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Taking The Taste Out Of Peanut Butter
By Spenser Hemmingway

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Category: Alternate Universe, Seven Words Challenge (2009-4)
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Genres: Humor, Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 5
Summary: ** Winner of Best Originality in the Seven Words Challenge **
Submitted for your approval—imagine Harry Potter having a hard time with Ginny’s and his relationship; with his being able to express his feelings for her; with his being able to do a simple thing such as holding her hand. Sure, yeah…right.
“How do I love thee Ginny? Let me count the ways. One, two, three…seven. I love you as much as I do…peanut butter for example.”
Hitcount: Story Total: 5692



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:
Ginny, Harry, and the boys were staying at their London residence, Grimmauld Place. Ginny was a few months along in her third pregnancy; carrying Lily. It was late, but she had a craving for…she wasn’t sure. Quietly, carefully working her way downstairs to the kitchen, she opened the door to a most curious surprise. There, seated at the table, was a familiar white dog with a brown paper sack in its mouth. Setting it down, the pup gave her the biggest grin and slowly faded away. A Cheshire Beagle? Ginny wondered. Upon examining the bag, she found it contained the perfect treat just then—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Also, on the table there, with an apology scrawled across its cover, was the sole copy of this story. Now, years later, Ginny and Harry have graciously agreed to share it with all of you.




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Taking The Taste Out Of Peanut Butter

By Spenser Hemmingway


“Broadly speaking, the short words are the best, and the old words best of all.”–Sir Winston Churchill


“Concerning the difference between man and the jackass: some observers hold that there isn't any. But this wrongs the jackass.”–Mark Twain


*****



“Oh Mum…sob…I can’t believe he did that! He knew Saturday was Laverne Munchwelby’s summer corn husking social! Sob! I’ve been dropping hints about it for months! I can’t believe he didn’t ask me…that I won’t be going. I’ll be a laughing stock at school next year! Every other girl I know will be attending.”

“Now, now Millicent–try to calm down. It’s probably just that Ferber is a bit shy around you still.”

“Hmm…hey Luni, did you read in The Quibbler about how the Ministry is considering distributing flea collars to the British werewolf population? Could you hand me the moonberry jam please?” The article couldn’t be serious, and I was about to comment on that to Luna. Nah…it has to be true. I read it in The Quibbler. I was really trying to enjoy my breakfast, but the Diagon Alley caf was simply too tiny to ignore the distraught girl two tables over. I had to try.

“What do you mean still? Mum, we’ve going out together for almost three years! He has yet to even hold my hand. Have you ever heard me talking about Ferber bringing flowers? Those clippings from the bullfrog fern last Christmas don’t count–those were for Herbology class. Even when we’re alone, he sits clear across the Hufflepuff Common Room from me! He’s an uncaring, lowdown, sniveling, black-hearted, cold green-blooded, addle-brained, horse-faced, conniving, git of a troll-boy with delusions of someday having breath not smelling of wet dog, or an I.Q. in the double digits! Oh Mum…I’m so in love with him!”

“He does seem to be a bit dense at times,” the mother had to admit. “Perhaps it has to do with all those years in that awful orphanage. Would you like me to have your father or one of your older brothers speak with him dearest?”

“Oh no! Please Mum please no! Promise me you won’t do that! Waaah! Sniff, sniff!

“Spenser, I really think you should step over there, and say something to the poor girl,” Luna whispered, leaning forward to pull my attention away from the magazine, and shoving the jam container into my face to ensure it.

“Grumble, grumble, grumble…”

“Oh, I do hate it when you get like this Spenser. You’ve been Groucho for days now.”

“You mean grouchy, Luni. Groucho was one of the Marx…oh never mind. Grumble, grumble… Always beware of humorists with writer’s block between March and July…”

“…and between August and February as well. I know that you can say just the right thing to her to cheer her up. Make her laugh. She really does seem quite upset.

“No Luni!” I said, a little too loudly. Big mistake. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. Please don’t call me Loony.”

That hit me like a bowl of warm, wet spinach and shrimp pasta, drenched in a rich pesto sauce and covered with… Where was the rest of my breakfast? I was really hungry suddenly. I was also stunned. I was the only person permitted to call her Luni. It was an affectionate nickname from me, a different spelling, and a frequent cause of bruises when some other dweeb–I love using that word in a sentence–tried to refer to her as such. Luna was really upset with me if she went and revoked the privilege.

