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Ginny Weasley and the Oblivious Auror By cwarbeck
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Category: Post-DH/AB
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Comedy
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 25
Summary: Ginny thought that it was grossly unfair that she was spending Saturday night all by her lonesome, simply because Harry insisted on acting like a clueless prat.
Hitcount: Story Total: 15443
Awards: View Trophy Room
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: Written for the hpgw_otp Halloween challenge over at livejournal. The prompt was to write a fic with the opening line of It was a dark and stormy night. This fic is dedicated to hgrhfan35, as a thank you for all the lovely H/G art she's given me, and to all those of you, who, like me, spend entirely way too much time reading and enjoying trashy romance novels. ☺ Thanks as always, to Chreechree, the queen of all betas.
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Ginny Weasley and the Oblivious Auror
It was a dark and stormy night, with the wind howling like a banshee, rattling the windows with a vengeance. Constance Conundrum sat huddled miserably on her tiny bed, trying to get as much warmth as possible from the thin pink blanket that was her sole possession in life; that, and the faded photograph of her parents, who had been lost in a freak penguin accident in the South Pole. Constance had never begrudged her parents' passion for observing the penguins in their natural habitat, leaving her in the care of her horrible Aunt Hildegarde, but sometimes, she could not help but feel bitter that Mr and Mrs Conundrum had not had the foresight to realize that even cute and cuddly penguins could turn feral if you stood between them and their dinner.
Of course, Constance reflected, a few tears leaking out of her cornflower blue eyes and splashing onto the carpet, she had always suspected that it had not, in fact, been an accident.
Ginny gave an incredulous snort. Pecked to death by penguins. Who would have thought it possible?
Definitely not her, and if not for the certain knowledge that Hermione would kill her if anything happened to her precious book, Ginny would have already chucked Fifi LaFolle’s latest foray into romantic fiction, the appallingly titled Constance Conundrum and the Cantankerous Count, straight into the rubbish bin where it belonged.
Surely there were other ways of keeping herself occupied, and from feeling too bitter that she, Ginny Weasley, was all by her lonesome on a Saturday night.
She had nothing to do, nowhere to go and no one to talk to: Luna was in Brazil with her new beau, Rolf Scamander, documenting a rare sighting of Triple-Breasted Blibbering Humdingers; Hermione had finally convinced Ron to take her to that fancy new restaurant, Le Petit Cochon; George was in the midst of a carefully orchestrated campaign to woo the lovely Angelina Johnson; Neville had some insane project that unwisely entailed cross-breeding Venomous Tentaculas and Blast-Ended Skrewts; and all her teammates were busy having fun with their respective boyfriends.
Ginny would even settle for talking to her Mum, but Mrs Weasley had Floo-called earlier to announce, rather giddily, that she and Mr Weasley would be ‘indisposed’ for the evening.
Even her Mum was getting some action, which was grossly unfair and quite frankly, rather disturbing.
Shaking her head in frustration, Ginny picked up her novel again and tried to concentrate on the words, but after reading:
Constance stared at the photograph and traced her mother’s features lovingly. Many people had remarked that she looked remarkably like her father, whose aquiline nose and slight overbite she had inherited, but Constance liked to think that she resembled her mother, whose lovely locks had often been compared to the exact shade of custard yellow of a freshly hatched Puffskein…
she closed it with a snap and eyed the cover in disbelief. It showed a rather insipid blonde swooning in the arms of an impossibly muscle-bound, dark-haired man, who, if Ginny squinted hard enough, sort of resembled the one person responsible for her lonely, miserable and boring evening:
Harry Potter.
As much as she wanted to get back together with her erstwhile boyfriend, it did not seem possible, given their busy schedules. Apart from the regular Sunday dinners at The Burrow, she had seen little of Harry ever since she had signed up with the Holyhead Harpies and he had determined it was his duty as an Auror to hunt down all the rogue Death Eaters who had failed to get the memo that their Dark Lord was now permanently unavailable for staff meetings.
Besides, Ginny wasn’t too sure where she stood with Harry. Last night, right before he had left for his latest mission, she had given him a lingering good-bye kiss that she hoped would make him realise that she still fancied him like mad and that she wanted him back.
Harry’s response had been to stammer out a “See you later”, and then he had Disapparated with a crack! that seemed to drive home the point that all things considered, there most likely wasn’t going to be any sort of tender reconciliation scene happening between the two of them anytime soon.
She could have sworn, though, that he had kissed her back.
Then again, perhaps his lips had been merely trying to defend themselves against her brazen oral assault.
Deciding that dwelling on her love life (or distinct lack thereof), was an exercise in futility, she got up and fixed herself a bowl of triple fudge chocolate ice cream, snuggled back down into her sofa, and opened Constance Conundrum and the Cantankerous Count once again. She ignored chapter two, which merely gave an unnecessarily thorough description of the wallpaper pattern in Constance’s room, and skipped ahead to chapter three, which began with:
Constance turned her face towards the heavens as the rain pounded mercilessly on her smooth skin. Why had she thought it would be a good idea to climb out of the window to escape the mysterious and menacing figure following her? Now she dangled precariously from the windowsill, her delicate fingers scrabbling for purchase as she tried not to think of what would happen should she let go. If only she had her only true friend in the world, her pet Crup, Bruno, by her side; Bruno would have eaten her pursuer in a trice, but, alas, Bruno had been with her parents during their ill-fated Antarctic expedition…
Those are really vicious penguins, Ginny thought with amusement, becoming engrossed in the increasingly ridiculous plot despite her cynicism. As she read, she barely noticed that a steady rain had begun to fall and was only roused from her intent perusal by the loud and rather insistent knocking on her door.
