Anybody else watch the OotP movie yet? I won't spoil it for those who haven't, but let's just say that the director, David Yates, seems to have the H/G shippers' best interests at heart. :) I'm really looking forward to what he'll do with the HBP movie.
Thanks to Chreechree.
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The Right Time | ||||||
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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: 133202; Chapter Total: 14192 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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“Thanks for arranging the Portkey to Italy for us, Hermione,” said Ginny to the older girl, who was shifting through a mountain of colour-coded parchments on her desk. They were in Hermione’s office at the Ministry of Magic, having just come from lunch at The Leaky Cauldron where they had met up with some other girl friends of theirs to celebrate Hermione’s engagement to Ron. Angelina Johnson, Hannah Abbot, Alicia Spinnet-Davies, Susan Bones, Katie Bell-Wood and Padma Patil-Goldstein had all shown up — the only one missing was Luna, who was in Stocksfield, exhibiting her Snorkack cork creations at the FiFieFofum Gallery. They had spent a good hour and a half gushing over the ring and giggling madly about how Ron had bumbled his way to a proposal — which involved, if Hermione were to be believed — a mix-up with the Duck à l’Orange, a flat-footed waiter and a very hastily performed Heimlich manoeuvre. “It was no problem at all. I’m glad I was able to help,” replied the newly-engaged witch, making a notation on one of the parchments. She impatiently brushed away one of the pale violet inter-departmental memos fluttering at her elbow. “It’s a two-way Portkey — you need to be at the Portkey Terminal by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, so that the customs officials can activate it. When you arrive in Rome, you still have to take a short train ride to the Palazzo del Pecorino since it’s on the outskirts of the city, and there aren’t any nearby Apparition points.” “Got it,” said Ginny. “I don’t think Harry’s been cleared to Apparate anyway. His Healer didn’t even want to let him take an International Portkey.” Ginny shook her head. “Good thing that Harry was able to persuade him. I swear, if he hadn’t been such a distinguished-looking wizard, I would have hexed Healer Cosmas for being such a stubborn git.” “He does have a certain charm, doesn’t he?” agreed Hermione, folding one of the parchments into a paper aeroplane and activating it with a wave of her wand. “Must be the accent.” “I think Mum sort of fancies him,” said Ginny as she watched the aeroplane zoom out of the room. “She was all aflutter when he showed up in the Floo this morning. She tore out of the living room to remove her pinny, dashed right back in wearing her best dress robes, and then proceeded to oh-so-casually dust the fireplace.” “Oh my goodness,” giggled Hermione. “That must have been quite funny to watch.” “I had the hardest time trying not to laugh, and Harry wasn’t helping at all, the prat,” said Ginny fondly. “He kept on making faces at me behind Mum’s back.” Hermione leaned back into her chair, a knowing smile on her lips. “Ginny?” “Yeah?” “Is there something going on between you and Harry?” Ginny blinked at the unexpected question. Avoiding her friend’s penetrating gaze, she focused her attention instead on the detailed map of Wizarding Europe on the wall behind Hermione. Animated weather symbols floated above each country; little flashes of lightning illuminated parts of Scotland and Wales, tiny cumulonimbus clouds covered most of France and Spain, and a minute sun shone cheerfully over the boot-shaped Italy. “I see Italy’s nice this time of year,” she said loudly, acting as if she had not heard Hermione’s question. Ginny wasn’t sure that she knew the answer anyway. “But why’d Sylvia have to get married somewhere so far away? And why’d she have to invite me to this blasted wedding?” “You’re changing the topic, Ginny,” chided Hermione, wagging a finger at her. “I have to admit, though, I’ve been wondering the same thing. You and Sylvia were never close during Hogwarts, right?” “We never really got along, since she was a snotty brat from the beginning, but it was only during our fifth year that she decided that she wanted Harry,” replied Ginny candidly. “When Harry never fell for her attempts to flirt with him, she decided it was my fault, and she became really insufferable.” She huffed scornfully. “As if I had anything to do with that.” “Didn’t you?” Hermione’s brown eyes twinkled at her. “No,” said Ginny, grinning back at her friend. “Sylvia was doing a perfectly good job of repulsing Harry on her own. I just stood there and enjoyed her impotent rage.