“All right, all right–I’ll go try to make her feel better about life and the universe. Maybe I can use something from it for a new short story. Where’s my daypack?” I reached under my chair for it, fumbled around inside there, and finally pulled out a small journal–my idea book. “Let’s see…how about telling her the one about the rabid parrot with the chainsaw? It always amuses Ron, especially when I do the monkey voices. No? Sigh. What about when the house-elf got drunk at school, and…”

“Spenser, the girl is upset about a boy. You need to brighten up her morning, but also show some compassion and fatherly wisdom.” Luna gave me a hard stare, but also a soft smile, showing she did appreciate the effort.

“Right… Uhm…the haunted corn muffins story? No, I don’t think so. The belly-dancing moose? No…no…whoa! Hmm…? Now what do you suppose would happen if I tried this? I sure beats telling her about those ill-fated Canadian lovers and the Mandarin taxi driver–no lesson in that one. Our good buddies are going to hex me into sawdust for it though.”

I stood, gave Luni a sideways grin, and stepped over to do my wise, caring Wizard routine. The kid was crying all out now, with her face buried deep into her mom’s shoulder. The woman really did look desperate enough for some outside help, even from a complete stranger. The teenager’s dark eye make-up was smeared all over Mom’s blouse, and, hearing me, and then looking up; I saw the girl’s own face was just as stained. It was not exactly a picture for a Witches’ Weekly cosmetics advertisement.

“Is everything okay?” I knew it wasn’t, but the instruction manual tells you how you’re supposed to say that regardless.

“You’re an American? I’ve never met one before,” Millicent stammered, choking on her tears. Good–curiosity gave me a foot in the door.

“Yeah…I came over as an exchange student years ago, met a pretty girl, and decided to stay…saved her from some nature boy with a funny-sounding name. I’m sorry to bother you. We couldn’t help but overhear.” The girl started to cry again. I hoped this worked. “Believe it or not, the exact same thing happened with a couple of friends of mine a while back. Maybe you’ve heard of the boy–Harry Potter? Would you like to hear about the great way his lady love Ginny got through that little mess?”

The mother and daughter’s wide eyes, open mouths and shared astonishment told me they would. I took just a second to look back at Luna. Her head was cocked, one eyebrow was raised, and she just glowed with amused toleration. Yes, I was already in trouble for this little tale. What else was new?


*****



“Now there’s something you don’t see every day Hermione. A purple Wizard, suspended upside down from a willow tree, covered in gumdrops and with an enormous blueberry stuffed in his mouth.”

“Honestly Ronald, can’t you see that this is serious? Why does he have that green fez with the word Mega-git imprinted across it? Ginny, what’s wrong here?”

“Yeah Gin…what is going on? Tell us.” Ron was doing his best to keep from laughing at his brother’s plight, and Hermione wasn’t doing much better. “Out with it. The suspense is killing me, but I guess that’s better than what you seem to have in mind for Percy.”

“Percy embarrassed Harry,” Ginny began in a low, fierce voice. “He’s locked himself up in the attic with the ghoul. I can’t get him to open the door.”

“What did he…?” Hermione didn’t get to finish her question.

“Ronald Weasley! What have you done to your brother?” came the all too familiar howl from Molly as she stormed out the back door of the Burrow, and then toward where they stood (well…actually Percy wasn’t exactly standing).

Ron finally gave into the laughter, but only until he saw Ginny’s face. It was more serious than he’d originally thought. He suddenly decided he’d have to take the fall for his sister this time.

“You owe me one Ginny. Percy, you shut up too, or we’ll tell Mum how you traded the one milk cow for those magic beans…” No reaction. “…or why you’re really up there now.” The older brother glared back, but quickly nodded. He understood how he had somehow crossed an important line. Harry was off-limits as far as their parents were concerned. “Hermione, could you take Ginny up to her room? She looks as if she needs to talk to someone. I’ll square things here…one way or another.”

