Welcome to the Zoo

D/G Drabble

2006-05-04T04:30:05Z

Here's a D/G drabble I did for the May challenge over at malfoy100
Title: Breakfast Routines
Challenge: Gifts, Legends, or the Quibbler
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Ginny

Draco read the Daily Prophet over breakfast. Hiding his face behind the newspaper meant that he could wake up in relative peace.

Ginny read The Quibbler over breakfast. She enjoyed the gossip peppered throughout the publication. Ginny read The Quibbler because Draco hated it.

“That magazine is full of utter nonsense. There’s not one bit of truth in it,” Draco almost commented every day.

Sometimes The Quibbler printed something truthful.

Star-Crossed Lovers? Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley reported to be secretly engaged

Ginny smirked as she turned the page. Yes, sometimes The Quibbler did print something that was quite true.

Rumors

2005-07-03T21:07:31Z

A Draco/Ginny Drabble featuring Lucius and Narcissa. Quite rough.

Lucius Malfoy sat by the window, waiting. Ever since the fall of the Dark Lord and Lucius’ subsequent term in Azkaban, he had been waiting for something. Most days he waited for his wife. After leaving Azkaban, Lucius had been sentenced to spend the rest of his life under house arrest in Malfoy Manor. The Manor had been swept clean by the Ministry, nothing of value was left. Narcissa had moved out shortly after he returned from Azkaban to begin his lifelong stay in his own home. The Ministry employees kept a close eye on him and the Manor. He was not allowed any guests except for family. Narcissa was allowed to visit on certain days during certain times and she was always accompanied by a Ministry official, someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Always a different Auror, always incredibly young, and never anyone Lucius recognized. The Auror would always stare coldly at the old Death Eater, his face twisted into a sneer as he thought that the old man had finally gotten his just rewards.

For quite some time, though, Lucius Malfoy had been waiting for his son. Draco was twenty-five, according to the careful calendar that Lucius kept. Lucius had wanted to see Draco as soon as he was released from Azkaban. He had wanted to know if his son had fought on the right side in the war. Narcissa refused to discuss Draco with Lucius. She claimed that the Ministry forbade her from giving him news of the boy for fear that Lucius would attempt to contact the young man and perhaps attempt to influence him. Lucius now knew that Narcissa had been covering for Draco. His son had not wanted to see him.

It was cold and raining that day, as it always was. Lucius watched from the window as Narcissa and the Auror appeared at the front gates. Another Auror was stationed at the gates to Malfoy Manor and--after registering the wand of both Narcissa Malfoy and the Auror accompanying her--admitted the pair. Anyone who entered the Manor had to have their wand registered so that any spells performed in the home or on its grounds could be monitored and traced. Lucius had no wand.

“Mr. Malfoy, your wife is here,” an Auror said. Lucius did not know who the young man was. He did not care to know the names of his captors anymore than he cared to know the names of Narcissa’s lovers.

Lucius obediently filed into the room that had been approved for visits and sat in one of the chairs near the fireplace. The Manor was not on the flew network and wards had been put up so that no one could Apparate in or Disapparate out without knowing how to take down the wards.

“Lucius,” Narcissa said as she sat and her Auror stood near her. Lucius briefly wondered if she were sleeping with the young man. His lip curled and, looking at his wife’s fading beauty, wondered how he could ever have found her attractive enough to marry.

“Narcissa, you look well,” Lucius lied.

Narcissa raised a golden eyebrow and reached into her cloak. From the pocket she withdrew a newspaper. Lucius stared hungrily at the paper. He was not allowed to receive any wizarding news, the Daily Prophet included.

“Narcissa, I didn’t know you cared enough to still break rules for me,” Lucius replied smoothly.

“I don’t,” Narcissa said stiffly. She gestured behind her to the young Auror and said, “It’s been approved.”

Lucius took the paper from her and glanced down at it.

Malfoy Heir to Wed Weasley Girl

“What is this, a joke?” Lucius demanded, staring at the paper that said his son, his precious son, was going to throw away everything that Lucius had ever taught him, all of his values and morals, and marry a blood traitor.

“No joke, darling,” Narcissa said, spitting the last word out. “The Ministry thought that you should be allowed to know about your progeny’s upcoming nuptuals.”

“How long has he been seeing this Weasley chit?” Lucius demanded. “Why haven’t you done something about this?”

“Draco talks to me about as much as he talks to you,” Narcissa replied. “Although he stays away from me because he thinks that I belong here with you, paying the price for crimes that you committed.”

“Narcissa, you were just as guilty,” Lucius replied.

“I never murdered any innocent people,” Narcissa spat back. “You and I both know that.”

“But you believed in the cause even more than I did,” Lucius replied. “That’s much worse, darling. I believed in it because it was convenient. You, my dear, are an entirely different story.”

Narcissa shifted uncomfortably in her chair and Lucius hoped it was because she knew that the Auror behind her would be reporting what he had just heard to his superiors that evening. Allowing himself a small amount of joy at his wife’s expense, he glanced down at the newspaper.

“How long has Draco been involved with this Weasley brat?” Lucius asked again.

“I don’t know,” Narcissa replied curtly. “No one knows. Draco won’t tell and you know her horrid family refuses to cooperate with the press.”

“They’re marrying this May and the engagement was only just announced?” Lucius asked. Narcissa nodded. “Well, that’s quite fast. Perhaps she’s pregnant.”

“And Draco’s doing the honorable thing by marrying her? Since when has our son ever been honorable?” Narcissa demanded.

“Didn’t he fight with Potter in the Final Battle?” Lucius asked.

“Of course not,” Narcissa replied. “From what I understand, he didn’t fight for any side.”

“There must be rumors. Tell me what they’re saying,” Lucius demanded.

“They say that Arthur Weasley threatened to hex Draco unless he married the girl,” Narcissa replied. “They say that Draco has been in contact with you and that you don’t approve of the match. Those are the ones who assume that she’s pregnant.
“They say that Draco has been in contact with both of us and that we arranged the marriage, since she’s a pureblood.”

“And a blood traitor,” Lucius replied.

“Most purebloods are going out of their way to marry halfbloods or Muggleborns,” Narcissa reported. “It’s their way of declaring that they never put much stock in a pure blood line.”

“Imbeciles,” Lucius muttered. “Is that all?”

“They say that you threatened to disinherit Draco or to kill him if he marries the girl,” Narcissa replied.

“I should be so lucky to have that kind of power over my son. He never talks to me. He never visits,” Lucius replied.

“He doesn’t want to be remembered as your son,” Narcissa said. “And if the rumors are true and Draco has been seeing this girl for as long as some people claim, well, you did almost kill her, after all.”

