Here it is, Chapter 10, Ginny's little adventure....
Thanks as always to my fantastic beta Spencer, and to Minerva my kitten, who inspires my by purring on my lap.
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Friends, At Least? | ||||||
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Category: Pre-OotP, When Ginny Met Harry Challenge (2007-1) Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape Genres: Fluff, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 138 Summary: ** Honorable Mention (tie) in the When Ginny Met Harry Challenge ** Ginny Weasley is disappointed by her first view of Harry Potter, but quickly realizes that she is more than ready to forgive. She starts a pen-pal correspondence in hopes of becoming friends with Harry, and then perhaps more... Hitcount: Story Total: 59886; Chapter Total: 5662 Author's Notes: |
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Once more, Ginny was awake in the dead of night. This time, she had been lying in bed, pretending to be asleep for over two hours. Her nerves were humming with anticipation, and Ginny doubted that she could have slept even if she’d wanted to. But it was vital that she stay awake. Tonight was the night that Minerva would reach her new home. It was the perfect opportunity, for Mum was still at Aunt Muriel’s. Ginny was still waiting for her father to fall asleep. She looked at the clock, ticking away on the table beside her bed. One minute ‘til midnight, a wonderful time for an adventure. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Ginny got out of bed and crept to the door of her parents’ room. The door was partially open, and Ginny heard loud snores issuing from the bed. Smiling, Ginny climbed the stairs to the attic. Long practice had taught her to avoid the creaky ones. In the attic, Ginny located a certain trunk, covered with dust. Careful not to disturb the ghoul, Ginny opened the trunk and lifted out a long, thin box. She opened it, revealing an old wand — her great-grandmother’s. There was only one way that Ginny knew of for an underage witch to reach a house that was not on the floo network, and that was the Knight Bus. She had heard all sorts of stories about it and couldn’t wait to see for herself. But to call it, she needed a wand. Ginny tip-toed back down the stairs and into her room. She had packed a knapsack with Minerva, still inactivated. She grabbed the knapsack and continued down the stairs and out the front door, which she had oiled that morning. It swung open without its usual creak. She walked to the front of the yard, wishing that she knew a spell to call light. Nerves buzzing, Ginny threw out her wand arm. And waited. It seemed to take forever, but it was probably only a few seconds until the still night was shattered by a loud BANG! and the bright glare of headlights. Shielding her eyes, Ginny stepped back as the door to a large, purple vehicle swung open. Golden letters on the side spelled out, “The Knight Bus.” Ginny couldn’t help gasping. That…thing…was enormous! And she had called it! Ginny was relieved — she hadn’t been sure that the summoning would work, given that the wand wasn’t her own. A pimply faced young man stepped out to greet her. “Welcome,” he proclaimed proudly, “to the Knight Bus! I am Stan Shunpike, your conductor.” Ginny eagerly clambered aboard, drawing out eleven carefully hoarded silver sickles. “Here you are!” she said. The pimply-faced youth looked toward the other man in the front of the bus. “Ern,” he asked anxiously. “Is this ‘ere the right amount?” He turned to her and grinned. “First day on the job!” Ginny gulped nervously. “Where was it that you were ‘eaded?” “Er, Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.” Ginny said this with a practiced ease. The words had become almost a mantra for her since she had discovered the address. “Ah,” said Ern, nodding wisely. “Muggle establishment, that is.” Stan looked at her curiously. “‘Choo doing there?” Ginny tried to put on a haughty expression. “None of your beeswax. Now, let’s be off!” Ginny staggered off the bus onto a lamp-lit street. Feeling slightly sick, Ginny paused to rest before looking around. She would never ride the Knight Bus again, except perhaps to get home that night. Ginny looked up at her surroundings. She was standing outside of a perfectly ordinary house, with a neatly trimmed lawn and neatly clipped bushed. Ginny couldn’t help thinking of the horrible people inside. Reaching into her knapsack, Ginny pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle: Minerva. She removed the covering, and admired the kitten. She never stopped wondering how Fred and George had produced something so bloody cute! Moving silently and clutching the kitten, Ginny crept up to