Advice for the Lovelorn Masses by cwarbeck



Summary: Ginny Weasley, matchmaker extraordinaire? The girls of Hogwarts certainly seem to think so! But how could Ginny give them any advice on their love-lives when she couldn't even manage her own? Not that she actually had one to speak of...
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstarstar
Categories: Post-OotP, Alternate Universe
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2008.10.12
Updated: 2008.11.16


Index

Chapter 1: Chapter One
Chapter 2: Chapter Two
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
Chapter 4: Chapter Four
Chapter 5: Chapter Five
Chapter 6: Chapter Six


Chapter 1: Chapter One

Author's Notes: Hello! I'm trying my hand again at writing. Don't know if I'm still any good at this, but what the hey! Thanks heaps to Chreechree for being the best beta ever, and to The Seeker for bugging me about writing again.

There are nods to Austin Powers, Louise Rennison and Spongebob Squarepants in this chapter. Now you know where I get my inspirations from. :)

Chapter One





“...and I know it’s not a big deal, but really…”


“Oh but it is! Just imagine what people will say!”


Lord love a duck.


Would they never stop?


I clunked my head against the carrel and started muttering under my breath.


These two chatterboxes — otherwise known as fifth-years Prudence Spitz and Patience Sinclair — had been gossiping the entire time I’d been in the library. I’d had to put up with their incessant chatter while I attempted to study for my upcoming Potions exam, a vitally important endeavour since my last attempt to brew a Strengthening Solution had resulted in Professor Snape losing all motor control from the waist up.


It really wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask him to hover around me like a greasy fruit bat, did I?


And it’s not my fault that he made Colin so nervous that the poor boy tripped and poured our sample all over his manky robes, right?


I have to admit, seeing old Snapey flop around like a flatulent flobberworm had been quite entertaining.


He gets twenty house points for style and form.


He needs to work on his costume though.


Black is not a good colour on Snape.


Completely washes out his complexion and makes him look sickly.


A nice midnight blue would be much better.


Or perhaps some plum velvet robes. With sequins.


Maybe a hat?


Heh.


Snape’s fashion sense (or lack thereof) aside, the fact remained that I simply could not afford to fail Potions.


My mother would throw a major wobbly if I actually got a Troll.


Even George and Fred had not managed to achieve that distinction during their stay at Hogwarts, although I know they tried their hardest.


Not to mention that Hermione would get on my case yet again about ‘applying myself’.


Last time she started on this rant, I escaped by telling her that my brother, Ron — whom she’s absolutely fancied for ages but won’t admit it — had taken off his shirt right in the middle of the Gryffindor common room and was doing a rousing version of Do the Hippogriff, complete with obscene hip thrusting à la Myron Wagtail.


She really should learn to control herself. It was actually quite unsanitary, the way that she had drooled into her parchment before she realised that I was winding her up and that Ron was still fully clothed and snoring blissfully away on the sofa in front of the fire.


“Yes, yes, you’re right, of course! What am I going to do?”


“You know, I know a girl who knew a girl, who knew a girl, who knew a girl…”


Back to the chittering duo. For Ravenclaws, these two were certainly giggly. Weren’t they supposed to be a serious lot?


But then again, Cho Chang was a Ravenclaw.


Huh.


I never understood what Harry saw in that girl.


I mean, so what if her hair was black and shiny, and her skin was flawless and decidedly not pasty, and…


Ugh.


Oh well, at least I heard two different versions of that snog she ambushed Harry with under the mistletoe that Christmas.


Immediately after the DA meeting, Cho met Marietta in the girls’ loos. She told her sneak friend and anyone else who would listen all the ‘titillating’ details.


I, of course, was not paying much attention, as I was too busy removing the naff orange lippy that Lavender Brown had forced on me as soon as we left the Room of Requirement.


Moreover, I would never do anything as juvenile as eavesdrop — I mean, what do you take me for?


An eavesdropper-type person or such like?


Seriously.


The very idea.


Anyway, I just happened to be in the stall right behind them, so I quite clearly heard Cho gushingly announce that Harry had swept her off her feet and that the kiss was ‘stupendous’.


My grunt of annoyance was conveniently muffled by the almighty crash my books made when I accidentally dropped them.


I think that frightened them a bit as they sort of squealed and beat a hasty retreat from the loo.


Of course, it could have been Myrtle erupting out of her U-bend like a barmy banshee and launching into a jealous tirade that drove them off.


I have to remember to inform Harry that Moaning Myrtle not-so-secretly carries a soggy torch for him.


How very humorous.


Now for the other version of that snog.


Colin, who is impossibly tiny and was therefore overlooked while he was skulking behind a sofa, told me that he overheard Harry tell Hermione and Ron that it was ‘wet’ and that she’d ‘come at’ him.


So in conclusion, that just means that:

a) Colin most probably has gnome blood in him, and

b) Cho gives stupendously wet snogs.


Bleargh-o-rama!


Again I ask: what did Harry see in that girl?


I think I will now call her the Stupendously Wet Chang.


Hee hee.


Oh fine. I know I sound harsh, considering that she was understandably upset over Cedric, but that’s all the more reason to not go snogging someone else’s man — er — someone else.


At any rate, Harry seems to have decided that S W Chang is not the girl for him, as he has stopped doing his impersonation of a mooncalf whenever he sees her.


Which is a good thing.


Not that it really mattered to me.


After all, I have got over my embarrassingly mad crush on Harry and have actually managed to become good friends with him.


I don’t get all squishy inside anymore when he smiles at me and his dimples come out.


Or when he sits next to me and I can feel his nice muscly thigh against mine.


Not even when he’s telling me a story, and his green eyes become all intense…


Oh bollocks.


Have gone completely off course.


Again.


Must really concentrate on Potions exam.


“…who knew a girl, who knew a house-elf, who knew a girl…”


But first, I need to shut these two up.


Where was Madam Pince when you needed her?


She can smell chocolate in the library from a mile away, but she can’t even be bothered to keep nattering schoolgirls from bothering serious scholarly-types like me.


Typical.


After debating briefly whether or not I could get away with Silencio-ing, Petrificus Totalus—ing and then abandoning them, my benevolent side won out. If I didn’t give her a nudge, not only would I never get any revision done, but this clueless girl could languish in romantic purgatory.


Maybe forever.


I don’t wish that on anybody.


I stood up and marched purposefully towards the silly geese.


“…who knew a girl, who knew a girl, who knew a girl’s cousin…”


“Excuse me,” I said politely.


They turned towards me, looking surprised at my sudden appearance.


“Oh hi, Ginny. We didn’t see you there,” said Prudence, her blue eyes wide and blinking in confusion.


Obviously.


“No, we didn’t,” echoed her clone, Patience.


I refrained from rolling my eyes and instead smiled at them.


“Well, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and d’you mind if I make a suggestion?”


*


Breakfast time at Hogwarts.


Yum.


“Hi. Ginny.”


Double yum.


“Hi, Harry.”


“So where were you last night? I wanted to ask your opinion about a Quidditch play I thought of.”


I sat down in front of him and grabbed a couple of pieces of toast.


“I was in the library, studying for my horrendous Potions exam today.”


“How industrious of you, Ginny.” His eyebrows shot skyward, and then he smiled at me teasingly.


“Shut it,” I said, grinning back at him. “I have to do well, or else Snape’s going to fail me.”


He laughed. “Oh yeah, I heard about your little stunt.”


“That was purely an accident!” I protested, chucking a piece of toast, which he ducked. It landed on Ron’s plate and disappeared a second later into my brother’s gaping maw.


“I don’t think that was very responsible of you, Ginny,” sniffed my conscience, in the form of one Hermione Granger, who was sitting next to me. “Professor Snape could have suffered permanent loss of upper body functions.”


Ron snorted. “I wish.”


Really, they should have a show on the Wireless called The Ron and Hermione Unresolved Sexual Tension Show, or maybe something catchier, such as Ron Blunders; Hermione Thunders. Before Hermione could tear into him, their witty early morning repartee was interrupted by the twittering twits from last night.


“Ginny!” gushed Prudence. “I just wanted to thank you for all your help!”


“Yes!” chirped Patience. “She and Gerard finally got together last night!”


They then dissolved into giggling like a couple of daft Erklings.


Harry, Ron and Hermione gaped at them while I mentally groaned.


“That’s brilliant, Prudence,” I said. “I’m happy for you.”


After a bit more giggling, the two finally said goodbye and hurried off to the Ravenclaw table, where a brown-haired sixth-year boy sat. He looked quite overwhelmed when Prudence flung herself at him, upsetting the sugar bowl in the process.


Poor Gerard.


Oh well.


I suppose he asked for it. He did want to go out with Prudence.


I turned back to the more important business of brekkers.


“What was that about?” asked Harry.


“Oh, they were in the library last night dithering on and on about Prudence’s imagined boy troubles,” I said as I slathered some butter onto my toast. “She was getting worked up about whether to go out with Gerard because she just couldn’t accept what her surname would be if they ever got married.”


“Huh?” said Ron around a mouthful of sausage.


I said, “Because, of course, she just has to hyphenate it. I decided to say something just to get them to stop talking. Apparently, it worked better than I expected.”


Hermione nodded wisely while the boys looked bewildered.


“Er, hyphenate?” asked Harry.


“Putting your maiden name and your husband’s surname together,” explained Hermione.


The boys still appeared clueless, which is really not a flattering look on them, but I’ve got used to it.


Oh all right.


Even clueless looks good on Harry.


You’ll never make me admit it out loud though.


Hermione let out a long-suffering sigh. “You know, like when Professor Grubbly got married, she became Professor Grubbly-Plank? Some women do that so that they feel they don’t lose their sense of self when they get married.”


“What?” Ron blurted out. “Professor Grubbly-Plank’s a woman?” He looked quite stunned.


Hermione levelled a look at him, which I correctly interpreted to be her special way of saying “I fancy the pants off you, Ron, but sometimes, you really are a moron.”


I simply could not resist, so I said, “So, Hermione, when you get married, will you become Hermione Granger-Weas—”


She blanched and pinched my leg under the table.


She can be quite unreasonably vicious. I wonder if she has any violent criminal-types in her family tree.


Oh wait.


Her parents are dentists.


Besides, it’s true.


She has scribbled “Mrs Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley” and “Mrs HJ Granger-Weasley” and “HRH Hermione J Granger-Weasley” (don’t ask — I have no idea what that girl is thinking sometimes), all over her homework planner.


She even used a little heart to dot the ‘i’ in Hermione, which only proves that even the brightest witch of her generation is prone to fits of sappy madness just like the rest of us ordinary people.


I discovered all this when I was rummaging through her bag for the copy of the latest Fifi LaFolle bodice-ripper (Our Smouldering Cauldron of Desire Has Boileth Over and Ruined the Carpet) that she said she’d lend me but was selfishly keeping all for herself, most probably because the wizard on the cover kind of resembled Ron, emphasis on ‘kind of’.


Maybe if you squint hard enough and turned the book sideways.


In any case, you would never catch me doing that. I would never leave such incriminating evidence lying around for any old nosy parker to find and hold for future blackmail purposes.


All of my ‘Ginny Weasley-Potter’ doodles are hidden in the safest possible location, somewhere nobody would ever think of looking — my third year History of Magic textbook.


Hey, I was going through a phase, all right?


I got over it.


Sort of.


I looked over at Harry, who was flashing his dimples at me as he tried not to laugh at his best friends, who were now studiously avoiding each other’s eyes and not quite succeeding.


Judging from the colour of their faces, I was afraid they were in danger of spontaneously combusting all over the Great Hall.


“Anyway,” I said loudly, to distract me from wibbling over Harry’s dimples, “it’s ridiculous since they’ve only just started going out, and I sincerely doubt that Gerard is thinking about matrimony at this point.”


I glanced back at the Ravenclaw table where Prudence was lovingly shoving a kipper into her startled boyfriend’s mouth.


Nope. Definitely no wedding bells ringing for those two in the near future.


“What’s Prudence’s last name anyway?” Harry asked me.


“Spitz.”


“And Gerard?”


I smirked. “Swallows.”


