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Six Days
By St Margarets

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Fluff, Humor
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 80
Summary: In the six days before the Ministry Ball, Harry and Ginny learn a lot about each other--and love.
Hitcount: Story Total: 11246



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.





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Six Days

Disclaimer: These are JKR's characters and settings. I just borrowed them.

Author's Note: Thanks to Julu and Barlow Girl for the Beta reads.

Sunday

I knew it wasn't going to be my day when McGonagall called me into her office.

"Sit down, Potter." Not bothering to beat around the bush, she continued, "The Minister of Magic," she began, rolling her eyes, "has seen fit to hold a ball in honor of those who alerted the magical world to You-Know-Who's return. You are, of course, invited. It's next Saturday night. Find yourself a date. Let me know as soon as possible so that I can inform the organizers. That's all, Potter."

"B-but . . ." I sputtered.

"What?" she said impatiently.

"Why do I have to go?"

"Does Boy-Who-Lived ring a bell? It's an obvious publicity stunt. When you were being vilified everyday in the Daily Prophet, what was he-" She stopped herself.

"Politics, Potter. You have to play along with this one. Trust me." She stared me down.

I could only nod.

Where was I going to find a date in a week? I thought as I got up to leave. After Cho, there hadn't been a girl I was even remotely interested in.

"Potter," McGonagall cut into my thoughts. "Pick someone you can stand for an entire evening. You'll be the only young people there."

Better and better, I thought as I left her office. There were plenty of pretty girls in Gryffindor-but one I could stand for a whole night? If I took Hermione, I'd have a thorough understanding of the inner workings of the ministry by the time the night was over. Besides, Ron would kill me, and not know why.

A flash of color caught my eye. It was Ginny, walking down the corridor towards me. Of course, Ginny! She's a lot of fun. She used to like me. Maybe she'd go...

*

I said yes. What could I do? I'd been waiting for too many years to hear "ball" and "go with me" come out of Harry Potter's mouth. Of course, he probably asked me only because I was the first female he saw after leaving McGonagall's office.

The only problem was that I had nothing appropriate to wear-and no time or money to obtain said articles. So time to run, not walk to my personal "fixer."

"Hermione, I need you now. This is a desperate situation." I yanked her away from her precious books so forcefully that my equally precious brother could only gape at our quick retreat to the girls' dorm.

Parvati and Lavender were there when we arrived, which was just as well. I needed as many allies in the battle for Harry Potter as possible.

We tackled the dress robe issue first. First Lieutenant Lavender volunteered to scavenge for dress robes from all the Gryffindor girls. Captain Patil began to commandeer shoes. General Granger stayed behind to form the battle strategy by compiling the all-important checklist.

I was nicknamed "Cinderella" for some obscure reason of Hermione's. I soon found that "Cinderella" had the worst grunt work of the lowliest private. I had to try on all of the dress robes found within the premises of Hogwarts. There were enough to rival Madam Malkin's.

"Red?"

"No, clashes with her hair."

"White?"

"Insip id."

"Pink?"

"Please, put a bow on her and stick her under the Christmas tree."

"Hello! I can hear you!" I said from underneath the folds of the fiftieth dress robe I had tried on that afternoon.

"Oh, Ginny-get over it. We're just trying to help."

"Black?"

"God, no. She looks washed out."

"Blue?"

"Too predictable."

"Green?"

"He'll be wearing green; they can't go looking like one of those family Christmas card photos."

"Ah, here it is."

And there it was. Simple satin robes in cream with a v-neckline. The sleeves and overskirt were sheer chiffon. It was floaty and twirly, a dream of a dress.

"Hey, who knew you had those?" Lavender said looking at my chest.

The cut certainly emphasized by my, erm . . .breasts. But what could I do?

"If you've got 'em, flaunt 'em." Hermione said firmly.

We all stared at her.

She rolled her eyes as only Hermione can roll her eyes. "This is war. Are you going in with overwhelming force or not?"

I thought it was a lot to ask of cleavage, but if Hermione thought they could win the day, I'd give them their shot at glory.

Then we moved on to shoes. Do you know how many types of footwear there are in the world? Too many to count. Not being masochistic, I leaned toward sensible, soft shoes. However, my entire army consisted of sadistic harridans who were only interested in how the shoes looked, not how they felt. Finally the decision was made: sandals-- with three-inch heels and two thin straps of cream-colored leather. By some weird alchemy, when worn, the shoes, my feet, and my legs became objects of mouth-watering beauty.

I'm not being conceited. My feet and legs have nothing to do with it. It's the shoes; they're magical. I should know, I'm a witch. I know magic.

