just another rabid H/G fan

After the Ball

2011-12-27T04:31:10Z

My entry for the recently concluded hg_seasonsfest Autumnfest exchange.

Title: After the Ball
Gift for: fwittney
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2655
Summary: Out of all the people present in the ballroom, Harry was probably the only one who understood how utterly bored Ginny was.

(When Ginny signed up to play for the Harpies, she never imagined that she also had to undergo what was tantamount to complete and absolute torture.)

hg_seasonsfest autumnfest sign-ups

2011-09-02T16:01:34Z

I knew I wouldn't be able to resist joining...

It's been a long time since I wrote anything new, so this may just be the thing to kickstart my muse into action.

Go sign up, people. :) It'll be fun.

hg_seasonsfest autumnfest

2011-08-26T10:56:13Z

Don't know if I'm up to joining, but we'll see...

Deathly Hallows 2

2011-07-14T14:09:19Z

I loved it. Honestly.

It was missing some stuff (mostly about Ginny, but then again, I wasn't expecting much in that area, and I have some issues with that which I'd like to take up with David Yates and Steve Kloves), but I thought this was the most faithful to canon so far. I may be wrong, but still...

McGonagall rocked it! I always thought that she was a bit forgotten in the later books, but the movie made her shine. Maggie Smith was the bomb. :)

One of the best parts for me was Helena Bonham Carter as Hermione/Emma Watson. (You'll understand when you see the film). She was awesome - she even got Emma's penchant for acting with her eyebrows down pat. LOL.

And Neville! Squee!

What I did love about it most was that the film was almost all about Harry. Not Hermione (finally!), not Luna, not Hermione and Ron as a couple, but about Harry. Which is what the books were all about in the first place.

Definitely worth watching over and over - so I'm seeing it again on Saturday. For those who've already seen it, what did you think?

Birthday Surprises

2011-05-23T13:30:23Z

Title: Birthday Surprises
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Words: 3152
Summary: Despite some major setbacks, Ginny manages to have a rather brilliant birthday after all.

A/N: Belated Happy Birthday to hgrhfan35! Sorry this took so long, C, but I hope you like it. ☺

Birthday Surprises

Ginny Weasley was not having a good day.

Scratch that – she was not having a good week.

It was bad enough that she had spent the days leading up to her twentieth birthday in virtual lockdown in some bloody training camp in Holyhead with the rest of the Harpies, thus making her miss some potentially hot celebratory sex with her boyfriend, but to make things worse, said boyfriend had Owled to regretfully tell her that he would be disappearing for a week in the wilds of Northumbria, rounding up some idiot Dark wizards who didn’t have enough sense to give up the minute they found out that their arses were about to get kicked by THE Harry Potter.

There went the post-birthday sex too, damn it, and she had been so looking forward to re-enacting that very interesting love scene she had read in The Convivial and Capricious Capers of Miss Cornelia Capricorn, the latest Fifi LaFolle novella. (Although she was still a bit sceptical at the prospect of hanging upside down for that prolonged a time – wouldn’t anyone lose consciousness long before anything interesting happened?)

So here she was, working out her frustrations the best way she knew how – by flying like a madwoman. And though training had officially ended hours ago, and they had been told that they needn’t come back until next weekend, Ginny still couldn’t make herself come down from the air and face the reality that she would be going home to the empty flat she shared with Harry. She supposed she could go to The Burrow, except her mum would surely make a fuss and drop not too subtle hints that it was high time that her only daughter get married and contribute to the ongoing expansion of the Weasley family tree.

Ginny chewed on her lip, frowning. While she and Harry had talked about having children, the conversations were nebulous and hypothetical – and usually came about right after they had just had wild monkey sex and they couldn’t, for the life of them, remember if they had cast a proper Contraceptive Charm.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Harry was planning on asking her to marry him anytime soon. And if he ever did actually get around to proposing, would she agree to be his wife? Not that she was even thinking of turning him down, but they were still young and only beginning their respective careers. Harry was a rising star in the Auror corps, and her Quidditch career had only really begun to take off last year.

Although truth be told, the thought of having Harry’s babies made Ginny’s insides feel all warm and fluttery…

“Weasley!”

Ginny looked down to see Gwenog Jones waving at her. She guided her broom towards the ground and landed in front of her Captain.

“Why are you still here?” the dark-skinned witch asked brusquely.

Ginny shrugged. “Lost track of time, I suppose.”

“I see.” Gwenog eyed her shrewdly. “Anyway, these came for you a couple of days back. I couldn’t give them as we had a no correspondence rule in force during that time, if you recall, and I’m sorry I forgot to give them to you at the end of practice.” She handed Ginny a bunch of rolled-up parchment. “Get out of here, Weasley. That’s an order. Go home and give my regards to your family and that boyfriend of yours.”

“When I see him, I will,” said Ginny. I wonder when that will be, she added silently. Once again, the prospect of a cold, empty flat loomed, and she decided to Apparate straight to The Burrow after her shower. Mrs Weasley’s prattling would take her mind off missing Harry, and she might be able to wheedle her favourite strawberry tart out of her mum to boot.

Gwenog gave her a nod and turned to go. “Oh, and Weasley,” she called out as she strode towards the exit, “belated happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Gwenog!”

Hoisting her broom over one shoulder, Ginny headed for the locker rooms, where she sat down and unrolled the first of several birthday greetings. George, Ron and Hermione, her parents and even Bill and Fleur, had sent their felicitations. There was also an unusual-looking one from Luna (it appeared to have been written on some kind of large leaf), all the way from Peru, where she, together with her boyfriend, Rolf Scamander, was observing the migration patterns of South American Glumbumbles. Ginny shook her head in amusement as she read Luna’s rather stern warnings not to let the Glumbumbles hover about her head during her special day, as they had been observed to cause the Loser’s Lurgy.

Smiling fondly at Luna’s eccentricities, Ginny reached for the last bit of parchment, her smile becoming wider when she recognized the spiky handwriting done in scarlet ink.

Dear Ginny,

Happy birthday! I’m sorry to have missed greeting you personally. Next time Robards asks me to take on an assignment on your special day, perhaps you can help this poor, overworked Auror and just threaten my boss with a Bat Bogey if he so much as thinks of separating us on your birthday, or mine, or any major holiday, for that matter.

Anyway, I have a bit of good news – I’ll be home by Friday night! I can’t wait to see you.

I love you,

Your Harry

PS Just kidding about Robards, of course. Please don’t do anything to the man. He has a nasty ulcer and will probably be brought straight to St Mungo’s if you so much as frown at him.

Ginny looked at her watch in alarm. Today was Friday, and it was almost seven! Harry must have been at their place ages ago. Ginny cast a few freshening Charms on herself – she’d share a long, luxurious shower later on with Harry – hurriedly grabbed her kit and with her destination firmly fixed in mind, Apparated straight into their bedroom.

“Harry!” She dropped her bag onto the bed, delightedly taking note of the red Auror’s cloak draped across the back of a chair. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the living room, Ginny,” a deep voice called out.

Ginny freed her hair from its ponytail and combed her hands through it. Harry always did like it hanging loose. “I hope you’re ready for me, love,” she sang out as she sauntered out of the bedroom, “as I am in desperate need of a good shag–”

She stopped in horror at the sight that met her.

Her family, plus a few friends, were staring back at her in varying degrees of shock. Except for George, who was clutching his stomach, laughing fit to burst, and Ron, who had closed his eyes and was shaking his head and moaning in despair.

“Er, happy birthday?”

Ginny’s head whipped around to stare at Harry, who was smiling weakly at her, the tips of his ears burning red. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he came quickly to her side and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered contritely, putting an arm around her and turning her away from the crowd. “I wanted to give you a surprise birthday party to make up for not being here on your actual birthday, but I didn’t reckon on having you announce that…”

Behind them, nervous laughter broke out as a dull thwack indicated that Angelina (or Hermione) had swatted George (or Ron) to stop him from making more of a scene than he already had.

Harry looked so apologetic that Ginny didn’t have it in her to remain angry with him. And in any case, she wasn’t really mad – she was unbelievably mortified and embarrassed that she had blurted out how randy she was to her parents, of all people.

“It’s all right, Harry.” She took a deep breath, absently noting that there were drinks and plates of food spread out on the dining table. She smiled, appreciating the effort he had obviously made. “I do expect you to make it up to me, however,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow at him and winding her arms around his waist.

“Oh, I will,” he replied, giving her a quick squeeze. He grinned and kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “You just wait until I give you your real birthday gift.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said archly, running a hand down his chest in a seductive manner, giggling at the strangled groan that emanated from Harry’s throat. “I really missed you, Harry,” she purred, her fingers tracing little patterns on his flat stomach.

“Minx,” he growled in reply, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

“Hey, hey!” shouted George cheerily. “Hands where we can see ‘em, Potter!”

Sighing in exasperation, Ginny gave Harry one last lingering kiss before she turned to face her guests. Harry moved to the kitchen, presumably to get more refreshments, but more likely to give himself time to get his hormones under control.

“Hey, everyone,” she said, ignoring the knowing smirks on her brothers’ faces. “Thanks for coming.”

“I bet that’s not the only thing coming later,” said George, sotto voce, earning him another slap on the back of the head from Angelina.

Her parents came forward. “Happy birthday, pet,” her father said, engulfing her in a hug.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Her mother was next. “Happy birthday, my dear.” To Ginny’s shock, she didn’t say anything else. Seeing her puzzled expression, Mrs Weasley winked. “You’re not the only one who’s felt a little amorous after her boyfriend’s been away for some time.” She looked dotingly at her husband, whose cheeks turned pink even as he smiled indulgently at her. “Why, I remember when Arthur came back after a mission for the Order, he and I would–”

“Okay, way too much information, Mum,” said Ginny, raising her hands in protest and laughing. “I think I’ll go mingle now.”

Leaving her parents beaming besottedly at each other, Ginny made her way to greet the rest of her guests. She kissed Bill on the cheek, patted Fleur’s baby bump and shook hands with Percy and Audrey. She stopped to chat with Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot, who had just recently begun dating. Hermione and Ron joined them, and Luna soon drifted in to complete their little group.

“Happy birthday, Ginny,” said Luna, handing her a silver-coloured pouch that smelled faintly of musk. “Rolf’s sorry he couldn’t be here, but he had to attend an emergency meeting of the Sacred Knights of the Triple-Breasted Blibbering Humdinger. He hopes you like our present, though.” She blinked owlishly at them. “We picked it up when we were passing through India.”

“Er, Luna, is that what I think it is?” Neville asked hesitantly, pointing to the object that Ginny was holding up for closer inspection. She began laughing even as Hermione and Hannah gave startled gasps.

Ron’s eyes were bulging. “Yeah, is that a–?”

“Why yes. It’s a mood candle,” answered Luna serenely. “Isn’t it clever how it’s shaped like a man’s–”

“Luna!” Hermione shrieked while Hannah erupted into giggles and Ron and Neville began coughing loudly.

“It’s brilliant,” declared Ginny, smiling at her friend as she tucked the candle back into the pouch. “Thanks, Luna.”

“You’re quite welcome,” said Luna. “I hope you and Harry put it to good use. It’s made of ambergris,” she nodded at the packet, “and it will keep for a long time if you store it properly, so you’ll have loads of lovely nights with Harry, although if you want to use it in the morning when you’re feeling randy, you can, like Rolf and I do–”

“Thank you, Luna!” Ron interrupted her loudly, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “We really don’t want to hear anymore about Ginny and Harry’s sex lives, or yours and Rolf’s too, for that matter,” he added in a disgruntled undertone.

“Aw, why not?” said George from behind them, Angelina in tow and looking apologetic at her boyfriend’s shenanigans. “We already know that Ginny’s quite randy right now, and from that little display a while ago, I have a fair notion on how Harry’s feeling too.” He looked smugly at Harry, who had just come out of the tiny kitchen, levitating a case of butterbeers in front of him. “Isn’t that right, mate?”

“Pay no attention to him, Harry.” Ginny glared at her brother. “I’ll deal with him later.” She looked at Angelina. “That is, if you don’t mind, Angie.”

The former Gryffindor Chaser waved her hand in a negligent manner. “Be my guest.”

“I’m hurt, luv,” George declared. “I was merely commenting on how healthy Harry and Ginny’s love life seems to be, and this is the thanks I get?” He clutched at his chest dramatically. “I’m deeply, deeply hurt,” he said, his expression one of deep sorrow. “Wounded, even.”

“I’ll show you deeply hurt,” muttered Ginny, narrowing her eyes at George. Harry placed a calming arm around her waist and took a sip of his butterbeer.

“I don’t know, Ginny,” he mused out loud. “Perhaps George is trying to live vicariously through us? No offence, Angelina,” he added apologetically.

Angelina shrugged one slim shoulder. “None taken. Sadly,” she gave a now red-faced George a critical once-over, her gaze lingering critically on his lower half, “things have been rather lacklustre all around as of late.”

“What the hell? Angelina!” roared George, as everyone laughed appreciatively. Ginny smirked triumphantly at her brother and bestowed an extravagant kiss on a grinning Harry.

The rest of night passed with lots of laughter and teasing banter. Ginny unwrapped more presents, most of them Quidditch-related items, such as new Chaser gloves from Neville and Hannah, a Broomstick Servicing Kit from Bill and Fleur, and a year’s subscription to Which Broomstick? from Hermione and Ron. She was a bit disappointed when Harry didn’t give her anything, but she remembered the promise he had made earlier on, and found herself suddenly wishing that – grateful though she may be that they had gone out of their way to celebrate her birthday with her – the lot of them would go home so she could finally have some much-needed alone time with her boyfriend.

Just as she was going to take Hermione aside and implore her to help begin gently shoving people towards the Floo, Harry stood up from the dinner table and motioned for silence.

“Thanks again, everyone, for coming,” he said, sounding a bit nervous. “There’s one last thing before we call it a night–”

“You sure you and Ginny’ll be calling it a night, Harry?” George called out, unfazed by the chorus of loud groans that his comment brought about.

“Shut it,” Ginny warned him.

“Er,” said Harry, his train of thought obviously having been derailed. “You see, I wanted to – that is, what I meant to do was –”

“Go on, dear,” said Mrs Weasley, shooting a reprimanding glare at George.

Harry cleared his throat again. “Happy birthday, Ginny. I love you, you know that, right?”

“I love you too, Harry,” answered Ginny, smiling affectionately at him.

“You mean the world to me,” he continued. “I can’t really imagine my life without you – and… erm… did I mention that I love you?”

“Twice,” Bill observed, sounding amused. Fleur slapped his arm in rebuke.

Harry smiled sheepishly, took out a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it. “Anyway, I really do, and well… marry me?” he asked, looking hopefully at her.

Ginny stared down at the beautiful platinum engagement ring twinkling up at her, only vaguely registering that the entire room had gone silent as everyone waited for her reply. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago that she was wondering how she would react if Harry ever proposed? Now she knew the answer. She looked back up and beamed. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed Mrs Weasley, clutching her husband’s arm in excitement. “Arthur! Did you hear that?”

“Now, Molly, you need to stop hyperventilating,” admonished Mr Weasley, wincing as he tried to extricate himself from his wife’s death grip. “You know what happened the last time…”

Grinning from ear to ear, Harry slipped the ring on Ginny’s finger. She launched herself at him and kissed him passionately, not minding the raucous hoots and wolf-whistles that filled the room, and the rather theatrical sobbing coming from Mrs Weasley and Hermione.

When they broke apart, Ginny leaned in to whisper, “I hope you know how happy you’ve made me.”

“I’m quite overjoyed myself,” he whispered back, smiling.

“Good, but if you manage to make all these people disappear in the next few seconds,” she said, winking slyly at him, “I’ll take your happiness to new heights, if you get my drift.”

Harry’s eyes widened, then he abruptly turned around, only to be accosted by the Weasley men and Neville, who all gave him hearty slaps on the back and shook his hand repeatedly.

Ginny didn’t fare any better, as a squealing Mrs Weasley threw her arms around her and all the girls grabbed her hand, babbling animatedly to each other as they admired her new engagement ring.

Harry’s gaze met Ginny’s over the general chaos, and he shrugged helplessly at her. Ginny rolled her eyes, retrieved her hand (with some effort) from Fleur and issued a piercing whistle.

She waved cheerfully when they all turned to look at her. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but good night, everyone.”

“What if we don’t want to leave yet?” drawled George. “The night’s still young!”

“You’re welcome to stay,” retorted Ginny, “but I’m planning to ravish my new fiancé within the next few minutes, so if you want a free show, then…”

“Good night!” squawked Ron, dragging a protesting George and pushing him into the Floo headfirst. Laughing and offering their well-wishes once again – Luna had some additional helpful tips on how to make the most out of her gift; Harry’s ears burned red when Luna demonstrated to Ginny a particularly interesting carved detail of the aphrodisiac candle – the rest of the guests disappeared into the fireplace.

When the final guest had gone, Ginny turned to Harry and twined her arms around his neck. “I thought they’d never leave.”

“Me too,” he murmured, nuzzling her behind the ear. He pulled back and looked at her. “Thank you, Ginny,” he said softly, “for saying yes.”

“As if I would say anything else, Harry. And I should be thanking you.” She gazed at her engagement ring in awe. “This is the best birthday present ever.”

“Your birthday celebration isn’t over yet, you know.”

“Ooh, do I have another present I haven’t unwrapped yet?” she asked cheekily, tugging on the waistband of his trousers. “Saved the best for last, have you?”

“Well, you know me…” he said, smirking at her.

“All right, then, and while we’re at it, let’s go see if that candle of Luna’s really works, shall we?”

*end*

My takingitinturns gift

2011-04-15T11:48:09Z

Look at what I got from the fab fwittney. It's called "Ginny's Hug".

Isn't it too cute for words?

Check out the rest of the fic and artwork over at the takingitinturns exchange, run by the always awesome flyingcarpet. Don't forget to leave a review!

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Holiday on Ice

2011-04-07T10:15:00Z

Here's my entry for the recently concluded hg_seasonsfest Winterfest exchange.

Title: Holiday on Ice
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5763
Summary: Harry wished he and Ginny could stay here just a bit longer. Maybe they could stay until New Year’s, or Valentine’s, or maybe even up to St Patrick’s Day.

Author's Notes: Writing for one of my favourite fanfic authors, cibjasfad, was, to put it mildly, quite daunting. She requested for a light feel, kisses with cold noses, snowflakes, hot chocolate, the song St Patrick’s Day by John Mayer, and Harry or Ginny teaching the other something new. I took this to mean that she wanted a fluffy romance and hopefully, I did not go overboard, but if you can’t write about fluff and romance during Christmas, when can you, eh? Thanks to the usual beta team!

(He knew it was only a matter of time before Ron, as thick as he was, would catch on that his sister was the object of Harry’s increasingly elaborate daydreams.)

HP art

2011-04-04T16:30:25Z

I recently commissioned an art piece from the talented Loleia, and I must say, I am very happy with the finished piece.

It's from Chapter 6 of my fic, Win a Date with Ginny Weasley, if the escargot shells in front of Ron and George didn't clue you in. :)

I think Lola is still accepting commissions. Go check out her deviant page here.

Thank you, Lola.

Needless to say, please don't copy or take without my permission.

wild wheezes weekend

2011-03-26T15:16:58Z

I finished my takingitinturns assignment, for the awesome lunalovepotter!

Here's the link: Wild Wheezes Weekend

Thanks to the uber cool flyingcarpet for all her help and patience.