Harry let out a strangled laugh.


Hermione said, “I don’t understand what the problem is.”


Of course she wouldn’t.


Oh, this was too excellent to pass up.


Hee hee.


“You don’t think their last names are a bit out of the ordinary then?” I asked, earning me another smothered chuckle from Harry.


“Spitz or Swallows?” replied Hermione.


Harry and I sniggered like mad, and my brother began choking on an unwisely timed sip of pumpkin juice.


“Well, Prudence is obviously descended from German stock, but, aside from that, they’re both perfectly normal names.” Hermione scrunched her eyebrows together. “I really don’t get it,” she said.


“Good,” said Ron, mopping his chin with the sleeve of his robes. “Thank Merlin for small mercies.”


Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.


Harry, sensing another verbal fusillade in the works, quickly spoke up. “So, what sage advice did you dispense, oh Ginny-wise-one?”


Because he accompanied this question with a wink and another dimpled smile, I was momentarily flummoxed into incoherence.


But since I possess astonishing quantities of strength of mind, I smiled back at him despite the fact that my brain had melted.


I leaned forward conspiratorially.


Harry leaned forward too.


Any closer and I’d be snogging him.


Ooh boy.


Focus, Ginny. Focus.


“I told Prudence that ‘Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself’,” I said, focusing my gaze on Harry’s lips. “Don’t let on, but I got that from one of Fred and George’s new Kismet Biscuits line — they dispense free fortunes when you bite into them.”


Harry stared at me for a second and then began chuckling loudly.


“What?” I asked, surprised and slightly annoyed at his apparent amusement.


He shook his head. “You’re incredible, you know?”


I forgave him instantly and beamed at him.


Clearly, he is a very clever boy.


I like clever boys.


Especially clever boys with black hair and glasses and laughing green eyes and highly snoggable lips and…


Oh, PANTS.


Here we go again.


*

Back to index

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Author's Notes: I am seriously seriously overwhelmed by the response I got for the first chappie. Thanks loads, you lot.

As always, my gratitude to the lovely Chreechree, the ab fab beta of all betas.

This chapter has references to Sleepless in Seattle, and general inspiration from Spongebob. I watch too much Nickelodeon. :)

Chapter Two




Ho hum.


Hum ho.


Why must History of Magic be so boring?


Could it be Professor Binns’ fondness for the inexplicably tedious goblin wars?


Could it be his dreary voice?


Could it be his mournful face?


Could it be his cheerful (not) demeanour?


All of the above, I imagine.


I have always thought that perhaps the reason the Binners was so interested in the topic was because he had a sweetheart who perished in spectacular fashion during one of the skirmishes.


Hey, no one knows how old he is, so it is highly possible that he was actually alive during those times.


Anyway, she was probably a goblin warrior princess named Blodregardek the Bloodily Beautiful, who romped about in full battle regalia and a tiara just like Auntie Muriel’s.


Of course, being that bloodthirsty doubtless left her little time for love, as she needed to concentrate on chopping the heads of her enemies with a rusty battleaxe and a lusty battle-cry of “Oodolololololoingerk!”


Poor Professor Binns.


Imagine pining away for someone who did not return your affections, even though you’ve been hanging around the fringes waiting for them (in a totally inconspicuous way, of course) to notice you in a romantic-type light, and not just in a ‘Ginny, you’re really cool to hang out with because you are a tiptop mate and an honorary bloke’ way.


Huh.


Okay, so I am evidently not talking about Binns and his unreciprocated feelings for Princess BBB anymore.


I have been struggling with my early morning epiphany — that I’m apparently still very, very intensely in like with a certain clever green-eyed boy with glasses and highly snoggable lips.


(There should be a law against having such unsettling revelations during mealtimes. It puts one off what should have been a very enjoyable breakfast.)


So much for my self-imposed Harry Potter abstinence.


That said, it is quite unnerving, realising something like that while said snoggable lips are only inches away from yours.


At least I did not totally succumb to overwhelming lust and shamelessly attack Harry across the Gryffindor table. It must have seemed strange to him though, when I suddenly stuffed my remaining toast in my mouth and garbled a less than graceful good-bye at him.


He certainly looked — perplexed? disappointed? — at my odd behaviour and super hasty retreat.


Bugger.


I cannot believe I reverted to my eleven year old self — the one who ran away squawking like a baby Fwooper if Harry even so much as blinked in her direction.


Where was my vaunted Gryffindor bravery?


Where was my Weasley determination?


Where was my—


“Psst!”


I peered up at Professor Binns to see if he had suddenly developed a speech impediment, but, no, he was droning on and on and on, presumably oblivious to the fact that his entire class was in a state of catatonia.


He’s probably used to it.


“Psst!”


A quick glance around the classroom of sleepy Gryffindors and Ravenclaws finally located the source of the disturbance: Patience, the other half of the Dynamic Duo from last night.


She was sitting several seats behind me, to the right of Colin, who was snoring into his ink bottle, producing little inky bubbles as he did so.


He will be producing ink-coloured bogies for the longest time.


Ew.


Patience was paying no attention to the fact that her best friend and said best friend’s newly acquired boyfriend were sitting beside her and engaging in what appeared to be a tongue-wrestling competition. She smiled brightly and lobbed a folded piece of parchment at me.


It landed neatly on my desk and then unfurled itself, and I read:


Hi Ginny!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Since you were so helpful in getting Prudence and Gerard together,
I was hoping that you’d help me get my own boyfriend!!!!!!!!!!!

I know you can do it!!!!!!! I have so much faith in your talent for
getting people together!!!!!!!!!!!

I mean, you got Prude and Ger together, and your efforts on
getting Hermione and Ron together are really commendable!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can’t write down the name of the boy I like because if he saw this
letter, I’d be soooooooooooo mortified!!!!!!!!!!

Can I talk to you after HoM? Please?

Thanks!!!!!!!!!!!!




Patience



Needless to say, I was stunned.


Not only by the use of so many exclamation points (in hot pink ink, no less — I may become permanently cross-eyed) on a single piece of parchment, but also because I seem to have acquired the reputation of being some sort of matchmaker/relationship expert.


I was not even aware that I was actively involved in getting Ron and Hermione to admit they absolutely adore each other, unless you count that incident when Harry and I ‘accidentally’ locked them in the Prefects’ bathroom earlier this week.


That did not work, by the way. There was absolute silence for a total of about seven seconds and then, the next thing we knew, a shouting match had erupted between Hermione and Ron which ended with an ominous splash, someone swearing a blue streak (Ron), and someone storming dramatically out of the room in a righteous tizzy (Hermione).


Harry and I were hiding behind a tapestry when Hermione stomped past, muttering under her breath, which is fortunate, as I firmly believe that we would have paid for our little stunt with our lives if she had seen us. Or at the very least, an irate Hermione Granger would have read us the riot act, which is never an enjoyable occasion for anybody except Ron.


I think he secretly gets turned on by Hermione in lecture mode.


You know — the whole ‘young teacher, the subject of schoolboy fantasies’ thing.


Um, yuck.


I glanced back at Patience so that I could apologetically shake my head at her, except that she was now giggling with Prudence, who had taken pity on Gerard and let him take a little breather from their intense snogging session.


He certainly looked like he needed it, poor boy.


Someone should tell him that he needs to tuck his shirt back into his trousers before a teacher sees him and gives him detention and cuts down on his snogging time with Prudence.


Oh well, I’ll just wait until the end of HoM to inform her that I would be quite useless in helping her with her love life.


After all, I couldn’t even manage my own now, could I?


*


As soon as Professor Binns finally ran out of things to bore us with and vanished into his blackboard —


Wait, where does it go to, I wonder?


Please don’t let it lead directly to Professor Sinistra’s private rooms, like Luna has told me, as that would be utterly disturbing and will lead to years of counselling for me.


Besides, that would be like him cheating on Princess BBB’s memory, shame on him.


Anyway, after Hogwarts’ sure-fire cure for insomnia aka History of Magic, Patience approached me.


Or rather, she latched onto my arm like a grindylow and began talking before I could even open my mouth to tell her that she had too much misplaced faith in my matchmaking abilities.


“Oh, Ginny!” she squealed. “I’m so excited! I have so much faith in you!”


“Me too!” On my other side, Prudence (minus Gerard, who had probably taken the opportunity to escape her to examine himself for bruising), accosted my other arm.


I looked longingly at the door, through which Colin, the tip of his nose as black as a Lethifold, exited the classroom together with the other students. I considered making a run for it. However, these two appeared to have freakishly strong upper body strength, so I just sat down again.


But first, I had to say something. “Patience, I don’t know where you got the idea that I can help you win the boy of your dreams—”


“He is so dreamy,” she said besottedly, completely ignoring me.


“Yes, he is, but not as cute as my Ger, of course,” said Prudence loyally.


I tried again. “Yes, well, be that as it may, I really don’t—”


“His name’s Paddy,” interrupted Patience. “Paddy O’Malley.


“Isn’t that such a cute name?” gushed Prudence.


Paddy O’Malley?


Patience was in love with a leprechaun?


I endeavoured to recall if any of the wee folk were currently enrolled in Hogwarts but came up blank.


“His real name’s Patrick, except that everyone calls him Paddy,” explained Patience.


Maybe he was a firstie, but, no, that would make Patience a cradle snatcher.


She has more sense than that.


I hope.


“He’s in Hufflepuff,” volunteered Prudence. “Seventh year.”


“He’s President of the Gobstones Club,” added Patience proudly.


Oh. That bloke.


An earnest sort, with reddish-blond hair and an Irish accent so thick you could clout someone over the head with it and kill them instantaneously.


Now that I think about it, he also sort of resembled my brother, Percy.


Patience fancied someone who looked like Percy?


No accounting for taste, then.


Patience decided my silence was a signal for her to list all of Paddy’s admirable qualities. “He’s handsome and cool and a lovely person… and… and…” She broke off and gave a mighty sniffle.


Uh-oh.


“I’ve been in love with him since first year, and he doesn’t even know I exist!” she finished on a dangerously wobbly note.


I felt for her. I really did, but I had no idea how I was supposed to assist her.


She sniffled again and gave a watery hiccough or two for good measure.


“Patience,” I said, raising my voice so that I could be heard over the snuffling and the snivelling. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know the first thing about making love matches.”


She abruptly stopped making blubbing noises and made disbelieving noises instead. “But that’s not true!” she insisted.


“Look at what you did for me and Ger!” said Prudence.


I shook my head. “I only gave you some advice. The rest was up to you.”


“But what about you and Harry then?” said Patience, persistently. “That’s a love match if I ever saw one!”


I goggled at her. “Me and Harry? What?”


“You two are so obviously MFEO!”


Huh? Clearly her infatuation with this Paddy person/leprechaun has addled her brains somewhat. “What’s MFEO?”


Patience looked wide-eyed at me, as if wondering how I could not know what MFEO meant.


“Made for each other, of course,” she explained slowly, as if to a two-year old. “Get it? M F E O!”


I’m sorry I even asked.


Before I could contradict her sadly mistaken assumption about me and Harry, Patience squeezed my arm even harder.


“Ginny! I know you can help me!” she cried, her lower lip quivering. “Please?”


I looked at her, while surreptitiously attempting to extricate my arm from her death grip.


It was my right arm. I needed it if I ever wanted to have a smashing career as a professional Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies.


Patience seemed to be a nice girl, and Merlin knows I understand what unreciprocated love feels like.


Just like Professor Binns did with Blodregardek the Bloodily Beautiful, Princess of Goblinland, and her blood-thirsty, lust-inducing battle-cry.


“All right,” I said hesitantly.


The high-pitched shrieks of delight that resulted from my half-hearted acquiescence very nearly shattered my eardrums, but they did release my arms, thank Merlin.


“So, what’s the plan?” asked Patience excitedly.


I flexed my limbs in an attempt to coax the circulation back into them. “Well, to begin with, maybe you can tell me something about Paddy. Are you a member of his Gobstones thingy, then?”


“No.”


“Do you have any mutual friends or acquaintances and suchlike?”


“I don’t think so.”


