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Who Is Ginny Weasley Dating? | ||||||
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Category: The One Where Everyone Finds Out (2021-1) Characters:All Genres: Comedy, Romance Warnings: Mild Language Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 19 Summary: ***Winner of Best Overall and the People's Choice award in The One Where Everyone Found Out challenge (2021-1)***The fact that someone new was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, including the rest of the Weasley family. But this time, it's a little different... Hitcount: Story Total: 12887; Chapter Total: 2680 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Thank you for the nominations! Final chapter next week - stay tuned! |
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“Hogsmeade weekend, George.” “Weekend at Hogsmeade’s, Fred.” “Perfect day out for all the lovebirds of Hogwarts.” “Nice change of scenery from classrooms, the castle grounds, broom cupboards.” “So all we have to do is park ourselves in the village square...” “...and keep our eyes peeled...” “And she’ll walk right into our sights.” “Easy does it, nothing to it.” “No need to bother running round like a couple of numptys.” “Could have a nice cuppa tea while we’re at it.” “Could have ourselves some lovely crumpet, cream, and blackberry jam.” “And once we have the identity of our Mystery Man?” “Follow, and look for a way to plant some of this Chameleon Coughing Chocolate, that happens to look and taste exactly like a genuine product of Honeydukes.” “Or some of this prototype U-No-Pee that happens to look and taste exactly like a genuine bottle of Butterbeer...” “...all the sensation of needing to pee, none of the excretory relief...” “...at four Sickles a bottle, a bargain.” “But wait! Bill said not to get caught.” “Bill said not to be seen.” “Same thing, really.” “Which is why we’ve got this tot of Polyjuice Potion...” “...made with hair of clueless Muggle boyfriend...” “...what we happened to pick up from those two blokes in the bar down Soho way...” “...where we happened to pick up those two gorgeous birds with the jealous boyfriends...” “Focus, Fred.” “Sorry, George. Where were we?” “Polyjuice.” “That’s right. Well then, bottoms up, old chap.” “Mud in your eye, old bean.” Grinning, Fred and George threaded their arms through the other’s, and tossed back the contents of a small phial of potion. A minute later Verity Carter, the lovely, loyal, long-suffering shop assistant of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, heard a couple of distinctly unfamiliar voices chorus from the back room, “Mind the shop for us there, Vee, we’re stepping out for a bit.” She shrugged and continued wrapping joke products in brown paper for owl delivery. Far stranger things happened on this job. It was a beautiful May morning in Hogsmeade. Harry strolled down the village street, basking in the gently warm sun, and couldn’t remember ever worrying about anything at all. Beside him Ginny was practically skipping with the sheer joy of being able to forget all about O.W.L.s for a few hours. Between them, her hands were held lightly in his — a rather novel feeling that Harry thought he could never get tired of, forever. Ginny’s small strong fingers rested almost casually on top of his slightly up-tilted hand, his thumb and fingers curled round their ends. They were absolutely begging to be kissed, so he raised them to his lips and brushed them lightly. “...and then June said no, she doesn’t… Harry, you aren’t paying attention to a word I say!” “Course I am.” “No, you were busy slobbering over my fingers!” “I didn’t slobber,” said Harry with dignity. “Heather accused June of scoffing half of those excellent jammy buns she saved from yesterday’s lunch and stashed in the dorm, and June said no, you were about to say, because she absolutely hates blackberry jam. And the reason is that June can’t stand the little bits of seeds you always get in blackberry jam. You’ve mentioned that before.” Ginny had a strange half-smirk on her face that looked like she didn’t know whether to be delighted or put out at being wrong. “Alright, clever cogs, no need to be all smug about it.” “Oh I haven’t begun to smug,” said Harry, grinning. “You’re telling me all this because I asked where we’re going, and you said we have to drop by Honeydukes to pick up some fudge — which both Heather and June love — and you were about to confess that that’s because it was Chaser Weasley who nicked the buns after a long evening studying, and you’ve got