Now I need to work on hgrhfan35's story...

DH 2 first look

2011-03-20T02:50:43Z

I was bawling my eyes out when I saw this.

Why'd Fred have to die? Why, JKR, why? :(

You can see the entire video in HD at this link. Watch out for the many Ginny moments!

Taking It In Turns

2011-02-16T09:43:31Z

I can't believe I've signed up for another ficfest (considering I owe several fics to several people plus RL is kicking my arse to hell and back), but since it's being run by the always-made-of-awesome flyingcarpet, I couldn't resist.

rules | info | signups

the winterfest is on

2011-02-04T17:36:52Z

The posting for the winter hg_seasonsfest has begun.

Check out the latest fic and art. Don't forget to leave a comment for the authors and artists!

Wow!

2011-01-28T12:26:36Z

Eep!

I actually won something!

Thanks to everyone who voted and to the mods of hpgw_otp. You guys rock.

And congrats to all the other nominees and winners too, especially those on my flist - stmargarets, cibjasfad, quidditchmum and hgrhfan35.

2010 Roll up

2011-01-07T16:54:10Z

Wow, I can't believe I actually wrote 7 (8, if you count in my entry for the winter hg_seasonsfest) stories in 2010. I even managed to finish a multi-chaptered one!

I had a writing slump right after Deathly Hallows came out, since I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the fact that all these characters suddenly got bumped off. (Tonks, Hedwig, Fred! *sob*) And that Epilogue... *deep sigh*

Good thing reactivating my LJ got me back into the writing groove, especially after I managed to pluck up the courage to join ficfests instead of just being a lurker. Met some really great people too!

Here's hoping my muse will stick around for 2011.

Ginny Weasley and the Oblivious Auror
Honey, I Shrank My...
The Annual Weasley-Potter Summer Holiday Caravan
The Only One
What Witches Want
Your Eyes are as Brown as a Portable Swamp
Win A Date With Ginny Weasley

What Witches Want

2010-12-29T16:14:51Z

Title: What Witches Want
Author: cwarbeck
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3702
Summary: Ginny and the girls talk about underpants, facial hair, and the search for the elusive Mr Dateable.

A/N: Written for the December challenge at catchmysnitch, where the prompt was Diagon Alley. Dedicated to alxndrjosephine, because she bribed me with the promise of an HP themed layout, and I’m easy like that. I hope you like it, She, and thanks in advance. My everlasting gratitude as always to Chreechree, the queen of all betas. To my male readers - all three of you - there's a whole lot of estrogen in this fic, so you have been warned. Proceed at your own risk. ☺

What Witches Want

or

Dating Dos and Don’ts for the Dateless and Desperate
by H. Abbott, H. Granger, L. Lovegood & G. Weasley

It had become a ritual of sorts.

Every second Thursday of the month, at exactly five in the afternoon, they would all meet at the newly renovated Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley, where they indulged in all sorts of guilty pleasures such as Chocolate Peanut Butter Ice Cream Bombes, Triple Berry (Strawberry, Blueberry and Snozzberry) Parfaits and, in Hermione’s case, because she had been brought up by dentists and didn’t know any better, plain vanilla frozen yogurt with a sprinkle of shredded Toothflossing Stringmints.

And of course, they indulged in the kind of conversation that young, upwardly mobile witches often indulged in – what was happening in the Ministry, what the latest fashion was out of Wizarding Paris, who was dating whom, who had broken up with whom, who had been broken up and now were back together again…

In short, they caught up on the latest, and juiciest, gossip.

“You know, I heard that Romilda Vane was caught with Nigel Smedley in a very compromising position in the lifts at the Ministry,” said Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, as she licked her spoon and dipped it again into her Death by Chocolate and then Some. “Is it true, then?”

Her best friend, Hermione Granger, who worked for the Ministry of Magic, made a face. “I don’t normally indulge in office gossip,” Ginny snorted at this, earning her a glare from Hermione, “however, since practically everyone was talking about it, yes, it is true.” She giggled suddenly. “Don’t tell anyone I said so,” she said in hushed tones, “but Eufemia Ingalls from the Floo Regulation Committee said that Smedley was wearing the most atrocious – er – underwear when he ran through the Atrium in his panic at being caught.”

“Really?” Ginny’s eyes opened wide.

“He was supposedly wearing purple Y-fronts.” Hermione lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tiny, tight purple Y-fronts.”

“Ew. Purple Y-fronts?” Hannah Abbott, a late addition to the group, wrinkled her nose in disgust. She had bumped into Ginny one day while the latter had been checking out the newest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products, and had been joining these afternoon get-togethers ever since. She balanced the group out well; she was the level headed one, Hermione, the smart one, Ginny, the feisty one, and Luna, was, well, Luna.

“Does it matter what colour they were?” said Ginny, making a moue of distaste. “Y-fronts are just so… so…”

“Horrifying?” supplied Hannah.

“Appalling?” guessed Hermione.

“Revealing?” suggested Luna.

“Sad,” concluded Ginny with a laugh. “But they’re all of those too. What I really want to know is,” she leaned forward eagerly, “what happened to Romilda?”

“For some reason, she hurled herself into the nearest Floo,” revealed Hermione. “Word is she ended up somewhere here in Diagon Alley.”

“Not exactly in Diagon Alley, but close enough,” said Hannah, chuckling, “because now that you mentioned it, I remember Tom over at the Leaky Cauldron telling me that Romilda caused quite a ruckus the other day when she stumbled out of his fireplace wearing only her knickers. One of the customers nearly had a coronary, and an elderly witch was demanding that Tom call the MLES immediately to arrest Romilda for indecent exposure.”

“Ha!” Ginny cackled with glee. “Wish I could’ve seen that.”

Hermione looked at her somewhat reprovingly. “You’ve never forgiven her for trying to slip that love potion, have you?”

“Nope,” said Ginny cheerfully. “And considering what happened afterwards, she’s not exactly high on your list of favourite people either, is she?”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, then smiled ruefully. “No, she isn’t,” she admitted.

“Is Nigel Smedley related to Mavis Smedley, the author of My Life with the Aquavirus Maggot: A Journey Towards Enlightenment and Effective Pest Control?” asked Luna Lovegood, her radish necklace floating unnoticed in her Bacon and Cheese Sundae Surprise and unintentionally enhancing its flavour.

“No, Luna,” said Ginny, grinning at her friend. “Nigel Smedley is Hermione’s boss over at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“Yes, and a bigger idiot can’t be found in all of England,” said Hermione tartly. “He’s really a poor excuse of a wizard if he couldn’t think of conjuring up some new robes to cover himself with rather than flashing the entire Ministry.”

“Well, it’s understandable, isn’t it?” mused Hannah. “Imagine having your bits on display for everyone to see!”

“Yeah, there probably wasn’t enough blood left in his brain for him to think clearly,” was Ginny’s blunt deduction, “much less do something as complicated as conjuring clothes.”

“Still, as a Ministry employee, and a Department Head no less,” Hermione huffed out, “he should have had the presence of mind–”

“You’re so hard on him because he won’t stop pestering you for a date,” teased Ginny, “isn’t that right?”

“I wouldn’t go out with him even if he was the last wizard on the planet,” retorted Hermione. “He’s the most sexist man I’ve ever met! He even had the gall to ask me why I was working so hard to promote werewolf rights when I could be married already and having babies by the dozen.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “What an idiot,” she fumed. “He makes me want to accept Kingsley’s proposition that I transfer to Magical Law Enforcement.”

“You should. You’d do much better there,” said Ginny supportively. “Speaking of idiots, I had the misfortune to run into one yesterday while I was having lunch at the Leaky with the other Harpies. Remember Wendell Atkinson?”

“Oh dear. Is he still hanging about?”

“Like a lurking lurker who doesn’t know when to stop lurking,” said Ginny, scowling.

“Who’s Wendell Atkinson?” asked Hannah.

“The manager of the Appleby Arrows. He’s quite smitten with Ginny,” Hermione informed Hannah, as Ginny made gagging noises, “and he can’t seem to take no for an answer either.”

Ginny snorted derisively. “He cornered me when I was coming back from the loo and I couldn’t get rid of him. He’s an absolute bore and what’s really sad is that he tries to cover up the rather obvious fact that he’s balding by having a comb-over and the sorriest excuse for a beard.”

“Perhaps it was a Hairy Brown Bundimun,” volunteered Luna. “They have a penchant for human skin. They like the warmth, you see.” She absentmindedly removed her necklace from her ice cream and wiped it clean with a serviette. “It’s conducive to their mating rituals. Makes their pheromone levels shoot up.”

The others were so used to these bizarre pronouncements from the blonde witch that the only discernable reaction was a slight twitching of Ginny’s lips before she continued her tale. “You may be right, Luna. I really thought that a furry animal had attached itself to his chin and made its home there, and that he simply wasn’t aware of it. I almost called the Pest Advisory Board.”

Hermione burst out laughing. “Did you?”

“No, but I should have. They would’ve taken him away for decontamination and saved me from having to pretend that I was listening to him nattering on and on about his collection of rare cauldrons and crucibles.” Ginny grimaced in disgust. “Good thing Gwenog called me over or else I’d probably still be at the Leaky up to now, slowly dying of boredom.”

Hannah spoke up. “The last wizard I went out with was almost as bad. All he kept talking about was his ex-girlfriend and how wonderful she was and how much he missed her and so on and so forth.”

The other girls groaned in unison, even Luna. “Oh you poor thing!” she exclaimed, reaching out and patting Hannah’s hand.

“That’s worse than being bored out of your skull,” said Ginny.

“If he wasn’t over her, he shouldn’t have agreed to go on a blind date with you,” declared Hermione.

“Exactly!” said Hannah. “And then, when I said that I wasn’t interested in going out with him a second time, he had the nerve to ask why!” She slumped dejectedly into her seat. “What I wouldn’t give to date a nice, decent wizard. One who doesn’t talk about his ex–”

“–or ramble on about his cauldron and crucible collection–” added Ginny dryly.

“–or tell you that a woman is only good for making babies!” finished Hermione, slapping the table for emphasis.

“Yes! Is that too much to ask?” said Hannah plaintively. “There must be someone out there who’s ideal date material!”

“There does seem to be a surplus of un-dateable blokes, isn’t there?” said Ginny, digging into the last of her ice cream.

“Does your date calling you ‘baby’ every five minutes and rearranging his bollocks in a very obvious manner count as un-dateable?” Luna piped up, blinking her eyes at them.

Hermione and Hannah choked on their ice cream while Ginny almost fell out of her chair because she was laughing so hard.

“Because Murray MacTavish did that when I met him for dinner the other night. It was most distracting, the way he kept reaching down like that,” continued Luna blithely, completely oblivious to the fact that the other girls were now all practically crying with laughter.

“Luna,” Ginny finally managed to gasp out, “what did you say to the git?”

“I asked him very politely if he had an infestation of chizpurfles in his pubic hair, because Daddy has a recipe for a poultice made from dirigible plums and nargles, and I could Owl it to him if he liked.” Luna frowned as the girls went off in another round of hysterical giggles. “I don’t know why Murray got all quiet. He seemed annoyed, really, and we went home quite soon after that.” The blonde witch sighed. “He was rather fit too. I was looking forward to shagging him, actually,” she announced with casual indifference.

“Luna!” shrieked Hermione, scandalized.

“Oh come off it, Hermione,” said Ginny, flapping her hand at the brunette. “Luna can shag who she wants to shag. She’s a grown witch after all. Although truth be told, Luna, I think you’re better off for not shagging this Murray bloke.”

“Yes, I suppose it was for the best,” remarked Luna, scooping up some more bacon from her sundae. “His kissing did leave a lot to be desired. It was mostly tongue and not enough nibbling.” She chewed thoughtfully. “I like nibbling.”

“Someone should really take these wizards in hand and tell them exactly what makes them so un-dateable,” pronounced Hannah.

“That’s a great idea!” Ginny nodded enthusiastically. “Why don’t we do it? Let’s all list down the stuff that men do that makes us go ‘ew’, compile it into a book and have someone publish it. We’ll make loads of Galleons!” She grinned at them. “And even if we don’t, we’ll be contributing to the betterment of society!”

“Just how will we be contributing to the betterment of society, Ginny?” asked Hermione, sounding sceptical and amused at the same time.

“Well, we’ll be helping blokes everywhere by giving them tips on how to keep from embarrassing themselves on dates, for one,” replied Ginny. “Think of all the mental anguish we’ll be sparing them!”

“Yes, and because we’ve helped these poor wizards in transforming themselves into fanciable blokes, we’ll be helping all the women too because they won’t have to be subjected to gits and prats whenever they go on blind dates,” chimed in Hannah.

“And everyone will have someone to shag,” added Luna happily. “It’s a very good idea, Ginny. I can get Daddy to publish it, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Luna. That’s very generous of you.” Ginny winked at Hermione, who had turned red at Luna’s statement. “So, Hermione, do you happen to have some parchment and a quill? I know you do.”

“This is mad, you know,” said Hermione, even as she began searching in her purse. “Isn’t it a bit sexist?” she asked, finally unearthing a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill from the depths of her bag. “I’m not sure if we should publish it. It makes us sound shallow, and we’ll certainly get into trouble–”

“Hermione, we’re not really going to publish it,” Ginny reassured her. “We’re just having some fun, see?”

Her friend still looked doubtful. “Yes, however–”

“I know, why don’t you edit our inputs so you can make certain it sounds more logical and scientific?”

“Well… I suppose I could...” Hermione tapped the end of the quill against the tabletop, deep in thought. “Just to make certain…”

“Good,” said Ginny hastily before Hermione could change her mind. “Anyone have any ideas for a title, then?”

“The Idiot’s Guide to Dating?” offered Hannah with a giggle.

“That might work. Any other suggestions?”

“I’ve got it!” said Hermione excitedly. “An In-Depth Analysis of the Foibles and Quirks of Sexual Attraction and the Phenomenon of–”

“Er, that’s great, thank you, Hermione,” Ginny interrupted her, exchanging amused glances with Hannah, “but I think we should go for something a bit more… catchy.”

“But you said you wanted something scientific–”

“How about Dating Dos and Don’ts for the Dateless and Desperate,” said Luna, scratching her nose with the end of her spoon.

“That’s brilliant, Luna!” said Ginny, laughing out loud. “I like it.”

“Me too!” said Hannah.

Hermione shook her head and then laughed along with them. “All right, then, Dating Dos and Don’ts for the Dateless and Desperate it is,” she said as she wrote it out. “Okay, now for the list. I think that we should organise it into categories.”

“What do you mean?” asked Hannah.

“I mean like there must be some traits that are still redeemable given the right motivation and guidance, while others are beyond any help barring total mental reprogramming and genetic re-engineering.”

At the total silence that met her proclamation, Hermione looked up from the parchment and rolled her eyes at the others’ blank expressions. “Let’s just decide which qualities we can work with and which are completely hopeless, shall we?”

“Well, all right, then. Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” said Ginny. “So, for things that will definitely send witches Apparating for the hills, we’ve got: Y-fronts – coloured or not, sexist remarks…”

“Don’t forget the rearranging of the bollocks,” interjected Luna, “and not enough lip-nibbling!”

“…public rearranging of bollocks, not enough lip-nibbling,” repeated Ginny dutifully, “comb-overs and talking incessantly about your ex-girlfriends …”

“Comb-overs aren’t that bad, are they?” objected Hermione as she rushed to scribble everything down.

“Yes, they are,” said Ginny firmly. “Trust me, Hermione.”

“How about goatees, or sideburns, or–” whispered Hannah, as a wizard with a curious pattern of facial hair and an even more curious feathery hairstyle passed them by before entering Flourish and Blotts across the street, “–mullets?”

“Holy mother of Merlin, is the mullet back in fashion? Can it go away again, please?” moaned Ginny. “And I personally like my men clean-shaven, although I think a bit of a stubble can be sexy, yes?”

“Oh yes, quite,” said Luna, her eyes glazing over as if she were remembering something pleasant.

“However,” said Hannah, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline as another wizard wandered past, “white socks with anything but trainers are definitely not sexy.”

They all shuddered simultaneously, eyeing the man with barely concealed horror. The poor wizard, sensing their gaze, turned around and looked directly at them. When he saw that a group of attractive witches were staring unabashedly at him, he puffed out his chest – evidently mistaking their scrutiny for admiration – waved and strutted off, his chunky brown leather sandals squeaking noisily on the pavement as he made his way towards Gringotts.

“Those sandals alone are cause for immediate apprehension by the MLES,” said Ginny with a derisive snort, “but to pair them with white socks?” She shook her head in despair. “Unforgiveable.”

“Too right,” agreed Hannah.

“Anyway,” Ginny went on, “all we’ve done is list down the negative things. Anyone here with ideas on what makes a wizard top date material?”

“I’d like someone who’s loyal and responsible,” said Hannah with a wistful sigh. “He doesn’t even have to be that handsome, mind.”

“My perfect man is funny and charming,” volunteered Hermione, “and sensitive and mature–”

“Hang on,” Ginny arched an eyebrow and smirked, “you are going out with my brother, right?”

Hermione flushed but held her head up high. “Ron’s become quite sensitive lately,” she said in a lofty tone, “if you haven’t noticed, and he’s been really mature about a lot of things–”

“I’m only kidding, Hermione.” Ginny held up her hands in mock surrender. “What about you, Luna?” she asked the blonde girl who was polishing off the remainder of her dessert. “What do you want in a wizard?”

“I’m not too picky,” said Luna blandly. “But I really wouldn’t say no to a date with someone who has an appreciation for the finer things in life, just like Daddy. That’s my ideal mate.”

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other. “You might never find that wizard, Luna,” said Hermione, not unkindly.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll find him soon enough. In the meantime,” Luna waved her spoon in the air, “I’m having fun trying out different men. It’s rather liberating.”

Hermione gaped at her while the other girls broke out in giggles once more. Luna seemed perplexed at their reaction and then her brow cleared. “Oh, but I’m sorry, Ginny. I forgot that you haven’t told us what your ideal mate is. Go ahead, please. I’m all ears.” She sat back and waited expectantly.

After letting out a final snort of laughter, Ginny managed to get herself under control. “Okay, well, my definition of Mr Dateable is a wizard who’s smart, loyal, noble, brave to a fault, charming, funny, sexy as hell,” Ginny waggled her eyebrows suggestively at this pronouncement, earning her a fresh round of chuckles, “and maybe occasionally he’s a stubborn prat but he makes up for it at once – or at least makes an attempt to – and what’s more, he’s absolutely ace at this lip-nibbling business.”

Hannah began laughing again, this time in disbelief. “Ginny, this paragon of maleness simply does not exist,” she protested.

“Oh yes, he does.” Ginny nodded vigorously. “I just saw him this morning, and he was wearing a really fab black jumper that outlined his fit body to perfection,” she said with a mischievous smirk.

“Does he also happen to be wearing regulation Auror robes over that fab black jumper of his?” was Hermione’s wry question.

“Yeah,” replied Ginny with a dreamy sigh. “He really looks handsome in those Auror robes.”

“Well, it’s your lucky day, then, because he seems to be heading your way.”

“Oh good. He’s right on time,” said Ginny, a brilliant smile lighting up her features. “I don’t have any chocolate sauce on me, do I?” she asked, glancing down and inspecting her top for stains.

“No, you look great,” Hannah assured her. “I’m certain Harry won’t find anything to complain about.”