And on the plus side I could actually walk in them twenty feet without crippling pain.

Lavender looked at them in awe. "You know what they call those kind of shoes?"

"What?" we chimed.

"Blank me shoes, because well . . ." she trailed off, embarrassed.

"Blank me shoes?" Parvati asked. "What does that mean?"

"Fill in the blank with the word that means . . ."

"Oh,I get it now! Parvati squealed.

I laughed nervously. "I don't want to do that!" (At least not on the first date, I amended to myself. OK, Mum, my wedding night, I thought sending mental vibes to the Burrow just in case the maternal radar was on.)

Hermione, sensing a general coarsening of the conversation, brought the first phase of Operation Cinderella to a close. Dress and shoes had been procured and were at the ready. I peeked at her list. There were eighteen more items. It was going to be a long week.

Monday

I thought it was going to be simple. I asked the girl. She says "yes." I put on my dress robes, spend ten futile minutes trying to make my hair lay flat, go to the ball, stand around being polite, go home, end of story. Noooo, that would be boring. All of my stories have to be interesting, with plot twists.

"Potter." It was McGonagall, keeping me after class. "Make sure you have your story straight."

"Pardon?"

"Th ere will be reporters at the ball. This is your first public appearance since the Rita Skeeter articles during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The last Merlin Q. Public heard, Hermione Granger was breaking your heart. So have your story straight. Are you passionately in love or just friends? Whatever you decide, make sure you come across as normal."

I was still back at the surreal sensation of associating McGonagall with the word "passion," that I almost missed that last bit.

"I am normal!" I protested.

McGonagall waved me away impatiently. "I know that. Just make sure the powers that be can see it Saturday night."

Now what? Time to run, not walk, to my personal "fixer." "Hermione, I need your help."

It was another summit of the trio at the lunch table in the Great Hall. How many plots and plans had we hatched at this very table? Never one like this. Hermione called Ginny over just as I launched into my explanation of McGonagall's warning.

As per usual, Hermione got to the bottom of the matter. "So what do you want to do? Go as friends, or lovers?"

"Lovers? What kind of . . ." I'm afraid I may have blushed. OK, I did blush. Then I looked at Ginny. She was giving me a cool, assessing look-like trying to decide if this thing on the bottom of her shoe was something to scrape off into the bin or just wipe on the mat.

"I. . ." I must have looked as bewildered as I felt, until a blonde across the hall caught my eye. She was my very own stalker-with an uncanny resemblance to Gregory Goyle. If Ginny was my "girlfriend" . . . Well, I don't need to connect the dots for you.

"Lovers," I said decisively. Well, it probably came out more like a croak.

Oh, oh. If anyone looked less lover-like, it was Ginny Weasley at that moment.

I had done it again. The ego had landed-right into hot water.

*

I was going to kill him! Assuming I'd just fall in with whatever he decided. Arrogant git! Ron and Hermione were no help. They were enjoying the novelty of watching an argument instead of participating in one.

What's a girl to do? I'm not proud of this-but I went for cheap shock value.

"Lovers? Is that open-mouth kissing or closed?"

Pretty bad, I know. I heard Hermione gasp and I saw Ron's jaw drop. Of course, Harry, bloody, beautiful Harry Potter looks at me with a glint in those eyes and says, "Surprise me."

Well, I had to laugh. How long can you stay angry with someone that gorgeous who is flirting with you? We are friends again and now officially a "couple." I give it an hour for word of our "relationship" to be all through Hogwarts. One decorous walk while holding hands through the Great Hall at lunchtime should do it. By evening we will have been spotted snogging in the Astronomy Tower. By tomorrow the rumors will be about our own "love nest" in the Room of Requirement!

Tuesday< /p>

Does anything ever happen on a Tuesday? Sure, people are born and people die on Tuesdays-but you wouldn't think of Tuesday in a romantic sense, now would you? Neither did I. Until today, the Tuesday I became obsessed with Ginny Weasley.

After one solid day as Ginny's "boyfriend" I have discovered all kinds of things abut her. Let's start with her hair. I know I talk about girls' hair a lot, but I don't think I have a thing for hair. OK, maybe I do. You would too since all the females at Hogwarts are covered in billowing robes. So you start noticing things like hair and hands and lips. .

But I digress. Hermione has interesting hair. Brown-with all sorts of colors threaded through it. Cho has straight, silky black hair, which ripples when she moves.