the Dursleys’ perfectly-painted door. Looking at the mail slot, Ginny smiled. She pushed open the flap, and whispered the words that she had been longing to say ever since the three owls had shown up outside her window. “I solemnly swear that Minerva is up to no good.” The kitten in her arms stirred. Its eyes winked open, and Ginny saw a mischievous glint in their amber depths. It moved its paws around experimentally, stretching this way and that, extending its claws and re-sheathing them. Ginny was glad to see that the claws were wickedly sharp. She smiled her evil smile. It was time for revenge. She pushed the kitten through the mail slot in the door. It squeezed through eagerly, as if glad to have a mission. Its rump wiggled as it struggled to fit, and then it was gone, the tip of its tail whipping through the slot just in time to avoid getting caught as the flap swung back down. Ginny sighed in relief. “Goodbye, Minerva, and good luck,” she whispered to herself. She was almost sure she heard an answering mew. Ginny dropped on her bed in exhaustion the moment she returned to her room at the Burrow. The return trip on the Knight Bus had been no easier than the first one, and she swore that she would never set foot on that purple nightmare again. Ginny just wanted to go to sleep — by now it was almost two o’clock in the morning, the latest she’d ever stayed up before — but she had to replace her great-grandmother’s wand and the knapsack, at risk of getting caught. Her mother was returning the next morning, and she had an uncanny knack for discovering her children’s plots. Ginny sneaked back up to the attic, replaced the knapsack in the front hall, and returned to her room once more. She considered just falling asleep in her cloths, but no, that would be another dead giveaway that she’d been up and about at night. Somehow, she dragged herself into her pyjamas and, with a relieved sigh, flopped back into bed to sleep. Ginny woke to an insistent rapping on her door. “Wha…” she murmured drowsily, still not awake. Then she realized who would be knocking. “Mum! Come in!” Mrs. Weasley opened the door and came in, enfolding her daughter in a hug. “Hello, dear, I missed you!” Ginny snuggled into her mothers arms. “Missed you too.” “Now, why are you asleep so late in the morning? It’s quarter ‘til eleven!” Ginny gasped. “Really? Uh, well, I was up late last night, erm, reading.” Mrs. Weasley gave a little tsk, tsk. “I suppose your father never made you turn out the lights. I’ll have to speak to him. Breakfast is on the table, so come down as soon as you’re ready.” She bustled out of the room. Ginny sighed with relief, thankful that her late night was to be blamed on her father. After breakfast, Ginny decided to respond to Harry’s letter. She started with a bit of fluff about her mom’s trip, then she got to the hard part. Harry, I have a confession to make. I wasn’t completely honest with you about my most embarrassing moment. I feel really bad, because yours is so horrible and you told me anyway. You see, when I was little, my favorite bedtime story was the legend of famous Harry Potter. I listened to it over time and eventually, I sort of developed a crush on you. Mind you, this was ages ago; I was really little… Ginny crossed out the last sentence. From now on, she would be totally honest with Harry. She proceeded to write to him of the entire affair with the poem. Ginny sighed. She hoped that Harry wouldn’t hate her for being dishonest, or for having a childish crush on the famous hero. That had all been before she knew the real Harry, the noble, caring, brave, sensitive boy who wrote her letters. Admittedly, she still had a crush on him, but that was different. About to send the letter, Ginny remembered Harry’s request for a picture. She found a family album in the living room, and chose the best picture of herself that she could find. She was sitting against the thick trunk of a tree, wearing a green jumper and a cute brown skirt. The sun was shining through the leaves, adding golden streaks to her hair. Ginny smiled at her picture, and gave it a little lecture. “Now, you’ve got to try and look good when you get to Harry Potter.” Her image perked up at the name. “Yes, that’s right. Look nice for Harry.” She attached the photo to the letter. Thinking about Harry and the photo, she realized that one glimpse of Harry Potter at the train station wasn’t really enough for her. What she really wanted was to see Harry, face to face, but she knew that it was impossible. She decided to settle for asking Harry for a photo of himself. Ginny added her last request as a post-script, then rolled up the letter and watched Errol flap off to Hogwarts. |
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