Hermione wanted to hug him, but Ginny took her arm, and began to lead her off toward the house before she could. The younger girl did flash Ron a quick, appreciative smile as they started back across the Burrow field. The two sped up as they passed Molly, ignoring her questions, which irked the woman for just the briefest moments before her attention returned to the two Weasley boys.

“So, you see Mum, it’s like this…and you’re really going to laugh when you hear the whole thing,” Ron began to explain. “Won’t she Percy?” he added in a severe tone of his own.


*****



It was the middle of August, just days after Ginny’s seventeenth birthday. This is normally a special, happy time for most Witches and Wizards; they’re finally of legal age and able to do magic outside of school, including the Upside Down Oompa Loompa Hex. It actually had been wonderful for Ginny, but only to a point. That point, of course, was Harry.

The couple had been a couple again since just after the famous Final Battle at Hogwarts. Naturally, Ginny was thrilled with her renewed relationship with Harry, and he said he was as well, but…Harry wasn’t demonstrating his share of the connection.

Ginny pulled her friend into the small room, throwing the door closed behind her, but too upset to note it hadn’t sealed properly. Hermione had seen Ginny like this on rare occasions, and she knew enough to remain quiet until she had caught her breath, or the equivalent. Hermione did step forward when the other girl grabbed up a small porcelain duck figurine, no doubt to throw it.

“Ginny please don’t,” Hermione softly pleaded, while gently, but unsuccessfully, attempting to take it away from her. “I need you to tell me what is happening. I believe I know most of it, but I need to hear it from you in your own words.”

“He’s an uncaring, lowdown, sniveling, black-hearted, cold green-blooded, addle-brained, horse-faced, conniving, git of a troll-boy with delusions of someday having breath not smelling of wet dog, or an I.Q. in the double digits! Oh Hermione…I’m so in love with him!”

“Uhm…what? You know Harry feels the same way about you Ginny. I mean the being in love part and all.”

“Do I know that? Do I Hermione? Have you seen him kiss me again since we got back together…or hold hands, or cuddle on the sofa when my brothers aren’t about? I suppose I do know he loves me, but I have to wonder if Harry really remembers it. He’s so distant. I won’t say cold, but I could easily. Is he scared of me Hermione?” Ginny’s voice had risen significantly as she carried out her tirade.

“No, I’m not… Yes, yes I am.” Harry’s voice came from just outside the partially closed door.

Hermione moved to open it completely when she saw how Ginny was frozen in place, almost in tears, but with her chin lifted in defiance to her boyfriend’s attitude. The girl was working to decide if she was angry…hurt…lost… Harry didn’t look much better. Actually, he was three or four degrees worse Hermione had to admit.

“Ginny, I’m…sorry. Maybe it would be better if…”

“If what Harry?” Ginny shouted, spinning to face him and accidentally releasing the porcelain statuette through the air toward Harry’s face.

“Duck!” Hermione yelled. Instead, Harry deftly caught it as if it were a Snitch.

“Yes, it is,” he admitted, smiling at the unintended joke. “I believe it was a gift from Hagrid–-a Scottish Highland mallard.” After a moment, and, despite the girls’ amused expressions, his faded back to a somber one. “Perhaps you would enjoy going to dinner with that friend from Percy’s new law firm.” Harry averted his eyes then, afraid of her answer.

“According to Bill, bankers and Wizards-at-law don’t have real friends,” Ginny slowly began after a full minute’s pause. “I cannot believe how Percy openly referred to you as a cold codfish where I was concerned.”

“I am.”

“No Harry…no!” Ginny stepped forward to press her point, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Yes I am. Please listen to me. Did you know that Hermione is the first person I remember ever receiving a hug from? I can’t recall my parents doing that, although I’m sure they did. I never had a real friend before I met your brother. I never experienced any outside affection before I came to know your family in fact. I’ve seen Army sergeants on television who were closer to their soldiers than I ever was to the Dursleys. Truth be told, they worked hard to ensure we wouldn’t be close. The only physical contact I ever had from them was the back of their hands, or, in Dudley’s case, the front of his fist.”

“Harry, I…” Hermione choked on her words. Ginny apparently couldn’t even voice that little.