Then there is Ginny's hair. I've always noticed it. Noticed her because of it. She stands out in a crowd because of that hair. Red is such a skimpy word to describe such radiance. Could Ginny have any other hair besides that mane of red and gold that she flings oh so casually across her shoulder?

You're right, I do have a hair thing.

I didn't realize that I had a hand thing until I started holding Ginny's for our little masquerade. She has small hands, which are always warm and soft. Sometimes she absentmindedly runs her thumb back and forth over mine. I won't go into the details of my physical reaction to such a caress.

Needless to say, my conversational skills are deteriorating.

Ginny doesn't seem to notice, or if she does, she doesn't seem to mind. Serves me right. After years of not noticing her, now she's all I can think about. The irony is not lost on me.

This is what I was thinking about while Hermione was showing us an organizational chart of the Ministry hierarchy. Hermione has taken Ginny and me in hand to prepare us for our debut at the ball, and felt this was essential information. Silly me, I thought I had gotten out of learning the inner workings of the Ministry by asking Ginny. Apparently not.

*

Hermione, bless her, thought Harry and I should know the who's who of the Ministry. So she devised a chart, complete with photos. Ron pointed out that most of the employees would have backstabbed each other up and down the ladder by the time either Harry or I were old enough to work there-or even care to work there.

It was amusing to watch the people in the snaps give each other dirty looks when the other wasn't looking. Looks like it will be a fun party. Pit of vipers, more like.

I tried to pay attention, I really did. But I had a distraction. Did I ever tell you what beautiful hands Harry has? I know, those eyes are what I'm always going on about, but since our chaste handholding, I have noticed just how attractive they are. For one thing, his hands are bigger than mine. When he holds my hand I am enveloped in his warmth. How can that little bit of contact make me feel so . . .cherished?

I like everything about them: the shape of the fingers, the texture of the skin. They are clever hands, adroit hands. Just watch him catch a Snitch sometime. I won't think about other skills those hands might have . . .

Then there's his hair. It's black, but how many shades of night are there? I touched it when I ruffled his hair during one of our bantering conversations. It is soft and thick. I don't know how I stopped myself from burying my face in it and moving on to nuzzle his neck.

Sorry. You lost me for a minute.

One thing about today. Harry has officially noticed me. I can see it in his eyes. You would think I would be gloating, or setting off fireworks at the very least.

But I am greedy. I want more. Yes. The "L" word. Sunday I was glad for the opportunity to strut my stuff. Turns out the dress and shoes weren't necessary. A few hours with my charming self and he succumbs. Ironic, isn't it, that I'm not satisfied with that? Oh, the irony isn't lost on me.

Wednesday

I've noticed that every major event of my life since coming to Hogwarts has been commemorated by an insult from Draco Malfoy. My new "relationship" with Ginny was no exception. I'm glad it happened today. We had been "going out" for more than twenty-four hours and no word from the Ferret. I was worried he was losing his touch.

We were sitting on a bench outside in the courtyard. I had just finished telling Ginny Dumbledore's joke about the troll, the goblin, and the hag who go into a bar. She was laughing that free, happy laugh which makes me feel light enough to float.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle appeared, looking excited to try out some new material. When Ginny saw them, she put her arm across by shoulders and spoke into my ear. I lost most of my ability to think coherently because she smelled so good, and her lips were practically touching my ear. I'm surprised I didn't spontaneously combust at the moment. I'm even more surprised that I actually comprehended what she was saying to me.

I don't know how, but she knew exactly what Malfoy was going to say-word for word. She said it to me before he got the chance. Halfway through his blithering, he noticed what she was doing. It was priceless to see him stuck in the middle of an insult with no way out.

Watching him turn on his heel, trailed by a bewildered Crabbe and Goyle, was one of the highlights of my sixth year.

I turned to her in delight. I opened my mouth to tell her how wonderful she was, but I never got past her name. She was so close. She was smiling. I was smiling. Then I kissed her, quickly, affectionately, with all the gratitude in my heart.

She paused and looked at me, but didn't pull away.

"So it's closed-mouth kissing then?"

I don't know what made me do it, but I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her on to my lap. (Which felt very nice) Then I tilted her back, with all that lovely hair trailing on my arm, and I bent to kiss her laughing mouth-when the bell rang for class.

It's just as well. If I had been kissing her when the bell rang, I never would have heard it. And I wouldn't have cared anyway.

You know what's ironic about that first kiss? Yes, Harry Potter attracts irony like filings to a magnet. Yesterday I wanted to kiss Ginny out of desire, but today I kissed her out of admiration. I think she might be attracted to me, I mean, that's what a crush is all about isn't it? But admire me like I admire her? I wish.