“I never laid a hand on that girl!” Lucius protested.

“The diary, dear,” Narcissa reminded her husband.

Lucius scowled at his wife and then directed his gaze at the Auror behind her. He threw the newspaper on the floor in a fit of temper and glared at his wife.

“Why would that ungrateful brat go against everything I taught him as a child and go and marry beneath his station? Why would he marry her?” Lucius demanded.

“There are other rumors,” Narcissa replied.

“And these rumors are?” Lucius prompted.

Narcissa looked at her husband and said, “You always claimed that Malfoys are the masters of their emotions. You always claimed that you married me because I was the proper age, had the appropriate looks and the appropriate lineage. You never said anything about loving me, Lucius.”

“You never seemed to mind,” Lucius replied. “That doesn’t tell me anything about why Draco’s doing this.”

Narcissa gave a shrug and then said, “They say that he’s in love with her and that’s why he’s marrying her.”

Lucius stared at his wife and then watched as she stood and took her leave. He watched her walk out of the gates and disappear. A Malfoy marrying for love, he thought, who had ever heard of that?

Silver Rings

2005-06-06T01:41:14Z

A Draco/Ginny drabble, also posted quite some time ago at malfoy100

Silver was a colour that intrigued her. She actually disliked silver if truth be told. It tarnished too easily. But it still caught her attention. She first saw it sitting on Draco Malfoy’s right hand. He was twisting the ring that bore his family crest.

Now she was once again captivated by a single ring. Draco held it up in front of her, as though inviting her to examine it. It was flawless. Unsure, she held her breath and waited.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Draco slipped the ring onto her hand and Ginny kissed him.

The Art of Proposing

2005-06-06T01:34:49Z

A Ginny/Draco Drabble, also posted in draco100
Pansy would kill him when she found out what he was about to do. She always said a smart bloke would avoid proposing on major holidays and celebrations. The idea was to make an ordinary day special. Draco had always agreed with Pansy.
Running a hand through his hair, he walked to the table and picked up the tiny black box. Draco knew he would be going against everything Pansy had taught him about the art of proposing. But it was his birthday and he was damn well going to propose to Ginny Weasley no matter what Pansy Parkinson said.

Drabbles!

2005-04-27T23:56:44Z

Title: An Unpleasant Surprise
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 100
Characters/Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Challenge: Challenge #14: War

She stared at him, her eyes filled with terror.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t have ever done that. I know you.”

But she was not longer certain that she knew him at all. Draco could hear it in her voice.

“Silly naïve little Ginny,” Draco murmured. “What did you expect. A Malfoy who doesn’t know the Unforgivables is like a Weasley with thousands of Galleons. It doesn’t happen. Ever.”

“Tell me you never used them on anyone,” she demanded. “Tell me you never did that.”

He remained silent.

“Why?” she asked helplessly.

“It was war,” Draco replied.

Title: How I Spent My Holiday
Word Count: 100
Challenge: Challenge #18: Bad Luck
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Ginny, Harry

Ginny crossed her arms and slumped in her chair. Lately it seemed that bad luck was following her everywhere she went. Of all the places to end up on her day off St Mungo’s was not at the top of Ginny’s list.

“If you tilt your head to the side and squint you can hardly tell that anything’s wrong,” said the dark haired man sitting across from her.

Ginny fixed him with her best glare and replied, “I’m holding you responsible for this, Potter. After all, if your wand hadn’t backfired then I wouldn’t have antlers sprouting from my head.”

Title: From Red to Green
Word Count: 100
Team: Myst
Challenge: Colours
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Ginny

Red, that was all he ever saw. She was all he ever saw. He spent every day in a perpetual daze. He looked down at his forearm, at the place where there should have been a dark mark marring his pale skin. His skin was unblemished. Nothing was there. She had stopped him from making that mistake. One day he looked across the Great Hall. He needed to see her before his classes began. He saw another boy’s arm around her shoulders. He saw her laughing with the other boy. And then instead of red all he saw was green.

Title: Draco's Detour
House: Slytherin
Word Count: 100
Challenge: Chapter Titles
Characters/Pairings: Hermione/Ron, Draco/implied Ginny
A/N: "Draco's Detour" Chapter 6, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince

After seeing the Mudblood and Weasel king snogging rather enthusiastically, Draco had decided against taking the most direct route to Slytherin. It was quite disgusting, Draco decided. He, personally, was against public displays of affection such as the one Granger and Weasley were currently engaged in. Draco became so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not watch where he was going and ended up literally running into someone. A pretty girl with long red hair stared from the floor with a scowl on her face. Draco smirked and decided that he was glad he took a detour after all.

Babysitting

2005-04-18T22:28:51Z

Title: Babysitting
Word Count: 100
Characters: Ginny and Harry
Challenge: Aunt Ginny

“Aunt Ginny, I want lemonade!” a little boy with bright red hair whined.

“Aunt Ginny, I want you to read me a story!” a different little boy stated, holding out a book of fairytales.

“Aunt Ginny, I don’t want to go to bed!” the littlest one cried.

Ginny stood staring at the three little monsters that surrounded her, one pretending to be close to tears. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then opened them. Unfortunately, the three redheads were still standing there, staring at her expectantly.

Ginny looked at Harry and said, “We are never babysitting for Charlie again.”

A Very Important Date

2005-04-18T22:16:18Z

Title: A Very Important Date
Word Count: 100
Characters: Ginny, Hermione
Challenge: #16-- I'm Late!
Notes: Minor swearing

“Damn it!” Ginny swore as she began to throw things around her room, searching desperately for something.

“Ginny, what is all this noise about?” Hermione demanded, quill in hand.

“I’m late!” Ginny exclaimed.

Hermione ducked as a shoe sailed past her head. “I told you that you should have woken up earlier. See what happens when you don’t listen to me? It’s bad form really, to be late to your own--”

“I’m so sorry that I don’t have the etiquette manual for this situation here,” Ginny spat back. “It’s not every day a girl sneaks off to get married!”

Finality Drabble

2005-04-18T21:46:08Z

Title: Finality
Team: none
Word Count: 100
Characters: Draco, Narcissa, Lucius
Challenge: #34—Saying Goodbye

Draco stared at the coffin being lowered into the ground, his face expressionless. His mother stood next to him, but she was not looking at the coffin.

He had already said goodbye, Draco told himself. That was why he was able to stand and watch impassively as his father’s casket was lowered into the ground.

He had already lost his father once to the Dementor’s Kiss, Draco reasoned. That was why his stomach was not tied in knots.

He had already said goodbye, but he knew he was lying. Draco had never had the chance to say goodbye to Lucius.

