


“Only because your voice was loud enough to wake the dead, Ron.”


Harry blinked blearily, the last vague images of his dream fading as the sound of familiar bickering voices washed over him. He attempted to sit up but winced at the pain that erupted at the side of his head. He groaned and fell back onto the pillow.


“Harry, you shouldn’t be moving around so much. Here, I think you might need these.”


Harry felt someone putting his glasses in place, and the world came into focus, revealing the worried faces of his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.


“Hey, mate. How are you?” Ron grinned at him and slapped him on the shoulder, a little too heartily for Harry’s taste.


He winced but grinned back at the redhead. “I’m fine. What happened? Why am I in St Mungo’s?” Harry recognised the sterile white linen and the scrubbed stone floors of the Wizarding hospital.


He reached up to touch the right side of his head and memories came flashing back to him.


The game.


The Snitch.


Cormac McLaggen.


Bugger.


“You had a nasty encounter with Cormac McLaggen’s foot,” said Hermione, patting his hand sympathetically.


“Yeah, we saw the whole thing from the stands. I can’t believe that ruddy tosser! He deliberately kicked you and has the bloody cheek to claim that it was an accident!” Ron’s voice had risen as he uttered the last few words.


“Shh! Ron! You’re really shouting now,” Hermione admonished her boyfriend. “And don’t swear, for Merlin’s sake.”


Harry grimaced again at Ron’s piercing tone. He gestured feebly at his friends. “Was it an accident?” he asked, knowing that there was little chance of that, given that they were discussing McLaggen.


Ron snorted derisively. “Of course not. Good thing the referee saw the whole thing. McLaggen’s been suspended for the whole season for his behaviour.” The tall redhead gave a sudden grin. “His teammates didn’t seem to be too upset with their Keeper’s suspension either. Last I heard, some of them were actually throwing a wild party in celebration. I don’t understand why the Tornados’ coaches allow his behaviour. I keep expecting him to be chucked off the team.”


Harry smiled at that bit of news. Judging from the clenched jaws and tight faces of his teammates during every game, McLaggen’s constant stream of supercilious advice was very much unsolicited and unappreciated. He turned to Hermione, who was smoothing out his bedclothes and neatly tucking the corners in.


“So, when did the Healer say I could rejoin the team?” he asked.


Hermione and Ron exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Um, Harry….” Hermione started to say before a new voice cut into their conversation.


“Ah! I am seeing that our patient is awake, yes?” A big, portly man with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed spectacles came striding through the door. “Hello!” he boomed out jovially, in a thick Eastern European accent that Harry could not place. The loud timbre of his voice caused Harry’s head to give a slight twinge. “I am your Healer, Damien Cosmas. I am being very happy that you have finally decided to rejoin us, Mr Potter. May I be congratulating you for that last match against Puddlemere United, yes? I am thinking that it was absolutely splendid. Splendid!” The Healer beamed at Harry, nodding his head cheerfully.


“Um, thank you, sir,” said Harry cautiously. The large man reminded him strangely of his cousin, although Dudley would never get away with such a genial expression without looking like he ate something that did not agree with him, like maybe one of Aunt Petunia’s diet meals. “These are my friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.”


The smile on the face of Healer Cosmas grew even wider, if that was possible. “Ah! The brave Ron Weasley and the brilliant Hermione Granger! I, of course, have heard all about you also! It is a great honour to be meeting the three of you!”


Harry was amused to see Ron’s chest puffed out importantly as he shook hands with the Healer.


Hermione’s mouth was also twitching as she politely greeted the man. “Pleasure to meet you, Healer Cosmas. Your accent — you’re from Moldova, am I right?”


“Ah, yes! You are correct!” Healer Cosmas cried out in delight. He dropped Ron’s hand and smiled widely at Hermione. “But, how are you knowing this?”


“I work for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, with a special interest in Eastern Europe,” replied Hermione.


“That is most excellent!” A faraway look came into Cosmas’ eye. “Ah, Moldova. Land of my ancestors, land of my birth. How I am missing its fertile fields and the robust Moldovan wine.” He began humming softly. “Limba noastră-i o comoară, În adâncuri înfundată, Un şirag de piatră rară, Pe moşie revărsată.


Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged and twirled his index finger against his temple. Hermione nodded her head encouragingly at the man and whispered to them, “That’s their national anthem that he’s singing.”


“May I ask when I can be discharged so I can rejoin my team? We have a game coming up, and I need to get in some practice sessions,” interjected Harry, after watching the Healer continue to shake hands with Hermione for several seconds longer than necessary, his singing becoming louder and louder as he did.


The Healer abruptly stopped singing and turned to Harry. “What is this? You are thinking of rejoining the team soon?” He shook his head tragically as Harry looked at him askance. “No, no, no, Mr Potter. I am being very sorry. I am afraid I cannot let you go back to training, yes?”


What?” Harry swiftly sat up even as his head objected to the sudden movement by throbbing in pain. “What do you mean I can’t go back to training? But the team — the game — my head — it’s all right, isn’t it?” he stammered out, shocked at the news that he could not play Quidditch.


“Yes, your head is all right as of now, but we are wanting to make sure that you will not suffer more extensive damage. Head injuries are very tricky. Sometimes a person will be appearing all right immediately after the trauma, but later on...” He gave an expressive shrug of his shoulders. “There may be the seeping of blood into the brain a week or so after.” Cosmas paused to scan the chart that he was holding. “Oh, and you have also fallen from very far distance, so I must be insisting that you are to be resting. No strenuous activity. Maybe a week or so, yes?”


Harry gazed at the man in stupefaction. A week off? Was he barking mad? He had to train. He had a match to play. He realised that the Healer was beaming at him again and decided to set this madman straight. “I can’t take a week off. My team needs me!”


“Actually, Harry,” interrupted Ron, looking guilty, “Mr Silverton dropped by earlier. He insists you follow Healer Cosmas’ orders. Mervin Morrison will take your place for at least the next game.”


“Morrison? But — but — he’s dead clumsy on a broom!”


“I know,” snorted Ron derisively. “Plus, he’s so short-sighted that he couldn’t find the Snitch if it flew into his mouth.”


Harry slumped back onto his pillow, dejected. “Does that mean that I’ve been replaced?”


“Oh, Harry,” Hermione chided. She rolled her eyes at Harry’s pouty expression. “Stop being so melodramatic. You know perfectly well you’re still the Wasps’ starting Seeker. Mr Silverton informed us that he’s putting you on the Injured Reserve list which, as you very well know, is standard procedure for an injured player. He expects you to make a full recovery and be back in time to play in the final matches.”


“But that’s in three weeks! Are you telling me that I’ll be forced to rest for that long?” Harry demanded angrily of Healer Cosmas.


“No, of course not!” Again, the Healer smiled at him in a friendly way. Harry was beginning to think that the man was mad as a box of frogs. “We will see how you will be doing, and then we will check to see if you can go back to Quidditch, yes? For now, we will be keeping you overnight, and then you can be going tomorrow… unless you want to stay in the hospital, yes?”


Harry shook his head, careful not to do it too forcefully. He had spent enough time at St Mungo’s during the war to last him a lifetime. “If I can continue my recovery at home, then I’m not going to hang around here doing nothing.”


Cosmas nodded and turned to go, then stopped, as if suddenly recalling something. “I am forgetting, there is one condition, yes? You cannot be staying alone. You are needing to be around people who can bring you back here if you do start showing any signs of complications.”


“What kind of complications?” asked Hermione, her voice curious.


“Increased sleeping time, nausea, vomiting, loss of consciousness, any strange behaviour,” rattled out Cosmas, ticking each item off with his fingers.


“But Harry’s behaviour has always been strange,” joked Ron, earning him a frown from Hermione. Before his girlfriend could elbow him in the ribs, he hastened to add, “We’ll take care of him, sir. Harry can stay at my mum’s house.” Hermione nodded her head in approval.


“Why can’t I stay in our flat, Ron?” complained Harry. “I don’t want to be a burden to your parents.”


“Because I can’t go to work and take care of you, you big baby,” pointed out Ron. He worked for the Department of Magical Games and Sports and had his hands full with the present Quidditch season. “Besides, Mum will be ecstatic to have someone to take care of again. She’s been itching to mollycoddle someone ever since Ginny moved out.”


At the mention of Ron’s sister’s name, Harry felt a peculiar sensation around his midsection. He had carried a torch for Ginny for ages. During his last year in Hogwarts, they had grown very close to each other, and she had come to mean so much more to him than merely Ron’s little sister. She seemed to understand him in ways that no other girl had. He had dearly wanted to pursue his feelings for Ginny, especially since Hermione kept dropping subtle hints (“She loves you, you silly boy!) that Ginny probably returned his affections but was just afraid to put her heart on the line in case he did not feel the same way.


Just after exams ended at the end of his seventh year, Voldemort had appeared at the front gates of Hogwarts. Armed with Ginny’s bright smile and faith in him, Harry had gone to meet his destiny. Harry had promised himself that when he ultimately got rid of the Dark Lord, he would finally tell Ginny how he really felt about her.


Regrettably, fate seemed to have other plans for him once again.


*



When he woke up, he slowly realised that he was surrounded by the concerned faces of his friends and family. He groped around for his glasses and was rewarded when they were thrust into his hands.


“Hello, dear. How are you feeling?” asked Mrs Weasley, looking at him with motherly concern.


“Fine, thanks,” said Harry, wincing as he shifted his position. His eyes scanned the room for one particular face, finally finding her standing at the foot of his bed. Ginny smiled warmly at him, and he smiled back. He opened his mouth to say something — anything — to her, but he was cut off by the uproar that erupted from the doorway.


Rufus Scrimgeour and his entourage came strutting through the door, with the clear intent of claiming no small amount of the credit for the defeat of Voldemort. Rita Skeeter and numerous other reporters scrambled behind them, eager to exploit this for all its worth.


A babble of angry voices soon erupted as the Weasleys, Hermione, Remus and Tonks started arguing with the new arrivals. Harry gazed helplessly at Ginny before all bedlam broke loose when Ron calmly stepped forward, tapped the Minister of Magic on the shoulder, and punched him squarely in the jaw.


It took almost a month and a half, secured in a private ward at St Mungo’s with only close friends and family allowed to visit, before the Healers finally declared Harry fit enough to finally leave. For some reason, he never managed to spend any time alone with Ginny, which frustrated him to no end. How was he supposed to tell her how he felt about her? How was he supposed to tell her that he loved her? Did she feel the same way?



*



In order to keep Ron from getting thrown in Azkaban for assaulting Rufus Scrimgeour, Harry agreed to spend the next months after his release from the hospital in various Ministry-arranged speaking engagements around Britain. The Ministry, eager to erase the negative image they had acquired, demanded that Harry make more appearances, which soon evolved into a fourteen-city, seven-country (and one tropical island) world tour.


He saw very little of anybody, including Ginny, who was at Hogwarts, finishing her final year. They had exchanged owls several times, and although Harry wanted to confess his feelings, he felt that he should do so in person.


When he finally fulfilled all his obligations, a better part of the year had passed. Needing a job and to fill the time until Ginny came home from Hogwarts, he attended the British Quidditch League’s open trials and was drafted by the Wimbourne Wasps. Harry then was required to attend a League-wide orientation program and training camp for all rookies, which, much to his disappointment, lasted from the end of June through mid-August.


The timing could not have been worse. The two instances that he had been permitted to leave and managed to catch Ginny at Sunday dinner at The Burrow, she had been pleasant and sociable enough, but she never showed any sign that she wanted to be anything more than friends with him. Still, Harry had hoped that he would still be able to pursue a relationship with her, but his course meant he had no time to spend with Ginny alone.


He had thought that he would finally have the chance during her eighteenth birthday, when he had managed to get permission from his coach to go to The Burrow for her party. When he overheard her telling Hermione (he had not been lurking by the window, staring at Ginny’s profile, and trying to eavesdrop on their quiet conversation on the back porch like some kind of stalker) that she was not interested in dating or in anyone, Harry resigned himself to the fact that he had blown whatever chances he might have had.


He kicked himself for not having told everyone in his room in St Mungo’s to clear off so he could talk to her alone or simply telling her via owl post from Paraguay. He had always thought he would have a more private and personal opportunity. Forlorn, Harry had cautiously gone out on a few blind dates set up by his new teammates but he had never found anyone to replace Ginny in his heart.


Before he could dwell on the past any further, Hermione spoke up.


“I’m sorry, Harry, I can’t look after you either. Too much work, with the upcoming European Wizard World Conference and whatnot.” Hermione looked apologetic. “I can probably drop by once in a while, though,” she said, smiling faintly.


In the end, Harry glumly agreed to stay at The Burrow. It was a better alternative than remaining at St Mungo’s all by himself. For the next few days, at least he would have Mr and Mrs Weasley to keep him company.


“Look on the bright side, mate,” said Ron cheerfully, thumping him on the back, “at least you caught the Snitch!”

*


A/N: The first lines of the Moldovan national anthem were taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moldova. If they are incorrect, I sincerely apologise. Feel free to e-mail me the proper lyrics if you know them. :)

Back to index


Chapter 3: Family and Fortunes

Author's Notes: So, here's Ginny. :)

Thanks once again, to my favourite person in the world of HP fanfic, Chreechree.


Family and Fortunes




“Buggering hell.”


Ginny threw down her quill in disgust and heaved a tired sigh. She rubbed her eyes wearily, stretched her arms out behind her head and gave a tremendous yawn. Tugging at her long red hair bound up in a thick ponytail, she glared sourly at the parchment in front of her.


Ginny normally loved her work at the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Although she was not out in the field like the Aurors, she still enjoyed her job at the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Ginny and her co-workers irreverently called themselves the “You Fake It, We Take It” Crew, behind their formidable boss’ back, of course.


Despite the fall of Voldemort, paranoia still gripped the more suggestible segment of the population, and those doing the suggesting enjoyed a brisk profit in the trade of spurious protective amulets and spells that resulted in unforeseen, often dangerous, results.


Just last month, St Mungo’s Spell Damage Ward had been full to bursting with wizards and witches who had been victims of a new potion that promised “Constant Vigilance!”; these unfortunate gullible souls had grown eyes in the back of their heads and other parts — including some unmentionable portions — of their body.


The manufacturer of the potion had been arrested earlier that week during a raid in Islington. The Aurors had become suspicious of the heavy amount of owl droppings around a certain flat and had decided to investigate. To their surprise, the flat had been home to a skinny, spotty young man, who was apparently single-handedly responsible for the sudden influx of wonky potions and dodgy talismans in Knockturn Alley.


The parchment currently giving Ginny a headache was one of the things that had been seized from that raid. It was covered with what looked like random scribbles; the only reason that the Aurors even confiscated it was the fact that the young man (who was identified as Olympus “Pus” Fletcher) had screamed bloody murder and hurled himself bodily at the very shocked female Auror who had inadvertently picked up the parchment.


Ginny couldn’t find the key to unlock the encryption, no matter how many ancient tomes she consulted. It was rare for her to be unable to make heads or tails of it as she was an excellent code breaker. She was one of the best, which was quite understandable as she spent most of her time cooped up in her office, coming out once in a while to eat, shower and sleep. Her boss was very impressed with her, and there was talk that she was up for a promotion.


Lately, however, she felt like she was drowning in paperwork, and the walls of her office seemed to be closing in on her. Maybe it was time for a holiday? She glanced down at her desk, which was overflowing with all sorts of parchment and books (and the occasional Chocolate Frog wrapper), and caught sight of the letter that had arrived that morning as she was about to leave for work. She picked it up and re-read the familiar scrawl of her eldest brother.


Dear Ginny,

How are you doing, sis? I need to ask a huge favour from you. Gringotts has assigned me and Fleur to a three-day assignment in Asia, and while we’d really like to have Michel and Amelie with us, it would be too dangerous. We’d leave them with Fleur’s family but they’re also going abroad. I know this is really short-notice, but could you help Mum take care of them for a while? I don’t want to burden her too much, and you know they love their Tante Gee.

Thanks in advance, Ginny! I’ll be dropping the children off at Mum’s tomorrow.

Love, your favourite brother,
Bill



Ginny loved spending time with her nephew and niece. Those two were just too cute for words. Being the first of the Weasley and Delacour grandchildren, Michel and Amelie were impossibly coddled and fussed over, yet they had turned out to be sweet, unassuming children who were the pride and joy of their parents. Michel was two and a half years old, while Amelie was younger by around eleven months. Both were stunning, having the silvery-blonde hair and bright blue eyes of their mother.


Fortunately for everyone, they had inherited the easy-going charm of their father rather than the sometimes haughty demeanour of Fleur, although Ginny had to admit that her sister-in-law had changed a great deal and it had been ages — almost an entire month by Ginny's reckoning — since she had called Fleur by her old nickname, Phlegm.


Ginny smiled as she thought of Amelie and Michel. Maybe this was the break that she needed. No sooner had that crossed her mind when her boss, Mrs Caulfield, breezed through the door.


“Hullo, Ginevra. How are we doing with the translation of the parchment?”


Mrs Caulfield was a middle-aged witch with short black hair and a rather imposing way about her, and that wasn’t merely because of her enormous girth. She was one of the largest women that Ginny had ever seen, barring Madam Maxime. Ginny had been at a loss for words and frightened out of her wits at the sight of Mrs Caulfield bearing down on her like a female version of Grawp during her first day of work.


Ginny had to admit, however, that her boss was fair and honest, even though she was a tad demanding. Mrs Caulfield somewhat reminded her of a stouter version of Professor McGonagall, although Ginny was fairly certain that her former Headmistress would never be caught dead wearing blood-red dragonhide stiletto heels and royal purple robes trimmed with silvery Demiguise hair. Professor Sprout perhaps, but Professor McGonagall? Never.


She gave the older woman a bright smile. “Hello, Mrs Caulfield. I’m almost finished with the translation. There are still a few things that I have to revise but I’ll have it on your desk by tomorrow.”


Mrs Caulfield nodded absentmindedly. She was leafing through some parchments that she was carrying. “All right. As long as you have it done by next morning.” She turned to leave the office. “Oh, by the way, after this project, I’m going to need you to look into something else. You’ll be pretty busy in the next couple of days.”


Ginny took a deep breath. “Umm… Mrs Caulfield, I don’t think I can take the next case. Can you can assign it to Finnigan?”


“What do you mean, Ginevra?” Mrs Caulfield walked back into the room, her stilettos clicking on the floor. Ginny idly wondered how such tiny feet could support such a massive weight.


“I’m going to file for some holiday time. Something’s come up with the family.” Ginny mentally crossed her fingers that Mrs Caulfield would not raise a fuss. She knew the older woman relied on her to do most of the work around the office, so she wasn’t sure if she would be allowed to take some time off. She was hoping that being the boss' favourite employee would work to her advantage.


Mrs Caulfield pursed her lips and frowned. “Ginevra, you do realise that you have given me very little time to look for a replacement for you? You’re the best worker I have! I’m not sure if Finnigan is up to the job.”


“I’m sure Seamus is more than adequate. I’ve seen his work, and I couldn’t do any better myself.”


Her boss gave her an appraising glance for a long moment and then seemed to make up her mind all of a sudden. “Well, I suppose I could do without you for a while. Merlin knows that you haven’t had any time off since you’ve started to work here. When are you planning to leave?”


Ginny was surprised that Mrs Caulfield had actually noticed that. She was even more astonished that her boss was actually agreeing to let her go without putting up more of a fight. Quickly taking stock of the situation, Ginny boldly pushed her advantage. “Tomorrow afternoon?” she said hopefully.


“What? That soon?” Mrs Caulfield frowned again. “Hmmm. All right. Just make sure you do finish all your pending cases before you go on holiday.” Mrs Caulfield marched back to the door. “Bring Finnigan up to date and tell him that I’m expecting him to fill in for you, Ginevra.”


Ginny blinked. She had half-expected her request to be turned down flat, but apparently, her boss was in a generous mood today. “Thank you, Mrs Caulfield.” She smiled at the older woman, who acknowledged her with a curt nod before disappearing down the corridor.


Ginny attacked the parchment with renewed vigour and after several hours, she had managed to translate the rest of the mysterious symbols.


She laughed when she realised that the baffling code actually formed a love letter — and a rather passionate one at that. She blushed as she read through the racier parts of it. No wonder Olympus Fletcher had gone nuts when they took it away from him.


A distraction, in the form of Seamus Finnigan, popped into the room.


“Hiya, Ginny,” he said, sitting on the edge of her desk. He eyed the stack of parchment on her desk. “Still at it?”


“Actually, I was just about to pay you a visit,” she replied.


He gave her a roguish grin. “Oh? Have you finally decided you’ll go out with me?”


She grinned back at him. “Nope, sorry,” she said, then laughed heartily when he feigned a look of utter dejection and clutched at his chest.


Seamus was really loads of fun and quite good-looking, and that Irish brogue of his had been many a witch’s downfall. He was an outrageous flirt and spent a good deal of his time pursuing half, if not all, of the female staff under the age of thirty with an astonishing degree of success.


It was too bad that Ginny had never felt any sort of romantic interest in him. Seamus knew this and accepted it with good humour. Besides, Ginny suspected that the Irishman knew exactly why his chances of actually getting her to go out with him were slim to none. After all, he had gone to Hogwarts with her brother and…


“I need to ask you a favour,” she said abruptly, startled at the turn her thoughts had taken.


“Sure, I’ll do it,” answered Seamus promptly, straightening up and adjusting the four-leaf clover pin on the collar of his smart navy blue pinstriped robes.


“You don’t even know what it is!” protested Ginny.


He shrugged. “If it’s for you, darling, I’d do anything.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, pretending to leer at her.


“Prat. No, listen. I’m going on leave next week, and Mrs Caulfield asked me to tell you that you’ll be covering for me.” She looked at him expectantly. “Will that be all right?”


“Yes, of course, although it wounds me that you think I would say no,” he said teasingly.


Ginny rolled her eyes in amusement and spent the next couple of minutes chatting and showing Seamus some of the files that she had been working on. They had a good chuckle over the scandalous love letter and Seamus insisted on reading it out loud.


“Oh sweet enchantress with your eyes azure as the summer sky, your succulent lips and your buxom chest have bewitched me, and I fall ever deeper into the maelstrom of your indefinable pulchritude. The sweetness of your lily-white loins drives me mad with the desire to plunge my throbbing—”


“All right, stop it.” Ginny waved her hands in the air, giggling madly. “It sounds even bawdier when you read it.”


“It’s a bloody work of art. This bloke can really write!” said Seamus in admiration, and he insisted on copying it for reference. “Might come in handy in the future,” he said, winking at Ginny as he rolled up the parchment and then slid off her desk. “Well, I’m off. I’ve got a hot date with Christine.”


“Christine — the brunette from the Quill-Pool?”


“Yeah, you know…” Seamus traced an hourglass figure in the air with his hands. He winked at her again and waved good-bye. “You should go home, Ginny. You work too hard,” he called over his shoulder.


“Good-bye, Seamus,” said Ginny wryly. “Have fun on your date.”


“I always do!”


Shaking her head at Seamus’ retreating back, Ginny checked her watch and groaned. “Bloody hell.”


She rose from her desk and started stuffing various pieces of parchment into her already overloaded bag. Walking to the Apparition point, she closed her eyes and concentrated, turned smartly in place and arrived a few heartbeats later at the three-bedroom flat she shared with Hermione and Luna in Muggle London.


Ginny put her bag down on the sofa and kicked off her shoes. It was quiet in the flat. Where was everybody? Passing by Hermione’s bedroom, she was amused to see that the door was wide open and that the bed was still neatly made. Mum would have Kneazles if she knew how often Hermione was over at Ron’s place.


Ginny suddenly spotted Crookshanks perched on Hermione’s desk, calmly sharpening his claws on the spine of one of his owner’s beloved books.


“Crookshanks! No! Get away from that, you silly thing!” Ginny scolded the animal as she rushed into Hermione’s room. The ginger cat stopped scratching long enough to level an unruffled gaze at Ginny, before casually returning to its activity.


“Crookshanks!” Ginny shooed the cat away and rescued the book from further damage. There were only a few deep claw marks on the soft brown leather of International Magical Communities: A Short Treatise, Vol. XXXIX. Apparently Crookshanks hadn’t had enough time to inflict greater damage.


”Reparo!” muttered Ginny, and slid the volume in between International Magical Communities: A Short Treatise, Vol. XXXVIII and International Magical Communities: A Short Treatise, Vol. XXXX on the already overflowing bookshelf.


She looked around the room which was mostly done in what Hermione liked to call ‘earth tones’ and what Ginny liked to call ‘brown’. It could have doubled for the Hogwarts library. Ginny frequently teased Hermione that she half-expected Madam Pince to materialise from behind the bookshelves to demand that they keep their voices down and to stop defiling her precious books.


A picture on the desk caught her eye. She picked it up and stared into a photograph of Ron, Hermione, Harry and herself at the end of her sixth year, the year that Harry had finally rid the world of the plague known as Voldemort. All four of them were grinning and waving madly, the waters of the lake glinting behind them. If you looked long enough, a lazy tentacle would rise up from the surface of the lake, and the giant squid would also begin waving at the camera.


Ginny smiled wistfully. She loved this picture simply because Harry looked so carefree and handsome in it. They became really good friends that year, and she had thought that their friendship might have blossomed into something more once Harry had put down Voldemort. Sadly, after Harry destroyed the Dark Lord, he had gone away for almost a year due to his obligations to the Ministry; Ginny had not been too worried though — she herself had been busy finishing her last year at Hogwarts.


Harry, however, had then been drafted by the Wimbourne Wasps, and spent another two months in virtual lockdown at a rookie orientation program and training camp in Newcastle. She had managed to catch him twice at Sunday dinner at The Burrow, where he was casual and friendly and not the least bit romantic. Still, Ginny did not give up on Harry.


During her eighteenth birthday party, Harry gave her a season’s pass to his Quidditch games, saying that he hoped to see more of her. This made Ginny quite giddy with anticipation until she found out that he had also given all of her brothers the same thing.


The final blow to her hopes came during her mum’s birthday dinner last October. Ginny had been helping with the clean up when she overheard Ron asking Harry if he was planning to take up his teammate’s offer to set him up with a blind date. A queasy feeling in her stomach and a dull pain in her chest, she had hastily stepped out of the kitchen before she gave in to the impulse to go on a rampage and hex everything in sight.


She told herself repeatedly that Harry was within his rights to date whomever he wanted, but she was hard pressed not to wonder why his dating options didn’t seem to include her. Ginny had eventually accepted that she would merely be a friend to Harry and had to be contented with that. She threw herself in her work in order not to dwell too much on her heartache, and even started to go out a little — choosing carefully, dating men who were uncomplicated, but none of them had never lasted beyond one or two dates.


It seemed that no matter how much she scolded and raged at it, her stubborn heart simply refused to let go of Harry Potter.


Sighing, she put the picture down and walked out of Hermione’s room to make her way to the tiny but brightly lit and colourful kitchen. She found Luna crooning softly to herself while threading some Butterbeer corks through some silver wire.


“Hullo, Ginny,” the blonde girl said without lifting her eyes from her work.


“Hullo, Luna.”


Ginny shrugged out of her robes and plopped down into a chair beside her friend, who sat serenely at the kitchen table making several necklaces out of butterbeer corks. Luna had started a surprisingly successful small home business called Lovegood’s Snorkcrafts, which specialised in a complete line of butterbeer cork jewellery and sculpted figurines sold via owl-order catalogue.


“Have you had dinner yet?” she asked Luna, who had a tendency to get caught up in her ‘creations’ and often forgot to eat unless someone reminded her.


The former Ravenclaw shook her head and continued to contentedly make necklaces.


“Well, I’m too tired to cook. I’ll heat some of that Chinese takeaway that Hermione bought last night, shall I?”


Over egg rolls and mushu pork, the blonde girl showed Ginny her latest designs for her jewellery collection. Ginny was privately amused that most of the designs involved carvings of what she could only assume to be the infamous Crumple-Horned Snorkack.


Ginny reached for a fortune cookie and cracked it open. “‘Your heart’s greatest desire will soon be granted’,” she read out loud. She snorted disbelievingly. “What a load of—”


“I wouldn’t laugh, Ginny,” said Luna seriously. “The fortunes in these cookies were made by the great Chinese Seer, Quan Fu Zhang, who made nine hundred ninety-nine and a half accurate prophecies in his lifetime.”


Ginny was sure she was going to regret it, but she asked anyway. “Why nine hundred ninety-nine and a half?”


Luna reached for her own fortune cookie. “He choked on one whilst he was making another prediction. He was only able to say ‘The real father of the Empress’ baby is—’ before he keeled over and died.” She broke her cookie open. “Mine says, ‘You will receive news from a long-lost friend’. How interesting. I wonder how I lost whoever it is who’s lost.”


Ginny gaped at her dotty friend and then shrugged. Luna was Luna. “Oh, that reminds me, I got a letter from Bill today.” She told Luna about staying over at The Burrow to take care of Bill’s children.


“That’s nice.” Luna smiled dreamily. “I can spend the time alone purging the flat of Aquavirius maggots.”


Ginny gave a start. She hadn’t thought about leaving Luna alone. “Did Hermione say how long she’ll be at Ron’s?”


“No, but she said something about going to see Harry play against the Titsall Tourniquets,” said Luna vaguely. “Or was it the Titillating Troubadours?”


“The Tutshill Tornados,” corrected Ginny automatically, feeling a twinge of remorse that she could not bring herself to watch Harry play — could not act like a supportive friend during his first season. When he had owled her if she would come to his match today, she had begged off, pretending to be too busy with work — the same excuse she had given every time he invited her to his games. In truth, she was trying not to see him if she could help it, so that she would not have to stop herself from wallowing in self-pity at the fact that Harry did not like her that way.


Besides, if she went to his matches, the sight of Harry looking dead sexy in his Wasps uniform would probably send her into a tizzy. It had been known to happen before — like that highly embarrassing incident when she had walked into the fireplace (which was mercifully not lit) in the Gryffindor common room simply because Harry had pushed up the sleeves of his jumper, exposing his forearms. Luckily for her, Harry had not noticed as he had bent to retrieve a quill that had fallen under the table, and it was Hermione, who was practically shaking with suppressed laughter, who had helped her struggle out of the fireplace.


Ever since then, Ginny had always made sure that she had her conniptions in private.


“… and then going to dinner afterward, it being their anniversary and all,” continued Luna, holding up her chopsticks like they were divining rods.


Ginny shook her head to remove the tantalising images of Harry looking gorgeous and delectable on his broom and cleared up the takeaway boxes. “I don’t know why Hermione doesn’t simply move in with him. She practically lives there anyway.” She brought out the tea kettle and tapped it with her wand.


“I think your mother would have something to say about that if she knew that Ronald and Hermione were having at it at every possible opportunity,” commented Luna in such a wry tone that Ginny couldn’t help but giggle.


“Merlin forbid that she ever find out!” agreed Ginny, laughing.


Luna also stood up and began swaying gently back and forth, holding the chopsticks in front of her.


“Erm, what are you doing, Luna?” Ginny had to ask, even though she told herself she should be accustomed to the other girls’ odd behaviour by now.


Luna started walking around the table, humming weirdly. “Shhh. Be very, very quiet. I’m hunting maggots.” She left the kitchen, completely lost in her unusual quest.


Ginny looked around apprehensively then laughed softly at herself. The kettle whistled, and she poured the heated water onto some loose tea leaves in her cup. After letting the leaves steep for a few seconds, Ginny took a sip, and promptly spat it out again. The water tasted like mould. She sniffed the kettle carefully and realised that Luna had probably used it to make one of her strange Gurdyroot comfits again.


Opting instead for an orange fizzy drink (Hermione kept plenty of those in stock) from the refrigerator, Ginny Summoned some parchment and a Self-Inking Quill from her bag. She penned a bright, cheery reply to Bill, saying that she would be more than happy to help mind his children.


She walked to the window, where her owl, Icarus, sat in his cage, hooting softly. Ginny opened the cage door and Icarus hopped onto her arm.


“Hullo, Icky,” she crooned, stroking the owl’s head. Icarus had been a gift from Mr and Mrs Weasley on Ginny’s eighteenth birthday. He was a bit ungainly and had a tendency to get moody at times, but Ginny loved him anyway because he reminded Ginny strongly of Errol. Sadly, the old Weasley family owl had finally flown off into The Great Owlery in the Sky last year after an accident involving a closed kitchen window, a mysteriously open bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky and a very drunk garden gnome.


“You think you’re up to a trip to France?” The owl hooted mournfully, and, if Ginny hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn that Icarus had just rolled his eyes. “Oh well, I suppose I could ask Ron if I could borrow Pig…” she trailed off, hiding a smile as she began placing Icarus back in his cage.


The tawny owl gave an indignant hoot, snatched the letter from Ginny’s hands then launched himself out of the window. “If I’m not here when you get back, go straight to The Burrow, all right?” she called out to Icarus.


After narrowly avoiding a lamp post, several startled pedestrians, and a big red lorry with an advert for Lightning Bolt Lozenges (Zap That Sore Throat Away!) on its side, the owl finally got his bearings and sailed away into the night.


Ginny finished tidying up and went to her room. She was knackered and determined to catch up on her sleep. When she put her head on her pillow and closed her eyes, however, all she could see was Harry on his broom, smiling and blowing kisses at her.


‘Your heart’s greatest desire will soon be granted’,” she whispered into the still night air. She turned to her side and muttered “Yeah, right,” and soon fell into a deep slumber.

*

Back to index


Chapter 4: Release from St Mungo's

Author's Notes: Thanks to Chreechree, and congratulations on your bit of good news, my dear.


Release from St Mungo’s




HARRY POTTER, NEARLY DECAPITATED AT QUIDDITCH MATCH!

by Rita Skeeter, Investigative Journalist




Harry snorted loudly in disgust at the Daily Prophet, then snorted again for good measure at how his old nemesis, Rita Skeeter, had described herself.


“‘Investigative Journalist’, my arse,” he muttered in irritation. “More like ‘Chief Rumourmonger and All-Around Poor Excuse for a Human Being’.” He threw down the paper without reading any further.


As a result of this sensational headline, and the accompanying photograph that depicted McLaggen’s foot connecting solidly with Harry’s head again and again, Harry’s hospital room had been inundated with numerous get-well cards and sweets, as well as some other, more personal items from fans. Thankfully, the fact that he would be staying at The Burrow to complete his recuperation had not been leaked to the press. The Daily Prophet simply assumed that he was spending his leave of absence in his flat, and he was not about to correct them.


The relative quiet of St Mungo’s was broken when Harry’s teammates came round to visit later that morning. There was a loud commotion in the hallway before the boisterous, rowdy bunch burst into his room, shouting their greetings as they crowded around his bed. Harry had an enjoyable time joking and trading friendly insults with them.


When they discovered the lacy scarlet knickers that an ardent female fan had sent Harry, they created such a ruckus that the matron on duty stormed into the room and sternly reprimanded them, telling them to go home and let her patient get some rest. They good-naturedly said their farewells to Harry, cheekily promising him that they would make sure to get even with McLaggen for depriving them of their star Seeker, and that they would track down the witch who had sent the knickers to tell her that Harry was extremely appreciative of her gift.


His next visitor was the owner of the Wimbourne Wasps, Fenton Silverton.


“Harry, m’boy, how are you?” The grey-haired man beamed at Harry and slapped him genially on the arm. “How’s my superstar? You gave us quite a scare!” He wagged his finger playfully at Harry and sat down in a nearby chair. Seeing the red knickers lying in plain sight next to Mr Silverton’s elbow, Harry furtively leaned over and stuffed them into an empty box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.


“I’m perfectly all right, sir,” responded Harry. “I’ve been in far worse physical condition than this.” He looked at his boss with anticipation. “Sir, I don’t even think I ought to be on the Injured Reserve list. I’m quite certain that I can play in our next match.”


Mr Silverton shook his head ruefully. “As much as I would like you to come back, Healer Cosmas has informed me that you do need to rest a bit. I don’t want anything to happen to my star Seeker, so I’m going to heed his advice.” He waved off Harry’s objections. “I understand you’ll need a place to stay where you can be observed for at least a week? Why not stay here at the hospital?”


“Well, sir, I’d rather wait out this recovery period some place else that’s a little more comfortable,” Harry explained. And somewhere I won’t go barking mad, he added silently.


“There’s plenty of room in our house at Gloucestershire. I’d be more than happy to have you over,” Mr Silverton offered. “Plus, I’m sure that Cordelia would love for you to keep her company. She’s been quite concerned about your accident. She’s always asking about you and when you’re going to visit us, eh?” He guffawed and gave Harry a big wink.


Harry hid his wince from Mr Silverton at the mention of his only daughter’s name. Cordelia Silverton was a beautiful sable-haired woman who had made it quite clear that she would be more than willing to become better ‘acquainted’ with him several times. She had gone to a posh Wizarding school in Switzerland and was coddled and cosseted to no end by her widowed father. She spent most of her time as one of the idle rich, flitting from one social gathering to another, appearing at charity events she did not care about, and hanging around with the other young social elite of the Wizarding world.