*

Ferret boy found Harry and me sitting in the courtyard. Good thing I was in such a happy mood. Harry had just told me the funniest joke. I don't know how I knew, but I just knew how Malfoy was going to insult us. So I put my arm around Harry's shoulders. It's quite a stretch; they certainly are broad enough. And I leaned in close to his ear-and almost forgot what I was going to do because he smelled so good. Then I parroted everything Malfoy tried to say, before he had the chance to say it. Needless to say, the strategy worked. Malfoy was vanquished.

Then Harry kissed me. Because he was proud of me. Because he admired what I did. Because he likes me.

I loved that kiss, my first kiss from Harry. He kissed me as his equal, in the bright, bold sunshine. It made me want to laugh, and challenge him.

He was equal to it. He pulled me into his lap and had me draped across his arm so fast; I could only go along for the ride. That second kiss was very different from the first.

Sigh.

He's strong.

Strong enough to meet my challenges.

I admire that.

Thursday

"Tell me the story of Cinderella," she asked me Thursday at supper. It was just the two of us at the long Gryffindor table; Ginny having finished late with her OWLs study group. Even though there was no one to watch me play "boyfriend," I did anyway-just because it was getting to be a pleasant habit.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just tell me," she said, evidently feeling I could be more useful telling her a Muggle fairy tale rather than nicking the chips off of her plate.

So I told her the entire tale from "once upon a time" to "they lived happily ever after."

She was quite taken with the story. "It's oddly satisfying," she sighed.

"Too may problems," I objected. "What kind of piss-poor witch can only charm something until midnight?"

She giggled at that.

"And what if he had never found her," I said with a chill thinking of Ginny in the Chamber.

She grew serious. "What if he had never looked for her?"

"If he 'loved' her, he'd go after her. Any bloke would. Even a pretty boy like Prince Charming," I answered.

"You don't think he loved her?" Ginny seemed surprised. "You don't believe in love at first sight?"

"I'm skeptical. I certainly believe people confuse attraction for love," I said, thinking of Cho.

"Harry," Ginny looked impressed. "You just don't swim at the shallow end of the pool."

"I try to stay there as often as I can, less tiring," I replied.

*

"Tell me the story of Cinderella," I asked Harry while he watched me eat my late supper. I asked partly because I wanted to know the story, and partly because I wanted to hear his voice. It is smooth and warm sounding. If his green eyes are spring, then his voice is golden summer, full of life. That is the only way I can think of to describe it.

That was the voice that begged me not to die in the Chamber.

I will always love that voice.

I wonder why Hermione thought I should be called Cinderella. Yes, Harry did go looking for me once. But not after he was bedazzled with my beauty at a ball. I was just a skinny, freckly girl back then.

Why did he go looking for me?

After Harry scoffed at the story, he seemed more interested in Prince Charming's success or failure. He asked me, "what if he had never found her?"

But I was more concerned with Prince Charming's motivation. "What if he had never looked for her?" I said. Where would I be now if Harry hadn't bothered to look for me?

Funny how you can find things out about people when you talk about stories. Harry knows that there is a difference between attraction and love. I could have guessed that about him-he's not your average Hogwarts male.

I didn't tell him that I believed in love at first sight. I wonder how many sightings he needs in order to fall in love?

Friday

How many breakfasts have I eaten in the Great Hall? Over a thousand, at least. This breakfast started out like they all do. Ron was shoveling in his food. Hermione had her nose in a book. I was waiting for the coffee to take effect.

Then Ginny walked in with her dorm mates looking as bright and welcome as a sunrise. Sunrise? See, I'm losing it. She swooped by, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and said "Good morning, Harry."

That's the moment I fell in love.

Or, rather, that's the moment I realized I loved her. Judging by the depth of my feelings, I think I've loved her for a long time. And yes, the word is Love--as in can't-live-without, air-I-breathe, light-of-my-life Love.

So.

What do you do after such a revelation? Going to class in a daze was the option I picked. I must be dazed quite often because no one noticed anything unusual about my behavior.

I didn't see Ginny much on Friday. Our classes were at opposite ends of the building. We had Quidditch practice, but Katie was working the Chasers separately from the rest of the team. They were still at it when Ron and I trudged up to supper. So I missed her.

I mean, really missed her.

I didn't see her the rest of the day or evening because Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati locked her in the girls' dorm. Something about "preparations" for the ball. Unless they were gluing new legs on her, I couldn't imagine what preparations would take a full day.

After the daze, and the missing, panic set in.