The Double Trouble of the Holidays

2005-02-12T02:29:53Z

It's Christmas at the Burrow, but a letter from Ginny announcing her engagement to a man none of the Weasleys have ever met provides a backdrop for suspicion and conscern.The Double Trouble of the Holidays

Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. from the Harry Potter books belong to J. K. Rowling. Theverse foundwithinthis story isboth the song Double Trouble from the soundtrack to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban as well as lines from WilliamShakespeare's Macbeth. All I own is the story.

Author Note: This story does not contain Harry/Ginny. If Ginny and anyone else bothers you, then simply do not read it. This story was created while I was listening to the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban soundtrack, especially Double Trouble. I suppose you could classify this as a song fic, but since they lyrics are also verses from William Shakespeare's Macbeth, I will not classify this fic in that way. It has been sitting on my hard drive for quite some time and, although I am not completely satisfied with it, it was time to ship it off. As always, this story is also posted in my livejournal, along with the occasional tidbit of something in the works that has not yet been posted elsewhere. The link is in my profile. And last, yes, my penname used to be Yulka. I changed it.

The Burrow looked like a Christmas card. There was fresh snow covering the ground and the roof of the oddly shaped house. Child-sized footprints were visible in the yard and three very artistic renditions of snowmen stood proudly near the kitchen door. Icicles hung from the eves and smoke curled from all of the chimneys while the sky loosed a gentle shower of large white flakes. Outside the Burrow looked beautiful and peaceful. On the outside the Burrow looked perfect. But on the inside a storm was brewing.

Double, double, toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

Molly Weasley sat down heavily in the chair next to her husband at the kitchen table. She wore a look of worry and confusion. Arthur Weasley placed a comforting hand on top of Molly’s. In his other hand he held some parchment. The cramped handwriting of their only daughter filled the parchment. Ginny Weasley had been working in the south of France for the past two years. Although Ginny seldom returned home for the holidays, she occasionally wrote long letters to her parents. This particular letter brought surprising news.

“How can she have made a decision like this so suddenly?” Molly asked her husband. “How can she know this is what she wants?”

Arthur patted his wife’s hand and tried to look comforting, but a worried look stole across his thin face.

“She says that she’s been seeing him for awhile,” Arthur said hopefully after rereading Ginny’s last paragraph.

“But this is the first she’s told us about any of this!” protested Molly. “How can she be serious about a boy she’s never mentioned before? We’ve never met him, Arthur,” Molly continued, her voice becoming increasingly shrill. “We don’t know if he’s a decent boy. We don’t know if he’s French or British. What if he only speaks French? We won’t be able to talk to him. What kind of family does he come from? Will a large group make him uncomfortable? We don’t even know if he’s a wizard or a Muggle, Arthur! Not that it really matters, but it just goes to show that we don’t know anything about this boy!”

Again Arthur tried to sooth Molly. “I believe he’s a wizard, Molly.”

“Why?” Molly demanded, looking questioningly at her husband.

Arthur was reading Ginny’s last few sentences. After a moment he replied, “She wants to know if they can come for Christmas. She says they can get a portkey to London on Christmas Eve and be at the Burrow by dinner time.”

“How does that tell us anything about this boy being a wizard or not?” asked Molly.

“Because she says to send a reply with his owl,” said Arthur.

Husband and wife turned their eyes to the perch by the door where a large eagle owl stood preening itself importantly. And then they shared a worried glance over Ginny’s letter.

Double, double, toil and trouble,

Something wicked this way comes.

Ron Weasley paced across his living room. It only took his long legs five steps to cross the small space. Hermione Granger-Weasley sat quietly on their couch, watching her husband. Ron was clearly agitated due to his mother’s floo call half an hour ago. Hermione, having known Ron since he was eleven, knew the only thing to do was to wait for Ron to calm himself down. But Ron had begun to talk, not so much to Hermione as to himself. Hermione settled back. It was going to be a long night.

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

“How can my sister be engaged?” Ron demanded.

“She’s twenty-six, Ron,” Hermione reminded him gently.

“I mean,” Ron continued, not giving the slightest indication that he had heard his wife, “I’ve never even seen her mention any bloke in her letters, let alone the fact that she was thinking of getting engaged to one!”

“It is possible that she was just as surprised as you,” Hermione replied, pulling out a book and settling in for a long rant.

Ron continued to ignore Hermione. “None of us have even met this bloke.”

“You can hardly blame her,” Hermione pointed out, still reading, “after all, you and your brothers would have tried to murder him on the spot.”

“He’s probably a really smarmy French bloke,” Ron continued, “like Lockhart.”

Hermione put down her book and gave an exasperated sigh. “Lockhart wasn’t even French, Ron! For pity’s sake, we all had him in second year as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You know that he wasn’t French.”

Ron looked over at Hermione as though he had just noticed that she was sitting there.

“I didn’t mean that Lockhart was French,” said Ron, brushing off Hermione’s comment, “Lockhart was still smarmy and that’s the point. He’ll probably be moody, too, like Krum.”

“Really, Ron,” sighed Hermione, “if you’re just going to name all of the people you despise and allot all of their worst qualities to Ginny’s fiancé, whom you haven’t even met-”

Ron cut Hermione off and said darkly, “I bet he’s foreign.”

“How do you know Ginny’s fiancé-” Ron cringed at the word “—is foreign?” demanded Hermione. “Ginny works with plenty of British wizards and witches, which you would know if you ever read what she writes about her work.”

“She only writes those bits for you,” Ron assured his wife. “And it’s hardly any better if he’s British. He’s still a slimy git who doesn’t have the decency to come meet the family.”

“Slimy git?” questioned Hermione with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Ron who had finally ceased his pacing and stood in front of Hermione with his arms crossed over his chest, daring her to push him farther. “Why couldn’t she have fallen for Harry?”

“Ron,” said Hermione gently, “Ginny and Harry aren’t right for each other and we all know it. Harry still has too many demons to battle.”

Ron threw himself next to Hermione to sprawl on the couch. “I know,” Ron sighed. “I just wish I knew the bloke before she decided to marry him.”

“You’ll meet him on Christmas Eve,” Hermione told her husband in a soothing voice.

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, on Christmas Eve.” Hermione decided that those few words sounded decidedly sinister and shivered involuntarily.

Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,

Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing.

Harry Potter grinned as he dismounted his broom and rolled his sore shoulders. He was Seeker for the British National Quidditch Team and it had been a difficult practice. But for Harry, no matter how sore he was when practice was over it was always worth it. He would never trade in the feeling of the wind in his hair, the broomstick beneath him, and the feeling of exhilaration when his fingers finally closed around the fluttering snitch. Of course, the fact that there was a pretty witch back at his flat waiting to help ease the tension of practice from his body also helped. Harry thought of Natalie with her long dark hair, firm breasts, and insatiable sex drive.

