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SIYE Time:21:54 on 28th March 2024
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Mr. Mystery
By St Margarets

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Category: Post-DH/AB
Characters:All
Genres: Comedy, Fluff
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 9
Summary: Harry and Ginny are invited to Moaning Myrtle's Deathday party.
Hitcount: Story Total: 5269



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:
This story was written for the October challenge at "catchmysnitch" on lj and is angst free. The challenge was "Deathday Party." I included some of Ginny's thoughts about pregnancy for hgfan3 who wanted a fic. about Ginny's pregnancy with Lily. I'll get around to it eventually, but this should get you started. :) Thanks to TDU000 for the beta.




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Harry knew something was wrong the minute he saw the knitting needles clicking in mid-air without any wool. Ginny either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared because she was seated at the kitchen table with her back to the knitting needles.

“Do you know what happened today?” Ginny demanded, not looking up from the spell book she was flipping through.

“You ran out of wool?” Ron guessed.

Ginny looked up in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s good to see you, too,” Ron said.

Ginny huffed, crossed her arms over her swollen belly and looked pointedly at Harry.

“I’m lending him that book on Quidditch statistics,” Harry explained

“Cannons’ first match of the season is next weekend.” Ron rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Hermione suggested I take a more scientific approach when I place my bet with George so -”

“So now you’ll know whether to bet on a loss by one hundred points or two hundred points?” Ginny asked sweetly.

Ron’s ears were turning a telltale red and Ginny’s cheeks were taking on that same hue as they glared at each other. Harry hastily raised his wand. “Accio, Quidditch book.” The book came soaring in from the living room, almost knocking into Ginny’s empty knitting needles.

“Thanks, Harry,” Ron said. Then he looked at Ginny. “You shouldn’t knit when you’re angry — it never works.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Ginny said through gritted teeth. When she picked her wand off of the table, Ron quickly Disapparated. Ginny smiled ruefully and vanished the knitting needles. “I shouldn’t have snapped at him.”

“He’ll live,” Harry said, glad it was Ron who had taken the brunt of Ginny’s mood. “What’s up?”

“I was going to the loo for the millionth time today and guess what was coming out of the toilet when I got there?”

Harry wanted to say the Loch Ness Monster, but he didn’t think Ginny would enjoy the humor. “Dunno.” He unfastened his cloak and turned to hang it on the hook by the crackling fire.

“It was Moaning Myrtle,” Ginny snapped.

Harry sighed. “Is it that time of year again?”

“It is. Myrtle’s Deathday party is next weekend.”

“We’re going to the Cannons’ match with Ron and Hermione.” Harry shook his head. “I’ll send her a smoke signal and tell her ‘no.’”

“I was just looking up the incantation,” Ginny said. “But I don’t think a mere ‘no’ is going to do it.”

“What do you mean?” He turned around.

“Myrtle fancies you.”

“She does not!” Even as he protested, Harry’s skin crawled. He still remembered that time Myrtle had ogled him in the prefect’s bathroom.

“Sorry, but she does.” Ginny said. “And even though she died seventy odd years ago, she’s still acts like a sixteen year-old girl.”

“Ginny -” Harry sat across from Ginny at the table.

“And because she has the mentality of a Hogwarts schoolgirl, the minute she saw me she said I was getting fat.”

“You’re not fat, you’re pregnant!”

“I know, Harry. But in her almost-invisible mind, she thinks that since I’m now fat, she can woo you away from me.”

“Now that’s just - ”

“Delusional, I know.” Ginny pushed the spell book over to him. “You send our regrets and I’ll try to think of a way to stop these invitations.”

“She’s already dead, so you can’t kill her,” Harry said absently as he skimmed the instructions. He had forgotten how complicated the Smoke Signal Incantation was.

“Ha, Ha.”

After a long silence, Harry looked up. Ginny was staring off into space.

Harry knew that look. It was the look Fred and George used to get when they were planning their latest prank. It was the look Percy got when he was a prefect and trying thwart Fred and George’s pranks.