Harry could not totally ignore her as much as he wanted to; after all, she was his boss’ daughter, so he settled for courteous civility whenever he did have to talk to her. He had managed to politely rebuff her advances in the past, finding the spoiled and pampered woman manipulative and cold-hearted. He knew that the only reason she was so interested in him was because of his being the ‘Chosen One’.


“I’m very grateful for the offer, sir,” said Harry firmly, “but I’m afraid I’ve already made arrangements to stay with family over at Ottery St Catchpole.”


“Oh, yes, near Devon? Lovely area, really. Although it’s too full of Muggle tourists nowadays,” said Mr Silverton, with a little frown on his face. “Well, that’s all settled then. In case I need to contact you, who will you be staying with?”


“My friend Ron Weasley’s family. I practically grew up at their house, The Burrow.”


“Ah, Arthur Weasley’s son. Works in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, doesn’t he?”


“Yes, sir. Ron’s been my best mate since our first day at Hogwarts. Mr and Mrs Weasley — well, they’ve been like surrogate parents to me. I’m very proud that Mr Weasley was made Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. He’s a good man and deserved the promotion and some recognition.” Harry spoke with a note of satisfaction in his voice.


Hugh Fitzwilliam, a member of the Wizengamot, was now Minister of Magic, having replaced Rufus Scrimgeour when the latter had been forced to resign last week after it was found out that he had withheld vital information from the public regarding the activities of Voldemort. There was also the small matter of Scrimgeour having been photographed coming out of Siren’s Call, a high-class Wizarding nightspot, arm in arm with a comely young witch who was most definitely not his wife.


“And I consider all the Weasley children like my own siblings,” added Harry. Well, almost all of the Weasley children, Harry thought, his mind straying to Ginny. No, his feelings for her were definitely not fraternal.


The matron, a small, plump witch with salt-and-pepper hair, walked briskly into the room just then, carrying a large amber bottle under her arm. “Potion time, Mr Potter!” she announced cheerily.


Mr Silverton stood up. “I daresay that’s my cue to leave. Harry, it’s good to see that you’re not too bloodied. Take care of yourself. We’ll expect you back soon.”


“Sir,” said Harry as the man made to leave. Mr Silverton looked back at him inquiringly. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone that I was staying at the Weasleys. I don’t want them to be harassed by reporters waiting to ambush me for an interview.”


“I quite understand.” Mr Silverton shook Harry’s hand and headed towards the door.


“All right, dear,” the matron said, measuring out a healthy amount of clear liquid into a small glass and handing it to Harry. “Here you are.” She waited patiently for him to drink it, not moving until he finally put it to his lips and swallowed it, gagging a little at the slightly fishy taste. She clucked approvingly, re-stoppered the bottle and smiled at him in a motherly fashion, reminding Harry strongly of Mrs Weasley.


Harry returned her smile and chatted amiably with her until they were interrupted by Healer Cosmas and Ron entering the room.


“Reckon you’re about ready to go, aren’t you, mate?” asked Ron, grinning widely at Harry.


Harry raised his eyebrows. “You’re damn right. I’m going nuts in here. Am I being discharged then?” he asked, turning to the Healer for confirmation.


“Yes, yes, you may leave after lunch,” said Cosmas, bobbing his head up and down. “We are releasing you in the care of Mr Weasley over here.” He handed Ron a piece of parchment covered in dark purple ink. “Here is the list of symptoms you are to be watching out for, yes? Miss Granger sent me an owl this morning and requested me to be writing down every single detail of the possible consequences of head trauma and how to be recognising them.” Cosmas chuckled admiringly. “She is a very smart witch. I am thinking she would be a good Healer, yes?”


“Well, that’s my Hermione.” Ron’s chest puffed out proudly. He carefully folded the parchment and stuck it inside his robes.


“Yes, yes, if she is changing her mind about her job and wanting to be a Healer, please be telling her that she is most welcome here at St Mungo’s, Mr Weasley.” The Healer nodded at Ron, then turned to Harry.


“Now, Mr Potter, I am taking the liberty of connecting up the Floo network from your home to my private office, so you will be having the immediate access to me in case you will be having the problems, eh?” Cosmas walked over to Harry and shook his hand. “I am being filled with hope to not see you until your check-up next week, Mr Potter, yes?”


“Good-bye, sir, and thank you,” said Harry. “I hope I don’t see you either until that time.”


The Healer also shook Ron’s hand, nodded to the matron, and, once again humming the national anthem of Moldova, left the room.


“He’s very good, Healer Cosmas is,” whispered the matron admiringly, her eyes following the Healer out the door. “And such a distinguished-looking wizard too!”


Harry and Ron hid their grins just as the nurse turned back to face them.


“Now, don’t forget that you’re supposed to take a tablespoonful of this potion everyday for a week, Mr Potter,” the nurse reminded him, handing over the amber bottle, which was labelled CONCUSSION CONCOCTION for Mr H J Potter in large silver letters. Beneath that, in smaller writing, Harry read: (Caution advised in patients concomitantly taking Babbling Beverages, Deflating Draughts or Droobles Best Blowing Gum).


“Oh, don’t give me that look, Mr Potter,” she rebuked him, noticing the grimace that had crossed Harry’s face. “It’ll help with the occasional dizzy spells you may experience. That’s not unusual with patients who’ve had a blow to the head.” She glanced at her watch and brightened up. “Well, time for me to give Mr Lockhart his sponge-bath! Good-bye, Mr Potter. Mr Weasley.”


After the nurse left, Ron began rummaging through the numerous sweets and gifts that were piled on Harry’s bedside table. Reaching into an open box of Every Flavour Beans, Ron pulled out the knickers that Harry’s teammates had been teasing him about earlier. He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Oi! What’s this? Something you want to tell me, mate?”


“They’re not mine, you wanker,” laughed Harry. “A fan sent them, but you can have them if you want.”


“No thanks,” said Ron, letting go of the knickers hurriedly. “Scarlet’s not really my colour. Clashes with my hair.” He grabbed a Chocolate Frog and sat down. “’Sides, Hermione doesn’t really go for these thong things, more’s the pity. I reckon they’re more of Ginny’s style.”


Harry tried valiantly not to get too heated at the thought of the fiery redhead clad in a lacy thong and very little else. It really would not do to dwell on these sorts of fantasies in front of her tall, muscular and overprotective brother. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed and cleared his throat. “Speaking of Hermione, where is she?”


“Where else?” Ron ripped the packet open and bit off the Frog’s head, seemingly unaware of his best friend’s discomfiture. “She’s at work, of course. Been there the whole bloody day, and she’ll probably be there until it’s bloody late because that bloody World Conference is taking too much of her bloody time.”


“That’s too bloody bad. Missing her, are you?” said Harry, amused at the number of times Ron had used the word ‘bloody’ in just one sentence.


“Well, yeah. How am I supposed to ask her to marry me if she doesn’t even have the bloody time to have dinner with me?” complained Ron, chewing angrily.


“So, you’ve decided to do it then?” asked Harry, taking a Cauldron Cake for himself. Last week, Ron had confided that he felt that it was time to take his relationship with Hermione to the next level. He had been planning on the logistics of when, where and how he was going to pop the question for some time now, and was growing increasingly anxious each day.


“I’ve even bought the ring and everything.” Ron drew a small blue box out of the pocket of his robes. He opened it to show Harry a platinum engagement band with a small heart-shaped diamond mounted on it.


Harry peered at the ring. “Wow. Impressive, Ron,” he complimented his friend. “I didn’t know you had such good taste in jewellery.”


Ron shrugged and smirked at Harry. “I had help from Angelina, actually. I knew you wouldn’t be of any use.” He ducked as Harry threw the wrapper of the Cauldron Cake at him. “And I couldn’t ask Ginny, because she might blab it to Hermione.”


“Your sister’s not a gossip!” protested Harry at the implied slight on Ginny’s character. “She’s the most trustworthy person I know.” He reached for another Cauldron Cake from his bedside table, missing the knowing grin that appeared on Ron’s face. By the time he turned back around, Ron was already digging into another box of Every Flavour Beans.


“By the way, Hermione’s staying over at our flat right now. Hope you don’t mind, Harry,” said Ron, popping an olive-coloured bean in his mouth. He screwed up his face and made gagging noises. “Bleargh. Tastes like slugs.”


“You should know,” chuckled Harry, recalling Ron’s last encounter with the slimy creatures.


“Don’t remind me,” shuddered Ron. He seized a Chocolate Frog and bit into it hastily. “Ah, better.” He then leaned forward to speak in a low voice. “Harry, don’t tell Mum about Hermione sleeping over, all right? Mum would throw a fit and hex my bits off for ‘dragging Hermione down the path of sin’.”


Harry grinned at the image of Mrs Weasley in the middle of one of her infamous harangues. “I take it your Mum doesn’t know that Hermione’s a willing traveller on that path of sin, yeah?”


“Bloody hell, she’s the one leading the way,” declared Ron smugly, causing Harry to roar with laughter.


* * *



After a tasteless hospital luncheon that even Ron could not finish, Harry changed into the Muggle clothes that Ron had brought for him. He stored the potion into a rucksack and he and Ron made their way to the lobby to exit through the glass fronting of Purge and Dowse, Ltd. They had to leave for The Burrow in a Ministry car that Ron had appropriated because Healer Cosmas had not allowed Harry to Floo or Apparate yet.


They arrived at The Burrow without any incident, and Ron shouted out as soon as they entered the kitchen. “Mum! Harry’s here!” Ron opened the larder and started rooting around for something to eat. “You hungry, mate?” he asked, his deep voice echoing from the depths of the larder. “Isn’t there anything to eat around here?”


Mrs Weasley came in from the living room, holding her knitting needles in one hand and a skein of emerald green yarn in the other. She put them down on the kitchen counter and greeted Harry effusively, gathering him in one of her bone-crushing hugs.


“Harry, dear!” she exclaimed, when she had released him. She fussed over him, picking at his clothes and brushing his messy hair out of his eyes. “You’re too thin! What are they feeding you at those Quidditch camps? I was horrified when I heard what happened. How are you feeling?”


“I’m fine.” Harry kissed her on the cheek. “Really, Mrs Weasley,” he said at her raised eyebrows. “Maybe a little twinge around the ear every now and then. Nothing to worry about. Thank you so much for letting me stay.”


Mrs Weasley looked at him searchingly and then, assured he was relatively healthy and not going to collapse anytime soon, nodded in satisfaction. “This will always be your home, dear. I’m glad you’re all right, but we’ll have to make sure that nothing else happens to you.” She patted his cheek fondly then pushed Harry towards the living room. “Go sit on the sofa, Harry, while I get started on dinner.”


“But, I’d like to help out if I can,” protested Harry. He tried to head back towards the kitchen but Mrs Weasley determinedly propelled him out of it.


“Nonsense. You should be resting. It’s no trouble at all,” she said resolutely, and then addressed her youngest son in exasperation. “Ron, get your head out of there this instant.”


Ron straightened up, now holding a cold chicken leg in one hand. “I’ll just have this to snack on while you make dinner, Mum. It should tide me over ‘til then.”


Harry walked to the living room and settled himself onto the worn sofa covered with colourful hand-knitted afghans. He chuckled as he heard the sharp voice of Mrs Weasley as she reprimanded Ron for raiding the larder yet again. He looked around the room, his gaze taking in the mismatched comfortable furniture and the familiar odds and ends that had made The Burrow so dear to him. As always, Harry’s attention was drawn to the family photographs that lined the mantel over the fireplace. He rose from the sofa to see if there were any new additions since he last came to visit.


Most of the photos were of the Weasley children at various ages in their lives. His eyes automatically sought out the pictures of the youngest Weasley, and Harry stared at one in particular — Ginny on the day she had completed her seventh year at Hogwarts. She was smiling brightly into the camera, her reddish-gold hair glinting in the sunlight. Her entire family and Hermione were beaming proudly beside her. Harry had been unable to make it to the family celebration; he had been at the Newcastle training camp and had not been allowed to leave. He had owled Ginny his regrets and had received a reply telling him that it was quite all right and she understood why he had not been able to come.


Harry frowned and absently traced Ginny’s laughing face as the twins threw Ron into the lake in the photograph. It had not been all right for him. He had wanted to be there for her big day, and it had been incredibly frustrating to be unable to go. Harry placed the picture frame back on the mantel, not noticing that photograph Ron was now wrestling with the giant squid. He made his way back to the sofa and was about to sit down again when green flames erupted in the fireplace. He stood back to give whoever was Flooing into The Burrow enough space to land, knowing from experience how difficult it was to make a graceful entrance when using the Floo.


His heart sped up considerably when he recognised the long mane of auburn hair that suddenly appeared in the living room.


It was Ginny.


*

Back to index


Chapter 5: Meeting at The Burrow

Author's Notes: Well, we'll see some sparks now, right?

Thanks to Chreechree.


Meeting at The Burrow




Standing at the foot of his bed, Ginny watched fretfully as Harry slowly woke up. His face was too pale, she thought, her hands itching to brush his messy hair off his forehead. She dearly wanted to go to hug him and never let go again, but something held her back. Harry groped around for his glasses and Hermione thrust them into his hands.


“Hello, dear. How are you feeling?” Mrs Weasley asked him, smoothing out his blankets.


“Fine, thanks,” said Harry, wincing as he shifted his position. His eyes scanned the room, as if looking for something or someone. When he finally made eye contact with Ginny, she was gratified to see his face light up. She smiled warmly at him, and he smiled back, making her heart skip a few beats. She took a step forward, intending to kiss him on the cheek, but was distracted when the doors burst open and the Minister of Magic stalked into the room and said…



“Ginny?”


“Mmmmph.”


“Ginny, wake up. You’re going to be late for work.” A dreamy yet insistent voice was in Ginny’s ear, cutting through the fog of slumber.


“Gowaywansleepmore,” mumbled Ginny, turning over to burrow further into her blankets.


“You’re going to be late for work… you’re going to be late for work… you’re going to be late for work… you’re going to be…. ” the voice chanted over and over again.


Ginny groaned and threw her pillow in the direction of the maddening sing-song voice. “Luna, shut up! I’m trying to get some sleep.”


“I know, but you’re going to be late for work,” the blonde witch solemnly intoned. “It’s almost eight o’clock.”


Ginny’s eyes snapped open. “What?” she yelped. “Bugger, I’m going to be late for work!” She scrambled out of bed and dashed to the bathroom. She must have been more tired than she thought.


After a quick shower and a hurried good-bye to Luna, Ginny threw on her navy work robes, grabbed her bag, Apparated into the Ministry and ran to her office with only a few minutes to spare.


Working non-stop, she was able to finish all her paperwork by the time lunch rolled around. She did not want Mrs Caulfield to have any reason to change her mind about allowing Ginny to go on such short notice. She made her way to the noisy Ministry cafeteria, which was filled with witches and wizards from the different departments of the Ministry of Magic. It always amused her that she could tell which department each employee worked for simply by the way they dressed.


The Department of Magical Games and Sports employees dressed casually, showing up in jeans and cotton shirts. Hermione, like the others who worked in her department, preferred formal robes. Aurors were typically all in black, while those Ministry workers connected with the Floo Regulation Network tended to wind up wearing grey, no matter what colour their robes had been when they came to work in the morning. The witches and wizards from the Department of Mysteries, if they showed up at the cafeteria at all, frequently looked like they had paid little attention to what they had put on that day; as a result, they often appeared in bizarre colour combinations such as purple shirts and peach trousers, or in the case of Gladys Kendall — who waved merrily at Ginny as she passed by — a bright magenta chequered blouse paired with black and white striped knickerbockers under the standard blue Ministry robes.


Ginny herself preferred to dress comfortably, usually in black trousers and a casual top. She scanned the crowd; most of the time she had lunch with her father or Ron, but she could not find them in the mob of people. Ginny thought that they were probably too busy: Ron with the current Quidditch season and Mr Weasley with the forthcoming European Wizarding World Conference that Hermione was so involved with.


After getting her customary steak-and-kidney pie and a treacle tart from the dour-faced witch with the lavender rinse in her hair, Ginny seated herself in a corner table after threading her way through the noisy press of Ministry employees, greeting several acquaintances along the way.


“—Harry Potter?”


Ginny’s ears perked up at the mention of Harry’s name and turned her head to see who was speaking. Two wizards at a nearby table were talking loudly as they ate their noontime meal.


“Yes, what a shame,” the wizard with a spectacular blond handlebar moustache replied to the other man, who was sporting a battered blue fedora set at an angle that best hid his thinning ginger hair.


Ginny leaned to her left, hoping to catch more of the conversation. What had happened to Harry?


“Mind if I join you?” A deep male voice said by her elbow, interrupting her eavesdropping.


Ginny looked up and then smiled at the newcomer. “Oh, hi, Seamus. Of course I don’t mind. Grab a seat.” When she looked back at the other table, the men were now discussing the chances of the Chudley Cannons in convincing Oliver Wood to join their team. Ginny made a mental note to ask Ron if Harry was all right before she turned to Seamus as he pulled up a chair and sat down in front of her.


“So, you’re taking off today, are you?”


“Yeah. I’ll be gone by this afternoon. Just have to pick up a few things from the flat before I Floo to The Burrow.”


“I’m so jealous. You get to go on holiday without Mrs Caulfield even batting an eyelash. She’s always had a soft spot for you, y’know,” said Seamus, taking a bite out of his corned beef sandwich.


“She knows that I haven’t been out of the office since I started, so she decided to give me a break.” Ginny shrugged, although she knew that he was right; if she was not Mrs Caulfield’s favourite worker, she probably would not have got permission to leave, even though Ginny knew that she was the best in her department.


Seamus smiled. “I’m not envious of your position, mind you. Being the boss’ go-to-girl has to be stressful to say the least.”


“You said it,” Ginny laughed. “Although I must admit, usually I really enjoy the work. I guess I simply need some time off right now.”


“What’s the reason for the hols, if I may ask?”


“Well, I was thinking that I needed a break, you know? And then it turns out that my brother Bill’s going on a mission in Asia with his wife Fleur, and he asked me if I could help my mum take care of his kids.”


Seamus arched a sandy eyebrow. “Babysitting? You? Are you the maternal type, Ginny?”


Ginny was a little taken aback by the question. She had never thought about it. She realised that she was really fond of not only her nephew and niece, but she also loved being around children of any age.


“I’m not sure,” she slowly said, tugging at her ponytail. “But I know that I love being around children.”


“Heh. Not me. Can’t stand the little buggers.” Seamus made a face and laughed. “I’d rather hang around the foxy mums.”


“Well, well, well. Hello there, Ginny.”


Ginny flinched. She knew that voice. She resignedly glanced up and greeted Sylvia Vane, who also worked at the Ministry, although at another department. Ginny occasionally glimpsed her former Hogwarts classmate in the corridors of the Ministry, but avoided her as much as possible. Much like her cousin, Romilda, Sylvia had a dangerously obsessive crush on Harry, but he had barely acknowledged her existence except when trying to avoid her. Sylvia thought that Ginny had something to do with Harry ignoring her, and she had never forgiven Ginny for “stealing” Harry away from her.


“Hello, Sylvia.” Ginny nodded as politely as she could to the dark-haired girl, who was wearing robes of an unfortunate apple-green colour, which Ginny thought exactly matched the shade of freshly harvested bubotuber pus. “You remember Seamus? He was also in Gryffindor with us. Seamus, this is Sylvia Vane.” She pointedly did not ask the other girl to sit with them.


Sylvia simpered and fluttered her eyelashes — magically extended with a Glamour charm, Ginny observed cattily — ridiculously at Seamus. “You’ve turned out quite well, Seamus,” she said admiringly, before her gaze shifted to Ginny. “You seem to have a penchant for hanging around handsome men, Ginny.”


Seamus rose, giving the other woman a charming smile. “Hello — um — Salmonella, is it?”


“It’s Sylvia,” she corrected sharply.


“Ah, yes. How could I forget the name of such an interesting specimen of womanhood?” He kissed her right hand. “Forgive me, er — Sisyphus.”


Ginny had to stifle a giggle at the way Sylvia’s brows were now fiercely drawn together, but decided to intervene before she became too cross at Seamus’ antics. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your illustrious company, Sylvia?”


“Oh, yes, I thought you’d be interested to know that I’m getting married,” said Sylvia rather smugly, her irritation at Seamus momentarily forgotten. She flashed her left hand, showing off the large pink diamond that glittered almost obscenely on her ring finger.


“Congratulations,” said Ginny, silently aghast at the sheer gaudiness of the ring. “It’s very… pink. Who’s the, erm, lucky man?”


“Merlin help him,” muttered Seamus beside her. Ginny snorted and elbowed him in the ribs.


Sylvia’s smile became even more supercilious. “I don’t believe you know him. Raphael Mugatu? He studied at Beauxbatons, you know.” At the blank looks on both their faces, Sylvia’s smirk quickly turned into a frown. “Raphael Mugatu? The internationally renowned Italian wizard fashion designer? Haven’t you heard of him?”


“No, sorry,” said Seamus. “Should we have?”


Sylvia’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “Should you have?” she repeated incredulously. “He’s only been featured several times in Witch Weekly, and his creations are sold all over the world.” She looked disparagingly at Ginny’s dark blue work robes and the Muggle-style clothes that she was wearing underneath. “Well, I suppose that you wouldn’t really know anything about high fashion, Ginny.”


Seamus raised a sardonic eyebrow and turned to Ginny, who had just about had enough of the detestable woman.


“Well, Sylvia,” she said sweetly. “I’m sure we’ve taken up too much of your time. You’ve certainly taken up most of ours. We’ll see you sometime.”


“By the way, I wanted to ask you how Harry’s doing.” Sylvia smiled insincerely at Ginny, paying no attention to the hint to leave. “I know you’re not together, but I heard that you keep in touch.”


Ginny ignored the none-too-subtle jibe from Sylvia but could not understand why she was asking about Harry’s well-being. That was the second time today that someone had mentioned Harry. She waved her hand airily. “Oh, Harry’s fine. I mean, he was, the last time I saw him.”


“Well, do tell him that I hope he gets better and that I said ‘Hi’. I’m sure he remembers me.” Sylvia gave Ginny one final fake smile and winked at Seamus. “I hope to see more of you, Seamus.”


Ginny and Seamus exchanged amused glances as Sylvia strolled away in what she probably thought was a seductive manner. “Oh, remind me to send you an invitation to my wedding, Ginny. Romilda will be thrilled to see you again. It’ll be in a few days,” she tossed over her shoulder.


“She’s a bit full of herself, isn’t she?” observed Seamus cynically.


“She still thinks she’s Merlin’s gift to wizards,” replied Ginny dryly. “Too bad for her that wizards haven’t caught on to that bit of news yet.”


Seamus made a sound of agreement and then asked in a hesitant voice. “Look, I don’t mean to pry or anything, but how come you never got together with Harry?” Seeing the closed look on Ginny’s face, Seamus grimaced. “Hey, I’m sorry. You don’t need to answer that. I’m being a right nosy git.”


Sensing that he had probably gone a little too far, Seamus dropped the subject and they shifted to safer, less sensitive topics. They spent a good half hour thinking of various outlandish situations on how Sylvia had managed to finagle a wedding proposal (“Probably threatened to wear those horrendous apple-green robes to one of his fashion shows if he didn’t pop the question,” was Seamus’ impertinent comment). They finished their lunch and went back to their floor, separating at Ginny’s office. She formally said good-bye to Mrs Caulfield, promising to come back to work by next week.


Ginny Apparated back to the flat, checked to see if Hermione was back yet (she was not), threw out the copy of the Daily Prophet that Crookshanks had shredded to ribbons, grabbed come clothes and tossed them in a rucksack. She also left a note for Luna — who had apparently gone to visit her father to discuss the finer points of exterminating Aquavirus maggots infestations — reminding her to feed Crookshanks at least once a day.


She threw some Floo powder into the grate and shouted “The Burrow!”, and watched as her flat disappeared in a whirlwind of green flames.


When the familiar surroundings of her mother’s living room came into view, she stepped out of the fireplace and promptly tripped over an unfamiliar black bag blocking the grate, falling flat on her face.


“Buggering hippogriffs!” she muttered into the carpet before lifting her head to glare at the offending object behind her. “Whose bloody bag is this? Good thing no one saw—”


“Sorry,” a concerned voice greeted her from somewhere behind the sofa. “That bloody bag is mine.”


Ginny gasped in surprise. Whipping her head around, she peered through her curtain of hair to see a sheepishly smiling Harry Potter, who was dressed in a white T-shirt and dark blue jeans that showed off his muscular legs quite nicely.


“Harry!” Of all the bloody people…


“Hi, Ginny. I’m really sorry about my bag.” Harry moved his rucksack to one side and squatted in front of her. “Are you all right?”


She nodded and carefully pushed herself off the ground to sit back on her heels. “Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me.”


“Oh, good. How about I help you up?” Harry rose to his feet and held out his hand.


Ginny hesitated for a moment before she took it, studiously ignoring the shock that seemed to shoot through her when she touched him. She got up slowly, wincing as her knees gave a slight twinge, and then she quickly let go of Harry. “Thanks,” she said, avoiding his eyes and praying that she wasn’t blushing.


“My pleasure, Ginny.”


Suppressing a shiver at Harry’s oddly husky reply, Ginny proceeded to brush the soot and ash from her robes, wishing she had considered changing into nicer clothes before she had gone to The Burrow. I must look a fright, she thought in consternation, glancing down at her dull blue Ministry robes and remembering that her hair was hanging loosely around her face, probably in wild disarray from the trip through the Floo network. I should have plaited it or something, and, oh bollocks, I just had to make a spectacular entrance, didn’t I?


An awkward silence fell between the two of them. Searching frantically for something to say, Ginny decided to make light of the strangely tense atmosphere. “At least you didn’t ask ‘so, Ginny, how was your trip?’”


She was relieved when Harry laughed outright, breaking the tension. “All right, I won’t ask,” he said, smirking at her.


“Good. That would be so Fred and George of you,” she replied dryly.


Just then, Ron came in through the door, munching on a half-eaten chicken leg. “Why aren’t you at work?” he asked Ginny bluntly, before he settled himself on the sofa and propped his feet up on the table.


“Nice to see you too, Ron,” replied Ginny with a touch of sarcasm. “And since you asked me so politely, the answer to your question is that I got off early.”


“Huh.” Ron eyed her critically. “Your hair’s a mess.”


“Thanks a lot,” replied Ginny shortly, peeved that her brother just had to call attention to the fact that she looked like a harridan in front of Harry. She ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to get it into some semblance of order.


“Hey, it’s not as bad as mine,” said Harry, grinning and tugging at his own messy hair.


Ginny stared longingly at the thick black locks. She had always wondered if they were as soft as they appeared to be. When her eyes made their way back to Harry’s face, she was startled to see that he was looking keenly back at her.


“Uh, how — how about you, Harry?” she stammered out, totally thrown by the intensity in his green eyes. “What you’re doing at The Burrow?”


“He’s having a rest from a run-in with McLaggen,” mumbled Ron through a mouthful of chicken.


“McLaggen?” echoed Ginny incredulously. “As in Cormac McLaggen?”


Ron’s face darkened. “Yeah, same tosser who hit Harry on the head with a Bludger and knocked him unconscious during our sixth year.”


“That stupid wanker!” exclaimed Ginny hotly. “What happened? Weren’t you playing against his team during your last game, Harry?”


Again, Ron answered for Harry. “Seems McLaggen wasn’t too happy about our boy Harry here snatching the Snitch from under his foot. He decided to let his displeasure known by introducing his foot to Harry’s head.”


“What?” Ginny turned to Harry, horrified. “Are you okay?”


Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I’m fine.”


“You always say that, even if you’re not,” said Ginny with mild exasperation. “Ron, I hope that your department did something about that idiot.”


“The idiot’s been suspended for the rest of the season,” her brother answered, before he gave her a pointed look. “You should’ve been there, Ginny. Don’t you have a season pass?”


Ginny squirmed uneasily as both Ron and Harry levelled expectant gazes at her. “Well, yeah, but I was busy on a case,” she explained, inwardly wincing at her weak excuse. She thought she saw a flash of hurt in Harry’s eyes, but it disappeared so swiftly that she decided that she had imagined it.


“You work too much,” declared Ron, biting into the chicken leg for emphasis. “Didn’t you at least read about it? It was all over the Prophet.”


Ginny shook her head. “I haven’t had time to read the paper lately, and Crookshanks decided to shred our copy of today’s Prophet. I did overhear some people at the Ministry talking about you, but I didn’t hear what they were saying.” She looked at Harry in concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”


Harry gave her a crooked grin. “I’m fine. Really. I’ve been worse, as you very well know.”


Ginny nodded mutely; too distracted by that smile Harry was flashing her to form coherent words. It was the same lopsided smile that he used to give her when they talked into the long hours of the night, comfortably ensconced in the squashy armchairs of the Gryffindor common room. She remembered that she had come to think of it as her smile, because Harry had always seemed to have reserved it for her alone. She felt the colour rushing to her cheeks and was thankful that Harry’s attention was diverted the sound of her mother’s voice.


“Is that Ginny I hear?” Mrs Weasley walked out of the kitchen and came over to embrace her daughter. “Hello, dear. Have you eaten? You’re really too thin, Ginny. Did you bring enough clothes? No matter, I’m sure you still have some upstairs in your old room. Why don’t you put your bags up there, and you can help me with dinner.” She turned to Harry and Ron. “Harry, dear, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve put you in the twins’ old room. Just be careful not to open that third drawer of the cabinet on the right side of the room. Oh, and you should probably avoid touching anything in the boxes under the beds. Ronald, get your feet off my clean furniture. Why don’t you give Harry a hand in bringing his bag upstairs?”


Without waiting for an answer, she returned to the kitchen, muttering about getting dinner ready before Mr Weasley came home.


A sudden stab of alarm jolted Ginny out of the mesmerizing spell of Harry’s smile. “Uh, did I hear Mum correctly? Are you staying at The Burrow too, Harry?” She waited nervously, not sure what she wanted his answer to be.


Harry inclined his head. “Yeah, the Healer wanted to keep me for observation at St Mungo’s, but he said that it would be all right for me to stay home as long as someone’s always around to watch over me.” He pulled a face. “I told him I was fine, but he kept going on about possible delayed complications of head trauma.”


By now, Ron had finished gnawing on his chicken leg and was aimlessly waving it around. “Harry wanted to stay at our flat but I told him that I couldn’t be his nanny since I had to work, so we agreed the best place for him to be was here with Mum. He’s been given an emergency holiday leave.”


“Hang on.” Harry looked at Ginny curiously. “Did your mum say that you’re staying here too?”


Ginny nodded numbly. How in Godric’s name was she supposed to survive staying in the same house as Harry? She had made it a point not to stay longer than necessary in his company, not trusting herself when she was around him for too long. Sometimes she got these strange urges to brush back his tousled black hair off his forehead and permanently plaster her lips to his.


Not to mention the other, unmentionable desires that she tried very hard to suppress when Harry was anywhere within six yards of her current location.


“Really?” Ron sounded unusually gleeful. Ginny shot him a dark look, but her brother’s blue eyes blinked innocently back at her. “That’s interesting. What’s the reason?”


Ginny gave her brother another mistrustful glare before answering. “Bill and Fleur are going to Asia on assignment, and they’re dropping off Amelie and Michel here. Bill’s asked me to help Mum take care of them.”


Harry’s face lit up. “That’s spectacular news. Those two are brilliant. They’ll keep me from being bored.” Ginny had to smile at Harry’s enthusiasm. She had forgotten that he also doted on Bill’s children whenever he had chanced upon them at The Burrow. “They’ll be how old now?”


“Amelie’s almost two years old, and Michel’s almost three.”


“Wait, how can Michel be almost three?” asked a confused Harry. “When did Bill and Fleur get married again?”


“Michel was — ahem — shall we say — a ‘premature’ child?” said Ginny with a hint of laughter in her voice.


“Huh?” said Ron, looking bewildered while Harry chuckled as he put two and two together.


Ginny sighed and shook her head. “That means Fleur was already pregnant when they got married, Ron,” she explained patiently.


Her brother’s face cleared up. “Oh. No wonder Fleur looked a bit fat during the wedding.”


Ginny rolled her eyes and laughed along with Harry.


“Well then, Harry, I suppose you and Ginny will have a grand old time taking care of the children!” exclaimed Ron, grinning toothily at both of them. He Banished the chicken leg to the kitchen, turned and hefted Harry’s bag over his shoulder. “I think I’ll go put your stuff in your room, mate. Ginny? You need some help with your stuff?”


Ginny looked at him apprehensively. Her brother was never one to willingly offer to do anything nice for her. He was up to something. “No thanks, Ron, I can manage.” She made to levitate her bag off the floor, but Ron beat her to it.


“Nonsense, Ginny, it’ll be no trouble at all. Locomotor Ginny’s bag!” He flicked his wand and followed the valise up the stairs, whistling something that sounded like “Weasley Is Our King” as he did so, leaving Harry and Ginny quite alone in the living room.


*

Back to index


Chapter 6: Rekindling Flames

Author's Notes: Thanks to Chreechree.


Rekindling Flames



As the off-key whistling of Ron faded away, Harry became very aware of the fact that for the first time in a very long time, he was standing in very close proximity to Ginny, and that there was no one else around to disturb them.


So, instead of engaging her in intelligent conversation like any other normal person, Harry became preoccupied once again by her hair — the bright copper strands that had distracted him to no end during their Hogwarts days had darkened to a rich, warm auburn colour, and it fell in soft waves that framed her pretty face perfectly. He hastily stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans in order to stop himself from touching the loose strand of hair that curled tantalisingly against her smooth cheek.


“…Harry?”


The sound of his name startled him, and he belatedly became mindful of the fact that Ginny was saying something to him. With some difficulty, he managed to shift his attention away from the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and tried to appear like he had been listening all along and not mooning over her like a lovestruck teenager.


“Sorry?”


Ginny seemed amused at his expression, which Harry suspected bordered on the gormless. “Are you quite certain you’re okay? I think that thumping you received from McLaggen has made your brains a bit wonky.”


“Well, erm, I was… distracted,” he said, offering her an apologetic grin.


“By what?” Harry watched in fascination as her silky hair swung about her shoulders while she looked around the room. “It’s just you and me.”


“Precisely,” muttered Harry under his breath.


“What was that, Harry?”


He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, nothing. Anyway, what was your question again?”


Ginny cast a penetrating gaze at him before she shrugged her shoulders. “I asked you how long you’ll be staying over.” She removed her work robes and draped them neatly over the back of a chair. Harry saw that she was wearing slim-fitting black trousers and a long-sleeved turquoise shirt that complimented her milky complexion. She moved to settle herself comfortably on the sofa, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her.


“About a week, if my Healer has his way,” he said resignedly, sitting down beside her and angling his body so that it was slightly facing hers. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine. I don’t understand why everyone’s making such a big deal out of it. I mean, I had worse injuries when we were still in Hogwarts.”


“Well, you were still in the prime of your youth back then,” teased Ginny, laughing softly at him and shifted to mimic his position.



Harry liked the way that her eyes seemed to sparkle when she laughed. He had not had the opportunity to see them up close for a while now. Then what she had said registered in his brain and he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, what do you mean I was in the prime of my youth back then?” he asked, pretending to scowl at her. “What am I now? A barmy old codger?”


“Oh yes, you’re quite the old man now. That’s why they’re so worried about you. You must be — what? Forty? Forty-five?” she said impishly.


“Very funny, Ginny,” he retorted, although he could not help but chuckle along with her. Her laughter was infectious. “If I’m forty-five, then that would make you an old maid at forty-four years old, since you’re only a year younger than me.”


“How do you know that I’m an old maid, Harry?” She tilted her head and arched her eyebrows at him. “For all you know, I could be having a torrid and highly scandalous affair with my filthy rich and very much married boss.” Ginny flung her arms out dramatically. “Or I could have a passionate Latin lover or two waiting for me back at my flat!” she declared fervently before she collapsed against the sofa, laughing heartily.


Harry knew that Ginny was merely making a joke, but he still felt like he had been punched in the gut. He realised that he had absolutely no idea if she did have a boyfriend, because he had never wanted to find out.


Stop it, he scolded himself. You have no right to be jealous. You’re merely friends with her, right? Still, he could not help but feel the slow burn of jealousy as he thought of Ginny in the arms of some other man — married, single, Latin or otherwise.


“Besides, when women are in their forties, they’re at their sexual peak, whereas men have already crashed and burned by the time they’re past eighteen,” continued Ginny in a tone reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. She then blinked several times as if she had only realised what she had said, and then her cheeks became slightly pink and she coughed self-consciously.


“At least that’s what last week’s Witch Weekly said,” she clarified hastily, not looking directly at Harry. “Luna subscribes to it, you see, and sometimes she leaves it lying around open in the loo or in the living room, so I may, on occasion, happen to glance at it. I don’t actually read it or anything like that.” She paused to take a breath, and then Ginny bowed her head and fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.