apologies to make.” “There’s no bloody way you know I nicked them!” “Course I do.” “How?!” Harry bent a little and put his mouth next to Ginny’s ear. “Because you tasted of blackberry jam when I kissed you good night,” he murmured. Ginny blushed. “Oh… oh alright. What kind of fudge do you think I ought to get?” In Hogsmeade’s High Street, two dark-haired young men lounged carelessly outside the Three Broomsticks, nursing two tankards of Butterbeer and making headway into a stack of crumpets on the table between them. Up and down the street students wandered around, talking, laughing, pointing at things in windows. Few would have noticed that although the two appeared to be deep in conversation, they scanned every face that passed, paying particular attention to any young couples. “Capital crumpets, Frasier.” “Jolly good jam, Gerald.” “Not a sign of her, though. And him, whoever he is.” “Oh, don’t fret,” said ‘Frasier’ comfortably, buttering himself another crumpet. “They’ll come round. If we don’t catch them coming, we’ll catch them going. Leave off fidgeting and let’s enjoy second breakfast.” “I’m not fidgeting,” grumped ‘Gerald’, who was poking at the tanned skin on the forearm of his assumed identity. “I’m checking on the Polyjuice. If we’re going to be hanging about longer than we expected, we’ll need a couple more swigs.” “Ah, it’ll turn out alright. Always does. Hey, when we’re done here, do you think we ought to nip into Zonko’s and check out the competition?” “Don’t see why not. Never pays to let our guard down.” Ginn y wandered around Dervish and Banges poking at odd things on the shelves, towing Harry behind her, and feeling absolutely super. She’d prattled on about absolutely everything and anything as they walked around Hogsmeade; Ginny loved the way she could say anything to Harry, and he would be genuinely interested. He listened, even if he often didn’t seem to be, and made intelligent replies, and often remembered more things she’d said to him than she did herself. For example, right now she couldn’t remember how they’d got on the subject of her favourite band. “What do you mean, ‘hairy’?!” “I meant they had loads of hair, it was like I was watching a band of trolls.” “Harry, you did not just call the Weird Sisters a bunch of trolls! No troll ever played music that good in their life!” “It was catchy,” admitted Harry. “But I could’ve done without the bagpipes.” “I couldn’t, if that meant Gideon Crumb wasn’t in the band.” “Crumb’s the piper? So is he your favourite of the lot, then?” “He looks pretty dishy, doesn’t he?” Ginny turned to find Harry frowning. She rolled her eyes. “I meant that I fancy his looks, not that I want to be his girlfriend.” “Crumb’s about seven feet tall, looks like he could wrestle a troll, and has a great big beard,” said Harry. “Yes, and?” Harry had a very puzzled look on his face. “I don’t look one bit like any of that.” “So? You do realise you don’t have to just fancy one particular type, yes?” “Yeah, but still...” “Oh, boys, you don’t understand anything,” said Ginny. “I suppose you would only ever be interested in pint-sized Quidditch players then.” “Well, as a matter of fact...” “Don’t you dare answer that. Oh look, is that a Graphorn-hide jacket?” At the other end of the village, two young men were strolling down the High Street with their hands in their pockets, pretending to be unconcerned. “We’ve made a mistake, Gerald.” “We must have missed them somehow, Frasier.” “We got complacent.” “You were stuffing your face with crumpets.” “Hey, it’s not like you didn’t scoff your share.” “Well, no use crying over slipped fish,” said ‘Gerald’ philosophically. “Right, they can’t have gotten far, we’ll just have to go through the shops one by one and see if we can’t spot them.” “They have to be around here somewhere,” said ‘Frasier’, apparently peering into the shop window of Gladrags Wizardwear, but mainly eyeing the students inside and not the colourful display of frocks. “Can’t have gotten far.” Ginny considered the cottage. It was quite unlike the Burrow; short, single-storey, built solidly out of big brown bricks. A well-kept garden bursting with daisies and bluebells gave it a cheerful air. “It’s alright, I suppose,” she said. “But not quite my cup of tea. I’m not sure I fancy living in Hogsmeade. It’s a bit lonely all the way out here, don’t you think, Harry?” She looked around. “Harry?” Harry was standing at the end of the lane, his hand resting on the stile, staring wistfully up at the mountain that loomed over Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. Ginny