“Well, since he’s a seventh year, you don’t have any classes with him. Are you in any of the same clubs or societies?”


“He was briefly in my Charms club, but he dropped it for ‘Helpful Hufflepuffs for Hogwarts’ when they started that up.”


‘Helpful Hufflepuffs for Hogwarts’?


Seriously.


I told you he was an earnest sort.


I sighed. “Patience, have you even talked to the boy?”


“Ooh, yes, once,” she said breathlessly. “He said ‘Excuse me’ when he accidentally bumped into me in the library, and I said, ‘Er’.” Her eyes became misty. “It’s a moment I’ll treasure forever.”


O-kay.


She was not exaggerating when she claimed that the bloke didn’t know she existed.


I contrived not to look too dismayed that we had so little to work with, but apparently I was no good at it, because even Patience realised something was amiss.


“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” she wailed, while Prudence patted her hand and made soothing sounds.


“No, no,” I hurriedly placated her. “Um, we just need to find some common interest between the two of you, so it’ll be easier for you to speak to him.”


“You mean like Harry and you both play Quidditch?” she asked.


I blinked.


Apart from Quidditch, did Harry and I actually have anything else in common?


I couldn’t think of anything.


Oh no.


Perhaps that was why we were only ever going to be friends!


Oh good grief, I was becoming as melodramatic as these girls.


Of course Harry and I shared other interests.


Like — er — like…


Think, Ginny, think.


Treacle tart?


Making fun of Ron and Hermione’s bizarre mating rituals?


Our mutual hatred of pumpkin pie?


Well, we must talk about something, because how else does time seem to disappear so quickly when I’m with Harry?


I will ignore the irritating know-it-all part of my brain that is telling me it is because I have a tendency to zone out whenever the subject of Harry Potter is concerned.


That is so not true.


“Ginny?”


I blinked again to see Patience and Prudence waiting for a response from me.


“Er, yes, kind of like that, but, there’s nothing going on between Harry and me.”


I then uttered the three most painful words in the English language.


“We’re just friends.”


Identical expressions of scepticism flit across their faces, but I decided to pay no attention and instead said, “I think you should just go for it, Patience. Walk up to him and start a conversation. Heck, ask him to the next Hogsmeade weekend.”


“But that’s this weekend!” she gasped.


“Nothing like a deadline to get you motivated.” I smiled bracingly. “Anything’s possible, you know, if you’ve got enough nerve.”


She still looked unconvinced, but Prudence was nodding her head thoughtfully.


“Ginny’s right,” she told her best friend. “And I know you’ve got loads of nerve, Patience. Why, weren’t you the only one brave enough to try out that sparkly mauve lippy when everyone else was saying it was too 1970’s? Then they were so jealous when it looked ab fab on you.”


Um.


Not exactly the example I was going for, but hey, whatever works for them.


“It did, didn’t it?” Patience straightened her shoulders. “All right. I’ll do it! I’ll ask if he wants to go to Hogsmeade with me.”


Just then, a dark head appeared in the doorway, distracting everyone, but most especially me.


“Harry!” I squeaked, trying to take no notice of the excited giggling that had erupted around me.


“Hi, Ginny. Colin told me that you might still be here,” said Harry, loping into the room.


Loping.


I liked that word.


It made me think of sleek jungle cats who prowled the — er — jungle.


At any rate, it brought to mind sexy beasts, a prime example of which was now standing right in front of me, looking uncertainly at Patience and Prudence.


“Hi, Harry!” they chorused.


“Erm,” he said, smiling at them a bit timidly. “Hello.”


“We were just leaving!” chirped Prudence, winking at me.


“Thanks again, Ginny!” Patience grinned. “You should really write an advice column or something. You’re good at this.”


Linking arms, they giggled their way out of the classroom.


“What was that about?” Harry inclined his head towards the retreating girls.


“Nothing, nothing. Just some silly girly stuff.” I stood up and gathered my books, which he promptly took from me.


“Oh, okay.” He fell silent.


He was making me nervous just standing around like a statue and staring at me with those beautiful green eyes of his, so I asked, “Don’t you have double Charms today?”


“What? Oh, yes. But we were dismissed early when Seamus overdid it with the Aguamenti charm and flooded the classroom.” He looked down and shuffled his feet. “Er, I wanted to talk to you.’


“Yeah? About the Quidditch play you mentioned?”


He shook his head. “Actually, I was wondering if perhaps I said something to make you angry with me.”


Huh?


“Of course not!” It was my turn to stare at him. “Whatever gave you that idea?”


“Well,” he said, frowning a bit, “you sort of ran off during breakfast.”


Oh yeah.


Right about the time when the scales fell from my eyes and I realised that I was still hopelessly, madly, deeply in love with him.


(Did I just think that? I have been reading far too many Fifi LaFolle novels. I blame Hermione. She was the one who got me hooked on those damn things.)


Nonetheless, Harry cannot know that I continue to harbour romantic-type feelings for him.


It would make things rather awkward, not to mention embarrassing, between us because it is quite apparent that he does not feel the same way about me.


However, I will not wallow in the pigpen of unrequited love, as I am sure it is very unhygienic and also bad for my complexion.


“Oh, that.” I flapped my arms about vaguely as we walked out of the classroom and into the corridor. “It’s just that I — I suddenly remembered that I’d forgot to bring — erm — my — my History of Magic book! I left it in my trunk, you see, and well, I love my History of Magic book!” I said, and pointed to one of the books he was carrying.


To my horror, it had the words ‘PROPERTY OF GWP’ written in tiny letters on the bottom right hand corner.


When in the name of pants did I write that?


Hopefully, Harry had not seen it. He does wear glasses, right?


“And so I had to rush back and get it, and, um, well,” I knew I was babbling like a fool, but I could not seem to stop myself, “now there it is, in your hands! And now here we are, in this hallway! Isn’t that fantastic?”


Harry looked at the book and then looked at me.


He smiled and said, “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

*

Back to index

Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Author's Notes: Well, here we are again. Thanks loads to everyone who's read and reviewed this silly little story. Thanks muchos to Chreechree, who just went through the week from hell and still found time to beta for me. Lurve you lots, my dear.

Let's see now... nods to Terry Pratchett, Louise Rennison, Pat Benatar, Forrest Gump, a 1955 movie of the same name, and Janet Jackson (go figure). No Spongebob this time. :)

Chapter Three



For some reason, Harry insisted on walking me all the way to my next class, which was Potions.


It was incredibly nice of him, and in any other circumstance, I would be thrilled to bits. But I could not help my apprehension that he might decide to take a closer look at my HoM book and then realise that I am a complete ninny.


So I endeavoured to distract him.


I did this the only way I knew how.


No, not by throwing him to the ground and having my way with him, you perverts.


Though if I’m being completely honest, the thought did cross my mind.


Just once or twice, mind you.


Mmmm…


Er, where was I?


Oh, right.


At any rate, I know I could have just asked him for the book, but that would have made him suspicious, you see?


He would think — “Now why would Ginny suddenly want her book back?”


He would then espy the PROPERTY OF GWP that I had foolishly written in a fit of madness, and then he would wonder, “Who the heck is GWP?”


Maybe he would think that it was Geneva Waxley Porter, the second year Gryffindor who tried out for the Quidditch team; she was so nervy that she dropped the Quaffle several times, tried to score through the wrong hoops and finally crashed spectacularly into Ron, who didn’t see her coming and was therefore speaking in an unnaturally high-pitched voice for several days thereafter.


Or maybe Harry would think that it meant Ginny Weasley-Patil, but that would make me a lezzie, which — not that there’s anything wrong with being one — I am not, of course.


However, since Harry is most definitely smarter than your average wizard, he will eventually figure it out and then declare “Get thee away from me, delusional woman!” and storm furiously away, stopping every few seconds to glare at me over his shoulder.


O-kay.


So maybe nothing that dramatic, since I don’t suppose Harry can pull off furious storming away, but he’d be uncomfortable (and embarrassed) and I’d be uncomfortable (and mortified beyond belief) and that would be the end of our friendship.


That is so not happening.


I valued Harry’s friendship too much to do anything to jeopardize it.


So I talked his ear off — Quidditch, House points, Potions, the House Cup, Ron and Hermione, house-elves — I faffed about anything and everything that hit my brain, even that highly disturbing incident in the library with Madam Pince, Filch and a roll of Spellotape that I’m still trying to desperately forget. Oddly enough, Harry did not seem to mind that I seemed to be chattier than usual and that I appeared to have developed diarrhoea of the mouth.


Oh boy, what a great visual.


In any case, I was just telling him why I thought there was something dodgy and ultimately icky going on between Crabbe and Goyle when a petite girl with curly brown hair came barrelling down the corridor leading to the Potions classroom. Harry hauled me to his side in order to avoid colliding with her, but she was going so quickly that she slammed into me anyway.


As a result, I was propelled straight into Harry’s arms, which were as muscly as they appeared to be.


Eep.


“Sorry, Miss Weasley!” the girl squealed as Harry tightened his hold around me reflexively.


What on earth was she apologizing for? I should be thanking her that she gave me the opportunity to “innocently” place my cheek against Harry’s lovely chest.


He smelled utterly delectable.


I could have stayed there forever, but I suppose I had to let go before he could start to wonder why I was salivating all over his robes.


With a sigh, one last sniff to sustain me until dinnertime, and a surreptitious check for any unsightly drool spots on his tie, I turned to face my unlikely assailant.


It turned out to be quite the tricky manoeuvre since Harry still had his arms locked around me.


I glanced up, straight into his concerned green eyes.


Double eep.


“All right, Ginny?”


More than all right, thank you very much. He really was a sweet boy.


When I nodded, he smiled, brushed my hair out of my eyes and finally loosened his grip.


Bugger.


I should have shaken my head and feigned a massive head injury, but, as I am not the feigning-massive-head-injury type of girl, I reluctantly stepped away from Harry.


“I’m really sorry, Miss Weasley,” the girl said once more.


I waved her apology away. “That’s quite all right, er—”


She looked sort of familiar — a Ravenclaw fourth year, I think, but I couldn’t remember her name, which was quite embarrassing, as apparently she knew mine.


“Anne,” she supplied. “Anne Sutcliffe.”


“All right, Anne?” asked Harry politely.


“Yes, thanks,” she said shyly, then to my surprise, she turned to me instead of gawking at Harry, which is what most girls do.


But no, not even one tiny swoon from Anne.


Not that I’d ever swoon, of course.


I would never do anything so immature, unlike the group of silly fourth year Hufflepuffs who caused quite a stir during the last Quidditch match when they flashed their — erm — unmentionables as Harry zoomed past them.


They claimed it was a ‘wardrobe malfunction’.


Right.


I had never seen Professor McGonagall turn that particular shade of magenta before.


Fortunately, Harry had not noticed.


Ron did though.


I’d never seen Hermione turn that particular shade of magenta either.


“Actually, Miss Weasley, I was in a hurry because I wanted to talk to you,” said Anne. “I wanted to ask your advice about something.”


“First off, it’s not Miss Weasley. It’s just Ginny,” I corrected her. “Miss Weasley is my Great Aunt Ermintrude, who’s deaf as a post and lives in Liverpool with her three kneazles, Anubis, Nefertiti and Mrs Pongo-Wongo.”


“Mrs Pongo-Wongo?” murmured Harry in disbelief. “Was there a Mr Pongo-Wongo, I wonder?”


“Okay, Miss Ginny,” replied Anne timidly.


I shook my head. “Not ‘Miss Ginny’. Just ‘Ginny’, okay?”


She frowned. “I can’t do that, Miss Ginny. My mum told me to be always respectful of my elders.”


What was I? A hundred years old?


There was a muffled snort of laughter from Harry, which was cut short by a swift jab in the ribs courtesy of my elbow.


“Are you okay, Mr Potter?” inquired Anne in respectful tones.


Ha!


“Quite,” said Harry, rubbing his side with a wince. “But like Ginny here, it’s just ‘Harry’, please.”