“When I had my crush on Cho, all those years ago, it was the easiest thing in the world. No, listen. I didn’t know it then, but she didn’t mean a whit to me, so nothing I did mattered. I learned a lot, but I especially discovered how scared I would be when it was the real thing. When I kissed you that day in the Common Room, it was as if something had exploded inside me. I ignored the fear, and followed my feelings. I’m in love with you girl, but that fear has risen up again. It’s binding me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I just…can’t be romantic, and I’m not sure if I know how Ginny.”

“Is that all?” Ginny announced, and did so without a second’s hesitation. Neither Harry nor Hermione had been expecting that. The girl stepped across to her nightstand and recovered a dog-eared paperback that had been sitting there. Hermione seemed to comprehend.

“Ginny, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked with a big understanding smirk on her face.

“Yes, I am Hermione, but we need a better sleeping draught for Fleur before we can try to recolor her hair again. In the meantime, would you care to enlighten Harry as to what this book is?”

“Uhm…certainly Ginny. Harry, this is The Prince and the Stenographer in Paradise. It is a very famous piece of gothic literature.”

“Hermione, that’s a Young Witch Romance Novel. Ginny, you read those?”

“Harry, this is a great book by an incredible Wizarding author,” Ginny countered. “It was on our bestseller list for twenty-nine weeks until the seventh volume of your biography bumped it off. We are talking Pulitzer and Nobel Prize-worthy here.”

Harry wasn’t convinced, but he trusted Ginny…to help him learn how to show her how much he did.

“Harry, this may sound farfetched, but follow me please as I explain.” Ginny was smiling again. “We will take a cue from the book. We’ll select a word a day, a total of seven, for you to act out. No really! This book is so incredible…such a masterpiece that we’ll be charmed by using it. I’ll choose a word, such as Bravery, and you will then demonstrate it to me by doing something such as fighting off a herd of Burundian kowtowing toadies.”

“I…believe Harry has already covered that particular word Ginny,” Hermione whispered, while biting her cheek to keep a straight face. “You know–the thing with Voldemort and all.”

“Oh, there you are Hermione,” came a new voice. Ron, leaning on the doorjamb, was smiling as if he’d just won another Quidditch Cup. Everyone knew then that matters had been resolved regarding Percy and Molly. The massive amounts of chocolate and blueberry juice they later discovered confirmed it. “Are you ready to go have some fun with those hot, spiced oils?”

Harry and Ginny’s eyes went wide, and their expressions demonstrated contorted shock. Hermione looked completely mortified.

“No, it’s not what you think. What do you think? Ron and I are going to try our hand at Chinese cooking and… Ron, we need your help with a little idea Ginny’s come up with to improve Harry and her relationship.” Best to change the subject, and quickly. “How will you select the words Ginny?”

“About time someone did. I’m in, whatever you have,” Ron immediately volunteered. “What words?”

“Well…” Ginny opened the small book, perusing the first page, and began to slowly pace. “There are only five chapters. That’s a start though, and I want to be able to modify things as we go through the week. The later words will depend on how well Harry does in carrying out some daily task based upon each. I know; we’ll take the first word from each subsequent title. Hmm…Chapter One is The Passion of the Typewriter.” Harry stepped over to look at it, but then scratched his head. “Is something wrong Harry?”

“I’m not sure how inspired I’ll be to learn something based on the word The.” Ginny swatted him. “Oh, you must mean the first real noun in each title then. I can work with Passion. In fact, I already know what I want to do.”

Harry smiled at her then, reached out and squeezed Ginny’s hand, but just for a second. She had to admit to herself that her plan was a long shot scheme conceived in desperation, and completely based on a young girl’s fancy. Still, it was starting out well.

When Ginny laid her head down to sleep that night, she was kept awake wondering two things–-was she completely daft in trying such a thing, and would Harry make a real effort, for their sake, to improve matters? All right, there was a third thing she couldn’t understand. Where had Ron and Hermione been all afternoon and without any Chinese stir-fry to show for it?


*****


Mo nday evening in the kitchen.
/center>


“ I don’t think this is what she had in mind Harry. In fact, I know it isn’t,” Ron quietly told his best friend.