Harry stared at her, nonplussed at the turn the conversation had taken. Fortunately, any embarrassing reactions his body might have had to the enticing images of Ginny at her sexual peak that were currently flitting through his brain were forestalled when heavy footsteps were heard pounding down the stairs. Ron’s lanky frame soon came into view, an old, neon orange Chudley Cannons hat jammed over his vivid hair.


“Look what I found! I thought Mum threw it out ages ago!” He pointed proudly to the hat, before sitting down in an armchair opposite Harry and Ginny. “Merlin, I’m starving. Isn’t dinner ready yet?” Ron put his feet up on the table again. “So, what’s up with you, Ginny? Still married to your work?”


Ginny made a face. “I enjoy my work, Ron. It’s very interesting.”


“Yeah, but that’s all you ever do. You’re almost as bad as Hermione sometimes, but at least she manages to go out with me once in a while.”


“There are more important things in life than going out, Ron.”


Harry felt his heart leap at Ginny’s words. She was not seeing anyone right now!


Ginny reached into the pocket of her trousers and brought out an elastic which she used to tie her hair back. “’Sides, I don’t think going out with a nutter like you counts as having a social life,” she pointed out, tapping her chin as if considering something of great import. “I suppose it would be more of a punishment for past transgressions in a previous life.”


“Ha ha. You’re a right bundle of laughs, Ginny.” Ron snorted in disgust. “You’re like Harry over here. He’s a famous Quidditch star and all that, but does he use it to his advantage to get the girls? No!” He sighed melodramatically. “His lovelife’s absolute rubbish.”


Dragging his gaze from the fascinating way that Ginny’s scooped neckline accentuated the smooth column of her neck, Harry countered Ron’s statement. “Well, Ginny’s right, mate. There are more important things in life than going out.” Like waiting for the love of your life to begin noticing you again, he added silently, meeting Ginny’s curious gaze with one of his own. “Why would I want to go out with the sort of girl who only likes me for my fame? I want a girl who really likes me for who I really am, not merely because I’m Harry Potter.”


“I think I know someone who fits that description, and wouldn’t you know it, she’s sitting right— ouch!” yelped Ron. Ginny had suddenly leaned forward and given him a resounding smack on the arm. “What the bloody hell was that for?” he cried, rubbing at the sore spot.


“Sorry, I thought I saw a Doxy there,” said Ginny smoothly. Harry was mildly surprised and more than a little intrigued when a very light blush slowly made its way across her cheeks. Ginny averted her eyes and stood up quickly, slipping her feet back into her shoes.


“Well, I’d better see if Mum needs any help in the kitchen,” she announced.


Ron, who was still massaging his arm, grunted. “You do that.”


Ginny stuck her tongue out at him.


Harry rose to his feet as well. “I’ll go with you, Ginny,” he offered.


“No, no.” She gently pushed him down again, sending pleasurable warmth through him where her hand had touched his shoulder. Was he imagining things, or did her hand linger for just a bit longer than necessary? “You rest, old timer.” She gave a small smile and headed toward the kitchen, leaving a somewhat befuddled Harry with a hugely smirking Ron.


“What?” he asked his best friend.


“Oh, nothing,” said Ron, and crossed his arms behind his head. “Merely wondering how long it’ll be before you remove your head from your arse and admit that you still fancy my baby sister.”


“What are you on about, Ron?” blustered Harry, feeling his ears grow warm. “I don’t fancy Ginny.”


“All right, you don’t fancy her,” said Ron, looking far too smug for Harry’s comfort. “You’re just very very much in like with her.”


Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. He heaved a resigned sigh. “Am I that obvious, then?”


“Well, it’s hard to ignore the fact that you’ve only been staring at her like the last piece of treacle tart ever since she got here.” Ron grinned as Harry groaned and leaned back on the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. “C’mon, mate. Why don’t you go ask her out? Hermione and I’ve always wondered why you two never got together after you got rid of U-No-Poo.”


“I don’t know, Ron,” confessed Harry. “I really wanted to — I still do, in fact — but I got the impression that Ginny wasn’t interested in dating anyone.”


Ron looked completely mystified. “Huh? Wherever did you get that daft idea?”


“Um, I might have overheard Ginny and Hermione talking on the porch during Ginny’s birthday party.” At Ron’s raised eyebrows, Harry said defensively, “It was purely an accident! It wasn’t like I was lurking by the window, staring at Ginny and eavesdropping on them.”


“Right,” said Ron sardonically. “Of course not.”


Harry glared at him. “Anyway, Ginny told Hermione that she wasn’t interested in going out with anyone.” He sighed glumly. “I took it that included me. Besides, I hardly get to see her, and when I do, she always says she’s busy with work. She’s never even come to one my matches,” complained Harry.


“Why don’t you just grab her and go snog somewhere?” Ron paused and looked a bit ill. “Just not in front of me, all right?”


“Somehow, I don’t think Ginny would appreciate me using caveman tactics on her, Ron.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. “I think she deserves more than that. And like I said, I don’t think she likes me that way. ”


Ron folded his arms across his chest and regarded Harry seriously. “You can be really thick sometimes. Even thicker than me and that’s saying a lot.” He ignored Harry’s indignant sputters. “Listen, mate, I know you, and I know Ginny almost as well as I know you. And I know that you know that I know that I know the both of you.”


“Erm, right. Do you think you could you run that by me again?” asked Harry a little sarcastically. “You sound like the time when you were trying to tell me the story when you caught Millicent Bulstrode and Goyle in the boys’ bathroom. You remember that? You said they were both stark—”


“Augh! Don’t say it!” shouted Ron, flailing his large hands about in panic. “I’m still wishing I had asked Hermione to Obliviate me after what I saw!”


Both of them paled at the image that ran unwelcome in their minds.


“Right.” Ron shook his head vigorously as if to clear it from the highly unpleasant memory. “Anyway, Harry, what I’m trying to tell you is that I have a feeling that Ginny never really got over you.”


“But, Hermione said—” Harry knit his brows in confusion.


“No, Hermione said that Ginny gave up on you,” said Ron, in a slow, patient tone one normally reserved for those who had suffered severe Spell Damage and were confined in the Janus Thickey Ward with Gilderoy Lockhart. “She never said that my sister got over you.” He paused to let the importance of his words sink in, smiling smugly when Harry gawped at him in astonishment. “Hermione calls it ‘sympathicomimetics’,” said Ron, nodding his head wisely.


“Er, Ron, don’t you mean ‘semantics’?” said Harry, trying not laugh.


“Whatever.” Ron shrugged. “I mean, Ginny’s only gone out a few times since she graduated.”


“Really?” This was news to Harry. He had always made it a point not to ask about Ginny’s social life. He certainly never wanted to learn any details about the men that she went out with, just as he was careful never to speak about his own admittedly meagre dates at any gathering where Ginny was present.


“Yeah,” said Ron slowly, giving him a strange look. “Now that I think of it…”


“What?”


“I’ve just realised something weird about those blokes that Ginny’s gone out with. They almost always seemed to resemble you in some way. All of them had dark hair, and one of them even had green eyes.”


“That’s probably just a coincidence, Ron,” said Harry dismissively, although he felt peculiarly pleased at what he was hearing. So, Ginny liked to go out with dark-haired, green-eyed men, did she?


“Hang on,” said Ron, a grin forming on his face. “Now that I think about it, none of the birds that you’ve gone out with lasted beyond the first date. What was the name of the redhead who kept cackling like an Erkling?”


“Hilary,” muttered Harry, wincing slightly. Ron was right, the witch had giggled and squealed like an Erkling hit with a permanent Rictusempra spell. By the end of the evening, Harry had wanted to pass by Hogwarts to leave her in the care of Hagrid, but he had reined in his Magizoology impulses and had simply dropped a still giggling Hilary off at her flat in Middlesex.


“What about the one who wouldn’t stop talking about being a vegetarian?” Ron shuddered. “That one put the willies up me, Harry.”


“You mean Cherry? She wasn’t a vegetarian. I think she called herself a fruitarian.”


“Huh? I didn’t know you swung that way!” Ron eyed him uneasily and moved away from him.


Harry rolled with laughter. “No, you complete wally! That means she only ate fruit. She got right shirty with me when I brought her to the Three Broomsticks.”


“Oh, right, the haven of rabid fruitarians everywhere!” Ron slapped his knee and guffawed loudly.


“Yeah, well, then, I — erm — ordered a double serving of steak and kidney pie. Merlin, you should have seen her throw a wobbly! I didn’t hear from her again.” Harry grimaced as Ron continued to laugh uproariously. “Thank Dumbledore for small mercies.”


“That’s bloody unnatural.” Ron shook his head. “Really, Harry. Your dating history is ruddy awful, except maybe for that last redhead that you went out with — you know, the one that was reserve Chaser for the Harpies. She was dead gorgeous.” He gave a sigh of appreciation. “What happened to her?”


“Hmmm…How do I say this without being rude?” Harry furrowed his brow. “Medea was very pretty, but she turned out to be a bit of a nutter, yeah? The first date went smashingly, but by the time we went on the second one, she was already talking about holding our wedding at her ancestral home in Greece. It was downright scary. I think she even had the china pattern all picked out and everything.”


Ron sniggered loudly at Harry’s misfortunes in the romantic arena. “That’s three for three, Harry! You sure know how to pick them. How about someone a little closer to home, eh? You can use this stay at The Burrow to rekindle old flames. Fan the fires of forgotten desires, even.” He winked exaggeratedly.


Harry groaned. “You’ve been reading Hermione’s Muggle romance books again, haven’t you?” He grabbed a cushion from the sofa and threw it at his friend, which Ron caught and promptly hurled back at him. Harry ducked and the cushion sailed over his head.


“Watch it!” exclaimed Ginny, whipping out her wand and deflecting the cushion away from her to hit Ron directly in the stomach.


“Oops. Sorry, Ginny,” said Harry, wondering when she had come in. Had she heard anything of his conversation with Ron?


She smiled brightly at him. “That’s all right, Harry. I know that it was all Ronnie’s fault.”


“Hey!” Her brother protested in outrage. “Harry threw it first!”


“Yes, but you threw it back,” replied Ginny loftily. “At any rate, Mum said it’s time for dinner. Dad’s already in the kitchen. He Apparated in a few minutes ago.”


“All right!” Ron sprung up and bounded out of the living room. “About time! I’m practically wasting away over here!”


“Come on, Harry. Mum said we need to fatten you up,” she said, eyeing him critically as he rose to his feet. “Not that there seems to be anything wrong with you,” she murmured, almost to herself.


“I’m glad you approve,” said Harry jokingly. “I knew you only liked me for my body.”


“You wish,” retorted Ginny, rolling her eyes at him. “I’m not one of your Quidditch groupies, you know. I don’t worship the ground you walk on simply because you’re Harry Potter!” she declared haughtily.


Harry grinned at her, hoping that she meant what she had just said. “So you admit it, you do worship the ground I walk on!”


She gaped wordlessly at him, her face a brilliant scarlet. However, after a few seconds, Ginny tossed her head impatiently. “In your dreams, Harry,” she scoffed, despite the colour still flooding her cheeks. “Now, chivvy along before your best friend eats everything. We’re having roast beef and you know how much Ron loves that.”


Ginny hurriedly shoved her wand in her back pocket, and as she turned around, Harry caught the faint scent of her shampoo. Freesias, he thought absentmindedly as he trailed behind her. He watched the delightfully alluring sway of her hips and smiled to himself.


Ron was absolutely correct.


It was time to start dating a little closer to home.


And maybe fan the fires of a forgotten desire or two.

*


Back to index


Chapter 7: An Invitation

Author's Notes: Thanks to Chreechree, my awesome beta, and to everyone who's left such great reviews.


An Invitation



Ginny pushed her roast beef around her plate as the unsettling conversation she’d just had with Harry played over and over in her head. No matter how she analysed it, there was no getting around the fact that she had all but confessed to him that she was lusting after his body.


Which, she had to admit, was the honest-to-Merlin truth, but he didn’t have to know that, did he?


Maybe she could plead temporary insanity if anyone confronted her about it.


And that surreal discussion about sexual peaks and whatnot!


Bugger.


Deciding that banging her head repeatedly on the worn wooden surface of the kitchen table would draw unnecessary attention to herself, Ginny instead sneaked another look at Harry, who was sitting directly in front of her and listening intently to Ron recount the latest rumour circulating about Cormac McLaggen.


“He’s been spotted where?” asked Harry incredulously.


“The Purple Paisley Plimpy,” replied Ron, making a face as he reached for his goblet.


“What’s that?” inquired Mr Weasley with interest. “Some sort of an aquatic life appreciation club?”


“Ron!” Mrs Weasley cried out in dismay when her son inadvertently sprayed her with pumpkin juice.


Ginny hid a smile with her hand while Harry laughingly pounded on Ron’s back. Mrs Weasley gave a small ‘tsk’ of disapproval and flicked her wand at her robes.


“It’s a Wizarding bar, Dad,” said Ron when he finally managed to stop spluttering.


“Oh, that’s good.” Mr Weasley smiled and nodded.


“Dad, it’s supposed to be — um — a different kind of Wizarding bar.”


“Different? Why is it different?”


“Well, it just... is,” said Ron, gesturing helplessly in the air.


Ginny took pity on her obviously uncomfortable brother. “It’s in Soho, Dad,” she said helpfully.


It was Mr Weasley’s turn to choke on his tea.


“Arthur!” exclaimed Mrs Weasley irritably as Mr Weasley wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.


“Sorry, Molly love.” He waved his wand at his wife, and then looked at Ron. “One of those, eh?” Mr Weasley tapped the side of his nose knowingly.


“One of what?” asked Mrs Weasley, looking confused.


Ginny laughed at her mother’s increasingly shocked expression as her dad and Ron both haltingly explained what kind of clientele frequented The Purple Paisley Plimpy. She glanced furtively once again at Harry. If only he didn’t look abso-bloody-lutely gorgeous all the time, Ginny thought longingly. Harry was trim and fit, and his arms flexed powerfully as he reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice. His black hair was still endearingly messy, and his eyes were still the arresting shade of green that Ginny’s eleven-year old self had once waxed poetic about.


Funny, mused Ginny, they’re still as green as a fresh pickled toad, aren’t they? The small giggle forming in her throat instantly died when she realised that said eyes with the same colour as a small, warty amphibian marinated in brine were now staring back at her in amusement.


“What?” she asked, feeling a bit stupid at being caught swooning over him like some besotted underage fan of the Weird Sisters.


“I was about to ask you when Bill’s bringing Amelie and Michel over,” said Harry, those damnable green eyes of his twinkling at her.


“Oh,” said Ginny, fighting to keep her cheeks from turning red for what seemed like the hundredth time.


What the heck was the matter with her?


Damn capillaries.


“Um, Bill said that it would be some time today, if I’m not mistaken.”


“That’s right, Ginny,” said Mrs Weasley as she got up from the table to clear the dishes. “In fact, he’ll be here any moment, I expect.” She glanced at the Weasley family clock, where Bill’s hand was swinging from “Travelling” to “Home.”


There was a commotion in the living room at that moment, and Mr Weasley rose to investigate. Ginny took the opportunity to stand and assist her mother in levitating the plates towards the sink, in an effort to avoid Harry’s rather disconcerting gaze. Even with her back turned, she could feel him looking at her intently. Her neck was prickling, and the little hairs on her forearms were standing up. It took all of her willpower not to bolt from the room, screaming like a banshee.


What was wrong with him? He’s staring at me like he wants to—


Only a quick flick of her wand managed to keep the dishes from crashing to the floor.


Stop it, she reprimanded herself fiercely as the last of the plates were safely deposited into the sink. Don’t go reading things that aren’t there.


She was grateful when Mr Weasley and Bill came in through the kitchen door, each carrying a fair-haired, blue-eyed child in their arms.


“Oh, my darling angels!” Mrs Weasley rushed forward to first kiss Amelie, and then Michel, on the cheek. Michel allowed Mrs Weasley to take him from his father, and Bill dropped into a seat beside Harry, who greeted him cheerfully. Amelie, her hair in little blonde pigtails, wiggled out of her grandfather’s arms (“Want down, Papy!”) and ran giggling to Ginny as fast as her short legs could carry her. She squealed as Ginny scooped her up and swung her around.


“Hullo, Poppet!” Ginny kissed her niece soundly on both cheeks, then hugged her tightly.


Michel also hopped out of his grandmother’s embrace to approach Ginny. He tugged at her sleeve, and looked at her earnestly.


Bonsoir, Tante Gee,” he said solemnly.


Bonsoir, Michel,” answered Ginny, equally seriously. Then she stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes at him, making the little boy giggle. He stuck his tongue out at her too.


“Oi! How come only Tante Gee gets any love around here?” complained Ron, banging loudly on the table with his fist. “C’mere, you two, and give your Uncle Ron a kiss.”


Ginny put Amelie down. Michel and she ran to Ron and planted wet kisses on his cheeks.


“They really like you, don’t they?” A low voice in her ear startled her. She looked up to find Harry standing beside her.


Ginny suppressed a shiver at his proximity and turned her attention towards the children, who had now climbed into Ron’s lap, searching in the pockets of his robes that always hid a stray treat or two. Within seconds, both Amelie and Michel were happily munching on Licorice Wands while Mrs Weasley scolded Ron for indulging their sweet tooth.


“Well, I adore them. They’re just so cute. Thank Dumbledore that they didn’t get too many Veela traits from Fleur.”


She felt, rather than saw him smile. “Yeah, well, let’s hope they get some of their more lovely traits from their Tante Gee,” he said softly, before he moved to get his own sticky kisses from Michel and Amelie, who both yelled delightedly when they saw him.


Ginny was still trying to decide if Harry had meant anything by his statement when Bill came over and kissed her on the cheek.


“Hullo!” she said, beaming at her oldest brother, who appeared happy and content. “You look good,” she complimented him, tugging at the collar of his black leather jacket.


“Thanks, Squirt.” Bill ruffled her hair and draped an affectionate arm around her shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself, although you’re beginning to look more like Great Aunt Tessie every time I see you,” he teased, bumping his hip against hers.


“Take that back, you git.” Ginny elbowed him in the side. “You know perfectly well that except for the moustache, I’m the spitting image of Great Aunt Muriel,” she deadpanned as she leaned against her oldest brother’s solid warmth. “Speaking of facial hair,” said Ginny, smiling sweetly at Bill when he raised an eyebrow at her, “where’s your lovely wife?”


Fleur,” said Bill, putting emphasis on his wife’s name with a slight nod of his head, “had to stop by Gringotts to make some last-minute arrangements for our trip, and then she’s supposed to go home and shave.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “I love her to bits, but between you and me, Ginny, I was becoming tired of having beard burn all over my body,” finished Bill with a straight face.


“Oh, yuck!” cried Ginny, clapping her hands to her ears. “Bill!”


“You asked for it, Squirt, taking the mickey out of Fleur like that,” he retorted. “Besides, Veela don’t need to shave — they just moult naturally.”


Ginny gave an inelegant snort and they both began laughing madly.


“Oh, wait,” said Bill, after their chuckles had died down, “I almost forgot.” He pointed his wand toward the living room. “Accio Michel and Amelie’s bags!


Two brightly coloured rucksacks flew into the kitchen to land neatly at Ginny’s feet. One was pink and fluffy, with little silver hearts all around it, and the other was green and scaly, with a fierce-looking dragon head where the handle should be.


“Fleur packed everything that you could possibly require for those two in there. Books, toys, clothes, the lot. If you need anything else, well, ask Mum, I suppose. You have to watch out for Michel’s bag, though.” At Ginny’s puzzled expression, he explained, “Charlie sent it from Romania. It breathes fire when the dragon’s feeling a bit cross.”


“Kind of like Mum,” quipped Ginny.


“Or you,” said Bill, poking her in the side.


“I’m glad you’re well aware of that,” she said archly.


They both laughed again and turned to watch as Harry, with Amelie on his back, and Ron, with Michel on his, pranced around the room, pretending that they were hippogriffs flying through the air. Mr and Mrs Weasley looked on indulgently, although Mrs Weasley did ask Harry if he should be exerting himself so soon after his injury. She then screeched in alarm when Ron accidentally crashed into the kitchen table, and both he and Michel fell into a laughing heap onto the floor. Harry and Amelie soon joined them, and all four ended up in a tickle fight.


“Thanks, Ginny, for doing this,” said Bill, squeezing her shoulder.


“No problem at all,” replied Ginny, grinning mischievously. “Besides, it gave me an excuse to slack off from work.”


“I noticed that you’ve been too caught up with your job lately. You work too hard, Ginny,” said Bill in a concerned voice.


Ginny rolled her eyes. All of her brothers seemed to object to her working long hours. “I like my job, Bill.”


“Yeah, but it takes too much of your time.”


Ginny rolled her eyes again, and decided to change the topic. Bill was sounding entirely too much like her mother for her taste. “How long will you be away?” asked Ginny, smiling at the sight of Harry being tickled mercilessly by two sets of chubby fingers. Harry suddenly looked up and winked at her, causing her cheeks to warm up considerably.


“Only a few days,” answered Bill, sounding highly pleased about something.


Ginny turned to find a smirk worthy of the twins on his face. “What?” she asked warily.


Bill looked speculatively at her and then at Harry, who had resumed pretending that he had been mortally wounded as Michel and Amelie enthusiastically jabbed him with their Licorice Wands. “Oh, nothing. I understand that Harry will be staying here for some time too, yeah?”


“Yes, he is. He needs to have someone watch over him while he recovers from his injury. His Healer didn’t want him to stay alone in his flat and wanted someone they could trust to see that he’s taking it easy for the next few days.”


“So, I take it you volunteered to be his nursemaid then?”


“Of course not!” said Ginny loudly, making everyone look curiously at her. She smiled weakly at the others and then whispered furiously to Bill, “I did not volunteer to take care of Harry, you prat.”


“Oh, so ickle Harrykins is not going to get extra special attention from Nurse Ginny, is he?” Bill raised both eyebrows at her and tilted his head inquiringly, his fang earring dangling from his ear.


“Shut up, Bill.” Ginny hit him on the arm. “It’s simply by accident that we’re both staying in The Burrow at the same time.”


“By accident, you say?” said Bill, his mouth quirking up into a smile. “A happy accident, then, I take it?”


“Bill!” Ginny raised her wand threateningly.


Bill held up his hands in mock surrender. “All right, no need to get defensive, Squirt. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to tend to those you — er — care for.” He winced when she whacked him with her wand. “Okay, I’ll stop. I’ll stop!” He rubbed his arm, which had turned red under Ginny’s merciless hits.


“Tante Gee mad like Maman?” Michel — now munching on a ginger newt that his grandfather had slipped him while Mrs Weasley was getting something from the larder — walked up to his father and gazed up at him with interest.


“Er, no,” said Bill, shaking his head and giving Ginny a dark look when she began sniggering.


“Oi! Look what I’ve found!” Ron stomped over to Bill, a giggling Amelie wrapped firmly around his right leg.


Bill stooped and peered at Amelie. “I reckon you’ve got a leech problem here, Uncle Ron. Let’s see if we can get it off, shall we?” He blew a raspberry on the back of his daughter’s neck, extricated the squealing child from Ron’s leg and set her down on the floor beside Michel.


“Now, my darlings,” said Bill, kneeling down in front of his children, “remember Papa and Maman said that you have to be good while you stay at Mémé Molly and Papy’s house, right?” Amelie and Michel bobbed their heads in unison. “Tante Gee and Uncle Harry will stay here too, so you be good for them also.”


Michel turned to face Ginny. “Uncle Harry stay with Tante Gee?” he asked, his blue eyes blinking curiously at her.


Ginny felt the tips of her ears reddening, and even without looking, she could tell that both Ron and Bill were smirking in her direction. What she had not expected was her father making a strange gasping sound that sounded suspiciously like a hastily muffled snort of laughter. She didn’t dare look at Harry, who was leaning casually against the counter, not saying anything.


Narrowing her eyes at her brothers (and at her dad too, for good measure), Ginny was about to answer her nephew when someone suddenly spoke up.


“Yes, Michel, Uncle Harry will stay with Tante Gee,” confirmed Mrs Weasley, smiling at the little blond boy as she came to stand by her eldest son.


“Of course he will!” said Ron in a maddeningly jovial tone. Ginny directed a ferocious glare at him, which he blithely ignored. Huffing in annoyance, her gaze then fell on Harry, who gave her a crooked grin, and she found herself unable to resist smiling wryly back at him.


“Bill, dear, you’d best say farewell,” said Mrs Weasley. “They’ll be fine. If you don’t hurry, you might miss your Portkey.”


Bill hugged his children. “Maman and Papa will be back soon, all right? Papa has to go bye-bye for now.”


At the words ‘bye-bye’, Amelie began to cry, and Michel blinked back a few tears. Bill planted a kiss on Amelie’s forehead. “Shh, mon petit ange, Papa will be back soon. Michel, you take care of your sister, all right?”


Ginny took the softly sniffling Amelie and rocked her gently. Harry came up to the little girl and began making funny faces, which soon had Amelie giggling again. Michel solemnly shook his father’s hand and then kissed him on the cheek. “Au revoir, Papa. I take care of Amelie.”


Bill nodded at his first-born, stood up and surreptitiously wiped his eyes. “All right, I’ll be going now. Have fun, you lot!” He shook hands with Harry, and looked meaningfully at Ginny before he left, Mr and Mrs Weasley accompanying him to the living room.


Ron looked at his watch and said, “Bugger, I was supposed to meet Hermione at the Ministry about five minutes ago. I need to go too! I’ll leave you two to mind the children, yeah?” He slapped Harry on the back, grinned insolently at Ginny and waved good-bye before Disapparating with a soft crack.


Ginny sat down again, Amelie still holding on to her tightly with her chubby arms. She glanced at Michel, who had been quiet since his father had left, and then at Harry, who was also looking at the boy with some concern. Their gazes met, and she was touched by the compassion that she saw in them. He gave her a small smile then bent down to address Michel. “How about I show you how to get rid of gnomes, eh?”


The little boy brightened up considerably. “Oui! I like that!” he said eagerly, taking Harry’s hand as they walked out of the kitchen and into the garden. The last thing that Ginny heard was Harry asking Michel, “Are there any gnomes where you live?” before the door shut, and the sound of Michel’s excited chatter faded away.


“And what about you, Poppet? What would you like to do?” Ginny looked down to find that Amelie was fast asleep, her thumb stuck in her mouth. Apparently all the excitement had been too much for her. Ginny shifted the little girl slightly, reached into her pocket and took out her wand. She levitated the children’s bags off the floor and directed them up the stairs to Bill’s old room, where Mrs Weasley had transfigured Bill’s bed into a cot. Harry’s old camp bed had also been moved from Ron’s room and was in the other corner.


Ginny kissed Amelie on the forehead before lowering her gently into the cot. When the dragon head on Michel’s bag failed to flame her when she gingerly touched it with her wand, she unpacked the bags, marvelling at the amount of things that two tiny children needed for such a short stay at The Burrow.


After she had put away the last of their pyjamas, she went to her old bedroom to unpack her own clothes, and then she lay down on her childhood bed and looked around her with some nostalgia. Everything appeared to be exactly the same as she left it.


The yellow wallpaper with the small rose prints was relatively intact, if fading in some places. Some of her textbooks from Hogwarts were piled haphazardly on her desk, and her frayed Gryffindor scarf adorned the mirror over her small vanity. Even her ancient poster of the Weird Sisters was tacked on one wall, the lead singer Myron Wagtail still scandalously gyrating and thrusting his hips in it. Ginny smiled when she remembered her mum’s horrified protests when she first saw it, but Ginny had caught her ogling the singer more than once when she had come in to clean the room.


The only thing new was the tawny owl that was dozing on top of her cabinet. “Hello, Icky. When did you get here?” Icarus opened one eye, hooted once, then went back to sleep.


She must have dozed off herself, because the next thing she knew, an insistent tapping sound was coming from her bedroom window. Yawning, she looked outside to see a handsome eagle owl perched on the sill, a large yellow-green envelope in its beak. Ginny let the impatient bird in and it dropped the thick embossed envelope at her feet and flew away again without waiting for any acknowledgement.


“Well, that was rude.” She picked up what was obviously an invitation of some sorts and read the words “Ms Ginevra Weasley” written in ornate crimson script that clashed quite horribly with the chartreuse paper. Curious, she opened it to find a heavy, expensive piece of parchment inside.




~o~

The Contessa Annunciata Alcina Assunta Mugatu
Roma, Italia

and

Mr and Mrs Sebastian Vane
London, England

wish to announce the glorious nuptials of our children

Raphael Michelangelo Leonardo Donatello

and

Sylvia


on

the seventh of May, two thousand
ten in the morning

to be held at the

Palazzo del Pecorino
Roma, Italia

~o~

We have reserved two (2) seats for you




Ginny groaned again. So, Sylvia had made good on her threat to invite her to her wedding. Well, she simply would not go. She had not asked to be invited. She was stuffing the invitation back in the envelope when she noticed that there was another, smaller piece of parchment inside. It was a handwritten note from Sylvia.


Ginny,

As you requested, here is the invitation to my wedding. I do hope to see you and whoever you manage to get as your date. It will be good for you to get out more, Ginny. A witch our age shouldn’t be spending all of her time at work. You know what they say about single witches who focus too much on their career, right? I’ve reserved two seats for you, but if you go by yourself, I’m certain that we can find someone for you to talk to at the wedding, so you won’t be too lonely. See you!

Sylvia



“That cow! Who does she think she is?” Ginny fumed at the rather obvious dig at her status as a single witch. Now she had to go to the wedding just to prove that she was not a pathetic loser as that stuck-up little Sylvia had implied. Not only that, she had to find a date, and she only had three days to do it.


She mentally ran down her list of single male friends. Colin Creevey was out — his work as a fashion photographer kept him on the continent and he was heavily involved with Parvati Patil (their relationship had come as somewhat of a shock to everyone), who was also on her way to making a name for herself in the Wizarding fashion world. Neville Longbottom was happily engaged to Hannah Abbot, Dean Thomas was going steady with a Muggle girl, and Ginny certainly could not ask Ron to be her date.


That left Seamus and Har—


Ginny shook her head. She would send an owl to Seamus first thing tomorrow.


Deciding that a shower would help ease her annoyance at Sylvia, Ginny gathered some clothes and a towel from her closet and headed for the bathroom. She was so caught up in thinking of new ways to insult Sylvia that she failed to notice someone coming out of the loo and promptly collided with him.


“Are you all right?” asked Harry, grabbing her by the shoulders to steady her.


Oh Merlin.


“Yes! I was just about to take a shower,” she said in a strangled voice. “See?” She held up her towel as proof, in case he got the idea that she had purposely run into him so that she could press herself tightly against the broad expanse of his firm, well-developed chest.


“Right,” he said absently, keeping his hands on her upper arms and staring intently at her.


Feeling quite certain that she was on the verge of making a complete arse of herself by shamelessly attacking his lips with her own, Ginny forced herself to speak. “Harry? I’ll be using the bathroom now, if you don’t mind.”


Harry gazed at her for another long moment before he seemed to understand what she had said. “Oh, right.” He gave her a lazy smile and leisurely removed his hands from her shoulders.


“Thanks.” Ginny let out a slow breath, turned around and began walking away from him.


“Er, Ginny?”


She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”


“The bathroom’s this way,” Harry pointed out mildly, his lips twitching at the corners.


Flushing in embarrassment, Ginny looked up at the ceiling and despaired at her idiocy. “Of course it is,” she said, plastering a smile on her face as she spun around again. “Don’t you think I know that, Harry? I was merely testing you.”


Harry chuckled and stepped aside to let her pass. Ginny had to forcibly restrain herself from running the rest of the way into the bathroom.


“See you in the morning, Ginny.” Harry shot her one final amused glance before he headed to his own room.


Ginny carefully closed the bathroom door behind her and sat down heavily on the edge of the tub. She then proceeded to stifle a slightly hysterical scream with her towel.


Harry’s hands had been really warm on her shoulders.


Sizzling, if she wanted to get technical about it.


Ginny sighed and stood up to turn the shower on. She tapped the valve twice with her wand in order to lower the temperature of the water.


She had a feeling that this was going to be the first of many a cold shower this week.

*



Back to index


Chapter 8: Floo Calls

Author's Notes: Only three more weeks until Deathly Hallows! OMG.

Thanks to Chreechree. I hope you lot are continuing to enjoy the story.


Floo Calls



Harry snuggled further into his pillows, trying to catch the last vestiges of a decidedly delicious dream that he had been having about towels and creamy, freckled skin. However, a bright and annoyingly cheerful ray of sunlight fell insistently across his face, forcing his eyes open. Harry yawned and scratched his head drowsily, blinking up at the ceiling. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee soon wafted into the room, providing sufficient incentive for him to leave the comfort of his bed and go downstairs to get some caffeine into him.


After a quick trip to the bathroom, where sadly, he did not run into any geographically-challenged redheads, he shuffled into the kitchen with another sleepy yawn. Mrs Weasley looked up from her cooking and smiled when she spotted him. “Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?” She turned some sausages over and then tipped them into a plate.


“Yes, thank you,” answered Harry, smiling slightly as he took a seat at the table, which already had several dishes on it, including bacon, toast, fried eggs and tomatoes. Harry had a feeling that Mrs Weasley would not appreciate hearing exactly why he had slept so well — his dreams had been filled with images of a rosy-pink and glistening Ginny, clad only in a tiny towel and smiling seductively at him.


“That’s good, Harry.” Mrs Weasley placed the heaping platter of sausages in front of him and poured him a cup of coffee. “Oh, your Healer Flooed in a while ago.”


“Did he leave a message?” asked Harry as he speared some sausages with his fork.


“Yes.”


Harry waited for Mrs Weasley to continue speaking, but when no other answer seemed forthcoming, he looked up to find her patting her hair self-consciously.


“You didn’t tell me that your Healer was quite a distinguished-looking man,” said Mrs Weasley in an oddly breathy voice. “And he had to catch me while I was wearing this old thing.” She gestured to her faded floral-print pinny in mild vexation.


“Um, it must have slipped my mind,” said Harry, hiding a grin as he took a sip of coffee. “What did Healer Cosmas want, Mrs Weasley?” he prompted gently.


“Oh, yes,” she said, blushing slightly. She shook her head briskly, removed her pinny then grabbed a large basket hanging from a hook on the wall. “He wanted to remind you to take your potion. Have you, dear?”


“Er, no,” said Harry guiltily. “I’ll do it right after breakfast.”


Mrs Weasley nodded absentmindedly as she rummaged through her pockets for her shopping list. “All right, make sure you do so, Harry. Now, I’m off to Diagon Alley for some errands. We’re low on feed and one of the hens is acting up — I do hope it’s not something those dratted gnomes put into their water again, they will manage to sneak into the coop despite all the anti-pest wards I’ve put up on it — so I need to get something for that from the Magical Menagerie, and oh, did you want anything for Hedwig? I hope to be back for lunch, but in case I’m late, there’s some roast beef in the larder, and if the children want sandwiches, there’s raspberry preserve and cheese in there too.”


Harry was a bit overwhelmed with all the information that Mrs Weasley was rattling off, but he nodded to show that he understood.


“There’s also a chocolate cake in the pantry for afters, but don’t give Amelie too much as she gets a bit difficult to handle if she eats lots of chocolate. Ginny will be here anyway, so you shouldn’t go hungry in case I do come back late,” Mrs. Weasley added, tying a brightly coloured scarf around her hair. “She’s a wonderful cook, you know, and she’s excellent with the children. She works too hard, don’t you think so, Harry? Why, we hardly ever see her! She needs to find a good man and settle down soon.”


Harry thought that Mrs Weasley had given him a rather meaningful look at this point, but he wasn’t sure as she had turned away to get her purse. “Well, I’m off! Oh, did you say that wanted anything from Diagon Alley?”


“No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. Be safe.”


“Thank you, dear. Don’t forget to take your potion,” she reminded him.


He waved to the Weasley matriarch as she left the kitchen, the enormous basket swinging from her arm. Harry curled his hands against his mug and sighed contentedly. He felt quite relaxed, something that he had not truly been for a long time now. Harry chuckled. Maybe it had been a good thing that McLaggen had kicked him in the head.


It was quiet in The Burrow, except for the soft clucking of the chickens outside and the frantic squeals of a garden gnome which had wandered too near the cockerel’s domain. Harry watched dust motes dance in the morning sunlight streaming through the large windows and wondered if Ginny was still asleep. She never had been an early riser. Harry remembered that she always came clomping down from her dormitory at the very last minute, never really waking up until she had at least downed two cups of very strong tea laced with obscene amounts of honey.


It was probably partially his fault, as he and Ginny would spend most evenings talking in the common room until the wee hours of the morning. When Harry finally and reluctantly did make his way back to his four-poster bed, most of his dreams featured a certain feisty redheaded girl with laughing brown eyes instead of an evil Dark Lord bent on killing him. The comfort that those late-night conversations brought him was just another one of the many reasons why he liked Ginny so much.