Well, he was never ‘just Harry’ to me. He was always ‘Harry, the sweet boy too thick to notice me’, or ‘Harry, the charming boy who held my heart captive in his hands and refused to let it go’, or ‘Harry, the gorgeous boy who haunted my dreams and filled me with restless longings and urges that could only be satisfied by—’


Er.


Sorry about that.


Is it warm in here or what?


My runaway romantic fantasies aside, I forced my attention back onto the eagerly waiting girl in front of me. “Anne, I’ll be happy to help, although I don’t quite know why you wanted to ask me for advice.”


She looked at me uncertainly. “Oh, but weren’t you the one who helped Prudence and Gerard get together?”


Oh for the love of pants. Not this matchmaking rubbish again!


“And well, I heard that largely due to your advice, Patience Sinclair is now going to Hogsmeade with Paddy O’Malley—”


How was I supposed to make it clear that—


What?


I stared at Anne. “She is?”


“Oh yes, she just asked him out a few minutes ago.” Anne giggled quietly. “Right in front of all his classmates too, mind.”


I couldn’t believe it. That girl works fast.


Her parents obviously made a mistake in naming her Patience.


I had to admire her though. She wanted something, she went after it, no holds barred.


“Good for her then,” I said.


“We should all be so brave,” muttered Harry.


What was that supposed to mean?


I looked at him, but he was now staring at his shoes. Before I could ask him to repeat himself, Anne spoke again.


“So, Miss Ginny, I was hoping you could help me too.”


Marvellous. I’ve somehow cemented my position as Hogwarts’ resident love guru.


“You’re clearly good at this,” Anne told me.


Pandering to my ego, eh?


“That she is,” agreed Harry, a grin on his face. “Ginny’s a regular wise woman.”


Huh. Was he also pandering to my ego?




How nice of him.


That’s not all he can pander to.


Hee hee.


I checked my watch. I still had some time before Professor Snape closed the doors and barred entrance to every Hogwarts student’s own personal level of hell: the Potions classroom.


“Okay, Anne,” I said decisively. “How can I help you?”


“Um, well,” she said, looking hesitantly at Harry, who, bless his soul, took the hint.


“I’ll leave you to dispense your words of wisdom, then.” He handed me my books, including my HoM book (Yes! I was saved from total humiliation!), and smiled at me. “See you later, yeah?”


“See you later, Harry.”


He waved, and I somewhat regretfully watched him (and his lovely bum) disappear round the corner.


*


As it turned out, Anne wanted help with not one, but two blokes.


She had been invited to Hogsmeade by a Hufflepuff by the name of Mickey McCool, and Richard Carmichael, Slytherin’s very own version of Gilderoy Lockhart.


“I don’t know Richard very well, but well, he’s Richard Carmichael,” said Anne, as if that explained everything.


Actually, it did.


Richard Carmichael was an extremely good-looking fifth-year, warranting the fact that when people said his name, you could hear the italics. You always knew if the fair-haired Richard had passed by in all his Greek god glory by the sudden upsurge in sighing and moony-eyed girls littering the corridors.


For my part, I prefer extremely good-looking, dark-haired blokes, but we already know that, so I won’t bore you by waxing lyrical about Harry’s many other admirable qualities, such as his wit, his sense of honour, his nobleness, his…


A couple of my classmates passed us on their way to the Potions classroom. I had to hurry this up or Snape would have my hide.


I’m pretty confident that Old Greasy Fruit Bat has still failed to appreciate the humour in his accidental but spot on flobberworm impression.


“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind, Anne. Just tell Mickey that you’ve decided to go with Richard,” I said.


There, that was easy enough. Maybe I do have this matchmaking thingy down pat.


I could always write for Witch Weekly if I didn’t make it as a Harpy.


Maybe not.


“Well, you see, that’s the trouble. I want to say yes to Richard, but I also sort of want to go with Mickey.” Anne began wringing her hands. “I really like Mickey. I can talk to him about anything.” Anne smiled. “He makes me laugh.”


Ah, the old looks versus personality quandary.


“If I go out with Mickey, I’m sure I’ll have an amazing time, but,” Anne’s face glowed with feeling, “this is Richard Carmichael we’re talking about.”


I had to ask the obvious. “Anne, aside from agreeing with him that he’s far too pretty for his own good, have you even talked to Richard?”


I wanted to add, “Perhaps to ask what brand of face cream he slathers on at night to keep his skin soft and supple like a baby’s bottom?”, but I refrained from doing so.


I already knew anyway — he uses the new Mooncalf Placenta Nightcreme from WWW’s Wonder Witch line, if the box that was delivered to him yesterday morning in the Great Hall was anything to go by.


She shook her head. “Well, no, but when am I going to get asked out by someone like him again?”


She had a point.


However, didn’t someone highly intellectual (probably me, in a past life) once say that “‘Handsome is as handsome does”?


Which someone else immediately countered with “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it”.


And then Luna chimed in with “Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure”.


Okay, that last one was totally unrelated to the discussion, but I’ve always liked it.


Luna can be quite philosophical, yeah?


Anyway, back to Anne’s dilemma.


Richard the Face or Mickey the Hoot?


Personally, I would choose the boy who makes me laugh.


A pretty face and blinding body is all well and good, but at the end of the day, I believe you’d want to be with someone who has the ability to talk about something other than how long it takes him to colour coordinate his socks with his Y-pants.


I’ve never had a dull conversation with Harry. He is a laugh and a half and then some.


His being a Sex God Extraordinaire is just an added — though very much appreciated — bonus.


Too bad he hasn’t asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him.


Oh bugger.


Who was Harry taking to Hogsmeade?


Did I even want to know?


I do hope he is not contemplating on asking S W Chang again, although I have not seen one spark of interest from Harry whenever she is hanging about, thank Merlin.


Besides, he is far too smart to make the same mistake twice.


Now, I admit that I don’t have any right to be cross if he does have a date; however, the girl he does go out with should be someone who actually likes him for who he is, and not because he’s the famous Harry Potter.


Someone who knows that he’s really smart and sweet and funny and thoughtful and selfless and caring and fiercely protective of his friends and — and — well, just plain wonderful.


Someone like…


“Ginny!”


Colin, his poor nose looking like it had been the subject of a futile attempt at scouring off the ink bogies, waved at me from the door of the Potions classroom.


Uh-oh. Snape was surely on his way out of his quarters.


I’d brood about Harry and his unknown date (ugh!) later.


Right now, it was time to wrap things up with Anne before Snape swooped down on me.


I opened my mouth and then abruptly closed it again. I realised I had no idea what advice to give her.


She gazed at me expectantly.


“You know, Anne, love is like a — erm —”


“Yes, Miss Ginny?”


She looked so hopeful that I couldn’t bear to disappoint her.


“Like — uh —”


I scrabbled around my brain for something profound.


A battlefield?


Too gory.


A box of chocolates?


Too trite.


A many splendoured thing?


Too vomit-inducing.


Profound. I was going for profound.


“Love is like a — a — pair of trousers!”


What in the name of arse?


A pair of trousers?


“A pair of… trousers?” echoed Anne. From the way her eyebrows met in the centre of her forehead, it was clear that she didn’t know what the heck I was talking about.


That made two of us, but I bashed on nevertheless.


Might as well. Why waste all this effort?


“What I’m trying to say is that each leg of said trousers represents the direction your romantic life may take,” I said, inwardly wincing at how idiotic I sounded. “You have to be careful as to which leg you choose. If you put your foot in the wrong trouser leg, you may end up stuck in the crotch, or worse, looking the fool for wearing the trousers the wrong way round.”


Anne’s response to that absurd piece of advice was to stare mutely at me for several seconds.


I would have had a completely different reaction.


I would have called for Madame Pomfrey so that she could cart me off to St Mungo’s for spouting such nonsense.


But incredibly, instead of having me committed, Anne actually began nodding her head as if she understood me.


“I totally get it.”


She did?


“It’s brilliant.”


It was?


“Thanks again, Miss Ginny.” Anne shook my hand vigorously and beamed at me. “I know what to do now.”


I wanted to ask her if she would be so kind as to explain my drivel back to me, but Colin stuck his head out and hissed “Snape’s on the move!” and then scuttled back into the room.


“Er, all right,” I said to Anne, extracting my hand from her startlingly strong grip. What is it with these Ravenclaw girls? Did they lift weights or suchlike? “Glad to be of assistance, then.”


“See you in Hogsmeade with Mr Potter!” Anne said chirpily.


“I’m not going to Hogsmeade with Harry,” I replied, hoping I did not sound too bitter.


“You’re not?” She looked thoroughly confused. “But aren’t you and Mr Potter…” Anne’s eyes widened in alarm, and she suddenly took off with a panicked squeal.


That could only mean one thing, and the faint but distinct flutter of bat wings behind me confirmed my worst fears.


I slowly turned to find His Royal Greasiness, Professor Snape, glaring at me.


I tried not to look too closely at him, for his nostrils were flaring with great gusto and who knew what I would accidentally see in them?


Bleargh-o-rama!


“If you’ve finished discussing your love life with all and sundry,” he said with an icy sneer, “perhaps you would care to take your seat so that the rest of us can get on with our lives?”


Without waiting for my answer, he whirled about and swooped back to his desk.


I wouldn’t be surprised at all if one of these days he’ll just launch himself out of a window and flap around the Forbidden Forest, preying on hapless fruit or maybe small insects like moths and dragonflies and…


“Miss Weasley!” Snape thundered. “What are you waiting for? The Hogsmeade weekend, perhaps?”


I hate him.


“Moon over Potter on your own time!”


I really do.


*

Back to index

Chapter 4: Chapter Four

Author's Notes: Happy Halloween everyone. Hope no one got sick from too much candy, and I hope everyone checked that there was no melamine in them! Thanks for all the reviews and my everlasting gratitude to Chreechree, the absolutely best beta ever.

Chapter Four



Oh Merlin.


That must have been the worst double Potions class in recorded Hogwarts history.


Even worse than the time that Neville mistakenly put in valerian root instead of powdered billywig stings in his Invigoration Draught and consequently produced a mist so thick that students kept getting lost en route to the dungeons. They eventually wound up in Snape’s private quarters, which is somewhere that no one in their right mind would want to be.


But come to think of it, Neville actually did a good thing as Potions was cancelled for an entire fortnight so that students could recover from the physical and mental trauma of seeing Snape in his natural environment.


(Except for Millicent Bulstrode, who, disturbingly enough had been rather excited by the whole thing and had managed to get ‘lost’ several times over before Snape finally threatened to deduct two hundred points from his own House if she didn’t stop stalking him.)


I suppose I am correct after all, and I just had the worst double Potions class of all time.


Snape had been unbelievably crotchety. He made me so nervy that I almost spilled my Babbling Beverage all over Colin.


That would have been an unmitigated disaster, as Colin is chattier than a cageful of Cornish pixies on any given day.


Hmmm.


I wonder what the chances are that the Creeveys have a pixie aunt hidden away in their family tree?


Probably about the same as the likelihood that Colin has gnome blood in him.


Which means that he is:

a) one-quarter pixie,

b) one-quarter gnome, and,

c) one-half milkman.


Good grief. All those different pedigrees must make him a very confused boy.


He was certainly confused enough to ask me to Hogsmeade.


He said, “Um, Ginny, you know, Hogsmeade, and, well, you know, um, what do you think?”


I had been friends with Colin for so long that I actually understood him.


And even though I had no definite plans of going, I didn’t really fancy going out with him, or any bloke for that matter.


(That last part is an outright lie, because we all know who I want to go with, but humour me, okay?)


I said, “Er, sorry, Colin, I can’t.”


Luckily, his pixie lineage — or maybe it was his milkman roots — allowed my rejection to roll right off him.


He grinned. “Well, I thought I’d give it a try.”


We were all right, Colin and I.


But then something totally unbelievable had happened after Potions.


Naturally, anything that could set me off had to involve Slytherins.


Or in this case, just one Slytherin in particular.


There always has to be one really bad doxy egg amongst the bad doxy eggs.


Felicity Anstruther-Willoughby waylaid me in the corridor - wait, what is it with people ambushing me today?


Might as well hang a sign on me that says “Feel free to take up my valuable time as I am entirely at your leisure.”