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And that’s probably why she invited me — to get back at me by rubbing it in my face that she’s getting hitched and I’m still a poor, pathetic ‘career witch’ doomed to spinsterhood.” “Did she really say that?” exclaimed Hermione. “Not in so many words, but she did write something to that effect in the charming little note she sent together with her darling little invitation,” said Ginny in a sarcastic tone. “But I’m a ‘career witch’ too!” said Hermione, sounding indignant. “Yeah, but you’re getting married, aren’t you?” “That shouldn’t matter!” “Apparently it makes all the difference in the world to Sylvia.” Ginny shrugged dismissively. “Never mind. I’d rather be single forever than be anything like that cow.” Hermione arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “Single forever, you say?” “Yes,” said Ginny with an emphatic nod of her head. “Really.” “Really?” “Really!” “Really?” “Oh, all right!” Ginny threw up her hands in disgust. “How come it seems we’ve had this conversation before?” she irritably asked a grinning Hermione. “Of course I don’t want to be single forever,” she declared, an image of her exchanging wedding vows with Harry appearing unbidden in her head, “but then again, I certainly don’t want to get married just because that cow is!” Hermione chuckled. “By the way, who’s ‘that cow’ marrying?” “Some unfortunate bloke who’s supposed to be,” Ginny cleared her throat and affected Sylvia’s haughty tones, “an ‘internationally renowned Italian wizard fashion designer’.” She snorted rudely. “Don’t even ask me how they met. I suppose she had to get out of England in order to find herself a boyfriend,” she said cattily. “Wait!” Hermione sat up straight. “Raphael Mugatu?” she asked, sounding unnaturally breathless. “She’s marrying Raphael Mugatu?” “Yeah, that’s his name.” Ginny stared at her friend, who looked ready to hyperventilate. “Are you telling me that you actually know who this person is?” “Raphael Michelangelo Leonardo Donatello Mugatu, only son of the widowed Contessa Annunciata Alcina Assunta Mugatu, one of the last members of the pure Wizarding families in Italy. Raphael studied fashion design at the exclusive Istituto di Modo e Pesci in Rome, and later apprenticed to the legendary Vestito Pantaloni of the Casa di Pantaloni,” Hermione rattled off at top speed to an open-mouthed Ginny. If she closed her eyes, Ginny would have sworn that she was having a conversation with Lavender Brown, instead of the usually strait-laced, no-nonsense Hermione Granger. Hermione getting worked up about a fashion designer? What is this world coming to? Is this the end of life as we know it? Noooooo! “At least let me go to the wedding with Harry first,” Ginny muttered under her breath, already preparing a contingency plan to get to Italy in case deadly meteoroids came screaming through the earth’s atmosphere in the next few days to wreak havoc on the planet. Nothing was going to interrupt her monumental first date with Harry — nothing — not even dozens of badly timed, potentially lethal balls of fire falling from the heavens. Hermione rummaged through a drawer, oblivious to the fact that Ginny’s rather vivid imagination had once again run amuck. She brought out a copy of Witch Weekly(which only reinforced Ginny’s belief that the world was about to end in the very near future) and opened it to a two-page spread devoted to wedding robes. “His designs are absolutely stunning,” gushed Hermione, pushing the magazine towards Ginny. “See?” The models in the photographs sashayed regally down a runway strewn with lilies and roses, wearing the latest designs from the ‘brilliant mind of Raphael Mugatu’, as the headline trumpeted. Hermione tapped her wand on one particular picture, which expanded into the centre of the page, bringing a lovely white gown into sharper focus. “This was last season’s collection, but this is the dress I’ve been looking at,” said Hermione dreamily. “Just in case Ron…” She abruptly stopped talking, blushed scarlet and tapped the picture once more shrinking it back to its original size. “Just in case my brother actually got enough nerve to make an honest woman out of you?” supplied Ginny, smiling