Harry was pondering on how he should go about his plans to win Ginny over when he heard the unmistakable sound of crying coming from the second floor. He put down his mug and rushed up the stairs, hurrying towards the children’s room, thinking that probably one of them had woken up from a nightmare of some sort.


When he entered the room, he found Amelie standing up and wailing in her cot. “Maman! Maman!” she shrieked loudly, making Harry wince at the high-pitched sounds. Michel was also awake and was at his sister’s side, patting Amelie on the leg in an attempt to comfort her.


As he made his way to the children, Harry could see that the little boy’s blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears as well. He lowered the cot railing and tried to pick Amelie up, but she wiggled away and cried even harder, big fat tears rolling down her angelic face, which, to Harry’s growing apprehension, was rapidly turning an alarming shade of blue. As he looked on helplessly at the increasingly hysterical little girl, Ginny burst into the room, clad in a white dressing gown, her hair still mussed up from sleep.


“What happened?” she asked breathlessly, her quick movements bringing her to Amelie’s side in a trice. “Oh, Poppet. Tante Gee’s here,” she said in a soothing voice as she lifted the little girl effortlessly into her arms.


Harry shrugged feebly as he stared at Ginny’s shapely legs, which the short robe was showing to great advantage.


Merlin, she looks good enough to eat, he thought in bemused admiration.


Harry’s guiltily jerked his head up when Ginny shifted from one foot to the other and began rocking Amelie. Get a grip. There’s a crisis here and all you can do is ogle Ginny’s legs like some kind of degenerate pervert.


Giving himself a mental slap on the forehead for being a depraved bugger, Harry instead focused on Michel. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, and Michel leaned into him with a soft sniffle.


“She probably got scared when she woke up and she didn’t know where she was,” said Ginny as sat down on Michel’s bed, not knowing that her dressing gown had ridden up even more, giving Harry a glimpse of smooth, creamy thigh.


“Er, yeah,” he managed to croak out, before he completely lost the power of speech.


Holy Mother of Merlin. Was Ginny starkers underneath that gown?


Harry hastily ducked his head, concentrating on the well-worn wooden flooring and began enumerating the nine uses of flobberworm mucus — one, main ingredient in bookbinding glue; two, main ingredient in Mrs. Skower’s Magical Mess Remover; three, main ingredient in Gregory’s Unctuous Unction — in an attempt to master his hormones and his overheated imagination. By the time he had reached use number six (main ingredient in Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion), Harry was of the opinion that he was at least marginally successful in his efforts, although he was extremely thankful that his pyjama bottoms were quite baggy.


“Hush, Poppet, everything’s going to be all right,” said Ginny, rubbing Amelie’s back.


Amelie gave a watery hiccough and seemed to calm down a bit. Harry was relieved to see that the little girl’s face was now returning to its normal colour. Michel stood up and went over to sit beside Ginny, who put a consoling arm around him.


A very strange sensation came over Harry, and it wasn’t because he had suddenly forgotten the eighth use of flobberworm mucus (main ingredient in the Grow-Your-Own Warts Kit) and was consequently having the most difficult time trying not to think about what Ginny was — or was not — wearing beneath her dressing gown.


Rather, the sight of the Ginny, her arms wrapped lovingly around Michel and Amelie, made him feel very warm inside, and he could well believe that he was looking at an idyllic portrait of a devoted family.


Harry swallowed thickly as he continued to stare at Ginny and the children. He imagined having his own loving family — one that had pretty redheaded babies with clear brown eyes, just like their mother.


Ginny unexpectedly looked up and met his gaze. She raised her eyebrows at him and Harry felt his face flush slightly. She was probably wondering why he was staring at her and smiling like an idiot, but he was pleasantly surprised when all of a sudden, she smiled back at him.


“Well, it seems the waterworks are over. Why don’t we see to some breakfast, hmm?” Ginny rose and propped Amelie on her hip. “Poppet, can you go with Uncle Harry while Tante Gee changes into something a bit more decent?”


Amelie shook her head and hid her face in Ginny’s shoulder. Harry chuckled when Ginny rolled her eyes.


“C’mon Amelie, you wanna ride the hippogriff again?” he cajoled the little girl, who peeked at him from under her eyelashes. He crossed his eyes, making her giggle, and she finally slid from Ginny’s arms and onto his back. “Michel, why don’t you lead the way? You can pretend you’re the hippogriff trainer,” he told Amelie’s brother, who agreed enthusiastically and walked to the door.


“Thanks, Harry,” said Ginny. “I’ll be down in a tic. I need go throw something on.”


“All right,” he replied. “Although what you’re wearing right now isn’t half bad, you know. I could definitely get used to seeing you like this.” A little surprised at his own cheekiness, Harry grinned, winked at her and left the room with Ginny staring after him in shock.



***




“Yes, Hermione. I’m feeling quite well,” said Harry for the third time, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. “No headaches, no dizziness, no sudden urge to spew all over the place. And yes, before you ask, I took my potion like a good little wizard.”


“No need to be tetchy, Harry.” Hermione’s disembodied head remonstrated him from the fireplace. “I was only making sure you’re all right.”


“I know, I know, and I’m sorry for being a git,” replied Harry, “but really, I’m okay. I feel perfectly, completely, absolutely fine and for once I mean it.”


“Hmpf.” Even through the flickering green flames, Harry could see that his best friend had narrowed her eyes at him. Hermione, however, unexpectedly smiled and continued in a light, teasing voice. “I wonder, could a certain redhead with the initials G. W. have anything to do with you being ‘perfectly, completely, absolutely fine’?”


“Hermione! You know I don’t fancy George that way!” Harry opened his eyes wide and pretended to look horrified.


“Oh, you!” Hermione scolded, her lips twitching as she struggled not to laugh. “You know whom I mean, Harry!”


“Don’t you start,” warned Harry, although he could not help the silly smile that was forcing its way across his face.


“So the fact that Ginny is also staying at The Burrow doesn’t have anything to do with the absurdly large grin you’re wearing right now.”


Harry was not surprised that Hermione knew or had guessed that he still had feelings for Ginny. On the rare occasions when he and Ginny were both in attendance during Sunday dinners at The Burrow, he had often taken a break from his Ginny-watching to find Hermione looking back and forth between him and Ginny with a shrewd glint in her eye.


“Nope,” he said airily.


“And the fact that you and Ginny practically have the house to yourselves doesn’t affect you in any way whatsoever?”


“Not at all.” Harry leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms nonchalantly. “Besides, Amelie and Michel are here, so it’s not like we’re alone, right? And Mrs Weasley’s around too.”


“Oh, so you get to play house, do you?” asked Hermione slyly.


“Stop it, Hermione.” Harry shook his head at her as if he had not had exactly the same thought just this morning. Against his will, his grin became even wider.


“You’re a really bad liar, Harry,” said Hermione, now openly laughing at him. “So, where’s the little missus and the family now?”


“Ginny’s taken the kids for a swim in the pond.” Harry thought that sounded quite domestic, and he felt warm all over again.


“Why aren’t you with them?”


“I had to take my potion, and I was told by the nurse to refrain from any physical activity for at least an hour after drinking it.”


“Oh, right. That’s very responsible of you, Harry,” said Hermione approvingly, before she looked at him in concern again. “Are you certain you’re—”


“Yes, Mother,” replied Harry, giving her a smirk.


“Now, you stop it,” admonished Hermione. “Honestly.”


He decided to distract her from nagging him some more about his health. “Where’s Ron?”


That did the trick. “I don’t know where Ron is,” replied Hermione with a little frown. “He was supposed to meet me for lunch but cancelled at the last minute. He said he had to do something important but would see me for dinner. We’re going to a new restaurant in London. It’s supposed to be very posh.”


Harry raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is there a special occasion that I’m not aware of? Did I forget your anniversary or something?” he asked, though he already knew the reason as to why Ron was taking Hermione to an expensive dinner.


Hermione frowned again. “None that I know of. Our anniversary was two days ago, and we already celebrated that when we—” It was not clearly visible through the green flames, but Harry thought that she was blushing wildly.


“When you what?” he pressed, enjoying being able to tease her like this.


“Never you mind, Harry,” she said firmly. “Although if you really want the intimate details, I’d be more than happy to oblige you.” She gave him an arch look.


“Ugh, no thanks,” groaned Harry, shaking his head vehemently. “Spare me! There are some things that are not meant for human ears.”


“Oh, stop it, you silly boy,” said Hermione, with a roll of her eyes and a laugh. “You sound exactly like Ginny sometimes, you know that?” She looked down at her unseen wrist and gasped. “Oh my goodness, I have to get going! I have a meeting in about half an hour with the Minister of Italy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”


“All right. ‘Bye.”


“’Bye.” Her head disappeared from the fire only to re-emerge after a second or two. “Oh, and Harry?” Hermione called out.


“Yes? What is it?”


“I hope things work out with you and Ginny. I’ve always thought you were perfect for each other.” With another fond smile at him, Hermione finally vanished from the flames.


“Yeah, me too,” Harry said to himself. He was staring blankly into the fireplace, trying yet again to think of a way that he could begin rebuilding the close relationship he had once had with Ginny when the flames flared up again. When he had recovered from his initial surprise, he peered into the grate to see a vaguely familiar face grinning at him.


“Bloody hell, Harry! Fancy seeing you there!”


“Seamus?”


The head floating in the hearth nodded and replied cheerily in a thick Irish burr. “How the hell are you, Harry?”


“Bugger it all,” laughed Harry, pleased at seeing his old classmate. “Seamus Finnigan! I haven’t seen you since Hogwarts!”


Seamus grinned back at him. “It’s been too long, Harry, me lad. I heard you had a bit of a run-in with that plonker McLaggen.”


“I’m okay,” said Harry dismissively. “No worries. How about you? D’you still get to talk to the others?”


“I’m fine, Harry,” said Seamus, smiling widely. “I see Dean now and then for a pint at The Leaky Cauldron. He works for Obscurus Books. They’re making a special illustrated edition of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and he’s been commissioned to do the artwork.”


“Really? That’s brilliant news!” said Harry. “Tell him I said well done, will you?”


“Why don’t you congratulate him yourself? We should go down to the pub with Dean and Neville one of these days. Bring His Majesty, King Ron, too!”


“Yeah, that’d be grand. So, did you want to talk to Ron?”


“No, as a matter of fact, I was wondering if Ginny was around?” Seamus turned his head from side to side, as if trying to see if the redhead was in the living room.


Harry’s good spirits immediately disappeared and he looked at Seamus suspiciously. Now that he thought about it, he wondered how the other man had got through the Floo connection to The Burrow. The house was still protected by powerful wards, and only a select few had any sort of access to it. What did this smarmy git want with Ginny? Was he dating her? Harry felt his temper rising at the thought of Ginny laughing and flirting with Seamus Finnigan, who, Harry now recalled darkly, was quite the witches’ wizard, even back in Hogwarts. He hadn’t been nicknamed ‘Infamous Seamus’ for nothing.


“As a matter of fact, she’s busy at the moment,” he said curtly, eyeing Seamus with a mistrustful glare and trying to determine if he actually posed any threat.


Seamus’ cheerful Irish brogue grated irritatingly on Harry’s nerves. “Oh, well. Can you tell her then that Mrs Caulfield — that’s our boss —”


“Hang on,” interrupted Harry, frowning. “You work with Ginny?”


“Oh, yeah,” confirmed Seamus. “Didn’t you know that?”


“No,” muttered Harry irritably.


“Ah, Ginny must have forgotten to tell you of her good fortune to be working with the likes of me,” joked Seamus.


Harry didn’t find him amusing at all, and instead stared at him impassively.


Seamus’ chuckles died and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Anyway, Mrs Caulfield has given me loads of things to do, so much as I regret it, I can’t possibly escort Ginny to Sylvia’s wedding.”


Harry scowled deepened. “Wait, you’re supposed to take Ginny to a wedding? As her date?”


“Yeah, she sent me an owl this morning, but like I mentioned, I — uh —” Seamus faltered, seeming intimidated at Harry’s unexpected change in attitude. He uneasily eyed the way that Harry was glowering at him. “I — uh — can’t make it. Er, could you pass that message on to Ginny?”


Seamus apparently took Harry’s abrupt grunt and steely gaze as confirmation and hastily bid him good-bye.


Harry slowly rose to his feet and began pacing the room. Ginny was supposed to go to a wedding with Finnigan? Did that mean that she was romantically involved with him? But she had said that she was not seeing anyone, hadn’t she? Maybe she had just said that so that Ron would not pester her with questions and go into overprotective brother mode.


Well, bugger that for a lark, Harry thought fiercely. She’s not going on any date with anybody but me. He stopped pacing and set his jaw determinedly. Right. I'm going to just have to convince her to let me take her to that bloody wedding, wherever it is.

*

Back to index


Chapter 9: The Wedding Date

Author's Notes: This chapter gave me a headache, so I hope you like it.

Thanks to everyone who's nominated and voted for this story, and of course, my everlasting gratitude to Chreechree.


The Wedding Date




“All right, time to go!”


Ginny scooped up a still happily splashing Amelie into her arms and looked around for her brother.


“Michel! Where are you?”


Oui, Tante Gee?” A small voice piped over from Ginny’s right, and she twisted around to see Michel’s blond head emerge behind some bushes.


“Whatever are you up to, Michel?” Carefully carrying a wriggly, slippery and squealing Amelie, Ginny headed toward the little boy, who had disappeared again. “We’ve got to go now. Aren’t you hungry?”


Judging from the position of the sun, it was probably noontime, and she was tired and a bit overheated. It was a good thing she had remembered to apply a Sunshield Charm on herself and the children. Merlin knows I could use a couple of thousand more freckles, she thought wryly, and she could just imagine Fleur’s screech of indignation if any of her precious children became sunburned.


She found Michel staring in rapt fascination at a group of fat frogs which were sunning themselves on some rocks near the pond.


“Look, Tante Gee,” said Michel, hopping from one foot to the other in his excitement.


Ginny obligingly followed his finger and saw a particularly large yellow and green bullfrog, an expression of what could only be described as tolerant suffering on its warty face, squatting beneath some rushes. The reason for its gloominess was probably the presence of three smaller dark green frogs ensconced quite comfortably on its head and back. All of them blinked slowly at Ginny and the children. As they watched, the bigger frog gave a deep, melancholy croak, which was answered by higher-pitched ones from the tiny frogs.


Amelie giggled loudly in delight and attempted to squirm out of Ginny’s arms. “Want!” she shouted, her chubby fingers reaching for the frogs.


“Oh no, Poppet, Tante Gee is not getting any of those for you.” Ginny shook her head and gazed doubtfully at the amphibians again as they continued their strange croaky chorus. “Even if the weeny ones are kind of cute — in a fresh, pickled sort of way.”


Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Michel creeping towards the rushes. “Non, Michel,” she called out sharply. “It’s time to go back to the house. Mémé Molly is waiting for us.”


Tightening her hold on the protesting little girl, Ginny tramped up to clearing where she had left their clothes and towels. Chasing after and watching over two energetic young children as they frolicked in the water and squelched their toes in the muddy bank had made her ravenous, and she knew that despite their protests about wanting to play some more, the two children were as famished as she was.


She was wrapping Amelie in her little pink towel when she heard someone call her name. Squinting into the bright sunshine, she made out the lithe form of Harry walking towards them, waving cheerily and carrying what appeared to be a picnic basket. Ginny’s heart fluttered alarmingly at the sight of him. She had not yet recovered from his comment about liking her in her dressing gown — whatever did he mean by that? And she had not missed the way that Harry’s gaze seemed to have burned into her while she was comforting Amelie. It made her shiver simply by remembering.


Ginny felt her face grow warm. She hoped that Harry would think that her now flaming cheeks were a result of too much sun. She stood up as he reached them, the sunlight reflecting off his glasses. Ginny silently admired the way his white cotton shirt stretched over his shoulders and the snug fit provided by his dark blue jeans. Harry’s physique, while not as broad as Ron’s, had definitely improved over the past years.


He looked absolutely yummy.


“Hello, Ginny. I brought sustenance.” Harry held up the basket and smiled at her. “I thought you lot might be hungry.”


She smiled back. She could not help it; he was too damn cute when he grinned and that little dimple appeared in his left cheek.


Once again, Ginny found herself suppressing the urge to throw herself at Harry and kiss that maddeningly attractive dimple and the rest of his maddeningly attractive self. It was getting to be quite a chore, really, holding herself in check; she was already suffering from muscle spasms due to all this clenching.


One of these days, she just knew that she was going to give in to her baser instincts and then where would she be?


Probably admitted as a long-time resident at St Mungo’s, along with the other witches (and wizards) terminally afflicted with the incurable “Must-Snog-Harry-Potter-Senseless-Or-Perish-In-The-Attempt Syndrome”.


Heck, they’ll probably even name the ward after her.


“As a matter of fact, we’re all hungry, right?” she asked Michel and Amelie, turning away from Harry before she could act on her impulses and get carted off to St Mungo’s ‘The Ginevra Molly Weasley M.S.H.P.S.O.P.I.T.A.S. Ward’.


That actually has a nice ring to it, reflected Ginny. Practically rolls off the tongue...


She was already designing the interior décor of the ward (soothing greens and blues, so as not to agitate the already excitable patients) when she was startled from her inner ramblings by Amelie jumping up and down and shrieking, “Je mange, Uncle ‘Arry! Je mange!


Ginny caught Harry’s eye, and then they both burst out laughing. “Well, let’s see if Uncle ‘Arry brought you anything good, Poppet.” She took the basket from him as Michel and Amelie animatedly began telling him of how much fun they had just had. “Let’s go eat under the tree over there.”


“All right.” Harry picked up a still chattering Amelie and held Michel’s hand as they made their way to the shady spot beneath a tall linden tree.


Ginny opened the basket to find that Harry had packed everything necessary for a picnic lunch. She unfurled a large, red and gold chequered afghan and spread it on the ground, and then brought out several wrapped sandwiches, a chilled flagon of pumpkin juice, cups and even some slices of chocolate cake.


“Wow, I’m very impressed, Harry,” said Ginny as she quartered a cheese sandwich for the children. “Did you make all this?”


“Of course! I even baked the cake — iced it and everything,” he answered proudly, handing Michel a glass of pumpkin juice. Harry was sitting on her left side, both of them with their backs against the tree. He laughed at the sceptical expression on her face. “Nah, I only cobbled the sandwiches together. Your mum told me where all the stuff was before she went to Diagon Alley. Although I must say that I’m deeply wounded that you’d have so little faith in my culinary abilities,” he said, not quite succeeding at looking offended.


Ginny rolled her eyes and handed him a roast beef sandwich before tucking into her own. “I know you, remember? You told me before that you can’t cook anything except rashers and scrambled eggs.”


Harry took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose that of all people, you’re the one who does know me best, Ginny,” he said, gazing at her with those eyes of his.


Ginny suddenly felt as if the temperature had risen several degrees, and she was acutely conscious of the fact that she was only wearing a swimming costume — it was an ancient green one-piece suit that she had owned for ages, and quite a modest one, even by Molly Weasley standards — but the way that Harry was looking at her made her feel like she was wearing little more than a bikini. Ginny belatedly wished that she had at least thought of pulling on her shorts to cover herself.


“Tante Gee, juice?”


Michel’s request served to distract Ginny, and she broke eye contact with Harry, knowing that she was now blushing furiously. To give her time while she regained her composure, she made a production of pouring out pumpkin juice for both Michel and his sister, who was cheerfully smearing chocolate cake all over her rounded cheeks and the front of her pink bathing costume.


“Oh, Amelie.” Ginny reached over to wipe her giggling niece’s face with a serviette, all the while feeling Harry’s eyes lingering on her.


When she dared peek up at Harry again, he was talking to Michel about Quidditch, his strong arms gesturing animatedly as he described the different brooms that were used in the sport while the little boy listened, enraptured. Ginny lay back against the tree once more and closed her eyes, listening to the low rumble of Harry’s voice occasionally interrupted by Michel’s childish tenor. Her hands stroked Amelie’s soft blonde hair as the child lay drowsing on her lap.


What is he playing at? she wondered. Do those looks mean anything at all or am I imagining things?


Ginny was quite confused. For all intents and purposes, Harry appeared to be making an effort to be charming, and while she was thrilled and excited at this, she worried whether or not he was simply pursuing her as he was effectively stuck with her in The Burrow. Unless Harry had changed a great deal, however, Ginny knew that he was not the type to flirt casually, and he certainly did not jump into relationships hastily.


So, did that mean that he was doing this because he liked her?


“Ginny?”


She opened her eyes and met Harry’s compelling gaze.


Everything — the susurrus made by the trees as the wind blew through them, the distant singing of an unseen blackbird, the bright sunlight glinting off the still waters of the pond — seemed to fade away. All Ginny was aware of was the brilliant green of Harry’s eyes as they stared at each other. She watched in dazed fascination as Harry slowly leaned forward, his eyes flicking toward her lips as his head bent closer and closer to hers…


The spell was broken by Michel spilling his pumpkin juice all over Harry’s lap as he fell asleep against Harry’s arm. Ginny was disappointed that they had been interrupted, but she could not help but giggle at the shocked look on Harry’s face as the cold liquid seeped into his jeans.


“Well, I suppose we should get these two to bed for their naps, yeah? Besides, things are becoming quite — erm — hot out here.” Shaking his head ruefully, Harry cast a quick Scourgify and grinned audaciously at her, seeming to enjoy the slightly flummoxed expression that Ginny knew must be on her face.


Before she could formulate a coherent response, Harry waved his wand at the plates and glasses, packing them neatly back into the basket. Harry stood up and hoisted Michel onto his hip. He held out a hand to Ginny, who stared at it for a few seconds before she took it and got to her feet. She missed the warmth of his hand when he let go and cast a spell on the basket. Taking care not to wake Amelie, who had put her thumb in her mouth, Ginny bemusedly followed Harry back to The Burrow, the picnic basket trailing after them like a faithful Crup.


* * *



After she and Harry had deposited the children in their beds, Ginny waved at him and headed straight for her room for a fresh set of clothes. She needed to put some distance between her and Harry so she could analyse what had almost happened out by the pond. She took a quick shower, changed into her most comfortable jeans and a white sleeveless shirt, and then went back to her bedroom to do comb out her hair.


As she untangled her wet tresses in front of her small dressing table, she came to the reluctant conclusion that the combination of the hot sun and the food in her stomach must have made her imagine things.


Maybe I had something on my face and Harry was simply leaning forwards to remove it?


Her reflection stared back at her.


Yeah, right, he was going to remove whatever it was with his mouth, was he? it seemed to mock her silently.


She frowned at herself in the mirror. Remembering the way that he had been intently regarding her mouth and the dark fire in his green eyes, however, Ginny had to concur with her impertinent mirror-self — Harry had definitely been about to kiss her.


So what the bloody hell am I supposed to do now?


“Ginny!” Her mother’s voice interrupted her reverie. Ginny was grateful for the distraction; she could feel the beginnings of a mild headache from all the confused thoughts swirling around in her head.


“Be right there!” she shouted back. She hurriedly tied her hair and made her way down the stairs. She could hear Harry and her mum talking in the sitting room.


“There you are,” said Mrs Weasley. “I thought you had fallen asleep.”


“Hi, Mum.” She kissed her mother on the cheek before sitting down on the old armchair next to the fireplace. “Errands go all right?”


“Oh yes,” said Mrs Weasley. “I was just telling Harry here that I ran into Remus and Tonks at the Leaky Cauldron and invited them for tea.”


“Excellent! I haven’t seen Tonks in ages. Will they be bringing little Randall?”


“I suppose so.” Mrs Weasley rose from her chair. “I think I should make sure the children are all right.”


“They’re fine, Mum,” said Ginny, a bit nervous at being left alone with Harry. She knew that he had been watching her ever since she had entered the living room. “I checked on them, and they’re still napping.”


“I’d still like to see them,” said Mrs Weasley firmly. “I’ve missed the little darlings. They spend far too much time in France. Why your brother can’t visit more often is something I’d like to know. You stay here and talk to Harry.”


Ginny tried not to roll her eyes at her mother’s rather obvious ploy to leave her with Harry. Though she had never announced it outright, Mrs Weasley had always made it quite clear that if she had to choose the lucky man in Ginny’s life, then only a certain dark-haired, green-eyed bespectacled young man who had saved the Wizarding World several times over would do. In fact, Mrs Weasley had always been the first to find some subtle imperfection in each of the very few men that Ginny had actually gone out with.


David, a curse breaker Bill worked with in Egypt, had been very pleasant and polite, but Mrs Weasley had pointed out that he was much too old for Ginny.


“Just think, dear, by the time you’re thirty; he’ll be forty-nine! Why can’t you go out with someone nearer your age and not someone whose peas you’ll have to mash up when you’re having supper, Ginny?”


Ginny had barely managed to keep her temper while Ron, who had popped over for a spot of tea, began laughing so hard that he nearly choked on a cucumber sandwich.


Joshua, who was laid-back and worked with dragons in Romania with Charlie, was too much of a ‘risk-taker’. Mrs Weasley had taken one look at Joshua’s long dirty-blond hair and the Chinese Fireball tattoo that wound itself sinuously around his left forearm, and had frowned ferociously at Ginny the moment the dragon trainer turned his back.


“You’ll be a widow before you even have the chance to give me grandchildren, mark my word! How could you do that to your own poor mother? Have you no consideration for my delicate constitution?” she had dramatically declared after Joshua had roared away on his motorcycle.


The twins had sniggered, Ron had snorted then yelped when Hermione kicked him under the table even as she hid her own smile behind a large bite of mashed potatoes, and Ginny had wondered if she could be placed in Azkaban if she were to “accidentally” place a permanent Silencing Charm on her own mother.


Adam, whom Ginny had met at the Ministry cafeteria when she wound up sprawled on his lap after she had slipped on some spilled treacle sauce, had been quite charming with his green eyes, dark hair and his shy personality.


Unluckily for him, Mrs Weasley had pounced not ten minutes after he arrived at The Burrow to pick Ginny up, and began casually interrogating him about his views on large families. Ginny thought it had been almost insulting how fast Adam had flung himself back into the Floo. Not only did he leave without even having the decency to say good-bye, he had taken their entire flowerpot of Floo powder with him!


Ginny had complained loudly to Hermione and Luna (and to anyone else in her family she could waylay) about what she called her mother’s “insufferable and unwanted meddling” with her already wretched lovelife, but secretly, she was glad that she had been provided with excuses to not pursue things with David, Joshua and Adam.


She had a feeling that any relationship she would have had with any of them, or any bloke for that matter, would have been depressingly superficial and shallow, as the only man she had ever really wanted was sitting right across her, a crooked smile on that damnably sexy mouth of his.


Ginny looked out the window, determined not to show Harry how much she was affected by his mere presence.


Honestly, she thought fiercely, after all this time, now you start acting like you’re eleven again. Snap out of it!


“So, any owls come along for me?” she asked, inwardly cringing at how unnaturally squeaky her voice sounded.


“Nope,” said Harry laconically. “Expecting some post, were you?”


“Yes.”


“From whom?”


“Oh, just some post from a co-worker,” said Ginny vaguely, waving one hand in the air.


“You mean a co-worker like Seamus Finnigan?”


Ginny whipped her head around to gape at him. “How’d you know that?”


“He Flooed a while ago, looking for you,” he answered, grinning lazily at her.


“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, looking at him in exasperation.


Harry shrugged and picked up an old issue of Witch Weekly that Mrs Weasley had left on the sofa. “Must have slipped my mind. I did have an accident, you know. Hit my head and everything.”


Ginny thought he sounded a bit petulant. She stared at him, waiting for him to tell her what Seamus had said. When Harry continued to flip aimlessly through Witch Weekly, she pursed her lips in annoyance and let out an impatient breath.


“And?”


“And what?” Harry raised a dark eyebrow.


Ginny rolled her eyes. Why was he being so difficult?


“What did he say, Harry?”


“Are you going out with Seamus Finnigan?” he asked abruptly.


“What?” She looked at him incredulously.


He sounded… jealous.


“I said, are you dating Seamus Finnigan?” Harry asked again, now frowning in earnest.


He was jealous!


Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding world, star Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps, and quite possibly the most handsome and attractive man that Ginny had ever met, was throwing a hissy fit over Seamus Finnigan, of all people.


“Are you, Ginny?” Harry sounded really peeved. He had rolled up the magazine and was tapping it restlessly against his left leg.


“What if I am?” she challenged, folding her arms across her chest and trying not to smile. “Is there something wrong with that?”


Harry looked troubled. “Well, no,” he admitted reluctantly before he shot back, “but isn’t he too old for you?”


Ginny held back a snigger at Harry’s pathetic objection. “He’s only a year older than me!”


“Precisely!”


“Harry, you’re only a year older than me.”


“Well, yeah…” said Harry, nonplussed. “It’s just that…”


“What, Harry?” Ginny looked intently at him. He was a bit flushed, and his eyebrows were drawn together, as if he were thinking about a particularly heinous problem. She waited anxiously for what he was going to say. Would he actually admit that he was angry at the thought of her dating Seamus Finnigan?


“Nothing,” he muttered, throwing the magazine onto the floor and raking his hands through his hair. “Nothing at all.”


Ginny felt her insides come crashing together. Maybe she had been wrong about him being jealous after all.


“What did Seamus say, Harry?” she asked wearily, slumping back into her chair.


“He asked me to tell you that he can’t accompany you to Sylvia’s wedding,” he replied quietly.


“Oh.” Ginny looked down at her lap. “All right, then.”


She was not upset that she would not have an escort to the wedding. Sylvia and her Italian designer boyfriend with the poncy-sounding name could rot in the Hogwarts Potions dungeon for all Ginny cared.


She was far too disappointed in herself for actually believing that Harry had been jealous about Seamus.


Ginny stared at the faded floral pattern of the golden throw rug on the floor, her eyes seeking out the large charred spot in the centre that was the direct result of her dad’s experiments with Muggle matches and something called petrol. When the silence stretched out for so long that the burnt area began resembling the profile of Mad-Eye Moody, complete with revolving magical eye, Ginny decided that there was nothing more to be said. She sighed heavily and was about to leave when Harry suddenly spoke up.


“Ginny?”


“Yes?”


“Would you — erm — I mean, would you like me to — um — go with you to the wedding?” asked Harry hesitantly, not meeting her gaze.


She gaped speechlessly at his bowed head.


“Right,” mumbled Harry. “I reckon that’s a no, then.” He made to get up from the sofa, immediately snapping Ginny out of her stupor.


What the hell are you doing? she screamed at herself. Stop the bloody love of your life before he walks away!


“Hang on!” she shouted, startling Harry back into sitting back down.


“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, smiling at him. “If you really don’t mind, Harry, then yes, I would like it very much if you went with me to the wedding.”


“Brilliant.” Harry grinned back at her, looking enormously pleased. They spent a few moments smiling at each other like they’d both been hit by massive Cheering Charms before Ginny realised she should clarify one minor detail.


“Oh, and Harry?”


“Yeah?”


“I am not going out with Seamus Finnigan,” she stated, looking straight at him to make sure he understood what she was telling him, “or anyone else for that matter.”


Harry’s grin became even wider, if that were possible. “That’s really good to know, Ginny,” he said softly.


The brilliance of his smile was beginning to make her so giddy that she failed to realise that he was speaking to her until she noticed that his lips were moving.


“Sorry, Harry, but could you repeat that?”


He flashed another smile, a rather knowing one at that, much to her consternation. “I asked you where’s this wedding going to be.”


“Oh.” Ginny shook her head to clear it. “Italy. It’s going to be in Italy.”

*

Back to index


Chapter 10: A Spot of Tea

Author's Notes: Thirteen days to Deathly Hallows and counting...

I have to say at this point that there is a possibility that I won't be able to post all the chapters to this story before Book 7 is released, but I'm hoping that won't be the case. Anyway, I hope you'll still read even if I don't manage to do so.


Thanks to Chreechree.


A Spot of Tea





“Well, Harry, it’s good to see you. How are you doing?”


“I’m fine, Moony.” Harry put his tea cup down and beamed at his surrogate godfather. “Couldn’t be better, actually.”


Remus Lupin peered over his own cup, looking surprised at the cheerful note in Harry’s voice. “Really? Isn’t your injury bothering you?”


“Nope.” Harry absently raised his hand to touch the tender spot behind his ear but hastily put it down when he caught sight of Mrs Weasley shaking her head and frowning slightly at him as she hovered about them, placing plate after plate of scones and biscuits and crumpets on the kitchen table. “I still can’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to play Quidditch. I haven’t felt a thing since they released me from St Mungo’s.”


“Well, you did get a great big thumping on your ruddy head,” declared Tonks, as she dumped herself into a seat beside her husband and grabbed a ginger newt off a plate. “Personally,” she commented as she chewed noisily, “I don’t know why they’re so worried either. I could’ve told them that your skull’s so bloody thick that even a great big lump like McLaggen wouldn’t be able to do much damage.” She swallowed her biscuit and smiled widely at Harry.


“Thank you, Tonks,” said Harry dryly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”


Tonks waved an airy hand and almost knocked over the teapot. Luckily, her husband was already used to her clumsiness and managed to move the rest of the tea service before she could destroy anything else.


“However, I think there’s another reason why you’re in such a chipper mood, isn’t there?” Tonks arched a vivid pink eyebrow at him suggestively, her eyes flicking towards the living room where Ginny was working on what appeared to be a massive and complicated art project together with the children.


From his vantage point, it seemed like they were making a gigantic horse, or maybe it was a spider; it was difficult to tell since all he could see was what looked like an appendage of some sort. Ginny was patiently guiding Michel as he fashioned a leg (or was it an antennae?) out of some back issues of the Prophet. Seeming to sense his gaze on her, she looked up, smiled, and waved at him.


Harry grinned and waved back. He was still amazed that he had got up the nerve to ask her out and that she had not turned him down. He was really looking forward to spending time alone with her. Harry was unaware that he was still staring at Ginny long after she had gone back to helping Michel until Remus gave an amused little cough, and he turned to find Remus and Tonks openly smirking at him.


Blushing at being caught so obviously mooning over Ginny, Harry opened his mouth to say something but became distracted when a rather cold and very sticky hand landed on his arm. Startled, he looked down into the dark eyes of Remus’ and Tonks’ two-year old son, Randall. Harry’s godson, who strongly resembled his father but had his mother’s heart-shaped face, gave him a winning smile and proceeded to climb up his lap, leaving gluey handprints all over his jeans and shirt.


“Randall, what did Mummy say about using people as human towels?” scolded Tonks, pointing her wand at Harry and cleaning off his clothes. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, Harry!”


“That’s okay,” said Harry, smiling at the miniature version of Remus. “No harm done.” He offered a biscuit to the little brown-haired boy, who took it happily and chewed on it as noisily as his mother had been doing a while ago.


“I’ll take him, Tonks. You stay here with Harry and Remus. Come on Randall, there’s a love,” coaxed Mrs Weasley, and Randall unhesitatingly toddled off into her arms. Mrs Weasley wiped his hands with a tea towel and set off for the living room, where they joined Ginny, Amelie and Michel.


“Thanks, Molly!” called out Tonks. “So, what were we talking about again?” she asked Harry and her husband.


“We were discussing the fact that our boy here seems to be quite in good spirits nowadays,” said Remus with a small grin at Harry.


“Ah, yes. And from the expression on Ginny’s face when I was talking to her a while ago, she’s pleased as punch too,” said Tonks slyly. “In fact, she asked me if I could go with her to London tomorrow to shop for some dress robes. Anything going on between the two of you then? Something hot and heavy? Are we dealing with total, utter, wanton debauchery?” She leaned forward eagerly, upsetting the marmalade pot in front of Remus with her elbow. “Details! I want details!”


“Hot and heavy?” Harry shook his head ruefully, using a serviette to clean up the orange marmalade puddling on the table. “Hardly. I’m simply escorting Ginny to a wedding.”


“Oooh, a wedding!” Tonks clapped her hands. “Who’s getting married?”


“A girl we knew at Hogwarts, Sylvia Vane.”


“I remember Sylvia. She was in Gryffindor, wasn’t she?” said Remus, carefully removing the marmalade pot out of Tonks’ reach. “I didn’t know that Ginny was good friends with her.”


“I don’t think they were, but they were dorm-mates for seven years, and I suppose that counts for something. I never heard Ginny mention her name though, and I barely knew who she was. Her younger cousin, however…” Harry shuddered.


“Who? Little Romilda?” Lupin asked, breaking out into a wide grin. “Ah, I do recall her asking an unusual amount of questions about curse scars — How could one form? Are they always shaped like a lightning bolt? Did it indicate virility and the ability to produce hardy offspring?”


The Lupins laughed as Harry scowled fiercely at Remus. “Right little stalker, that one,” he muttered, screwing up his face as he recalled some of the more daring stunts that Romilda had pulled, including the one where she had sneaked up behind him to cut off a chunk of his hair while he was supposedly revising in the library with Ginny.


Due to the fact that he had been too busy watching Ginny twirl a lock of her hair around her finger as she endeavoured to memorise the ingredients for Amortentia, he hadn’t even noticed anything was amiss until Luna Lovegood had asked him at dinner if he was attempting to begin a new fashion trend by having a bald patch on the back of his head.