Hmpf.


Anyway, as I was saying, Felicity Anstruther-Willoughby grabbed hold of my arm immediately after I left the classroom and dragged me behind a statue.


It was of Donald the Seriously Distracted, who had a rather surprised look on his marble face.


George and Fred have told me that this is because this statue was modelled after Donald’s last known public appearance — walking into a herd of rampaging graphorns in Knockturn Alley while eating a sardine sandwich and reading a book.


I’m not sure if I believe them. I mean, who would want to eat a sardine sandwich?


Ew.


“So, is it true?” Felicity asked me excitedly.


I eyed her warily as I wasn’t certain what she was asking about, and I didn’t want to unknowingly be the one to feed the rumour mill that is Felicity Anstruther-Willoughby.


You had to be careful about what you said or did around Felicity, or your reputation would be in shreds faster than you could say ‘Rita Skeeter’.


I think people tended to be disarmed by her rather winsome features, which belied the fact that she was one of the most beastly gossips in school and that her presence meant things were about to become seriously squiffy.


“Is what true?” I replied cautiously.


“Don’t try and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she cooed.


I wasn’t pretending, but maybe she wanted some inside information on Patience’s or Prudence’s new romances.


“Er, is this about Prudence and Gerard?”


She shook her head.


“Patience and Paddy then? Because I really didn’t have much to do with—”


“No, no, no,” she cut me off impatiently. “Although it does involve you and your supposed matchmaking abilities.”


Ick-o-rama!


Merlin forbid that she was one of the lovelorn oozing out of Hogwarts castle walls like a bad infestation of Bundimun.


I don’t think I could unleash Beastly Felicity on some poor unsuspecting student.


It would be a violation of basic wizard rights. The Aurors would in all probability Apparate me straightaway to Azkaban, no questions asked.


“Felicity, I don’t have any ‘matchmaking abilities’,” I said. “I may have given some advice but—”


“Yes, yes, whatever.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, you and Harry Potter are not going to this Hogsmeade weekend together, right?”


How in the name of pants…


Oh bugger it all. I forgot that she has Potions with me.


Fantastic.


She must have been listening in to the last part of my conversation with Anne.


“So could you tell him that I’m more than available?” said Felicity, without waiting for my answer. “You know, set us up or something?”


What?


No bloody way in hell was I doing that.


“Look, I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t set anyone up, they did it all on their own,” I stated yet again.


She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.


Really, I was getting tired of this.


“Why don’t you inform him yourself?” I challenged her.


“What?” Felicity looked offended. “I can’t ask him — it’s not ladylike for the girl to ask the guy out!”


I just only barely stifled a snort.


“Will you do it then?” she pressed.


I couldn’t do that to my poor Harry, even if I didn’t have feelings for him.


Like I said before, he deserved to go out with someone who liked him for something other than his famous name.


“I’m sorry, I can’t, Felicity.”


“Why ever not? I’m quite sure I’m Harry’s type. I know he’s into brunettes.”


She tossed her long black hair over her shoulder in a practiced move.


This time, a snort did escape me, but it was a half-hearted snort. I couldn’t argue her point, sadly enough. She did look like the sort of girl that Harry could be attracted to; she even looked a bit like Cho S W Chang, except for her eyes, which were a pale, watery sort of grey, unlike Cho's darker ones.


“Oh, I know.” A calculating expression crossed her face. “I’ll pay you.”


“I beg your pardon?” I couldn’t believe my ears.


“I’ll pay you,” she repeated. “In fact, I’ll pay you double what Spitz and Sinclair gave you to get them hooked up.”


“They didn’t pay me,” I said, feeling my face grow hot with irritation.


How dare she?


“Then why won’t you ask Harry for me?” she pouted.


Did I really need to dignify this with an answer?


“Come on, Ginny,” she whinged, totally disregarding the incredulous glare I was giving her.


I suppose I did.


I would try to use small words, for her sake.


I’m being catty, I know, but I was becoming seriously annoyed with this girl.


“Listen, Felicity, I am not Harry’s keeper, so I cannot presume to know how he will react to your — er - proposition,” I said, struggling to hold on to my temper, which was threatening to explode like Moaning Myrtle’s toilets. “However, I will not attempt to persuade Harry to go out with you. If you fancy him, then take a chance and go for it. You’ll never find out if you skulk around corridors accosting innocent people and bullying them into getting your dates for you!”


She stood there and glowered at me. I bet no one had ever talked to her like that before.


About time someone did.


“Goodbye,” I said, and then proceeded to storm furiously away.


Halfway to Gryffindor Tower, I ran out of steam and slowed down to a walk.


Furiously storming away is not as easy as it sounds.


How did those Fifi LaFolle heroines manage to do it so effortlessly?


Well, they probably did not have an armful of schoolbooks weighing them down, except for that missish governess in My Love Lies Gently Steaming in the Afternoon Sun, who always carried a heavy book with her to bash any unwanted admirers in the head with.


It was quite a violent plot for such an innocuous title; it rather reminds me of Hermione and Ron’s relationship.


I had plodded my way to the portrait hole when I suddenly realised something which brought me to an abrupt halt.


I had given Felicity a bit of genuinely sound counsel, and with the surprising degree of success I’ve had so far with my other spur-of-the-moment, talk-through-your-arse love advice…


Oh PANTS.


What have I done?


*


I was still standing dazedly in front of the curious Fat Lady when somebody tapped me on the shoulder.


“Ginny?”


I blinked and found Hermione peering at me in concern.


“She’s been like that for a while now, dearie,” the Fat Lady called out. “I thought she’d had a fit or something.”


“Are you all right? Why aren’t you at dinner?” asked Hermione.


“I was just going to drop some books off,” I answered.


“Me too,” said Hermione, holding up her incredibly huge rucksack.


She was going to have serious back problems in the future, Hermione was.


“But why aren’t you inside then, Ginny? Did they change the password again?”


“No, they haven’t,” trilled the Fat Lady. “I should know.”


“Uh,” I hedged, and then I noticed that Hermione was all alone.


“Where’s Harry?” I blurted out.


She gave me a strange look. “He’s probably on his way to the Great Hall with Ron.”


He was?


“I remember that I used to have the vapours when I was still alive,” the Fat Lady reminisced fondly. “I was very fragile, you know.”


Could Felicity already have cornered him and forced him to go to Hogsmeade with her?


He couldn’t have!


“Always fainting away at the slightest provocation,” the Fat Lady interjected. “My father told me I had the constitution of a fairy.”


But then Harry did have a nobility streak a mile wide, so he might have agreed because he was afraid to hurt her feelings.


Or maybe he’d consent to go out with her because beastly though she may be on the inside, Felicity’s outsides were not wholly unattractive to the opposite sex.


However, Harry was not like your typical boy.


He was not one to be taken in by good looks alone.


I firmly believed that.


I did.


I must have looked a bit fierce, or perhaps it was the involuntary tic that developed in my right eye, but Hermione became thoroughly alarmed and shouted, “Ginny! What is it? Flights of fancy!”


She firmly took my elbow and steered me through the now open portrait hole (“Give her a mustard plaster, and she’ll be as right as rain!” recommended the Fat Lady) and into the empty common room.


I was brought over to the cushy sofa in front of the grate and pushed into it.


“Here, breathe into this if you feel faint.” Hermione conjured a brown paper bag and shoved it into my hands. She settled into the seat in front of me. “Now, tell me what’s the matter.”


In the warmth and comfort of the common room, my fears seemed silly all of a sudden, but nevertheless, I needed to vent.


“Well, I’m not sure if you know this, but I seem to have become a love guru of sorts.”


“Oh, yes, I heard about that,” she said approvingly. “That’s very nice of you, Ginny, using your talents to help others in need.”


“Don’t you think that’s just a little bizarre?” I demanded.


“Not really. You’ve always been really good with advice and with people.” She smiled. “Maybe you can write an advice column for Witch Weekly when you finish Hogwarts.”


“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “Anyway, because I’ve somehow managed to help Prudence Spitz and Patience Sinclair and Anne Sutcliffe too, Felicity Anstruther-Willoughby has—”


“Oh my goodness, Beastly Felicity?”


I nodded, somewhat amused that even prim and proper Hermione called her that.


Such is B Felicity’s reputation.


“Yeah, she got it into her head that I could set her up with Harry for Hogsmeade.”


“And you agreed?” Hermione appeared horrified.


“Hello? Are you daft? Of course not!” I said, equally horrified.


“Good, good,” she said, relieved. Then she grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Because I’m quite certain that Harry was going to ask…”


My heart clenched in anticipation of Hermione’s next words, but then the portrait hole suddenly opened and somebody hurriedly climbed into the common room.


Hermione closed her mouth with a snap, much to my frustration.


But when I saw who had interrupted us, I forgot to be upset. “Harry!”


He looked up and smiled at us.


“Hey,” said Harry, doing his sexy jungle cat loping thingy and distracting me altogether. “What are you two doing here?” He sat down beside me. “All right, Ginny?”


Now I am.


“Fine,” I said, feeling ludicrously happy at the sight of him.


“You weren’t fine a while ago,” pointed out Hermione, quite unnecesarily, I thought.


Harry turned to me questioningly.


“It was nothing,” I said, glaring at Hermione. “Probably the after effects of Potions class and Snape.”


“Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” he asked solicitously.


I shook my head. He really was lovely, fussing over me like this. So considerate and attentive.


“Well, if you’re sure,” he replied, taking my hand and squeezing it.


Oh Harry!


“Yes, Ginny?”


Bollocks. I didn’t moan that out loud, did I?


“Er, nothing, nothing,” I said as nonchalantly as possible.


“What are you doing here anyway, Harry?” asked Hermione, shooting me an amused glance. “Have you finished dinner?”


To my surprise, Harry blushed.


He was cute when he blushed.


“Er, yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.


He was cute when he scratched the back of his neck.


“But then Parvati and Lavender told me that they heard a rumour that Felicity Anstruther-Willoughby wanted to — uh — ask me to Hogsmeade.”


He made a face.


He was cute when he made a…


Wait! Harry made a face!


That either meant he was passing out a massive kidney stone, or he was totally disgusted at the idea of a date with Felicity.


Since Harry is far too young to be having problems with his kidneys, I’m fairly certain that the latter is the reason for the deep frown marring his handsome face at the moment.


Yes!


I definitely needed to get Parvati and Lavender something for Christmas. I’ll ask Mum to knit them each a cardie.


A saffron one for Parvati, and a lavender one for — er — Lavender.


“I heard that rumour too,” said Hermione wryly. “From a very reliable source.”


“Right, so when I saw her approaching me in the Great Hall, I sort of panicked and did a runner,” he admitted sheepishly. “I left Ron in the middle of dinner.”


“Oh dear,” said Hermione, jumping up from her chair. “I should probably go down there and make sure he doesn’t make himself sick again.”


Have I mentioned that my brother has the stomach capacity of not one, but two Hungarian Horntails?


He has proven this by consuming four jacket potatoes, a dozen toad in the holes, five steak and kidney pies, and one colossal turkey leg, all in one sitting.


Professor Dumbledore should give him another award for ‘Special Service to the School’, not only for providing continuous employment to the Hogwarts’ kitchen house-elves, but also for giving Madam Pomfrey the opportunity to test out her new batch of Colonic Tonics with great success.


“Bye, Ginny! Bye, Harry!” said Hermione. She gave Harry a rather pointed look before she dashed out.


What was that about?


Oh well, it didn’t matter. I was quite content to be sitting in the common room with Harry.


Here we were, all cosy and snug.


And all alone.


Mmmmm.


By dint of some crafty manoeuvring on my part, I was now leaning against him with his arm sort of around my shoulder.


Ahhhh…


I was so comfortable that I didn’t want to move.


And maybe I was imagining it, but Harry didn’t seem to want to either.


Huh.


“So, Ginny,” Harry cleared his throat, “how about you? Thinking of, erm, ambushing a poor bloke and asking him to Hogsmeade?”


“No,” I said absently, concentrating on snuggling up to him without being too obvious about it. “Actually, I’m not sure if I’m going at all.”