“It would appear not,” Harry had to admit. “I was so certain…I mean…I was sure she’d love to sit down and share them with me. Here, look at what it says in the notes I took from your dad’s Muggle picture dictionary.” Ron took the sheet of paper and began to read it aloud.

‘Passiflora edulis or passion fruit is a plant cultivated commercially in frost-free areas for its fruit. It is native to South America, and widely grown in India, New Zealand, the Caribbean…’ etcetera. Harry, I don’t think Ginny was expecting you to go out and find two bushels of passion fruit for her. I’ve never even heard of this stuff before.”

“Read the last paragraph Ron.”

“Uhm…‘The purple varieties of the fruit reportedly have traces of cyanogenic glycoside in the skin, and hence are mildly poisonous. However, the thick, hard skin is hardly edible.’ Oh crikey…Ginny didn’t?”

“She did. Ginny had never seen or heard of them either. She was curious. Hermione is upstairs with your mum and her giving Ginny an antitoxin. I’m such an imbecile!”

Ron considered carefully what to say next. “Yeah, in this case, you are Harry. It was pretty dense.” He hated telling his friend this, but Hermione had explained how important the project was. Harry had gone about as wrong as was possible. Ron had to wonder, at the moment, how hard he was trying. “At least she appreciated the passion flowers; passifloraceae it says they’re called.”

“Maybe I should have offered them to Neville then.” Harry sat down, and lowered his head, burying it in his arms. “I thought that all the effort I made to locate everything would be appreciated.” He sounded exhausted Ron decided.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure she did after a fashion. That wasn’t the idea though. Harry, I’m sure no Romeo myself, but I do know that what Ginny probably expected was more in line with intense…you know…getting close, mushy, and all…romantic-like.”

“Romance, as in Chapter Two: Romance Among the File Cabinets–it’s tomorrow’s word. I do have a better idea for that one Ron. It’s something she and I can do together.”

“That’s great. You understand what I meant Harry?”

“I think so. It wouldn’t hurt to cuddle up close somewhere; Ginny won’t bite. What’s wrong with a little physical contact between us? By the way, whatever happened with those hot, spicy…”

“The wok-thingy was dirty; that’s all. Really! Sheesh.”


*****


T uesday afternoon, back in Ginny’s room.



“Yo quiero dos cervezas por favor.”

“Actually, that is very good I think Ginny. Harry really wanted to spend the day with you…”

“Yes Hermione; Harry really wanted to spend the day with me learning a Romance Language. I couldn’t even get angry with him after all the trouble he went to finding the Spanish records. Harry actually thinks it was what I had in mind.”

“Oh Ginny…” Hermione handed the other girl the glass with her potion in it–-a necessary habit for another day to counteract the poison. “I will not say Harry did well. He had to know what you really meant by the word romance. I’m sorry your project is not…that it’s off to such a slow start.” Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed but thought better about trying to place a comforting arm around Ginny. They were trying to get Harry to do that. “At least you’ll be able to order a proper burrito the next time you go to Chin Lee’s for Mexican food.”

Ginny laughed harder than either expected she would at that. She initiated the embrace with Hermione then, drawing on her friend’s strength and acknowledging her support.

“It wasn’t a complete waste Hermione. Harry actually sat as close to me as you are now while we worked. He probably didn’t realize it, but he was holding my hand for just a minute at one point. I made the mistake of hugging him, however, when I finally got the Spanish days of the week correct. That…”

Hermione knew it had, inadvertently, destroyed the good mood without having to hear Ginny say it. Harry had made progress, but it was being measured in micrometers. Looking about for the master reference volume they were following, she was not at all surprised when Ginny handed it to her.

“I don’t see how he could possibly be confused with Chapter Three Hermione.” Regardless, Ginny’s tone of voice wasn’t all that certain. “Here it is. Happiness in Double Entry Bookkeeping.

“Happiness? How could Harry possibly mess up there?”


*****


Lu nchtime Wednesday, behind the Burrow’s small barn.



“Ha rry, how could you possibly mess up with a word like happiness?”

“I’m, uh, not entirely sure I did Ron. According to Snoopy, ‘Happiness is a warm puppy.’ Ginny seemed to really like him. Oh, I’m sorry. Snoopy is a character in…”

“Yeah I know Harry. I know all about Charles Schultz and his comic strip. It’s not in the Prophet, but Dad has a bunch of the books. I think all of us have a good bunch of them memorized–even Charlie. He was named for him in fact; although Mum will deny that. Snoopy is the dog.”