went over and slipped her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder. “What is it?” “We met Sirius here, during the Triwizard Tournament,” he said. “Sirius flew here on Buckbeak because I told him about seeing Barty Crouch in the castle — well, we didn’t know it was Crouch Jr, and he was pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody. Sirius met me and Ron and Hermione by this stile, and brought us to a cave up on that mountain.” Harry bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have gone to the Department of Mysteries.” “No, you shouldn’t have, and you wouldn’t have, if you knew Voldemort was just baiting you and Sirius wasn’t there,” said Ginny. She laid her hand on his cheek. “But if you thought Sirius was there and needed your help, then you did the right thing. Just like you shouldn’t have gone to rescue some silly little girl that Voldemort was just using to bait you, but you did anyway. And I’m so glad that you did.” She kissed him. For a moment, Harry stood still, tense, unyielding. Then she felt him return her kiss, encircle her with his arms and pull her in close. They stood there for a while, foreheads touching. Then Harry sighed. “You always know what to say, Ginny.” Ginny smiled. “Don’t you forget it, Potter.” She took his hand and led him away from that place. “Come on. We’re supposed to be having a grand day out. It’s nearly lunchtime, aren’t we supposed to be meeting Ron and Hermione at the Broomsticks?” “I think it was the Hog’s Head. I hear they have a pretty interesting lunch menu.” “Merlin, I can’t begin to imagine...” At the Three Broomsticks, two extremely serious young men were rehydrating themselves with consolatory pints of Madam Rosmerta’s famous mead after having rushed about Hogsmeade in increasing agitation. “Where can she have wandered off to, George? “We looked everywhere, didn’t we, Fred?” “Too bloody right we did. Honeydukes, Scrivenshaft’s...” “...Gladrags, Dervish and Banges, the Hog’s Head...” “…the Post Office, the bookshop, the grocer’s...” “...even Puddifoot’s bloody teashop… and not a damn sign!” “Think they decided not to come down the village after all?” “She’s never missed a Hogsmeade weekend before,” George replied. “None of us ever have, mostly. And we saw Ron mooching about, didn’t we? She ought to be around here somewhere.” “Fred? George? What are you two doing here?” The twins jumped, and looked around guiltily. Hermione was standing behind them, Ron beside her. Too late the realisation struck that their last doses of Polyjuice Potion had worn off. “Dropped by to check out rental rates on the High Street,” lied Fred. “Yeah, now that you lot have been allowed out on weekends again, the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes expansion plan is back on track,” said George. Ron had a strange look on his face. “So, uh, are you done here, or will you be staying longer?” Fred’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?” “Oh, we’re just about to have lunch,” said Hermione brightly. “Why don’t you join us? Harry and Ginny should be coming along any minute now.” “Brilliant!” said George enthusiastically. “Fred and I haven’t seen you lot in ages, we’d love to catch up!” “I’ll get the first round,” said Fred with a big grin and a not-too-secret wink at George. “Butterbeers, all, right?” “Right,” muttered Ron glumly. Ten minutes later, Hermione was busy telling Fred and George about the Slug Club, when the door to the pub pushed open and a familiar red head of hair came through. Fred and George, who had carefully taken seats at the table which faced the door, nudged each other and grinned toothy, predatory smiles. Ginny, who had been laughing at something, looked around, caught sight of the group sitting at the table, and ran over. “Fred! George! What are you doing here?” she squealed, flinging an arm around both their necks. “Oh, just hunting after our natural prey,” grinned Fred. “He means we came to see about opening a branch, now that poor Zonko’s retired from the field,” said George. “What, isn’t the owl post service bringing in the Galleons?” asked Harry pleasantly as he sat down. “Oh, it’s always better to have a physical presence,” said Fred, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “You can’t rely on mail order catalogues to do your selling for you.” “Yes, can’t leave it to customers to go through long lists of stuff by themselves,” said George, craning his head to look behind Ginny. “Customers need to have product pointed out, demonstrated, shoved in their mugs.” “It’s easy to miss things, even if