Hello! It's been ages since I posted, so I'm really nervous! This story was happily languishing away in my laptop when I suddenly realised that there was only a little over a month before the release of Deathly Hallows! That was enough for me to kick my muse in the bum and yell at it.
Thanks, as always, to Chreechree, my amazing beta and friend, who listened patiently to my whinging, and then ordered me to get my arse in gear. Thanks also to herekittykitty and Athea who both took a peek at the first chapters and didn't feel the immediate urge to spiff their biscuits. :)
Oh, and just to make it clear - in this story, Harry and Ginny never got together during Harry's sixth year, although I did use some canon details from HBP. I hope you lot like it.
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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts Characters:All, All, Harry/Ginny Genres: Fluff, General, Humor Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 615 Summary: Harry had promised himself that when he ultimately got rid of the Dark Lord, he would finally tell Ginny how he really felt about her. Regrettably, fate seemed to have other plans for both of them. But then again, perhaps fate was merely waiting for the right moment to come along. Hitcount: Story Total: 133152; Chapter Total: 21700 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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“So?” “So… what?” “So, what were we talking about again?” “I don’t know. What were we talking about?” “Ginny!” “What? I’m too stuffed to think. I reckon I overdid it on the dessert. Ugh. I feel like Madam Maxime.” Ginny, in a most lady-like manner, put her hands on the waistband of her jeans and undid the top button. “Ah, that’s better.” She let out a sigh of relief and tucked her feet under her. “I did tell you to stop after your fourth helping. But did you listen to me?” Hermione shook her head in mock sorrow. “No.” “But it was strawberry shortcake! You know how much I love strawberry shortcake. Besides, I wasn’t about to let Ron and Harry eat all of my birthday cake,” said Ginny defensively. “You know better than to get into an eating contest with those two, especially Ron. You’re going to be sick later, mark my words.” Ginny moaned and rubbed her stomach. “Shut up, Hermione.” A companionable silence fell between the two witches sitting on the back porch of The Burrow. They had come out for a quiet talk whilst the rest of Ginny’s guests — comprised mostly of her brothers and Harry — lingered inside, drinking Butterbeer and exchanging bawdy stories courtesy of Fred and George. Fleur had put her children to bed, and Mr and Mrs Weasley had repaired to the living room with Professor McGonagall, Remus and Tonks. The sounds of laughter and conversation drifted out from the partially open kitchen window into the warm August night. Ginny settled back more comfortably into her rocking chair, idly contemplating the constellations in the sky. Her eyes sought out Canis Major, and she sleepily noted that Sirius was bright tonight. “So, Ginny…” “Hmmm?” “It’s your birthday.” “It is? I didn’t know that.” Hermione ignored her sarcasm. “How does it feel to be eighteen?” “Same as being seventeen. I’m still short, still freckly, and still as pale as milk. Not to mention being flat as a pancake.” Ginny looked down at herself critically. “At least you’ve got boobs, Hermione.” “Ginny!” “Well, what do you want me to say? It’s true, you do have boobs.” “My breasts,” Hermione gestured impatiently to her chest, “are not what we’re discussing here. Aren’t you thrilled to be eighteen? Don’t you feel more mature? More responsible?” “You’re mature enough for the both of us, Hermione. Heck, you’re mature enough for the entire Weasley family.” “Come on, you know what I mean,” said Hermione in exasperation. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now that you’ve finished Hogwarts?” “I dunno — be a bum for the rest of my life? Go live with my Auntie Muriel in Bedford and take care of her thousands of pet Kneazles? Be a conductor for the Knight Bus?” offered Ginny. She looked sideways, and then chuckled softly at her friend’s horrified expression. “You cannot be serious!” squeaked Hermione, sitting up straight in her chair. “Why not?” said Ginny with a straight face. “Working for the Knight Bus could be fun. I could travel whenever and wherever I want, plus there’s the added bonus of working with Stan Shunpike.” She pretended to swoon. “He’s dead sexy, you know, and last I heard, his spots have cleared right up.” Hermione struggled to contain her laughter, but lost the battle and began giggling. “Ginny, where do you get these mad ideas?” “It’s a gift.” Ginny raised one shoulder nonchalantly. “You should consider returning it and exchanging it for something else,” replied Hermione, smirking. “Like maybe one of those new Quidditch brooms that Ron and Harry keep raving about.” “Ooh, you’re a cheeky one tonight,” said Ginny approvingly, smirking back at the older girl. “Seriously, though, I did get an owl today from the Ministry of Magic.” “Really?” Hermione leaned forward eagerly. “And?” Ginny grinned widely. “I got the job.” “That’s fantastic news. I knew you could do it!” Hermione clapped her hands in delight. “Yeah, I’m really excited about it. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait to be independent.” Ginny rolled her eyes expressively. “I should really move out of The Burrow and live somewhere near the Ministry.” “Why don’t you come live with me?” volunteered Hermione. “I need a roommate for my flat. It would be like Hogwarts again.” “That would be brilliant, Hermione! We’d have loads of fun, and it would get Mum out of my hair.” Hermione looked surprised. “What’s wrong? I thought she would be happy for you.” “Oh, you know my mother,” said Ginny, crossing her arms in front of her chest and huffing in disgust. “She was pleased that I got the position, but when she realised how much time I’ll have to spend at the Ministry, well, she started harping about the fact that I’ll never meet anyone decent if I concentrate on my work.” Hermione made a noncommittal sound in her throat. Ginny looked at her friend and groaned dramatically. “Oh no! Et tu, Hermione?” “Well, she does have a point. You have been single for quite a while now, Ginny,” the brunette said cautiously. “And so? Not all of us are fortunate enough to win the man of her dreams, Hermione.” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “However, I’ll never understand why the brightest witch of her generation would think that Ron Weasley was man-of-her-dreams material. Hasn’t spending most of your life with my brother taught you anything?” she teased. “Ron has an excess of marvellous qualities, Ginny,” said Hermione rather proudly, her eyes lighting up. “I bet. He must be doing something right,” said Ginny, winking slyly at the other girl, “because you’ve always got this very satisfied look on you nowadays.” Hermione’s cheeks coloured but she raised her chin defiantly. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said archly. “Ugh, thanks but no thanks,” said Ginny, shaking her head. “There are some mysteries in this universe that should remain a mystery, and my brother’s prowess in the bedroom is most certainly one of them.” “Oh, you,” replied Hermione, laughing at the sour face that Ginny was making. “But back to my question. Aren’t you interested in dating anyone?” “No,” said Ginny, shaking her head so vigorously that one of her hair grips flew off and clattered to the wooden floor. Ginny reached down to pick it up. “I don’t want to date. I’m not interested in anyone right now,” she declared with finality, straightening and pinning her auburn hair back into position. They both turned at a loud thud that sounded like something hitting the wall behind them. Ginny thought she heard someone muttering, but when she peered into the window, she only saw Harry listening to Ron’s prattle. He looked up and locked eyes with her for a moment, before Harry gave her a small smile and resumed his conversation with Ron. Ginny stared longingly at Harry’s handsome profile for a few more seconds before she reluctantly pulled away from the window to find Hermione looking at her shrewdly. “What?” Ginny asked, with a touch of irritation. “You’re absolutely certain you’re not interested in anyone?” Hermione sounded sceptical. “Anyone at all?” “Oh, all right,” sighed Ginny. “Although I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” “Because I’m your best friend and you love me dearly?” “No, I think it’s because I’ll never hear the end of it until I tell you, Miss I’ll-find-out-anyway-so-you-might-as-wel l-tell-me Granger.” Hermione looked mildly insulted, and then she smiled sheepishly. “Well, that is true. So?” she prompted. “What I meant to say was that I’m not interested in anyone new. There’s only one man I ever really wanted, and it’s absolutely pathetic, you know, me carrying a torch for someone this long.” Ginny gazed out moodily into the garden, unhappy with herself and with the fact that she was still, after all these years, pining for the same person. She peeked into the window again, catching Harry throwing his head back and laughing at the twins’ antics, which mainly involved balancing an empty Butterbeer bottle on their noses and prancing around like buffoons. Why couldn’t she just move on with her life? Why couldn’t she just find someone else to fall in love with? Ginny knew the answer to those questions. It was because of the boy — no, man, she corrected herself — standing just beyond the window right in her mother’s kitchen, happily drinking Butterbeer and joking around with her brothers. The most handsome, bravest, dearest, sweetest, and, quite possibly, the thickest man on the face of the earth. Hermione nodded and patted Ginny’s hand in sympathy. “Harry?” Ginny smiled weakly. “Harry.” |
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