“Really?”


He sounded a bit odd, but it might have been because my hair was probably tickling his nose, given that he had tucked my head under his chin.


Eep.


When did that happen?


Mind you, I wasn't complaining.


“Mmm-hmm,” was all I could manage in response as I willed my bones not to go liquidy and clue him in to the fact that he was essentially hugging me to his manly chest.


Why ruin a good thing by melting all over him like a blancmange left in the sun?


“Well, I wasn’t sure I was going either, so, uh, why don’t we just, er, go together and enjoy the day?” he asked. “I think it’d be fun, yeah?”


Fun? Fun?


Is he mad?


It would be better than fun!


It would be...


But wait, why’d he ask me?


Is it because he felt sorry for me? Or because he felt sorry for himself?


Or am I an alibi for Felicity?


No matter.


You don’t look a gift hippogriff in the maw, as you risk dismemberment, or at the very least, having an eye or two gouged out.


“Yeah, I’m sure it would be loads of fun, Harry,” I agreed, hoping my voice was not too high-pitched from all the internal hyperventilating I was doing.


He pulled back and beamed down at me.


Double eep and then some.


Merlin, those eyes of his were going to be the death of me.


“That’s great. It’s a date then.”


I snapped out of my Harry-induced haze.


Hey, what?


A date?


Did he mean a ‘friendly/sympathy/I don’t want to be alone and appear pathetic date’ or a ‘date date’?


Because if he meant the former, well, I suppose I can convince myself not to be too disappointed.


Eventually.


But if it was a ‘date date’, then…


Holy Mother of Merlin!

*

Back to index

Chapter 5: Chapter Five

Author's Notes: We're almost at the end. I hope you'll hang on for the rest of the story. Thanks again to everyone who's left a review, and thanks to Chreechree, my lovely ace beta.

Chapter Five




After Harry asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him, the portrait hole opened again, and Hermione and Ron trooped into the common room.


I was supremely conscious of the fact that Harry’s arm was still draped around my shoulder and that there was probably a stupid grin plastered on my face, but aside from the knowing smirk on Hermione’s face and the surprised but pleased expression on my brother’s, neither commented on our cosy position when they came over to sit with us.


Instead, Ron said, “You missed a great dinner, Harry. Tonight there was fish and chips, three kinds of beef and veg, sausages, shepherd’s pie…”


Typical.


However, all this talk about food did set my stomach rumbling, which, to my embarrassment, was apparently loud enough to wake the dead. It certainly caught Harry’s attention.


“You hungry, Ginny?” asked Harry.


“Er, yeah?” I admitted.


“Me too.” He stood up and stretched, revealing a patch of flat tummy, which effectively stopped me from protesting about losing the feel of his arm around me.


Wibble.


“Okay, how about I get us something from the kitchens?”


“Um, sure, sure, whatever you want,” I said, hoping he would stretch again and indulge my voyeuristic tendencies.


But instead of Harry, it was my brother who stood up and stretched his arms above his head.


I sneaked a glance at Hermione.


Heh.


Judging from the keen look in her eyes, I see her voyeuristic propensities were well and satisfied.


Ew.


“I’ll come with you,” said Ron. “Maybe there’s some chocolate cake left.”


Hermione shook her head. “Ron! You just had three slices!” she objected. “Between you and Seamus, Poor Neville didn’t even get to eat a bite.”


“That’s why I need another one,” my brother said, patting his stomach, “to make it a nice, even number.”


“Come on then, why don’t we all go?” chuckled Harry. “Ginny gets cranky when she’s hungry, and we can’t have that now, can we?” he teased. “Can’t have you wasting away before tomorrow comes.”


And then he winked at me.


Wibble wibble.


As much as I enjoyed it, Harry had better stop this sly winking extravaganza or else I fear I may have to be magically removed from the sofa because my bones are beginning to melt into the fabric, and then how am I supposed to go out tomorrow?


I don’t fancy wearing red and gold chintz on my first date with Harry.


“We’ll catch you up, all right?” said Hermione. “I need to ask Ginny something.”


Uh-oh. I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape Hermione’s inquiring mind for too long.


“What?” asked Ron.


“Just… something,” said Hermione evasively.


Oh well. It’ll give me time to peel myself off this sofa with some dignity.


“Can’t it wait until after we go to the kitchens?” complained Ron.


“All right, Ginny?” Harry asked, looking at me and Hermione curiously.


I smiled at him. “Yes. You go on ahead.”


My brother rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself. Let’s go, Harry,” he said, walking towards the portrait hole.


Harry leaned forward and said in a low voice which liquefied my bones a little more, “Don’t take too long, yeah? I can’t guarantee there’ll be anything left once Ron gets started, but I’ll save you some treacle tart.”


He really is a lovely, thoughtful boy, isn’t he?


As soon as the boys left, my bones solidified again, thank Merlin. Hermione turned and said, “He’s asked you to Hogsmeade, hasn’t he?”


“Yes,” I said, trying not to smile too broadly.


“I knew it!” she crowed in triumph. “I knew he would finally get around to asking you. He’s been dithering about it all week.”


He has?


Wait, then that probably means…


Time to ask the guru of all gurus to resolve my dilemma.


After all, her brainpower alone can probably provide ekeltricity to several major cities and the surrounding boroughs.


“Um, Hermione, does that mean that this is actually a date?”


“Of course!”


“No, I mean is it a date?”


“Oh! You mean is it a ‘date date’ or,” she paused and added with some acerbity, “is it a ‘we-happen-to-be-going-in-the-same-direction-so-why-not-go-together date?’”




Huh.


Ron, in typical Ron manner, has probably asked her to Hogsmeade.


“Um… are you all right?”


She took a deep breath and gave me a strained smile.


“I’m fine, Ginny. Anyway, we were talking about your date with Harry.” She looked thoughtful. “Remember An Absolutely Teeming Cornucopia of Passion? When Rodrigo wanted to take Esmeralda to the ball even though he could have had his pick of women, especially since Angela and Angelita and Angelica were throwing themselves at him like there was no tomorrow?”


I nodded. I never did like those tarty triplets.


“Well, Harry’s like that — he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t really want to go with you, yes?” she said matter-of-factly.


Hmmm…


“Besides, I told you, he’s been agonising on when and how to ask you since the weekend was announced.” Hermione smiled. “He’s been a right pain about it too. Ron’s been threatening to tell you himself if Harry didn’t stop worrying about it.”


Harry, stressing about asking me out?


And Ron didn’t go ballistic?


Bloody hell.


Then it really is a ‘date date’!


One more thing, though:


“Hermione, this means he really likes me likes me, right?”


She gave me a look which I didn’t understand why she was giving it to me at this particular moment, because it was a look that usually meant ‘Ginny, you are a dear friend and I like you loads — in a totally non-lezzie way, of course — but sometimes I despair that you are taking too much after your brother’.


I mean, she only gave me that look when I was acting particularly dim, which is a rare occurrence, I assure you.


Like the time when I asked her if she thought that Pansy Parkinson looked like a ruddy pumpkin head with zero fashion taste in her orange serge pantsuit, and the answer was obviously ‘Yes, do you really have to ask’, and…


Oh.


Oh!



*


To say that I was in a tizzy for my Hogsmeade trip with Harry would be an understatement.


I was vacillating between excitement and trepidation, between giddiness and panic, between ecstasy and despondency…


Oh, you get the picture.


All right, all right, I am perhaps being melodramatic as usual, but I couldn’t help it.


It’s not everyday you get to go on a ‘date date’ with the boy you’ve fancied for ages.


Of course, in front of Harry, whom I only saw for a brief moment during lunch, I was cool and collected like a cucumber.


Wait, how do we know that cucumbers are all that cool and collected? They could very well be prone to panic attacks like every other veg, like the potato, which probably goes spastic every time it sees a deep fryer.


I wonder what would send the cucumber screaming bloody murder?


A garnishing knife?


Huh.


I have digressed yet again.


Sorry, I can’t help it. All this waiting for the weekend to finally arrive is killing me, not to mention wreaking havoc on my nails.


Classes for that Friday seemed interminable.


In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall made us practice the Vanishing spell over and over again on some cats, and since I was sidetracked with thoughts of Harry and snuggling up to him in a secluded booth at The Three Broomsticks, I somehow vanished all of the bones of my cat, leaving the pitiable thing puddling all over the table like some kind of furry, whiskery jellyfish.


Then, in Charms, Professor Flitwick had the bright idea to do the class out by the lake, and had us practicing Summoning spells for OWLs, which of course ended up in catastrophe when I managed to Summon the Giant Squid right out of his watery home.


Hey, I was preoccupied with visions of Harry and me holding hands while walking through the streets of Hogsmeade!


On an aside, did you know that the Giant Squid was male?


I wasn’t certain of that until we saw the proof for ourselves.


All I can say is that there is going to be one lucky female Giant Squid one of these days.


Hee hee.


After all the excitement of Charms, it was kind of a let down to go to Herbology, where the only thing of remote interest was that Colin got himself entangled in some Devil’s Snare for the fifth time this term and had to be rescued by an exasperated Professor Sprout.


I volunteered to accompany Colin to Madam Pomfrey, as the poor bloke had got quite shaken up and would have almost certainly ended up in the lake with the still irate Giant Squid instead of the hospital wing, so it was quite late when I got back to Gryffindor Tower.


I wasn’t expecting Harry to be waiting up for me, but I was still disappointed to see the deserted common room.


Well, almost deserted.


Ron was there, furiously scribbling away at some parchment.


He looked up and waved his quill. “Hey.”


“Hey,” I said, plopping down next to him. “What’s up?”


“Potions.” He sighed heavily. “Snape is an evil git.”


“What else is new?” I replied. “But how come Hermione’s not helping you?”


“She refused to,” he said, snorting in disgust. “Was right testicular about the entire thing too.”


Er.


“I think the word is ‘testy’, Ron.”


“Same difference.”


My brother, the wordsmith.


“Anyway, she said I needed to ‘apply myself’ and then went up to bed.”


I laughed. “She’s right, you know.”


“That’s what Harry said, the prat,” he said sullenly.


Speaking of Harry…


“Where is Harry?” I asked, trying to sound casual-like and failing miserably.


Ron suddenly grinned. “Excited about your date with lover boy, yeah? He certainly is,” he added slyly.


“What?” I demanded.


He began nodding. “Oh yeah. He wouldn’t stop fidgeting the entire day, and he was so distracted in Potions that Snape gave him detention.”


Bloody hell!


Snape was an evil git.


“It was pretty funny though when Harry’s cauldron blew up in Snape’s face. Kind of improved his looks, if you ask me, if there were any looks to be improved upon. Too bad his hair stayed greasy.”


I hope poor Harry wouldn’t be too tired to go out tomorrow.


Though if he was exhausted by all the cauldron scrubbing he was doing, I certainly wouldn’t resent it if he begged out.


I would be horribly disappointed, but…


“Not to worry, though,” Ron reassured me. “Harry told me to tell you that whatever happens, even if he has to drag his poor sorry arse down the stairs, even though every single bone in his body may be aching like hell, even though he may feel like he’s dying a slow, torturous death…”


Good grief.


“Ron!”


“…he’ll be there for your date tomorrow,” he finished with a smirk. “I told you he was excited.”


I smacked him on the arm.


“Ow! What was that for? Seriously, Ginny,” he said. “Harry’s really looking forward to this. I reckon he won’t get a wink of sleep tonight. I probably won’t get a wink of sleep either as he’ll be up all night whinging about what to wear, what to say, what to bring you…”


Wait!


Ron’s just reminded me that I have nothing to wear for tomorrow!


Augh!


Not that I thought that Harry actually cared for frippery, but I still wanted to look nice for him.


I do have that almost new green shirt that Hermione gave me for my birthday.


Harry hasn’t seen me in that.


Not that he’s seen me out of it…


Not yet anyway.


Ha ha!


Just kidding, Mum.


I know you can hear my thoughts even though you are all the way in Ottery St Catchpole preparing something delicious with the amazing cooking skills and know-how that have nourished your beloved and totally naïve daughter and have made her into the wonderfully fresh and innocent woman that she is today.