Is this normal to be so afraid? Isn't love supposed to be . . . You know, I don't know what love is supposed to be. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe feeling like you've been split open, exposed, vulnerable, is what it's about. If it is, I don't want any part of it!

I wanted to ask someone for advice. Ron was out because he is even more clueless than I am. Hermione would walk me through a step-by-step analysis of what I was doing wrong-like she did with Cho. I thought of all the people who cared about me. I thought about whom I trusted the most. Then I realized whom I needed to talk to. I went to get Hedwig.

*

Hedwig woke me up Friday night. It had been a long, lonely day without Harry. After a brutal Quidditch practice, Hermione, Lavender, and Pravarti buffed and polished me into ballroom condition. Manicure, pedicure, and exfoliation-I drew the line at waxing. But I didn't have the energy to fight them over the hair. They tried so many different arrangements that I lost track. I finally crawled off to bed, mentally apologizing to my face and hair for subjecting them to the beauty school dropouts from hell.

The minute I saw Hedwig, I knew something was up with Harry. The note simply said "Please meet me in the common room." I threw on my dressing gown and went down the stairs as quietly as I could.

He was sitting on the settee in the alcove, dressed for bed in a t-shirt and sweats. He was so deep in thought that he didn't see me until I was sitting right next to him.

I worried that something awful had happened, but he assured me that everything was fine. Yet, he didn't smile when he looked at me. I settled in and waited for him to talk.

Eventually he did. In the dim light of midnight he told me he loved me and that it scared him. He didn't know what to do, or who to talk to-and the only person he trusted enough to tell--was me.

Did I ever tell you how brave Harry is? Or how honest? Or how good? Goodness fairly radiates out of him. Everything he told me came from the purest motives of the purest heart. It's a cliché, but he is more beautiful on the inside . . .

So, then I bared my soul and we lived happily ever after, right?

No, I didn't. I climbed into his lap and put my arms around his neck and I talked to him like a friend. I told him that he needed to learn a few things. Like love is a strength, not a weakness. He needs to learn that the lonely little boy who craves affection is worthy of it. He needs to understand that love will go with him to edge of doom and back.

I'm giving him 24 hours to figure it out.

Cruel, you say? My refusal to tell him my feelings until after the ball? You think, perhaps, that this is payback for his inattention when I was crushing on him?

I swear on a stack of Madam Pince's spell books that this is not so. Would I consign Harry to that howling wilderness which is unrequited love? No, I would never play games with Harry.

But he was so overwhelmed with his feelings, how could he handle mine? You will understand, just as Harry will-tomorrow. I promise. Trust me.

That's what I told Harry, and because he loves me, he accepted what I told him. Because I love him (I do, you know), and because of the fact that we were alone at midnight after a very serious talk, it seemed natural to kiss him-tenderly, with emotion yet unspoken.

From there . . . Well, if Molly Weasley's radar wasn't going off, I'd be surprised.

His lips were firm under mine, and then they softened into a slow, gentle exploration of my mouth.

How to explain the wisdom of the body? I had never done any more with Michael than kiss, but I seemed to know just what to do next. And so did he. Everywhere he touched me with those beautiful hands made me feel beautiful and adored. We spoke intermittently. The way he murmured my name was a caress in itself. Oh, it was a sweet night.

Somehow we both stopped at the same time. We both seemed to know that it was late, we had to play a Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in a few hours, and all good things must come to an end.

Saturday Part I

I once heard a statistic that an adolescent male has a sexual thought, on average, every fifteen seconds. And I wondered who the slacker was who skewed the results. You see, I am a normal adolescent male, and I have those thoughts constantly. But no matter how much thought I had put in on the subject, nothing prepared me for what happened last night between Ginny and me.

We sat in the dark and I told her all my jumbled up thoughts and feelings. At first, I was afraid, but the more I talked, the more I knew that I could tell her anything. It was like falling and then being caught. There was safety, relief, and exhilaration, all rolled into one.

Ginny wouldn't tell me her feelings until I had promised to think about love. She knows I hate that stuff. But I promised because she asked.

And then she kissed me, tenderly. And I kissed her back, tenderly. And oh, so slowly, we added one kiss upon another until our mouths merged and I could taste her sweetness.

Somehow, it seemed natural that I was caressing her body while she was touching me. I've never been touched very much in my life, so I never realized how a caress could communicate the most profound of feelings.

At least I hope so.

Every touch, every kiss I gave to Ginny said, "I love you." Did her actions mean the same thing? Would Ginny do that with me if she didn't love me?

I think this is the part where I'm supposed to think about what love means.