“Oi, Potter!”

Harry spun to find Oliver Wood just landing on the Quidditch pitch. When Wood reached Harry they both continued to the locker rooms together.

“Last practice before the holidays,” said Wood. “What are your plans?”

“Besides not getting out of bed all day?” asked Harry with a wicked grin. Wood had met Natalie and knew exactly what Harry saw in her. He grinned appreciatively.

“That is one sexy bird you’ve got there, Potter,” Wood replied, whistling softly through his teeth. “But I meant for Christmas.”

“Oh, I’m going to the Weasleys’,” replied Harry, pulling off his uniform. “They always invite me around for the holidays. What about you?” Harry looked sideways at Wood as he dug around in his locker.

“Me?” asked Wood. “I’m going to meet my girl’s family. First time.”

“Good luck, mate,” Harry replied, slapping Oliver on the back.

“Yeah, she just told them that we’re engaged,” Oliver responded as he grabbed his towel and headed for the showers. “She’s afraid they aren’t taking it well.”

Harry stared after Oliver, his hand frozen halfway out of his locker with his towel clutched in it.

Double, double, toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble,

The bedroom of Ginny’s flat in the south of France looked like a battleground. She had spent the better half of the evening packing for her trip to the Burrow for the Christmas holidays. In an uncharacteristic fit of nerves, Ginny had thrown all of her clothes out of her wardrobe in the search for the perfect outfit to wear to her parents’. Ginny had the overwhelming desire to show her parents that she was successful, happy, and completely in control of her life. Now all she had to do was find the perfect outfit that embodied those three things. So far she had not been successful in her quest.

“Gin, do we have to go?”

Ginny stopped her packing and took in the scene before her. While Ginny had been frantically emptying drawers and throwing things into suitcases her fiancé had been lounging on their large bed, making noises of protest. At first Ginny had ignored the whimpers issuing from the bed, but that became difficult as the whimpering grew progressively louder. Now he had dared to speak after refusing to help her with her mission.

“Yes, we really have to go,” Ginny snapped as she threw a jumper aside. She continued in a sickeningly sarcastic voice, “See, when you ask a witch to marry you, generally you have to go and meet her family. That’s how these things work.”

“How would you know?” he protested. “You’ve never been engaged before I slipped that ring on your finger.”

Ginny paused to furtively admire her engagement ring. It was a gorgeous diamond and suited her. He had good taste in jewelry, she admitted, one hand absently touching the solitary ruby at her throat that he had given her for her birthday. Gryffindor red, he had told her when he had given it to her.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Ginny fixed the wizard on her bed with a hard stare.

“It’s just what you do!” Ginny exclaimed, throwing some socks into one of three opened suitcases at the foot of the bed.

He got up off the bed and circled behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and gently drawing her back against him. Ginny recognized the change in tactics and narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror above her vanity.

“We could just stay here,” he whispered pleadingly in her ear. “Remember last Christmas?”
Ginny remembered the prior Christmas very well. They had not gotten dressed for three days and rarely left the bedroom. She sighed. Sensing victory, he moved in for the kill.

“We won’t be able to properly celebrate at your parents’ house,” he said in her ear, tracing the shell with the tip of his tongue.

Ginny allowed herself to enjoy the sensation before turning and pushing at his chest.

“We’re going,” Ginny said firmly. He gave her a wounded look, which she kissed away. “Now, pack,” Ginny instructed, turning her back on him. And surprisingly, after a few minutes of grumbling, he did as he was told.

Double, double, toil and trouble,

Something wicked this way comes.

“Who’s at the door dear?” Molly Weasley called to Fred from the kitchen.

“Ron and Hermione!” Fred shouted back, giving Hermione a hug and his brother a clap on the back.

“Oh, good, Hermione, be a dear and come help me for a few moments,” Moll instructed.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at her husband. Ron’s face was dark and clearly said that he had no intention of behaving or of pulling himself out of his sour mood. Sighing, Hermione turned to Fred and said, “See to it that he doesn’t do too much damage before Ginny gets here.”

“Of course, darling,” Fred replied, “Now, off to the kitchen with you, woman!” Fred gave Hermione a slight push towards the kitchen. Once she was sufficiently out of earshot he turned to Ron and, with a decidedly wicked grin on his face, asked, “So, what shall we do to this bloke of Ginny’s?”

In the cauldron boil and bake,

Fillet of a fenny snake,

“She’s only a baby, she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into,” Ron reiterated for the fourth time.

“Ron, your sister is a grown woman, a year younger than you, and I’m sure she knows perfectly well what she’s doing,” Arthur gently reprimanded his son.

Hermione resisted the urge to round on her husband since his ridiculous behavior was being duplicated by the majority of his family members. After sharing a significant glance with Harry, who had merely shrugged, grinned, and taken another swig of butterbeer, Hermione had decided that there was nothing she could say in order to convince the majority of the Weasleys that Ginny was not selling her soul and knew very well what she was doing.

“Oh, Arthur, how can you say she knows what she’s doing?” Molly asked. “She’s just a baby and she never brought him home!”

“We could teach him a lesson for you, Mum,” Fred suggested brightly.

“Serve him right for not properly meeting all of us,” George agreed.

“You two will behave yourselves,” Arthur told his twin sons. He spared a glance at a brooding Ron and a fretting Molly, adding, “As will the two of you. Ginny has done nothing wrong and we will not leap all over her or her fiancé like a pack of wolves.”

Hermione glanced around. It was quite clear from the expressions on the faces of Molly and Ron that they were not pleased with Arthur Weasley’s instructions.

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

Witches’ mummy, maw, and gulf.

“How long do you think they’ll give her before the interrogation starts?” Harry asked quietly, having abandoned his seat near Fred and George to slip next to Hermione.

“At this rate?” Hermione asked, glancing at the two brooding Weasleys and the two scheming ones, “They’ll be lucky if they get in the door.”

Double, double, toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

“You’re absolutely certain that we have to go?” he asked.

Ginny fixed her fiancé with a stony gaze and responded, “Yes.”

“Last chance to back out,” he told her.

“We’re going,” she insisted.

“Portkey to Ottery St. Catchpole!” the wizard in charge of portkeys at the British consulate in Paris called. “Last name Weasley and-”

“We’re here!” Ginny responded, cutting off the wizard.

The official glanced at the pair and raised an eyebrow before handing over a silver snake pin.