They all turned to watch as Harry Potter approached their table. “Evening, ladies,” he called out, smiling and nodding pleasantly at them. “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine, Harry,” answered Hermione. “Would you like some yogurt?” She pushed the melting remains of her dessert towards him.

“No thanks. I’m still full – I just had a butterbeer with Ron,” explained Harry, “who, by the way, Hermione, told me to tell you that no, he hasn’t forgotten it’s your anniversary today and that he’ll be round your flat at seven sharp.”

Hermione turned pink. “Thanks for the information.”

“Hey, you were right, Hermione – Ron has become more sensitive!” said Ginny teasingly. “Congratulations!”

“Oh do shut up,” Hermione murmured, although she looked enormously pleased.

“Have you come to take Ginny away?” asked Luna, peering up at Harry.

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind,” replied Harry with a grin. He held out his hand to Ginny, who was beaming at him, her pretty face flushed and glowing. “Ready?”

“You bet.” She bussed the other witches’ cheeks before standing up and linking arms with Harry, who gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “Sorry for leaving early, but Harry and I have a date to see little Teddy Lupin this evening.”

“We have to stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies first, Ginny,” Harry reminded her. “I want to get Teddy a toy broom for his birthday and you promised you’d help me pick one out for him.”

“Oh, he’s good with children too,” sighed Hannah. “Mr Dateable, indeed.”

“I know, right?” said Ginny, looking up at her boyfriend with evident pride.

Harry appeared thoroughly bewildered. “Erm… I seem to be missing something here.”

“I’ll explain on the way, love,” said Ginny, laughing as she squeezed his arm and kissed him on the cheek. “See you later, girls.”

Harry and Ginny waved goodbye and walked away, holding hands and smiling at each other. As they disappeared from view, Hannah let out another sigh of longing. “Well, another fanciable bloke permanently off the market. Has Harry proposed yet?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “But I’m thinking it’ll be soon. He’s got the ring already. It’s beautiful. He showed it to me and Ron the other day.”

“That’s nice,” remarked Luna. “I always knew Harry and Ginny would end up together. They were meant to be, much like each female Triple-Breasted Blibbering Humdinger is meant only for one particular male Triple-Breasted Blibbering Humdinger.”

“Uh… okay,” said Hannah slowly over Hermione’s faint protestations that there were no such creatures in existence. “You think I’ll find my own male Triple-Breasted Blibbering Humwotsit soon?”

“Oh yes!” said Luna with unflappable enthusiasm. “This book that we’re going to publish will help you find him. Isn’t that right, Hermione?”

“Um, well, yes, about that...” stammered Hermione, as Hannah giggled quietly into her Malted Mocha Madness Milkshake.

“Lovely!” exclaimed Luna, clapping her hands in delight. “Now, there should definitely a chapter on sexual positions, don’t you think?” She tilted her head and gazed keenly at Hermione, who was so flustered that her face had turned as scarlet as Ginny’s hair. “What are your views about the witch being on top? Hermione?”

“Luna!”

*end*

The Best Present of All

2010-12-19T12:06:42Z

Title: The Best Present of All
Rating: PG
Word Count: 9518
Summary: Harry decides that all he really wants for Christmas – and for the rest of his life – is Ginny Weasley. Written for the SIYE December Engagement Challenge of 2007.

A/N: The last of my old Christmas fics. This is the story where the infamous Le Petit Cochon first made its appearance. Re-reading this, I think I was unconsciously putting down into words what I wished had actually happened in Deathly Hallows. :) Thanks for reading and by next week, I may have a new one-shot for you guys. Happy Christmas!

The Best Present of All

“…and the ruby means… what, Ron? Harry?”

Hermione looked up and found that both of her best friends were paying absolutely no attention to her.

Ron was predictably asleep, drooling into his Potions textbook, and Harry was otherwise… preoccupied.

He was staring at his ex-girlfriend, Ginny Weasley, who was chatting animatedly with her dorm mates as they decorated a small Christmas tree standing in one corner of the Gryffindor common room with enchanted snow and tiny golden candles.

“Oh, honestly!” Hermione reached over and rapped Ron sharply on the forehead with the edge of her Potions book.

The redhead shifted slightly before his eyes opened. “Whuzzat?” he yawned, scratching at his forehead.

“Wake up, Ron. We’re supposed to be revising for Potions,” said Hermione irritably. “In case you don’t remember, Professor Slughorn said we were going to have a test on gemstone-based elixirs when we come back after the holidays.”

“Hermione!” Ron complained, stretching his long arms over his head. “We’re leaving for Christmas break tomorrow! We can study for the exam when we come back.”

“Why wait? Don’t you want to get good marks this year? I mean, it was awfully nice of Professor McGonagall to let us complete our seventh year after all we’ve missed, so it’s only right that we do our best to show her how grateful we are. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Harry tore his gaze reluctantly from Ginny and turned to face Hermione, who was looking at him with a sympathetic gleam in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said half-heartedly, not really knowing what he was agreeing to. His eyes immediately flicked back to watch Ginny as she laughed at something her friend had said.

Harry, Hermione and Ron had not come back to Hogwarts during the start of the present term, having decided to try and find the remaining Horcruxes. They had found numerous clues but had not succeeded in discovering any.

When a promising lead as to the whereabouts of Slytherin’s locket (involving a goblin gambling lord and Mundungus Fletcher’s penchant for backing the wrong flobberworm in the highly illegal world of flobberworm racing) turned into a dead end, Harry had reluctantly agreed with Hermione and Ron that maybe they should go back to where Voldemort began his quest for immortality – Hogwarts – and try to see if the Dark Lord had left any hints within the stone walls of the castle. At the very least, Hermione had pointed out eagerly, they could make use of the massive amounts of information hidden away in the Hogwarts library to aid them in their search.

Professor McGonagall had not been surprised when they had knocked on her door late one evening towards the end of November. Although the former Transfiguration teacher asked them what had delayed their re-entry into Hogwarts, she did not pursue the matter when Harry, hoping that the mention of Professor Dumbledore’s name would stave off any more questions, had mumbled a vague story about fulfilling an obligation to the previous Headmaster. The only sign that indicated that Professor McGonagall was suspicious of the whole matter was the noticeable thinning of her lips. Nevertheless, she granted the three of them special latitude and had handed them their time tables for the seventh year with the stern admonition that she fully expected them to catch up with the rest of their classmates.

Harry had been disturbed at how few students had come back. The Patil twins were gone, as well as Hannah Abbot and Orla Quirke. Numerous other people from different years and Houses had pulled out of Hogwarts. Harry was glad, however, to find that all his original dorm mates had returned. Neville had greeted him with quiet enthusiasm, and even Dean Thomas had spoken to him when Harry inquired about the standing of the West Ham football team. Seamus Finnigan regaled them with the tale of the shouting match he had with his parents, which had culminated in tears and a demand from his mother that he make a trip to kiss the Blarney Stone for good luck before he was allowed to return to Hogwarts for his final year.

Ginny’s reaction to their return had been baffling for Harry. She had hit her brother lovingly on the arm and embraced Hermione joyfully, but only smiled and nodded at Harry, which thoroughly confused and irritated him. He thought they had parted on good terms; she had been friendly enough at Bill’s wedding and had even danced with him at the reception. He had not mentioned their plans to search for the Horcruxes, but something in Ginny’s eyes told him that she already knew that they were up to something. She had not asked any questions and left him with a chaste kiss on the cheek, before turning and accepting the next dance from one of Fleur’s smarmy cousins. Harry had spent countless hours during their time away daydreaming about Ginny and the myriad ways he could have erased the lascivious smirk plastered on the French bloke’s pasty face while he was twirling Ginny around on the dance floor.

Harry had come to the realisation that he had made a colossal mistake in breaking up with her.

His rash decision seemed even more pointless when Hermione opined that Draco Malfoy had most certainly informed Voldemort about Harry’s relationship with Ginny. Ron had shrewdly added that since Harry had broken up with Ginny after Dumbledore had died, then for all intents and purposes, the Dark Lord probably still believed that Harry and Ginny were still a couple.

Now he had been back at Hogwarts for almost a month and Ginny seemed perfectly content to just remain friends. He was at a loss on how to tell her that he wanted to resume their relationship and despaired that she would never know that he loved her, Voldemort be damned.

He missed her so much.

“Just tell her already, Harry,” said Hermione softly, interrupting his reverie. She put her book down on the table, nodding encouragingly.

“Yeah, mate.”

Harry looked at Ron in surprise. His best friend had a peculiar expression on his face – a cross between concern and amusement.

“Your spot on imitation of Moaning Myrtle is driving me nuts. Ginny still feels the same way about you, you know.”

“How can you be so sure, Ron?” asked Harry dubiously.

“I just am,” said Ron with an air of finality. “I’ve been watching her ever since we came back, and she has that same look in her eyes that you get whenever you see her. You know–” Ron adopted a forlorn air, “–the lovesick puppy look?” He chuckled when Harry protested feebly. “Besides, I need to win back the five Sickles I put in the House pool that you two would get back together before the hols are over.”

“Ron!” Hermione gasped. “Harry’s lovelife is not something you should be wagering on!”

Harry did not know whether he should feel insulted or thrilled by the fact that Ron had put in that much of his meagre funds simply because he believed that Ginny still had feelings for Harry. He decided that it was a sign that he should finally gather up his vaunted courage and do something to remedy his miserable situation. He was rising from his chair when the faint scent of flowers made him abruptly sit down again.

“Hi,” said Ginny brightly, settling down beside Hermione and making Harry’s stomach do flip-flops as she was now sitting directly in front of him. Ginny peered at the Potions book, which was still open to the page on gemstone-based elixirs. “Oh, what a coincidence; we’re discussing the meanings of semi-precious stones in Muggle Studies right now. Each month supposedly has a birthstone, and each stone is uniquely significant, right?”

“Yes, that’s precisely what we–”

“We should be planning what fun activities we’re going to do at The Burrow,” Ron rudely interrupted Hermione, who glared at him. “Not revising like some kind of desperate know-it-all.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry and grinned. Harry gawked at her for a moment before grinning back. Ginny always knew how to make him laugh.

“For example, Ron, since you were born in March, your traditional birthstone's the aquamarine,” she said loudly, forestalling the brewing argument. “It supposedly bestows courage, insight, and, believe it or not–” Ginny paused and giggled, “–sensitivity.”

Hermione let out an expressive snort, and Harry laughed loudly.

“Hey!” Ron looked indignant. “I’m a sensitive bloke!”

“Right, you’re about as sensitive as a Blast-Ended Skrewt,” Hermione muttered.

“Oh yeah?” Ron scowled and turned to his sister. “What about her birthstone, the sapphire?”

Everyone gaped at Ron.

“How do you know that?” Ginny asked him, looking slyly at Hermione who was turning pink around the ears.

“Please,” Ron waved a hand impatiently in the air, “her birthday’s on September nineteen, so her birthstone’s a sapphire.”

Ginny and Harry exchanged amused glances as Hermione became pinker and ducked her head to hide a delighted smile.

“Well, simply put, the sapphire is a symbol of wisdom,” said Ginny.

Ron slapped the table in triumph. “See, even your birthstone says that you’re a know-it-all.”

Hermione’s smile vanished. She stood up rapidly, almost knocking her chair to the floor. She nodded curtly to Harry and Ginny, then stomped up the girls’ stairs, leaving Ron to stare confusedly at her retreating form.

“What did I do?” he asked.

“Oh, Ron,” said Ginny despairingly. “If you don’t know, then maybe you should go to bed and think about it. You don’t want Hermione to spend the entire Christmas break angry with you, right?”

Ron’s eyebrows knit together. “Yeah, but what did I do?” he repeated, looking at Harry for help.

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Ginny laid a hand on his arm to stop him, effectively shutting down all coherent thought processes. He shrugged helplessly at Ron, who frowned again and rose from the table.

“Right. See you two in the morning.”

As Harry watched Ron grumpily march up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories, he quickly became aware that except for a couple of fifth-year girls who were gossiping by the fireplace, he and Ginny had the entire room to themselves. Harry glanced at Ginny, who was now flipping through Hermione’s Potions book with one hand and absentmindedly playing with her long red tresses with the other. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves; this was the first time since he had come back that he had been alone with her.

“Ginny?” he said, wincing at the uncertainty in his voice.

“Yes?” Ginny closed the book and looked up at him. Harry was quite unprepared for the jolt that ran through him when he met Ginny’s clear brown gaze. Had her eyes always been that luminous shade of hazel?

He cleared his throat and promptly forgot what he was going to say. He floundered around for a topic. “Um, well, what about me?”

She raised a ginger eyebrow. “What about you?” she asked, sounding like she very much wanted to laugh.

Harry mentally kicked himself. He thought hunting for Horcruxes was tricky enough; apparently a simple conversation with Ginny Weasley was infinitely more difficult.

“Erm, I meant, what about my birthstone? What does it stand for?”

Ginny tugged at a lock of her hair and nibbled on it, the familiar gesture reminding Harry of happy days spent by the lake.

“Hmmm… well, the ruby is dead useful. My Muggle Studies professor says that it can cure many ailments, including indigestion, poor circulation, and, uh, female problems,” she said with a playful smile. “It’s also supposedly excellent for shielding one’s mind from psychic attacks,” she continued, looking at him thoughtfully. “Its rich red colour also speaks of fire, passion, and...”

Ginny’s voice dropped to a whisper and Harry had to lean forward to catch the last word.

“Love.”

Harry stared at Ginny, who had let her curtain of hair fall forward, obscuring her face. His heart pounded in his ears.

Was Ginny trying to tell him that she still felt the same way about him?

Hesitantly, he reached out and brushed her hair off her cheek. “Ginny?”

She peered up at him from under her lashes, looking uncharacteristically anxious.

“D'you suppose – I mean, would you consider – um – bugger,” Harry swore, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

Ginny chuckled softly but otherwise remained silent.

Harry closed his eyes to calm himself. He could not afford to bungle this opportunity to tell her how he felt. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the serious expression on her pretty face and resolved to confess his feelings once and for all.

“I made a mistake when I said we needed to be apart,” he began, “and these past months have been absolutely ghastly. I’ve missed you terribly.” He covered her hand with his. “I’ve missed us,” he said fiercely. “D’you think we can try again?”

She pursed her lips, sending him into a mild panic, but he forced himself to wait for what she had to say.

“Harry,” she said slowly, “where have you three been all this time?”

Harry grimaced and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses with his free hand. He had been expecting her to ask that question, but he still had no idea how to answer her. Hermione had urged him to inform Ginny of their task, saying that she had the right to know and that she could be of valuable help in their hunt. Harry saw the logic in his best friend’s argument, but part of him still stubbornly insisted that he needed to protect his Ginny.

He must have waited too long in replying because the next thing he knew, Ginny had extracted her hand from under his and had risen from her chair, a disappointed look in her eyes. “Good night, Harry,” she said coolly, and started for the stairs.

Harry hastily stood up and caught her wrist. “Ginny, wait,” he pleaded when she frowned and tugged at her hand. “I’ll… I’ll tell you. I just need to gather my thoughts. This could take all night.” He let her hand go. “Please?”

“What do you mean all night?” Ginny sounded sceptical, but Harry was relieved when she sat down again. He dragged his chair closer to hers until their knees were almost touching. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, he began his story, leaving nothing out.

By the time he ended his tale, the fifth-year girls had already wandered sleepily up to their beds, and the fire had burned down into smouldering embers, bathing the common room in a muted orange glow. He shifted uneasily when she remained silent, a pensive look on her face as she stared at him.

“Ginny?” He started to reach for her hand, but thought better of it, and settled for pushing his glasses up his nose again.

She blinked, as if she had forgotten that he was there. “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Tom was always a bit obsessed with the idea of living forever. He mentioned it several times in the diary,” she reflected, then looked at him contemplatively. “Do you have any idea where these things are?”

Harry shook his head and let out a small sigh of relief. She did not seem to be angry with him.

“And do you know how to destroy them when you find them?”

He shook his head again. Tentatively, he began to inch his hand towards hers.

“So you broke up with me so that you could go gallivanting into the world without any plan whatsoever on how to retrieve them and what to do when you manage to find them?”

His hand stilled at the steely look that she levelled at him. “Erm, we were hoping that we’d know what to do when the time came?” he said sheepishly.

“Stupid prat.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know which is worse, you mollycoddling me or you three going totally unprepared to face down bloody pieces of Tom’s soul. What if Hermione or Ron had been hurt? What if you’d been killed? How d’you think I’d feel?”

Harry thought her questions sounded strangely familiar, then realised that they were almost the exact same words he had uttered during Dumbledore’s funeral.

“I’m sorry.” Harry leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “I knew my leaving would be difficult for you. The fact Ron and Hermione insisted on coming along made things more complicated, but they already knew about the prophecy and the Horcruxes. My reasoning then was that if you didn’t know the details of what we were up to, then you wouldn’t worry about us so much. I simply couldn’t deal with the idea of anyone – never mind me – I loved getting injured, most especially you. I only wanted to make sure that Voldemort wouldn’t hurt you again. I don’t know what I’d do if he took you away from me.”

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and looked at her intently. “But when Hermione pointed out to me that The Burrow could be attacked at any time because Voldemort knew about you Weasleys being in the Order, all I could think of was that something might happen to you and that I could be too far away to do anything about it.”

“I do not need to be protected, Harry. I can take care of myself,” said Ginny, folding her arms across her chest. “And besides, what makes you think I would have wanted to go with you three in the first place? I might have wanted to stay behind and take care of Mum and Dad.”

Harry shot her such a disbelieving look that she actually smiled a little.

“Oh all right, I would've insisted on coming along,” she admitted grudgingly. “But still, it hurts to think that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me of your plans,” she said, her smile disappearing. “I could've helped, you know.”

“Ginny, it wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. It’s just that Professor Dumbledore said not to tell anyone about the Horcruxes except for Ron and Hermione,” he explained apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “As I said, I thought that the less you knew, the less chance there was of you getting hurt.”

She frowned. “But you just told me that you recognise that I’m in danger whether I knew anything or not.”

“Yes, but I only realised that recently.” Harry exhaled deeply. “That’s why I decided to tell you everything. I can’t do this without you.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.

“I need you, Ginny.”

She stared down at their joined hands. “I don’t know why I still like you so much, Harry,” she murmured, causing happiness to swell inside him. Her next words however, brought his spirits crashing to the ground. “But I’m afraid that…”

He held his breath and waited, hoping that she would not say that he had missed his chance to mend their relationship.

“I’m afraid that you’re going to have to prove to me that you’re worth going back to,” said Ginny gravely.

Harry looked at her worriedly. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Her lips slowly curved up into a mischievous smile.

“You’re going to have to woo me, Harry.”

* * *

“Woo her?” Ron stared blankly at Harry. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Harry, his voice muffled due to the fact that he was lying face down on his pillow, “but Hermione said that Ginny wants me to court her.”

“Court her?” repeated Ron. “Really?”

Due to the fact that his best friend had already been asleep when Harry had finally trudged up the stairs to their dormitory, and had been quite busy apologizing to Hermione right before they Flooed to The Burrow via Professor McGonagall’s fireplace, it was only now that Harry had been able to inform Ron of the outcome of his late-night conversation with Ginny.

“But Harry, doesn’t courting someone mean that… well, you know…” Ron trailed off uncertainly.

Harry raised his head and looked at Ron, who was frowning slightly. “No, I don’t know. What does it mean?” he asked warily.