they’re smack dab in front of you,” said Fred, scanning the pub. “So yeah, opening up a shop here would push up the Hogwarts sales a tad.” “Well, you’re the businessmen, I guess,” said Ginny, sitting down beside Harry. “Can we order? I’m starving!” One of Madam Rosmerta’s assistants came round to take their orders. Although they were very well fed at Hogwarts with familiar British food, the Three Broomsticks served a slightly more varied menu and it was always fun to try something different. Harry, Ron and George opted for chicken curry, Ginny for a lasagna, Fred a steak and ale pie, and Hermione, partan bree. While they were ordering, the twins exchanged worried glances and kept looking around for someone else to join the table. Ginny was here, but where was He? “So, did you enjoy yourselves?” asked Hermione, looking at Ginny. “Oh yes, quite,” said Ginny. “I bought some fudge for my dorm-mates, and peppermint toads for myself. Then we had a nice long walk around the village. What about you?” “I bought more quills at Scrivenshaft’s, mine are all ground down,” said Hermione. “Then Ron had to go drool over all the Quidditch stuff in Spintwitch’s for ages. But we had just enough time to pick up some sugar quills and toothflossing stringmints and… are you looking for someone?” This last was directed at Fred and George. Fred nodded distractedly; George rather bluntly said, “Is it just the four of you for lunch? Or were you expecting anyone else?” “It’s just the four of us,” said Hermione quizzically. “And lunch is here, if that’s what you’re keeping an eye out for.” Heavily-laden platters hovered down in front of them, landing with soft thumps, along with baskets of fresh-baked rolls. Everyone dug in and for a few minutes there was only the sounds of chewing and a few comments on the food. “That curry looks good,” said Ginny, eyeing Harry’s plate. “Can I try some?” “Go ahead.” “Look,” said Fred at last, looking up from his pie, “we were really wondering...” What he was wondering, nobody ever found out. George said nothing. His open mouth said everything for him. Ginny had leaned over to help herself to Harry’s curry, in the process revealing quite obviously that Harry had an arm draped casually round her waist. “Mmm, spicy,” she remarked. “What were you saying, Fred?” “Uh… uh…” Ron, who’d spent most of the lunch concentrating fixedly on his curry, uttered a small groan and drained his Butterbeer. Professor Severus Snape was not often to be found in the village of Hogsmeade. He was not of the type to socialise over a drink in the inns and teashops. The castle provided for almost all his needs. As the Potions Master of Hogwarts, he could have delivered nearly any potion ingredient he desired to the castle. However, occasionally he did have to meet with business acquaintances, such as when dealing with more controversial substances. For this purpose, he did sometimes make use of the Hog’s Head. Usually, these meetings took place at night, often for the convenience of his acquaintance. It was safer to effect a transfer of illegal goods in the dead of night, when most of the world was asleep. Unusually, this time his contact was in sufficient haste to dispose of some freshly-caught Lobalugs that he had insisted that Snape come to meet him immediately, in the middle of the day. Which was why at about a quarter to two in the afternoon, Hogwarts students availing themselves of the weekend were startled to see Snape striding quickly, first down the High Street, then back up to the castle, carrying in one hand a bulging, slightly damp holdall smelling of brine. Nobody stopped even to gawk; everyone hurried to get out of his way. Most assumed that he had heard of some wrongdoing in the village, and some hapless student was going to be spending the rest of the term in detention. As Snape approached the Three Broomsticks, the door opened and a group of students came out. Snape turned his head fractionally, and then he slowed down. Hermi one shoved Harry and Ginny out the door of the Three Broomsticks, and grabbed Ron by the collar of his jacket. “It was great seeing you two again,” she called over her shoulder to the twins. “Good luck with the shop!” Fred and George stared after her with blank, rather absent-minded expressions. They hadn’t spoken much during lunch, and afterwards they had headed straight for the bar, ordered and downed stiff drinks of Old Bucklebury’s Best Brandy. Hermione hoped the lunchtime imbibing wasn’t a sign of budding alcoholism, all too prevalent throughout both Muggle and Magical Britain. Perhaps some brilliant