“Make sure you’re both holding on and have a lovely holiday in Britain,” the official intoned before both Ginny and her fiancé felt tugs behind their navels and were gone.

Double, double, toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

“Bloody hell, I’d forgotten how cold England is,” Ginny grumbled as she walked up to the door of her childhood home. She took her hand out of the pocket of her cloak in order to rap smartly on the door.

“Well, then, we’ll just have to make sure we keep you warm,” he said, gently turning her to him.

Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips brushed against hers.

Double, double toil and trouble

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

A knock sounded on the door of the Burrow and Molly jumped up, smoothing her hair and her clothes.

“Well, someone get the door!” Molly barked at her sons.

The Weasleys looked at each other and then raced for the door. Ron, Fred, and George elbowed each other in an attempt to reach the door handle first. Harry slipped underneath Ron’s outstretched arm and grasped the doorknob.

“Happy Christmas, Gin….” Harry began, but his words trailed off as he stared, open-mouthed, at the scene before him.

The jostling stopped as Fred, George, and Ron gaped at their sister. Molly gasped and Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise. Hermione just stared.

Ginny Weasley stood on the front porch of the Burrow, her face blazing and her lips rosy from the cold and from the kiss.

Ginny began her introduction. “Mum, Dad, everyone, this is my-”

“Malfoy,” the man behind Ginny interrupted her, extending his gloved hand to Arthur, his blonde hair swept back from his face as a smirk appeared on his face. “Draco Malfoy.”

Something wicked this way comes.

The Cure for Insomnia

2005-01-22T05:28:16Z

After Ginny's experience in the Chamber of Secrets it is only natural for her to have trouble sleeping until during her twenty-first year she happened to blink. This is the slightly amusing and moderately romantic tale of how Ginny Weasley discovered the cure for insomnia quite accidentally. H/G.
The Cure for Insomnia

Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. pertaining to Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. All I own is the story.
Author Note: This story is the product of my own insomnia. Read it at your own risk.

It had been approximately ten years since Ginny Weasley had enjoyed a truly wonderful good night’s sleep. Sure, there were times when she would fall asleep when her head hit the pillow and wake up when her alarm went off in the morning. It was possible for this to happen for a few months straight. But on the nights she could fall asleep she was plagued by nightmares. Her sleep was not the deep, peaceful sleep that allowed one to feel refreshed in the morning. Ginny soon found that she preferred the nights when sleep would not come. On those nights she usually slept no more than a few hours, but at least then she was too tired to dream, let alone to have nightmares.

At first Mrs. Weasley had not been too worried when Ginny would stumble down the stairs in the morning with bags under her eyes from a night filled with demons. It was only to be expected after Ginny’s traumatic first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mrs. Weasley suspected that Ginny was visited in the night by Tom Riddle and once again Molly Weasley felt pain because she had not been able to spare her child that horrible experience. It was an experience that no one-- especially an innocent child-- should ever have to have. But Molly Weasley also knew that time was a great healer and that eventually Tom Riddle would only plague Ginny’s sleep occasionally. Molly knew it was foolish to think that time could erase what happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Possession by the memory of the sixteen-year-old who would become the darkest wizard of their time was not something that could ever be truly forgotten. There was nothing to do except to wait, so Molly Weasley waited.

At first Mrs. Weasley tried to persuade Ginny to nap, perhaps in the daylight the demons would not find her. But Ginny had never been one to sleep the day away. She had always been a more active child. Then Mrs. Weasley prepared tea laced with a sleeping potion. But Ginny refused to drink it. Ginny was afraid to sleep that summer after the Chamber. She was afraid of the nightmares. Finally, Mrs. Weasley obtained a dreamless sleep draught for her daughter with the instructions only to give it to Ginny once a week for a month in order to help her rest and overcome her fear of sleep. It would not do for the twelve-year-old to become addicted to the potion. Ginny took the potion once, but did not like how she woke feeling muddled and confused after taking it. Given a choice between nightmares and a drugged sleep Ginny chose the nightmares. Mrs. Weasley agreed with her daughter, hoping it meant that Ginny was sleeping more. But when Ginny returned from Hogwarts after her second year Molly discovered that Ginny still hardly slept at night. Molly Weasley became worried.

Ginny tried to sooth her mother’s fears. She explained that she preferred sleeping only a few hours because then the nightmares did not come. “For some reason being visited by Tom Riddle does not allow you to sleep easily at night,” Ginny had told her mother with what she hoped was an impish smile. Molly Weasley cried.

Ginny accepted that she would be plagued with insomnia and learned to live with it. Indeed, during Ginny’s fifth and seventh years at Hogwarts her insomnia proved to be a blessing in disguise. Those years were not marked by the sleep deprivation and surliness characteristic of wizards and witches preparing for OWLs and NEWTs because Ginny only needed a few hours of sleep at night. Any more sleep than that was, in fact, impossible.

During the few years in which Number Twelve Grimmauld Place became her home for the holidays Ginny discovered that she was not the only insomniac. One night while reading a trashy Muggle romance novel Hermione had leant her, Ginny started at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Harry had appeared, seeking a drink after he had woken up drenched in a cold sweat from his own potent nightmares. Ginny had, at first, resented Harry’s intrusion. Night was about the only time Ginny had to herself and she guarded it jealously. But after a few minutes of watching Harry fumble around the kitchen looking for tea Ginny relaxed and resolved to share her time with Harry—at least for that night. She helped him find the tea. But Harry’s insomnia was fleeting and rarely lasted more than a few days. Ginny’s insomnia was, as far as she could tell, permanent.

Ginny read a lot of books at night. Once she had her own flat she filled her nights with cooking and baking during the holidays. Her brothers loved that she supplied them with Christmas cookies until the new year. Ginny studied for her healer exams during the night and as a healer-in-training she volunteered for the night shift often. Now she was a fully qualified healer and night shifts were not required of her, though she would occasionally work one or two during the month.
At twenty Ginny started dating Harry Potter. At night she loved to reminisce about their conversation and the night that had ended with him asking her out the first time. They had both been to the Burrow for a dinner and he had stared at her all throughout the meal.

“You’re looking well, Gin,” Harry said as they both cleared the table.

“You should know,” Ginny retorted with a quick grin. “Are you conducting an experiment that required you to examine me for the entire dinner?” Harry merely grinned at her instead of blushing or looking away and Ginny started. She remembered the boy she had fancied all too well, but the Harry standing in her mother’s kitchen was suddenly not a little boy anymore.

“Now you’re staring,” Harry told her.

“Harry Potter, when did you become all grown up?” Ginny asked.

“When did you become so beautiful?” Harry responded.