Belch! The puppy spit out a short, yet intense, spurt of fire. A fire-breathing rather than just a warm puppy. Harry again wished he had purchased the little guy from a proper Muggle pet store instead of from the street vendor in Diagon Alley. Ron and he moved quickly to extinguish the flames there in the small patch of straw fallen from inside the barn.

“Harry mate, it wasn’t all that bad. It was a nice gesture from you. You and Ginny could have had a great day playing with her new pup if…”

“If it hadn’t set her quilt on fire, or the wardrobe, or the stairwell, or…”

“…or the China cabinet, or the kitchen table, or… Harry, I thought this idea of hers was really crazy when it started. I know things aren’t going right, but I’ve never seen anyone try so hard. I’ve decided that.” The two paused there, partly to allow doggy to relieve himself, but also so both boys could collect their thoughts. “What do you think Harry? What’s your take on this Young Witch Romance stuff?”

Harry waited until the dog was finished and they were walking again. “I just don’t know Ron.”

Belch!

“I’ve got it!” Harry volunteered as he stomped out the next smoking mishap. It gave him another welcome moment of time to think. “Wow, what does this thing eat I wonder. Anyway, I’m really learning a lot this week. I’m getting to be more comfortable–willing to try new things and all.”

“But…?”

“I say I’m willing, but I still haven’t actually done it yet, have I? With each new lesson, I’m becoming more and more scared and discouraged with how I’m handling this. I’m letting her down. I’m… Here’s the next word Ron. It’s from Intrigue Beside the Mimeograph Machine chapter. I don’t care how brilliant this author is. He’s fixated on some business office somewhere.”

Ron had to agree and nodded to indicate it. How was Harry going to handle this next word? Poor Ginny. “Careful Harry; I remember another quote from Charlie Brown in Peanuts–one of George’s favorites, if you can believe that. ‘Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.’ He did have to explain to me what it means. Got a hunch that’s what Ginny’s feeling now.” It was time to change the subject. “So what kind of dog is this anyway Harry?”

“It’s a shih tzu Ron; they’re originally from...”

“Whoa Harry! You can’t use those words here! This is a family story and a Challenge entry for Pete’s sake…not to mention ours!”

Harry laughed, and it seemed as if it was for the first time in weeks. “They’re not the same words Ron. That’s just a misconception–a misplay on them.” Still, it did get Harry thinking, but unfortunately not about everything the next day’s task would entail.


*****


Se ven o’clock, Thursday evening in the Weasley Family’s parlor.



“ Ginny luv, are you all right. You don’t look at all well.”

“I’m fine Mum.” She knew her mother didn’t believe her for a Freedonian nanosecond. The girl was curled up in a slightly singed afghan on the family’s soot-stained sofa, with a distant expression and eyes as red as her hair. “I’m just a bit…”

“You’re just a bit put off because of young Harry, aren’t you? Hermione explained the game you’re playing this week.” Molly knew she had said the wrong thing before the words had even left her mouth. “Ginny, what I meant was… Oh, I’m sorry. Good heavens, I think this is one of the very few times I’ve ever been disappointed in Harry. I suppose I can understand what it is you wanted to do after all.”

“You do Mum? I don’t anymore. I imagine Harry did get today’s word right finally. Intrigue–mystery, secrecy, the unknown element–he has played that out so well today, hasn’t he? He was gone before the sun rose this morning. Not a word. No one knows where he went, not even Ron. I guess I will be utilizing the fifth chapter in my book after all Mum.” Ginny handed it to her then.

“Oh my; The Prince and the Stenographer in Paradise! I’ve been wanting to read this for some time now. All the ladies in my book club have been raving about it as far back as I can remember. Now let’s see…if you have been taking the first word from each chapter to… Oh Ginny! Surrender and Shorthand. You’re not giving up on Harry are you dear?”

Ginny was slow to answer. “No Mum…I’ll never give up on him. I just hope he hasn’t given up on me. Acting out seven romantic words…imagine that? All we’ve got for it is an increase in our fire insurance and a non-housebroken shih tzu.”