idea had struck them during the meal, she thought optimistically. Outside, the temperature had fallen, and a chill wind had begun to carve its way through the village, along with a drift of Scotch mist. Hermione paused to pull on her gloves and snug her jacket tighter round her, and as she did, saw none other than Professor Snape going past. She saw him turn his head, his eye flicking over the group, then resting on Harry. His lip curled. “No, no, it looks loads better on you, keep it,” Ginny was ramming her Holyhead Harpies beanie on Harry’s head, giggling madly. “It’s too tight, and I don’t fancy a hat the colour of fresh-pickled toad, Weasley!” Harry was attempting unsuccessfully to snatch back his own red-and-gold hat from Ginny, who had pulled it down on her own head over her ears. He was somewhat handicapped as his arm was thrown round Ginny’s shoulders, and she kept it pinned there with one hand, fending him off with the other. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to do if one ran into Professor Snape in the middle of Hogsmeade — after all, he was a professor, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix; but he was also, well, Snape — so she gave a tiny hesitant wave. Snape glanced back at Hermione, then dismissively turned away and walked quickly back up the path to Hogwarts. Oh well. At least she’d tried. “Oi, knock it off, you two, you’re in the middle of the street!” snapped Ron. Ginny was giving Harry a peck on the cheek as her latest attempt to keep her hands on his hat. “Oh, never mind, Ron,” said Hermione cheerfully. She grabbed Ron by the elbow. “Come on, I can’t wait to get back to the castle and get out of this wind.” The four made their happy way up the path to Hogwarts. A few other students were also walking back, most of them laden with bags of shopping. Harry and Ginny walked a little way ahead, hand in hand, eyes only a little on the path and mostly on each other. Hermione was feeling the effects of a decent Hogsmeade excursion and a big bowl of thick crab stew with rice washed down with two or three Butterbeers, and was looking forward to a dozy afternoon lounging around the common-room with Harry and Ginny and Ron. Perhaps she would treat herself a day off and do a little easy reading, like Self-Defensive Spellwork, or Modern Magical History. Beside her, Ron slouched his way comfortably along, his hands jammed in his pockets, his mood apparently improving by the minute as he digested his lunch. In fact, Ron was perked up enough to help Hermione doff her jacket as they stamped into the toasty Entrance Hall, which made Hermione feel extra cheery and warm inside as well as out. So it was that none of them really took much notice of the lone, pale, blonde-haired figure hurrying down the stairs, heading towards the dungeons with a bulging book bag under his arm. Harry and Ginny brushed past him, smiling, and didn’t see him stop and stare incredulously. Harry was feeling very loving. He loved the nice ramble he’d had through Hogsmeade, with all its magical sights and sounds. He loved the creamy, spicy, exotic curry he’d had for lunch; he loved the warm, smooth Butterbeers he’d had with it, best drink in the world. He loved the friendly companionship of Ron and Hermione and Fred and George; he loved the slow, comfortably-stuffed walk back to the castle; he even loved the refreshing sting of the Scotch mist, and loved stepping out of the chill into the welcoming fuggy embrace of the Entrance Hall. He loved the way Ginny’s hand perched on top of his own, swinging beside him. He loved the small toothy smiles she flashed at him every now and then. He loved the sheer exuberant joie de vivre that fountained out of her, drenching everyone around her, but most particularly him. Harry thought he could never make her understand how much warm brilliant beautiful joyful sun she shone into his life. “That was a really nice day,” said Ginny, smiling gently. “I had a great time.” “I had a great time too,” beamed Harry. “Best Hogsmeade weekend ever.” Ginny blushed a little. She was feeling very loving as well. She had had a lovely walk, through the peaceful cosy village filled with cheerful students, the muscles of her body feeling relaxed and unknotted and unwound after lots of exercise. She loved her most delicious and filling pub lunch, surrounded by family and friends, the people she loved most in the world. She loved the way Hogwarts felt like a real home away from home. Best of all, she loved the way Harry’s hand felt in hers, so firm and calm and reassuring. She loved the solid