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And Now You Know…The Rest Of The Story | ||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Pre-OotP, When Ginny Met Harry Challenge (2007-1) Characters:None Genres: Comedy, Humor Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 24 Summary: ** Winner of Most Humorous in the When Ginny Met Harry Challenge ** We all know how they first met, but even the best stories can sometimes omit a few details, such as a drunken owl, a crossdressing Weasley brother, a famous explorer, a bird whisperer and another excellent chili recipe. Written for the 2007 When Harry Met Ginny Challenge. Hitcount: Story Total: 10751 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: A tip of the hat to the late Mr. Paul Harvey who inspired the title. No owls were harmed during the writing of this story. |
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By Spenser Hemmingway “A serious writer may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn writer is always a bloody owl.”–-Ernest Hemingway Whenever I show up at one of the many book signings I attend each year, I am consistently asked two things. The first being, “Hemmingway, what are you doing at that table? That’s where the guest author is supposed to be sitting!” After the store throws me out onto the sidewalk, without fail, I also hear, “Why do you even bother to write about Harry Potter?” It is really amazing how many people in the mall security field are among my fans. To answer the second question first (I’m ignoring my curiosity about the gentleman in the lime-green suit over there reading this and asking about my heritage), I write about my friends Ginny and Harry because I am too lazy to invent my own stories, and because the two have had so many great experiences to recount. Now I have nothing against Harry’s wonderful Muggle biographer; I think that she is an extraordinary writer and a wonderful person (despite that silly restraining order against me). The fact of the matter, however, is that there are a great number of moments that simply could not be included in her books. This particular story is one of them. The description of that morning at Kings Cross Station in the first book is accurate enough, as far as it goes. However, the needs of brevity, and her writing the series as if it were Muggle fiction to protect everyone involved (to shield shy house-elves I should say), caused certain details to be omitted. You know how Harry and Ginny first met. Now, as Mr. Harvey always said, you’re going to hear the rest of the story. “You can’t be Harry Potter mate. Everyone knows he’s seven-foot tall, flies through the air with a cape, wears green armor that matches his eyes. You must have those fangled Muggle contact lens on under your glasses. That’s another thing. Why would The-Boy-Who-Lived be wearing broken and half-mended glasses? I can take a good joke mate. I’ve had to learn to do that ever since my older brothers discovered a new use for clothespins, corn flour, burlap bags, twine, and roller-skates. If you were really Harry Potter you’d also have…blimey!” Harry just smiled back at his new acquaintance. For the first time in recent memory, since he had learned the scar’s significance, he didn’t mind displaying it for someone. Naturally, Harry has never had a conceited bone in his body. Actually, there was a bit of smug cartilage in his left foot once, but he laced the one shoe a bit tighter to keep it in check. When he pulled back his hair that morning, it wasn’t to sing his own praises, to satisfy the morbid curiosity of some anonymous admirer, or even to make a point in a disagreement. He had immediately liked Ron, and merely wanted to get over the preliminaries and on with their friendship. “Look, I really am Harry Potter, but really I’m just…just Harry. That was your mum back there that helped me onto the platform, wasn’t it? The one with the pretty girl?” “Pretty? Ginny? Yeah, that’s her name. Well, I suppose she is. I never really thought about her that way before. We don’t have a lot of girls born into the Weasley family It’s kinda really, really rare.” “No girls ever?” Harry asked, and he was genuinely surprised. “How big is your family?” “Well, I’ve got five older brothers, a bunch of cousins, uncles; we lost a couple to You-Know-Who though. I guess there are quite a few of us, come to think of it. Weasleys have tended to have a lot of kids over the generations, and it’s not just Dad and Mum producing us.” “How many of all those were girls?” Harry wondered aloud. He was becoming fascinated with the idea of Ron having so many relatives. He had exactly three of whom he or anyone was aware, and they weren’t exactly a model family. He even had his doubts sometimes about their being human. Aunt Petunia did have that extremely large purple vegetation to the rear of her small greenhouse. Alien body snatchers? The Dursleys replaced by giant plant pods? No, he could never be so lucky, and what Martian could stand to be so close to Dudley for that long? “Harry, according to Great Aunt Tessie–-she’s an aunt by marriage