Ginny realized that he was standing very close to her. She thought that if she extended her fingertips from the hand at her side she could brush the top of Harry’s leg. Then she blushed and decided that would not be a good idea.

“It was all those night shifts I took as a healer-in-training,” Ginny joked, flipping her hair and trying to ease the tension she felt. Harry was not taking the bait.

Ginny reminded herself to breath as Harry continued to look at her. She had never been the recipient of such a gaze and did not know what to do. But Ginny could not look away, she could not move. Harry had her in a spell as surely as if he had put a full body bind on her. She waited for him to say something or do something.

“So beautiful,” Harry murmured and Ginny wondered if he realized he had spoken out loud.

Ginny mentally reviewed her appearance. She was of average height, but she was too skinny with too many freckles and breasts she had always felt were too large for her slender frame. She had knobby knees and pointy elbows, not to mention all that red hair and eyes the color of mud. Ginny Weasley knew full well that all most people saw when they looked at her was another Weasley and another head of wild red hair.

“Harry Potter,” said Ginny in a steady voice, without agenda, looking him straight in the eye, “I have never been anyone’s idea of beautiful.”

Harry simply replied, “You’ve always been mine.” Then he returned to tending the dishes.

He did not kiss her then, he would not kiss her for another three weeks. But he did ask her to Hogsmeade for drinks right before she left that night.

“I don’t have any terribly strenuous lessons planned for my NEWTs students for a while. Why don’t you and I put your insomnia to good use. Meet me for drinks in Hogsmeade after work on Friday,” Harry asked.

“Do you remember those times at Grimmauld Place when you couldn’t sleep?” Ginny asked suddenly.

“I remember being a randy bloke who discovered that if he had nightmares there was always a girl wearing precious little waiting in the kitchen,” Harry returned. “It made me want nightmares. So will you come to Hogsmeade on Friday?”

"I'll be there," Ginny promised.

Ginny always smiled to herself as she remembered that day. At night she fondly recalled the early days of dating Harry Potter. He had been such a gentleman. Ginny always chuckled as she recalled how relieved Harry had been when she told him she had had quite enough of his chivalrous act and would he please just take her to bed.

But Ginny at twenty-one was now nervous. It was broad daylight and she was not worried about nightmares. Ginny had thought she was over being nervous when it came to Harry Potter, but she was wrong. She had never spent the night at Harry’s, telling him there really was no point for her to prowl restlessly around his flat while he slept. For a while Harry had accepted Ginny’s reasoning. But the other night he had thwarted her.

“Make my place yours. Then you can prowl around your flat at night and I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to sleep,” Harry told her. “There’s more than enough room for two here.”

Ginny had agreed. She was now questioning her sanity. Perhaps Harry Potter induced insanity in Weasley females. Harry would want to cuddle at night, he always wanted to cuddle with her during the day. Ginny could not lie in bed until she was exhausted and when she slept she kicked. She was afraid Harry would be upset. But she moved in anyway.

Harry and Ginny spent most of Saturday unpacking all of Ginny’s things and changing Harry’s flat into “their” flat. Late that night after they had finished a meal of macaroni and cheese Harry looked around and a smile stole across his face.

“What?” Ginny asked.

Harry hugged Ginny to him and replied, “You can tell a woman lives here now. I love it. I love you.”

“I love you,” Ginny replied and kissed him.

Harry prepared to go to sleep and Ginny sat at the kitchen table with a medical journal and a pen. After a few moments she decided to acknowledge the fact that Harry was standing in the doorway watching her.

“I’m not coming to bed, Harry,” Ginny told him while underlining a bit in the journal, “Not yet.”

“I just wanted to say goodnight,” Harry told her, walking over to kiss her forehead. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Ginny was distracted that night. She could not read. She could not write. By one o’clock she was as bored as she could remember ever being. By one thirty Ginny had prowled into the bedroom. Harry looked so peaceful and the bed looked so warm. Against her better judgment, Ginny threw on her pajamas and climbed into bed. Harry immediately rolled over and gathered her to his chest in his sleep. This is nice, Ginny thought. She blinked.

Ginny’s eyes opened and she saw sunshine. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed with incredibly sleep tousled hair. He handed her a piece of toast with strawberry jam. Ginny was confused.

“Good morning!” Harry chirped. A chipper Harry was a very rare thing in the morning. During school Harry had never been a morning person and she knew that he drank at least three cups of coffee before he was able to tolerate the sight of any other human being. All of his first year students had the misfortune of having him first thing in the morning. They were all terrified of Professor Potter.

“It’s noon,” Harry continued. How was your nap, Rip Van Winkle?”

Ginny ignored his illusion to a Muggle tale he had insisted she read and instead stared at Harry with her mouth hanging open. She looked at her watch. She grabbed his wrist to examine his watch. She caught up the clock on the nightstand and examined it. It was noon. Ginny had slept. Ginny had not had a single nightmare.

After that Ginny still loved the nights, but not because it was her time alone. Now the nights were her time with Harry. She would not have it any other way.

Drabble

2004-11-20T17:44:40Z

Ginny stood for a moment to allow her head and vision to stop spinning. She dropped the portkey, now nothing more than an old book on Egyptian history. Fitting, she thought to herself. International portkeys had to arrive and depart at the Ministry of Magic, and there stood Ginny, her bags all around her, looking lost and alone. She was supposed to wait in line with the others in order to have her wand registered and return her portkey, verfiying where she had been. Ginny was not a patient witch. With a quick glance at the security guard, Ginny gathered her robes around her and, leaving her bags in a pile, took off into the Ministry.

"Miss! Miss! Come back here! Stop that witch!" came shouts from behind Ginny as she sprinted to the Atrium, desperate to reach the Ministry's Floo Network before the guards reached her.

A line had formed at the Ministry fireplaces, but Ginny immediately rushed to the front of the line for departures, mumbling hurried apologies to the angry wizards and witches behind her. Ginny saw the security guards puffing up to the line just as she stepped into the emerald flames and was whisked away. Spinning and turning in the Floo Network Ginny kept her eyes shut and her elbows tucked in. Then, quite suddenly, she tumbled out of the grate and found herself standing in Hogwarts Castle.

"Ginny!" a voice exclaimed.

Ginny turned with tears in her eyes to see Harry, sitting at his desk in his office and looking extremely surprised to see her. The next minute Harry was out of his chair and Ginny was in Harry's arms. She clutched him, trying to hold him as close as possible to her. Harry crushed Ginny to him and buried his face in her hair.

"Why aren't you in Egypt, Ginny? It was your dream to study there," Harry whispered in her hair.

Ginny shook her head and then looked up into Harry's questioning eyes.

"Not anymore," Ginny whispered. "It's not a dream if you aren't there with me. You're my dream."