He was already having a hard enough time racking his brains for any ideas on how to win Ginny back. The only help he had got came from an unlikely source; he had spotted The Modern Wizard’s Guide to Old-Fashioned Courtship Rituals by Beauregard Valentyn on Seamus’ nightstand and had borrowed it from the Irish boy, promising to treat it with the reverence it deserved.

He had only skimmed through the first chapter (“So, You Want To Go A-Wooing…”) and so far he had not read anything that seemed to be of any importance except for a few general tips on the importance of good grooming, personal hygiene and still having all of your original teeth. Harry was not too sure about the author’s expertise on the matter; the photo on the back of the book showed a balding, middle-aged man with a noticeable paunch and a harelip that became more prominent each time he smiled at the camera. Still, it was better than nothing.

He wished that Hermione was there to tell him what to do, but she had decided to spend more time with her family. He could not begrudge her that.

“Are you sure about this? Because in the Wizarding world, when you formally court someone, it’s usually understood that it’ll all end in a marriage proposal,” said Ron, looking intensely at Harry.

All the air abruptly whooshed out of Harry’s lungs.

Marriage?

Was that what Ginny wanted?

Was that what he wanted?

He tried to imagine having a family with Ginny and was startled when a very clear image of a giggling redheaded girl with glasses and green eyes popped into his head.

Harry swallowed heavily. If he managed to defeat Voldemort, then maybe…

“I’m not making any promises, Ron,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “but I love your sister, and if I survive my next encounter with Voldemort,” – Ron grimaced at this – “then yes, I think that maybe I would like to marry her.”

Ron stared at Harry for about five seconds before a huge grin appeared on his freckled face. “You’ve got it bad, mate.” He stood up and clapped Harry on the back. “So, we need to work on your wooing style, Harry, ‘cos frankly, it’s bloody awful.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Harry dryly, feeling a rush of emotions course through him at Ron’s tacit approval. It meant a lot to him that his oldest and best friend supported his relationship with Ginny. He knew how protective Ron could be of the youngest Weasley.

Speaking of overprotective brothers...

“Ron,” he said urgently, “I’d like to speak to your parents first, all right? If your brothers only knew what I’m planning, I’d be in loads of trouble, right?”

“Bill and Charlie would probably be okay with it, but the twins…”

“Lunch!” Mrs Weasley announced from downstairs.

“Great, I’m starving!” Ron headed for the door. “C’mon Harry, we’ll plan out your strategy later.”

* * *

To Harry’s dismay, the twins were sitting at the kitchen table when he and Ron entered the room.

“Hello, children,” greeted Fred, waving an arm covered in blinding chartreuse dragonhide.

Harry sat down opposite George (who was wearing the same brightly coloured jacket as Fred) just as Ginny waltzed into the kitchen, wearing jeans and a black turtleneck sweater that set off the rich cinnamon of her hair.

“Gred! Forge!” She threw her arms around them. “Come to mooch a meal from Mum again?”

“Hey, can’t a bloke visit his home without being suspected for ulterior motives?” replied Fred as he returned Ginny’s embrace.

“Yeah,” chimed in George. “Why would you propose such a thing?” He sent Harry an evil grin.

Oh no, there is no bloody way that he could know, could he? Harry had the sinking sensation that the twins knew exactly what he and Ron had been talking about a while ago.

Ginny snorted. “That’s because I know you two.” She went over to the other side of the table.

Harry was startled when Ron unexpectedly kicked him under the table.

“What was that for?” hissed Harry.

Ron’s response was to look pointedly at the seat his sister was heading for.

After rubbing his throbbing shin for a few bewildered seconds, comprehension suddenly dawned and Harry jumped up to hurriedly pull out the chair for Ginny, waiting until she was comfortable before sitting down beside her. He flushed when the twins traded calculating glances and Ron gave him a not-so-discreet thumbs up, but felt that it was all worth it when Ginny smiled at him.

“Thanks, Harry,” she said softly.

“What a gentleman, eh, Fred?” said George, elbowing his brother.

“Charming, George,” answered Fred. “Why, you put the rest of us to shame with your courtly manners, Harry!”

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, and Ginny pounded his back in concern. She glared at the twins, who were sniggering as Harry wiped his mouth with a serviette.

“Shut it,” she warned, continuing to rub small circles on Harry's back. By this time, he had already stopped spitting up pumpkin juice but was enjoying himself too much that he let out an occasional cough just to ensure that she kept her hand right where it was.

Sadly, Ginny moved away when Mrs Weasley placed a heaping platter of pork chops in front of them, and Harry had to content himself with the occasional brush of her shoulder against his as they enjoyed the delicious food that Mrs Weasley had prepared. He made sure to keep Ginny’s glass filled with pumpkin juice, ignoring the twins when they made kissing noises from across the table.

When Ginny began to clear the dishes, Harry offered to help, thinking that he could use the time alone with her to determine what she really meant when she said that he would have to woo her.

“Oh no, we’ll do the washing up,” volunteered George.

Mrs Weasley nearly dropped the bowl of leftover salad that she was holding.

“Yes, it’s the least we can do,” agreed Fred, levitating dishes and directing them towards the sink. He winked at Harry, who felt his face heating up again.

“Why don’t you go for a nice, long walk? It’s quite lovely outside this time of the year!” George began herding Harry and Ginny towards the back door.

Fred quickly grabbed hold of Ron’s sweater when the latter also began to leave. “Not you, Ronniekins,” he said, cutting off Ron's protests by thrusting a tea towel at him. “You’re in charge of drying the dishes.”

“George!” Ginny dragged her feet as her brother pushed her. She looked torn between irritation and amusement. “It’s freezing out there! I need my coat!”

“I’ll get it for you, Ginny. I need to get mine too,” offered Harry, hoping he could sneak upstairs for a second to see if Valentyn had any advice on what to do during nice, long walks.

“Nonsense!” George flicked his wand over his shoulder. “Accio Ginny’s and Harry’s coats!”

The garments zoomed into Harry’s chest, almost knocking him over.

“There you go. See you two later.” With a benevolent smile, George shoved them out to the porch and shut the door firmly in their faces.

“Stupid brothers,” Ginny muttered, rubbing her hands together. “Hand me my coat, will you? It’s cold!”

Harry helped her into her white pea jacket, surreptitiously leaning forward to take in the scent of the floral shampoo that he loved so much. Ginny suddenly turned around and he hastily pulled his head back, his ears burning. He struggled into his own coat to cover up his embarrassment. When he fumbled with the buttons, Ginny laughed and batted his hands away.

“Let me do it,” she said, skilfully doing up the buttons. “There, all done.”

She looked up at him, and Harry shivered despite being bundled up in his warmest coat.

Merlin, she’s gorgeous, he thought, his eyes roaming over her fair face.

To his delight, a rosy blush appeared on Ginny’s cheeks. She ducked her head to fiddle with the sleeves of her coat.

Taking heart at her reaction, he boldly offered his arm. “Fancy that walk, then?”

* * *

After touring the snow-blanketed orchard several times, they headed back to the warm Burrow, laughing as their teeth chattered uncontrollably in the frigid air. Ginny told him that she was going to soak in a hot bath for a while, and they parted at the door of her room, Harry fighting the urge to kiss her nose, which was still slightly red from the cold. Instead, he squeezed her hands and drifted up to Ron’s room with a foolish smile on his face.

“How was your walk, lover boy?” asked Ron, not looking up from his book, which Harry bemusedly recognised as The Modern Wizard’s Guide to Old-Fashioned Courtship Rituals.

“Spectacular!” Harry flung himself onto his bed and sighed happily. He was encouraged by the fact that Ginny had been very relaxed with him, even when they had inevitably wandered onto the topic of the Horcruxes and their possible hiding places. She had suggested several locations based on what she remembered from Tom Riddle’s diary, and Harry was starting to believe more and more that Ginny would be of invaluable help in his quest.

Ron grunted and bit off the head of a Chocolate Frog. “I reckon Fred and George are going to give you a hard time about this whole courting thing,” he said, chewing noisily.

Harry groaned. “How’d they find out?”

“Dunno. But I wouldn’t put it past them to have a couple of Extendable Ears lying around.”

When Harry stood up and began searching the room, Ron said, “I already checked. There’s nothing here.”

Harry sat down, thinking hard. He was never going to get a moment’s rest with those twin menaces around, so he would simply try to avoid them as much as possible and go ahead with his plan to woo Ginny. The problem was that he still had no idea what to do.

“Ron, you said you were going to help me with my wooing techniques.”

“You seemed to be holding your own during lunch,” said Ron, turning a page and smirking.

“C’mon, I need something better than that. Besides, I have to work on my proposal.”

Ron looked up sharply. “You serious, then?”

Harry paused as the implications of his statement hit him. Nothing had seemed right in his life until Ginny had finally started talking to him again. Recalling the way her eyes had sparkled as she laughed and the way the sunlight had turned her hair into a fiery halo, Harry decided that yes, he did want to spend the rest of his life with Ginny Weasley.

“I want to marry Ginny,” he said firmly, looking his best friend in the eye.

“Good,” Ron nodded solemnly. “So, what kind of ring are you getting?”

Harry bolted up from the bed. “A ring?” he croaked. “Where the heck am I gonna get a ring?”

Ron shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, but this Valentyn fellow says that the engagement ring’s as important as the wedding ring.” He turned a few more pages. “Look at all this stuff he wrote. Bloke really knows his material, even if he looks like Grawp,” mumbled Ron, becoming wholly engrossed in the book.

“Hey, Ron?”

“Did you know that flowers also have their own meanings? A red rose is a profession of true love, while a dark crimson one means that you’re in mourning.”

“Ron…”

“I wonder what a honking daffodil symbolises…”

“Ron!”

“Yeah?” said the redhead, looking surprised.

“Ring?” Harry prompted. “Where can I get one?”

“Maybe you should ask my parents,” said Ron distractedly, already turning his attention back to the book.

Harry sighed in defeat. Oh well, I was going to ask their permission to court Ginny anyway.

He left an oblivious Ron and descended to the living room, where he had seen Mrs Weasley knitting when he and Ginny had come back from their walk. Sure enough, Mrs Weasley was ensconced on the sofa, her needles clicking rhythmically in time to a Celestina Warbeck tune on the wireless, a cup of tea at her elbow. Harry was a bit surprised to see Mr Weasley sitting in an opposite armchair, reading the Daily Prophet.

Mr Weasley looked up and nodded pleasantly. “Harry, how are you?”

“Fine, sir.”

“Hello dear,” said Mrs Weasley, beaming at him. “Arthur was able to finish work early.” She patted the seat beside her. “Care to join us?”

Harry smiled back nervously and sat down. He cleared his throat. “Mrs Weasley…” he haltingly began, but jumped up when he felt something twitch underneath him. Harry looked down to discover that he had nearly squished Errol.

“Oh Errol,” Mrs Weasley scolded the old family owl. “Sorry, dear. He likes to keep me company.” She placed Errol on a side table. The bird promptly slumped over, fast asleep. “What were you saying, Harry?”

“Erm, I was wondering if you knew any good jewellery shops?” he asked timidly.

“Hmmm… there’s one in Diagon Alley which sells lovely pieces,” she said, taking up her knitting again.

“Oh.” Harry cleared his throat again. “Um, d’you suppose I could go there tomorrow for some last-minute Christmas shopping?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Are you buying something for a special someone?” she asked, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. Mr Weasley gave an amused little cough from behind his paper.

Harry felt himself blushing. “Erm, as a matter of fact, I am,” he said, deciding that he might as well tell them since it seemed that everyone already knew about his plans.

He took a deep breath. “Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley, I’d like to ask your permission to formally court your daughter.”

Mr Weasley put down his Prophet and looked at Harry carefully for a few seconds before he smilingly nodded his assent. Mrs Weasley dropped her needles and reached over to envelop him in a hug.

“My dear, we’ve always wanted you to become officially part of the family.”

* * *

“Wotcher, Harry.”

Harry looked up from the floor of the Leaky Cauldron to see a purple-haired Nymphadora Tonks grinning at him. She had volunteered to accompany Harry on his little excursion to Diagon Alley after Mrs Weasley had contacted Order headquarters.

“Hello, Harry,” said a mild voice behind Tonks. Remus Lupin held out his hand and helped Harry to his feet.

A few seconds later, Tonks was cheerily greeting Ginny as the younger girl stepped out of the fireplace. Harry had been dismayed when Ginny had insisted on coming along with him, saying that she had to do some last-minute Christmas shopping of her own. When he had tentatively suggested that she might want to stay home and rest, Ginny’s eyes had blazed dangerously, so Harry wisely did not pursue the matter. Ron had stayed behind, insisting that he needed to finish reading a particularly vital chapter of The Modern Wizard’s Guide to Old-Fashioned Courtship Rituals.

As Harry brushed the soot off his robes, an idea suddenly came to him. Drawing the werewolf to one side, Harry briefly explained why he was going to Diagon Alley and how Ginny’s presence could potentially ruin all of his plans. “Now, if we could only get her out of the way…”

He glanced over at the redheaded girl, who was talking excitedly with Tonks about the latest Weird Sisters hit song My Broomstick’s Bigger Than Your Broomstick, which was currently banned in France, Italy, and for some strange reason, Shropshire and Kent.

“Leave it to me and Nymphadora,” said Remus in a conspiratorial undertone.

Thanking him, Harry walked back to Ginny, who smiled at him when he came to stand by her side. Despite the fact that he was a bit worried that she might divine the real reason why they were at Diagon Alley, he could not help but admire of the way she looked today. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her olive green cable-knit pullover accentuated her curves.

“Where to, Harry?” asked Ginny as they entered Diagon Alley. Harry carefully scanned the area to see if there was anything to be alarmed about. Notwithstanding the festive decorations, the streets were unusually deserted, and the few shoppers there were all wore bleak looks on their faces. A few metres behind them, Remus and Tonks also warily scrutinized their surroundings for suspicious activity. A flash of light suddenly startled him, but it was only the bright winter sunlight reflecting off the numerous earrings that adorned Tonks’ left ear.

They decided to visit Quality Quidditch Supplies first. After Harry bought Ron the newest Chudley Cannons poster and Ginny had purchased a Puddlemere United hat (“To irritate the heck out of Ron”), they wandered through the streets, stopping now and then to look at the fancy window dressings. Harry noted grimly that Ollivander’s and Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour remained boarded up.

When they passed a small florist stand selling everlasting blooms, Harry, remembering what Ron had told him, picked out a single red rose and presented it to Ginny, who coloured prettily.

“Lovely choice, guv’nor,” approved the white-haired vendor, handing Harry his change.

Harry glanced at Ginny, who was delicately sniffing the flower, her face a picture of contentment.

“I know,” he acknowledged, earning him a toothless grin from the elderly wizard.

“Very smooth, Harry,” called out Tonks as she and Remus caught up with them.

“I try,” was his cheeky answer, which made Ginny laugh and hit him on the shoulder.

“Well, smooth operator, I’m dragging Ginny to Madam Malkin’s to show her some robes, all right?” Tonks winked at Harry as she linked arms with the redheaded girl.

“All right,” he said gratefully. “We’ll meet you back at the Leaky Cauldron for tea, yeah?”

“Okay.” Ginny stood on her toes and gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the rose, Harry.” She and Tonks giggled at his gobsmacked expression, and then they waved and strolled away.

Harry came back to himself when Remus politely cleared his throat. He turned to see the werewolf smiling fondly at him. “Let’s go get your ring, Harry.”

* * *

By carefully following Mrs Weasley’s directions, Harry and Remus soon found themselves inside Elspeth’s Finest Jewellery (est. 999¼ BC). Harry was overwhelmed by the posh interiors: from the walls covered in plush purple velvet to the floor carpeted in a deep violet pile so thick that Harry’s feet literally sank into it. Oddly enough, the only furnishings were three gilded chairs arranged around a small glass-topped table in the middle of the room.

Harry and Remus were looking uncertainly around when a tall, stylish woman, her sleek black hair in an elegant chignon, appeared from a previously hidden doorway. Her long, flowing black robes made it seem like she was floating, rather than walking, towards them.

“Mr Potter. Mr Lupin.” Harry wondered how she knew their names as he and Remus settled into the golden seats. She served them tea from the service that had materialized onto the table. She stepped back and inclined her head graciously. “Please stay here while I call Madam Elspeth.”

Harry leaned over to whisper to Lupin. “That wasn’t Elspeth?”

“No,” a brusque voice boomed from the doorway, “I am.”

The witch who strode into the room was the complete opposite of the one who had just left. She was very short, with frizzy white hair, startling violet eyes and more wrinkles than Harry could count. She wore plain brown robes and carried an evil-looking Crup under one arm.

“This is Duke Archibald Wilberforce Greer LXXXVIII,” announced Madam Elspeth, thrusting the Crup forward. Harry and Remus shook her hand, and then, since she was apparently expecting it, they politely shook the Duke’s forepaw. Nodding in satisfaction, Elspeth sat down with a thump and placed the Crup on the floor. The Duke wandered over to Remus and draped himself over the werewolf’s shoes.

“Molly Weasley sent me an owl earlier informing me that you wanted to purchase a ring for little Ginevra.” Elspeth eyed Remus sceptically. “You’re a bit old for Ginny, aren’t you?”

Remus nearly spit out his tea. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you’ve got the wrong man,” he sputtered.

Elspeth turned her piercing violet eyes on Harry, who tried not to cower in fear. “Hmmm… that’s better.”

She clapped her hands twice and four house-elves appeared, each carrying a display case full of sparkling rings.

Harry’s eyes opened wide. He had never seen so much jewellery in his entire life. He turned to Remus for help, but the older man held up his hands, indicating that he too, was at a loss.

“Tell me,” Elspeth barked, causing Harry to jump and spill his tea. “How would you describe your intended?”

Harry blinked in confusion. How would he describe Ginny?

“Erm, well, Ginny’s… you know… great.”

Seeing her frown, he hastily added, “I mean, she’s beautiful and intelligent and feisty and funny and she knows me better than I know myself, and – and – she’s…”

He paused to take a breath.

“She’s Ginny,” he said simply.

He met Elspeth’s intense gaze with one of his own.

“I love her.”

The old witch’s face became wreathed in smiles, her wrinkles rearranging themselves and making her appear much younger. She clapped her hands again and three of the elves disappeared, leaving only one tiny creature to scamper forward with his display case.

“Thank you, Pippi.” With a swish and flick of Elspeth’s wand, several rings hovered in front of Harry.

“Take a look at these, Mr Potter, and tell me which one strikes your fancy.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry was clutching a receipt for Ginny’s ring, having made arrangements for it to be delivered to The Burrow. He was discussing the purchase with Remus when he spotted two redheads waving enthusiastically from across the street. A store window decorated with neon-coloured lights and streamers flashed luridly behind them.

Harry slowly shook his head in disbelief.

Elspeth’s Finest Jewellery just had to be located right in front of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

“Harry, m’boy!” George hurried over to them. “And Remus Lupin too!”

“We were going to come over and greet you,” said Fred, crossing the street after his twin, “but we saw that you were otherwise engaged.”

Harry looked sourly at the Weasleys. “Very funny. Look, could you not tell Ginny you saw me here?” he pleaded, paying no attention to Remus whose shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“But Harry, why would you want us to do that?”

“You’re not hiding something from our sister, are you?”

“Like maybe…”

“… an engagement ring?”

George snatched the receipt from Harry, and he and Fred eagerly scanned it, the latter whistling softly as he saw the amount Harry had spent.