by the way–-there have been close to sixty Weasleys born in England since the last Muggle World War. Girls? I can count on one finger the number of times…” Ka-thud! Something had slammed hard into the side of the train just below their window. “Ron, isn’t that your sister Ginny down there?” Harry didn’t wait for Ron’s answer. He had the compartment open and was rushing for the railcar’s door faster than Gilderoy Lockhart running up to a new mirror. They had known each other for maybe five minutes, but Harry didn’t need to look back to know his friend was there with him. At the steps, they encountered a pretty girl with brown bushy hair and an officious expression. Yes, we all know who that was. As Ron and Harry hopped down to the platform, they both ignored Hermione’s admonitions about the train leaving at any moment. “Ginny, what the…? What are you doing? Where’s Mum?” “Ron, there is something wrong with this poor owl. He’s sick, or confused, or…I don’t know what. Mum’s over there having a chat with the station master’s assistant.” Harry and Ron looked up to see Mrs. Weasley beating one of the uniformed employees with her large purse. Harry just decided to classify this as a Witch’s Chat. “He was diving at the train with this, back and forth, then he just hit the side of the car, and…” Harry knelt beside her there. Ginny had cradled the stunned bird in her arms, carefully removing her wool scarf with one hand, and draping it over him. Harry offered her a reassuring smile, which she seemed to appreciate and then returned. Looking down, he saw the owl was still clutching a can of Muggle spray paint. Lifting his eyes to the train again, he noticed that there were several streaks of graffiti markings. The owl had been vandalizing the Hogwarts Express? “We’ve got to get back aboard and now! That’s the locomotive you hear! Ginny, what’s Mum doing? She’s got the porter on the ground now! Ouch! Poor sap!” “She’s discussing Percy’s lost trunk from last spring. Ron, we need to take care of this owl. I think… Ron, this owl is intoxicated!” The train whistle caused her to jerk her head in that direction realizing they were out of time. “Ginny, is it? Your brother and I need to go. We really want to help, but I don’t know very much about owls. We need to…” “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take him back to the Burrow with me and have my friend… Well Ron, you and your friend need to go, or you’ll miss your train. Look, it’s moving! I need to go help Mum with Percy’s old trunk. I guess you can tell him that she’ll send it on to him.” “What?” Harry and Ron said in unison. Neither took the time to wait for a reply, but instead ran back and jumped onto the train once again. Glancing down to the platform one last time, Harry saw Mrs. Weasley tugging on the newly located trunk and a stretcher crew moving toward the barrier with the less-than-helpful baggage handler. As they settled back in their compartment, Harry took a few moments to reflect on the injured bird and the young girl who would care for him. He had a small smile then on his face, realizing how much he was beginning to like the entire Weasley family. He had talked to the twins earlier and didn’t doubt for a second that the toilet seat would soon be on its way to their sister. Harry resolved then and there to somehow anonymously ship the rest of the toilet to his uncle’s address. Ron, seated across from him, just radiated a sincerity that had instantly won Harry over. Something told him though that beneath Ron’s friendly smile there was an untapped strength upon which Harry could always rely. Mrs. Weasley? Well, she seemed to be a storybook mother. Harry was sure that the porter would be out of intensive care very shortly. Then there was Ginny. As Ron pointed out the window, Harry joined him there to watch the Weasley sister run alongside the train, still clutching the owl with one hand and waving energetically with the other. She seemed to be a great girl, and Harry was a bit envious of her brothers. Maybe someday he would find someone… No, what am I thinking, he decided, I’m eleven years old, and I have a long time before I worry about things like that. He did, however, resolve to do what he could to help her with the owl, even if it had to be by mail. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” Arthur Weasley observed as entered the kitchen of his family home. He paused just long enough to remove his coat and scarf and then to kiss his wife. “An owl laid out on a doll’s bed with a tiny icepack on his head? Where did he…?” “Ginny brought him home, the poor dear. He must have injured himself while he was… Hold on! That bloody owl threw up all over our lizard cress and weevil-weed salad! I’m going to pluck that bird, and I’m…” “Don’t you dare Mum! He’s very old. He’s hurt and he’s sick.” “He was sick clear enough Ginny. I’ll just take this outside and give it to the hogs Molly,” Arthur told her, holding the bowl at arm’s length and starting for the back door. “No, you don’t! I’ll not have our next year’s supply of ham, bacon, fire sausage, and Quaffle