Grumbling, she carefully marked her place in the book (Constance was about to escape from a dungeon using only two Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans and a hank of her own hair), slipped into her robe and shuffled to the door. She peered through the keyhole and gasped in alarm — there was a large, penguin-shaped silhouette lurking on her front step!
Ginny fumbled for her wand, unable to believe that there actually were bloodthirsty flightless birds of the giant mutant variety running amuck in London, only to relax when the next flash of lightning reflected off a familiar pair of glasses.
Cursing her vivid imagination, she hurriedly threw the door open. “Harry?”
“Hey, Ginny.” He gave her a crooked grin and then frowned at the wand still clutched in her hand. “Something wrong?”
“I just thought that—” She shook her head. “Never mind. What are you doing here, Harry? I thought you were in the Isle of Wight.”
“The Isle of Man, actually,” he corrected her, “but it turned out to be a false lead and…” He shrugged and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Look, d’you mind if I come in? Only that it’s pouring and all…”
“Oh! Of course!” Her curiosity burning, as well as other parts of her body that seemed to become inflamed whenever Harry was anywhere within a fifteen mile radius of her, Ginny shoved her wand in the pocket of her robe and stepped aside to let him in.
As he took off his rather voluminous Auror robes (which explained why she had inadvertently mistaken him for a mad penguin), she silently appreciated the way that Harry’s dark blue shirt and jeans showed off his trim body to perfection.
“Er, d’you want some tea?” she said brightly, moving towards the kitchen in an attempt to stop herself from throwing herself at him.
“Ginny, wait,” said Harry, reaching out and grabbing her wrist.
She looked at him in astonishment, and he immediately let go, the tips of his ears turning red.
Harry scratched the back of his neck and smiled weakly at her. “I, um, came here because I wanted to say something to you.”
“Yes?” she said, smiling back and hoping that he’d take her hand once more. “What is it?”
Harry took a deep breath, opened his mouth and closed it again. “Bugger it,” he muttered.
A look of determination came into his eyes and Ginny barely had time to squeak in surprise before he was kissing her like there was no tomorrow. She melted against him and kissed him back just as fiercely.
They were both breathless when they pulled apart, grinning foolishly at each other. “Not that I’m complaining, but what brought that on?” said Ginny cheekily.
Harry laughed. “Well, I was in the middle of a debriefing with Robards, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything because all I kept thinking about was that good-bye kiss you gave me.”
“Oh?” Ginny arched an eyebrow. “Liked it, did you?”
“Absolutely.” He winked and pulled her down onto the sofa with him. “Ginny, I… Hang on, I think I’ve sat on something.” He extracted Ginny’s book out from under him. “Constance Conundrum and the Cantankerous Count? Have you got to the part where she gets trapped in a lift and has to fight her way through a rabid pack of wild penguins?”
“How on earth would penguins catch rabies?” she exclaimed before she realised what he had just said. Her jaw dropped open in shock. “You’ve actually read this book?” she demanded.
“Danielle Cartland, one of the new recruits, always had one lying about,” he revealed, smiling wryly, “and when you’re stuck in a boring surveillance assignment, you read anything that’s available to pass the time.”
“Still, I cannot believe you read Constance Conundrum and the Cantankerous Count!”
“I’ve also read Delia Darling and the Demented Duke, Esther Ember and the Egregious Earl, and my favourite, Persephone Perchance and the Preposterous Prince.”
Ginny burst out laughing. “Seriously?”
“It was either that,” he said, his eyes dancing behind his glasses, “or go barmy trying to think of ways to win you back into my life.”
“Oh, Harry,” Ginny said in fond exasperation, “all you had to do was ask.”
“I wish I had. Much, much earlier.” His expression turned serious. “I’m sorry, Ginny, for taking so long before getting up the nerve to show you that I still care for you. I’ve been a bit scared, you see, that you didn’t feel the same way anymore, but then you gave me that kiss—”
“It’s all right,” she interrupted him. “It’s a good thing I’ve got enough nerve for both of us, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Just like Constance Conundrum.”
“Please.” Ginny snorted. “I could write something loads better.”
“Really, now,” he said, tugging on the tie of her robe playfully.
“I’d call it, hmmm… let’s see, how about… Ginny Weasley and the Oblivious Auror?”
“Catchy,” remarked Harry approvingly. “Will it have penguins in it?”
“No, silly, but, how’s this for an opening line,” she said, manoeuvring herself so that she was now straddling him, “‘It was a dark and stormy night when Auror Harry Potter finally decided to make Ginny Weasley a very happy girl.’”
“Sounds brilliant,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Any plot twists wherein Ginny Weasley reciprocates and makes Harry Potter a very happy boy?”
“Oh, I’ve got a few ideas, none of them involving penguins,” she replied with a sly smile. “Here, let me demonstrate…”
*end*
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