Harry's lips slid across Ginny's as he whispered, "I'll never leave you."

Teaser

2004-11-08T01:20:23Z

Here's the first chapter of another story I've been working on recently in my spare time. It's a Draco/Ginny fic, so if you don't like that pairing you won't like the story. It came about first because of my slight and fickle obsession with Ginny/Draco and then realizing that the pairing never really makes sense. This is a fic trying to sort out the mess that is the Draco/Ginny ship and how it could ever have come about.

The Thing About Draco Is

Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. pertaining to Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. All I own is the story.

The Ministry of Magic’s balls were formal and boring affairs. He had learned this quite a few years ago. It had been a while since he had attended one, seeing as the heir of one of the Dark Lord’s most ardent supporters had not been welcome in the Ministry after the Second War. Draco Malfoy had, quite wisely, opted to leave Britain once the war was complete and his father sentenced to Azkaban. He had left the dark corners of Malfoy Manor to be raided by the Ministry. After all, those possessions in the Manor which would be of most interest to the Ministry were most definitely not his. Not yet, anyway. Although Draco had indeed been of age when the Second War ended, his father was still alive, still lucid. Therefore the Manor and all of its possessions still belonged to Lucius Malfoy. Draco knew his father, facing life in Azkaban and possibly the Dementor’s Kiss, would have no reason to deny this fact. Lucius had always been proud of who he was. And so Draco and his mother had left Britain for a slightly warmer climate. Narcissa arranged for them to stay with one of her dearest friends from Hogwarts. The witch now lived in southern France. Draco had spent a few years in France, loafing around dating loose French witches. But then he had found that France bored him and he took leave of his mother and her friend in search of more interesting pastimes, returning to France for holidays with his mother. Watching himself in the mirror Draco now reminded himself that he had indeed found what he had been looking for.

“Mr. Malfoy, you do not want to be late,” the butler advised him, glancing at a pocket watch.

Draco gave a very short nod and afforded himself one last once over in the mirror. He smoothed a hand over his slicked back hair and then over a few nonexistent wrinkles in his black dress robes. Once he was satisfied that no one would be able to find fault with his appearance, Draco Malfoy turned on his heel and swept past the butler and out of the room before he could hear his mirror idly comment “You look as elegant as ever, sir.”

At the door Draco paused to grab his heavy winter cloak, swinging it over his shoulders and fastening it quickly as he pulled on black leather gloves. The butler had reappeared at the door and opened it for Draco.

“Have a good time, sir,” said the butler stiffly.

“I sincerely doubt it,” was Draco’s reply.

Draco gave a nod to his butler, stepped outside, removed his wand from the pocket of his robes and quickly Apparated to the Ministry of Magic.

Uncharacteristically, Draco Malfoy was a bit nervous as he approached the security guard in the Atrium, although no one would ever be able to tell. He handed his wand over for registration as a few other wizards and witches who did not work for the Ministry queued up behind him after either Apparating or Flooing in. Draco knew that some of them were staring at him. He knew some were probably interested, some disgusted, and some simply did not care. Draco kept his face void of expression as the security guard looked at him with some suspicion and then read to Draco the statistics of his wand.

“Is that correct, Mr. Malfoy?” the security guard demanded gruffly.

“Yes,” Draco replied after hearing the size and make of his wand.

“I have to ask to see your invitation, Mr. Malfoy,” said the security guard with a grim face and, Draco suspected, a small amount of satisfaction. “Only legitimate guests are allowed in tonight. We can’t be too careful.”

“Of course,” Draco replied in a monotone. He quickly produced his invitation and handed it over to the security guard.

Once upon a time the Malfoy family had been in such good standing, and had the Minister of Magic so terrified of them, that no one would have dared to deny a Malfoy entrance to the ball, let alone even ask to see an invitation as was standard procedure for all non-Ministry employees. But with Lucius Malfoy now dead after being locked in Azkaban as a known and confessed Death Eater the name “Malfoy” was not what it once had been and did not warrant an automatic invitation from the Minister of Magic or any other Ministry employee. Draco had to admit that he had been shocked when he had received his invitation.

“Is everything in order?” Draco finally asked when he saw the security guard eyeing his invitation warily.

“Yes, rather odd, though,” muttered the security guard. It appeared that the guard was about to say more about Draco’s invitation when he glanced up and saw the line behind Draco. “Go right ahead, Mr. Malfoy,” the guard said crisply, already holding his hand out for the next wand to register.

Draco slipped both his wand and his invitation into the pocket of his robes and checked his cloak before continuing up a few floors to the ballroom. He remembered watching his parents when he was a child, particularly his mother, prepare for the ball. Draco had actually only attended twice. He remembered sweeping into the ballroom behind his parents, Pansy Parkinson on his arm, while most of the room turned to stare. Draco understood that those days were over. He was glad those days were over. Draco was no longer quite the selfish brat of a teenager he had been as the Malfoy heir. If anyone noticed him when he slipped quietly into the already crowded ballroom they ignored him. This suited Draco just fine.

Quietly, Draco Malfoy made his way towards a rather isolated corner of the room, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter as he went. His eyes raked the room as he sipped slowly at his drink, wondering who was in attendance and if their lives had changed as much as his had in the past years. Draco recognized the bushy hair of Hermione Granger and watched as she leaned in to whisper something to a redhead who Draco guessed was Ron Weasley. He wondered if they were married yet, assuming they were at least engaged if not married. Their rows had been legend at Hogwarts, even among those not in Gryffindor who did not witness the most passionate of their rows. Everyone had known it was only a matter of time before Granger and Weasley bit the bullet. Draco recognized a few other people and saw a few other redheads that he did not particularly recognize. He knew they must be Weasleys.

After a few more minutes everyone was called to eat dinner. Draco glanced at his invitation and found the number for his table printed on it. He was not surprised that he did not recognize the wizards and witches at his table. They made polite conversation with him and each other as they made good work on the food presented to them.

“Well, now, as dinner winds down,” the Minister of Magic said through a rather weak sonorous charm, “a few words before the orchestra begins. As you all know it is tradition to announce new appointments at this ball and we have a few this year, though I promise not enough to bore you.”

Draco seriously doubted that he would not be bored, but he did not smirk nor sniff. In fact, for most of the evening the countenance of Draco Malfoy had been studiously blank. The trademark Malfoy smirk had not been seen once all dinner, though he had smiled rather charmingly at the daughter of the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

And then he saw her. She was wearing strapless blue robes that fell to the floor and managed to look both decently modest and devastatingly sexy at the same time. Draco realized that he had not been breathing and forced himself to look away. He had known the moment he received the invitation that he would drop everything and return to England. The pull was too great.

