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Harry and the Yuletide Engagement
By sapphire200182

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Category: December Engagement Challenge (2006-6)
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Genres: Comedy, Romance
Warnings: Sexual Situations
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 26
Summary: Harry is elated. Mere weeks after Voldemort’s defeat, he is going to propose to Ginny! But the inadvertent exploits of the bumbling Weasley twins coupled with a more shadowy opponent might just get in the way of Harry’s and Ginny’s happiness! Written for Sink In Your Eyes Christmas Engagement 2006 Challenge. My first challenge fic, please don’t be so harsh if I accidentally break a ruling…
Hitcount: Story Total: 14752; Chapter Total: 3567





Author's Notes:
I have done my best to stick to the rules, but forgive me for exceeding the 10, 000-word mark! It’s a really nice story, please please read and review!




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ACT 2: Dinner and Then…

The Burrow,
22 December

“So, Gin, what d’you think?” He hoped feverishly that she wasn’t busy or anything tonight. He’d carefully engineered this quiet little moment so that Fred and George were in the shop, Hermione and Ron were shopping for presents and the rest of the Weasley clan was away getting food, food and more food for the Christmas bash.

The girl in question tucked an errant lock of vibrant fiery-red hair behind an ear. Merlin, that was so cute, thought Harry.

“I don’t know, Harry,” said Ginny, looking downcast. She shifted her posture to her other hip, and placed the pile of books she was carrying onto the kitchent table. “Dean asked me out too…”

Harry felt as if he was slipping into shock…Dean Thomas! His world turned black around him, and he could almost feel his heart crashing into a million pieces as the monster within his chest gave a furious, enraged roar.

“D-Dean?” he said weakly. “D-Dean T-T-Thomas?” Blast that infernal git!

“Gotcha!” shouted Ginny, flinging her arms around Harry and tackling him onto the floor with a crash.

With a flash of realization followed shortly after by a soothing wave of relief, pouring balm onto the little cracks that had threatened to shatter his insides, Harry finally realized he’d been had. He stared up at the girl who sat on him.

With a low snarl and a wicked grin, he lifted himself off the ground and flipped over, so she was trapped against the kitchen floor. While she squirmed beneath him, he methodically grabbed both her flailing hands and immobilized them in a vice-like grip.

“You little minx, you,” growled Harry, as he pinned Ginny’s arms against the wall above her head, and proceeded to nip her ear with exaggerated snarls. Inwardly, he sighed with relief, the welcome weight of the ring still in his pocket.

Ginny squealed and giggled as he continued his attacks on her delicate face. She managed to slip her hands out of his grasp and wrapped them about his head.

For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Harry was mesmerized by the limpid brown orbs that danced before him, and the outpouring of love emanating from each of them stunned him momentarily.

“Gin…” he began, intending to forget everything about dinner and protocol and just ask her right here, right now, but soft lips brushed against his own, and he fell silent.

It wasn’t the physical touch, you see. It never is. It is the depth and breadth of the stormy river of that emotion known as love, so wrongfully used most of the time, that stuns you momentarily and shocks you into an alternate universe…where you could just dwell forever in the warmth and fire of the free-flowing love.

Harry felt as if he’d been dipped into a vat of chocolate. Those chocolate eyes stared back at his, then closed to enjoy and savour the love even more. He was aware not of the heat generated by the close contact of two bodies, but of the warmth that stemmed from the girl he loved with all his heart…and who loved him too, with all her heart.

As Harry drew back to admire his loved one, he noticed faint runnels of liquid that ran down Ginny’s cheeks.

“Why are you crying, Gin?” he asked softly, kissing each tear as it rounded the curve of her cheeks.

“I felt it,” she whispered. “I…I thought I actually felt your soul. Pounding and throbbing and…and…full of love…and…”

“I love you,” said Harry.

And Ginny was glad. He knew why, strangely. She was glad he hadn’t said something frivolous like, “Wow!” or “Where’d you learn to snog like that?”, etcetera, etcetera. The feeling was mutual.

Sometimes he felt too much stock was put on snogging and physical manifestations of love. He just wanted to spend time with her, and feel that tidal wave again that he now knew and identified as Love.

Apparently she thought so too. They walked to the living room, where a merry fire crackled from one of the two fireplaces in the Burrow, and snuggled together on a couch.

"So it's a yes, then?" asked Harry.