skins tainted with all that. We’ll just bury it under a sycamore tree at midnight, do the sacred pigeon dance over the top of it, and chant the banishing spell I found in Better Caves and Cauldrons.” “That seems like a lot of work dear,” Mr. Weasley pointed out with a thoughtful expression. “Oh, very well. Just toss it on the compost heap then Arthur. Ginny luv, I’m not sure we can keep him. We already have so many mouths to feed as it is.” “Mum, everyone is gone now except for you, Dad, and me. Apart from Percy’s new owl, we haven’t taken in a new pet since…forever. You know the last time that was. That ugly rat Scabbers, and he scares me for some reason.” “Ginny.” “Mum you always say Weasley homes and orphanages always have room for one more.” “Actually, the saying is Weasley homes and Duncannon’s Bar on Friday nights…” “Arthur!” “Dad, Mum I told Ron and his new friend with the glasses that I would tend to him. Please.” Molly Weasley took a full minute to study her daughter, the bird there before her, and her husband’s supportive face before deciding. “Oh…oh very well. At least until he’s better. After all, you did tell Ron and young Harry that you would look after the bird.” “Thank you, thank you Mum!” Ginny told her, delivering a hug, the intensity of which actually surprised her mother. “Wait a moment,” she finally said, breaking away suddenly from the embrace, “who did you say it was with Ron?” “That was Harry…Harry Potter Ginny. I told you he was on the train.” A few hundred miles to the north in Hogsmeade, Scotland, Harry and Ron paused for a moment to listen. The sound they heard was faint, but very distinct none-the-less. “Harry, that sounds like Ginny’s voice screaming something. Can you make it out?” “It does sound almost as if someone is yelling our names along with ‘What do you mean that was Harry Potter! That brainless brother of mine didn’t…didn’t introduce us.’ At least I think that’s what she’s shouting.” “Nah. This new school is playing tricks with our heads Harry. Besides, Ginny would never do that to me; it’s physically impossible regardless. Right, it’s our imaginations. Harry, they just called you up to the Sorting Hat.” Looking about him though, Ron saw how most everyone else had heard the voice yelling as well. After my own episode involving Ginny’s fresh moonberry pie and the Chinese finger puzzle, I can personally attest to the fact that not only could Hogwarts hear her that evening, they almost most certainly did. Now you’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. “Spenser, wasn’t the next time Harry and Ginny met the morning the following year at the Burrow?” I know all you readers asking that, or at least the same gentleman in the lime-green suit there is. That’s a nice matching carnation you have there, sir. Well of course, it is an accurate point you’re making, but it doesn’t mean I’m through here (despite what all the critics say in my reviews). True to her word, Ginny worked very hard trying to nurse the owl back to health…despite himself. Regardless of the tender loving care she provided, the bird was actually surly toward the girl most of the time. It was almost as if he wanted to stay inebriated and angry at the world. Despite her best intentions, the day finally came when Ginny admitted to herself that she needed expert help. Quickly discarding any notion of approaching an Ottery St. Catchpole bartender, she settled on the next most logical (relatively speaking) choice available, and had her mother assist with the Floo call. The following Saturday Ginny rushed to finish her weekend chores, and then did battle with three pages of quadratic equations. Just because ten-year-old Wizards and Witches are largely home-schooled doesn’t mean they aren’t well-educated when they arrive at Hogwarts. Ginny had just finished boldly slaying one last factoring problem when she heard the noise outside. Abandoning the project, she rushed then into the yard followed closely by her mother. “Well now, with anyone else coming to visit us I would be surprised at this,” Molly exclaimed to no one in particular. A few seconds later the Lovegoods’ pet roc came to rest in the field next to their house, and the two saw an extremely pretty blond girl (yes, I am bias, thank you) hug the bird, and then hop down. As soon as Luna was ten or fifteen feet away from it, the giant bird once more took to the air, becoming invisible again before clearing the treetops. “Good morning Ginny, Mrs. Weasley. I’m sorry I’m late. Am I late? I do get confused sometimes. I hope you didn’t mind Bowser bringing me over from our glen, but it gave me a chance to brush up on my verb conjugating.” “Bowser? Uhm, you really speak bird Luna?” Molly asked her, prepared to only half-believe any answer. “Oh yes. My parents decided when I was very young that it was important for me to be multilingual. Actually, I understand the birds more than I can speak to them. The sparrows especially say that I have a horrible accent when I try to use their dialect. My turkey buzzard is dramatically improving however. Do I smell fresh corn muffins? What