feel of his body when he held her in his arms. She loved how the determination and dependability that was so much his character so filled his very body, she could lean into his stalwart frame, and rest, completely at ease. “I really like hanging out with you,” said Harry. “You… you make me so happy.” “You do the same for me,” said Ginny. “So, what are we going to do now?” “Well, most everyone is still in Hogsmeade, I think,” said Harry. “So we could bags all the good seats by the fire and play Exploding Snap or do Rune Riddles or just, y’know, laze.” “Oooh, great plan! I think I’ve got half a bag of custard creams stashed away somewhere.” “Should go well with some of this pumpkin fizz,” Harry jiggled his shopping bag slightly, so the bottles clinked. Ginny tucked herself under Harry’s arm, and they made their way up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. Somewhere downstairs there was a commotion, probably part and parcel of a castle full of skylarking students, but it didn’t register at all. There was so much they wanted to say, thought Harry and Ginny both, and no idea how to say it. But that was okay. They had plenty of time to find the right words. Drac o Malfoy couldn’t believe his eyes. Potter and the Weasley girl were walking hand in hand past him, almost brusquely knocking him aside. They were all wrapped up in each other, it was clear, and equally obvious it was that they had been this intimate for a while. So was this the juicy bit of gossip that Pansy had wanted to tell him? The sight called up all kinds of emotion inside him, feelings he could barely acknowledge let alone begin to put a name to, but foaming on the very top of it all was a kind of rage, and he couldn’t help himself. He opened his mouth. “All right, there, Potter?” called Malfoy loudly. Instead of turning, Potter and Weasley went on up, talking quietly in low, happy voices. It infuriated him even more. “Oh so you’re the Weaselette’s latest conquest, I see,” he jeered. “She’s struck gold at last, all the Weasels will be so pleased. Or was it you who fancied a spot of blind, dumb hero-worship?” No answer. Malfoy shouted up the stairs, “Well enjoy having it off with your best friend’s sister then! Maybe she’ll show you what goes where, I hear she’s popular, she must have had loads more experience than you…!” He turned to go back down the stairs, and had time to catch a single glimpse of a furious red-headed figure behind a brandished wand: “OOOF...!” The Trip Jinx snagged him neatly round the ankles, and he tumbled head over heels down the last couple of steps, books and papers and wand and everything flying everywhere, hitting his head against something and fetching up against the wall knocked completely out of breath. Through stars of pain Draco looked up at Ron Weasley, wand pointed at him and trembling with rage. A few passing students snickered, and stopped to watch. “Come on, Ron, leave it,” hissed Hermione, grabbing Ron by the wand arm and shooting Draco a look of supreme disgust. “He’s not worth the trouble. Come on!” Slowly, Draco got his breath back. Picked himself up. And began picking up his scattered things. Sensing that there was no more show to be had, the other students went on their way. A couple even bothered to hide their smiles behind their hands. Soon, there was no-one else left in the Entrance Hall besides Draco… except one. Astori a Greengrass knelt and solemnly picked up two books — The Home Floo Maintenance Handbook and Principles of Apparation — and an inkpot that had rolled into a corner. When she gave them to Draco, he snatched them out of her hands brusquely. For an instant she caught his eye. Astoria controlled herself well; she gave no outward indication of the fear she felt of what she saw looking back at her in that fleeting moment. Draco turned his back to her, stuffing his things back into his book-bag. He started off in the direction of the Slytherin common-room, then stopped. His back rigidly erect, Draco turned halfway on his heel, and gave her a jerky nod, his eyes fixed downwards. Then he hurried on his way. Astoria watched him go, then continued on her way out to the greenhouses. She never let herself be overly troubled by the little things; minor inconveniences, petty rudeness, the troubles of others. She was determined to do whatever she wanted — such as pottering about with her beloved plants — and to enjoy every moment of her day. She lived her life to the lees, in her own way, because as she well knew: there was so little time. |
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