Tonks sighed wistfully. “I love weddings. They’re so romantic. I always cry at them. I bawled like a baby at Hestia’s wedding, remember that, Remus?”


“Yes, but that was probably because you tripped over Moody’s wooden leg and fell headfirst into some rose bushes,” her husband said, a smile on his worn face. “We had the worst time removing some of those thorns, if I recall correctly.”


Tonks’ face became as pink as her hair. “Oh yeah, right.” She grinned at Harry. “Anyway, where’s the wedding going to be?”


“Italy.”


“Italy?” Remus looked taken aback. “Where in Italy?”


“I’m not sure,” admitted Harry slowly. He hadn’t even thought to ask Ginny. All that had mattered at that time was getting her to agree to have him — and not Infamous Seamus Finnigan — accompany her to the wedding.


Harry was rather proud of that little feat; he had actually managed to speak clearly for once, instead of blurting out random words and phrases that only succeeded in confusing the heck out of everyone, including himself.


All right, way to go, Potter!


“Did your Healer say that you could travel long distances?” said Remus, interrupting the self-congratulatory party that Harry was indulging in.


Harry paused in the middle of giving himself an imaginary pat on the back and frowned. Remus had a point. “I reckon I should ask Healer Cosmas if I can travel by Portkey, but if I can’t, I’m going to find some other way to go to this wedding,” he said determinedly.


“Bloody hell, Harry, did you tell everyone already?”


They all turned to see Ron hanging his cloak on a peg by the back door of the kitchen. Ron sat down beside Harry and immediately pulled a plate of scones towards him. Remus poured him some tea, while Tonks passed him the other marmalade pot, this one containing blackcurrant preserve.


“Hello, Ron, nice of you to drop by,” Harry wryly greeted his best friend. “What am I supposed to have told everyone?”


“Y’know, that thing with Hermione and me,” answered Ron, dipping a scone into his tea.


“Which one?” asked Harry with a cheeky grin. “Although, you know, Ron, some of those things are probably best kept between you and Hermione.”


“Ha ha. You’re a real comedian, Harry,” retorted Ron, pointing his now soggy scone at Harry, who laughingly shielded his face with his hands. “It’s — you know — that thing that I was going to ask her about except she’s always too busy,” said Ron, moving his eyebrows in a strange, complicated pattern that made Harry quite dizzy just by looking at them.


He stared at his best friend for a full minute before he realised what Ron was trying to convey with the ingenious use of eyebrow semaphores.


“No, Ron, I did not tell anyone about your good news.”


“Oh,” said Ron, his ears turning bright red.


“What good news is that?” asked Tonks curiously.


Ron ducked his head and mumbled something into his tea.


“What?”


Ron cleared his throat awkwardly. “I said, I’m going to ask Hermione to marry me tonight.”


A high-pitched squeal came from the doorway and Mrs Weasley launched herself at her youngest son. “Oh Ron! That’s wonderful news! You’ll finally make an honest woman out of Hermione!”


Harry and the rest of the group began laughing at the immensely guilty expression that immediately appeared on Ron’s face as Mrs Weasley released him.


“What — what do you mean, Mum?” said Ron, looking everywhere but at her.


“Oh tosh, Ronald,” sniffed Mrs Weasley disparagingly. “I don’t know where you get the idea that I don’t know things. I’ve never said anything because I know that Hermione’s a nice girl and that you love each other dearly, but I’m glad that you’ve finally decided to propose like a proper gentleman and not let her continue to be some sort of kept woman.”


Tonks and Remus burst into laughter, and Ron turned purple due to the fact that the scone he had nervously crammed into his mouth had lodged in his throat. Harry, trying to suppress his own chuckles, finally took pity on his best friend. He stood and began whacking Ron repeatedly across the shoulder blades, until the tall redhead was able to breathe normally once again.


Mrs Weasley rolled her eyes expressively, reminding Harry of Ginny.


“Honestly, Ron. It’s not as if I’m not fully aware of my children’s sex lives. Why, didn’t I tell George that he shouldn’t get involved with that girl he met at The Leaky Cauldron? But no, he insisted on seeing that trollop. Said that she had a heart of gold underneath it all. Ha!” Mrs Weasley snorted loudly. “She was cheaper than the wine that Dung buys at that dodgy pub he hangs about in. And what did George get for his trouble? A nasty itch in his bits, that’s what!”


“Mu- Mum!” protested a scandalised Ron. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, covering his face with his large hands as Tonks began pounding the table with her fist as tears of laughter streamed down her face. Remus looked quite embarrassed, and Harry was sure that his own ears were ablaze. He never thought that Mrs Weasley could be so outspoken about these things.


“What?” huffed Mrs Weasley. “And don’t swear, Ron!”


Ron slowly shook his head in disbelief. “Mum, you shouldn’t be talking about your sons’ bits like that in polite company!”


Tonks spoke up, grinning from ear to ear. “I can be quite rude, Ron, if you want me to be.”


“You know what I mean, Tonks,” Ron said impatiently. He turned to Lupin, who immediately put up his hands, as if to protest his innocence. “Remus, tell your wife to shut it.”


Mrs Weasley put her hands on her hips and glared irately at her youngest son. “Who do you think brewed up the potion to get rid of George’s awful-smelling boils? And besides, may I remind you, Ron, that I have seen enough of yours and your brothers’ bits to write a book about them!”


With that parting shot, she gave another disdainful sniff and left the room, brushing up against Ginny, who had entered the kitchen with her hands held out in front of her. Harry could see that they were covered in glue and small pieces of newspaper.


“What’s happening?” asked Ginny, a puzzled look on her face. She went to the sink and washed her hands clean. “What did I miss? Why does Ron look like he’s been run over by an Erumpent?” She sat down in front of Harry and watched in enjoyment as Tonks clutched her stomach, occasionally letting out small wheezes as she rocked back and forth with laughter.


Harry leaned forward conspiratorially. “Your mum’s been regaling us with stories of your brothers’ — erm — bedroom escapades.”


Ginny sniggered. “Oh dear. I suppose she’s told you lot about Mary, has she?” she said, her eyes full of amusement.


“Was that the name of George’s last girlfriend? Mary?” asked Harry, just as George and Fred strode into the kitchen, wearing matching electric blue leather jackets.


“Why are you talking about Mary?” said George as he pulled out a chair. “Oh bugger, Mum hasn’t been going on about that again, has she?”


“Going on about what?” asked Fred, who in turn took a seat beside a muttering Ron. “Oh good! You haven’t eaten all of Mum’s scones yet!” he told Ron, and grabbed one off his younger brother’s plate.


“Mary,” said Ginny with raised eyebrows. Harry saw her glance his way, and they exchanged amused smiles.


“Oh.” Fred shot his twin a sly look. “Mary. As in that Muggle, Typhoid Mary. Only instead of typhoid she spread—”


“Shut it,” growled George. “If I remember correctly, you went right spare when she chose me over you.”


“Well, now I thank the Founders that she did. Those boils were dead nasty,” retorted Fred. “Green and oozing, and they smelled something awful too — kind of like a mixture of dragon dung and boiled cabbage,” he added, sending Tonks tumbling off her chair as she erupted into fresh gales of laughter.


“Please, I’m eating here,” begged Remus, who had been in the middle of biting into a buttered crumpet. He put it back on his plate, where it was immediately snatched up by Fred.


“Although they did glow in the dark when you turned off the light, and they weren’t the only parts of dear old George’s anatomy that glowed, if you know what I mean,” volunteered Fred, winking exaggeratedly at the whole group.


“So, we heard that we’re going to have a wedding again!” said George at the top of his voice, trying to drown out the sounds of Tonks’ hysterical laughter.


Fred wiped a fake tear from his eye and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Ronniekins.”


Ron’s head shot up, and he looked at the twins suspiciously. “How’d you two know that?” He gave Harry an accusatory glower.


“Hey, mate, I’ve already said that I haven’t told anyone your plans,” protested Harry. “Besides, you only told me the other day, remember? And this is the first time I’ve seen the twins or anyone else.”


George smirked. “We have ways of finding out these things,” he declared. “We certainly won’t tell you that we know the bloke you bought your engagement ring from.”


“Yeah, you’ll never get that information out of us,” said Fred staunchly. “Oh, and I most assuredly won’t divulge the fact that Angelina told me the other night that you asked for her advice.” He nodded at Ron. “Nice rock, by the way. How much did you get it for?”


“You’re asking Hermione to marry you, Ron?” Ginny asked excitedly. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?” she demanded.


“I was going to wait until she actually said yes,” grumbled Ron. “I didn’t want to say anything in case she turned me down.”


“What nonsense!” exclaimed Ginny, while Tonks scoffed loudly as she picked herself up from off the floor. “Of course she’ll accept! When are you planning to pop the question?”


Ron blanched, as if he had suddenly remembered something very important. “What time is it?” he asked in an apprehensive voice.


Harry glanced at his watch. “Half past five, Ron.” He looked up to see a panicked expression form on Ron’s freckled face.


“Bugger it all!” moaned Ron. “I’m late again! I’m supposed to pick Hermione up from the Ministry in fifteen minutes!” He hastily stood up and grabbed his cloak. “And I still need to change my clothes!” He ran to the living room, where the others heard him shout out a quick good-bye to Mrs Weasley before he disappeared into the Floo.


“Well, that was amusing,” said George. He looked around the kitchen as if searching for some other source of entertainment, his eyes lighting up when his gaze landed on Harry. “Ah, Harry, my good man! How are you doing? I heard about what that tosser McLaggen did.”


“Yeah, and I heard that our little Ginny has volunteered to play nursemaid to you,” chimed in Fred, grinning at his sister, who scowled back at him.


“Has she shown you her bedside manner yet?” asked George with a suggestive wink. “It’ll do wonders for any bloke’s flagging — er — spirits.”


Harry chanced a look at Ginny, whose face, he was not surprised to see, was beginning to turn rather red, but he didn’t know if it was because she was embarrassed or if she was angry at her twin brothers. Probably both, he decided in amusement.


He dearly wanted to say that yes, please, he would very much like to see her bedside manner, but he didn’t think her brothers would appreciate him voicing out his yearning for the youngest Weasley.


“No, I haven’t,” said Ginny calmly, despite the two bright spots of colour on her cheeks, “but I intend to show Harry just how excellent it is in the very near future. That is, if Harry actually wants to experience the benefits of my healing — um — touch.”


She reached over and covered his hand with hers, her fingers slowly rubbing circles on the back of his hand. Her brown eyes were glinting with mischief, and Harry thought he saw the slightest hint of a challenge in them.


Harry swallowed nervously at the sensations that Ginny’s nimble fingers were eliciting. Deciding that two could play this game, he grinned at her, and at the identical dumbfounded looks on the twins’ faces.


“Of course, Ginny,” he replied casually, turning his hand upside down and capturing hers with it. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she did not try to pull away. He squeezed her hand gently, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles, watching as her face became even more flushed, and the gleam in her eyes became even more pronounced. “When were you planning to let me sample your bedside manner, eh?”


Ginny tilted her head and arched an eyebrow at him. “Hmmm… soon, Harry, very soon,” she promised, her voice low and seductive.


Anticipatory thrills ran up and down Harry’s spine. He looked straight into her eyes and quite promptly forgot that there were other people in the room, including two of her brothers.


I should have kissed her when I had the chance! he berated himself as he remembered their picnic lunch by the pond earlier that day. His gaze drifted once again to Ginny's mouth, which looked soft and inviting, and wondered if he dared do what he so badly wanted to do.


A loud clearing of the throat dragged him from his utterly inappropriate thoughts of throwing Ginny onto the kitchen table and ravishing her right then and there.


“All right, you two, break it up. There are children in the other room, you know.”


Harry abruptly let go of Ginny’s hand and blinked up at Remus, who was smiling indulgently at him. Tonks’ eyes had widened to saucers, and she kept switching her gaze back and forth between him and Ginny. Fred and George still looked stunned, but as Harry watched, their shock slowly turned into expressions of unholy glee. Ginny was blushing quite spectacularly, and was staring down at the hand he had been holding a few seconds ago. Harry peered at her, concerned that maybe he had been a bit brash, but he was relieved when she looked up again, a small smile on playing on her lips.


“Well!” said George, chirpily. “I reckon we’ll have another wed-”


Harry was saved from any further teasing when Mrs Weasley, followed by the children, came back into the room. Michel was holding something large, purple and multi-legged in his arms.


“Unca Fed! Unca Jo!” Amelie scampered into a waiting George’s arms. Remus picked up his son, and Michel went straight to Harry to show him their “creation”.


“Look at what we made, Uncle ‘Arry.” Michel thrust it into Harry’s hands and waited patiently for him to comment.


“Oh, uh, WOW! Look at that! It’s — um — it’s a very nice — er — a very nice…”


It was actually rather frightening, Harry thought idly, as he tried to identify what sort of creature Michel had made. He gingerly poked a protuberant eyeball with his wand and retracted it hurriedly when the eye seemed to twitch a little. Harry glanced helplessly over to Ginny, who appeared to be struggling not to laugh.


“Your Blast-Ended Skrewt came out very well, Michel,” she said admiringly, with a smirk in Harry’s direction.


Merci, Tante Gee,” said Michel, smiling happily at her.


“Show Uncle Harry the marvellous little sucker you made,” she encouraged him.


To Harry’s amusement, Michel cheerfully turned the Skrewt over to display its ‘sucker’ before asking, “Maman like it?”


“Yes, I’m sure Maman would love it,” agreed Ginny, ruffling Michel’s hair. “Put it on her pillow first thing when you go home. D’accord?


The little boy nodded with pleasure and ran to show the others his work. The twins praised the Skrewt effusively, and Fred animated the thing, making the children shriek in delight when it proceeded to wreak havoc on the tea things, the ‘sucker’ making slurping noises as it made contact with spilt tea.


“You’re evil, you know that?” said Harry, shaking his head at Ginny and smiling. Her sense of humour was something that he had always liked about her.


“You’ve got me all wrong, Harry,” she protested, her eyes laughing back at him. “I’m merely cultivating his creative nature. Fleur will be thrilled to see that her son is un artiste.


“I’m sure she will, and she’ll probably be doubly delighted that it was their Tante Gee who was the motivation for his artistic talents.”


“She should be,” said Ginny archly. “Why, I’m an inspiration for all Wizardkind!” She did a little pirouette, laughing as she did so.


Harry took in the graceful curve of her neck and the gentle swell of her hips. “That you are, Ginny,” he murmured in appreciation, looking into her bright brown eyes. She coloured prettily as she gazed back at him. “That you are.”


*




Back to index


Chapter 11: Girl Talk

Author's Notes: Anybody else watch the OotP movie yet? I won't spoil it for those who haven't, but let's just say that the director, David Yates, seems to have the H/G shippers' best interests at heart. :) I'm really looking forward to what he'll do with the HBP movie.

Thanks to Chreechree.


Girl Talk





“Thanks for arranging the Portkey to Italy for us, Hermione,” said Ginny to the older girl, who was shifting through a mountain of colour-coded parchments on her desk.


They were in Hermione’s office at the Ministry of Magic, having just come from lunch at The Leaky Cauldron where they had met up with some other girl friends of theirs to celebrate Hermione’s engagement to Ron. Angelina Johnson, Hannah Abbot, Alicia Spinnet-Davies, Susan Bones, Katie Bell-Wood and Padma Patil-Goldstein had all shown up — the only one missing was Luna, who was in Stocksfield, exhibiting her Snorkack cork creations at the FiFieFofum Gallery.


They had spent a good hour and a half gushing over the ring and giggling madly about how Ron had bumbled his way to a proposal — which involved, if Hermione were to be believed — a mix-up with the Duck à l’Orange, a flat-footed waiter and a very hastily performed Heimlich manoeuvre.


“It was no problem at all. I’m glad I was able to help,” replied the newly-engaged witch, making a notation on one of the parchments. She impatiently brushed away one of the pale violet inter-departmental memos fluttering at her elbow. “It’s a two-way Portkey — you need to be at the Portkey Terminal by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, so that the customs officials can activate it. When you arrive in Rome, you still have to take a short train ride to the Palazzo del Pecorino since it’s on the outskirts of the city, and there aren’t any nearby Apparition points.”


“Got it,” said Ginny. “I don’t think Harry’s been cleared to Apparate anyway. His Healer didn’t even want to let him take an International Portkey.” Ginny shook her head. “Good thing that Harry was able to persuade him. I swear, if he hadn’t been such a distinguished-looking wizard, I would have hexed Healer Cosmas for being such a stubborn git.”


“He does have a certain charm, doesn’t he?” agreed Hermione, folding one of the parchments into a paper aeroplane and activating it with a wave of her wand. “Must be the accent.”


“I think Mum sort of fancies him,” said Ginny as she watched the aeroplane zoom out of the room. “She was all aflutter when he showed up in the Floo this morning. She tore out of the living room to remove her pinny, dashed right back in wearing her best dress robes, and then proceeded to oh-so-casually dust the fireplace.”


“Oh my goodness,” giggled Hermione. “That must have been quite funny to watch.”


“I had the hardest time trying not to laugh, and Harry wasn’t helping at all, the prat,” said Ginny fondly. “He kept on making faces at me behind Mum’s back.”


Hermione leaned back into her chair, a knowing smile on her lips. “Ginny?”


“Yeah?”


“Is there something going on between you and Harry?”


Ginny blinked at the unexpected question. Avoiding her friend’s penetrating gaze, she focused her attention instead on the detailed map of Wizarding Europe on the wall behind Hermione. Animated weather symbols floated above each country; little flashes of lightning illuminated parts of Scotland and Wales, tiny cumulonimbus clouds covered most of France and Spain, and a minute sun shone cheerfully over the boot-shaped Italy.


“I see Italy’s nice this time of year,” she said loudly, acting as if she had not heard Hermione’s question. Ginny wasn’t sure that she knew the answer anyway. “But why’d Sylvia have to get married somewhere so far away? And why’d she have to invite me to this blasted wedding?”


“You’re changing the topic, Ginny,” chided Hermione, wagging a finger at her. “I have to admit, though, I’ve been wondering the same thing. You and Sylvia were never close during Hogwarts, right?”


“We never really got along, since she was a snotty brat from the beginning, but it was only during our fifth year that she decided that she wanted Harry,” replied Ginny candidly. “When Harry never fell for her attempts to flirt with him, she decided it was my fault, and she became really insufferable.” She huffed scornfully. “As if I had anything to do with that.”


“Didn’t you?” Hermione’s brown eyes twinkled at her.


“No,” said Ginny, grinning back at her friend. “Sylvia was doing a perfectly good job of repulsing Harry on her own. I just stood there and enjoyed her impotent rage.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And that’s probably why she invited me — to get back at me by rubbing it in my face that she’s getting hitched and I’m still a poor, pathetic ‘career witch’ doomed to spinsterhood.”


“Did she really say that?” exclaimed Hermione.


“Not in so many words, but she did write something to that effect in the charming little note she sent together with her darling little invitation,” said Ginny in a sarcastic tone.


“But I’m a ‘career witch’ too!” said Hermione, sounding indignant.


“Yeah, but you’re getting married, aren’t you?”


“That shouldn’t matter!”


“Apparently it makes all the difference in the world to Sylvia.” Ginny shrugged dismissively. “Never mind. I’d rather be single forever than be anything like that cow.”


Hermione arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “Single forever, you say?”


“Yes,” said Ginny with an emphatic nod of her head. “Really.”


“Really?”


“Really!”


Really?


“Oh, all right!” Ginny threw up her hands in disgust. “How come it seems we’ve had this conversation before?” she irritably asked a grinning Hermione. “Of course I don’t want to be single forever,” she declared, an image of her exchanging wedding vows with Harry appearing unbidden in her head, “but then again, I certainly don’t want to get married just because that cow is!”


Hermione chuckled. “By the way, who’s ‘that cow’ marrying?”


“Some unfortunate bloke who’s supposed to be,” Ginny cleared her throat and affected Sylvia’s haughty tones, “an ‘internationally renowned Italian wizard fashion designer’.” She snorted rudely. “Don’t even ask me how they met. I suppose she had to get out of England in order to find herself a boyfriend,” she said cattily.


“Wait!” Hermione sat up straight. “Raphael Mugatu?” she asked, sounding unnaturally breathless. “She’s marrying Raphael Mugatu?”


“Yeah, that’s his name.” Ginny stared at her friend, who looked ready to hyperventilate. “Are you telling me that you actually know who this person is?”


“Raphael Michelangelo Leonardo Donatello Mugatu, only son of the widowed Contessa Annunciata Alcina Assunta Mugatu, one of the last members of the pure Wizarding families in Italy. Raphael studied fashion design at the exclusive Istituto di Modo e Pesci in Rome, and later apprenticed to the legendary Vestito Pantaloni of the Casa di Pantaloni,” Hermione rattled off at top speed to an open-mouthed Ginny.


If she closed her eyes, Ginny would have sworn that she was having a conversation with Lavender Brown, instead of the usually strait-laced, no-nonsense Hermione Granger.


Hermione getting worked up about a fashion designer? What is this world coming to? Is this the end of life as we know it? Noooooo!


“At least let me go to the wedding with Harry first,” Ginny muttered under her breath, already preparing a contingency plan to get to Italy in case deadly meteoroids came screaming through the earth’s atmosphere in the next few days to wreak havoc on the planet. Nothing was going to interrupt her monumental first date with Harry — nothing — not even dozens of badly timed, potentially lethal balls of fire falling from the heavens.


Hermione rummaged through a drawer, oblivious to the fact that Ginny’s rather vivid imagination had once again run amuck. She brought out a copy of Witch Weekly(which only reinforced Ginny’s belief that the world was about to end in the very near future) and opened it to a two-page spread devoted to wedding robes.


“His designs are absolutely stunning,” gushed Hermione, pushing the magazine towards Ginny. “See?”


The models in the photographs sashayed regally down a runway strewn with lilies and roses, wearing the latest designs from the ‘brilliant mind of Raphael Mugatu’, as the headline trumpeted. Hermione tapped her wand on one particular picture, which expanded into the centre of the page, bringing a lovely white gown into sharper focus.


“This was last season’s collection, but this is the dress I’ve been looking at,” said Hermione dreamily. “Just in case Ron…”


She abruptly stopped talking, blushed scarlet and tapped the picture once more shrinking it back to its original size.


“Just in case my brother actually got enough nerve to make an honest woman out of you?” supplied Ginny, smiling at her friend, all thoughts of snuggling up to Harry in an underground cave while waiting out the meteor shower momentarily disappearing from her brain. “It’s lovely, Hermione. You’ll look fantastic in it.”


“Thanks, Ginny.”


“Ron won’t be able to string a coherent sentence together when he sees you in that,” teased Ginny.


“Well, as long as he remembers his vows, that’s fine with me,” replied Hermione with a wry grin, then her expression became hopeful. “Ginny, do you suppose you could…” she began, then shook her head. “No, of course not.”


“What is it?”


“Well…” Hermione bit her lip. “Well, do you suppose you could manage to set up an appointment with Mr Mugatu for me?”


“Erm,” responded Ginny, taken aback. “I don’t exactly know him that well, you know, as I’ve never met him. I never even heard of him until the other day.”


“Yes, but you will meet him!” said Hermione triumphantly. “Do you realise how hard it is to get a consultation with him? There’s a year-long waiting list! Please?” she begged.


Ginny looked at Hermione’s earnest face. “Okay,” she said reluctantly, then laughed when Hermione squealed and clapped her hands in delight. “I’ll certainly try anyway. Anything for my favourite sister-in-law.”


“Thank you!” Hermione reached over and squeezed her hand gratefully. “Now, let’s go back to my original question.”


“What original question?”


“Oh, come now, I know something’s up between you and Harry. I’ve wanted to ask you since I found out he was going to be your date for Sylvia’s wedding, but with all the kerfuffle about our engagement, I haven’t had the chance to do so.” Hermione leaned forward impatiently. “So?”


Ginny fidgeted in her seat. “Well, I’m really not sure,” she said slowly, “but ever since I got to The Burrow, Harry’s been really… attentive.”


“’Attentive’? In what way?” demanded Hermione, looking curious. “Attentive as in ‘brotherly-friendly-attentive’ or attentive as in ‘I-really-fancy-you-flirty-attentive’?”


“You tell me. He’s been helping out with Amelie and Michel — he volunteered to mind them today so I could meet you guys for lunch —”


“How… domestic,” Hermione said with a trace of amusement in her voice. “Harry’s really good with children, isn’t he? He’ll make a great father someday…”


“— and he made a picnic lunch for us when we went swimming…” Ginny continued, blithely ignoring the smug expression on the older witch’s face.


“Really? Harry knows how to make a picnic lunch? That’s so sweet.” Hermione shook her head in bemusement. “Then he goes and offers to be your date to the wedding, huh?”


“Well, he did get into a bit of a snit when he learned that I had originally planned to go with Seamus,” said Ginny with a roll of her eyes. “He even told me that Seamus was too old for me. Can you believe it?”


Hermione erupted into peals of laughter. “Oh my, he really must have been put out — perhaps he was even… jealous?” she asked mischievously.


“A girl can only hope,” answered Ginny cheekily.


“So, he helps you with the children, makes you picnic lunches, and gets jealous over non-existent boyfriends,” said Hermione, ticking off each item with her fingers. “All we need now is for him to kiss you!”


Ginny immediately looked down at her lap, feeling a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Well, uh…”


“He did? I’m so happy for you!” exclaimed Hermione.


“Hang on. He almost kissed me,” clarified Ginny, “but Michel spilled his juice on Harry’s lap and the moment was kind of lost.”


“No matter, the intention was clearly there, so that proves it,” declared Hermione, with an unconcerned wave of her hand. “It’s definitely the ‘I-really-fancy-you-and-would-like-to-kiss-you-now-please attentive’.”


“You think?” asked Ginny hopefully. “I mean, that’s the impression I’m getting from him, but maybe I’m putting the carriage before the Thestral?”


Hermione patted Ginny’s arm, the diamond on her engagement ring flashing in the brightly lit room. “Ginny, I’ve thought Harry’s liked you that way for a very long time, but he was constantly preoccupied or simply not around so that he couldn’t do anything about it. First it was Voldemort, then it was that stupid world tour the Ministry set up, and now it’s Quidditch. But I think he was simply waiting for an opportunity to come up and act on his feelings.” She paused and looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, you’ve always been busy too. This is the first time I’ve seen you take a holiday since you’ve begun working. You two rarely saw each other this last year, but now you’re both at the same place at the same time…” she trailed off meaningfully.


“I suppose I should send a thank you note to that idiot McLaggen for hitting Harry on the head then,” said Ginny wryly. At Hermione’s puzzled expression, she elaborated, “In a way, he is indirectly responsible for Harry and me spending more time together.”


Hermione laughed again. “Well, when the time comes, you can invite him to your wedding to Harry,” she teased. “You can even make him your best man, although Ron would probably take offence at that.”


“Oh you!” Ginny randomly grabbed an object off Hermione’s desk and pretended to throw it at her.


When Hermione gave a little shriek of alarm, Ginny glanced at what she was holding in her hand. It was the mint condition first edition of Hogwarts, A History that Ron had given Hermione on their first anniversary. Even though the book was displayed prominently on her desk, no one was allowed to touch the soft, green leather covers without Hermione’s permission, and that was only given after she had Scourgified your hands several times over and then shoved them into special gloves woven out of Demiguise-hair.


“Oops.” Ginny very cautiously laid the copy of Hogwarts, A History back on the table, where it was immediately snatched up by Hermione.


The brunette carefully checked it for any damage, muttering some complex-sounding charms over it before she reverently Banished it to the topmost shelf of the bookcase behind her. It settled in between a rare version of the first book published by Obscurus Books (a travel guide written by Nathaniel Obscurus himself, entitled Apparating Through Magyckal Britain on One Knut and Half a Loaf of Bread A Day), and Hermione’s collection of vintage S.P.E.W. badges. Breathing deeply, she composed herself and smiled sheepishly at Ginny. “Sorry, you know how I get about these things.”


“I’ll say,” muttered Ginny, but she flashed an apologetic grin. “I’m sorry too.” Glancing at her watch, she made a face and grabbed her purse from behind her. “Well, I’m off to pick up my dress robes from Madam Malkin’s.”


“I thought you already got them the yesterday when you were with Tonks.”


“I did, but the good Madam Malkin insisted on making some adjustments,” said Ginny dryly. “Apparently, she felt the need to put in a few more charms to give the illusion that I actually have a cleavage.”


“You’re way too hard on yourself, Ginny,” chastised Hermione. “I haven’t heard Harry complaining about your figure. In fact,” she said, grinning broadly, “I distinctly remember him staring at your — er — bum and — um — your chest — a lot when we were still in Hogwarts.”


“What?!” Ginny bolted from her seat. “How come I never knew that? I’m certain that I would’ve noticed if Harry was actually checking me out!” She waved her purse in the air in agitation, scattering the flock of inter-departmental memos above their heads in all directions.


Hermione giggled. “Harry most likely assumed that Ron would punch him in the jaw if he knew that his best friend was very appreciative of his little sister’s assets, so he did his best to do his ogling discreetly. I, however, am a bit more perceptive than Ron,” she said with a proud tilt of her head.


“Now that’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” replied Ginny sardonically as she plopped back into her chair with a disgruntled huff. “But if I had known that about Harry, I wouldn’t have needed to hide the fact that I was checking him out!”


“Oh, were you? I wasn’t conscious of that fact. I thought you liked walking into fireplaces and random bits of furniture whenever Harry flexed those arms of his.” Hermione smirked at Ginny’s outraged glare. “You do realise that he only did that when he knew that you were around?”


“Oh, like you never whimpered ‘Merlin save me’ whenever my brother wore those tight jeans of his!” Ginny shot back, chortling at the other girl’s stricken face.


“You knew that?” gasped Hermione, looking very mortified.


“’Course I did,” sniggered Ginny. “I also highly enjoyed the way your eyes would kind of glaze over, and you would wind up spilling your ink or snapping your quill in half.”


“Yes,” sighed Hermione sadly. “I wasted many perfectly good quills that way, but they were well worth it, just to see Ron’s lovely little bum.”


Ginny and Hermione looked at each other for a second before they collapsed into hysterical giggles. After laughing themselves silly for a good minute or two, Ginny rose from her chair to give her friend a fond embrace. “I really need to go. Thanks again. I had loads of fun today.”


“Me too. We should do this more often. Oh, don’t forget your train tickets and your Portkey.” Hermione handed her a small figure of a cat, which closely resembled Crookshanks, down to the bottle-brush tail and the slightly squashed face. Ginny stroked the miniature feline’s head and was rewarded by a very faint purring sound. Giving it one final pat, she put it in her purse for safe-keeping.


“By the way, your return is scheduled at four in the afternoon, so make sure you get to the Terminal at least half an hour before then, unless of course, you suddenly develop a pressing need to stay for a romantic holiday in Italy…” Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny, who returned her grin with one of her own.


“You never know, do you?” said Ginny airily. “I might be up for a Roman holiday.” She laughingly bade Hermione farewell, and headed for the Floos.


* * *



When Ginny stepped out of the fireplace at The Burrow, she was surprised to see a pair of rather large feet sticking out from behind the sofa. The room was quiet, except for a rhythmic whistling noise that sounded strangely familiar. Glancing warily around, she pulled out her wand and moved cautiously towards the sofa to investigate, her dress robes clasped in front of her like a shield.


She began laughing softly at the sight that met her eyes. Harry was sprawled out on the carpet, snoring softly, his left arm flung across his face. Curled up on either side of him were Amelie and Michel, similarly fast asleep. What Ginny found so amusing, and oddly endearing, was the fact that there were a number of small stuffed animals — including a pink Abraxan, a silver unicorn, a green dragon, a scruffy-looking Crup, and the papier-mâché Blast-Ended Skrewt Michel had created — arrayed on Harry’s stomach, all gently bobbing up and down in time with his breathing.


“Ginny, is that you, dear?”


Ginny held a finger to her lips when her mother walked into the room, still wearing her best silver dress robes. She pointed to the three persons sleeping soundly on the floor.


“Oh my,” chuckled Mrs Weasley quietly. She moved forward and picked Amelie up and signalled Ginny to get Michel. Ginny nodded and carefully draped her robes over the back of the sofa. As she bent to take Michel in her arms, she paused for a moment to take advantage of the opportunity to stare unabashedly at Harry without anyone taking the mickey or smiling meaningfully at her.


Ginny impulsively brushed his untidy fringe from his forehead, exposing his infamous scar, and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. She held her breath when Harry stirred, but he soon settled down again, a small smile on his handsome face. She took his glasses and the mini menagerie on his stomach and placed them on the small end table before putting a cushion under his head and the afghan over his body. She then stepped back and carefully gathered the sleeping Michel, who snuffled softly then buried his face against Ginny’s neck.


When she reached the children’s room, she silently laid the boy on his bed, tucking the green and gold blanket with a pattern of cuddly fire-breathing dragons on it around his shoulders. She made her way to Mrs Weasley, who was perched on the small loveseat by Amelie’s cot, smoothing the golden curls on the child’s head.


“Poor dears must have tired themselves out,” murmured Mrs Weasley. “When I last checked in on them, they were having some sort of complicated game which apparently entailed making all sorts of animal noises.”


Ginny chuckled appreciatively. It seemed like the children had a wonderful time playing with Harry.


“Harry’s very good with children, isn’t he?” said Mrs Weasley, unknowingly repeating Hermione’s exact words earlier that day.


Ginny suppressed a smile at her mother’s determination to extol Harry’s best qualities. She did this whenever the occasion presented itself — meaning she did it whenever she saw her daughter. “Yes, Mum, he is.”


“He’s such a dear boy. Such perfect manners! Always so polite and thoughtful.”


“Yes, Mum.”


Too polite, mused Ginny, thinking of all the times she had wanted Harry to seize her and have his wicked way with her. Oh my, is it hot in here or what? She bowed her head so that her mother wouldn’t see her blazing cheeks.


“And he’s grown up into such a good-looking young man.”


You can say that again. Ginny gave a small sigh as she thought of Harry’s handsome profile and beautiful green eyes.


“Yes, Mum.”


“Oh, and he’s become — what do you young people call it — rather shaggable, don’t you think so, dear?”


“Yes, Mu— What!” squeaked Ginny, jerking her head up and staring at her mother in shock.


Mrs Weasley smirked back at her, looking uncannily like Fred and George for a moment.


“Just because I’ve been married for so long doesn’t mean I don’t understand what you children talk about when you think I’m not listening,” said Mrs Weasley matter-of-factly.


Ginny gaped for a few more seconds before she burst into somewhat scandalised giggles. “In that case, Mum, yes, Harry is indeed become very shaggable,” she said, turning scarlet as the words left her mouth. She could imagine Harry’s horror-struck reaction if he knew she was discussing him in this manner with her mum, of all people. She couldn’t quite believe she was having this conversation either.


“Hmmm…” said her mother, a shrewd glint in her eyes.


“Not that I’ve ever shagged him — or any bloke for that matter,” she said hastily. She paused, chewing on her lip. “He’s also all of those other things that you mentioned,” added Ginny quietly, “and more.”


“You still like him.” It was a statement, not a question.


Ginny was not surprised that her mum knew how she felt about Harry. After all, Molly Weasley had always had the mysterious ability to know exactly what all of her children were up to; she didn’t even need the Weasley family clock for that. Ginny had often wondered if her mum had any Seer blood in her but decided that it must be a trait that was innate in all mothers.


“I never really stopped,” admitted Ginny, playing with the sleeve of her shirt, “but I didn’t think he liked me back that way.”


Mrs Weasley smiled affectionately at her. “You know, that summer after your fourth year, I could tell that Harry was beginning to see you as more than just Ron’s sister.”


“Really, Mum? Why didn’t you tell me that then?” asked Ginny, feeling a little thrill at what she was hearing.


“Well, being a typical boy, he hadn’t realised it yet, of course.” Mrs Weasley reached out to stroke Ginny’s hair. “You were a big help in getting him through Sirius’ death, Ginny, and it might have become awkward between the two of you if I had said anything.”


Both women grew silent at the mention of Harry’s godfather. After a while, Mrs Weasley began speaking again, her voice soft and soothing to Ginny’s ears.


“Every summer after that, I was more than delighted to watch as you and Harry grew closer together. He truly depended on you, Ginny, and no one could cheer him up as much as you could — as much as you still do,” she amended, smiling at her daughter. “I knew that given the chance, you two could have something more than friendship between you.”


“I thought so too, but, well, he had a lot on his plate then — preparing to defeat old Moldyshorts and then pacifying the Ministry afterwards,” said Ginny, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder like she did when she was younger. “I was hoping for a sign after I finished Hogwarts...” she closed her eyes and sighed, “...but he seemed to have moved on, Mum.”


“Did you ever give him a sign that you wanted something more?” asked Mrs Weasley gently.