"What do you think?" grinned Ginny. "I get to pick the restaurant!" she declared.

"Anything. I just want to spend time together," said Harry. "I think..." he began, but Ginny smothered him with a daring kiss.

Moments later no-one knew what he was thinking, least of all himself.

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Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes

“Oi, Fred!”

George’s hearty shout carried across the cavernous depths of the Wheezes basement. Fred Weasley soon appeared on the scene, as George sat down wearily on a nearby crate of Pernicious Pastries. Fred dusted off the section of box that boasted “Guaranteed to Leave You Smelling of Horse Dung for Hours!”

“Something’s up, mate,” whispered George conspiratorially. “I spotted Harry and his female companion in a jewellers’ today. Not with our darling baby sister.”

“Bloody hell!” hissed Fred. “Who was with him?”

George actually snarled. Few knew it, but of the pair, he was usually the one with his feet planted firmly on the grounds of reality. He was the one who debunked some of Fred’s more fanciful but impractical ideas, and the one who remained the most level headed in times of stress. Fred knew that when he snarled, it was big trouble.

“Well, who was it?” prompted Fred. “Romilda Vane?”

“Cho bloody Chang,” ground out George between clenched teeth. “Disillusioned, of course. I spotted her entering the shop, though.”

“That woman!,” swore Fred. “The bloomin’, effin’, bloody...er...scalawag!”

“Think Potter is cheating on Ginny?” snapped George.

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s got some Veela or Succubi blood, ‘cos I can’t see Harry goin’ for her when Ginny’s right in front of him. You sure you saw her?” asked Fred.

“Yeah. Maybe she Imperiused him.”

"Or Confunded him!"

"Or spiked his Butterbeer with Amortentia!"

“Now, if we could only get her out of the way,” said Fred, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“We’d be able to snap Harry out of it. Get Ginny to snog him back to his senses or something.”

The twins looked at each other.

“The conclusion…” began Fred.

“…is that…”

“…for Harry’s sake…”

“…we just gotta make sure Ginny and Harry stick together for the next few days,” finished George.

“I heard they’re at the Three Broomsticks,” said Fred. “Let’s move.”

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The Three Broomsticks,
Hogsmeade.

“Why did you pick this place, Gin?” muttered Harry. “It’s full of people!”

Fake snow drifted down from the ceiling, magically fading away as it reached head level. Across the bar, Madam Rosmerta was entertaining a crowd of Ministry employees — several adoring young trainees among them — and on the other side, a party of Aurors and Hit-Wizards were apparently celebrating a successful ‘hit’.

“We’ll be less likely to be overheard, Harry,” murmured Ginny. “Unless you want somewhere dodgy like the Hog’s Head?”

Harry glanced at her, and made brief eye contact, before hastily taking a swallow of Butterbeer.

“Umm…anywhere would do, Gin…” he said. The ring practically screamed to be announced and given to her.

“Admit it, you were fishing for some drivel. Something along the lines of, ‘Anywhere would be heaven, my love, if you were to be with me…’ or ‘I would follow you to the ends of the earth, Harry!’ Admit it!” Ginny had had an illicit Gillywater and was somewhat giggly.

Harry sighed, and looked up in time to see the main course arrive — two spaghettis in carbonara sauce and a lasagna to split — along with two Butterbeers.

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Fred and George stepped into the Three Broomsticks, following Disillusioned in the wake of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team, who made their entrance with great applause. Fred had to restrain himself from running to the fore in order to get Gwenog Jones’s autograph, while George was admiring the athletes’ fit bodies dressed in somewhat revealing dinner gowns.

“Oi, George.”

“Merlin, brother, look at the bodice on Gwenog Jones, it’s absolutely fabulous…”

Fred struggled to pull George away from the departing Quidditch players.

“Thank goodness for these Disappearing Robes. They wear off in about an hour, right?”

“Yeah, but let’s make this quick. The tentacles are still on my arse from that Tentacula Treat you cooked up.”

“Sorry about that. I think essence of Acromantula might disappear ‘em.”

“There, Fred,” whispered George. Harry was sitting in the corner, unobtrusively having a quiet chat with Ginny.

“We gotta make sure she snogs him,” said Fred urgently.

“They will, but let’s just help make the night perfect. Let’s see…”

“Ugh, I can’t believe we’re helping Harry kiss our baby sister,” said Fred, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “He owes us big-time.”