“Ginny…watch your language!”

“Maybe it’s time Harry and I went…”

“Went where Ginny?”

Harry stumbled more than walked into the parlor. His eye was as black as the remains of the hall throw rug. His face was swollen, his shirt torn, and his hands skinned and bloody. Ginny was instantly on her feet running to support him and was pleased at how Harry didn’t pull away this time. Molly intentionally held back.

“What happened? Where did you go this morning? What is the big mystery?”

“Isn’t the word for today intrigue?” He had gotten it correct. “Ginny, I’ll explain everything in the morning, but I need some sleep now. I snuck a peek at Chapter Five. That will be a good word.”

Harry gently pulled himself loose, smiled, and kissed her, but it was on the forehead. Molly and she could just stare after him as he started up the staircase. All sorts of thoughts rushed through their heads. Finally, Molly decided to pursue the matter about which she’d originally sought out her daughter.

“Ginny, you and Hermione wouldn’t know anything about Fleur’s new red hair, would you? For some reason, it won’t wash out either.”

“Whatever do you mean Mum?” It took every ounce of Ginny’s strength to keep from smiling and giving herself away. It felt good to be distracted that way. “Has Fleur begun to take being a Weasley more seriously?”

“Hmm…come with me young lady. We need to talk a bit more, I think. I also have a nice, warm blueberry pie, fresh from the oven. I believe you deserve the first slice.”

They were both laughing after that.


*****


Sunr ise on Friday morning in the Burrow’s yard.



“Gi nny, I thought I’d beat you…everyone down here this morning. I wanted to see the sun come up over Gun’r’s Knoll–today especially.”

“This is farm country Harry, complete with rooster alarm clocks. You know we’re up with Foghorn Leghorn’s crowing every morning. I didn’t sleep well anyway.” Ginny paused, and studied Harry for anything new. It was there, but she wasn’t sure what it was…yet. “Where did you go yesterday Harry? How is your face? You look as if you really did have it out with those toadies again.”

“Very close Ginny. It was my cousin Dudley.” Harry saw that he’d shocked her with his revelation. “I hugged him. I actually did. I hugged all of them. With Aunt Petunia, it was an annoying surprise more than anything. Uncle Vernon was like trying to wrestle a walrus, but he finally gave in. He hated it, but he also realized it was the fastest way to get rid of me. Then there was my cousin. I dodged his first punch. He didn’t dodge mine. We destroyed the back door and a good portion of the yard, but I did get that hug. Actually, I think it was as much a need for me to prop him up on his feet after that. Ginny, I’m not afraid to hold you anymore. Why are you looking at me that way?”

The girl’s lip was quivering, but she was more angry than anything else. Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand then and pulled him off in the direction of the Burrow’s willow tree. He had to wonder if he’d soon be upside down and dreading the sight of blueberries the way Percy now did.

Molly was the first to see them out there as she went to place the teakettle on the fire for breakfast. The matriarch had known this was coming. The same thing had occurred when Arthur was courting her, albeit without that bestselling novel as a guide. They would be out there the better part of the day; talking, arguing, holding each other again…finally. Most importantly, they would be listening to one another, and learning the lessons that life and adversity brought with them. Molly would put together a small basket of food and have Errol (with a strong admonition not to touch) deliver it across the field.

It was almost suppertime when they finished–-walking back to the house, each with an arm around the other in a very affectionate manner. Molly had kept the rest of the family away from them. The flood of questions would wait. She and her knowing grin welcomed them at the back door.

“Mum, Harry and I are going camping tomorrow and Sunday up in Wales. Brandon Llewellyn told us about this wonderful lake there. I’m going to teach Harry how to fish.”

“Ginny, I…that is we…” Molly knew the two would behave themselves, separate tents and all, even alone together there. This was more a feeling of intense emotion in seeing her daughter grown up and with such a fine young man.

“Mum, we have two more words to make seven.”

“Two more? There were only five chapters in the book you said.” It was Molly’s turn to scratch her head.

“They’re the final two words in the book Mrs. Weasley. Mmm…something smells wonderful,” Harry offered. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

“Ah, Ron and Hermione have finally tried their hands with the wok and those exotic cooking oils. Wildebeest I believe. Come in…come in and wash up.”