Ginny bit her lip and shook her head. Even though she had always held a tiny, niggling, hopeful suspicion that he may have liked her back, she had been too afraid of being rejected, of destroying the careful friendship she had nurtured with Harry, and, truth be told, she had wanted him to make the first move.


But then again, this is Harry we’re talking about, she thought wryly. I should have probably dropped Hagrid-sized hints about how I felt about him.


Maybe she should have just grabbed him and kissed him in front of everybody in the Gryffindor common room.


“Perhaps fate was merely waiting for the right moment to bring you and Harry together.” Mrs Weasley put her arm around Ginny’s shoulder and squeezed her lightly. “I suspect that the time has come at last, Ginny. Don’t be afraid to tell him how you feel, dear. You might be pleasantly surprised at what happens when you do.”


Ginny returned the embrace gratefully. “Thanks, Mum.”


“Anytime, dear.” Mrs Weasley patted her arm and stood up. “Oh, and Ginny?”


“Yes?”


“Just because I said that Harry was shaggable, that doesn’t mean that you have to go and prove me right, you hear?” said Mrs Weasley sternly, fixing a now furiously blushing Ginny with a hard stare. “I at least expect an engagement ring on your finger before you even begin thinking of anything remotely like that, young lady.”


“Mum!”

*





Back to index


Chapter 12: Something as Normal as a Wedding

Author's Notes: Well, this may be the last chapter I put up until Deathly Hallows come out. But then again, maybe not. :)

Thanks to everyone who nominated and voted for this story.

Of course, many thanks to Chreechree, my wonderful beta and a superb author in her own right. The latest instalment of her lovely Willpower series has been posted, so please go and treat yourself to an excellent read.

Oh, and if there is anyone out there cringing and rolling their eyes in horror at my pathetic attempts at Italian, please feel free to send me a PM to correct me. :) Grazie!


Something as Normal as a Wedding





It was just past eight in the morning when Harry and Ginny Portkeyed onto the tiny platform where the train that would bring them to the Palazzo del Pecorino, and the Mugatu-Vane nuptials, would be arriving shortly.


While Harry was still getting his bearings — he had never really got the hang of instantaneous travel, he’d much rather fly or even use Muggle transportation as a means of getting around — Ginny was already wandering around the quaint train station, looking at her surroundings in delight.


Colourful, old-fashioned posters adorned the aged stone walls, and a couple of wizened old men sat on wooden benches, watching the world pass by with stoic faces. Some dingy-looking goats leisurely meandered past Harry, who narrowly avoided falling over one when it stopped right in front of him to eat a discarded wrapper of Tentazione al Cioccolato.


As Ginny examined one of the posters advertising a local fizzy drink called Spremuta d’Arancia, Harry became engrossed in the way the bright sunlight reflected off her hair, which was arranged in a simple chignon, a few stray curls framing her pretty face.


The golden highlights in her auburn tresses reminded Harry of the gleam and shimmer of a Snitch during a Quidditch match. He smiled at the comparison and wondered if his skill as a Seeker would be up to the challenge of catching this particular Golden Snitch.


He certainly hoped so.


The piercing whistle of a train roused Harry from his thoughts, and he blinked to find Ginny smiling at him. “All right, Harry?”


Harry grinned and nodded, flushing a bit at being caught gawking.


“C’mon then, before we get left behind and miss ‘the Wizarding event of the century,’” she said archly, quoting the headline on the society pages of the Daily Prophet, which Mrs Weasley had been perusing earlier that morning.


Harry grinned as he recalled the events at breakfast. Ron, who had Flooed in for a free meal, had snorted indelicately when he read the front page of the Prophet. “I wonder what they call your defeat of Voldemort, Harry — a bloody tea party?” he asked.


“Buhdy Vodymore!” Amelie had echoed gleefully, and she lobbed her soft-boiled egg at her Uncle Ron, hitting him square in one surprised blue eye.


“Language, Ron!” Mrs Weasley had cried out and used the Daily Prophet to smack the back of his head. Harry and Ginny had been beside themselves with laughter at the sight of Ron slowly wiping egg yolk off his face with the serviette that Michel had solemnly handed him.


“Oh no, we wouldn’t want to miss that,” agreed Harry solemnly, as they walked towards the small, antiquated silver steam engine, optimistically named Freccia d’argento.


They boarded the train behind a small group of people who were too dressed up to be part of the local Wizarding populace, and he surmised that they were also heading for the wedding. He held out his hand to assist Ginny up the step, and they settled into an empty compartment, sitting across each other on the faded red and white striped seats.


Suddenly and inexplicably nervous about being alone with Ginny, Harry cleared his throat several times and searched his brain for something even moderately intelligent to say. They had not really had a decent chat since he had asked if he could escort her to the wedding.


She had spent most of the other day shopping with Tonks at Diagon Alley while Harry had caught up with Remus. Yesterday, she had gone off to Hermione’s engagement luncheon, and he had happily exhausted himself minding Bill’s children, although how he had wound up on the living room floor covered with an afghan and snuggled up to Michel’s Blast-Ended Skrewt was still somewhat of a mystery to him.


Not to mention that The Burrow buzzed with constant activity — Fred and George “unexpectedly” dropped by at least twice a day to mooch meals, Hermione and Mrs Weasley fussed over wedding gowns, wedding flowers and wedding food while Ron snored blissfully away on the sofa, Tonks brought Randall over for more “art lessons” with Amelie and Michel — leaving little time for any private conversation with Ginny.


“You look really nice, Ginny,” he now offered, wincing at his choice of words.


Nice? What kind of pitiful compliment was that, Potter?


Ginny was absolutely, positively, incandescently beautiful.


Harry had only caught a brief glimpse of the gauzy azure robes she had changed into following breakfast before she had covered up with a darker blue travelling cloak, but the way Ginny’s dress had seemed to flatter every curve of her petite form nearly caused him to spill his coffee all over his own elegant dove-grey robes.


“Thanks, Harry.” He was pleased to see her cheeks turn a faint pink colour. “You’re looking rather dashing yourself,” she said, her brown eyes sparkling merrily.


Harry knew that he had also turned rather red in the face, but he really could not bring himself to care when she was grinning at him in that mischievous way of hers that he liked to think she reserved only for him. Taking heart in her warm gaze, he impulsively said, “I’ve really missed talking to you, Ginny. I’m glad we get to spend some time together.”


She reached over and squeezed his hand, filling him with happiness. “Me too, Harry.”


And just like that, they fell into easy and animated banter as the Freccia d’argento slowly chugged its way to its destination, the picturesque verdant fields of the Italian countryside sliding by unnoticed and unappreciated by either of them.


Harry had almost forgotten how Ginny made anything he said seem important and how quick and intelligent a conversationalist she was. Her dry wit had him in stitches, and she was just recounting the tale of how one of her co-workers had once been caught with his pants down — literally — during a surprise broom cupboard inspection supervised by the Minister of Magic himself, when their carriage door opened and a wizard in pristine white dress robes peeked inside.


Mi scusi,” he said, smiling pleasantly at them. “May I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, he entered the compartment and sat beside Harry. “I am Paolo,” he announced, gazing at them with interest.


Harry caught Ginny’s eye, and she shrugged, indicating that she thought there was no harm in talking to this unfamiliar person. For his part, Harry surreptitiously reached under his cloak and brought out his wand, just in case Paolo turned out to be a Death Eater.


Although Harry had to admit that he had never encountered such an impeccably groomed and perfectly coiffed Death Eater before, with the possible exception of the late and unlamented Lucius Malfoy.


“I’m Ginny, and this is Harry.” Paolo acknowledged Ginny’s introductions with a slight nod of his blond head.


“Ah, forgive me, cara, but I had to come in and compliment you on the very beautiful shoes that you have on,” he said, with only the slightest hint of an accent. He pointed to the strappy silver shoes that Ginny was wearing. “Almost as beautiful as you,” he added with a smile, his teeth gleaming even in the bright compartment.


Harry scowled at the smarmy git. His good mood was rapidly evaporating, especially since Ginny appeared faintly amused by the whole thing, instead of being offended by the man’s unctuousness.


The man continued speaking as if he had not noticed Harry glaring daggers at him. “If I am not mistaken, they were made in Paris, by Etienne Chausurre? That beadwork pattern is characteristic of his vintage collection.”


Ginny nodded, and Harry was slightly put out that she seemed to be enjoying the conversation. “They were a Christmas present from my French sister-in-law,” she said.


Squisito,” murmured Paolo. His dark eyes lingered on Ginny’s robes, making Harry want to hex him badly. “May I also say that shade of blue does wonders for your colouring, bella.”


“Thank you,” said Ginny demurely.


Harry was debating whether or not he could get away with a wandless Furnunculus when Paolo abruptly rose from his seat. He kissed Ginny’s hand with a flourish. “I must take my leave, as we are nearing our destination. Arrivederci.”


Harry was scowling at the man’s back when Paolo suddenly turned and winked at him before leaving the compartment altogether. As soon as the man disappeared, Ginny burst into loud peals of laughter. “What?” he asked, feeling irritated and slightly bewildered.


“Your face, Harry.” She chuckled some more. “I wish I had a camera.”


“Can’t see what’s so funny.” Harry folded his arms across his chest, feeling the absurd need to stick his lower lip out and pout outrageously.


Ginny raised an eyebrow. “There’s no need to get shirty,” she stated calmly.


“I’m not shirty,” he said, knowing that he did, as a matter of fact, sound shirty. “I just don’t see why you were so comfortable striking up a conversation with a complete stranger.”


“He was simply being friendly,” she replied in tones that clearly indicated that she was being very patient with him at the moment.


Too friendly, if you ask me,” he grumbled under his breath.


“Don’t be silly, Harry. He couldn’t possibly fancy me because—” Ginny paused to sigh in exasperation when he grunted disbelievingly, “—because he rhapsodized about my shoes,” she declared, as if that explained everything, and lifted the hem of her robes slightly to expose her feet.


Completely perplexed now, Harry bent down and examined her shoes. Admittedly, they looked very nice on Ginny’s feet, but he could not understand what that had to do with what they were discussing. He forgot his confusion as his eyes instinctively travelled up her ankles and to the bit of well-shaped calves that were showing. He swallowed nervously and looked up to see her grinning at him. He hastily straightened up and blurted out, “I don’t get it.”


“Never mind,” she laughed, patting his knee lightly. “I’ll explain it to you some other time.” She stood up as the Freccia d’argento rolled to a halt. Harry sadly watched her trim ankles disappear beneath her robes before he also rose from his seat and together they left the train.



* * *




The Palazzo del Pecorino was quite a famous landmark in the Italian Wizarding community. A perfect example of the Baroque style popular at the time of its construction, it was a magnificent structure. The small bronze plaque at the entrance proclaimed that the famous Wizard artist Michelangelo had been responsible for building the Palazzo.


Others, however, whispered that the true designer was in fact Giovanni Formaggia, an unassuming Muggle-born wizard and dairy farmer, who dabbled in architecture while waiting for his specially-made cheeses to age. Michelangelo, according to Formaggia’s supporters, had found the plans for the Palazzo drawn on the wax paper used to wrap the pound of Gorgonzola he had purchased from Formaggia.


Regardless of the identity of the real architect, Harry had to admit that the Palazzo was impressive. They had taken a special carriage from the train station (thankfully with no Paolo this time), and as they crested a small hill, the Palazzo, with its golden dome and pink marble columns and archways, had suddenly materialised in front of their eyes.


Once inside the grand entrance hall, Harry and Ginny marvelled at the large-scale frescoes that decorated the expansive ceiling and the fantastic trompe l’oeil covering the walls.


Harry was too busy gaping at a waving cherub bearing an uncanny resemblance to Kingsley Shacklebolt in one of the murals that he walked straight into Ginny, who had come to an abrupt stop, a dismayed expression on her face.


“Sorry,” he murmured. The brief contact he had with her soft form left him feeling a bit heated. “What’s wrong?” he asked, straightening his glasses and peering at her in concern.


“I’m sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I know you hate crowds.”


Following Ginny’s gaze, Harry saw that the hall was absolutely packed with witches and wizards dressed to the nines. The sound of hundreds of conversations filled the air like the buzzing of bees.


“It’s all right, Ginny,” he assured her, smiling as she chewed on her lip in a nervous gesture that he found completely adorable. Harry still did not like being famous, but he had learned to deal with his notoriety in the months that he had spent as poster boy for the Ministry. “I don’t mind at all, especially since I’m with the prettiest witch in Italy.” She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful swat on the shoulder. “Besides, no one’s recognised me—”


“Harry? Is that you?”


Harry closed his eyes and swore under his breath. He knew that affected, simpering voice. Maybe if he acted as if he hadn’t heard her, she would go away.


“Harry, darling! It is you!”


No such luck.


Forcing a smile on his face, Harry turned around to greet a svelte, beautiful sable-haired woman with an aquiline nose and blue-grey eyes. She was wearing black and silver robes of the most exquisite cut, and several rings glittered on her long, well-manicured fingers, complimenting the expensive drop diamond earrings that shimmered from her earlobes. “Good morning, Miss Silverton. How are you?” Harry greeted her politely.


“Oh, Harry, darling, how many times have I told you to call me Cordelia? Not Miss Silverton. I keep thinking you’re talking to an old aunt or something when you call me that.” Cordelia laughed throatily and brushed her fingers over his arm. “Why are you here, darling? Are you a friend of Raphael’s?”


Harry felt Ginny stiffen beside him. He shifted so that he was out of reach of Cordelia’s hand. “No, I’m not.” He inclined his head toward Ginny. “May I introduce Ginny Weasley? She knew Sylvia from school.”


“Hello, Miss Silverton,” said Ginny with a gracious tilt of her head. “How do you know dear Harry over here?”


Cordelia eyed her condescendingly before answering. “My father owns the Wimbourne Wasps. You know, Harry’s team,” she said, smugly.


“Harry’s done wonders for the Wasps,” said Ginny pleasantly. “But then again, he was always the best Quidditch player when we were at Hogwarts together. Where did you go to school, Miss Silverton? I think I would have remembered if someone as beautiful as you went to Hogwarts, but then again, maybe you’d finished long before I started?”


Harry quickly coughed to hide the snort of laughter that had escaped him.


“I went to L’Ecole Magique in Switzerland,” said Cordelia proudly. “It’s very exclusive — I don’t suppose you would have heard of it.”


“Really? You must have been really fortunate to go there, Miss Silverton,” said Ginny, with apparent wide-eyed admiration. “My mum told me that my Aunt Portia was very fortunate to have been accepted into that school after she got expelled from both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons for failing almost every subject.”


Harry bit firmly on the inside of his cheek in order not to howl with laughter. There was a perfectly innocent air about Ginny, who had tilted her head in a charming fashion, while Cordelia seemed to be trying to work out whether or not she had been insulted.


“Hmm,” she said, her suspicious gaze resting on the redhead smiling blandly at her. “Just what is it you do, Jenny?”


“I work for the Ministry in the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, Miss Silverton,” replied Ginny, still smiling at Cordelia, although her tone had become noticeably cooler. “And it’s Ginny.”


“Oh,” said Cordelia, raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow with disdain. “You’re a career witch. How positively charming. Daddy’s always said that we should be grateful to the working class.”


“Oh, but I wouldn’t want to be one of those girls who are satisfied living off their father’s money like a gigantic, useless Blood-Sucking Bugbear,” answered Ginny in deceptively light tones. “I mean, those girls are practically parasites, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Silverton?”


From the way that Ginny’s jaw was set, Harry sensed that Cordelia Silverton was mere seconds away from being on the receiving end of a massive Bat-Bogey Hex.


Fortunately for her, salvation came in the form of a familiar blond wizard beckoning to them from across the room.


“Well!” said Ginny gaily. “We really must be going, Miss Silverton. I need to greet a dear friend of mine.” She tugged on Harry’s hand, and they left a visibly confused Cordelia behind them.


Harry had to jog to keep up with Ginny’s brisk pace. “Hey, slow down, Ginny.”


She stopped walking and looked guiltily at him. “Sorry, Harry. I know that she’s your boss’ daughter, but Merlin, that woman is simply too — too — ugh!” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.


“I know,” chuckled Harry. “Her father spoils her rotten. She’s a real character, isn’t she?”


“That’s not the word I would use,” mumbled Ginny, a smile tugging on her lips when Harry began laughing loudly.


“Ginny Weasley! Fancy meeting you here!”


They both turned around to greet the newcomer.


“Colin!” Ginny squealed, throwing her arms around her friend, who was dressed quite nattily in dark blue dress robes. “You prat! Sylvia invited you too?”


Colin Creevey shook his head. “Raphael did. I’ve been his principal photographer for some time now,” explained the blond boy. “Did dear old Sylvia invite you, Ginny?” he asked incredulously.


Ginny laughed and nodded. “I know. Can you believe it?”


“No,” said Colin bluntly, shaking his head and laughing back at her. He turned to Harry and held out his hand. “Hiya Harry! I thought you’d been injured during your last match. That McLaggen’s a right ruddy tosspot.”


“Hi, Colin. As you can see, I’m perfectly all right,” said Harry, returning the younger man’s handshake heartily. “Why’s it unbelievable that Sylvia would invite Ginny to her wedding?” he asked Colin, curious.


“Well…” the blond wizard began, but stopped when Ginny coughed discreetly. “Long story, Harry.” Colin looked back and forth between them. “But wait, are you two here together?”


“Harry very kindly offered to be my date to the wedding,” said Ginny.


“Really now?” said Colin, a knowing grin on his face. “Fancy that, eh?”


“Is Parvati with you?” Ginny looked around the room, apparently not having heard Colin’s comment, although Harry thought that she appeared a bit flushed.


“Oh, she’s around here somewhere, hobnobbing with her designer friends.” Colin jerked his thumb behind him.


“You’re going out with Parvati?” asked Harry, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. Ginny snorted and elbowed him in the ribs. Harry winced and gingerly rubbed his side. “Sorry, Colin. Didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”


Colin laughed and waved his hand dismissively. “That’s all right, Harry. I still can’t believe it myself sometimes.”


A series of musical notes filled the air, and the heavy marble doors set at the end of the hall swung open silently. Harry saw a raised dais and hundreds of gilt chairs that were set on either side of the centre aisle, which was lined with a deep burgundy carpet with a criss-crossing pattern of lime green lines.


“The ceremony’s about to start. I’d better find Parvati before she jinxes me. You should’ve never taught her your Bat-Bogey Hex, Ginny,” said Colin, rubbing his nose with a wince.


“You shouldn’t wind her up then,” retorted Ginny.


“Oh, but she likes being wound up,” returned Colin, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Harry chuckled in appreciation, while Ginny rolled her eyes at both of them.


“By the way, you can leave your cloaks over there,” said Colin, pointing to a small room to the left of the marble doors. “See you inside. I’ll save some seats for you.”


“He’s changed a lot,” commented Harry, as they pushed through the glittering throng of elegantly-clad wedding guests, each one more opulently dressed than the other, all heading towards the main chamber.


“Yes, he has,” answered Ginny. “It’s remarkable how much things change when you fall in—”


She stumbled when a portly wizard in robes of an ill-advised fuchsia hue jostled her elbow. Harry caught Ginny as she was about to pitch headfirst into a potted plant. After glaring at the back of the man’s head, he looked down to see if she had been hurt.


“All right there, Ginny?” he asked solicitously.


“Yes, I’m quite fine, Harry.” She moved her head slightly to meet his gaze, and Harry became all too aware of how close their faces were at that moment. He searched her clear brown eyes and was elated by the longing that he saw in them. The faint floral scent of her shampoo, a calming and yet sensual aroma that he had always associated with Ginny, seemed to cocoon them in a world where only he and the beautiful redhead in his arms existed.


The loud clearing of a throat brought him back to reality, and he and Ginny turned to see the clerk from the cloak room watching them with barely concealed amusement.


Scusate, signore, signorina,” she said, smiling warmly at them. “Perhaps you would like to give me your cloaks?”


Feeling somewhat embarrassed and a tad disappointed for the interruption, Harry reluctantly released Ginny to unclasp his black travelling cloak, and handed it to the brown-haired woman with a mumbled thank you. He moved to help Ginny with her own cloak but she had already removed it, and all that was left for Harry to do was to gape wordlessly at her, completely gobsmacked by her beauty.


Her pale blue dress robes flattered her figure marvellously, the long, loose skirt skimming the gentle curve of her hip and shifting fluidly with Ginny’s slightest movement. Harry’s eyes travelled upwards, appreciating her bared arms, but then he became quite entranced with the scoop neckline of the dress, which offered Harry a more-than-generous view of smooth, creamy skin.


Closing his eyes and taking several deep, calming breaths, Harry opened them again to find both Ginny and the clerk smirking at him, although Ginny seemed to have turned quite pink. He fought the impulse to check if her décolletage was as rosy as her face and instead offered her his arm.


“You look absolutely beautiful, Ginny,” he said sincerely.


“Thank you, Harry,” she replied softly and linked arms with him.


They said good-bye to the clerk (who winked at Harry) and proceeded to the main chamber where the wedding was to be held. They settled in the seats that Colin had reserved for them and exchanged pleasantries with Parvati (who winked at Ginny) for a few minutes until the unmanned string quartet over in one corner began playing a soft melody. An elderly minister with a long, grey beard stepped onto the dais.


Heads swivelled eagerly in the direction of the doors, and before long, a tall, handsome, olive-skinned man with dark hair appeared in the doorway and solemnly marched into the room. On his arm was a small, severe-looking woman wearing tasteful robes of the deepest violet.


“That’s Raphael and his mum, the Contessa,” whispered Colin loudly, as the groom gently assisted his mother into her chair. Raphael kissed her withered cheek, adjusted his charcoal-grey robes and went to stand next to the minister.


“She doesn’t look too happy, does she?” observed Harry, taking in the Contessa’s grim countenance.


“Neither does her son,” said Ginny, pointing out Raphael’s rigid stance and taut features. “I hope my fiancé looks a bit happier on my wedding day.”


“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Harry assured her. “I’m certain any man lucky enough to marry you would be floating on cloud nine.”


“Smooth, Harry, real smooth,” laughed Ginny, her face alight with pleasure. “But thank you for saying that.”


The rest of the entourage followed, and when the bridesmaids appeared, Harry was dismayed to learn that Romilda Vane was one of them. He ducked his head in order to avoid being seen as she passed by, looking mutinous and sulky.


Beside him, Ginny giggled quietly. “Ooh, Sylvia’s just nasty,” she murmured in Harry’s ear, sending shivers down his neck. “Trust her to make sure nobody outshines her today. I bet she designed those robes herself. They’re worse than Ron’s old ones!”


In spite of the rather dazed state he was in due to Ginny’s nearness, Harry had to agree wholeheartedly with her; the bridesmaids’ dress robes were the most unflattering shade of iridescent yellow-green, with copious amounts of frothy pink lace adorning the sleeves and hems of the gowns. No wonder Romilda looked like she had swallowed an entire basket of lemons.


The audience focused their attention once again towards the marble doors. After a few minutes, the bride came into view, a bouquet of pink roses in her hands. Her parents — who were both clad in robes with a loud green and pink checked pattern — stood on either side of her.


As the music peaked to a crescendo, Sylvia sailed into the room with an exultant smile on her heavily made-up face. The train of her ivory wedding gown trailed several feet behind her.


“Well, I have to admit, her dress is divine,” sighed Ginny wistfully, when Sylvia walked by them on her way to the dais where her groom was waiting for her, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Though I’m not too sure about that mile-long train,” she said as an afterthought.


A very warm feeling engulfed Harry as he imagined Ginny in a wedding dress. “I think you would look brilliant in it, with or without the train,” he told her, his voice sounding gruff to his ears.


Ginny rewarded him with a luminous smile, and the rest of the wedding ceremony passed by in a haze to Harry. He became preoccupied with the warmth of Ginny’s thigh as it brushed lightly against his whenever she shifted in her seat. He had just mustered enough nerve to casually slide his arm along the back of Ginny’s chair when the minister cleared his throat.


“Before we proceed with the joining of the wands, is there anyone here who knows of any impediment to the union of Raphael Michelangelo Leonardo Donatello,” he paused to take a deep breath, “and Sylvia?”


He peered short-sightedly around the chamber, his gaze seeming to linger expectantly on the Contessa who sat as still as stone.


“Anyone?”


He might have been imagining it, but Harry thought that the minister was beginning to sound a bit apprehensive.


“Anyone at all?”


Colin leaned across Parvati to address Ginny and Harry. “Can we object on the grounds that Sylvia shouldn’t be allowed to produce offspring and pollute the gene pool anymore than she already has?”


“What’s a gene pool?” asked Parvati.


Colin laughingly attempted to explain genetics and heredity to his puzzled girlfriend while Ginny pressed her face into Harry’s shoulder to stifle her giggles. Harry made a mental note to give Colin a Christmas present this year and every year after as Ginny’s fragrant, silky hair brushed against his chin.


The minister took one final look around and then, with a resigned air about him, finally said, “Since there are no objections, may I ask—”


Aspetta un momento.


A collective gasp rose from the assembled wedding guests as a man in white dress robes stood up and cleared his throat.


Harry’s eyes widened, and he bent down to whisper urgently in Ginny’s ear. “It’s that bugger from the train! Is he Sylvia’s old boyfriend?”


“I don’t understand…” Ginny’s brows drew together in confusion.


Colin whistled quietly. “Parvati, love, isn’t that—?”


“Paolo Pantaloni,” supplied Parvati eagerly, thrilled at the drama unfolding before their eyes. “The son of Raphael’s mentor, Vestito Pantaloni. Raphael was engaged to Paolo’s sister, Vittoria, but they had a huge public row last year and the wedding was called off. And then, out of the blue, it was announced that Raphael was marrying Sylvia. That was the talk of the Italian tabloids for months!”


Raphael and Paolo were exchanging heated words in rapid Italian, their hands gesticulating wildly in the air. Sylvia looked on, the initial bewilderment on her face slowly changing to narrow-eyed displeasure. Harry saw her whip out her wand at the same time that Paolo threw up his arms in frustration. He angrily left the room but was back almost at once, dragging a very beautiful, very angry, and — to the excitement of the avidly watching onlookers — a very pregnant witch behind him.


“It’s Vittoria!” exclaimed Parvati unnecessarily.


Raphael gaped open-mouthed at Vittoria, looking for all the world as if he had been hit by a Stunner. The flaxen-haired beauty stared back imperiously for a few seconds before she launched into a loud, passionate tirade that made Harry cringe even though he did not understand a word that she uttered.


The harangue finally came to a halt after several long minutes, and with a final teary-eyed glare at her former lover, Vittoria wheeled around and waddled as fast as she could through the door, her brother at her heels. The doors shut after them with a loud crash.


“What’s the meaning of this, Raphael?” demanded Sylvia, clutching her wand to her chest. Harry noticed that her bouquet was slowly disintegrating, the rose petals falling to the ground in smoking, blackened clumps.


The audience watched with bated breath as the wizard hesitated, clearly undecided as to what course of action to take.


“Raphael.” The Contessa stood up and pointed toward the door. “Vai.”


A resolute look came over Raphael’s face. “Si, Mamma.” He went to his mother, kissed her on both cheeks and then took off at a run. The Contessa smiled as her son sprinted down the aisle, but his flight was halted when his feet became entangled in the train of Sylvia’s wedding gown.


“Raphael!” screamed Sylvia, hurling her now ruined bouquet in his direction. “Come back here this instant!”


The Italian wizard gave her an apologetic grimace over his shoulder as he extricated himself from the yards of ivory satin and lace. “I am so sorry, Sylvia!” Finally free from the train, he flung the door open, and the last thing that Harry heard from Raphael was a cry of, “Vittoria, wait! Ti amo, tesoro!


The utter silence that descended upon the chamber was soon shattered by an unearthly screech that raised the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck. About a third of the guests turned to flee the room, while the rest searched frantically for the source of the piercing wails.


“Did someone let a Mandrake loose?” asked Harry, shouting in order to make himself heard over the deafening racket.


Ginny, who had her hands over her ears, shook her head and pointed to the dais.


Sylvia, who had stopped screaming and was now swearing up a blue streak, was flinging Reducto curses at the elaborate floral arrangements that adorned the stage. The minister was attempting to revive Mrs Vane, who had fainted dead away, while Romilda had taken refuge under one of the chairs.


One of the braver guests attempted to cast a Full Body Bind on Sylvia, but the spell missed her by inches. Harry warily watched as Sylvia whirled around to look for her assailant, brandishing her wand like a rapier. Her irate gaze landed on Ginny and him, and Harry — who was ready to jump in front of Ginny in case Sylvia got any funny ideas about hexing them — was astonished when the jilted bride’s furious expression turned into one of utter disbelief before her eyes rolled up into her head, and she collapsed into the arms of her sobbing father.


“Poor Sylvia,” said Ginny, as they watched Mr Vane carry the inert form of his daughter into a small antechamber. “Well, I suppose it’s true what they say — ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.


“Or in this case, hell hath no fury like a rejected Sylvia Vane,” said Colin impertinently.


“You can say that again,” said Harry, surveying the damage on the stage. “Well, Colin, at least the gene pool is safe for a little while longer.”


Ginny and Parvati began chuckling, and the boys soon joined in until Colin abruptly stopped laughing.


“Wait a minute,” he said, frowning a little.


“What is it, love?” asked Parvati.


“Does this mean there won’t be any reception?”

*


Back to index


Chapter 13: Like a Lover

Author's Notes: Hello! So, was DH good for you lot too? :)

I have to admit that I was scratching my head at some parts of the book and shaking my fist at Ron - and at JKR - in others (LOL), but that doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy the book thoroughly.

If I'm really honest though, my fluff-writer's heart was rather disappointed. Oh well, I'll just choose to believe that the much talked-about Epilogue is JKR's nod to fluffy fanfiction. She certainly left us loads to think about! Crafty, isn't she?

As much as I love hearing from you, please don't leave reviews that may spoil the book for those few unfortunate souls that haven't read DH yet.

Thanks to Chreechree. Get some rest, Christine. :)

Oh, and there's a song in this chapter, so technically, this makes it a SongChapter. LOL. Not to worry, it's not too sappy. Just kind of fit, yeah?


Like a Lover




As it turned out, not only was there a reception, but there was also another wedding — one that actually pushed through this time.


Raphael had caught up with Vittoria outside the pink marble steps of the Palazzo del Pecorino, just as she was about to board one of the carriages that would take her back to the train station. After copious tears, numerous recriminations and a stray hex or five, Raphael finally convinced her that he still loved her and that he had not known about the baby. Any explanation regarding Sylvia and the aborted wedding was not heard by the eager crowd that had gathered to shamelessly gawp at the estranged lovers’ reunion.


The same elderly minister who was supposed to have officiated Raphael and Sylvia’s ill-fated nuptials married a smiling Raphael and a radiant Vittoria underneath one of the large olive trees in the lush green garden behind the Palazzo, and the guests were then herded into another one of the many chambers of the palace for the reception.


As soon as she stepped inside the vast hall, Ginny had been completely entranced by its sheer splendour.


There were about a hundred or so round tables with cerise watered silk covers; elaborate crystalline glass vases bursting with pink and white roses were placed at the centre of each one. The hall was awash with the blooms, and the sweet smell of roses perfumed the air. Thousands of live, twinkling, dancing fairy lights illuminated the chamber, creating an enchanted, magical atmosphere. Over in one corner, the unmanned string quartet, now with the addition of a magical flute and piccolo, played soft, haunting melodies which made a strange counterpoint to the animated chatter of the guests as they excitedly discussed and dissected the events of the day.


Ginny and Harry were sitting together at one of tables listening to Colin and Parvati take turns in putting forth theories as to why Raphael had settled for Sylvia in the first place. As she watched her former classmate and his girlfriend laugh and make jokes, she could not help but think that no one, not even Parvati's favourite Professor Trelawney, could have ever foreseen this particular couple ending up together.


Colin had admitted to Ginny that he had always sort of fancied Parvati but had been too much in awe of her exotic beauty to do anything about it. But one balmy spring morning, she had unexpectedly shown up in his studio in Paris (where he had relocated after finishing Hogwarts), asking for his assistance in creating her first portfolio to show prospective clients. Not long after that, Colin had rallied enough Gryffindor courage to ask her out, and they had been inseparable ever since.


Of course, afterwards, he would say that it was Parvati who had implored him on her knees to go out with her, but never within hearing range of his glamorous girlfriend. He had learned the consequences of incurring the doe-eyed witch’s wrath the hard way, as evidenced by the photograph that Parvati had sent Ginny several months past, showing a disgruntled Colin sporting a most impressive display of very uncomfortable-looking knarl quills all over his body. He’d had to sleep standing up for a couple of days before Parvati finally took pity on him.


Ginny smiled to herself and took a quick look at Harry, who was now chuckling at something that Colin had said. As if he sensed her gaze on him, Harry turned his head in her direction and grinned at her.


Ginny’s insides filled with pleasure as she beamed back at Harry; indeed, she felt absolutely giddy and she half-expected that any moment now, she would either float up to the grand golden ceiling and join the thousands of pink and white pearlescent balloons that merrily bobbed above their heads, or simply keel over from sheer happiness.


Harry had been quite attentive ever since they had left the other chamber; he had helped her up from her chair and had not let go of her hand since. Ginny had been somewhat anxious that she had been a bit too forward on the Freccia d’argento, and in showing Harry how much she had been affected by Cordelia Silverton’s brazen flirting, but Hermione and her mum’s words still rang in her ears, and she had decided to show her hand a little.


And if Harry’s earlier reaction to her in her dress robes had been any indication, well…


Thank Merlin for Madam Malkin and her prodigious talent for dressmaking charms, thought Ginny with a happy sigh.


“I think that rumour that Raphael was in debt to Mr Vane is rubbish. The Mugatus are the equivalent of Italian Wizarding aristocracy — they’re old Galleons — so there must be another reason why he was going to marry Sylvia,” declared Parvati, artfully re-arranging her saffron-coloured sari so that it would drape more gracefully about her slender form. “It’s more likely that he was on the rebound from Vittoria when he met Sylvia at one of his shows. Men are like that — they’ll go out with the next witch who showers him with a little attention.”


Her boyfriend shook his head. “Not all blokes are like that, Parvati!” Colin protested. He motioned desperately to Harry. “Back me up here, will you?”


“Colin’s right,” said Harry. “I can’t speak for every man, but for my part, the witch would have to be exceptionally special for me to stay with her.” Although he did not look directly at her, Ginny was elated when he squeezed her hand gently as he uttered these words.


Colin nodded in approval. “And on the off chance that we ever break up, love, I wouldn’t sleep with Sylvia Vane even if you paid me a million Galleons. She’s downright horrible.” He looked adoringly at his girlfriend. “’Sides, if we did end things, I’d be too dead miserable to even look at any witch, much alone sleep with her.”


“Oh, Colin!” cooed Parvati, patting him on the cheek in a doting manner.


Ginny had to bite her lip to keep from giggling out loud when Colin and Parvati proceeded to provide them — and the rest of the wedding guests — with a rather public and remarkably acrobatic display of affection. Beside her, Harry shifted in his seat, obviously very uncomfortable. Ginny smirked at him; he rolled his eyes at her in response, but then he began laughing softly at the awkwardness of the situation.


His chuckles served to bring the amorous couple back to reality. Parvati blushed and reattached a jewelled clasp that had fallen out of her hair while Colin threw them an embarrassed grin.


“Er, sorry, we got a bit carried away there,” he apologised cheerfully. “Happens a lot. Anyway, what were we talking ‘bout again?” His brow wrinkled before he brightened up. “Oh yeah, I know. Sylvia probably slipped Raphael a love potion like Romilda accidentally did to Ron back in Hogwarts. Remember that, Harry?”


“How could I forget?” said Harry with wry humour. “Ron walloped me a good one when he got the absurd notion I was trying to take her away from him.”


“Did he really?” asked Parvati with a small titter. “And all along Lavender and I thought that she was after you, Harry.”


“She was,” said Ginny, grinning up at Harry, whose face was screwed up in disgust. “Romilda fancied him rotten — in fact, I’d wager that she still does. Hermione told me that it was only my brother’s constant need to stuff his gob that rescued Harry from such an ignoble fate as being Romilda Vane’s little boy toy.”


They were still having a good chuckle about Ron’s short-lived and ill-fated ‘infatuation’ with Romilda when there was a sudden sharp intake of breath from Parvati. “Oh my goodness!”


Ginny swivelled in her seat to see what had caught Parvati’s interest. She had to blink several times to make sure that she had not been hit by a Confundus Charm, for tramping into the hall as if she owned the place was someone they had not expected, nor particularly wanted, to ever see again.


Especially not at this reception.


What made matters infinitely worse was the fact that she was heading straight in their direction.


“Bloody buggering hell,” muttered Harry, his eyes darting around the room as if he was searching for the nearest exit.


Unfortunately for Harry, and for everyone else, it was too late.


Romilda Vane, in all her frothy pink lace glory, had arrived at the table.


“Hi, Harry,” simpered the bold-looking girl, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.


Harry inclined his head a fraction of an inch. “Romilda.”