He knew that look and Harry didn’t think Moaning Myrtle stood a chance.


*


After Harry sent his kindest regrets, family obligations, blah, blah, blah via a Smoke Signal Incantation, he though the matter was over until the next Deathday party.

He was wrong.

Myrtle was back the next day, harassing Ginny in the shower. Ginny was not amused.

“I just want to be in my bubble, Harry,” Ginny told him when he returned home from work that night. “I don’t want to worry about anything.” She gave the cauldron in the fireplace a stir and then turned to him with her hand on her back. “I want to eat every two hours. And I want to have a nap every day and I want to finish this stupid baby blanket before the actual baby gets here.”

Harry glanced at the knitting needles. There was light blue wool in them today. “Do you want me to go to Hogwarts and talk to Myrtle?” Harry asked. “Or I could speak to Neville — have him put in a word.”

“No.” Ginny sighed and then suddenly put her hand on her belly. “He kicked. The baby. I swear he knows your voice.”

Harry laughed. “Coincidence.”

“No, really.” Ginny cocked her head in concentration. “Now he’s telling me that Mummy really needs to relax and not be jealous of ghosts.”

“Smart boy,” Harry said, moving closer to her.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so edgy about this Deathday party,” Ginny said. “It’s ridiculous. I should be serene and Madonna-like now that I’ve only got a month to go.”

Harry wanted to laugh at the idea of Ginny being Madonna-like, but instead he smoothed a lock of hair away from her face. She was beautiful in the firelight. Pregnancy had made her gorgeous red hair thicker and her brown eyes glowed with health and vitality. But the last thing he could ever call her was serene. “I would be worried if you started acting — er — Madonna-like.”

“I’m serious, Harry.” Ginny stepped away from him. “What kind of child are we going to have? What if he turns out shy and timid because he heard me yelling when I was pregnant?”

Now Harry did laugh. “I don’t think either one of us have the shy and timid genes.”

Ginny smiled, too. “No, I suppose not.”

“And you don’t yell, not really,” Harry hastened to assure her. “You’re just — er - emphatic.”

“Emphatic.” She giggled. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

“I do.” He kissed her cheek. “And the baby will, too.”


*


The next day Ginny met him at the door with a twinkle in her eye. “So I put my scheme into play.”

“What scheme?” Harry smiled at her enthusiasm.

“How to get off the Deathday party guest list forever.”

“What did you do?”

Ginny waved her wand and the knitting needles stopped clicking. Harry noticed her progress- she had about a foot of the blanket finished. “I channeled my inner sixteen year-old girl and sent a few notes via Smoke Signal Incantation.”

“Notes?” He remembered Hermione as a teenager and her daft plan to make Ron jealous with McClaggen, but he didn’t remember notes being involved.

“I sent an anonymous note to Myrtle telling her that a ghost in the castle liked her.”

Harry snorted. “Who? The Bloody Baron? He’s still hung up on the Grey Lady and I think Nearly Headless Nick is — er — batting for the other team.”

Ginny giggled. “No.” Then she sobered. “There are some new student ghosts at Hogwarts — they came after the final battle. You wouldn’t have known since you never went back to school.”

He ran his hand through his hair. He knew it couldn’t be Cedric since he hadn’t come back when Harry was a student. And Colin was too brave — there was no way he would be a ghost. “Who?” he asked.

“Vincent Crabbe.”

“He’s a ghost?” Harry remembered how Crabbe had stupidly cast a spell causing Fiendfyre to erupt in the Room of Requirement.

“He’s haunts the seventh floor. Usually he’s behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at this last indignity. “Makes sense. Crabbe spent a good part of his sixth year in front of that tapestry — disguised as a girl.”

Ginny was not interested in Crabbe’s Polyjuice adventures. “So, I also sent Vincent an anonymous note.” She grinned. “I told him that a shy female ghost in the castle wanted to meet him.”