at her friend, all thoughts of snuggling up to Harry in an underground cave while waiting out the meteor shower momentarily disappearing from her brain. “It’s lovely, Hermione. You’ll look fantastic in it.” “Thanks, Ginny.” “Ron won’t be able to string a coherent sentence together when he sees you in that,” teased Ginny. “Well, as long as he remembers his vows, that’s fine with me,” replied Hermione with a wry grin, then her expression became hopeful. “Ginny, do you suppose you could…” she began, then shook her head. “No, of course not.” “What is it?” “Well…” Hermione bit her lip. “Well, do you suppose you could manage to set up an appointment with Mr Mugatu for me?” “Erm,” responded Ginny, taken aback. “I don’t exactly know him that well, you know, as I’ve never met him. I never even heard of him until the other day.” “Yes, but you will meet him!” said Hermione triumphantly. “Do you realise how hard it is to get a consultation with him? There’s a year-long waiting list! Please?” she begged. Ginny looked at Hermione’s earnest face. “Okay,” she said reluctantly, then laughed when Hermione squealed and clapped her hands in delight. “I’ll certainly try anyway. Anything for my favourite sister-in-law.” “Thank you!” Hermione reached over and squeezed her hand gratefully. “Now, let’s go back to my original question.” “What original question?” “Oh, come now, I know something’s up between you and Harry. I’ve wanted to ask you since I found out he was going to be your date for Sylvia’s wedding, but with all the kerfuffle about our engagement, I haven’t had the chance to do so.” Hermione leaned forward impatiently. “So?” Ginny fidgeted in her seat. “Well, I’m really not sure,” she said slowly, “but ever since I got to The Burrow, Harry’s been really… attentive.” “’Attentive’? In what way?” demanded Hermione, looking curious. “Attentive as in ‘brotherly-friendly-attentive’ or attentive as in ‘I-really-fancy-you-flirty-attentive’?” “You tell me. He’s been helping out with Amelie and Michel — he volunteered to mind them today so I could meet you guys for lunch —” “How… domestic,” Hermione said with a trace of amusement in her voice. “Harry’s really good with children, isn’t he? He’ll make a great father someday…” “— and he made a picnic lunch for us when we went swimming…” Ginny continued, blithely ignoring the smug expression on the older witch’s face. “Really? Harry knows how to make a picnic lunch? That’s so sweet.” Hermione shook her head in bemusement. “Then he goes and offers to be your date to the wedding, huh?” “Well, he did get into a bit of a snit when he learned that I had originally planned to go with Seamus,” said Ginny with a roll of her eyes. “He even told me that Seamus was too old for me. Can you believe it?” Hermione erupted into peals of laughter. “Oh my, he really must have been put out — perhaps he was even… jealous?” she asked mischievously. “A girl can only hope,” answered Ginny cheekily. “So, he helps you with the children, makes you picnic lunches, and gets jealous over non-existent boyfriends,” said Hermione, ticking off each item with her fingers. “All we need now is for him to kiss you!” Ginny immediately looked down at her lap, feeling a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Well, uh…” “He did? I’m so happy for you!” exclaimed Hermione. “Hang on. He almost kissed me,” clarified Ginny, “but Michel spilled his juice on Harry’s lap and the moment was kind of lost.” “No matter, the intention was clearly there, so that proves it,” declared Hermione, with an unconcerned wave of her hand. “It’s definitely the ‘I-really-fancy-you-and-would-like-to-ki ss-you-now-please attentive’.” “You think?” asked Ginny hopefully. “I mean, that’s the impression I’m getting from him, but maybe I’m putting the carriage before the Thestral?” Hermione patted Ginny’s arm, the diamond on her engagement ring flashing in the brightly lit room. “Ginny, I’ve thought Harry’s liked you that way for a very long time, but he was constantly preoccupied or simply not around so that he couldn’t do anything about it. First it was Voldemort, then it was that stupid world tour the Ministry set up, and now it’s Quidditch. But I think he was simply waiting for an opportunity to come up and act on his feelings.” She paused and looked thoughtful. “Come to think of it, you’ve always been busy too. This is the first time I’ve seen you take a holiday since you’ve begun working. You two rarely saw each other this last year, but now you’re both at the same