“Er, Ginny, your mind’s wandered off again. Thinking of Harry, are you?” said Ron, waving his hand in front of my face. “Why don’t you go on up? You don’t want to look like you normally do for your date tomorrow, do you?”


“Gee, thanks, Ron,” I said wryly.


“No problem,” he said, smirking at me. “I’ll go tell Harry you’ve gone and got your beauty sleep.”


“You’d better get some rest too. You want to look your best when you squire Hermione around Hogsmeade.”


“What?” he sputtered. “We just happen to be going in the same direction, so—”


Ugh. Poor Hermione.


“Ron, I cannot believe you said that,” I reproached him. “Stop being a clot — tell Hermione why you really asked her out, and do not give her that pathetic excuse, all right?” I stood up and patted his shoulder. “I think it’s about time you grow a pair, brother of mine.”


His entire face turned red, but he didn’t say anything as I walked up the stairs to my dormitory.


Good.


Maybe he’ll finally get his act together and fulfil Hermione’s dreams of becoming HRH Hermione J Granger-Weasley, and I’ll be on first-name basis with British royalty.


Heck, maybe Hermione will even make me a royal.


‘I dub thee, Ginny, Princess of — er — Devon.’


That does have a nice ring to it.


Princess Ginny Potter sounds even better.


Hee hee.


In my room, I hung my green shirt and charmed the wrinkles out of it, and then I collapsed onto my bed in my ratty pyjamas.


I will have to get shiny new ones when I am crowned princess.


Maybe even a peignoir, like the ones all those Fifi LaFolle heroines wear when they’re lounging about their lazy arses, waiting for their man to come home and ravish them.


(Not that I was planning on getting ravished any time soon, Mum. Honestly.)


I checked my watch.


Only ten hours, thirteen minutes and forty two seconds until my date with Harry!


Oh Merlin.


I was too keyed up. I felt like bouncing off the walls.


How was I supposed to get any beauty sleep when I was so excited about—


Zzzz…

*

Back to index

Chapter 6: Chapter Six

Author's Notes: Alas, my tale has come to an end. I'd once again like to thank everyone who's read my foray back into the world of fanfic. A special thank you goes to those who've been kind enough to leave a review, you guys really know how to make my day! I hope my muse won't go on a long holiday again, but these things can never be forced, can they?

Once more, my eternal love and gratitude to Chreechree, who betas, bakes a sinful dark chocolate dessert and still has time to wage war against the flu virus wreaking havoc in her house.

Oh, and I'd like to apologize in advance for the highly exaggerated Irish accent I've given Paddy. I think I watched Brad Pitt in "Snatch" too many times. :) And no, in this story, Ginny never went out with Michael Corner.

Chapter Six



“Any student, or students, or any combination of the two…”


For the love of pants.


I don’t think Filch could be more tedious if he tried.


As if anybody was actually listening to him.


Here we were, ready and raring to get out of the castle, and Filchy was going on and on about rules and whatsit.


Any longer and I may have to do something drastic-like.


After all, I had been up since the ungodly hour of seven in the morning, trying not throw a wobbly since I discovered that the only clean pair of knickers I had left were the humongous ones with the Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle print that Mum forced me to pack, even though I told her I was not a five year-old and neither was I an Erumpent and therefore should not be wearing underpants that would fit a five year-old Erumpent.


To which she replied, “Those are quite practical underpants, young lady. You’ll be thanking me when the painters are in, just you wait.”


Er.


Practical or not, I’d rather not be wearing them on my first date with Harry.


It’s just that if by some unhappy circumstance, a rogue Nundu happens to come charging at me in Hogsmeade, I do not want my poor, lifeless body to be discovered wearing hideous MMtMM knickers for all — especially Harry — to see.


That would be so mortifying.


Oh well, I suppose Harry will never get to see them anyway.


Too bad.


Hee hee.


I am merely trying to be humorous, Mum.


Seriously.


Back to Filch.


And Harry, who was shifting impatiently beside me, and looking utterly delicious in his black pullover and jeans.


I very nearly mauled him (Harry, not Filch!) when he greeted me in the common room.


Nearly.


But since I was still in cucumber-mode, I simply smiled back at him quite nonchalant-like.


A great accomplishment, if you ask me.


Made even greater by the fact that I did not dissolve into a gooey mess and drip all over the castle when Harry took my hand and held it all the way out here to the Great Hall, where Filch was holding forth as a one man Magical Law Enforcement Squad.


“Oi! You, you and you! The both of you three! What’s that, eh?”


Harry nudged me and inclined his head towards Filch. The grumpy bloke was now ordering everyone to turn their pockets inside out so he could inspect them for ‘contraband’.


What if you’re wearing something with no pockets?


What then?


Will he do strip searches next?


I can’t let anyone know that I have little orange smiley Martin Miggs faces all over my arse. It would be so humiliating.


Although if Filch starts with Harry…


“He’s really into this, isn’t he?” mused Harry, who, to my disappointment, remained fully clothed.


“Can someone please shut him up?” grumbled Ron, standing beside us with Hermione on his other side. “Bloody tosser.”


Hermione tutted. “Honestly, Ron. Language.”


“Well, I’d like to get to Hogsmeade before next week,” he whinged.


“What’s your hurry?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “After all,” she sniffed disdainfully, “we’re all going in the same direction, aren’t we?”


Uh-oh.


Judging from Ron’s red face, it’s apparent that he hasn’t told Hermione that this was a date date for them.


Poor Hermione.


Poor Ron.


But not poor me!


Woo-hoo!


Because I was on a date date with Harry.


Who liked me liked me.


Not that he has said anything to that effect, but Hermione’s ‘Don’t be dafter than your brother’ stare from yesterday was still fresh in my mind.


Come to think of it, even if Filch managed to detain us here for the whole Hogsmeade weekend, I wouldn’t care one whit, not if Harry continued to hold my hand in his.


It was such a nice hand.


A masculine hand.


A hand meant for holding things — like my hand — securely in their masculine grip.


Who knew what other spectacular things this hand could do?


Mmmmm…


I wonder if Harry would protest if we just stayed in the castle.


Before I could think of what other brilliant things Harry’s hand could do to me, Filch finally ran out of reasons to detain us, and the excited, chattering mass of Hogwarts students were free to invade Hogsmeade at last. Hermione surged ahead, Ron following at her heels.


Harry looked at me. “Shall we?”


Oh well.


I had the whole day to find out.


“All right,” I said.


He laced his fingers with mine and smiled. “This is going to be fun, yeah?”


Most definitely.


*


We lost sight of Hermione and my brother before we reached the village.


Harry did not seem too cut up by their disappearing act and merely smirked at the head start that Hermione had gained over Ron.


For someone who viewed physical activity as an unnecessary evil, Hermione sure could move quickly when she put her mind to it.


She was especially speedy when she was in high dudgeon over Ron, so it’s no surprise she keeps fit and trim.


“Where d’you want to go first?” asked Harry. “Honeydukes?”


“Sure,” I said.


He could drag me anywhere he wanted to.


On our way there, he told me about his detention with Snape, while I told him about my close encounter with the Giant Squid.


I was cracking up at his description of Snape’s frantic attempts to get rid of Millicent Bulstrode (who had managed the superhuman feat of squeezing herself into one of the cauldrons) when we heard two identical shrieks of delight as soon as we entered Honeydukes.


Oh dear Merlin.


It was Prudence and Patience.


They rushed up to me, knowing smiles on their faces when they saw that I was with Harry.


“Hi Ginny! Hi Harry!” they chorused.


Do they practice speaking in tandem like that?


It’s kind of freaky.


“Hello,” said Harry, smiling at them. He nodded at the long-suffering Gerard, carrying what looked like half of Honeydukes in his arms.


They giggled some more, and then Patience piped up. “I just wanted to thank you, Ginny, for all your help.”


I shook my head. “I didn’t do anything. It was all you. From what I heard, you were rather — er — enthusiastic.”


“I was, wasn’t I?” she said decorously. “Oh! You want to know something precious? Paddy said that he remembered me from the library!”


“Can you believe it?” put in Prudence.


I was saved from answering by the appearance of Paddy himself.


My first true sighting of the wee folk!


But wait!


Where was the rainbow?


Where was the pot of gold?


How very disappointing.


At least he lived up to the term ‘wee’.


“Paddy!” squealed Patience. “I want you to meet Ginny Weasley. Oh, and Harry Potter too, of course.”


Of course.


Harry and Paddy shook hands, and then Paddy gargled at me, “Ye ta wee lassie Oi ha’ tae ta fuir me deet wi’ Peeshens?”


What?


“Ummm…” I had no idea what to answer, but apparently that was enough for Paddy.


“Ta verry muich. She’s a roit bonnie one.” He slung an arm around Patience’s shoulder.


Or rather, he was aiming for her shoulder, but since he was about a head shorter than she was…


Harry coughed politely and looked down at his feet.


“Oh Paddy.” Patience gazed adoringly down at him.


“Oim clemmed!” announced Paddy.


I automatically took a step backward to avoid being clemmed, whatever that was.


“So’s Ger,” said Prudence brightly. “Right, Ger?”


Gerard nodded obediently.


Was it contagious then?


“Want to come with us to the Three Broomsticks, Ginny? Harry?”


Apparently not, if they were willing to expose the unsuspecting patrons of the pub.


Patience couldn’t be that heartless.


It was enough that she and Prudence were out and about Hogsmeade.


“Er, no thanks,” I said. “We’ll browse around for a bit.”


“All right.” Prudence wiggled her fingers at me and latched onto Gerard. “See you later then!”


Before they left, Patience thanked me again. “Your advice was really spot on, Ginny!”


Harry looked interestedly at her. “Now I’m curious. What advice would that be?”


“Why, ‘anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve’!” she told him.


“Oh,” chuckled Harry. “That worked for me too.”


“Isn’t it brilliant?” gushed Patience.


“Yes, she is,” agreed Harry, squeezing my hand and sending signals to my capillaries to dilate and flood my face with embarrassing colour.


But I didn’t care.


This was turning out to be a fantastic date.


And it wasn’t even elevenses yet!


*


After purchasing some chocolate frogs and pepper imps, we wandered out into the main street again.


Harry and I said hello to several friends as we strolled along the shops, including Neville, who was with Hannah Abbot (hmmm… interesting), Lavender and Parvati (must remember to owl Mum about their cardies), Colin, who was out with both Orla Quirke and Demelza Robbins (go Colin!), and Dean Thomas, who, to my and Harry’s amazement, was with Luna Lovegood.


I never would have dreamed of that pairing in a million years.


Up ahead, Hermione was walking into Scrivenshaft’s. Ron was still trailing behind, his face like a thundercloud.


I do hope they patch things up soon.


All this foreplay must be wreaking havoc on their tempers, not to mention their hormones.


One of them is likely to explode from all the unresolved sexual tension and will one day end up snogging the other shamelessly in front of millions of people, or at the very least, the entire Gryffindor house.


I’m betting it will be Hermione.


Do you really think she reads all those romance books for entertainment?


Ha!


No, they’re reference material for when she makes her move on my unsuspecting brother.


Ron will never know what hit him.


Harry turned to me. “Where to next?”


I glanced about and to my dismay I espied Felicity Anstruther-Willoughby — alone and looking none too pleased about her single status — coming out of Gladrags Wizardwear.


She hadn’t seen us yet, but I wasn’t taking any chances of having her ruin my perfect day with Harry.


“Um, let’s go this way.” I tugged at his hand.


“Yes, let’s,” he agreed at once. “I’d really rather not deal with Felicity on such a lovely day, yeah?”


We looked at each other, burst out laughing, and all but ran into the nearest shop, which turned out to be the Post Office.


“I haven’t been here in a while,” said Harry, gazing around with interest.


“Me too,” I said, and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw B Felicity lurking outside the shop, seemingly searching for something.


Or someone.


Maybe two someones?


Oh pants.


I did the only natural thing to do in situations as dire as this: I shoved Harry behind the counter and pulled him down to the floor. Good thing the clerk was on the other side of the room, too busy arguing with a hag about the price of an Owl to Shangri-La to pay any attention to us.