a wonderful aroma!” To this day Molly Weasley has a number of scars on her tongue from biting it. They are all the result of her encounters with Luna Lovegood and trying to politely refrain from laughing. All the woman could do then was painfully smile and motion for the girls to come inside. Twenty minutes saw a pot of tea and a tray of muffins disappear, replaced with a dozen nice compliments about them from their visitor. The whole while Ginny was on the edge of her chair wondering if her friend would really be able to help. The thought flashed into her mind a number of times how this might be a wild goose chase, but then it was possible that Luna was very fluent in wild goose. Seeing how anxious her daughter was, Molly finally waved the two off to take care of their business upstairs. Ginny led the way to Charlie’s old room, which had now been converted into the girl’s vision of an owl hospital. Even with the weeks of care she had provided, Ginny had to admit that the bird looked just as bad as when she had brought him to the Burrow. He was lethargic, weak, wobbly, and had the worst bloodshot eyes she had ever seen, including Second-Cousin Clem’s during an especially embarrassing visit the previous spring. I regret that that is a story for which the world is not ready. Let’s just say that it is a good thing that the Queen had a sense of humor that afternoon. “Luna, do you think…” “Whom?” “What did you say? Whom? Shouldn’t it be…?” “I was speaking to the owl. Ginny, my instructor Mr. Belfry always stresses proper bird grammar instead of the vernacular you so often hear among them. I asked him what his name is.” “Who…whootee hoot, hoot. Who hoot…belch!” “Oh dear,” Luna said with a tone exhibiting both surprise and concern. “Hoot, hoot screech…hoot. Who, hoot!” “My, my, such language!” “What is it Luna? What did he say…er, uhm…hoot?” All of Ginny’s doubts were suddenly gone, replaced with apprehensive hope. Maybe now they could help the owl if they could establish what happened to him. “He says that he is the property of the famous stunt flier and explorer Wrongway Rodriguez.” “Who?” “Very good Ginny. You just asked him if he owned fir-lined galoshes. I didn’t know you…” “No, Luna, I was asking a question in English not owl. I was inquiring about Mr. Rodriguez.” “Ah, I see. He was the man who discovered Australia.” “I thought the Muggle Captain Cook did, and the Aborigines were there before he came.” “Shhh. The owl is very sensitive about that misconception. His name is Lord Clemental Alseethin Brutemore, and he was Wrongway’s partner in their stunt act.” “Who…whootee who.” “Right. They would perform an act where they would race a train with a broom, and then cut across its path at the last moment as part of the finale.” “Hoot, hoot whootee!” “Their racing record was two hundred and seven wins, and one loss.” Ginny slapped a hand to her mouth in realization of what must have happened. “The last race must have been with the Hogwarts Express. No wonder he was so angry with it,” she finally exclaimed. “He has been very upset about the incident. That, and he is pining away for his lost love Lenore; a very nice barn owl from Sussex,” Luna explained further. “Whootee whoop, whoop…burp!” “Dear oh dear me. It appears our friend has been drowning his sorrows with firewhisky and pickled field mice. He’s been sneaking out each night through your coal chute. He really does feel very bad about the whole thing, and he promises that there will be no more booze or fermented mice.” “No more whiskey? That doesn’t mean no less of the stuff, does it?” Ginny pointed out. “Who hoot, who hoot, who whootee! Whoop, whoop!” “Luna, what did he say?” “Actually, I’m not sure, but I believe he said, ‘Love to eat those mousies. Mousies what I love to eat. Bite their little heads off…nibble on their little feet.’ He really is slurring his words quite badly now.” Ginny nodded in understanding. A moment later, the owl provided them with one last belch, plopped upside-down on his perch as if he were a bat and began to snore loudly. Luna and she both pulled pillows from the bed and placed them under him just in case. Ginny was already composing the letter that she would send off to Ron updating him about the bird’s condition. All at once, another idea popped into her head, and it scared her just a bit. Could she…could she actually write to him?. They hadn’t even been introduced yet, and she was just the little sister of his roommate. “Luna, may I ask your opinion about something else?” Okay, let’s jump forward a little bit to Halloween dear readers…that is if you don’t mind Mr. lime-green wardrobe. Are you a miniature golf pro or something? Hmm? If you remember the chapter from the first book, Harry and Ron had just rescued Hermione from one very unpleasant troll, and, in so doing, had provided Fred and George the means to acquire a surplus toilet seat at last. The three, now close friends, trudged home to the Gryffindor Tower, tired, sore, and, in Harry’s case, wondering if hot soap and water could rid his wand of troll boogers. “Ron, may I speak with you for