No, Ginny would not kiss a lie, and judging by her response to me, she must love me a lot. Am I worthy of that love? No, of course not.

But neither is anyone else.

I came to that conclusion before breakfast. Pretty good for Mr. Afraid-of-love from yesterday, right?

Then it was time for the Quidditch match. Ginny arrived, barely on time, looking like she had just rolled out of bed. Poor girl, she always did need a lot of sleep.

We only had time to exchange smiles before getting down to the business of beating Hufflepuff. My mission was to not catch the Snitch until we were up fifty points. I did a lot of feinting and had the pleasure of watching the Chasers perform like clockwork. "Works well with others," Ginny would have gotten on a Muggle report card.

Once we had the points, I chased down the Snitch and the usual victory frenzy ensued. It had been a good match because we worked as a team. It wasn't just me. Then I realized what this had to do with Ginny. I need her. To really win at anything, I need her by my side. Oddly enough, no panic set in at this admission. I'm learning. Amazing what you can learn before lunch.

*

I barely made it to the match on time. So much for being the vision of beauty after the night before. I only had a chance to smile at Harry before the match, but just one glance told me something had changed for him. He looked centered, calm, even content. Not emotions you could often associate with Harry. He had been thinking. See, I told you he'd get it in twenty-four hours.

After the match he came right over to me, looking concerned. I was so tired at that point, that I just wanted to lay my head on his chest and have a little cry.

"Are you all right?" he asked. I blubbered something, and he took me back to the castle, carrying both of our brooms. Then he kissed me on the forehead outside the door of my dorm and sent me off for a nap. It never occurred to me what having Harry as a boyfriend would be like. I always thought in terms of caring for him, not the other way around.

So, after a few sentimental tears, and a three hour nap, it was time to get ready for the ball.

My army came back, this time with supper. Parvati explained that Harry shouldn't see me until I was ready.

"I'm not a bride!"

Nobody bothered answering because they were too busy unlocking trunks of make up and hair implements.

Parvati sat in front of me applying makeup to my face. From this close distance, I could see how pretty she really was, with those dark eyes and that dusky, smooth skin. Harry took her to the Yule Ball two years ago. Why didn't he fancy her? And what about Lavender who had that wholesome, rosy look? And there was Hermione who carried herself like a queen. My army, I thought sentimentally.

"Look up," Parvarti said as she put mascara on my lashes.

My eyes filled with tears thinking about how kind they were.

"Am I hurting you?" Parvarti said in alarm.

"No, I'm just thinking about how sweet you lot have been to me this week."

Parvati smiled and shrugged. "It's been fun."

Lavender stopped curling my hair with some evil looking tongs. "We're glad you two got together."

"Really?" I had never thought about anyone else noticing or caring whether Harry and I were together or not.

"Harry's a good person. He's been through a rough patch lately. He deserves a spot of happiness." Parvati said, brushing my cheeks with blush. "No more tears. You'll look like a raccoon if you get that mascara wet."

Hermione brought the dress robes over and carefully helped me pull them over my head. I thought about what a superior fairy godmother she was to the one Cinderella had. "Thanks, you." I murmured.

She didn't say anything, but looked pleased.

After I was dressed, I looked down at the low-cut neckline and thought, these are old news. He already knows about them. But you know what? File this under "universal truths" - the male of the species is continually fascinated with the female form-especially her breasts. The appeal never wanes.

I should know, because when I walked into the common room, all male eyes snapped to my chest. Ron looked scandalized. "Mum's going to have kittens when she sees you hanging out like that!"

"Ron, I am not 'hanging out!'"

Hermione made an indistinct noise at Ron and brought over a chiffon stole which matched the dress. "She can cover up with this if she wants to."

"Does she have to?" This was Harry, finally speaking after the first stunned minute he spent looking at me.

He came over to take my hand. "You look," he lowered his voice so only I could hear, "almost as beautiful as last night."

I blushed, which I don't do too often.

"No kissing! You'll mess up her makeup!" Parvati shrieked.

Harry sighed. "Here."

It was flowers. For me, from Harry.

"Oh!" Only the threat of raccoon eyes held back the tears.

They were tiny, cream-colored blossoms with hearts of red and gold.

"Neville got them for me."

I thanked Neville, who looked flustered. "Luna helped me pick them at the greenhouse," he mumbled and then blushed.

I glanced at Harry and I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was: Neville and Luna in the deserted greenhouse at night, hmm . . .

Lavender pronounced them perfect for my hair and arranged them somewhere at the back of my head. I really hoped I didn't look like a float in a parade.