Ginny and Parvati shared a look when Romilda giggled and flicked her long black hair coquettishly over one pink lace-trimmed shoulder.


“I thought I’d seen you earlier. Are you here by yourself?” she asked with a flirtatious smile.


What are we? Bloody wood lice? fumed Ginny, raising her head to give Romilda the full benefit of her “Don’t-go-messing-with-me-you-fat-cow” glare of doom.


Romilda was apparently unaware that the proper response to the patented Ginny-Weasley-glare-of-doom was, in fact, to flop and thrash uselessly on the ground like a Plimpy out of water, because she merely smoothed down her velveteen robes, drawing Ginny’s attention to the black-haired witch’s Bowtruckle-thin figure.


All right, make that you-skinny-arsed-cow, Ginny conceded and adjusted her glare accordingly. She was about to pull out her wand to jinx Romilda’s horrendous yellow-green robes into strangling their owner when Harry saved her the trouble.


“No, actually, I’m with Ginny,” answered Harry coolly, letting go of Ginny’s hand to slide his arm across the back of her chair. “And you know Colin and Parvati, of course?”


“Of course.” Romilda nodded shortly at Parvati and Colin — who saluted her impertinently — and then she gave Ginny an insincere smile, which Ginny did not bother to acknowledge, as she was too busy enjoying the warmth of Harry’s arm around her shoulders.


“Yes, well, Harry, you don’t have to stay here,” Romilda said loudly, tossing her head and wrinkling her nose at Ginny. “Why don’t you join us at our table?”


“I’m very happy where I am, thanks,” replied Harry, who, in a move that almost made Ginny forget her own name, slowly began caressing her shoulder with his long, dexterous fingers.


Her brain commenced standard self-preservation procedures straight away.


Must not melt into a puddle of goo… Must not melt into a puddle of goo…


She became distracted when Harry began drawing lazy circles on her upper arm.


Must not… melt…


Harry then moved on to tracing out ellipses and figures-of-eight.


Puddle…


Merlin help her.


Goooooo…


Now he was limning dodecahedrons.


Dodecahedrons?


Ginny concentrated on each delicious stroke of Harry’s fingers against her skin.


Oh no, wait, they were just really uneven pentagons.


She leaned ever so slightly into Harry’s highly intoxicating touch.


Oh sod it all, she thought bemusedly. Melting into a puddle of goo isn’t that big a deal.


She looked critically at the pristine marble flooring.


Might make a bit of a mess though.


As Harry continued to hone his artistic doodling skills on her shoulder, Ginny watched Romilda’s face become a nasty shade of puce that clashed quite spectacularly with her chartreuse robes. Out of the blue, she felt an immense upsurge of sympathy for the other girl.


Really, she isn’t so bad, just a tad misunderstood, Ginny reflected compassionately. It must hurt to wallow in unrequited love for so long.


“I didn’t expect you’d be at the reception, Romilda. Who are you sitting with?” she asked politely, marvelling at the fact that her voice was quite steady despite the heat that Harry’s fingers seemed to be generating with each languid caress.


“None of your business,” snapped Romilda, her large dark eyes flashing with malice.


“Don’t you talk to Ginny like that,” said Harry, his voice low and menacing.


So much for my being magnanimous, sighed Ginny sadly, prepared to be gracious in spite of the other girl’s abominable lack of good manners. All her charitable thoughts rapidly disappeared, however, when she suddenly realised that Harry had removed his arm from her shoulder when he had straightened up to glower at Romilda.


Right.


She narrowed her eyes at the younger woman, who had taken a half-step backward, seeming to be quite frightened of Harry.


This means war.


“It’s okay, Harry,” she said, placing a hand on his upper arm in a soothing gesture. She waited until he relaxed somewhat, smiled reassuringly at him, and then whipped out her wand to level it at the annoying woman.


“I’m giving you exactly fifteen seconds to get out of my sight, Romilda,” Ginny informed her in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. “So unless your dearest ambition in life is to be the first flobberworm in history to study at Hogwarts, you’d better leave.”


Romilda’s magenta-lipsticked mouth curled up into a sneer. “You are so deceased, Weasley,” she hissed, her nostrils flaring angrily.


“Just say the word, Vane,” replied Ginny evenly, raising her wand a little higher, “and it’s flobberworm time.”


Harry’s icy expression and the fact that Ginny’s wand was emitting bright gold and green sparks that made ominous sizzling sounds when they landed on the tablecloth finally seemed to convince Romilda that she had truly overstepped a line. Thrusting her prominent chin high in the air, she did an abrupt about-turn and flounced from the room.


“It’s flobberworm time?” Colin guffawed heartily, slapping the table in appreciation while Parvati nodded approvingly. “That was absolutely fantastic, Ginny!”


Ginny shrugged her shoulders and stowed her wand away in her robes. “When am I not absolutely fantastic?” she deadpanned, smirking at her friends.


Harry reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. “You’re always fantastic, Ginny,” he said, giving her such a blinding smile that if not for the tumultuous applause that suddenly filled the hall, she would never have known that the newly married couple had now entered the room.


A bit dazedly, she returned his smile, and they watched as the newly married couple joyfully made their way to the main table. They were closely followed by the Contessa, who regally sailed into the hall with Paolo Pantaloni on one arm, and the minister on the other.


“Paolo looks simply marvellous in his robes,” said Parvati, which caused Harry to snort noisily.


Ginny nudged him with her knee and he responded by letting out another grunt of exasperation.


“He’s really really really good-looking, isn’t he, Ginny?” said Parvati with a sigh of admiration. “Ridiculously so.”


“Mmmm,” said Ginny noncommittally, peering at Harry out of the corner of her eye. She hid a grin when his brows came together in a small frown. She saw him cast an inquiring glance towards Colin as if silently asking why he was allowing his girlfriend to gush over another man like that.


“I wonder who Paolo’s going out with nowadays.” Parvati looked around the room. “Who did we see him with during Raphael’s last show in Milan, Colin?”


“Wasn’t it that German bloke with the bleached blond highlights? Hansel von something something,” answered her boyfriend. “You know, the male model who won the walk-off at The Purple Paisley Plimpy in Soho?”


Ginny began laughing when Harry suddenly stiffened in his chair. He glanced sharply at her, something akin to mild terror on his face.


“I told you he couldn’t possibly fancy me, Harry,” she said kindly, patting him on the knee with her free hand. “I think he was rather taken with you, though.” She laughed again when he grimaced at her comment.


“Are you trying to tell me that—”


The rest of Harry’s response was lost when a bell chimed and Raphael rose from the main table to address the audience.


“My dear dear friends, thank you for coming to our little gathering. The day may have begun most — ah — strangely, and we may have run into some — shall we say — difficulties, but—” he gave an expressive shrug of his shoulders, “all’s well that ends well, si?”


His speech was met with appreciative laughter and a noisy chorus of “Si! Si!” from the assembled guests. Smiling broadly, Raphael motioned with his hands until the room grew silent once more.


“I will not go into the reasons why things turned out the way they did, but I would like to make it clear that it was never my intent to hurt anyone. I may have made foolish choices in the past, but I know that I have now made the best decision of my life.”


He leaned down to kiss Vittoria soundly on the lips. “So it is true, what they say — I primi amori sono i migliori — ‘the first loves are the best ones’,” he stated, looking devotedly at his bride, who was fairly glowing with happiness, “aren’t they, mi teso— mmph!”


Vittoria had grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him down again for a longer and much more passionate kiss that had most of the audience blushing and coughing embarrassedly long before it ended.


Ginny felt goosebumps erupt up her neck when Harry bent his dark head to speak in her ear, his warm breath tickling her. “I really can’t see how Raphael could have chosen Sylvia over Vittoria. She obviously loves him, while Sylvia looked like she was only after his fame.”


“We’ll never know, will we? It’s a good thing that he caught on and realised that what he really wanted had always been right in front of his eyes,” she murmured against Harry’s cheek, inhaling the clean, masculine scent she had always associated with him


Harry’s green eyes burned brightly behind his glasses as he looked down at her. “Yeah, it’s a good thing that he did,” he echoed quietly, his gaze drifting down to her lips.


If Ginny had not been aware that there were a hundred people or so in the same room as them, she would have launched herself at Harry right then and there and have given the newlyweds a run for their money.


As it was, she was prevented in putting her nefarious plan to openly ravish Harry into action when Raphael, wearing a very large and foolish grin on his face, suddenly announced, “Now, my friends, the part you have all been waiting for.”


He clapped his hands twice. “Let the feast begin! Buono appetitto!


An assortment of small plates appeared on the table, laden with different sorts of appetizers — pickled artichokes, stewed mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes, and some grilled bread topped with tomatoes, ham and cheese which Colin identified as bruschetta. The reception hall was soon alive once again with the hum of conversation and the occasional loud burst of laughter as people began eating.


Colin rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Ah, finally! I need some nourishment after all that drama. Although I can never understand why the Italians need to serve each dish one at a time,” he complained, even as he began piling food onto his plate. “Why can’t they just put everything in one place all at once? People get hungry, you know.”


Parvati rolled her eyes and chastised Colin for his atrocious appetite. She herself only had taken some of the antipasti. “Oh, my poor diet! Why does Italian food have to be so delicious?”


Harry and Ginny exchanged amused glances. “I swear, it’s like Ron and Hermione are right here with us,” chuckled Harry. “Actually, it’s a good thing that Ron isn’t here. Can you imagine the ruckus he’d raise about the size of the servings and this ‘funny foreign food’?”


Ginny laughingly agreed. “Yeah, and Hermione would be expounding on each dish — where it came from, what the ingredients are, how many calories it contains…” She was about to help herself to the bruschetta when she realised that Harry was still holding her right hand.


“Harry,” she said, smiling up at him.


“Yeah?”


“I need both my hands to eat.”


Harry looked down at their joined hands and then gave her a lopsided grin. “Do you now?” he said, tightening his grip even more.


Ginny felt her heart do a somersault. “Don’t worry, you can have it back after we finish,” she said, feeling quite emboldened by the way he was looking at her.


“I’ll hold you to that,” he replied softly. He let go of her hand reluctantly, his thumb gently gliding across her knuckles before he did so.


Ginny had no earthly idea how she got through the meal. She vaguely registered that the entrées — pasta dishes including lasagne, spaghetti alla carbonara, gnocchi alla romana; main courses of roast lamb, veal and beef rolls, roast suckling pig — were delectable and that the wine was excellent, but all she was really achingly aware of was the black-haired, bespectacled, handsome man sitting next to her, his shoulder frequently brushing against hers as they talked and joked with Colin and Parvati.


Occasionally, she would look to her right to find Harry watching her with those amazing green eyes of his, and she was hard pressed not to drag him off to an empty room somewhere and have her wicked way with him.


Ginny was thankful when afters included strawberry and pistachio gelato, and she could cool off her overheated imagination. When she saw the meagre size of the servings, however, she wondered if she could ask the house-elves to bring her an entire tub of the confection because it was going to take more than a tiny dessert cup to calm her inflamed thoughts.


When the dishes disappeared from the table, the orchestra struck up a new tune, which Ginny recognised as a song by Calliope Arias, the latest singing sensation on the Wizarding Wireless Network.


Sure enough, the porcelain-skinned, chestnut-haired, ruby-lipped singer, sheathed in slinky, shimmering vermillion robes shot with silver and gold thread, materialised in front of the band and waved to the appreciative guests. She began singing Your Love is Wizard and It Has Cast a Spell on Me, and Raphael and Vittoria took to the wooden parquet floorboards set in the middle of the room and began their first dance as a married couple.


As the newlyweds moved slowly across the floor, Ginny felt Harry envelop her hand in his once again. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat when he carefully twined his fingers with hers, smiling rather rakishly at her as he did so.


Raphael and Vittoria finished their dance to a hearty round of applause, and Raphael Summoned a chair so that his pregnant wife could rest while they watched the remainder of the program.


Ciao, amici,” said Calliope in the throaty contralto that had made her famous throughout the Wizarding world and had recently landed her on top of the list of the WWN’s Charming Chanting Chanteuses, usurping Celestina Warbeck, who had previously held the position uncontested for twenty years running.


The Prophet reported that Ms Warbeck had “accidentally” overdosed on a Calming Draught upon hearing the news and had been rushed to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries — Third Floor, Potion and Plant Poisoning — where she had stayed to recuperate for a fortnight. Her back-up banshees refused to leave their beloved Celestina and took up a rather lugubrious vigil outside her room. Their plaintive wailing created such widespread unrest that Ms Warbeck was subsequently transferred to a private suite room in the basement before all the other patients could succumb to grave melancholia.


“I’d like to offer my best wishes to our happy newlyweds. May they have many years filled with laughter and amore.” Calliope smiled at Raphael and Vittoria. “This song is dedicated to you, and to all the lovers out there.”


Like a lover, the morning sun slowly rises and kisses you awake
Your smile is soft and drowsy as you let it play upon your face
Oh, how I dream I might be like the morning sun to you



“Ooh, I love this song!” squealed Parvati, seizing her boyfriend’s arm and shaking it excitedly. “This is our song, Colin!”


“It is?” asked Colin, looking quite puzzled. “I thought our song was A Wand in Your Hand is Worth Two in a Bush Whatever the Occasion by the Weird Sisters? Y’know, ‘cos of that weekend we spent in Ibiza when you got dead pissed after that sixth Cockatrice Cooler — which I told you not to drink, by the way — and I had to bail you out of… ”


Colin’s voice trailed off when he perceived the ferocious scowl his girlfriend was sending him. Paling a little, he nodded his head and grinned weakly at her. “Oh yeah, right, it’s this one. C’mon!”


He jumped up, hauled Parvati to her feet, and they made a beeline for the dance floor, which was already packed with people, including the bride and groom, and — to Ginny’s surprise — the Contessa and the elderly minister, who were dancing cheek to cheek.


Like a lover, the river wind sighs and ripples its fingers through your hair
Upon your cheek it lingers, never having known a sweeter place
Oh, how I dream I might be like the river wind to you



Ginny watched delightedly as the Contessa, who seemed to be as spry as a schoolgirl, was expertly twirled around by the equally nimble minister, their faces flushed and happy. The Contessa even let out a girlish giggle when the minister lowered her into a dramatic dip. Ginny turned to point this out to Harry, but the words died on her lips when she saw that he was looking at her, his eyes filled with such intensity that it fairly took her breath away.


How I envy the cup that knows your lips
Let it be me, my love



Harry reached up and brushed away a strand of her hair that had fallen free of her chignon, his hand lingering on her cheek before it drifted down to capture her hand once again.

And the table that feels your fingertips
Let it be me, let me be your love



“Dance with me, Ginny?” he asked in a deep, gravelly voice that set her nerves on fire.


Bring an end to these endless days and nights without you



Wordlessly, she rose from the table and let Harry lead her to the dance floor. He placed his strong arms around her waist, smiling tenderly at her. Ginny brought hers up to encircle his neck and was soon lost in the magic of being held by the only man she had ever really wanted, and the only one she had ever really needed.


Like a lover, the velvet moon shares your pillow and watches while you sleep
Its light arrives on tiptoes, gently taking you in its embrace
Oh, how I dream I might be like the velvet moon to you



“Ginny?” Harry’s husky voice rumbled pleasantly under her ear as they swayed gently to the honeyed tones of Calliope Arias.


How I envy the cup that knows your lips
Let it be me, my love



She lifted her head reluctantly from the comfort of his broad chest and gazed up at him. Merlin help her, he was handsome.


And the table that feels your fingertips
Let it be me, let me be your love



“Yes?” she asked in breathless anticipation.


Bring an end to these endless days and nights without you



“D’you think that Parvati and Colin will get angry with us?” he asked, a serious expression on his face.


Ginny creased her forehead in confusion. Of all the things that she had expected him to say — like maybe a declaration of undying love and adoration — it was certainly not that. “Why would they get angry, Harry?” she said lightly, hoping that he could not hear the disappointment in her voice.


“This is supposedly their song, yeah?”


She nodded once, uncertain of where this conversation was heading.


“Well…” said Harry, in a tentative voice.


“Yes?” Ginny was beginning to feel a little impatient with him, but that quickly disappeared when Harry gently spun her around and then pulled her firmly to him.


Like a lover, the velvet moon shares your pillow and watches while you sleep
Its light arrives on tiptoes, gently taking you in its embrace



“Oh!” she gasped, her hands splayed against his chest. She looked up into his eyes, which were blazing with emotion, and felt her heart skip a beat.


“D’you suppose they’ll mind if I tell them that I’d like it to be our song too?” said Harry quietly, the corners of his mouth curved upward in a smile.


Oh, how I dream I might be like the velvet moon to you



“Our — our song?” echoed Ginny, feeling faint. Her blood was now pounding so loudly in her ears, she wondered if she had heard him correctly.


I might be like the velvet moon to you…



“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think the words of this song are most appropriate, don’t you?” He lifted a finger to trace her jaw line, and she closed her eyes to savour the warmth of his touch. “So, would that be all right, Ginny?”


I might be like the velvet moon to you…



Ginny’s eyes fluttered open to find Harry staring hungrily at her before he leaned in to whisper in her ear.


“Would you let me be like a lover to you?”


*





The lovely song is Like A Lover by Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66. No copyright infringement intended.

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Chapter 14: The Right Time

Author's Notes: Mamma mia! This is the chapter that totally spiralled out of control. I was never truly happy with it, so I kept on revising and editing it, until it became a great big ginormous chapter. I hope that you don't find it too long-winded.

I wanted to post this on Harry's birthday, as a sort of present for him, because... well, you'll see!

Grazie et amore to Chreechree, and of course to you lot for leaving such wonderful reviews for the last - erm - sizzler of a chapter. :)


The Right Time





Harry held his breath as Ginny stared up at him, seemingly in a state of extreme shock.


They had stopped dancing completely and were standing stock still in the middle of the reception hall.


All around them, couples swayed vigorously to the mellifluous tones of Calliope Arias as she belted out an upbeat, jazzy number, You Have Finite Incantatem’ed My Heart (So Watcha Gonna Do ‘Bout It?). It was a crowd favourite, if the delighted shouts that rang out and the mad dash for the dance floor when the opening bars played were anything to go by.


Harry searched Ginny’s face for any sign that she had not taken offence at his question. Granted, it had been a rather bold one, and he had never thought for one second that he was actually capable of asking it of her. The sight of her pretty, smiling face and the feel of her lovely arms around him, however, had spurred him on and before he knew it, he had blurted out what was tantamount to a declaration of undying love and adoration.


Ginny continued to contemplate him in silence, and he began to grow extremely uneasy as her gaze seemed to bore straight into his soul. He fought the urge to shuffle his feet like an errant first-year being chastised by Professor McGonagall.


Had he come on too strong? Had he made a colossal blunder in thinking that all the heavenly hand holding, not to mention the beautiful bashful blushes and sweet sparkling smiles that Ginny had been giving him all day had any deeper meaning beyond mere flirtation?


Harry gave a mental shake of his head. Unless Ginny had changed a great deal since he last spent any quality time with her, he knew that she was not the type to flirt casually.


So, it must be his error; he must have misinterpreted her innocent, friendly and completely platonic actions.


Way to go, Potter, he rebuked himself bitterly. She was having such a grand time, but you had to ruin it with your pathetic attempts at courtship, didn’t you?


“Ginny?” he asked timidly. Belatedly, he became conscious of the fact that he was still holding her close to him. He loosened his grasp reluctantly, although he did not let go of her waist.


She blinked several times as if coming out of a trance. “Oh! I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that — I thought I heard you ask…”


She bit her lower lip, worrying it between her small, even white teeth.


Merlin, Ginny must have done something to her lips, Harry mused, staring entranced at them. They’re so smooth and shiny and succulent …


He swiftly gave himself an imaginary kick in the arse.


Focus, man, focus! Now is not the time to think of tasting that scrumptious mouth of hers…


“I thought I heard you ask if I’d let you be a lo—” Ginny took a deep breath and peered at him through her lashes, “—if I’d let you be like a lover to me?” she whispered, her face flushing with colour.


Harry nodded mutely, his heart beating like mad in his chest.


Maybe he hadn’t got the wrong impression about her feelings after all…


“What does that mean, Harry?” she asked timorously, sounding confused and a little distraught. “Because if you think that I’ll agree to shag you just because I’ve been madly in love with you since forever,” Ginny blushed an even deeper shade of red and bowed her head again, “then you don’t know me at all, Harry,” she finished in an almost inaudible voice.


Calliope launched into the WWN classic ballad, Mesmerized, Mystified and Messed-Up, while Harry gaped at Ginny.


Wait, what? Did she just say…


He lost his train of thought when Ginny unexpectedly twisted out of his arms and took a step backwards, still staring determinedly at the floor.


Feeling bereft without her, but afraid to cause her further distress, Harry mentally rewound their conversation, trying to find out what he had said to upset Ginny. He took no notice when Cordelia Silverton and Paolo Pantaloni sailed past him, Cordelia glaring petulantly at him, while the latter gave him a frankly appraising once-over.


Let’s see, I asked her if she would like to have that as our song, which was probably a bit trite of me


Colin and Parvati drifted by, locked in an amorous clutch, blissfully unmindful of anything else but each other. A detached part of Harry’s brain made the wry observation that they were dancing so closely together they appeared to have been Spellotaped into one entity.


… and then I asked if she would let me be like a lover…


“Oh no, Ginny, that’s not what I meant!” he protested vehemently, horrified that she had misinterpreted his words so badly. “I wasn’t implying that I wanted to get you into bed, because that would be awful!”


Ginny’s head shot up, and her face took on a wounded expression.


Merlin help me, what the bloody hell did I say now? Harry groaned, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.


“No, Ginny, wait, I didn’t mean that either!” he cried out, spreading his hands helplessly in front of him. “I don’t mean that it would be awful to get you into bed, or even that you would be awful in bed, because I’m sure you’d actually be fantastic in bed, and I do so badly want to get into bed with you—”


A sexagenarian woman wearing lurid lime green robes and an enormous matching hat adorned with albino peacock feathers gasped loudly as she waltzed next to them. She tutted disapprovingly and looked down her beaked nose at a mortified Harry, who could feel the tips of his ears burning when he realised exactly what he had been going on about as he tried to explain himself to Ginny.


Oh bloody buggering bollocks, go dig yourself a deeper hole, eh, Potter?


“Atrociously shocking behaviour, if you ask me,” the witch complained in strident tones that nettled Harry to no end.


Her dance partner, a rather corpulent wizard dressed in gold lamé robes that shone almost as brightly as his bald pate, nodded and looked distrustfully at Harry. “These young people nowadays,” he replied, his stentorian voice making the other couples dancing nearby crane their necks around and goggle at Harry and Ginny, “all they ever think about is sex.”


Harry scowled at the blatantly eavesdropping pair. “Do you mind?” he asked, as politely as one could ask when speaking through clenched teeth.


“Well, I never!” The witch sniffed as if highly affronted, and she and her partner left in a huff, still discussing the shocking declining morals of this generation at the top of their voices.


Harry looked pointedly at the other curious onlookers until they too, grudgingly moved on. He then sighed heavily and turned back to face Ginny.


To his surprise, she was now regarding him with a thoughtful expression on her face. Taking heart at this, and the fact that she had not drawn her wand on him yet, he cautiously held out his hand to her.


“Ginny, could we sort this out somewhere a little more private?” he pleaded, hoping that she would at least let him try to bungle his way through an explanation.


She looked at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and then, thankfully, she accepted his offer. “All right, Harry,” she said softly, the tiniest hint of a smile playing on her lips.


Harry grinned back in relief and grasped her hand firmly in his. He was about to lead her back to their table when Colin and Parvati came rushing to their side.


“Harry! Ginny!” Colin wheezed out as soon as they drew near. “You’ll never believe who’s come back!”


“Colin,” said Harry impatiently, highly aggravated at the intrusion, “we’re a bit busy right now—”


“It’s Sylvia!” shrieked Parvati, apparently too overcome to contain herself.


“And Romilda!” added Colin, practically hopping up and down in his excitement.


Ginny drew a disbelieving breath. “Are you taking the mickey?”


“Nope!” crowed Colin. “You’d think they’d had enough humiliation to last a lifetime, yeah?”


“Apparently not,” replied Harry sardonically, who, despite his displeasure at having his private moment with Ginny interrupted, nevertheless found his attention riveted on the mind-boggling spectacle unfolding on the stage.


Sylvia Vane, still wearing her now rather crumpled and stained wedding finery, was marching with determined strides across the stage, her train dragging behind her like some sort of sad alabaster snake. Romilda trotted alongside her, glaring arrogantly at everyone. When they reached Calliope, Romilda grabbed the magical microphone and shoved the astonished chanteuse out of the way.


The scorned bride, her face streaked with blackened tear tracks where her mascara had run, peered into the stunned and speechless crowd, evidently looking for something or someone. Harry met Sylvia’s gaze for a brief second, then her eyes darted to his side, where Ginny was standing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny incline her head graciously at Sylvia, whose mouth immediately hardened into a thin line, and she pointedly looked away to resume her search.


Romilda, however, continued to look angrily at them until Ginny discreetly pulled out her wand and tapped it against her leg.


The younger witch blanched, thrust the microphone into Sylvia’s hands and hurriedly positioned herself behind her cousin, who had last located what she had been searching for — her estranged fiancé and the witch he had abandoned her for.


Raphael and Vittoria were sitting at one of the back tables with the minister, who had taken a much-needed breather from kicking up his heels with the Contessa. All three of them appeared dumbstruck at the sight of the enraged Sylvia.


“You!” she screeched into the microphone, the shrill reverberations of her voice causing many in the audience to clap their hands over their ears. Sylvia’s wand gave off a red flash as she trained it at Raphael, who stood up and moved protectively in front of a now seething Vittoria.


“You think you can get away with this?” Sylvia tittered, a bit madly in Harry’s opinion, as images of Bellatrix Lestrange suddenly flashed through his mind. “How are you going to launch your new collection in London, eh? My daddy’s not going to help you now!”


“I am sorry things had to turn out this way, Sylvia,” said Raphael, his hands held out in a placating gesture, “but please, this is not the right time or place to do this.”


“Ha!” shouted Sylvia, shaking her wand wildly at him. “You dare say that, Raphael, after Daddy so kindly offered that he’d get in touch with Harrods for you if you married me? He’s in the same Gobstones club as the assistant to the assistant of the third vice-president for purchasing, I’ll have you know!”


Romilda nodded her head forcefully in agreement and shouted, “That’s right!”


“Right.” Colin snorted derisively. “He’s definitely got connections, Mr Vane does.”


“Sylvia, you know that is not the reason I agreed to this wedding,” said Raphael, drawing himself up with dignity. “You told me that your father had purchased controlling shares of my design company and that he would take over if I did not marry you.” He frowned at his ex-fiancée. “Are you saying that this is not true?”


Paying no attention to the outraged whispers and mutterings that had broken out amongst the guests, Sylvia began pacing the stage, the train of her wedding gown knocking down the violin, viola, and the violoncello in rapid succession. “How could you do this, Raphael? How could you choose that — that — whale — over me?”


Romilda gave a mocking, sycophantic laugh as Sylvia sneered and gestured vindictively towards Vittoria, who gasped in fury and retrieved her own wand from her voluminous dress robes.


“Oh dear,” murmured Ginny, shaking her head sorrowfully. “That is probably the absolutely worst thing to say to a very pregnant and very hormonal witch.”


Remembering Ron’s stories about the horrific tantrums Fleur had thrown when she was carrying Michel (she had once hexed the twins’ heads to face backwards for a whole week when they had made the grave error of comparing her swollen ankles to that of Madame Maxime’s own humongous calves), Harry winced and waited for the fireworks to explode, stepping a bit nearer to Ginny in case a stray curse went awry.


To his credit, Raphael managed to douse the impending pyrotechnics by placing a gentle kiss on the forehead of the incensed Vittoria. This tender action only seemed to inflame Sylvia even further, but before she could do anything other than stamp her foot in rage, a blast of purple light came out of nowhere and hit her directly in the face.


Sylvia dropped the microphone, gathered her train over her head, and jumped from the stage. She hurtled from the room, screeching like a particularly bad-tempered Augurey as she was pursued by giant flying bogeys which swooped down and assaulted her mercilessly.


Romilda, looking terrified that she was now all alone and vulnerable to attack, stumbled away as fast as her ill-fitting chartreuse dress robes would let her. A second jet of purple light slammed into her just as she managed to reach the exit, and her loud wails of misery remained audible long after she disappeared from sight.


Harry’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He turned to look enquiringly at Ginny, who raised her eyebrows at him, and then at Colin and Parvati when they also stared curiously at her.


“I didn’t do it,” she protested. “If I did, Romilda would have been crawling, not running, out of here.” She suddenly smirked and pointed towards the stage. “I wish I had done it though. She was brilliant.”


They all watched as the Contessa, who had been quietly standing nearby all throughout Sylvia’s invectives, primly tucked her wand back into the bodice of her robes. A few moments later, she was engulfed in a grateful embrace by her son and her new daughter-in-law.


Va bene!” Raphael’s magically amplified voice boomed over the uproar that followed the Vanes’ panicked escape. Smiling at Vittoria, he said, “My wife and I want to dance. Musica, per favore!


The orchestra hastily reassembled itself to strike up another tune, and Calliope Arias, who had managed to keep her trademark cool composure despite having been so unceremoniously manhandled by the Vane cousins, reappeared on stage. She began to croon her newest song, It’s Time to Believe in Magic, sending people streaming back to the dance floor in droves.


A small group of witches in yellow-green robes, who, upon closer inspection, appeared to have been part of Sylvia’s wedding entourage, were dancing exuberantly in one corner; judging from the way they were gleefully ripping off the pink lace from the dresses before proceeding to stomp on them with much enthusiasm, Harry was pretty sure that they didn’t hold much sympathy for Sylvia. He certainly didn’t.


Colin and Parvati waved farewell and whirled away, and Harry was finally left alone with Ginny.


Well, as alone as they could be in the midst of the gaggle of giggling, gossiping guests.


Harry nervously made to push his glasses up his nose and realised that he was still holding Ginny’s hand in his. He smiled awkwardly at her and was gratified to see her smile back.


“C’mon, Harry, let’s go have that talk,” she said, and pulled him in the direction of one of the alcoves that adjoined the main reception hall.


Harry was amazed at the sight that met his eyes as they stepped through the portico and into the secluded space. It was as if they had suddenly taken a Portkey to another world and another time.


The room was enchanted to resemble a miniature flower garden — red and white roses, pink camellias, purple lilacs, and yellow daffodils were just some of the blooms that filled the air with their heady bouquet. The white latticed walls were festooned with green ivy that wound itself through the trellises and the marble pillars that shielded the room from the rest of the main chamber.


As he and Ginny seated themselves on the small stone bench that was set in one corner of the room, Harry noticed some white, funnel-shaped blossoms that gave off a sweet scent that was hauntingly familiar to Harry, until he realised why — it was the same lovely fragrance that he always associated with Ginny.


Freesias, he thought, and stared wonderingly at Ginny’s auburn hair, which seemed to give off a soft radiance in the muted fairy lights of the conservatory.


“Ginny,” he murmured, taking both her hands in his.


She looked up at him, her gaze clear and unwavering. “Yes, Harry?”


It was time to tell her what he had wanted to for so long. Harry took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He did not want bollix this up.


“You know, I’ve had some rather nasty things happen to me over the past few years,” he began, pausing to grin at her when Ginny snorted quietly at this understatement, “but there’ve been more than enough good things in my life to more than make up for those. Hagrid telling me that I was a wizard, meeting Ron and Hermione, having your family welcome me unconditionally, well, I reckon those were some of the better moments in my life.”


“But the best thing that ever happened to me was getting to know you better and becoming your friend.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I don’t think I could have got through my last years at Hogwarts without you by my side, Ginny. You were always there for me, no matter how much of a git I could be sometimes.”


“Sometimes?” she teased, arching one ginger eyebrow.


Harry chuckled. “All right,” he conceded, “most of the time.”


He turned her hand over and traced the soft skin of her palm with his fingers. Ginny seemed to have gone very still; Harry looked up in concern but relaxed when he saw the passion blazing in them.


“I began having all these feelings for you the summer before my sixth year, Ginny, but I was too much of a dim prat to realise what they meant back then.”


“That’s what Mum told me,” Ginny said with a small smile. “She said that she didn’t want to say anything because it might scare you off since you obviously had no clue as to what was happening.”


“Smart woman, your mum,” he replied with a rueful shake of his head. “Anyway, by my seventh year, I badly wanted to do something about those feelings, but this mad old bugger of a dark wizard sort of kept getting in the way.”


“Brainless bloody wanker,” muttered Ginny.


“And then after that, everything seemed to be happening all at once — that stupid Ministry tour, Quidditch training, you working long hours.” Harry sighed. “I was so disappointed when I couldn’t come to your last day at Hogwarts, but I was determined not to miss your birthday party.”


He grinned wryly at her. “I had actually managed to summon enough courage to ask you out that day when something came up and made me think that I didn’t stand a chance with you.”


“What?” Ginny’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Whatever made you think that?”


“Well, um…” He ducked his head sheepishly. “I may have overheard you telling Hermione that you weren’t interested in going out with anyone.”


“When was this? I had loads and loads of redundant discussions with Hermione about you, you know,” she said in a dry tone. “It’s a wonder she didn’t get tired of my incessant moaning and whinging.”


“Er, during your eighteenth birthday party?” he admitted reluctantly.


Ginny fell silent, apparently trying to remember the events from that point in time. “Well… after you and Ron ate all of my strawberry shortcake — don’t deny it! — Hermione and I went to the porch for some peace and quiet, and then…”


Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Harry! You were the one lurking by the kitchen window, weren’t you?” she cried out, looking highly delighted.


“I was not lurking!” he protested hotly. How come everyone automatically assumed that he had been lurking? “It was just sheer coincidence that I was passing by the open window at that time, and ‘sides, you were talking so loudly anyway…”


“Right.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “But since you were already lurking,” she drawled, stressing the word with an impudent grin, “you should have stayed around to hear the rest of the conversation.”


“Why?”


“Let’s just say you missed the most important bit of what I said to Hermione,” she told him with arched eyebrows. “The bit where I said that I wasn’t interested in going out with anyone new.” She spoke the last word with a rather direct look at him.


Harry gazed at her in awe, her words from earlier that evening suddenly coming back to him.


…just because I’ve been madly in love with you since forever…


“Ginny,” he said huskily, searching her beloved face. “When I asked you if you would let me be like a lover to you, what I wanted to know was if you’d let me love you,” he raised a hand to cup her soft cheek, “the way I’ve loved you for a very long time.”


Her eyes were bright, limpid pools of the deepest shade of brown, and Harry felt himself drowning in them.


“I’ve fallen in love with you, Ginny,” he whispered, caressing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “I fell utterly and completely in love with you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop falling in love with you.”


She smiled then, her entire face slowly lighting up until she was positively glowing. He thought that he had never seen anyone as beautiful as Ginny did right at that moment.


“Harry, there’s only one man I’ve ever given my heart to.” She placed her own hand on Harry’s cheek, sending pleasurable warmth flooding throughout his entire body, “and he’s sitting right beside me, grinning like a silly schoolboy when he should get on with it and kiss me before I decide to take matters into my own hands and ravish him right here and now.”


He blinked and then felt his face split into an even wider grin. “Hmm… that sounds quite wonderful, actually.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.


Ginny burst into laughter, the silvery peals echoing in the quiet garden.


“Just kiss me already, Harry.”


So he did.


His heart overflowing with emotion, Harry leaned in and gently touched his lips to hers. Ginny gave a little sigh, her hands sliding through his hair as she pulled his head even closer. Feeling emboldened, he tentatively ran his tongue against her lips, seeking permission, and was rewarded when she opened her mouth, allowing him to kiss her more deeply.


Heat coursed through his veins as she returned his kiss with ardour, her mouth hot against his, her teeth nipping gently at his lower lip. He threaded his fingers through the silken fire of her hair - when had it come loose from her chignon? — and then his hands were on her hips, stroking her exquisite curves. Ginny’s own nimble hands were playing with the small hairs on the back of his neck, sending goosebumps skittering across his arms and other parts of his body.


He and Ginny were both moaning softly by this time, and Harry decided, albeit very unwillingly, to end the kiss before things got out of hand. He gave one last playful nibble on her lip before they broke apart.


Ginny’s eyes remained closed for a few seconds, and his pulse quickened again at the wantonness of her appearance — her lips were swollen from their kiss, her glorious auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her face (along with her bosom, Harry was finally able to confirm) was suffused with a lovely rosy colour.


He watched in fascination as Ginny’s eyes gradually opened, her heavy-lidded gaze making his heart thump even more wildly in his chest.


“Wow,” she whispered. “That was…”


“Yeah,” said Harry, feeling extraordinarily pleased that he had been the one to make her look that way. “It was spectacular.”


She let out a great shuddering breath and then leaned against his shoulder. Harry shifted slightly and pulled her closer to him, enjoying the feel of her lissom body pressed against his. Why in the world had he waited so long to tell her how he felt about her?