“Fred, this demands that we send Harry and our dear sister on a romantic date so he can propose properly, eh?”

“Absolutely, George. It’s the least we can do for our favourite sister and our number one financial investor.”

“How about asking Desirée over at Le Petit Cochon for a reservation? She fancies you.”

“She does, doesn’t she?”

Harry watched for a while as the twins made plans as if he was not there and then he grabbed the receipt from George. “Thanks, but I’d much rather do this on my own, all right? No offence meant.”

George slung a friendly arm around his shoulder. “None taken, old chap.”

“We’ll just see you at The Burrow, then,” said Fred.

The twins grinned cheerfully.

“We’re staying over for the holidays.”

* * *

Harry spent every possible waking moment with Ginny, taking her on long walks by the frozen pond, having meaningful conversations by the fireplace, and generally following the surprisingly astute advice from Ron, who seemed to have memorized The Modern Wizard’s Guide to Old-Fashioned Courtship Rituals word for word.

Harry felt like he was getting a second chance in life, and his resolve to marry Ginny grew stronger every day.

Unfortunately, in spite of (or probably because of) the twins’ best efforts to provide the perfect ambience, Harry could not find an appropriate moment to propose to Ginny. He finally put his foot down when George almost set Ginny’s hair on fire during a failed attempt to arrange a romantic candlelight dinner in the attic.

Christmas Day saw the arrival of the rest of the Weasley family, except for Charlie, who could not get off work, and Percy, who could not get off his high horse. Hermione had also managed to Floo in, saying that she had been allowed to stay for lunch. Ron bashfully gave her a pink camellia before Ginny whisked her away for some giggly girl talk with Tonks, who had come with Remus. Fleur, who was fairly glowing due to her pregnancy, greeted Harry affectionately by kissing him on both cheeks, causing Ginny to glare daggers at the young French woman.

Mrs Weasley, resplendent in new silver robes that the twins had given her, had clearly outdone herself with the Christmas Feast. An enormous turkey with chestnut stuffing lay at the centre of the table, surrounded by bowls of cranberry sauce, vegetables, roast potatoes, and chipolatas. Harry felt he had no room left for the massive plum pudding that Mrs Weasley brought out for afters, but the rich, dark pudding proved too tempting, and he helped himself to a generous serving. When he bit into his first spoonful, his teeth clanked against something metallic, and he pulled a silver Sickle from his mouth.

“Oh, well done, Harry,” called Mr Weasley from the head of the table. He looked smashing in the golden crown (with the words “Weasley is our King” written on it) he had insisted on wearing despite his wife’s objections. “You get your pudding wish!”

The rest of the table cheered and more than a few knowing glances were thrown his way. Harry sincerely hoped that Mr Weasley was right. He looked at the vivacious redhead beside him. Ginny smiled and patted his knee, causing warmth to flood through Harry. It was a good thing his green top hat hid his burning ears.

While Mrs Weasley shooed everyone into the living room, Harry excused himself in order to get Ginny’s ring, having decided last evening that he was going to propose to her today.

“Harry?”

He swivelled around to see Ginny watching him curiously from the door.

“Um, I just need to use the bathroom,” he said evasively. “I’ll be back in a tic.”

“C’mon Ginny, Tonks wants to show us the new body piercing she got,” said Hermione, who was standing behind the redhead. Harry nodded thankfully at his best friend.

“All right,” said Ginny, giving him another questioning look before allowing herself be led away. “Hurry up, Harry. We’re about to open presents.”

Harry waited until they were out of sight before rushing up the stairs. He rummaged through his trunk until he found the ring, which had arrived the other day via Owl Post. Ron had been duly impressed and immediately began quoting from Valentyn’s book, until Harry shut him up by saying he sounded exactly like Hermione gushing about Hogwarts: A History.

The solitaire diamond sparkled brilliantly even in the dim room. Harry felt his heart beat excitedly at the thought of seeing the simple platinum band on Ginny’s ring finger.

Carefully placing the ring in his trouser pocket, Harry made his way downstairs, where he was promptly accosted by the twins, who wore matching magenta vicar hats.

“So, can we see it?”

“Yeah, can we?”

Realising that they were effectively blocking the living room door, Harry resignedly pulled out the ring and gave it to Fred, who examined it with an expert eye.

“Good cut, clear colour, flawless clarity,” said Fred before he passed it to his brother.

“I’d say about… one and a quarter carat,” said George, weighing the ring in his hand. “Excellent.” He went down on one knee and addressed Fred in a deep voice. “Ginny, my sublime darling angel, my perfect little dove, will you marry me?”

Fred batted his eyelashes flirtatiously. “Oh Harry, my handsome and valiant macho man,” he answered in a high-pitched voice, “of course I will.”

Before Harry could stop him, George slipped the ring onto Fred’s little finger.

“No!” Harry cried out.

“No worries, mate. It’ll come right off.” Fred tugged at the ring, his brow furrowing when he could not remove it.

“It won’t come off,” said Harry through clenched teeth. “It’s been charmed with an anti-theft spell, so that if anyone except the intended recipient puts it on, it’ll remain there until the thief is apprehended and the appropriate counterspell is spoken.”

A tinny voice, which seemed to be coming from the ring, began to chant “I belong to Ginny Weasley! I belong to Ginny Weasley!” again and again.

“Finite Incantatem.” George tapped the band with his wand, but it stayed obstinately stuck.

“Sorry, that’s not it,” said Harry smugly.

“I belong to Ginny Weasley! I belong to Ginny Weasley!”

“So place the spell already,” moaned Fred, agitatedly pulling at the ring. “I think it’s shrinking!”

“I can’t.” Harry was beginning to enjoy himself. It served the twins right for mucking up his plans. “Only Ginny can reverse the charm, and she can’t perform it until I propose to her.”

“I belong to Ginny Weasley! I belong to Ginny Weasley!”

“Well, go propose then!” bit out Fred, as his finger began turning purple from lack of circulation.

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wait for tonight. Much more romantic, yeah?” he mused, trying not to laugh at Fred’s panicked appearance.

“I belong to Ginny Weasley! I belong to Ginny Weasley!”

“Harry!”

“Oh, all right.” Harry pointed his wand at Fred’s hand. “Laxamentum anellus,” he muttered, and the now silent ring slid smoothly onto his palm, the diamond twinkling up at them.

“You knew the counterspell all along!” accused Fred, rubbing his finger gingerly.

When Harry nodded unrepentantly, George laughed out loud. “Good on you, mate!” he said admiringly.

Fred reluctantly joined in the laughter as the three of them entered the living room. The twins headed straight for Ron and Hermione, who looked very cosy sitting together on the sofa, and Harry made his way to Ginny, who was chatting with her father by the fireplace. Mr Weasley winked at Harry and moved to join the small group by the wireless.

“Hey, I was getting worried about you,” said Ginny.

Her hair shimmered in the firelight. Harry reached out and twirled a russet lock around his finger.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said reverently.

Ginny smiled shyly. “You’re very good at this wooing thing, Harry.”

“Yeah?” Harry smiled back. “You reckon I pass your standards?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. Depends on what you got me for Christmas,” she said teasingly.

Harry took a deep breath. This was it. He removed his top hat and wiped the sweat gathering on his forehead. Merlin, he was nervous. He felt as if his whole body was in a furnace. He looked at Ginny and was puzzled to see that she too, was fanning her red face vigorously with one hand.

In fact, everyone in the room was perspiring heavily. Tonks was peeling off her leather jacket, while Ron and Bill had already removed their heavy sweaters. Hermione’s normally bushy hair was plastered limply to her neck. Even perpetually poised Fleur was dabbing at her sticky face with a handkerchief.

Harry glanced outside the window and noted the snow was still falling in thick flurries. So why did it feel like they were in the middle of a heat wave?

“George! Fred!” shrieked Mrs Weasley. “What in the name of Dumbledore have you done this time?”

* * *

While the twins attempted to correct their rather overzealous attempts at warming charms under the wrathful gaze of their mother, the rest of the family and guests scarpered back to the kitchen, where thankfully, the temperature was at a more comfortable level.

Harry, down to his shirtsleeves, however, led Ginny away from the rabble and to the blessed privacy of the attic.

“What are we doing here, Harry? We’re missing the celebration downstairs.”

“I wanted to give you your Christmas present in private.” He pushed several boxes and trunks aside then transfigured an old blanket into a comfortable sofa for them to sit on.

“Oh, but I left yours in the living room,” she protested. “I’ll go get it.”

Harry covered her hand with his to prevent her from leaving. She turned an inquiring eye on him. “Harry?”

He cleared his throat and began speaking softly. “Ginny, I hope that you know by now how much I care for you.”

She nodded mutely, her eyes huge in her face.

“The time I’ve spent away from you – it felt like I was living someone else’s wretched life, you know? The only times I’ve been truly happy were when we were together at Hogwarts, and during the past several days that I’ve had the privilege of spending with you.”

Harry dug into his pocket and brought out the diamond ring. Ginny gave a small gasp.

“Ginny, I don’t ever want to be that miserable again. I can’t promise to be the best husband in the world because I’m probably too stubborn and thick-headed for that to happen.”

He held out the ring to her, his heart in his eyes. “But I can promise I’ll love you forever, and if you’ll have me, I promise to take care of you always.”

Ginny stared at him in silence for a moment before she hesitantly said, “Harry, when I told you that you had to woo me, it wasn’t because I was expecting a proposal or anything. You know that, right?”

Harry nodded once, beginning to feel the first stirrings of unease.

“I only wanted to make sure that you were really serious about wanting us to be a couple again. I didn’t want my heart broken a second time.”

Harry could not blame Ginny for her apparent misgivings, but felt that he had to prove to her that he was serious about his desire to marry her.

“Ginny, I’ve made some mistakes before, and to be honest with you, I wasn’t too certain about this whole marriage thing. But these last few days...” He gestured expressively with his hands, his face earnest. “Well, there’s no doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Oh Harry…” Ginny bit her lip, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“And since you’re going to be helping now, I expect this whole Voldemort business will be over quite soon,” he said optimistically.

“Harry…”

“And I know that we’re still a bit young, but we don’t have to get married right away… we – we could have a long engagement.”

“Harry…”

“A really really really long one. As long as you want.”

“Harry…”

“I can wait.” He looked at her hopefully. “I’m good at waiting.”

“Are you quite finished?” asked Ginny wryly, a combination of exasperation and amusement in her brown eyes.

He blushed and nodded sheepishly.

“Thank Merlin.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I didn’t say I was refusing, you daft boy. My ring, please?”

Harry reverentially slid the platinum band onto the ring finger of her left hand. Ginny admired it for several seconds before she threw her arms around him.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Harry,” she whispered, pulling back and tenderly stroking his cheek. “My heart is, and always will be, yours.”

Happiness inundated Harry’s entire being, and he looked wonderingly at her smiling face. He bent his head and captured her lips, feeling like he had finally, truly come home.

When they finally broke apart, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Harry.”

“I love you too, Ginny,” he replied, running his hands through her silky hair.

He was startled when she shook her head forcefully.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned that not five minutes of them getting back together, he had already somehow managed to bollocks things up.

She lifted her head and pulled a face. “Well, you gave me this absolutely lovely ring, and all I got you is a subscription to Quidditch Illustrated.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s quite all right. I’m sure it’s a bloody marvellous subscription,” he said, kissing her on the nose. “Besides,” he murmured in her ear, “you already gave me the best Christmas present of all.”

He felt Ginny shiver as his lips brushed against the sensitive spot just beneath her jaw line.

“What’s that, Harry?”

“You.”

*end*

A/N2: As always, thank you to Chreechree for everything, especially for the insight into Harry's thoughts about the Horcrux hunt and his decision to break things off with Ginny. My gratitude also, to the lovely Leiselily, who so willingly answered my rather pesky questions about British customs. And lastly, I must thank Ms Diana Wynne Jones for writing the fantastic Chrestomanci series, including Charmed Life, which is where I got the idea (no copyright infringement intended) for the anti-theft charm on Ginny's ring.

There's a line here from the movie version of Sense and Sensibility. Can you spot it?

A Not So Very Frosty Christmas After All

2010-12-10T12:21:11Z

Title: A Not So Very Frosty Christmas After All
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5610
Summary: In spite of naughty chest monsters, mortifying bathroom encounters and a visit from an insufferable Minister of Magic, Harry manages to spend a truly memorable Christmas at the Burrow. (Outtakes from Chapter Sixteen of the Half-Blood Prince)

A/N: Another old Christmas story - my take on what REALLY went on at The Burrow during the holiday break in HBP. Well, at least I'd like to think that this is what happened. :)

A Not So Very Frosty Christmas After All

Harry opened his eyes and blinked up at the ceiling. Bright sunlight was streaming through the window, half-blinding him as it fell across his face. For a second, he felt disorientated and alarmed - had he slept through his first lesson?

He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, and as the room slid into focus, he realized that he was at The Burrow – back in the attic room he shared with Ron, back for the Christmas holidays. He, Ron and Ginny had arrived the morning after Professor Slughorn’s party, via a special Floo connection in Professor McGonagall’s office.

He snuggled back under his blankets, savouring the luxury of being able to have a bit of a lie-in; no mad rushing to shower before all the hot water was used up by Seamus and Dean, no frantic scurrying about looking for books, quills and homework before flying off to classes.

A loud snore punctuated the still morning air. Apparently Ron was also taking advantage of the extra time they had by sleeping as late as humanly possible.

Harry smiled contentedly. Christmas at The Burrow with the Weasley family – with Ginny; who could ask for a better Christmas present? He hoped that the cheerful chaos that usually permeated The Burrow would take his mind off his other, darker preoccupations, even for a little while.

And maybe I could spend more time with Ginny and make her realise that it’s me she wants, not Dean, he thought lazily, half-formed plans running through his head mingling with visions of a smiling redheaded girl with bright brown eyes blowing kisses at him.

Harry was just letting the oddly soporific vibrations of Ron’s snores lull him back to sleep when he heard the unmistakable sound of Mrs Weasley’s voice, clearly audible in the relative silence of The Burrow.

“Ginny!” she hollered up the stairs. “Come down here and help me with breakfast!”

Another voice, more breathless and heavily accented, floated up to the bedroom.

“Oh, are you wanting me to ‘elp? I could make des croissants, oui? All zees Eenglish bacon et les œufs. Pah! Eet ees too ‘eavy for breakfast! Eet ees doing ‘orrible zings to ma taille - feegure!”

Harry could almost see Mrs Weasley stiffening over the stove, probably resisting the urge to throw something large, heavy and frying pan-shaped at her future daughter-in-law, who had arrived late last night with Bill.

“No, thank you, Fleur,” she said in polite, clipped tones. “Ginny can help me here. Ginny! GINNY!”

“I’m coming, Mum!” Ginny shouted back. “Keep your hair on!”

Harry’s insides gave a pleasurable squirm at the sound of Ginny’s voice. He heard her make her way noisily out of her room, stomping across the hall with all the grace of a rampaging hippogriff, obviously not pleased at being awoken so early.

Might as well get up for breakfast, he told himself, happy to have a legitimate reason to see Ginny again as soon as possible.

He got out of bed and put on his favourite green Weasley jumper – the one with the dragon on it that he had got during his fourth year – over his pyjamas. It still fit - although the sleeves only reached up to his forearms… and it was quite tight around the shoulders… and it ended one inch above his navel.

He shivered slightly in the chilly air. It was the day before Christmas, and it was already promising to be one of those bright, clear, cold days, with the assurance of snow. He shuffled out of the room, leaving Ron muttering in his sleep. Harry thought he heard Ron say “Her-my-knee” and something that sounded suspiciously like “iluvyu”, but then Ron had gone into another round of championship snoring.

Harry yawned as he made his way down to the bathroom. Scratching his head sleepily, he pushed the door open and felt it hit someone who was apparently standing right behind it. He heard a muffled “Bloody hell!” followed by an ominous thud, as whoever it was fell to the floor.

“Sorry! I didn’t realise that anybody was there!” he said, hurrying into the bathroom. “Are you quite all–”

He stopped as he recognised who he had knocked over.

Clad in a faded blue dressing gown, Ginny lay on the floor, sprawled on her stomach, with her long red hair covering her face. From the looks of it, he had hit her just as she was bending over to pick up a fallen towel.

Horrified, Harry rushed over to help her. “Ginny! I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?” He bent down to peer at her face, feeling himself turn red from embarrassment. He had imagined sweeping her off her feet many times, but all those fantasies usually involved flowers, chocolates and a romantic dinner; none of them included him literally knocking her over like a big lummox.

“‘S’okay, Harry.” Ginny laughed, pushing her hair off her face. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.” She winced and slowly pushed herself off the floor.

“Here, let me help you.” He reached down and attempted to get her to her feet, trying to ignore the pleasant thrill that ran through him as he held both her hands. As he pulled, he slipped on the towel still lying on the floor and landed heavily on his bottom, his momentum causing Ginny to collapse on top of him, sending them both toppling backwards.

He grimaced and glanced up. Ginny had a very surprised look in her eyes, and Harry could not help but laugh. She also began chuckling, even as she exclaimed, “Harry! It’s a good thing you’re not this clumsy during Quidditch!”

She continued giggling, and he became acutely aware that her soft form was pressed rather intimately against him and that his arms had reflexively wrapped themselves around her waist when they had fallen.

It's really rather enjoyable to be lying on the cold bathroom floor, he thought dreamily, as long as Ginny Weasley is on top of you.

Harry was not able to dwell on the pleasant warmth that seemed to be radiating from Ginny, however. He suddenly became mindful of the fact that the monster in his chest appeared to be slowly but surely stirring from its hibernating state, and was now trying to wake up other parts of his anatomy, which had, until now, been used only for purely functional and practical purposes.

Alarmed that Ginny might soon become all too aware of his traitorous body, Harry quickly scrambled to his feet, hauling her unceremoniously up with him. Ginny gave a squeak and grabbed onto his arm to steady herself.

“What the–? Is something the matter, Harry?” she asked him.

“No! Nothing’s wrong!” He struggled to compose himself, excruciatingly conscious of the weight of her small hand resting on his upper arm. “I just thought I heard your mum call you again.”

As if on cue, Mrs Weasley screeched, “GINNY! Where are you?”

Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s changed with Mum. She only wants me there because she can’t stand to be alone with Phlegm.” She pulled a disgusted face.

“Well!” Harry smiled broadly, hoping she had not noticed that he had all but felt her up. “You’d better go down and make me some breakfast then. I’m starving!”

Ginny gave another long-suffering sigh and slapped him playfully on the arm. “I’m not your personal cook, Harry!”

He shook his head in mock sorrow. “That’s too bad. I would have liked it if you made breakfast for me everyday.”

Uh-oh, I shouldn’t have said that, he mentally kicked himself. What if she thinks I’m desperate for her, which admittedly, I am, but still…

He blathered on, helpless as the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Ron assures me that your cooking isn’t half-bad. Actually quite delicious, for a girl. Your cooking, I mean, is delicious. Not that you, yourself, are not delicious, because you are, you know, quite delicious.”

He paused to take a breath, not really sure what he had just said.

“Well, you know what I mean,” he finished lamely.

“Thanks, Harry… I think,” said Ginny dryly, looking like she was holding back a laugh. “I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere. I’ll see you in the kitchen.” She smiled at him and left the bathroom. “By the way,” she called over her shoulder as she went down the stairs, “don’t you think that sweater’s a bit on the snug side?”