a moment?” Hermione asked just outside the portrait entrance. “I’m sorry Harry, it’s a bit private.” “No worries Hermione. I’ll meet up with you in the room Ron.” Harry slapped him on the shoulder, gave Hermione a tired smile, and stepped into the Common Room. He suspected that, as fierce as their original dislike had been for each other, Ron and Hermione were now well on their way to much better relations. Of course, that didn’t mean that either one of them was willing to admit such. It just made Harry smile all the more. If he was right, his friends would provide him with a great deal of entertainment in the years ahead. Harry was maybe five feet into the Common Room when its only other inhabitant addressed him and broke his chain of thought. “Potter, may I have a word with you?” “What? Oh, hello Percy.” Harry could see the older boy bristle at the familiarity of having his first name used. Of the Weasleys he had encountered thus far, Percy was the one that he was least acquainted with. Off the top of his head, he couldn’t even remember a time when they had had carried on an actual conversation. “My mum sent my trunk to me on the train this morning. This came with it. Could you explain it?” He held out an envelope, which Harry noted had already been opened. “It is a letter for you from my sister Ginny.” “Which you decided you had to read for me,” Harry told him in an irritated tone. “I had forgotten how poor my reading skills were. You’ve no doubt been over it thoroughly, perhaps reciting it until you knew it verbatim. I’m sure your audience was fascinated by the performance. Oh, can you do that again? I wasn’t here to enjoy it earlier, and, after all, it is my letter.” Harry’s voice was low, but he left no doubt that he was angry about the intrusion. “Careful Potter, I am a prefect.” “You’re a Weasley too. Your mum didn’t strike me as being someone who would approve of your opening my mail.” “Harry, could you…? Percy, Mum finally sent on your trunk?” Entering the Tower with Hermione, Ron walked over to the large container, and pulled it open before his older brother could object. “Look at all this stuff. Wait one. Percy what do you need with a slinky red negligee? Blimey, is this your underwear? Close your eyes Hermione. These are even more risqué than yours.” “How would you know what my…?” “This isn’t my trunk! They clearly delivered the wrong one! Ron don’t you dare tell… You wouldn’t do that?” “Nah, but you owe us a big one. Fred and George could have had fun with you until you were a grandfather. I’ll catch you upstairs Harry.” Ron and Hermione shared an unexpected smile then that both of them would deny doing until their seventh year. Harry saw it though, and he made a mental note to talk to his friends about it someday. “Wait, where have you three been since supper?” Percy quickly asked. “Would you believe that we’ve been out smiting a troll?” Hermione replied, but she immediately walked away toward her own staircase without looking over to their prefect as she did. After they had both left, Harry stepped over and took the letter from Percy. The older Weasley’s expression had somehow reverted from pompous arrogance to quiet embarrassment. Harry decided not to press his case then, but rather to make use of a possible opportunity. “Percy, you’re clearly concerned about your sister, but you don’t need to be where I’m concerned. I don’t even know her. From the sound of it, she is quite a special person. Could you tell me a little about her?” Percy studied him for the better part of a minute before answering. There was more uncertainty now than there was annoyance. “She has a temper–-more than anyone, even Mum. When she goes on a tirade, you would swear that her very freckles glow. She’s smart too. She’ll do really well here next year if she doesn’t kill old Snape. She’s fearless. I would match her with anyone in a crisis, even Charlie. She’s a good friend to those she chooses to call such, and yes that’s a special privilege.” Percy paused here, and gave Harry a fierce look, clearly intending to make a final point. “She’s my baby sister, and even if I don’t always show it well, I love Ginny.” Without another word, he sealed the trunk again, and levitated it up the stairway to his own room. After Percy had left, Harry opened the letter, and slowly began to read it. Apart from the official acceptance letter from the school, he had never actually received any form of mail. When he was very little, Harry would take the Dursleys’ discarded occupant advertisements and pretend that they had been sent to him. This had ended abruptly when Dudley found them in his cupboard, and his uncle then accused him of intercepting important correspondence meant for them. Harry’s eyes were glued to the letter, and as he moved up to his room walking was more an automatic effort than conscious one. He found himself chuckling at the reference to the stunt Wizard and laughing outright at how Ginny’s friend could speak owl. Well, a few months before even magic was unbelievable to him. He found himself regretting that he couldn’t help somehow and made