“I take it back, Harry,” said Ginny, breaking the contented silence that had befallen between them.


Oh Merlin, was she having second thoughts already?


“Take what back, Ginny?” he asked apprehensively.


She straightened up and smiled mischievously at him. “What I said before — about you crashing and burning after you passed eighteen.”


“Oh?” He almost sagged in relief. “So, I’m still in the prime of my youth then?” he asked cheekily.


“I’d say you’re indubitably, incontestably, and irrefutably at your sexual peak.” she said, eyeing him up and down appreciatively, her gaze lingering on his mouth. “Yum,” she murmured with a throaty purr. “My very own sex god.”


Harry laughed. He could not help it. Only Ginny could make him laugh even as she said things that made certain parts of his anatomy sit up and take notice. “I’m glad you approve, my love,” he said in amusement.


She glanced sharply at him before her face became wreathed in smiles. “I like the sound of that. ‘My love’. Has a nice ring to it, and it rolls off the tongue quite easily.” She nodded in satisfaction. “But if you value your sanity, Harry, you should only call me that when we’re alone, unless you want the twins to — oh!”


“Whatever you say, my love,” he mumbled against the soft skin behind her ear, enjoying the way she arched her neck to give him better access to it. He made a mental note to remember that she liked being kissed in this particular area.


After another prolonged round of fantastic kissing, Ginny let out a satisfied sigh. “I reckon we’ll really have to send a thank you owl to McLaggen now.”


“That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing,” said Harry, nuzzling her cheek. “Who would have thought that tosser was good for something?”


She giggled and snuggled back into his embrace. “I love you, Harry.”


“I love you too, Ginny.” He pressed his lips to her temple and began to idly play with her hair.


They fell into a comfortable conversation, laughing as each regaled the other with their misfortunes in romance. When Harry told her about his Quidditch career and how much he missed seeing her at his games, Ginny mumbled something about not wanting to entertain the public with her rather bizarre reactions to seeing him in his Quidditch uniform.


“Oh, like the time you walked into the common room fireplace?” asked Harry, sniggering at her flabbergasted expression.


“Harry, you prat! Did you actually see that?” She smacked him on the arm, blushing to the roots of her hair. “Good grief, that was mortifying.”


He winked at her. “I thought it you looked very cute, walking into random bits of furniture and unlit fireplaces like that.”


“Huh.” She glowered at him accusingly. “Hermione said that you deliberately flexed your muscles whenever I was in the room just to see if you could rattle me.”


It was Harry’s turn to flush darkly. “Well, erm, yeah.” At Ginny’s smug grin, he said defensively, “Hey, considering how scrawny I was then, I considered it as a compliment that you might have considered me quite muscley back then.”


“Oh, Harry,” she said, squeezing his biceps playfully. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be dead macho to me, even when we’re old and grey, and you’ve got a pot-belly going on down here.” She poked him in the stomach and then pulled him down for a kiss.


It was quite a few minutes before either of them said anything. After they separated, Ginny wrapped her arm around his waist once more, laid her head on his shoulder, and both of them sighed happily.


Harry would have been quite glad to stay in that tiny secluded alcove forever, surrounded by a rainbow of sweetly scented flowers, the love of his life finally in his arms, if it were not for the sound of hushed voices and giddy laughter that suddenly filled the room.


“Oh! Raphael, stop it!”


“But mio splendido amore, I have missed you so!”


As more giggles and high-pitched squealing were heard, Ginny turned to Harry, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh dear, I think the newlyweds have decided on an early honeymoon,” she said in a conspiratorial voice.


Harry nodded his head regretfully. “We should probably give them some privacy.”


He was helping Ginny up from the bench when a flushed Vittoria, chased by a laughing Raphael, abruptly came into view, both in various stages of dishabille.


Oddio!” Vittoria stopped short when she saw them, her hands flying to the front of her robes to hurriedly refasten the partially open clasp.


Raphael appeared surprised as well but quickly regained his composure. “Mi diaspace. We did not know there was someone here.” He straightened his collar and held out his hand. “I am Raphael Mugatu, and this is Vittoria, my wife.”


Ginny smiled at them while Harry shook Raphael’s hand. “Hello,” he said, and gestured towards Ginny. “This is—”


Mio Dio, you are Harry Potter!” exclaimed Vittoria, looking wide-eyed at him.


“Er, yeah,” said Harry uncomfortably, even as Raphael stopped shaking his hand to stare at him. “Anyway, this is Ginny Weasley, my girlfriend.”


A little thrill surged through Harry as he completed the introduction. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she gave him a winning smile.


“Hello, how do you do?” Ginny greeted the other couple politely. “I wish you every happiness.”


Grazie, Signorina Weasley.” Vittoria beamed at them, although her gaze seemed to linger on Harry.


“But wait,” cried Raphael, looking somewhat troubled. “You went to the wedding? You are both friends of Sylvia’s?”


He and Vittoria exchanged doubtful glances, as if debating the wisdom of having a conversation with two strangers who may or may not be angry that their friend had been jilted at the altar in such a crushing fashion.


“Well, we knew Sylvia from school,” offered Ginny, sounding almost remorseful about that unfortunate detail, “but she only invited me, well, out of spite and to gloat…” Ginny trailed off uncertainly, looking slightly embarrassed as she realised what she was saying and who she was saying it to. “It’s a bit complicated, but no, I can’t rightly say that we were friends with her.”


After an interminable moment where no one quite knew what to say, Ginny brightened up and volunteered, “We’re good friends with Colin Creevey though.”


The Mugatus’ faces cleared immediately.


“Ah, then, any friend of Colin’s is a friend of ours,” said Raphael, with a warm smile.


“And of course, any non-friend of Sylvia Vane’s is almost like family to us,” added Vittoria, laughing so merrily that everyone soon joined in.


After their laughter had died down, Raphael turned to Ginny. “Forgive me, but your name, it is a little unusual, si?”


“It’s short for Ginevra,” said Harry with a smirk, knowing that she didn’t really like being called by her full name.


True enough, Ginny rolled her eyes and slapped his arm.


“Ah, but Ginevra — that is an Italian name!” said Raphael, looking highly pleased.


“Yes, it is,” said Ginny. “It means ‘Guinevere’, am I right? That’s what my mum told me.”


“King Arthur’s lady fair.” Harry smiled fondly at her. “A beautiful name for a beautiful witch.”


Si, si!” Raphael nodded his head approvingly.


“Thank you, Harry,” said Ginny, roses blooming on her cheeks even as she grinned playfully at him. “You’ve certainly become quite the charmer all of a sudden.”


He shrugged and squeezed her shoulder. “I must be inspired,” he said, only half-joking as he smiled into her warm brown eyes.


They both turned to look at Vittoria when she cleared her throat. “Mi scusi, but Signore Potter, I was wonder—”


“Please,” he interrupted her, “since we’re family, call me Harry.”


Vittoria laughed again. “Va bene, Harry. It is very bold of me, but I wonder if I can ask a small favour from you?”


Harry shifted uneasily. He hoped Vittoria was not another one of those publicity-seeking witches who went to great lengths to get a piece of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Then again, considering that she was the daughter and wife of two Wizarding fashion designers of international renown, she probably was not interested in anything like that; in fact, Harry reasoned out, she had probably rubbed elbows with personas much more famous than he.


“Erm, all right. As long as it’s not too difficult,” agreed Harry hesitantly.


“No, no,” said the flaxen-haired witch. “I would just like to ask if you would be so kind as to give your blessing to our coming bambino.” She gestured toward her belly, her husband nodding eagerly at her side.


Harry could feel Ginny’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he struggled to understand what Vittoria had asked of him. He scratched the back of his neck in confusion and stared at the Mugatus as they stood before him with expectant, enthusiastic expressions.


“Harry,” said Ginny in a low, amused voice, “put your hand on her tummy and say some words.”


“What?” he whispered incredulously out of the side of his mouth. “I’m no minister! What am I supposed to say?”


“I thought that you were inspired?” Ginny smiled, her brown eyes dancing with deviltry.


“Ginny, I’m inspired when it comes to you!” he said in a desperate undertone. “When it comes to these things, I’m a blithering idiot.”


“Well, feel free to use me as inspiration,” she said glibly, “and make it up as you go along, just like you and Ron did for Divination.” She nudged him with her elbow. “C’mon, they’re waiting.”


Feeling particularly foolish and totally at sea, Harry stepped forward and placed his right hand on Vittoria’s swollen abdomen. He was surprised to find that it felt so solid and firm, and was even more shocked when, after a few seconds, there was a definite sensation of movement under his hand.


Meraviglioso! He likes you!” said Vittoria, overjoyed.


“That’s amazing,” breathed Harry in wonder as he felt the baby stir against his touch once again. He looked up to see Ginny smiling tenderly at him, and he suddenly had a vision of him lying next to her in their bed, his arm draped around a pregnant Ginny’s belly, his own unborn child moving against his fingers.


“Be well, little one, and be happy,” he murmured, patting Vittoria’s abdomen carefully, then he moved back to enfold Ginny into his arms once again, feeling strangely emotional.


Grazie mille, Harry Potter,” said Raphael solemnly. Vittoria was smiling, her blue-grey eyes filled with happy tears. “You have done us a great honour. If you or Signorina Ginevra need anything, anything at all from us, you only need to ask, and we shall be happy to oblige.”


“No, that’s quite all right,” said Harry, waving away the offer. “There’s really nothing—”


“Well,” interrupted Ginny, addressing Raphael with a charming smile, “now that you mention it, there is something you can help us with.”


Puzzled, Harry shot her a questioning glance. She grinned up at him before turning back to an interested Raphael.


“You see, I have this friend who’s about to be married…”

*


Back to index


Chapter 15: A Beginning

Author's Notes: Well, this is it. The end of the story that almost never saw the outside of my hard drive! LOL. I was originally supposed to post this on August 11, as a birthday present to our favourite girl, Ginny, but some kewl people made me change my mind.

Thanks to everyone who left such great reviews and reminded me why I began writing H/G fan fiction in the first place. A very special thank you to Chreechree, who told me, quite bluntly, to get over myself and just post this story already. :) Grazie mille, Christine.

I'll say goodbye for now, hopefully not for long, but I have to tell you lot that DH has left me with only the tattered remains of some original plot bunnies. (Fred! *sob*) Oh well, at least there's still AU! PS There is a line here from Spongebob Squarepants (LOL). Some people have caught it already. I wonder if anyone else can?


A Beginning






“So?”


“So…what?”


“So, what were we talking about again?”


“Oh, I don’t know,” admitted Hermione, stretching her hands lazily above her head. “What were we talking about again?”


“Hermione!” said Ginny, plopping down into the worn wicker chair beside her friend (and new sister-in-law) and shooting her a half-exasperated, half-amused look.


“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” laughed Hermione, kicking off her sandals and tucking her feet under her, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t paying too much attention to what you were saying, but I’m positively knackered. I wasn’t expecting I would be so exhausted. All that travelling by Portkey really knocked me for a loop. I need a vacation from my vacation!”


As if to emphasize her statement, an enormous yawn escaped her before she could hide it behind her hand. “Oh dear. Excuse me,” she apologised with a self-conscious laugh.


Ron and Hermione had come back yesterday from Greece, the last stop of their month-long, six-city, and three-country honeymoon. The newly married couple had spent the night at the Grangers, and as soon as they arrived at The Burrow that afternoon, Ginny had dragged Hermione off to catch up on gossip and whatnot, while Ron stayed inside talking to his brothers and Harry over a round of butterbeers. Fred’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, Angelina Johnson, was also there, along with Verity from the shop, whom George was now seeing on a semi-regular basis.


In the parlour, Arthur and a rather flustered Molly Weasley were entertaining the other guests, which included Professor McGonagall, Remus and Tonks, and Charlie’s new girl — a pretty Romanian witch with short-cropped, curly black hair, dark eyes and rubicund cheeks named Nadia, who was so petite that she was a whole head smaller than her already stocky boyfriend. Healer Cosmas, who turned out to be Nadia’s uncle, had also just arrived. Michel, Amelie and Randall were on the living room floor, happily playing with a fat green bullfrog that sat croaking glumly in Ron’s old fish tank.


“Well, who insisted on turning her honeymoon into a mini world tour, eh?” Ginny pointed out, flipping through the pages of the massive hundred-page photo album that Hermione had painstakingly put together just this morning.


She chuckled at a photo of her brother putting rabbit ears behind his smiling and oblivious wife’s head as they stood in front of the Great Pyramid at Giza. “I would have thought that you and Ron would have been far too interested in some erstwhile indoor activities rather than posing with the mummies in Cairo,” said Ginny with an impish smile at Hermione.


“No need to worry. I made certain that we got in some quality time, if you know what I mean,” said Hermione archly.


“Ew.” Ginny wrinkled her nose, looking up from a picture of Ron clumsily scrambling up a rather pernickety-looking camel. Ginny could not decide who appeared more miserable — her brother, whose normally ruddy face was a pale, sickly green, or the ancient camel, who seemed determined to dislodge the tall redhead from its back at all costs. “Spare me.”


“Oh, but Ginny,” said Hermione, with a playful look in her eyes, “are you certain you don’t want to know every single, sordid, scandalous detail of my honeymoon?”


“No, thank you. I think I’ll pass.” Ginny shuddered theatrically. “Tell me instead which of the places you visited you liked best.”


“I loved them all, though I have a feeling that you would enjoy Santorini the most, especially since you’ve already holidayed in Egypt,” said Hermione. She took the album and, with a bit of an effort, turned to a section with lots of breathtaking photographs of clear, deep blue waters surrounded by high, steep cliffs.


She pointed to a particular picture, which showed a stretch of pristine black sand marred only by a bright orange hat, which upon closer inspection, bore the distinctive black speeding cannon ball and the double C logo of the Chudley Cannons.


“That’s your dear brother, by the way, if you couldn’t tell. I buried him up to his neck while he was sleeping,” Hermione explained with a reminiscent giggle, “in retaliation for him pulling down the top of my swimming costume in front of all those Muggle sunbathers in Ibiza.”


Ginny glanced up admiringly at the brunette. “Good on you, Hermione!”


“It was even funnier when a dog licked his face and then ran off with the hat. Ron woke up and began screaming like a girl before he realised what had happened,” related Hermione with another giggle, “and then he began screaming even louder because he wanted his hat back.” She made a face. “He can be so unreasonable sometimes. It was a good thing that Vourvoulos beach isn’t as crowded as the other beaches, or else he would have been arrested by the local police for disturbing the peace.”


“How come he didn’t try to get back at you?” asked Ginny. “Knowing Ron and his Chudley Cannons…”


“I told him he should be thankful that I didn’t bury him head first,” said Hermione matter-of-factly, “but that I would be happy to oblige if he didn’t stop yelling like a two-year old who’s had his favourite toy taken away from him,” she finished, looking very pleased with herself.


Ginny burst into hysterical laughter, and only managed to compose herself after a good minute. She wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes as she levitated a butterbeer towards the rather tanned and freckly Hermione. “Santorini looks quite lovely. Maybe I can convince Harry to go there. Although I have to say that personally, I’m a bit envious of your trip to Spain. I’ve always wondered why Muggles need to go running with bulls.”


Hermione eyes lit up excitedly. “Ooh, that reminds me, you’ll never guess who we ran into in Pamplona!”


“A bull?” quipped Ginny. “Or did a bull run into Ron?”


“No, and to tell you frankly,” Hermione confided, “after Ron saw the way some of people were trampled and gored by the bulls, he didn’t want to participate anymore. He said he wasn’t that dim-witted to willingly risk his life like that.”


“Wow, my brother actually said something sensible?” said Ginny, her eyes opening wide.


The world must be really be coming to an end, she thought, shaking her head in dismay. First Hermione develops a sudden passion for fashion, and now Ron’s spouting words of wisdom!


“I must make sure my underground cave’s stocked with enough provisions for two people,” she mumbled to herself. “I wonder how long treacle tart will keep?”


“Underground cave?” asked Hermione, looking confused as she caught part of Ginny’s muttered ramblings. “What underground cave?”


“The underground cave for hiding out in when the meteor shower hits the earth, of course,” said Ginny, enjoying Hermione’s bewilderment.


Mmmm… hiding out in a cave with only Harry for company…


“Meteor shower?” Hermione scanned the sky, which was just beginning to turn dark as evening slowly set in, with apprehension. “What meteor shower?”


“Nothing,” said Ginny, grinning at her sister-in-law’s puzzled expression. “Don’t mind me, Hermione.”


“Is this another one of those times when your imagination’s run away with you again?” Her friend looked suspiciously at her for a second and then shrugged her shoulders. “Anyway, as I was saying, we ran into someone in Pamplona…”


“Who?” Ginny prompted obediently.


“Raphael.”


“Raphael?” repeated Ginny excitedly. “How is he? Was Vittoria with him?”


“He looked happy, and he asked after you and Harry,” answered Hermione. “He informed me that Vittoria was back in Rome, taking care of little Enrico.” She turned to give Ginny a grateful smile. “You know, I can’t thank you enough that you were able to get me an appointment with him.”


“Tosh.” Ginny flapped her hands dismissively. “I was happy to help, if only to witness what Luna assures me was Ron’s spot on impersonation of a Blibbering Humdinger when he first saw you in your wedding robes.”


“Yes, that was quite flattering, wasn’t it?” Hermione smiled dreamily.


“’Sides, it’s actually Harry that you should be thanking. If I wasn’t with him, I don’t think that I would have got to meet Raphael personally at all.” Ginny took a contemplative sip of her butterbeer. “Well, I might have, considering that Colin was there, but I seriously doubt Raphael would’ve been so accommodating if I hadn’t been with Harry.”


Ginny suddenly grinned evilly. “Or maybe we should be grateful to Sylvia. If she hadn’t wanted to get one over me, I would never have been invited to the wedding.”


Hermione’s expression became curious. “That reminds me — whatever happened to poor Sylvia?”


Poor Sylvia?” Ginny scoffed. “That cow and her skinny-arsed cousin deserved every single bad thing that happened to them.”


“Ginny!” scolded Hermione. “You shouldn’t take pleasure in other people’s misfortunes.”


“Well, didn’t they?” said Ginny unremorsefully, putting her butterbeer down with a thump. “Sylvia has no absolutely no class, tricking Raphael into marrying her like that!”


Looking perturbed, Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something else, but then she reluctantly nodded her head in agreement. “I suppose you’re right, in a way. So, what happened to her?”


“Well, officially, she’s taken a leave of absence for a ‘family emergency’, but according to Christine — Seamus’ girlfriend — the gossip around the quill pool is that she’s in therapy somewhere, probably with her cousin. Dennis Creevey told Colin that Romilda didn’t come back to complete her last year at Hogwarts. Anyway,” Ginny raised one shoulder dismissively, “enough of the Vanes. How are Raphael and Vittoria?”


Hermione clucked her tongue reprovingly, but said no more on the subject. “Did you know that they named their son after Harry?” she asked instead. “They wanted to give the child an Italian name yet honour Harry in some way. Raphael said that since there’s no equivalent for ‘Harry’ in Italian, so they had to go with the next closest name — ‘Henry’, which translates to ‘Enrico’.”


“Yeah?” Ginny smiled to herself. Harry was certainly going to be surprised and probably a bit embarrassed about that. “That was nice of them.”


“Not only was it nice of them, they even broke Italian tradition by doing that.”


At Ginny’s puzzled expression, the newly-married witch expounded further.


“In Italy, the first grandson is supposed to be named after the paternal grandfather, while the first female heir takes on the maternal grandmother’s name.”


“That’s probably a good thing then, since Colin told me that the late Conte’s name was Asino,” said Ginny with a small smile.


“Asino?” Hermione frowned, and then she gasped. “But in Italian, that means…”


“I know!” crowed Ginny. “What a lucky baby, eh?”


After their giggles had died down, Hermione spoke again. “Raphael said that Vittoria insisted on using Harry’s name, because she felt that his blessing was responsible for the baby’s safe birth.” She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. “Is that true? Did Harry bless him?”


“Yeah, and it was really quite entertaining,” chuckled Ginny as she recalled Harry’s reluctant but endearing attempt at a benediction, “watching him flounder about. But after he felt the baby move against his hand, he somehow knew the right thing to say.”


“Oh?” Hermione looked intrigued. “What did he say?”


Ginny smiled again. “Harry was really rather sweet. He said: ‘Be well, little one, and be happy,’” she recounted with a touch of pride.


“Oh my goodness,” breathed Hermione, putting a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with admiration. “That was really lovely. I had no idea that Harry had it in him. He’s always been rather uncomfortable with these things, right?” She looked at Ginny knowingly. “But then again, maybe he was a bit inspired at the time?”


A loud thud by the window interrupted Ginny before she could answer her friend’s question. Trading amused glances with the brunette, Ginny called out, “All right, any lurking lurkers should be very ashamed of themselves right about now.”


Hermione began laughing when a very audible “Bugger!” was heard from behind the kitchen door.


Ginny shook her head. “Come out where we can see you, Harry,” she said, attempting to sound stern but failing miserably.


A sheepishly grinning Harry came out to the back porch, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. Ginny’s stomach flipped over as she watched him make his way to where they were sitting. She would never get tired of how adorably cute he was when he was flustered like this. Tonight he looked particularly dishy in a white cotton linen shirt and slim-fitting dark indigo denim trousers.


“Hello, Harry,” Hermione greeted him with a smirk.


“Hi, Hermione.” He stooped down to buss his best friend on the cheek, ignoring her snort of laughter, and then went over to Ginny’s side. She gave a little squeak when he lifted her bodily, sat down, and then settled her comfortably on his lap.


“Hello, you.” He nuzzled the side of her neck, sending a jolt of electricity through her, and then he wrapped his arms around her and grinned cheekily at both of them.


“Hello to you, too,” said Ginny breathlessly.


Merlin, if meteor showers don’t do me in, then this boy will definitely be the death of me.


She brushed his messy fringe off his forehead and gave him a peck on the lips, and was rewarded by a brilliant smile that lit up Harry’s handsome face.


Oh, but what a way to go…


“I missed you,” said Harry, squeezing her waist gently.


“I missed you too, but you don’t see me lurking by the window, do you?” asked Ginny with a sardonic tilt of her head.


“I wasn’t lurking,” answered Harry in a mock-hurt tone, even as Hermione began giggling once more. “I was simply passing by, searching for my fantastically fetching fiancée, worried sick that something may have happened to her, when I happened to overhear her distinctively divine dulcet tones…”


“Yeah, right!” Ginny snorted, slapping his hand away when it mischievously tugged at the hem of her black cashmere top.


“I was!” insisted Harry, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Anyway, as I was saying, I couldn’t help but hear your conversation — quit rolling your eyes at me, Ginny — and to answer your question, Hermione, yes, I was truly inspired by a rather ravishing redheaded witch at that time.”


“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Harry,” said Ginny, smiling up at him.


“Yeah,” interrupted Ron, leaning against the kitchen door with a nauseated expression on his sunburned face. “It’s so sweet I think I’m going to lose my lunch.”


“Ron!”


“What?” Ron looked at his wife, who pursed her lips and frowned at him. “It’s positively revolting, how these two go on.”


“Oh really? And who was it who said my eyes were like — what was it?” Hermione tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Oh yes, ‘big melted pools of Honeydukes’ best chocolate’.” She grinned good-humouredly at her husband. “And didn’t you also say that my lips were ‘as sweet as Rosmerta’s best mulled mead’”?


“Ronniekins, I never thought that you could be so lyrical!” Ginny teased her brother, whose face had rapidly become beet red, almost matching the colour of his shirt.


“Gastronomically lyrical at that,” said Harry with a sly smirk at his best mate, who scowled at him in return.


“Do Fred and George know that you’ve mastered the art of epicurean verse?”


“I dunno what that means, but I’d appreciate it if you shut it, Ginny.” He glared sullenly when she stuck her tongue out at him. “And anyway, it’s true!” Ron said stoutly, even though he was still red around the ears. He turned to address his laughing wife. “Your eyes are like that, Squidgy.”


Ginny bit down on her lip to keep from exploding into giggles when Hermione abruptly stopped chuckling and turned bright scarlet.


“Ronald!” she said in a scandalised whisper. “You know you’re only supposed to call me that when we’re alone!”


Ginny exchanged gleeful glances with Harry.


“Squidgy?” he mouthed silently, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he struggled to contain his laughter.


“Oops.” Ron smiled smugly. He smirked at Harry and Ginny while his wife made indignant huffing noises in the background.


“In any case, if you two budgerigars have finished cooing to each other, Mum wants you in the sitting room, Ginny. Says that Fleur’s brought some fancy French catalogues, and she wants you to pick out your croissant.” Ron looked a bit baffled and scratched his peeling nose. “Although I don’t understand why you need to consult a magazine for that. Bread is bread, yeah?”


“I think you mean ‘trousseau’, Ron,” Hermione interjected, managing to sound both amused and aggravated at the same time.


“Whatever.” Ron waved a disinterested hand in the air. “Croissant, trousseau, what’s the difference?”


“Aside from the fact that the first one is a type of French pastry and the other refers to the personal outfit and linens of a bride?” said Hermione with a wry twist of her mouth. “Nothing much, I suppose, except it drives home the fact that all you think about is food!”


“But our wedding won’t even be until June!” Ginny cut in before Ron could open his mouth to retort. “Plus I told Mum that Raphael’s volunteered to do my wedding robes and all that for me!”


“You’d better go in anyway,” said Ron, shaking his shaggy red head and ignoring the sarcastic glares his wife was sending him. “You know how she is when she sets her mind on something.”


“Mum’s going to drive me mental, isn’t she?” Ginny mumbled miserably to Harry.


“It’s all right,” he reassured her, winding a strand of her hair around his finger. “Maybe it’ll be fun, Ginny.”


Ginny and Ron both made loud, disbelieving sounds that got Harry laughing again.


“Yeah, good luck with that,” was Ron’s sardonic comment. “Remember how she nearly went spare when the wedding favours didn’t arrive on time, Squidgy?”


Hermione’s only reply was an inarticulate sort of cry that made Ginny bury her head in Harry’s shoulder to hide her grin.


Ron continued with his narrative, unmindful of his wife’s annoyed grumblings. “And when they did, Mum almost had Kneazles when she found out they were lavender, and not lilac. Can’t blame her for that though, because as everyone knows,” he said, nodding wisely to a bemused Ginny and Harry, “they’re totally different colours.” He glanced over at Hermione for confirmation. “Isn’t that right, Squidgy?”


“Ronald,” said Hermione in clipped tones, her nostrils flaring in irritation. Ginny thought that it was uncanny how much she highly resembled Professor McGonagall at that moment. “I’d like to have a word with you in the orchard, please.”


Now?” Ron looked horror-struck. “Mum said that dinner’ll be ready any minute!”


His wife’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Now, Ron.” Hermione sprung up from her chair, shoved her feet into her sandals, and stormed off towards the backyard, Ron trailing unenthusiastically in her wake.


Ginny shook her head in amusement. “It’s difficult to believe they’ve been married only a month, the way they have at it.”


Harry laughed out loud. “I reckon the wedding vows were merely a formality. They’ve probably been married on some cosmic scale ever since they set eyes on each other on the Hogwarts Express.” He carefully twined his fingers with hers. “D’you reckon we’ll fight as much as they do?”


Ginny gave him an incredulous look. “Harry, no one can fight as much as those two,” she said wryly. “They’ve practically elevated it to an art form.”


“What about us?” asked Harry, raising one dark eyebrow meaningfully at her. “What have we elevated to an art form?”


She looked down at their joined hands, admiring the way Harry’s strong hand seemed to fit perfectly with hers. The solitaire diamond on her engagement ring sparkled with an inner fire even in the fading light.


Just like Harry’s eyes, she mused, her gaze drifting up to meet his burning green one, feeling the now-familiar but still thrilling warmth that began from the tips of her toes and spread throughout her entire being. There were moments when Ginny still could not believe that Harry was hers, and that she could kiss that incredibly sexy mouth of his whenever she desired, which, truth be told, was all the time.


Harry had proposed during the finals of the British and Irish League Cup, when the Wimbourne Wasps had played the Appleby Arrows. True to form, Ginny had almost gone into a conniption at the sight of Harry in his uniform; granted, the Wasps’ bright yellow-and-black striped robes were rather vertigo-inducing, but on Harry, the robes only served to make him even sexier.


When Harry had finally caught the Snitch, thus winning the Cup for the Wasps, he zoomed towards the stands without delay and scooped a shocked but overjoyed Ginny up on his Firebolt. As soon as they landed in the middle of the pitch, Harry got down on one knee and held out the simple but elegant platinum band to Ginny amidst the deafening cheers of the sell-out crowd.


Ginny had accepted his proposal by punching the air with her fist and shouting out, “You’d better believe it!” at the top of her voice, and then she launched herself at a happily laughing Harry and snogged him for all that she was worth, thereby fulfilling almost a decade’s worth of daydreams and fantasies.


“Well,” said Ginny, winding her arms around his neck. She giggled when he groaned as she wriggled on his lap to make herself more comfortable.


Harry grasped her hips through her grey linen trousers to still her. “Ginny…” he warned in a strangled voice.


“I was hoping that we’d set the standard for kissing,” she whispered seductively in his ear. “What d’you think?”


Harry’s response was to growl throatily before he captured her lips in a kiss that liquefied Ginny’s bones to jelly. She opened her mouth more fully to let Harry deepen the kiss, moaning softly when his slightly calloused hands crept under her top to caress the skin on her back. Ginny dimly heard her black patent mules clattering to the wooden floor of the porch when Harry began to place little kisses on the side of her neck.


As she tilted her head to give him better access, the relative quiet of the evening was shattered by two strident and highly obnoxious voices.


“Oi!”


“Hands where we can see them!”


Harry instantly stiffened and tried to pull away, but Ginny resolutely hung on and began her own oral assault on his neck, feeling his resistance melt when she flicked her tongue against his ear.


Unhappily for them, the two gits she had the misfortune to call her brothers would not be ignored.


“This is a family-oriented establishment, y’know!”


“Yeah, there are minors here and maybe even a virgin or two!”


“There are?” asked Fred sceptically. “In this house?”


“Hey, that’s always a possibility,” said George with a shrug. “I mean, Professor M’s here, and Percy the Prat’s only just arrived.”


“Good point.”


They chortled noisily, Fred giving his twin an appreciative slap on the back.


“And despite appearances to the contrary,” George continued in a loud, carrying voice, “I expect our ickle Gin-Gin’s still one too.”


Ginny could sense her brothers eyeing her meaningfully, but she chose to pay them no heed and concentrated her efforts on her fiancé’s delectable mouth. To her delight, Harry smiled against her lips and returned the kiss with enthusiasm.


“And what about ickle Harrykins over here?” asked Fred, sounding fascinated. “What d’you reckon, eh?”


“Well, we can only hope, but you know these famous Quidditch players…” George’s tone was ripe with innuendo. “Not to mention saviours of the Wizarding world…”


With extreme reluctance, Ginny broke apart from Harry and glared at the twins, both of whom were hanging out of the kitchen window, their chins propped on their hands, identical impertinent smirks on their freckled faces.


“Don’t you two have to be stupid somewhere else?” she asked peevishly, even as Harry, his ears a brilliant flaming red, tried valiantly to flatten his hair while simultaneously straightening the collar of his shirt.


George and Fred glanced at one another then checked their watches at the same time.


“Nope.” George shook his head.


“At least not until eleven o’clock,” supplied Fred blithely.


“Now, we know that you two would rather grope each other in the dark until the mooncalves come home—” said George with a suggestive leer.


“—but Mum says that she wants you inside because it’s not polite to disappear on your guests at your own engagement party,” finished Fred.


“All right. Tell her we’ll be there in a minute,” said Ginny, hoping the twins would leave so that she could get in a few more precious seconds with Harry.


The twins traded disbelieving looks.


“Okay, we’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” Ginny corrected herself, elbowing a silently chuckling Harry in the ribs.


“Right,” Fred drawled wryly. “We’ll just tell Mum we couldn’t find you, then.”


“Don’t say we didn’t warn you when she sends out the search parties,” said George in a singsong voice.


In response, Ginny wordlessly brought out her wand and expertly twirled it in her fingers, raising her eyebrows at her brothers as she did so.


“Uh-oh,” said Harry needlessly, smirking at Fred and George, whose smug expressions were suddenly replaced by ones of extreme apprehension.


“Well, so long, Ginny!”


“Yeah, see you later, Harry!”


Ginny watched in satisfaction when her twin brothers removed themselves from the window so hastily that it almost seemed as if they had Disapparated. She then turned her attention back to her handsome and very amused fiancé.


“Now, where were we?” asked Ginny, putting her arms around Harry’s neck once more.


“Uh, Ginny, not that I don’t want to be right here,” said Harry, placing a kiss on the hollow of her throat for emphasis, “but don’t you think we should go inside? I really don’t fancy your mum hauling us in by our arses, yeah?”


As if on cue, Molly Weasley’s voice floated out of the window. “Fred! George! Didn’t I send you two to find Harry and Ginny?”


“But Mum…” whinged George.


“Ginny pulled…” began Fred.


“Do I have to do everything here myself?” demanded Mrs Weasley in an irate tone. “I asked you to do a simple task for me, but did you do it? No, of course you didn’t…”


Ginny sighed melodramatically and placed her forehead against Harry’s. “Is it too late to elope to Italy?” she pleaded. “It’ll make everything much easier.”


“Although I totally agree with you,” answered Harry with a chuckle, “I reckon your mum will never forgive us if we do, and as much as I love you, Ginny, I’d rather face down Bellatrix Lestrange at her barmiest than your mum when she’s got a doxy in her drawers.”


“Huh.” Ginny stubbornly set her jaw, but she hurriedly schooled her expression into an agreeable one when her mother suddenly poked her head out of the kitchen window.


“There you are!” exclaimed Mrs Weasley. She looked momentarily taken aback at the sight of her daughter firmly ensconced in her future son-in-law’s lap, but to Ginny’s astonishment, her mum did not say anything except, “Come now, dears, your guests are all here. It’s impolite to keep them waiting, especially Healer Cosmas. He’s a very busy man, you know, Healer Cosmas is.”


With that, Mrs Weasley self-consciously patted her hair (which, Ginny was amused to note, was rather elaborately styled under the sparkly midnight-blue witch’s hat that the twins had given her several Christmases ago) and withdrew back into the kitchen.


Ginny stared after her mother, and then she erupted into astounded laughter, Harry joining in almost immediately. “Thank Merlin that Healer Cosmas is here. D’you think that means that we can stay out here and ‘grope each other until the mooncalves come home’ as George so elegantly put it?”


“Hmmm…” Harry’s smile seemed to promise all sorts of wickedly naughty things that Ginny felt heat begin to pool in her belly once again. She was about to lean in for a kiss when Mrs Weasley’s head appeared in the window a second time.


“And where are Ron and Hermione?” she asked, glancing around until she spotted the newlyweds still rowing over by the rhododendrons, surrounded by several curious garden gnomes who seemed to be wholly enjoying the ongoing quarrel. One of them was even mimicking Hermione’s furious finger wagging.


“Oh, for Dumbledore’s sake, are those two at it again?” Mrs Weasley cried in exasperation. She thrust her plump body out of the window to holler at them. “Ronald! Hermione! Stop your bickering and get inside here at once! Dinner’s going to get cold!”


“Coming, Mum!” Ron shouted back, sounding grateful for the interruption. He galloped back to The Burrow, a still frowning Hermione trotting to keep up with him.


Ginny covered her face with her hands while her brother and sister-in-law dashed into the house. “Bugger this for a lark. I suppose we really have to go,” she said in resignation. She made to rise, but Harry picked her up in his arms instead. “Harry!” she protested, giggling. “You’re not supposed to carry me over the threshold until after the wedding!”


“I thought I could get in some early practice,” he said, his casual tone belying the roguish glint in his eye.


“Eager, are we?” she teased.


“Extremely,” he replied with a crooked smile that sent Ginny’s pulse racing.


“Oh. All right then,” she responded in breathless anticipation, becoming lost in his eyes, which were so very, very green…


“Ginny! Harry!”


“Bugger,” both of them groaned in unison, sharing a look of frustration.


“We’d better go.” Harry kissed her one last time and then put Ginny down.


She held on to his arm as she slipped her feet into her discarded shoes, and then Ginny leaned in to place her cheek against his. “I reckon you can practice some other after-wedding traditions on me later, Harry,” she murmured, taking pleasure in the fact that he seemed to shiver as her breath tickled his ear.


“Can I now?” he asked huskily, giving her a smouldering glance. “I’ll hold you to that, my love.”


“I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, winking at him saucily.


Harry laughed then — a rich, throaty laugh that sent indescribable bliss flooding through her.


“I love you, Ginny,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear, before his finger tenderly traced the angle of her jaw.


She smiled up at him, her heart bursting with joy when she saw the happiness shining from his eyes. “I love you too, Harry.”


He took her hand, pressed a soft kiss to her palm, and together they went in to greet their guests.



*end*





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