Harry stared after her, still a little shaken by the memory of how wonderful her body had felt pressed against his. He looked at himself in the mirror and cringed at his appearance: his glasses were crooked, and his hair was sticking out all over the place as usual.

Great, she just had to see me like this.

Telling himself that Ginny had seen him looking far worse and that it should not matter anyway, he quickly washed his face, futilely tugged at the hem of his jumper, and went down to breakfast.

* * *

Due to the silent battle of wills that Mrs Weasley and Ginny were determinedly waging with Fleur in the kitchen, it was nearly half past ten in the morning before any sort of breakfast was served.

Harry loaded his plate with sausages, bacon and mounds of scrambled eggs but politely took the croissant that Fleur offered him. Ginny caught his eye and Harry had to stuff some bacon in his mouth in order not to laugh when Ginny imitated the slack-jawed expression on Ron’s face as the tall redhead stacked his plate high with a veritable tower of croissants from the breadbasket that the young French woman had smilingly held out to him.

Outside, snow had finally started to fall gently; powdery white drifts piled up on the ground, turning the trees and shrubs into mysterious ice sculptures and the garden into a winter wonderland. Frost traced delicate filigree patterns on the windows.

After Harry had finished helping Ron with kitchen duties (Ron’s punishment for the knife-throwing incident was to peel mountains of sprouts daily), they quickly bundled up and went outside to gather vegetables for Christmas dinner. Ginny, the twins, Fleur and Bill joined them.

To Ginny’s obvious annoyance, her future sister-in-law kept making loud comments that the snow in France was much, much whiter and much, much purer. Fleur only stopped when some garden gnomes popped out of the ground, sending her scrambling into Bill’s arms. Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry as Fleur proceeded to pout charmingly at Bill, who responded by kissing her soundly on the lips.

“Remind me to ask Mum if Bill was dropped on the head as a baby, will you?” Ginny muttered to Ron and Harry.

They both looked back at her quizzically. “Huh?” asked Ron, bewildered.

Ginny gestured impatiently to Bill and Fleur smooching noisily in the garden. “Only severe brain damage acquired very early in life can account for our eldest brother’s abominable taste in women.”

Harry quickly stifled his snort of laughter with his hand. Ron did not react; he was too busy watching the entwined couple.

“Blimey, she’s really got that tongue thing perfected,” breathed Ron, a look of awe on his wind-chapped face. Ginny rolled her eyes again as Harry struggled even harder not to laugh.

“That’s because she’s French, oh brother of mine, and that tongue thing would be what is officially called a French kiss,” Ginny sarcastically explained. “I believe you’re at least familiar with the concept even if your execution definitely needs some work.”

Harry felt a small stab of jealousy hit him when Ginny’s statement abruptly reminded him that she did have a boyfriend waiting for her at Hogwarts when the holidays ended. Trying not to think of the time he and Ron had caught Ginny and Dean kissing in the corridor, he focused his attention on what Ron was now saying.

“The French really know how to kiss sexy, huh?” said Ron, turning to address Harry and ignoring Ginny’s jab.

Startled, Harry could only look at him helplessly. “Um, I guess?”

“Yeah, Ron, French kissing is a really sexy thing to do, although you should bear in mind that the French also like to eat snails.” Ginny chuckled. “Frog’s legs too.”

Harry laughed this time around as Ron glared at Ginny, who grinned cheekily back at her brother. Ron was about to give a scathing retort when a snowball Fred and George had enchanted dumped itself into his trousers. The gnomes dived back into their holes as Ron ducked behind a snowdrift and began to fire a volley of snowballs at the twins, who in turn took refuge by the low garden wall.

Harry and Ginny joined Ron in the furious battle, laughing and shouting as they threw snowball after snowball at the twins and at each other. Glad that no one would think anything of his actions, Harry solemnly marched up to Ginny and rubbed a handful of snow into her face. Shouting with indignation, she retaliated by stuffing snow down the back of his jumper, making him yell from the cold.

Despite having moved to the safety of the back porch to avoid getting hit, one or two snowballs somehow still managed to find their way towards Fleur, who squealed shrilly as a particularly large one made contact with her neck. Harry watched as a virtual avalanche suddenly fell from the roof onto her head, sending her running into the house, shrieking “Merde!” in a most unladylike manner. Bill hurriedly followed her, calling out anxiously to his fiancée.

Harry turned to find Ginny doubled up in laughter, clutching her knees for support. “Did you do that?” asked Harry, grinning as he inclined his head towards Fleur’s retreating figure.

“Moi? Are you accusing leetel ol’ moi?” Ginny said in a horrible French accent. She attempted to look innocent, but her lips kept twitching in suppressed mirth. “Well, all right, I’ll admit to throwing that last snowball, but as much as I would like to take credit for that fabulous avalanche, it seems the universe has also had enough of our little Phlegm and decided to show her just how pure and wet English snow can be.”

Harry chuckled along with Ginny and looked into her brown eyes, which were sparkling with mischief. Her hair had come loose from her white knitted hat, a bright scarlet halo that framed her pink-cheeked, happy face.

Great Merlin, she’s lovely, he thought, fighting to keep from blushing as his mind wandered back to their encounter in the bathroom earlier that day.

The snowball fight came to an abrupt halt when Mrs Weasley stuck her head out of the kitchen door to bawl at all of them to quit fooling around and finish gathering the vegetables.

“Wet blanket,” chuntered Fred under his breath as he turned back to the icy garden.

“Spoilsport,” George agreed with his twin. Ron sighed and picked up the basket they had been previously filling with carrots and parsnips.

“Right, I think I’ll go back in. I still have to decorate the living room for Christmas,” Ginny said, smiling at Harry, turning his insides into mush. He wondered if the snow was melting right under his feet; he felt positively warm and toasty from that smile of hers. The creature in his chest gave a low, contented rumble.

“What was that?” Ginny suddenly asked, pausing on her way to the house.

“What was what?” said Harry, confused. He pulled out his wand and looked around warily. Were there Death Eaters lurking somewhere nearby?

“I thought I heard something,” she said, turning her head left and right to scan the frozen orchard. “It sounded like something was… purring.”

Harry could only stare at her in astonishment. Ginny cocked her head again, then shrugged her shoulders. “Must be my imagination. See you inside, Harry.” She waved and tramped through the snow in the direction of The Burrow, leaving Harry with his mouth hanging slightly open.

Before Harry could ask himself if the creature inside his chest was actually alive and audible, he was distracted by the sight of a couple of gnomes that had re-emerged. A particularly inquisitive one apparently decided that the carrot Fred was currently harvesting was something that it just had to have, and it started a crazy tug-of-war with Fred for the vegetable.

“Oi! Let go, you daft bugger!” bellowed Fred as he wrenched the carrot from the gnome’s grasp. Incensed, the gnome promptly bit him on the ankle and ran away, gurgling and cackling madly. Fred let out a yelp of pain and tore after it, while George and Ron attempted to block its progress.

After several minutes of frantic pursuit, Fred managed to catch the gnome by flinging himself bodily over it. The twins stupefied it and carried it back to the house, followed by Ron and Harry who were roaring with laughter. Fred took his revenge on the odd creature by painting it gold, stuffing it into a miniature tutu, and gluing small wings on its back. It was placed on top of the Christmas tree – the ugliest angel that Harry had ever seen.

* * *

Dinner that Christmas Eve was a highly agreeable affair. The table positively groaned with food, and Harry helped himself to third servings of everything. Fred and George were at their obnoxious best, with a thoroughly disgruntled Ron being the unfortunate recipient of their incessant teasing. Harry stole looks at Ginny’s laughing profile as she joined the twins in expertly needling an increasingly red-faced Ron. Her sardonic statement about Ron’s ability to snog Lavender for fifteen minutes straight without the apparent need for air sent the rest of the table into gales of laughter, except for Mrs Weasley, who started on a stern lecture about responsibility and the facts of life to a highly embarrassed and murderous-looking Ron.

After the last of the enormous treacle tart was devoured – Mrs Weasley’s pumpkin pie was strangely left untouched – the family and guests moved into the living room. Harry lingered behind in the kitchen, offering to help with the cleaning up when he saw that Ginny was clearing away the dishes.

“That’s all right, dear, you don’t have to. You’re here as a guest,” said Mrs Weasley, patting his arm.

“I don’t mind at all, Mrs Weasley. I’m used to it.” Harry stacked the dishes and carried them over to the sink. “You take a rest. You need it after cooking up all this food for us.” He smiled winningly at Mrs Weasley, who had opened her mouth to protest.

“Go on, Mum. Harry and I have things under control here.” Ginny gently pushed her mother into the living room. “Besides, the broadcast will be on the wireless soon. I know you don’t want to miss the beginning of the program.”

“Oh, all right.” Mrs Weasley smiled at Ginny and then placed a grateful hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you, Harry. You’re such a nice boy. Isn’t Harry such a nice boy, Ginny?” She left the kitchen, already humming a tune under her breath.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow and grinned at Harry. He flushed self-consciously but returned her smile.

“All right, ‘nice boy’,” said Ginny, handing him a plate with a teasing glint in her eye, “time to wash dishes.”

They worked in companionable silence with Harry washing the dishes and Ginny drying them with a frayed yellow tea towel.

His arms immersed up to his elbows in warm, soapy water, Harry was struck by how peaceful he felt. He never would have thought that such a mundane chore as dishwashing could be so satisfying. By no means had he considered it a pleasant task in all those times he had to wash up at Privet Drive. He smiled, knowing that the only reason he was enjoying himself so much was because of the redheaded girl standing nearby, close enough for him to smell the faint flowery scent of her brilliant auburn hair.

When the last dish was sparkling clean, Ginny hung the tea towel to dry on a hook on the wall and stretched languidly. Harry swallowed nervously as his eyes involuntarily traveled along the length of Ginny’s body as she lazily raised her hands above her head. He hastily pulled his gaze to the window above the sink as she turned around to face him, praying that she had not seen him staring at the more delectable parts of her anatomy.

“Enjoying the view, Harry?” said Ginny, coming over to stand beside him.

“Erm…” Harry blinked at her in confusion, his mind still reeling with the electrifying sight of Ginny’s soft, womanly curves.

Get a grip, you pervert, he scolded himself, trying very hard to ignore the fact that his hip was practically touching hers.

She pointed to the snow-covered garden outside. “Isn’t it just magnificent? I love how the snow makes everything look so clean and beautiful.”

“Oh.” He glanced out the window. “Yeah. Right,” Harry agreed whole-heartedly, but he was not referring to the moonlit orchard. “Beautiful,” he said under his breath as he gazed covertly at Ginny’s reflection in the windowpane.

Ginny turned, and she gave him an impish grin, as if she knew what he had been really staring at. “Shall we go into the torture chamber then?”

“What?” asked Harry, baffled by the sudden change in topic.

Ginny giggled and gestured towards the living room. “It’s a Weasley tradition, you know. Every Christmas Eve, Mum traps us inside the living room and subjects us to the most horrible form of torture known to Wizardkind: Celestina Warbeck on the Wizard Wireless Network. The Death Eaters have nothing on her.”

Harry gaped at her for a moment and then laughed along with Ginny. “In that case, I wouldn’t want to interfere with tradition. After you, my lady.” He bowed courteously and indicated with a sweep of his arm that she precede him.

Ginny smiled playfully, a faint pink colouring her cheeks. “Why, thank you, kind sir.” She curtsied and led the way to the living room.

Upon entering, their ears were immediately assaulted by the piercing chorus of A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love competing with the voluble French accent of Fleur as she chattered away to an enraptured Bill. Harry had to bite back his smile at the death glares that an exasperated Mrs Weasley was sending an oblivious Fleur.

Ginny gave him a look that plainly said “What did I tell you?” before the twins called out to her to join them in a game of Exploding Snap. Ginny winked at him and left to sit with her brothers. Harry looked longingly over to the corner where Ginny and the twins had settled themselves before making his own way to take a seat beside a half-asleep Mr Weasley, who was holding a Satsuma in one hand and a paring knife in the other.

Harry spent the rest of the night catching up with Remus Lupin and trying to find out the identity of the Half-Blood Prince. The evening ended not long afterwards, with Fleur doing – in Harry’s personal opinion – a rather passable imitation of Celestina Warbeck. He bid Ginny and the rest of the family a good night and trudged back up to Ron’s room. He searched vainly for clues to the identity of the Prince in his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before turning in, hoping that he would dream of Ginny, but instead his sleep was disturbed by strange dreams about werewolves and sinister figures lurking in the shadows.

* * *

Christmas Day dawned bright and clear. After making fun of Ron’s present from Lavender and yelling in disgust at Kreacher’s gift of maggots, Harry and Ron put on their new sweaters and thundered down the stairs for Christmas lunch.

At the entrance to the kitchen, they came to a stunned halt as they caught sight of Mr Weasley giving Mrs Weasley a lingering kiss underneath a sprig of mistletoe. Remus, seated at the kitchen table with Bill and Fleur, watched the elder Weasleys with barely concealed amusement.

Fred and George – with Ginny in between them – came in through the back door, fresh from another impromptu snowball fight in the backyard. Upon seeing their parents, the twins started making loud, gagging sounds while Ginny began to giggle.

“Oh, that’s just not right!” moaned Fred theatrically, covering his eyes.

“Oi! Mum! Dad! Give it a rest, will you?” demanded George, shaking his head in mock outrage.

Mr and Mrs Weasley broke apart, Mrs Weasley wearing a flushed, dreamy expression on her face. She reached up to adjust a brand new, sparkling midnight-blue witch’s hat which had been knocked askew. The tips of Mr Weasley’s ears were pink, but his arm remained firmly wrapped around Mrs Weasley’s waist.

“There ought to be some kind of law, you know, against parents snogging in public,” Fred complained to no one in particular.

“You, madam,” said George, pointing to his mother, “are contributing to the corruption of a minor! For shame!” He put his hands over Ginny’s eyes, pretending to shield her from the sight of her parents.

“And you, sir, you call yourself a Ministry official?” Fred wagged his finger comically at his father, who gave a snort of laughter.

“Shut it, you two gits.” Ginny slapped George’s hands away and went over to give both her parents a hug and a kiss. “Happy Christmas, Mum. Happy Christmas, Dad.”

Still grumbling loudly about how the older generation just did not know how to behave themselves these days, the twins also moved forward to greet Mr and Mrs Weasley. Ron and Bill followed suit. Harry shook Mr Weasley’s hand and took his place at the table.

Harry surreptitiously glanced at the mistletoe and then at Ginny, who was now standing directly underneath it. Just as he was wondering if there was a discreet way he could somehow manoeuvre himself over to Ginny’s side, Mrs Weasley swept him up in a bone-breaking hug. Harry looked over her shoulder to see Remus’ eyes dart from him to Ginny, a knowing smile on his normally haggard face. Harry felt his cheeks grow warm. He had a feeling that Remus had seen him looking at the mistletoe and probably had a fair idea at what he had been thinking.

After helping her mum set out the food, Ginny took the seat in front of Harry and gave him one of her sunny smiles. His heart sped up alarmingly as she suddenly leaned towards him, an intent look on her face; for one wild, joyous moment, he thought that she was going to give him a passionate kiss and confess that she never really got over him, but all she did was cheerfully pick a maggot out of his hair. He fought down the mad urge to dash upstairs and dump the entire box of maggots on himself, just so he could feel Ginny’s hands in his hair again. Fortunately, Ron chose that moment to try to drown Fleur in gravy, and Harry managed to calm down enough to smile back at Ginny and join the happy conversation around the table.

His relaxed mood did not last long, however. Rufus Scrimgeour and Percy Weasley arrived at the Burrow and proceeded to ruin the rest of Christmas Day for him and the rest of the Weasleys.

* * *

Later that night, after tossing and turning in his bed for a while, Harry finally gave up on trying to fall asleep. He was still too riled up from his unsettling meeting with the Minister. He picked up his several-sizes-too-small dragon sweater and put it on over his pyjamas, ignoring the brand new jumper he had received that morning from Mrs Weasley. He wandered down to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Preoccupied with finding new and more colourful ways to curse Scrimgeour and the Ministry of Magic, Harry was startled when a quiet voice greeted him as he entered the darkened room. He turned to see Ginny sitting at the kitchen table, scribbling on a piece of parchment by the light of a candle, Errol the family owl slumped near her elbow.

Ginny’s pale skin glowed in the candlelight, a sharp contrast to the glimmering fiery locks that fell around her face. There was an ethereal quality about her that took Harry’s breath away. He took a seat beside her, hoping that he did not appear too affected by her presence.

“Hey, Ginny. Why are you up so late?”

“Just sending a last-minute Christmas message to Dean.” Harry’s heart pounded as he watched, captivated, as Ginny’s pink mouth blew gently on the parchment to dry it out. He dazedly wondered if her lips were as soft as he imagined them to be. He was brought out of his rapt contemplation when he realised that she was speaking to him again.

“Can you believe that I forgot to greet him for Christmas? I just remembered now, when I saw the card he sent me.” A rueful expression crossed her features as she looked up at him. “Some kind of girlfriend I am, huh?”

Ginny carefully rolled up her note to tie onto Errol’s leg. “C’mon, Errol, off you go,” she coaxed, pointing to an open window. “Please?” The old owl blinked blearily up at her and gave a mournful hoot, before resignedly stretching his wings in preparation for take off.

Harry looked on as Errol pathetically attempted several times to get airborne. Taking pity on the poor bird when it nearly incinerated itself as its wing came into extremely close contact with the candle flame, he grabbed Errol and threw him out the window. He and Ginny laughed as Errol narrowly missed crashing into a tree before finally flying off into the night, bobbing and weaving haphazardly through minor obstacles such as fence posts and tree branches.

“You know, you should have used Hedwig,” said Harry, turning back to face Ginny. “I mean, if you’re going to rely on Errol to deliver your post, I don’t think Dean will get your letter tonight – if he gets it at all.”

Ginny shrugged one shoulder expressively. “That’s okay. I think I’ll just greet him when we get back to Hogwarts.”

Her indifferent attitude surprised Harry. It seemed that keeping in touch with her boyfriend was not high on her list of priorities. Were they having trouble in their relationship? A tiny bit of hope blossomed in his chest.

“You’ve been going with Dean a long time,” Harry casually commented, not wanting to appear too interested in her love life. “Getting serious, is it?” He held his breath, hoping she would say otherwise.

Ginny looked taken aback at the question and bit her lip, making Harry wonder again if her mouth tasted as delectable as it appeared to be. “Hmmm,” she murmured noncommittally. She stood up and stowed her quill and inkbottle in one of the kitchen cupboards. “I think I’ll turn in, Harry. I’m completely knackered from Percy’s little visit. I never knew throwing parsnips would take so much out of me.”

She gave an enormous yawn, not attempting to hide it with her hand, and gave a little shiver. “It’s starting to get a bit nippy in here.” She shut the window that Errol had used and rubbed her arms through the long sleeves of her nightdress. “What about you? What’re you doing down here anyway?”

“I was just going to get something to drink,” he said, abruptly remembering the original reason he had come down to the kitchen. “Then I’ll be going to sleep too.”

On impulse, Harry pulled his jumper over his head and held it out to her.

“Here,” he offered. “So you won’t get cold.”

“That’s nice of you, Harry.” Ginny slipped it on and sighed blissfully.

“Keep it. It is a bit snug,” he said, smiling as she pulled on the sleeves to cover her small hands. Feeling very daring, he added, “Besides, it looks better on you anyway.”