Saturday Part II

Those flowers. I had forgotten about flowers until Neville brought it up. Neville, sensitive thoughtful Neville, who took Ginny to the ball two years ago. Did he still have feelings for her? Apparently not since he took Luna with him to the greenhouses.

Ron watched my losing battle for flat hair. He was giving me that quiet appraising look he has mastered this past year.

"What?" I asked.

"What's going on with you and Ginny?"

I wanted to tell him that it was none of his business, but since he is my best friend and Ginny is his sister, I didn't say that. So I countered with, "Why?"

"Because I've never seen you like this."

"Like what?" I was trying to decide if shaving my head was a viable option.

"Like you're not hungry anymore."

You have to hand it to Ron, when he wakes up, he is more astute than the rest of us put together, and that includes Hermione.

"I just hope I don't screw it up."

"What, like with Cho? I don't think so."

"How can you be so sure?" I asked, hoping he would know some secret I didn't.

"Because Cho was never hungry."

Was Ginny? Did I satisfy something she always wanted? I wondered.

Ron snorted as if he had read my mind. "The Weasleys are consistent in their likes and dislikes, Harry."

"You know, your range has expanded beyond a teaspoon."

Ron made a face. "If I ever get a chance . . ."

"Take my advice. Make a chance."

I left him there looking thoughtful.

Ginny looked gorgeous in that dressed-up way girls have, which makes you wonder if they are really real. Ron's dismay over Ginny's "new look" made me realize that I would probably see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Who else would I have to talk to? I hate these kinds of things.

Ginny seemed to know what direction my thoughts were taking. "It will be all right, Harry. You don't have to do the talking. Just let them talk. Adults love that-they think you're hanging on their every word."

As we walked to Dumbledore's office, I noticed something different about Ginny. She had gotten . . . taller. Maybe they did glue new legs on her.

"Why are you taller?"

"Dancing shoes, see."

Ginny stopped and lifted the skirts of her robes to reveal the sexiest legs I have seen-ever. I never thought of myself as being particularly attracted to legs-until now.

She laughed at my expression. "It's the shoes, they're magical."

I certainly won't have trouble taking Ginny's advice about listening more than talking, since I was rendered speechless for the rest of our journey to the ball.

We took a Portkey to a luxurious high-rise with huge windows overlooking the city of London. It appeared the Ministry had added a floor to a Muggle building for the night.

We had to stand in a receiving line along with McGonagall and Dumbledore who were also being "honored." I took Ginny's advice and did a lot of listening and nodding. It wasn't so bad, probably because Ginny was right next to me.

I did see Ron's point about Ginny's dress when I noticed every man there eying her. I had an urge to pin that stole securely around her neck.

Mrs. Weasley didn't approve either. I heard Ginny say in a hurt voice, "Mum, I'm not twelve!"

Mr. Weasley said in his good-humored way, "Now, Molly, don't fuss."

I couldn't bear to have anybody give Ginny a hard time, even her own mother, so I said, "I think she looks brilliant."

Mrs. Weasley turned to say something to me, like "Shut it, it's none of your business." But then she closed her mouth and gave me that same sort of appraising look Ron had given me earlier in the evening.

She knows everything, I thought in a panic. Ginny was right! She does have radar!

But she merely smiled and asked how I was.

I trotted out the standard "Fine."

"More than fine, I'd say," she said. "I'm counting on you to behave yourself."

"Yes, I will," is what I said. I think that she could tell from the look on my face, that on this one, we were in accord. Neither one of us wanted Ginny hurt--ever.

I glanced at Ginny after her parents had left, and I grinned. We had just avoided a huge lecture by being in a public place. Life was good.

Ginny's feet, however, were suffering.

"Harry, I have to sit down, these sandals are killing me."

We found an alcove with a settee and a view of the city lights reflected in the river below. Ginny put her feet in my lap.

"I should have worn glass slippers like Cinderella; they would have been more comfortable.

"If Cinderella had worn those, Prince Charming never would have lost her. He would have slung her over his shoulder and would have been done with it." I replied.

Ginny giggled and said, "Be a love and pry these torture devices off of my feet."

Only too happy to glimpse those lovely legs again, I complied. I even started to clumsily rub her feet, which she seemed to like, judging by the pleasured noises she was making in the back of her throat.

"Hmm. Just add that to the list of why I love you," she said with her eyes closed.

I stopped. "What did you just say?"

She opened her eyes and looked straight into mine. "I have a list of why I love you."

Can a person have their whole world change by three little words?

"Why didn't you tell me any of this last night?"

