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.
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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: 48916; Chapter Total: 10157 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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“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? |
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