She grinned at him. “Thanks. I always liked this one.”

“Yeah, that’s also my favourite.” He liked it even more now, appreciating how the dark green wool set off the red and gold highlights in her hair and how the soft material clung lovingly to her curves. Even the dragon looked content. Harry never thought that his old jumper could look so… alluring.

Ginny held his gaze for a long moment, her brown eyes gleaming and reflecting the muted radiance of the single candle. Harry felt that the world had suddenly been reduced to just the two of them as they stood in the comfortable quiet of the kitchen, the snow falling noiselessly outside the window.

A tiny voice inside his head started to chant: Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!, and he found himself taking a half step towards her. However, before he could gather up his courage, Ginny gave him a brilliant smile and placed a hand on his arm, causing goose bumps to erupt across his skin.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” she said softly.

“Happy Christmas, Ginny,” he replied, knowing but not caring one whit that a big, foolish grin was probably plastered on his face.

Giving him another bright smile, she gave his arm a little squeeze and disappeared up the stairs, her long red hair swinging gently across her back.

Harry sighed wistfully and gazed out into the snowy landscape.

All things considered, he reflected happily, this Christmas had been one of his better ones after all.

*end*

A Christmas Carol

2010-12-01T22:46:08Z

Title: A Christmas Carol
Word Count: 6849
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry couldn’t understand it. Why was everyone so happy? Granted, it was Christmas, but didn’t they remember that there was a war going on? The holidays find Harry broody and miserable, the prophecy weighing heavily on his mind. However, all is not lost, as several supernatural visitors and one spirited redhead remind him that there was more to life than Death Eaters, Voldemort and an out of tune Argus Filch.

Author's Notes: Wow, can you believe it's already December? Thought I'd post some of my old Christmas stories here. (I didn't realise I wrote so many of them - something about the season must inspire me.)

A Christmas Carol

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the…

Oops, wrong Charles Dickens story to parody.

Let’s try this again, shall we?

Draco Malfoy was dead, to begin with.

In fact, the entire Malfoy clan appeared to have been wiped out by a rather virulent strain of spattergroit several weeks before Christmas, if the Daily Prophet were to be believed. Normally, Harry Potter would have welcomed the news that the Foremost Ferret Family was no more with wild celebrating and great joy, but right now, Harry could not care less if it was reported that Rita Skeeter had eloped with Ernie Prang and that they were currently honeymooning happily in Bermuda.

Christmas, mistletoe, yuletide carols being sung by a choir – who cared about those things when the very real threat of his rendezvous with fate and a certain pasty-faced Dark Lord lurked around the corner like Mundungus Fletcher trying to pawn off some dodgy cauldrons?

Not Harry, brooding yet again in his dormitory room, as something akin to melancholia had seeped into the marrow of his very soul. Such dreariness was very inappropriate for the festive season. It did not help that everybody else staying in Hogwarts for the winter holidays seemed so happy for some reason.

Take Argus Filch, for example.

The usually cantankerous caretaker had taken to warbling jovial jingles in the corridors at every opportunity.

Filch.

Warbling.

Dear Merlin.

One more off-key rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy”, and Harry was certain that no one would blame him if he took Mrs Norris, Filch’s mangy cat, out for a little “stroll” in the dead of the night.

Even Ron and Hermione seemed to be rejoicing in their first Christmas together as a couple. Harry did not begrudge his best friends their happiness, but, “Damn it,” he could not help thinking, “do they have to be so bloody sappy about it?”

Everywhere Harry looked, the two were doing revoltingly ‘couple-y’ things – holding hands, feeding each other tasty little tidbits during meals, or sitting so close together that they looked like Fluffy, minus one head, and maybe some of the slobber.

After taking one look at the couple cuddling cozily by the common room fire, Ginny had wryly commented, “Don’t people believe in warm coats any more?”, which, if anything, only drove the couple to snuggle even closer to each other.

Speaking of Ginny, she was the worst of them all, in Harry’s opinion.

For someone whom he thought would be able to understand what he was going through, she obviously was not taking his surly mood too seriously. She was forever greeting him cheerfully, always joking and laughing that tinkling, musical laugh of hers, and – this was what got Harry’s goat the most – she was always smiling at him with those shiny pink lips and that maddening twinkle in those bright brown eyes.

Who did she think she was anyway? Santa’s happy little helper?

Bah, peppermint humbugs.

He had left the lot of them back in the great hall, where the Christmas Eve feast was still well underway; a Professor Flitwick pissed on eggnog and attempting to kiss a giggling Madam Pomfrey while perched precariously on a stool was too much for Harry’s already pounding head. What made matters worse was that right before Harry had slinked out of the room, he had heard a whispered conversation that only contributed to his current funk.

“What’s with Harry?”

Ron. Strangely perceptive.

“He has been quiet lately. I wonder what’s wrong.”

Hermione. Master worrier.

“Oh, Harry’s just being a little drama boy again. Leave him alone. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”

For some reason, Ginny’s flippant comment rankled the most.

Little drama boy, am I? Hmph.

Parumpumpumpum.

Harry did not know how much time had passed while he stared blankly at the red and gold hangings of his four-poster, listening to the news report on Dean’s small Muggle radio enchanted to run without batteries.

“....and if you’re thinking of doing a little last-minute holiday shopping, you may want to think again. The snow’s really coming down hard out there, people. Motorists were trapped for hours on the motorway outside Oxford in several inches of snow and temperatures down to -6°C...”

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he was being awakened by a strange clanking noise and someone calling his name.

“Potter!”

“Zzzz... sgrmf...”

“Scarhead!”

Ice-cold needles prickled his feet, forcing Harry’s eyes open. “What the—!” He grabbed his wand. “Lumos.” The pale pinpoint of light illuminated an equally pale, pointy face.

“Awake now, Potter?”

“Oh, hello to you, too.” Harry pointed his wand at Draco Malfoy. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Doing something totally against my will as atonement for past misdeeds,” the Slytherin drawled. “And hopefully to get rid of these stupid chains.” Malfoy’s hovering form was pearlescent in the wandlight, wrapped from the neck down in what appeared to be heavy shackles.

Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. Then he remembered the article from the Prophet. “Hang on. You’re—”

“Dead?” supplied Malfoy mockingly. “Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me, Potter.”

“While I’d love to trade insults and rejoice in the fact that you’re not here to grace us with your lovely presence any more,” said Harry acidly, “I don’t have the time or the patience, so bugger off wherever you ghosts bugger off to.”

“Too bad,” declared Malfoy nastily. “I don’t want to be here either, but I can’t leave until I give you a message.”

Harry groaned. “I’ve enough problems without you adding to them.” He looked at the sneering spirit with suspicion. “You’ll go as soon as you deliver this message?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not another prophecy, is it?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Harry sighed. “All right, go ahead.”

Malfoy smirked. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Don’t be even more of a ferret’s arse than when you were alive, Malfoy,” growled Harry.

Malfoy swelled indignantly, his spattergroit spots gleaming. In a superior voice, he announced, “I have come to warn you, Potter, that tonight you will be visited by three other ghosts—”

“Three more!” spluttered Harry, looking around wildly. Where’s Ron? The feast should be over by now. Am I dreaming all this?

A chilly hand passed through his foot.

Okay, maybe I’m not dreaming.

“Do you mind?” Malfoy frowned petulantly.

Harry shook his head, wincing and rubbing his foot to warm it up again.

Malfoy gave an affected little cough and then continued his oratory. “As I was saying, before midnight of Christmas Eve, you will be visited by three other ghosts, who will show you the true meaning of the Christmas spirit that you seem to be sadly lacking nowadays.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “If you don’t change your present attitude, Potter, I have it on authority that you will suffer a fate worse than death.”

“‘A fate worse than death’, you say,” echoed Harry.

Malfoy crossed his arms across his translucent chest and nodded smugly.

Harry could not help it.

He laughed.

And laughed some more.

Clearly, this was not the reaction that Malfoy had been expecting. “What’s so funny?” he asked, peeved.

After letting out a final snort of laughter, Harry managed to gasp out, “Sorry, it’s just that I can’t imagine anything worse than having to face bloody Moldyshorts one last time.”

Malfoy gaped at him as if he could not decide which had shocked him more – Harry’s reaction or the reasons behind it – and ultimately settled on haughty disdain. “Well, my job is done, Scarhead.” He turned and drifted away, muttering, “Free from Myrtle at last!” before melting into one of the stone walls.

Harry stared after Malfoy. Three more ghosts. Well, what was the big deal anyway? He had numerous encounters with ghosts everyday – Nearly Headless Nick, Peeves, the Fat Friar – and he certainly was not frightened of them. Malfoy’s words, however, left him feeling oddly disquieted and just the tiniest bit apprehensive.

Deciding that Malfoy was not one to be trusted – alive or dead – Harry flopped back down onto his pillow. He was almost nodding off again when he noticed a faint radiance emanating from one corner of the room. The glow soon coalesced into a familiar form – no, make that two familiar forms – and suddenly, Harry could not speak past the lump in his throat.

“Mum?” croaked Harry. “Dad?”

“Hello, darling,” said Lily Potter, while James Potter grinned widely at him.

“Wha— What are you doing here?” Harry looked wide-eyed between his parents. It might have been wishful thinking on his part, but they seemed to be more substantial and more colourful than the usual spirits. Both were clad in white robes, his mother’s had bright summer flowers on it, while James had a twisting pattern of holly leaves on his.

“Well,” replied James, “we’re supposed to be the ghost–”

“Ghosts, dear,” corrected Lily.

“Right,” acknowledged her husband. “We’re the ghosts of Christmas Past.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, we’re here because—” began Lily.

“It’ll take too long to explain,” James broke in. “Why don’t we just show you?”

“Show me wha – aaaah!” Harry screamed in surprise as he and the room dissolved in a dizzying swirl of colours until he reappeared in the middle of a cosy living room with a cheerily crackling fire and a large Christmas tree in one corner. Over the mantel, three white stockings were hung, the smallest of which had “Harry” embroidered in gold letters.

“Is this—?” he whispered.

“Our house in Godric’s Hollow,” his father affirmed.

A knock was heard and the living version of James came clattering down the stairs. He was wearing a Father Christmas hat on his head and an excited expression on his face.

“Lily! They’re here!” he hollered before throwing the front door open to reveal a rather shaken Remus Lupin and a madly grinning Sirius Black in the middle of a discussion.

“Didn’t you hear me shouting ‘Red light! Red light! Stooo–’”

“Aw, c’mon Moony.” Sirius tucked a motorcycle helmet under his arm. “I missed that lorry by a mile!”

“Padfoot, when I got on that blasted contraption of yours, I was under the impression that we were going to fly.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I left it somewhere in Bristol,” answered Remus shortly.

“Happy Christmas, you two,” interrupted James, smirking at both of them.

“Prongs!” shouted Sirius, slinging an arm over James’ shoulder. “Happy Christmas, mate!”

“Happy Christmas.” Remus, now smiling broadly, shook James’ hand. “Where’s Lily?”

“Right here.” Everyone turned to look at a beaming Lily cradling a small bundle in her arms. “Happy Christmas.”

Sirius bounded over to her and peered at his godson. “Merlin, he’s titchy!” he exclaimed then danced out of the way when Lily swatted at his arm.

Harry found himself moving involuntarily towards his infant self. He took a peek and shrank back in astonishment. “Sirius is right! I’m tiny!”

His ghostly parents laughed heartily. “Well, you are only about four months old, dear,” said Lily fondly.

“But people were already saying that you looked like me.” James smiled at Lily. “Except your eyes. You’ve got your mother’s eyes.”

“I get that a lot,” said Harry wryly.

He watched in fascination while the living Lily and James chuckled as Remus and Sirius took turns in gingerly holding baby Harry, who slept blissfully through all the commotion, even when Sirius began singing “Good King Wenceslas” at the top of his voice.

“That was the best Christmas ever,” stated Lily’s spectre wistfully. “We were so happy, weren’t we, James?”

“Thank Merlin Peter wasn’t around,” James muttered to Harry. “He was abroad, or so he says, the lying bast—”

“James!” admonished Lily.

“Sorry, love.” James looked properly abashed, but he gave Harry a tiny wink. “Anyway, son, we wanted to show you that even though the threat of Voldemort was always there, it never stopped any of us from trying to have as much joy in our lives,” said James.

“Yes,” said Lily softly. “Some people thought we were mad for having you while there was a war going on, but what they didn’t realise was that you brought us – Remus and Sirius, too – hope and happiness in those dark times.”

“Remember, if you only focus on the negative things, well, you’re letting that poor excuse for a wizard win the battle before it’s even been fought.” James looked at his son keenly. “Do you understand what we’re trying to tell you?”

Harry nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“Good.” His father smiled at him. “I always knew you’d grow up to be as smart as me.”

Lily shot him a disbelieving look.

“Oh, all right. As smart as your mum,” conceded James.

“That’s all right, love.” Lily patted her husband on the arm. “At least he has your dashing good looks,” she teased.

“You got that right!” said James impertinently.

Harry looked on as his parents – both the living and the supernatural – showed their affection for each other with gentle banter and teasing. His heart ached just a bit for what could have been, as he watched the living Lily and James smile lovingly at each other over baby Harry’s head, but he was comforted by the fact that they were obviously still enamoured of each other even in the afterlife.

“Harry,” said Lily gently, interrupting his reverie. “Dear, I’m afraid we have to go.”

“What? No!” Harry protested. “You only got here!”

“We’re sorry,” said James sadly, “but it’s getting late and you still have two other visitors.”

“Two? But you and Mum—”

“Yeah, well, we were sort of a package deal,” explained James with a chuckle. “Kind of like two spirits for the price of one!”

“Will I see you again?” asked Harry desperately, as the surroundings blurred once more and they found themselves back in the sixth-year boys’ dormitory.

“We’ll always be with you.” Lily blew him a kiss. “We love you, Harry.”

“Keep your chin up, son, and oh, tell that little red-headed girl how you feel about her soon, okay?” James raised an eyebrow, winked, and then they vanished, leaving Harry staring forlornly at the spot they had been floating in for a few seconds before his father’s last words registered.

“Wait, what?”

* * *

“Great. Just great.” Harry sat down heavily on his four-poster, feeling both happy and miserable at the same time. “I don’t know if I’m up for more of this stuff.”

“Well, now, that’s really too bad,” said a voice behind him.

Harry whipped around, his eyes widening with delight when he spied his next otherworldly guest. “Sirius!”

His godfather’s shade grinned; Sirius looked loads better and much younger than when he was still alive. Like Lily and James, his form was very distinct and solid-looking for a ghost. In fact, his face looked quite ruddy, and, Harry was amused to note that Sirius was wearing what appeared to be a circlet made of green holly leaves in his long, black hair.

“Erm, Sirius, if you don’t mind my asking,” said Harry tentatively, “what’s with the headdress?”

“Huh?” His godfather reached up and touched his head. “Never you mind; it’s part of the standard-issue Ghost of Christmas Present costume.” He narrowed his eyes at Harry’s sniggering. “I heard you’ve been quite the grouch lately. What’s wrong, Harry?”

Harry instantly sobered up. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out. “It’s my fault you…”

“No, it’s Voldemort’s fault. Is that what’s been troubling you?”

“Partly,” admitted Harry, “but mostly it’s this whole prophecy thing.”

“Lighten up, Harry. It’s Christmas! Your friends aren’t letting old snake-eyes dampen their Christmas spirit.”

“They wouldn’t feel so merry if they were in my position,” muttered Harry defensively. “They just don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think they do. Let’s go find them, shall we?” Sirius snapped his insubstantial fingers, and Harry was now standing once again in the Great Hall, where the feast was apparently still in full swing.

“Didn’t I just leave this place? I thought we were supposed to be looking at Christmas present?” asked Harry a bit sarcastically. “This looks like Christmas Eve present.”

“Details, details.” Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, somewhere in the world, it already is Christmas, right?”

“If you say so,” said Harry with a shrug.

“I do say so,” said Sirius authoritatively. “Now, take a look at that, Harry.”

Professor Dumbledore was leading the teachers, except for a sullen Snape, in a rousing rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”, and, as Harry watched, seven swans swimming in a small pond materialised in front of the staff table, joining the cacophony created by six geese, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree upon whose branches hung five golden rings.

Harry stared at him blankly. “What? The extremely large mess all these birds are making?”

Sirius sighed in exasperation. “Don’t you see, Harry? Even though bad things are happening in our world, people still find it in them to celebrate the joy of simply being alive.”

Hagrid’s booming voice could be heard above the racket, his beetle-black eyes closed as he sang the chorus with great feeling.

“But they don’t have a bloody prophecy hanging over them like a Lethifold,” said Harry derisively.

“They don’t need one,” retorted Sirius. “Every single one of them has as much at stake in this war as you.” He paused and looked sombre. “Every one of them can die, too.”

Harry was speechless.

Sirius smiled sympathetically at him. “Well, enough of that for now. Where are your friends? Ah, there they are.”

Sirius, beckoning a reluctant Harry to follow him, floated over to Ginny, Hermione and Ron. As he approached them, he could see that they were deep in conversation, although Ron was also attacking the plum pudding like there was no tomorrow.

“What did you mean when you said that ‘he’ll talk when he’s ready’?” Hermione was asking Ginny. “Don’t you think we should ask him what’s been bothering him?”

Ron swallowed a bite of pudding and said, “Ginny’s right. Harry won’t talk if he doesn’t want to. We’ll have to wait him out.”

Harry goggled at his friend. When did he become so observant?

“I already know what’s wrong,” replied Ginny. “He’s been depressed ever since the Prophet reported those Death Eater attacks over in London.” She bit her lip and looked so bothered that Harry felt guilty for thinking that she – and Ron and Hermione – did not understand what he was going through. He had the strangest urge to hold Ginny’s hand and tell her everything was going to be all right, just to get those lovely brown eyes of hers laughing again.

He shook his head. Where did that come from?

“I’ve been trying to cheer him up but... well, it just it doesn’t feel like Christmas when he’s so unhappy,” murmured Ginny, gazing blankly at the eight milkmaids who were now squabbling over the five golden rings.

“That’s true,” said Hermione, glaring at the nine ladies giggling and waving at Ron, “but if ever there was someone who could cheer Harry up, that would be you, Ginny.”

Ron waved cheerfully back, sending the ladies into another round of high-pitched giggling and causing Hermione to huff angrily. “Yeah, Harry’s never happier than when he’s with you, Ginny,” he said.

Sirius gave a bark of laughter, causing Harry to stare at him in confusion. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. I always did like hanging around Ginny. Quite fun and pretty too, eh?” asked Sirius, smiling meaningfully at him.

“Well, yeah, she is very pretty…” Harry’s cheeks grew warm, although he did not exactly know why. Just then, an owl bearing a large, colourfully wrapped package flew through the window and landed in front of a surprised Ginny.

Who’s sending Ginny gifts? Harry wondered, something that felt oddly like jealousy pricking at his chest. He thought of his own present for her – a Snitch charm for her bracelet; it seemed pitifully small in comparison to whatever was in this huge box.

“It’s from Dean,” announced Ginny, reading the card while Hermione gave the owl some bread. It then took off and landed on the pear tree, tilting its feathered head and looking curiously at the partridge.

“What’s Thomas sending you gifts for, eh?” Ron asked his sister suspiciously and then looked around in bewilderment at the ten fancily-dressed men who had begun performing a bouncy ballet about them. One bold one, in a dazzling demonstration of gymnastic skills, jumped clearly across the table, only narrowly missing Ron’s head. “Oi! Can someone do something about those bloody lords who won’t stop leaping all over the place? Someone could get seriously hurt around here!” he shouted crossly.