"I think I did tell you that last night," Ginny smiled playfully. But then she grew serious, swinging her legs off of my lap, so she could sit next to me. "I wanted you to sort out your own thoughts and feelings before you had to deal with mine. It was all new for you. My words wouldn't have helped, but maybe my actions did. So, did you sort out what we talked about.?"

"Yes, I'm not afraid anymore. And there isn't anybody I can think of who is worthy of you, so selfish git that I am, I'm going to keep you to myself. I might be noble, but I'm not stupid."

"I thought so," Ginny said.

This had been bothering me so I just blurted it out. "What on earth did you mean by 'love going to the edge of doom and back'?"

She looked at me, thinking. I was nervous; like I was waiting to see if I had passed an important test.

She finally spoke. "Harry, do you remember when you found me in the Chamber?'

"Yes..." I said, not wanting to say the wrong thing, not wanting to express the terror of that moment when I thought she might be dead.

"You begged me not to die. Do you realize that I heard you? Through the pain of Tom Riddle draining the life out of me, I heard your voice. And I decided to live. Even if it meant more pain, more agony, because your voice was one I loved. So I lived for that next excruciating hour-for you."

I remembered the pain when Voldemort possessed me last year, and how I gave into death, because death was where Sirius was. I thought about how I was willing to die for love, but how she chose the more perilous, painful course; she chose to live for love.

Her love was her strength, and I was humbled by it.

"Do you understand now?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Harry," she seemed to steel herself to ask. "Harry, would you do that for me? Would you come back from the edge of doom for me?"

I thought of the prophecy, I thought of all the pain I had endured, I thought of the uncertain future.

"Harry, what made you go after me in the Chamber?"

Did I know something then? Had there always been some inner compass in me, pointing towards her?

We had come full circle. I called to her, and she answered. Now she was challenging me . . .to live . . .to love, even if it was painful at times.

"Yes." was all I knew to say. "Yes, I would come back . . . to you."

*

The ball was over. Prince Charming didn't have to chase after Cinderella, since she couldn't run-both her feet were sore.

"Harry, I can't wear these sandals anymore, but I need to have something on my feet when we leave."

"We're learning to Conjure things. I'll give it a go."

First, a pair of dirty trainers with broken laces appeared.

"I think the bag lady might need those back," I said.

"Right."

Two fluffy white slippers appeared next.

"Oooo, what shall we name them?"

"Tough customer."

Finally, Harry produced a pair of soft satin slippers.

"Perfect," I said. "Thanks, darling--"

"Darling, is it?" It was Rita Skeeter, media vulture and hatchet queen. She was watching us avidly.

"New girlfriend, Harry? I'm glad to see it. We were working on the boy-who-lived-who-loves-boys angle, but our core audience wasn't thrilled. Sweet old ladies like a traditional romance with a bit of the cad. So what number is she, Harry?"

Surprisingly, Harry was smiling, amused.

"One."

Rita smirked. "You expect our readers to believe that? First there was that Granger girl, then someone named Cho-"

"I don't expect your readers to believe anything you write," Harry said.

"How's this sound? Hermione Granger Heartbroken As Harry Potter Seen Romping With Red-Haired Sex Kitten At Ministry Event."

"Um . . .no. Sex and Ministry event just don't go together." Harry objected.

"Harry Potter Moves On. His New Flavor Of The Week Is A Pretty-" She looked at me and amended, "Cute Red-Head."

"Doesn't really work, does it? Flavor and color don't mix."

"What would you suggest then?" Rita snapped.

"Go for the sappy, fairy-tale ending," Harry suggested.

"Like what?" Rita said sarcastically, "Boy-Who-Lived-Finds-Reason-To-Live?"

Harry smiled, "That's the one."

Rita stared.

Harry said, "Go for it, Rita. Never underestimate the power of the fairy-tale."

"You know," I said as we walked hand in hand back from Dumbledore's office, "I kind of like the sex kitten description."

"I do too," Harry said, "I just don't like it splashed all over the Daily Prophet, or whatever rag she's writing for now. That's only between you and me and the Gryffindor common room."

"If those walls could talk . . ."

"They probably can talk, but no one has ever asked them," Harry said. Then he stopped. "Let's give those walls something to talk about."

"Yes," I whispered, reveling in his kiss.

But it was not dark and quiet in the Gryffindor common room. They had all waited up--our nearest and dearest friends--who were glad we got together, who helped us along the way, who would be there for us in the months to come.

I looked at Harry as Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione dragged me away for the debriefing, and I could read his thoughts: Where is the Vanishing Cabinet when you need it? The irony was not lost on us.

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