place at the same time…” she trailed off meaningfully. “I suppose I should send a thank you note to that idiot McLaggen for hitting Harry on the head then,” said Ginny wryly. At Hermione’s puzzled expression, she elaborated, “In a way, he is indirectly responsible for Harry and me spending more time together.” Hermione laughed again. “Well, when the time comes, you can invite him to your wedding to Harry,” she teased. “You can even make him your best man, although Ron would probably take offence at that.” “Oh you!” Ginny randomly grabbed an object off Hermione’s desk and pretended to throw it at her. When Hermione gave a little shriek of alarm, Ginny glanced at what she was holding in her hand. It was the mint condition first edition of Hogwarts, A History that Ron had given Hermione on their first anniversary. Even though the book was displayed prominently on her desk, no one was allowed to touch the soft, green leather covers without Hermione’s permission, and that was only given after she had Scourgified your hands several times over and then shoved them into special gloves woven out of Demiguise-hair. “Oops.” Ginny very cautiously laid the copy of Hogwarts, A History back on the table, where it was immediately snatched up by Hermione. The brunette carefully checked it for any damage, muttering some complex-sounding charms over it before she reverently Banished it to the topmost shelf of the bookcase behind her. It settled in between a rare version of the first book published by Obscurus Books (a travel guide written by Nathaniel Obscurus himself, entitled Apparating Through Magyckal Britain on One Knut and Half a Loaf of Bread A Day), and Hermione’s collection of vintage S.P.E.W. badges. Breathing deeply, she composed herself and smiled sheepishly at Ginny. “Sorry, you know how I get about these things.” “I’ll say,” muttered Ginny, but she flashed an apologetic grin. “I’m sorry too.” Glancing at her watch, she made a face and grabbed her purse from behind her. “Well, I’m off to pick up my dress robes from Madam Malkin’s.” “I thought you already got them the yesterday when you were with Tonks.” “I did, but the good Madam Malkin insisted on making some adjustments,” said Ginny dryly. “Apparently, she felt the need to put in a few more charms to give the illusion that I actually have a cleavage.” “You’re way too hard on yourself, Ginny,” chastised Hermione. “I haven’t heard Harry complaining about your figure. In fact,” she said, grinning broadly, “I distinctly remember him staring at your — er — bum and — um — your chest — a lot when we were still in Hogwarts.” “What?!” Ginny bolted from her seat. “How come I never knew that? I’m certain that I would’ve noticed if Harry was actually checking me out!” She waved her purse in the air in agitation, scattering the flock of inter-departmental memos above their heads in all directions. Hermione giggled. “Harry most likely assumed that Ron would punch him in the jaw if he knew that his best friend was very appreciative of his little sister’s assets, so he did his best to do his ogling discreetly. I, however, am a bit more perceptive than Ron,” she said with a proud tilt of her head. “Now that’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” replied Ginny sardonically as she plopped back into her chair with a disgruntled huff. “But if I had known that about Harry, I wouldn’t have needed to hide the fact that I was checking him out!” “Oh, were you? I wasn’t conscious of that fact. I thought you liked walking into fireplaces and random bits of furniture whenever Harry flexed those arms of his.” Hermione smirked at Ginny’s outraged glare. “You do realise that he only did that when he knew that you were around?” “Oh, like you never whimpered ‘Merlin save me’ whenever my brother wore those tight jeans of his!” Ginny shot back, chortling at the other girl’s stricken face. “You knew that?” gasped Hermione, looking very mortified. “’Course I did,” sniggered Ginny. “I also highly enjoyed the way your eyes would kind of glaze over, and you would wind up spilling your ink or snapping your quill in half.” “Yes,” sighed Hermione sadly. “I wasted many perfectly good quills that way, but they were well worth it, just to see Ron’s lovely little bum.” Ginny and Hermione looked at each other for a second before they collapsed into hysterical giggles. After laughing themselves silly for a good minute or two, Ginny rose from her chair to give her friend a fond embrace. “I really need to go. Thanks again. I had loads