a mental note to speak to Hagrid about the matter. Turning to the second page, Harry felt himself grow unexpectedly uncomfortable. “Oh crum, why would she ask me that?” “Ask you what Harry?” Ron asked, surprising him once more. Harry hadn’t even noticed when he entered the dormitory room. “Your sister Ginny wrote me a letter.” “Well I’m not surprised. She’s had a tremendous crush on you ever since she began plotting to break out of her baby crib. Now that Ginny’s met you, she’s probably already planning your honeymoon. By the way, where is this Niagara Falls she keeps harping about?” “That’s the thing Ron, we haven’t really met or anything…just for a minute there with the owl. Most of the letter is about the bird, but she’s asking a few personal questions too. I’m not sure how to answer. She wants to know about my family, where I grew up, what I like to do for fun…things like that.” Ron grew quiet but nodded that he understood. Harry had shared a great deal of his life with him, but they were good friends. He didn’t even know Ginny yet. “Harry there are some things you should understand about Ginny.” “What is that Ron?” Harry asked, as curious about his tone as he was about any answer. “Ginny is a good person. I’m not just saying that because she’s my sister either. Ginny is the type of girl that you are going to be proud to call a friend. She’s smart, but she’s also clever. She’s fierce with those she’s angry with, but…well you saw how gentle she was with the owl. Ginny is a girl who will walk beside you, never a step behind expecting something out of you, and never a step ahead pulling you off in some odd direction. Harry, whatever she’s asking, it’s because she’s sincerely interested in you, not infatuated with some larger-than-life hero. You can tell her anything Harry…anything.” “Someone has told her I own a flying hippopotamus, that I slew a three-headed purple dinosaur on my sixth birthday, and that I’m engaged to a Hollywood starlet named Bambi.” “Really? Not the blond girl with the big…ego? Wow, you really… Oh no, I mean, no of course not. George and Fred must have told her that all those things were true. They’re not, are they?” “Of course not, Ron. It was my ninth birthday, and the actress is a brunette named Bubbles.” “Mum, where is the gunpowder you keep above the stove?” “Gunpowder? You’re not planning on making a batch of Uncle Theodore’s chili, are you? It took your father a month to find the time to repaint the ceiling over the table, and you can still see the scorch marks. Still, it was wonderful. It cured Bill’s head cold right up.” “No Mum, I’m making a remedy for hangovers that Mr. Hagrid gave Harry. He sent it to me in a letter.” “Well now, let’s see what you need. Cayenne peppers, boiled vinegar, hot mustard, dried ogre bush leaves, an old boot, a rusty nail, green, red, and pink bell peppers…turpentine? Ginny, this is either going to cure your owl, or put him out of his misery. Dried cumin, three-year-old gym socks… Wait a minute, this is Uncle Theodore’s chili! Where did Hagrid…? Ginny, it’s boiling over! Quick, pull it off the flame!” “I’ve got it Mum. Could you give me a hand? I have the ladle, but I need you to hold the owl in this bath towel while I give some to him.” “Careful luv…careful. It’s hot. Blow on it a bit. There you go. Now let’s back away and see if this works for you.” Molly took three steps to one side, joined a moment later by her daughter. At first there was no reaction in the groggy bird, but after a few seconds its eyes shot open as if it had sampled…well, Uncle Theodore’s famous chili. “Ginny get down!” Now it’s a scientific fact that owls are not the fastest of all birds. Falcons are much swifter for example, and there are a few other varieties that would give Harry’s Firebolt a run for its money. At the moment however, the crazed owl was defying all accepted knowledge. With the chili/hangover remedy in its stomach, the bird was bouncing about the kitchen like a bullet ricocheting inside a strong steel drum. Ginny and Molly Weasley wisely took cover under the table, hoping the owl wouldn’t discover the china cabinet. “So, Ginny dear, what else did Harry write?” Molly asked, trying to pass the time until the remedy wore off, or the bird killed himself slamming into walls. “Well, he wrote me how all the nonsense everyone told me was just that. He never won the all-Britain ogre wrestling championship. He’s not descended from Sir Winston Churchill and Mae West. He does not own a talking basset hound named Clyde. Let’s see, what else. He really does love flying and Quidditch, his favorite food is garlic-roasted chicken, and his favorite musicians are someone called the Beatles.” “Singing insects? Incredible!” “Oh, and Harry had a horrible childhood with the meanest of relatives, who beat him, barely fed him, and made him watch repeats of something called The Brady Bunch on a Muggle device called a teddy-vision.” “Hold on, let me see that. Ginny dear, the letter says he comes from a wonderful, loving family, and that he looks forward to seeing them again this summer.” “He’s just being