Vincent Crabbe was not the brightest wizard when he was alive and Harry didn’t think he would have found wisdom in death. Ginny’s plan probably would work. He shook his head. “I’m torn.”

“Torn about what?”

“Who to feel sorry for. Myrtle or Crabbe.”

Ginny giggled. “There’s someone for everyone.”


*


Ginny sent coy notes to Myrtle and Crabbe over the next few days. In one note she let it slip to Vincent Crabbe that there was to be a Deathday party in the girls’ bathroom on Saturday night. Ginny knew her plan was working because Myrtle showed up two days before the party and implored Ginny not to let Harry come.

“She told me that a hot new ghost was coming to her party and she didn’t think she wanted you to be there in case Mr. Mystery was the jealous type.” Ginny said that night after dinner. She had two feet of baby blanket completed and Harry was glad to see that it was fairly even in width.

“Mr. Mystery?” He laughed.

“I know.” Ginny looked almost sheepish. “I’m afraid I made his notes to Myrtle a bit more — er — articulate than the real Vincent Crabbe.”

Harry shook his head. “This might not turn out well.”

“It might!” Ginny insisted with a smile. “It could be love at first sighting.” She giggled. “Or love at first haunting.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t ever write romance novels.”

“I’m hoping this will start my next career as matchmaker.”

“Imagine the testimonials.”

Ginny nodded “Think of all the widow ghosts who would like companionship.”

“I hope that’s all they would want,” Harry said alarmed.

“Maybe the older ones.” Ginny shrugged. “Myrtle and Vincent are teenage ghosts.”

Harry blanched. “I don’t want to think about Myrtle and Crabbe snogging.”

“Don’t think about it then,” Ginny advised with her usual practicality.

*


Two days after the Deathday Party (and two days after the Cannons lost by five hundred points and consequently cost Ron ten Galleons and any faith he had in the scientific approach), Ginny got another visit from Moaning Myrtle. This time she came out of the tap in the kitchen.

“She told me that she had the best Deathday Party ever and that she danced with Mr. Mystery almost the whole night,” Ginny said as she attempted to finish the edge of the baby blanket with darker blue wool.

“Mr. Mystery?” Harry asked. “She doesn’t know his name is Vincent Crabbe?”

“No! Isn’t that perfect?” Ginny squealed in that shrill breathless voice schoolgirls used when they were excited about boys. “I forgot that Vincent’s a Slytherin, so of course he wasn’t going to keep it simple and straightforward.”

Harry shook his head. Thank Merlin he had Ginny. Dating - in this life or the next - was too complicated for him.

“And Myrtle can have her drama,” Ginny said with satisfaction in her voice. “Strung out over eternity.”

“Don’t you think she’ll figure out who he is?”

“Why would Myrtle go to the seventh floor corridor?” Ginny asked. “No pipes.”

Harry smiled as he realized she was right. “So we’re off the hook for the next Deathday Party?”

“I think so.” Ginny held up the completed baby blanket. “So it’s finished.”

“It actually looks like a baby blanket,” Harry said, impressed.

“Our shy and timid child can now make an appearance,” Ginny said.

“He can meet his Madonna-like mother,” Harry added drily.

Ginny cocked her head. “They say that motherhood changes you, but I can’t believe I’ll suddenly be that different.”

“I should hope not,” Harry said. “What if our little Mr. Mystery will need a managing mother?”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “He is a mystery, isn’t he?”

Harry grinned. “And we get to meet him on his birthday.”

“Harry, do you realize that next year instead of avoiding a Deathday party we’ll be planning a birthday party?”

“We will, won’t we?” They stared at each other as that fact sunk in. Harry could easily imagine it based on other first birthday parties he had attended in the Weasley family. Balloons and cake and a busy baby seated in a high chair with a little messy face covered in icing.

Harry didn’t know whether to be terrified or elated.

“I know.” Ginny’s eyes were shining. “It’s going to be wonderful to finally meet Mr. Mystery.”

Elated.

He grinned. “It will be.”


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