of fun today.” “Me too. We should do this more often. Oh, don’t forget your train tickets and your Portkey.” Hermione handed her a small figure of a cat, which closely resembled Crookshanks, down to the bottle-brush tail and the slightly squashed face. Ginny stroked the miniature feline’s head and was rewarded by a very faint purring sound. Giving it one final pat, she put it in her purse for safe-keeping. “By the way, your return is scheduled at four in the afternoon, so make sure you get to the Terminal at least half an hour before then, unless of course, you suddenly develop a pressing need to stay for a romantic holiday in Italy…” Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny, who returned her grin with one of her own. “You never know, do you?” said Ginny airily. “I might be up for a Roman holiday.” She laughingly bade Hermione farewell, and headed for the Floos. When Ginny stepped out of the fireplace at The Burrow, she was surprised to see a pair of rather large feet sticking out from behind the sofa. The room was quiet, except for a rhythmic whistling noise that sounded strangely familiar. Glancing warily around, she pulled out her wand and moved cautiously towards the sofa to investigate, her dress robes clasped in front of her like a shield. She began laughing softly at the sight that met her eyes. Harry was sprawled out on the carpet, snoring softly, his left arm flung across his face. Curled up on either side of him were Amelie and Michel, similarly fast asleep. What Ginny found so amusing, and oddly endearing, was the fact that there were a number of small stuffed animals — including a pink Abraxan, a silver unicorn, a green dragon, a scruffy-looking Crup, and the papier-mâché Blast-Ended Skrewt Michel had created — arrayed on Harry’s stomach, all gently bobbing up and down in time with his breathing. “Ginny, is that you, dear?” Ginny held a finger to her lips when her mother walked into the room, still wearing her best silver dress robes. She pointed to the three persons sleeping soundly on the floor. “Oh my,” chuckled Mrs Weasley quietly. She moved forward and picked Amelie up and signalled Ginny to get Michel. Ginny nodded and carefully draped her robes over the back of the sofa. As she bent to take Michel in her arms, she paused for a moment to take advantage of the opportunity to stare unabashedly at Harry without anyone taking the mickey or smiling meaningfully at her. Ginny impulsively brushed his untidy fringe from his forehead, exposing his infamous scar, and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. She held her breath when Harry stirred, but he soon settled down again, a small smile on his handsome face. She took his glasses and the mini menagerie on his stomach and placed them on the small end table before putting a cushion under his head and the afghan over his body. She then stepped back and carefully gathered the sleeping Michel, who snuffled softly then buried his face against Ginny’s neck. When she reached the children’s room, she silently laid the boy on his bed, tucking the green and gold blanket with a pattern of cuddly fire-breathing dragons on it around his shoulders. She made her way to Mrs Weasley, who was perched on the small loveseat by Amelie’s cot, smoothing the golden curls on the child’s head. “Poor dears must have tired themselves out,” murmured Mrs Weasley. “When I last checked in on them, they were having some sort of complicated game which apparently entailed making all sorts of animal noises.” Ginny chuckled appreciatively. It seemed like the children had a wonderful time playing with Harry. “Harry’s very good with children, isn’t he?” said Mrs Weasley, unknowingly repeating Hermione’s exact words earlier that day. Ginny suppressed a smile at her mother’s determination to extol Harry’s best qualities. She did this whenever the occasion presented itself — meaning she did it whenever she saw her daughter. “Yes, Mum, he is.” “He’s such a dear boy. Such perfect manners! Always so polite and thoughtful.” “Yes, Mum.” Too polite, mused Ginny, thinking of all the times she had wanted Harry to seize her and have his wicked way with her. Oh my, is it hot in here or what? She bowed her head so that her mother wouldn’t see her blazing cheeks. “And he’s grown up into such a good-looking young man.” You can say that again. Ginny gave a small sigh as she thought of Harry’s handsome profile and beautiful green eyes. “Yes, Mum.” “Oh, and he’s become — what do you young people call it — rather