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Advice for the Lovelorn Masses | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Alternate Universe Characters:Harry/Ginny, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley Genres: General, Humor Warnings: Mild Language Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 265 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... Hitcount: Story Total: 48918; Chapter Total: 10045 Awards: View Trophy Room 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. |
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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-direc tion-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… * |
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