polite Mum. It’s so obvious when you read between the lines. Duck!” Zoom! “Harry has clearly never had a real family, and he’s absolutely fascinated with us. He’s asking all manner of questions about our big group. Oh Mum, I’m really looking forward to writing Harry again, and answering him. He must be so lonely.” “That’s lovely Ginny, but maybe you should wait until this daft owl…” Crash! “You should have seen the look on her face. Harry, we’ve never seen Ginny so angry.” “George, we’ve never seen Ron so embarrassed is what you mean. Three of Ginny’s friends visiting, and there he was starkers, hiding from them in her closet. It was priceless,” Fred said, finishing the story. Harry had discretely sought the twins out that afternoon to learn a bit more about Ginny. Instead, they had regaled him with story after story of the jokes they had pulled over the years. He did notice one thing however. Ginny was rarely, if ever, mentioned as the recipient of their mischief. Fred and George, just like their brothers, dearly loved their little sister, and were exceptionally protective of her. “Then there was the time Bill…” George began. He stopped abruptly however and held up a hand to get their attention. “Wait…listen, do you hear that?” “It’s faint, but it sounds like shrieking?” Harry cautiously suggested. “Mum!” the twins said together. “The woman does not need a howler with her voice,” Fred pointed out. “It sounds as if she’s a tad upset with Ginny’s owl at the moment,” George added. “What was that part about your china cabinet?” Harry finally asked. “What’s Ginny writing you this week Harry,” Hermione asked as she plopped herself down opposite him at the breakfast table. She gave Ron an exasperated look, seeing him with two forks, each attached to a large sausage. “More about what it’s like to be in such a large family. She tells me a little bit each time about all her brothers and some more about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Here’s something that might interest you Ron. She’s describing the time you were in such a hurry to eat one Sunday that you ate the fire-fern centerpiece thinking it was salad. Where is? Oh right. Here it is. ‘…and then Ron broke out in hives. It turns out that he is seriously allergic to fire-fern. The worst part was that he enjoyed it and asked for seconds before realizing what happened.’ Ron that does sound a little bit like you.” “Oh right! Like she’s never been embarrassed about anything,” Ron said, trying not to choke on the big scoop of scrabbled eggs he just thrust into his mouth. “You’re sure becoming chummy with Ginny lately. Remember us Harry? We’re sitting right here mate.” Hermione need not have elbowed Ron. He regretted his words and tone before he had even finished. “Harry, I…” “No, it’s all right Ron. I know what you meant. I’ll meet up with you in Transfigurations.” Harry stood and walked away from his half-eaten meal, suddenly not wanting any company. It was true that he didn’t even know Ginny; they had only met the one time for a minute or two. Why then was he beginning to feel so close to the girl? The correspondence between them had started out simple enough, chatting and describing the progress the owl had made in his recovery, but monthly notes had progressed to long letters every three or four days. Ginny really had agreed to share an embarrassing moment with Harry. It involved the time she accidentally followed another woman into a Diagon Alley clothing store, thinking it was her mother. The stranger had several children of her own there and didn’t notice when she bought an extra dress for Ginny. Molly had made her do extra chores for a month to repay the woman. Harry would never remind Ron of that story, nor would he repeat his own embarrassing moment–-the time he accidentally locked himself in the Dursleys’ neighbor’s pigeon coop for the night. He didn’t know which was worse; the smell, the fact that no one missed him that evening, or his relatives’ eventual comments about how the droppings improved his appearance somehow. It felt good that he could share such secrets with someone that way. They were things no one would ever learn about…unless some mischievous writer included them in his story. Hey, Harry and Ginny finally gave me permission. Discretion is my middle name. No, actually it’s Robert, but you know what I mean. Harry and Ginny even agreed to exchange photographs, although Harry’s was just an old class picture from his Muggle school. Ron was more than a little surprised when he saw Ginny’s next to Harry’s nightstand, but quickly dismissed it as just being a gift from an infatuated young girl. The fact was, however, that Harry was noticing much more trepidation about the letters from Ron, Percy, and even the twins. It was as if they thought there was much, much more to his friendship with their sister. There was nothing to their worries. She was Ron’s sister. She was ten years old. They were just pen pals. Her favorite flowers were lilacs. She loved chocolate chip ice cream. There were three stuffed bears on her dresser, maple trees on her wallpaper, and