“Well, if you must know,” Ginny said as she tore off the wrapper, “he’s asked if we could go out sometime.” She held up a pink cashmere sweater and looked at critically.

Harry privately thought it paled in comparison to the green jumper – wait, was that his Weasley jumper from fourth year? – that Ginny was currently wearing.

“What?” roared Ron, standing up and upsetting the wassail bowl. “But – but, what about Harry?” he stammered while a disapproving Hermione siphoned off the spilt mulled cider with her wand.

“What about him?” challenged Ginny.

“But...”

“We’re friends, Ron, that’s all,” said Ginny, an odd catch in her voice.

“But...”

“Drop it,” snapped Ginny, unceremoniously shoving the sweater back in the box and dumping it on the floor. “Harry’s got enough on his mind without your silly matchmaking. You know perfectly well that he doesn’t feel that way about me.” She gave her brother and Hermione a rather forced smile. “Let’s just try and make it a better Christmas for him, all right?”

Something large and heavy had settled uncomfortably in Harry’s stomach at the word ‘friends’. Was friendship all he really wanted from Ginny? He tried to think over the din the eleven pipers and the twelve drummers were making as they marched around the great hall, the teachers trailing gaily behind them. Even Snape was in the impromptu parade, Professors Sinistra and Sprout having taken hold of each of his arms as they dragged him along, happily taking no notice of his struggles to escape.

Ginny was fun, beautiful, and understood him more than anyone else ever could. Plus she always smelled fantastic, like something fresh and flowery. She also made him feel better about himself and his stupid destiny just by being there. Harry could not imagine how he would have made it through last term without her by his side, and now, everything was going to change because he had been a blind idiot and she was now thinking about going out with bloody Dean Thomas.

He turned and gave Sirius a stricken look. “I fancy Ginny.”

“Finally figured that out, eh?” Sirius chuckled. “Time to go,” he said, and the room slowly disappeared, the fading beat of the drums sounding ominous to Harry’s ears.

When they were back in his room, Harry exclaimed, “This is a disaster. I can’t fancy Ginny!” He began pacing, waving his arms around in agitation as he did so. “Well, technically, I can, but I can’t!” He stopped in his tracks and pivoted to face Sirius. “Not now. What if Voldemort finds out? I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her!”

“Bollocks,” said Sirius bluntly, ignoring his godson’s theatrics. “Pure, unadulterated bollocks, Harry. Don’t give Voldemort the satisfaction of dictating when and whom you can love. You’re letting him win that way!” he said emphatically. “Your parents certainly didn’t let that wanker tell them what to do, and I’ll be the first one to tell you that they were happy, and they were even happier when they had you.”

With an intent gaze, Sirius added in a kinder voice, “Don’t push your friends away, and don’t be afraid to love. You deserve your share of happiness too, Harry. Grab it while you can, or you might end up alone and miserable for the rest of your life.”

Harry nodded, chastised.

“That’s my boy.” Sirius smiled, his figure beginning to become blurry at the edges. “Come on now, promise me you’ll at least try and tell Ginny how you feel, okay?”

“Okay,” said Harry dubiously. “Try being the operative word here. You know my track record with girls.”

Sirius roared with laughter. “Right. Well, don’t forget you’re the son and godson of two Marauders, so I have a feeling you’ll do a lot better than you think. Now, I must say my good-byes, but before I leave, I think I should warn you about the next spirit.”

Harry looked at him in alarm. “Why?”

“Well, if I’d be careful about what you say to her – she’s a bit... sensitive.”

And with a last sly chuckle, Harry’s godfather winked out of existence.

* * *

“She?” Harry repeated to the now empty room. “Mum’s already been here, so that would leave either the Grey Lady or...”

“Hi, Harry.”

He swallowed convulsively before turning around with great trepidation. “How are you, Myrtle?” he inquired politely.

“The pipes are frozen, my U-bend’s blocked, and now Draco has left me,” intoned Moaning Myrtle in her gloomy voice. She looked even more caliginous than usual. “What do you think?”

Harry decided it was a rhetorical question. “You’re the last ghost, eh?”

“That’s right, I’m the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, the last spirit,” said Myrtle bitterly, her cheeks glowing silver with resentment. “Poor Moaning Myrtle, always being picked last at everything.”

“Um, at least you were chosen?” said Harry feebly.

Myrtle went on as if she had not heard him. “Why, when they were selecting players for Gobstones, that mean Olive Hornby made sure...”

Harry hurriedly interrupted her litany of woes before she could hit her stride. “Myrtle, aren’t you supposed to show me something?”

The gloomy ghost glared at him. “Fine. No one ever listens to me anyway.”

She swooped down towards Harry, and when the unpleasant icy sensation of having a ghost go through you passed, Harry was taken aback to find himself standing in the rain in front of a rather run-down Muggle establishment, a chip shop, if the faded sign with ‘A Tale of Two Chippies’ done in peeling black paint was anything to go by.

“Erm, what are we doing here, Myrtle?”

“Oh, now you’re interested in what I have to say,” she sniffed contemptuously. “Well, you’re just going to have to wait and see, won’t you?”

He sighed in resignation and made his way through the entrance. After his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he found that the inside of the shop was every bit as dodgy as the outside, although the owner seemed to have at least made an effort to decorate for the holiday season by pasting some cheap cardboard cut-outs of angels and holly wreaths on the dingy windows. There was even a small, artificial Christmas tree over by one dingy wall, a few brightly wrapped gifts under it. A tinny version of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” was playing on a small radio on the counter.

However, there was no one around except for an exhausted-looking young man wearing a white Muggle baseball cap wiping down the tables.

There was something strangely familiar about the man. Harry stepped closer to take a better look and recoiled in shock. It couldn’t be...

“Harry!”

Startled, Harry looked up to find who had called his name, before remembering that no one could see him except Myrtle.

“What am I doing working in a chip shop?” he demanded angrily of the sulky ghost, who ignored him and went about inspecting a rather ugly stuffed fish mounted on a wall.

A grey-haired woman wearing a stained apron came out of the kitchen. The man cleaning the tables straightened up and pushed his glasses up his nose, a gesture that Harry found himself mimicking unconsciously.

“You’ve got a letter,” she said, then eyed him closely. “You look peaky. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Gertrude.” The man who was apparently his older self smiled tiredly. “Didn’t sleep that well.”

Gertrude clucked in sympathy. “Well, I hope this letter will cheer you right up. I found it on top of the rubbish bin, of all places. Strangest thing, though. I swear there was an owl standing on it right before I picked it up,” mused Gertrude, missing the way that her employee had suddenly stiffened up at her words. She glanced out the window and said, “I ask you, whatever happened to a white Christmas? I know it’s only rain, dear, but still...”

She shook her head in dismay before bustling back to where she had come from.

The man slowly sat down on a worn chair and stared at the letter for a long time before opening it at last.

Harry moved to read over his older version’s shoulder. He became more and more upset with each word that was written in the letter.

Dear Harry,

Happy Christmas!

I hope this letter finds you well. I can’t say that any of us are overjoyed with the fact that you’ve chosen to stay away, but we respect your decision, even though we don’t understand it.

The war was hard on us all, and most especially for you, but I hope that you’re still not thinking that you were at fault that Fred died.

Harry had to stop at this point as he tried to wrap his mind around what he had just read. It could not be true, and yet there it was, written clearly in scarlet ink. He had to take several deep breaths before he could continue with the letter.

No one blames you for that, Harry, especially none of the Weasleys. Voldemort was solely responsible for every single bad thing that happened that day and we can only be immensely grateful that you finally got rid of him.

Anyway, the reason I’m writing was to tell you that Ron and I are getting married in January and that we want you to come home to be our best man. Please, Harry?

Love,
Hermione

PS Don’t tell her I told you this, but Ginny seems lost without you. I know you pushed her away for her own safety, but now that it’s all over, don’t you think you should tell her that you still care for her? You don’t want to lose her to Dean Thomas (yes, he’s still hanging about), do you?

The other Harry crumpled the letter before burying his face in his hands, his whole posture defeated.

Harry looked at him for a while, and then walked up to his ghostly companion, resolve filling his entire being.

“Take me back, Myrtle,” he said quietly. “I understand now.”

Myrtle paused in her examination of a mismatched set of chipped beer steins, peered at him short-sightedly, before she nodded her head. “All right.”

* * *

Harry opened his eyes to find out that it was already light outside. Feeling disorientated as snippets of what had been a very weird dream flashed through his mind, he groggily sat up, frowning when he realised that he must have fallen asleep without changing for bed. When he pushed open his hangings, he was surprised to find that he was quite alone in his dormitory; Ron was nowhere to be found, although his bed looked like it had been slept in.

Harry made his way to the bathroom and took a quick shower, before making his way back to the still deserted dormitory. As he was putting his annual Weasley sweater over his head (dark blue this year), his eyes fell on the small box on his nightstand – Ginny’s gift – and on the pile of Christmas presents at the foot of his bed, and all of a sudden, the events of last night came rushing back to him.

“Oh no,” he said, horror-struck as he recalled his sad future at that appalling little chip shop. He quickly did an about-face and ran down the stairs, only to come to a halt when he saw Hermione and Ron snuggled together yet again on one of the common room sofas.

“Harry!” shrieked Hermione, jumping up and hugging him tightly. “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he mumbled through her bushy hair. When she released him from her death grip, Harry looked up to find his other best friend smiling at him.

“Happy Christmas, mate,” they said at the same time, before they laughed and slapped each other on the back.

“Look,” began Harry, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I was such a git for the past few days. It’s just that, you know...” he trailed off uncertainly.

“We understand, Harry,” said Hermione tearfully. “We’re sorrier that we haven’t been there for you.”

“No, no!” he protested. “It was my fault. I let all the bad news about Death Eater attacks and Voldemort get me down that I completely forgot that there are still things left to be thankful for.”

“It’s okay, mate,” said Ron. “Ginny’s told us what was bothering you, and well, we would have said something earlier, but she told us to leave you alone first.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, smiling at his two best friends. “I reckon that Ginny knows me too well.” He looked around for the redheaded object of his newly found affections. “Um, speaking of Ginny, where is she?”

Hermione and Ron exchanged knowing glances. “She went to the Owlery,” said Hermione. “She said that she had a letter to send.”

“Pig’s useless – the feathery git somehow got hold of some pudding yesterday and now weighs the equivalent of a Bludger,” offered Ron as an explanation.

Harry’s insides froze. Was she writing to Dean to tell him that she was agreeing to go out with him?

Not if I can help it.

“Oh, erm, well, I’ll just go make sure she doesn’t get lost on her way back here, yeah?” he said, edging his way toward the portrait hole.

“You do that, Harry,” said Hermione, poker-faced. Beside her, Ron was turning red with the effort of suppressing his laughter.

Harry smiled weakly and then exited the common room. As the Fat Lady slowly swung closed behind him, calling out “She’s just left, dear!”, he heard the two of them explode into loud chuckles, but he paid them no mind and dashed down the corridor.

When he got to the Owlery, it was empty except for a few school owls and Pig, fast asleep, his little tummy bulging like he had swallowed a Pygmy Puff. Hedwig was not there, and Harry thought that she was probably out hunting. Not knowing if he had missed Ginny or if she was still on her way there, Harry decided to wait just in case she did show up. He leant against the wall, shivering slightly in the drafty room before he remembered to cast a warming charm on himself. As he glanced out of one of the open windows, his eyes caught sight of a small figure trudging through the deep snow.

He tore out of the Owlery, startling the owls into flight and sending poor Pig toppling from his perch to land on the floor with an audible thud. Harry ran down the stairways two at a time until he finally burst out the doors of the castle. He paused to catch his breath and scanned the surroundings and was exhilarated when he saw Ginny, her bright blue (not pink! Harry gleefully noted) sweater and the vivid red of her hair standing out amidst the sea of white.

“Ginny!”

The redhead stopped and turned around. Her face lit up and she waved to Harry enthusiastically, waiting until he made his way to stand before her. Up close, she looked even prettier than he remembered – her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her eyes were bright as she smiled at him.

“Hello, Harry,” she greeted him cheerfully. “You decided to wake up and join us for Christmas at last?”

“Um, yeah,” he said eloquently. He stood there for a while, just staring at her lovely face, until he realised that she was waving a concerned hand in front of his eyes.

“Harry? Are you all right?”

He snapped back to attention and grinned at her. “I’m fine. Never better, come to think of it.”

Ginny arched an eyebrow before her mouth curved upwards into an answering smile. “Well, I, for one, am glad to hear that.” She glanced back over her shoulder and then looked up at the sky. “I’m going to the lake to give the giant squid some Christmas cookies before the snow really comes down. He likes that. Want to come with me?”

“Did you send a letter to Dean?” he blurted out. At her shocked expression, he rushed to explain himself. “It’s just that I’ve been a blind, surly tosser lately and I’ve only realised that now and I really don’t want to end up in a chip shop and have you go off and marry Dean because I was too afraid to tell you that—”

“Stop! You’re babbling!” Ginny laughed and held up her mittened hands. “I don’t know who’s told you that I’m writing Dean, but the only letter I sent was a Christmas card for Mum and Dad.”

“Oh,” said Harry, feeling rather foolish but also immensely relieved. “That’s, erm, well, that’s fantastic, then.”

“And that last part about me marrying Dean in a chip shop...” Ginny shook her head. “I have absolutely no clue what that’s about, but I’m certainly not about to marry anyone any time soon, especially not Dean Thomas. He’s cute and all that, however, I don’t really fancy him as much as I fancy—”

Ginny gasped and quickly closed her mouth, looking quite horrified at herself.

Harry took courage in the fact that her entire face was now glowing as brightly as her hair and that she refused to meet his gaze. “As much as?” he prompted gently.

“Nobody. It doesn’t matter.”

Taking a deep breath, knowing that he really did not want to become that awful, lonely person wiping down tables in a greasy restaurant in London, he gently brushed away a stray curl that had fallen across her face and softly said, “Ginny, I’ve been an arse.”

“A great, big, enormous, fat-bottomed dimwit,” he continued, taking no heed of her involuntary snort of laughter, “because I’ve been letting Voldemort make my life miserable without him even lifting a finger. However, some people have shown me that life without any joy was a far worse fate than confronting him one last time, and that I should grab my chance at happiness while I can.”

He tentatively put his arms around her waist, causing her to look up at him in surprise. Thankfully, she did not pull away.

“So, what do you say, Ginny?”

She gazed at him for quite some time without speaking that Harry began to grow nervous.

“Ginny?”

“I hope this isn’t just a pitiful excuse for you to fondle my bum, Harry,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What?” Harry dropped his arms as if he had been electrocuted. “No! Of course not! There is no bum fondling going on...” he spluttered, and then glared at Ginny when he realised that she was laughing at him.

“You should have seen your face!” she giggled.

When he continued to glower at her, she stopped chuckling and pulled at his hands, and then placed his arms firmly around her waist once more. “I was only having a bit of fun, Harry,” she said as she circled his neck with her own arms. “You can grab me – and my bum,” she added cheekily, “any time you want. “I’ve always been yours anyway.”

Harry smiled, his heart positively bursting with happiness, and slowly bent his head to press his lips against hers. Ginny returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, and it was quite some time before the cold finally forced them to stop. Ginny sighed with apparent satisfaction. Harry was feeling quite jolly himself.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Now it is,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the temple. “Happy Christmas, Ginny.”

“You know, all I ever really wanted for Christmas was you,” confessed Ginny.

“Really? But what about the present waiting on my nightstand with your name on it?” Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, I suppose Hermione would like it.”

“Oh no, that one’s mine,” she said firmly. “Although I do hope it’s not anything pink.” She made a face. “I hate pink. Clashes with my hair.”

“No, it’s not pink,” Harry informed her with a grin.

“Good. What are we waiting for then?” asked Ginny playfully, tugging at his hand. “Let’s go!”

Harry laughed. “All right.”

He put an arm around her shoulder, and she put hers around his waist.

Together they walked back towards the castle.

*end*

DH1 screening

2010-11-15T15:30:44Z

I was lucky enough to watch an advance screening of DH1 tonight, and all I can say is...

DH2 cannot come soon enough!

Why do we have to wait so long between movies? :(

Oh well, time to watch DH1 again on Thursday, in IMAX. I wonder if I'll see things I didn't notice the first time round, because I was too busy trying not to be too excited. I'll probably end up watching it three times, like I did with HBP. Obssessed much? :)

PS Some of my answers to the comments may contain spoilers, so please don't read if you don't want to know anything in advance about the movie.

DH 1 Red Carpet London premiere

2010-11-12T12:54:52Z

Pictures from mtv.com

Hmmm... can't decide what to say about either of the girls' outfits, but the boys are looking pretty darn cute. :)

I have to laugh, though, while simultaneously cringing at the thought, of the way Dan described the Harry/Hermione Horcrux kiss:

In this flick, Daniel has kissed co-star, Emma and has revealed that it was very vigorous. Calling Emma 'a bit of an animal', Daniel quips that the kiss was really full on and he felt ambushed by her. Daniel had earlier thought that it would be a soft, sensual moment but contrary to his notions, the kiss went on at a break-neck speed with some vigor and energy.

It seems like Daniels' kiss with Katie Leung (Cho Chang) is still fresh in his mind. Certainly, he seems to prefer Katie over Emma. - from newkerala.com

What gets my goat is that the reporter remembers the Harry/Cho kiss, without mentioning the H/G kiss in the HBP movie at all. Was it really that forgettable? Then they conveniently forget to report that there are at least two H/G kisses in the DH movie.

Grrr...

Ginny Weasley and the Oblivious Auror

2010-10-21T18:54:14Z

Title: Ginny Weasley and the Oblivious Auror
Word Count: 1891
Rating: PG-13
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.

A/N: Written for the hpgw_otp Halloween challenge. 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.

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 resentful 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*

hg_seasonsfest!

2010-09-27T16:14:58Z

Yay! Everyone go and sign up here. It'll be great fun!

Go on. Shoo.

hg_seasonsfest!

2010-09-21T10:10:56Z

Where does the time go? September is almost over.

Only 95 days until Christmas, can you believe it?

And only 7 more days until the hg_seasonsfest winter signups. Be sure to participate!

I hope my muse comes back from her vacation in time for this.

burdge-bug

2010-09-13T15:52:11Z

I love how burdge-bug draws Harry and Ginny. Seriously.

Every time I read or write H/G stories now, her version of Harry and Ginny is what comes to mind.

For me, she ranks up there with great H/G artists such as mudblood428 and reallycorking, to name but a few.

Check out her Harry Potter deviantArt page. It'll blow you away.

Now if only she was accepting commissions...

Potterficweekly

2010-09-11T05:34:54Z

I was shocked when PotterficWeekly decided to discuss Advice for the Lovelorn Masses for their Episode 114.

I'm extremely flattered to have joined the ranks of such esteemed H/G fanfic authors as Arabella and Zsenya, melindaleo, my very own lovely beta, Chreechree, kezzabear, deadwoodpecker, aggiebell90 and stmargarets, and many others, whose own awesome stories were discussed in previous episodes. I believe they'll be doing a podcast in the future on the incomparable cibjasfad's Away From the Sun.

Thanks to sueatducksfoot and the rest of the staff at PotterficWeekly. Glad you liked the fic!