“Er, Ginny…”


“Shhh! Felicity’s right outside!”


“Oh, okay. Quick thinking, then.” He made himself comfortable and patted the space beside him.


Oooh… maybe he’ll have his wicked way with me here amongst the owls and the pungent smell of owl poop permeating the premises.


Not my idea of a romantic spot, but, hey, whatever works for him.


As I took a seat next to him, a tiny owl flapped down to us and began hopping about and hooting animatedly.


“Pig!” I said in surprise, temporarily forgetting Harry’s grand plan to seduce me (I wish!). “What are you doing here?”


Pig ruffled his feathers and another weeny owl zoomed down to perch beside him. Ron’s titchy pet leaned against it and gave a satisfied hoot.


Harry laughed. “Looks like Pig’s got himself a girlfriend, yeah?”


“But what about Hedwig?” I protested. “I thought they were a couple! That they were MFEO!”


“MFEO?”


Bollocks.


“Meant for each other,” I explained, rolling my eyes in embarrassment.


“Where do you get these things?” Harry shook his head and laughed again.


“I’m afraid Patience and Prudence are rubbing off on me,” I mumbled, holding out my arm for Pig to hop onto.


“Well, I certainly never thought of Hedwig and Pig that way. That’s like me and Hermione being romantically involved.” He grimaced. “Quite unnatural.”


Quite.


“I mean, if I were to be romantically involved, it wouldn’t be with someone I consider as a sister.” Harry absentmindedly stroked Pig’s girlfriend’s feathers as he looked at me. “It would be with…”


Pig suddenly squawked and dive bombed Harry’s hand.


“Hey!” he yelped. “Pig!”


Even though I was annoyed at Pig for ruining the moment, I had to laugh at the expression on his feathery face as he continued to chitter angrily at Harry. “Seems like someone’s jealous.”


“All right, all right, you mad bird. I wasn’t trying to steal your girl,” said Harry in placating tones. “Maybe you can give me advice on how to get my own, yeah?”


Pig cocked his head and regarded Harry solemnly for a minute before he took flight. He came back with an owl treat in his beak and offered it to his lady friend.


“I guess there’s my answer.” Harry peered over the counter. The clerk was now in a fantastic shouting match with the hag, and more importantly, the road was free of beastly sorts. “You clemmed?” he said, grinning at me.


*


We had the hardest time finding a table at the Three Broomsticks, but since the alternative was The Lacy Lair of the Loony Love-struck aka Madame Puddifoot’s, we persevered and finally landed a cosy little booth in the back.


I was looking forward to having a lovely, meaningful conversation that one usually has when on a date date.


You know — Harry can compliment me on how ravishing I looked in my shirt over our lunch of fish and chips and butterbeer, while I return the favour and tell him his bum looks even tastier than the strawberry parfait we ordered for afters.


Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t be so forward and give him a coronary and just tell him I was having the time of my life.


Which I was, until we were rudely interrupted by my brother and Hermione, of all people.


Ron told Harry to budge up, squeezed himself in and swiped my butterbeer.


Typical.


The only reason I forgave them was because the two were holding hands when they invaded our personal space.


Hermione plopped down beside me, blushing spectacularly. “Sorry to intrude.”


I waved her apology away. “Well?” I demanded, while the boys discussed whether or not Quadpot was merely a hoax perpetuated by the Americans.


Because really, who would name a sport ‘Quadpot’?


Not that ‘Quidditch’ is any better, come to think of it.


Who thinks up these things anyway?


“Well what?” said Hermione evasively, nicking a chip from my plate.


“Don’t play coy with me, it only works on my brother,” I told her. “Did you, or did you not, just snog the living daylights out of my brother and make him admit his feelings for you?”


She goggled at me. “How in heaven’s name did you know that?”


“I am not a love guru for nothing, you know.” I leaned back and smiled smugly. “Come on then, give me the disgusting details.”


She then spun a tale of deceit and lies, of passion and intrigue, of temptation and…


Oh wait, that was just the plot of the new LaFolle book, Spotted Dick Strikes Again.


(I don’t think I want to know where he had struck in the first place.)


Hermione was perusing parts of said book in Scrivenshaft’s — apparently Mr Scrivenshaft is a big fan of Fifi’s work — when she finally became frustrated with Ron’s hovering about like an oversized billywig.


Hermione told him to stop hovering, Ron answered that he wasn’t hovering, then Hermione said he was, and Ron said he wasn’t, and Hermione said he was, and well, you get the picture.


Anyway, to make a long story short, Hermione finally had enough and decided to shut him up in the most un-Hermione like way possible.


I told you all those racy novellas were research material.


“And that was that,” concluded Hermione.


“Congratulations.”


“Thank you.” She sighed in contentment. “Now, what about you and Harry?”


I looked across the table at the boy in question, who was chuckling at something that Ron had said. Harry caught my eye and gave me a brilliant smile.


Eep, eep and triple eep.


“Er, what was the question again?” I asked, quite certain that my brain had melted out of my ears to dribble down my neck.


I hope Mum knows how to get the stains out of my shirt.


“Never mind,” said Hermione, shaking her head and laughing. “Never mind.”


*


Lunch ended on a high note, with Ron getting teased mercilessly by Harry when he jumped up and held Hermione’s chair out for her.


But aside from a good-natured, “Shut it, you plonker,” my brother merely picked up their purchases, took Hermione’s hand, and they said good-bye to us.


Which left me alone with Harry.


Finally.


And suddenly, I was completely stumped as to what to say next.


Good grief.


What is wrong with me?


I was on a date with the boy I’ve fancied for ages.


Now was not the time to clam up like a — er — clam.


I searched my brain for something intelligent and witty to say and came up with nothing.


Fortunately, Harry did not notice anything amiss and merely said, “Fancy a walk?”


As we left the Three Broomsticks, I waved to the couple who had just entered — a laughing Anne Sutcliffe and a tall, black-haired chap whom I assumed to be Mickey the Hoot.


Huh. Well, what do you know?


She didn’t choose the wrong trousers.


*


Harry and I found ourselves walking along the path leading to the Shrieking Shack, and somewhere along the way, I regained the power of speech.


However, I noticed that he was just making random responses to my faffing, so I fell quiet again, feeling awkward.


“Hey, what’s the matter?” he asked when he realised I had stopped talking.


“Well, you seem… distracted,” I answered hesitantly. “Thinking about You-Know-Who again?”


That was something we seldom discussed because I didn’t want to put any more pressure on him, but he knew that I was there to listen if he did want to talk about it.


“No, I haven’t really let that tosser bother me too much lately.” He kicked a stone out of the way. “I’ve had more important things to think about.”


He gave me that brilliant smile again, which had the predictable effect of making my legs go all wobbly and such.


I love that smile. I wanted to take that smile home with me and feed it and pet it and maybe have babies with it.


“Oh?” I managed to say quite articulately. “Such as?”


“Well, such as — er — Quidditch and — um — the House Cup,” he scratched the back of his neck and then looked at me sheepishly, “but, mostly, I’ve been thinking about — uh — you.”


“Me? Really?”


Little old me?


“Yeah, really,” he admitted, another attractively crooked smile on his attractive, highly snoggable lips.


ALL RIGHT!


Now that’s what I’m talking about!


“You’ve been really amazing and sweet and funny and just lovely, and I find myself wondering why it’s taken me so long to realise that…”


“Yes?”


Harry closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded like “You’ve got enough nerve. You’ve got enough nerve...”


Enough nerve?


For what?


Was this the moment?


I wanted to jump up and down and shout with glee, but that would be undignified of me.


Besides, given the jelloid state of legs, I was surprised I was still able to remain upright as it is.


Sometimes I amaze myself with my super self-control.


“Ginny,” he took a deep breath, which made his chest swell quite manfully, “I really, really like you and I was wondering if — um — ifmaybeyoulikedmetoo?” he finished in a great big rush of words.


Huh?


He was wondering if maybe I liked him too?


Was that a trick question?


I was going to scream out “Of course I do, you daft lovely boy!” but instead I sort of went “Hrngngnhngnh” and promptly tripped over a tree root.


Ow.


Bugger.


So much for poise and finesse.


“Are you all right?” he asked, bending to peer at me in concern.


I sat up, spitting a leaf out of my mouth. “It’s okay.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m wearing really big knickers.”


Double bugger. What in the name of arse is wrong with me?


The tips of his ears reddened and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “Er…”


“Forget I said that,” I begged. “My brain has most possibly been knocked loose from my skull and as a consequence has left me babbling like a brainless baboon.”


He laughed out loud. “You are quite possibly clinically insane,” he said as he helped me up. “In the nicest sense of the word, of course.”


“Of course,” I replied, with as much dignity as I could — which is admittedly not much, considering I’ve just revealed the size of my pantaloonies to the boy that I fancy more than life itself.


It is a good thing that I did not also volunteer the fact that it was my Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle knick knacks.


But then again, it was hard to take offence when said boy was holding my hand and running his thumb over my knuckles like that.


Oooh…


“Um, Ginny?”


I looked up at him and stared into his eyes, which, surprisingly, held a bit of uncertainty in them.


Like he was asking me something.


What?


How am I supposed to form coherent thought when his eyes are so green and he’s squeezing my hands tightly and he just told me that he really likes me, which I already knew, but a girl likes to hear it said to her, you know, because that makes it even more special…


Oh.


Oh!


“I really, really like you too!” I said, launching myself at him shamelessly.


Actually, I may have shouted it at him at the top of my voice, if the startled squirrel that fell out of a nearby tree was any indication.


No matter.


Harry’s eardrums are probably still intact since he’s laughing again, and I’m laughing, and now we’re both laughing like a couple of loons.


Until he stops laughing and looks at me all intense-like, and I just know he’s going to do something that I’ve only imagined in my wildest fantasies.


Like kiss me.


Admittedly, Harry kissing me is not the only thing I’ve imagined in my wildest fantasies; there was also the time when I had that really vivid dream involving a vat of liquid dark chocolate, the Prefects bathroom and some intricate underwater manoeuvres, but let’s not go into that, shall we?


Especially since Harry’s warm lips are now covering mine.


Merlin’s saggy baggy Y-fronts!


This boy can really kiss.


And then some.


Mmmmm…


After a bit of lovely snogging (and maybe a bit more, hee hee), Harry pulled back and leaned his forehead against mine.


“So, we’re together now, yeah?” he asked.


“You just try getting rid of me,” I replied, tightening my arms around him.


“Now why would I want to do that?” He hugged me back.


I snuggled into him. “I’ve been trying to repress my feelings for you for ages, you know.”


“I thought you had. Hermione told me that you gave up on me.” He sounded bemused. “I was rather hurt by that.”


“You were too busy mooning over S W Cha— I mean, Cho, at that time.” I looked reproachfully at him.


“Well, she was cute…” he mused.


I raised an eyebrow.


“…but all she did was cry, so I don’t know what I saw in her in the first place,” he added hastily, grinning at me.


Huh.


Good save.


Still…


“I thought you would only ever see me as just one of the guys.”


“Never,” he declared stoutly. “Like I said, I’ve been a little dim in realising how I felt about you, but you’re far too pretty to be mistaken for a bloke.”


“Oh shut it, you,” I said, although I couldn’t help smiling at him.


“I’m serious,” he said, then raised his hand and stroked my face ever so gently. “You’re beautiful, Ginny.”


I told you he was a clever boy.


Aaahhh…


I could get used to this. I closed my eyes to enjoy the tingles that were suffusing my entire body.


“So…”


“Yes, Harry?”


“I was wondering…”


“Yes?”


“Am I also ‘Property of GWP’ now?”


Oh Merlin. I knew he had seen that.


I peered up at him to find his amazing green eyes twinkling at me.


“Would you like to be?” I asked him cheekily.


“Definitely. Most definitely.” He kissed me again, making my eyes flutter shut once more.


O-kay then.


I’m always happy to oblige clever boys with black hair and glasses and laughing green eyes and lips that are just ace at snogging and…


I wonder if he’ll agree to a tattoo?


*end*

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