At the door, Harry suddenly held up. “Ginny, again I’m sorry about this whole week, at least until now.”

“One great thing came of it Harry. ‘Bsame yo hablo espaol.’ ‘Kiss me, I speak Spanish.’ Mmm…”


*****



“So, you see Millicent, there’s hope for even the worst of them if you care for each other, communicate and exercise a bit of patience.”

I looked over to see Luna’s reaction to my story, hoping she’d written it down as I rattled it off. Somehow, she’d slipped off without my knowing. I was also disappointed with how my eggs and ham over there now looked cold. The waiter, who had also been listening from a short distance off, grinned, waved, and went to retrieve them. I’d get a hot meal after all for my efforts.

“Sir, is that story absolutely true? I mean about Harry and his girlfriend Ginny?” the young lady appropriately asked before her mother could.

“It sure is.” No, it wasn’t. Harry and Ginny had been a textbook couple–-almost attached at the hip since the moment they’d come together. They’d actually married the afternoon of her seventeenth birthday in a double ceremony with… No, that’s another story. “Well, I did embellish how successful The Prince and the Stenographer in Paradise was…maybe just a bit.”

“Really?” the mother said more than asked. “What were the final two words though?”

In lieu of an answer, I moved to my daypack again to retrieve the paperback I brought with me for some odd reason that day. Turning to the final page, eyebrows went up when they read them; more so when they looked at the cover.

“That’s…that’s your face…superimposed over Fabio’s body.” Millicent didn’t seem impressed. “You wrote a Young Witch Romance Novel?

“Ah, they couldn’t pay me much for the work, so we agreed on the picture instead. What? Yes, I do look like that with my shirt off.” No, I don’t.

“Spenser.”

I turned to see Luna standing beside me again with a studious, mousy-looking boy, who I took to be sixteen or seventeen–Millicent’s age. He held a bunch of flowers in his left hand, and with his right, he was trying to straighten a very ugly and an apparently very uncomfortable plaid tie. I avoid even the nice ones myself. I instantly knew this was the famous beau Ferber. One can only speculate how Luni had located him on such short notice. There was an absolute hush over the bistro. The customers and crew could not possibly help but know everything involved with the girl, the boy and my ridiculous story.

Ferb stepped forward slowly, handing the bouquet to the mother instead of to Millicent. Then, contrary to everything we had heard about him, the teen took the girl into the warmest of embraces–-one that lasted until several of us began to cough our interruptions.

“Well don’t just stand there. Kiss her you idiot,” Luna told him, and no one was surprised that he obeyed such a wonderful Witch as she. This lasted another minute before they once more reluctantly broke apart.

“Ferber…”

“Millicent, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to Laverne’s party. Saturday afternoon is my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration. I…I wanted to surprise you. It will have music, and dancing, and jugglers, and…”

Millicent cut him off with another kiss. Seven or eight minutes later, during which time I finished my replacement breakfast, they came up for air before starting out hand-in-hand.

“Thank you sir,” the girl said as she passed our table. “I love dense, thoughtless, wonderful boys like Ferber…everyone should own one.”

“Uhm…sure kiddo,” I said. “Take care of this one. He’s not under warrantee.”

Luna and I returned to our coffee. I finished a large cup before I would react to Luna’s stare.

“Spenser, I’m very proud of you. You’ll do very well as a young lady’s father someday.”

“Thank you. I can already feel the gray hair coming.”

“Those were actually passion flowers I gave Ferber for her.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second. You can do anything Luni. May I call you that again…in private?” She smiled her yes.

“You will apologize to Harry and Ginny?”

“If you want me to. They won’t understand about what.”

“Those last two days fishing in Wales–from your story; I’m sure they would have had a lovely time.”

“They did, and not just in my fairy-tale. That actual trip occurred two summers after they were married. James came along about nine months later.”

“Spenser, what were…what are the final two words in the book? What were the words Harry used to complete his acting out Ginny’s challenge?”

I slid the worn volume across the table to her. She opened it and smiled. The last two words for Harry? What else? How do all my stories end?

Mischief managed!


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