a large Christmas elf woven into her throw rug. Harry’s head hurt from thinking about it. Maybe they were right. The last thing he needed now was to alienate the Weasley family. He stopped then and forced himself to take several deep cleansing breaths to clear his head. He felt himself sitting down right there on the hallway floor, propping himself against its stone wall. He was oblivious to his surroundings, not even aware of the small number of students sidestepping him on their way to class. Once he recovered though, Harry resolved that he had to write one more letter. “All right owl. I guess this is it. Go find your lady owl Lenore,” Ginny told him. After the chili, the owl had made rapid, dramatic progress. The day had arrived, and it was time to set him free. “Hoot, hoot…who!” “He says he appreciates all you’ve done for him, he loves your mum’s roast beast, and he’ll probably not write,” Luna translated. “There’s been a lot of that over this past year.” Ginny had almost forgotten the hurt that had come when Harry had sent his last letter. He simply explained that he didn’t have the time to write anymore, and that regardless, he wasn’t comfortable exchanging letters with someone he didn’t even know. “Have a good life owl.” With that, Ginny threw up her arm, and the two girls watched as he flew off into his new life, barely missing a large willow tree that leaped out at him. Now let’s jump forward one last time to the day Harry first came to the Burrow. According to the book, Ginny was stunned to see him there, and this time knowing who he was. Regardless of her disappointment over the end to their letter writing, the girl still had a serious crush on our boy, made all the more intense by their having gotten to know one another by mail. After Ginny encountered him, and then ran off…well, as I said,this is the rest of the story. “Ron, I’m going to go talk to her. I need to talk to her,” Harry told his friend but keeping his eyes on the stairway she had just climbed. “Harry?” “Ron, I’m going to go talk to her,” he repeated. He gave Mrs. Weasley a quick glance and saw by the smile that this was fine with her. “Her room is…” she started to explain. “Yes, yes I think I know exactly where it is. Thank you.” Harry was already halfway up the steps before he finished the sentence. He wracked his brain trying to remember how she had described the house, and when she saw the faeries painted on the door, he knew this had to be her room. Slowing his pace, he approached, and then gently knocked. Several seconds passed before it opened. Ginny stood there, still in her robe, and not saying a thing. Another minute passed before Harry finally said anything. “I’m…sorry. I shouldn’t have stopped writing to you. I am such a…” Words failed him then, replaced by pure confusion about what to do next. A moment later, she offered him a large grin, which he immediately returned. Without thinking, Harry took and gave Ginny a warm hug to match the smile they shared. After several seconds, he finally spoke again. “So, Ron says you want my autograph.” They pulled apart, and softly laughed at his comment. “Now where is my autograph book then?” she giggled. “I just saw it. It was right on my…” Kathud! “That owl is a bloody menace!” someone yelled. “Come on. There is someone you need to meet Harry,” Ginny said, taking his hand, and leading him back downstairs. On the counter, next to a partially open window, sat the same owl that had tried to vandalize the train the previous September. He was a bit dazed from the impact, but Harry thought that he still looked dramatically better. “I thought you released him last spring. Ron told me he was going back to find that lady owl friend of his. I don’t understand,” Harry said, directing his comments to Ginny, but continuing to stare at the bird. “It also seems that his girlfriend Lenore ran off with another owl that works in the Muggle motion picture industry. He promised her a part in some big movie. Is that what they’re called?” Molly Weasley explained and asked. “This one seems to like it here,” Ginny told him. “We changed his name to Errol.” That’s the story–-the whole story. Every word of it is true…give or take. You see Harry and Ginny were good friends a lot sooner than the biography lets on, although it did take a few years for them to discover how they had fallen in love, not to mention admitting it to themselves and to each other. What’s that? Whatever happened to Errol? He’s still on the job, but we eventually purchased him a set of special bifocal glasses. Now I have a question for you Mister–-two if you don’t count my curiosity about your green suit. Who exactly are you, and why did you keep interrupting my story with your questions. It was really annoying. You’re the chief literary agent for Double Double Toil and Trouble-Day Publishing! Oh, uhm uh, would you be interested in hearing about Harry, Ginny and the cross-eyed sea serpent of Harrisven Fjord? No? Sigh. Mischief managed. Paul Harvey 4 September 1918 to 28 February 2009 |
| Reviews 24 |
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