“Yeah. Hope he brushed his teeth,” remarked George.

The twins glanced at each other at this significant remark.

“D’you have Toothflossing Stringmints?” murmured Fred.

“Oh, yes,” nodded George. He produced a packet of mints wrapped up in a paper bag.

“Good, we’ll just slip one into his Butterbeer and let him slug it down. They dissolve, don’t they? ”

“Yeah. Brilliant idea, Fred, old chap.”

“Thank you, my dear twin. Step lightly there, old Mrs. Crawston is coming this way. Don’t want her to step on your foot.”

Navigating two tables and a clumsy waiter who spilled soup all over Mrs. Crawston, earning himself a whack from a bulky handbag, Fred and George tip-toed over to Table Seventeen, and watched as Harry popped open a Butterbeer bottle and poured it into a mug.

Moving extremely slowly so either Ginny or Harry wouldn’t catch the slight shimmer in the air of a pair of Disillusioned fingers, Fred dropped three of the miraculous dental sweets into Harry’s drink.

“Anything else we missed?” whispered Fred.

“Umm…I think Harry can take it from here,” whispered George, not quite liking the soppy (to him) look on Harry’s face as the lovebirds spoke quietly of Harry’s childhood and Ginny’s deepest and darkest desires and whatnot.

Congratulating themselves on a job well done, the twins tip-toed away silently.

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The spaghetti had been lovely, the lasagna cheesy and filled with huge chunks of premium beef, and the conversation, indeed, had been scintillating, but the ring still lay in its velvet box, nestled comfortably within Harry’s slacks pocket.

Okay, thought Harry. This is it. Here we go. Ginny, I love you. I really really love you. I don’t want to spend another day of my life without you. Ginny…will you marry me?

And then lean in for a kiss, immediately after she said yes. Yeah. That was it.

Harry surreptitiously covered his mouth and scrunched up his face, as if yawning slightly. He puffed once, to sample his breath.

Then he choked.

The most putrid, rotten, fetid, rancid, rank, foul, stinking, vile scent assaulted his nostrils, and Harry felt himself almost pass out from the noxious odour. What could have caused this reaction? He himself had bought a packet of Toothflossing Stringmints specially for this occasion.

There was no way he was proposing to Ginny like that.

“Harry? What’s the matter, Harry?” said Ginny, glimpsing his pale face. She reached across the table and grabbed his shoulder. “Harry!”

“I…I’m fine,” he muttered, trying not to exhale or speak in her direction. “I…uh…I think my spaghetti…may have been…uh…under-cooked or something…yeah…I…uh…gotta go…”

Grimly, he took his leave of a somewhat bewildered Ginny Weasley. He couldn’t go to St. Mungo’s. This problem could only be cured by one person alone, he realized.

Or rather, two persons, for Harry was quite sure he knew who the culprits were in this bad case of magically-induced halitosis.

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Fred emptied his pockets onto the dresser. The duplex apartment above the shop was proving to be a worthy investment. The twins spent more time here, at the shop, than anywhere else. Naturally, nearby accomodations had to be found. It was just too dangerous to attempt an Apparation to the Burrow when you were fagged out at the end of a hard day’s work. The apartment fit the bill nicely.

As he pulled out three Dungbombs and a Decoy Detonator, his fingers encountered the bag of Toothflossing Stringmints he’d spiked Harry’s drink with. Pulling it out, he caught a whiff of something that shouldn’t have been there.

Something along the lines of a Breath Eater. Frowning, Fred pulled out one of the mints. It was speckled pink, the colour code for the Putrid Puke flavoured mints.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

Fred looked around wildly. George was still downstairs in the shop! Maybe, if he grabbed George and barricaded themselves in the heavily-warded apartment, they could…

Too late. There was a faint crack! of someone Apparating downstairs. Fred could hear George’s voice.

“Hey, Harry, I…what the…OI!” A loud crash told Fred that he was in trouble.

“WHAT IN BLAZES WERE YOU TWO THINKING?”

“We thought you were Confunded, Harry, honest, I…”

“CONFUNDED? I’LL GIVE YOU CONFUNDED, I AM NOT CONFUNDED, WEASLEY! NOW WHERE’S THE OTHER ONE?”

Fred closed his eyes, and prepared for the inevitable with that famous, rueful, Weasley Twins smile that said 'c’est la vie'…

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