shaggable, don’t you think so, dear?” “Yes, Mu— What!” squeaked Ginny, jerking her head up and staring at her mother in shock. Mrs Weasley smirked back at her, looking uncannily like Fred and George for a moment. “Just because I’ve been married for so long doesn’t mean I don’t understand what you children talk about when you think I’m not listening,” said Mrs Weasley matter-of-factly. Ginny gaped for a few more seconds before she burst into somewhat scandalised giggles. “In that case, Mum, yes, Harry is indeed become very shaggable,” she said, turning scarlet as the words left her mouth. She could imagine Harry’s horror-struck reaction if he knew she was discussing him in this manner with her mum, of all people. She couldn’t quite believe she was having this conversation either. “Hmmm…” said her mother, a shrewd glint in her eyes. “Not that I’ve ever shagged him — or any bloke for that matter,” she said hastily. She paused, chewing on her lip. “He’s also all of those other things that you mentioned,” added Ginny quietly, “and more.” “You still like him.” It was a statement, not a question. Ginny was not surprised that her mum knew how she felt about Harry. After all, Molly Weasley had always had the mysterious ability to know exactly what all of her children were up to; she didn’t even need the Weasley family clock for that. Ginny had often wondered if her mum had any Seer blood in her but decided that it must be a trait that was innate in all mothers. “I never really stopped,” admitted Ginny, playing with the sleeve of her shirt, “but I didn’t think he liked me back that way.” Mrs Weasley smiled affectionately at her. “You know, that summer after your fourth year, I could tell that Harry was beginning to see you as more than just Ron’s sister.” “Really, Mum? Why didn’t you tell me that then?” asked Ginny, feeling a little thrill at what she was hearing. “Well, being a typical boy, he hadn’t realised it yet, of course.” Mrs Weasley reached out to stroke Ginny’s hair. “You were a big help in getting him through Sirius’ death, Ginny, and it might have become awkward between the two of you if I had said anything.” Both women grew silent at the mention of Harry’s godfather. After a while, Mrs Weasley began speaking again, her voice soft and soothing to Ginny’s ears. “Every summer after that, I was more than delighted to watch as you and Harry grew closer together. He truly depended on you, Ginny, and no one could cheer him up as much as you could — as much as you still do,” she amended, smiling at her daughter. “I knew that given the chance, you two could have something more than friendship between you.” “I thought so too, but, well, he had a lot on his plate then — preparing to defeat old Moldyshorts and then pacifying the Ministry afterwards,” said Ginny, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder like she did when she was younger. “I was hoping for a sign after I finished Hogwarts...” she closed her eyes and sighed, “...but he seemed to have moved on, Mum.” “Did you ever give him a sign that you wanted something more?” asked Mrs Weasley gently. Ginny bit her lip and shook her head. Even though she had always held a tiny, niggling, hopeful suspicion that he may have liked her back, she had been too afraid of being rejected, of destroying the careful friendship she had nurtured with Harry, and, truth be told, she had wanted him to make the first move. But then again, this is Harry we’re talking about, she thought wryly. I should have probably dropped Hagrid-sized hints about how I felt about him. Maybe she should have just grabbed him and kissed him in front of everybody in the Gryffindor common room. “Perhaps fate was merely waiting for the right moment to bring you and Harry together.” Mrs Weasley put her arm around Ginny’s shoulder and squeezed her lightly. “I suspect that the time has come at last, Ginny. Don’t be afraid to tell him how you feel, dear. You might be pleasantly surprised at what happens when you do.” Ginny returned the embrace gratefully. “Thanks, Mum.” “Anytime, dear.” Mrs Weasley patted her arm and stood up. “Oh, and Ginny?” “Yes?” “Just because I said that Harry was shaggable, that doesn’t mean that you have to go and prove me right, you hear?” said Mrs Weasley sternly, fixing a now furiously blushing Ginny with a hard stare. “I at least expect an engagement ring on your finger before you even begin thinking of anything remotely like that, young lady.” “Mum!” |
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