He told himself it was merely curiosity. To see that girl who had so captivated him all those years ago. He told himself that it was for closure. He told himself that whatever they had pursued in France had not been properly wrapped up and that was why he was going. But Draco knew that his affair with her--for that was exactly what it had been though neither had been married—had been given a proper ending. They had both seen to that. There had never been any question of if it was over. It was over. Draco had known it was over for the last six years. Neither was it really about idle curiosity. His curiosity had more to do with the fact that he still thought about her.

At first Draco had cursed himself for not being able to get her out of his mind. But then after a few months he realized that he was thinking of her less and less, that he was allowing her to fade to merely a memory instead of an obsession. He let her go. But she would still invade his mind at random moments, maybe only twice in one year, maybe three times in one month. But Draco knew that however much time he spent not thinking about her she was always there in the back of his mind.

Ever since Draco had received the invitation to the Ministry’s ball, and then the news of his father’s death, she had not left Draco Malfoy’s mind. He thought about her constantly since he had discovered that he had been given two very good excuses to return to Britain. Draco wondered if he would see her at the ball. He had not really expected to, though he had hoped. Of course he had hoped. For two long months while he prepared everything for his departure and then collected his mother from France she had been with him every moment of every day. The memory of what had once been haunted Draco; it never left him, not even during his father’s funeral.

The funeral for his father had been a rather somber, small affair. There was no need to publicize. The Daily Prophet had ensured that every wizard and witch knew that Lucius Malfoy, who had been given the Dementor’s Kiss after three years in Azkaban, had finally died. Draco was Lucius’ only heir and had inherited the entire estate. He had been relieved to find that the Ministry had since confiscated all of the Dark artifacts in the Manor. Narcissa and Draco had really been the only ones at the funeral. They had not wanted anyone stopping by to either gawk or make trouble. Mother and son were both glad that Lucius was finally at rest. For Draco it meant he could truly get on with his life. His Death Eater father had died. But, whatever Lucius Malfoy may have been, whatever heinous crimes he may have committed, he had still been Draco’s father and Draco still missed him.

After the funeral Narcissa had returned to France, kissing Draco on the cheek and telling him not to work too hard putting the paperwork and such to rights. She was glad her son would have the distraction of the Ministry ball. Narcissa had always loved formal events. Draco was finding them increasingly dull. He stayed in a large townhouse in a wizarding section of London that his father had owned. The Manor was not fit to live in anymore. But throughout all of the meetings, contacting everyone who needed to be contacted, and the general flurry of activity that accompanies funerals and putting one’s estate in order, Draco never forgot the girl who had come to be a permanent fixture in his thoughts.

He had never imagined that she would be there. And there she was. He saw her standing before him and was not quite sure what to do. She was a hundred times more beautiful than she had been the last time he saw her. Draco wondered why she was there. He wondered why his heart was in his throat. He knew that he could not talk to her. They had both been very clear with each other when they had parted ways in France six years ago. Do not write. Do not make contact. Keep the memory, but try to forget this ever happened. Draco now wondered if he had been insane. He had never forgotten. No matter what had happened over the years in her life, he had never forgotten. Draco’s senses finally returned to him and he turned his attention to the Minister of Magic as he caught the very last of the Minister’s announcements.

“…And finally, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Miss Ginevra Weasley,” said the Minister of Magic.
Draco watched as the redhead stood up briefly while the room clapped politely. Draco also clapped his hands together a few times.

“…Miss Weasley has made considerable progress with giving our Muggle Relations program a much needed facelift and we know that she will continue to work her magic in this department. No pun intended.”

A few weak laughs greeted the Minister, who quickly wrapped things up and then asked the orchestra to begin playing and Draco’s fellow table companions resumed their chatter.

“I must say that I’m surprised they appointed Ginevra Weasley as head of the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” a pompous old wizard to Draco’s left said as soon as the orchestra began to tune.

“Well, you know that her father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office,” said one of the older witches, “and her brother is an Auror. Maybe that had something to do with it.”

“I doubt it,” a considerably younger witch at the table replied. Draco recognized her as the one who had introduced herself as the daughter of the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. “From what I hear she really is the best qualified candidate.”

“She’s so young,” the first wizard complained.

Draco stopped listening to them and returned his attention once more to the vision in dark blue dress robes. He could not stop marveling at how beautiful she had become. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it was because he had not seen her in so long and had, over the years, formed their time together into something of a fairytale moment. The gentleman interrupted his thoughts across the table from him.

“Do you know her?” the wizard asked.

“What?” Draco asked, flustered, then angry with himself for becoming flustered in the first place. “I’m sorry, what did you ask me?”

“Do you know Ginevra Weasley? You’re staring at her,” the wizard replied, the accusation light though Draco knew the man was eagerly awaiting the answer.

“Well, I’ve seen her a few times I think,” Draco replied, the lie forming almost as easily as he would have wanted. “It seems to me we went to Hogwarts together, though she wouldn’t have been in my house. Weasleys were all in Gryffindor. Bad manners on my part, I’m afraid, to stare, but I thought I recognized her and couldn’t quite place how I knew her until just now.”

“Oh, I understand. It’s so easy to forget other Hogwarts students if you weren’t in the same house. I was in Ravenclaw….”

Draco stopped listening to the wizard. How could he forget the girl who had made giant flying bogies attack him in his fifth year? Draco had vowed to hate her forever when she did that. Then what happened? a small voice asked him. Draco could not answer because he did not know what had happened. Draco did not know why he had even looked twice at that girl in the South of France. But he had and for whatever reason Ginny Weasley was the beauty he could not forget.

For the rest of the night, Draco tried to work up the courage to go up and talk to her. But he knew what would happen if he did that. He would be disappointed. He would be polite. Her family would look daggers at him. She would be cool and distant, merely a face he recognized from Hogwarts. He would only be congratulating her on her appointment to department head. She would only be being polite to a man who had once been her brother’s archenemy at school. Draco wanted to believe that Ron Weasley had grown up and was past their rivalry from Hogwarts, but he knew instinctively that school rivalries could last forever. Draco still harbored ill feelings towards Harry Potter and was glad that he did not see the hero of wizardkind that night.

Three hours later Draco decided it was time to leave, time to stop torturing himself with thoughts of what might have been, of what could be. He cursed himself for being a coward and made a quiet exit from the room. Down the stairs he went. Draco was collecting his cloak and fastening it around his shoulders when he saw her again. Ginny was saying goodbye to someone as she pulled gloves onto her hands.

“Miss Weasley,” Draco called out, hurrying towards her while pulling on his own gloves.
Ginny turned at the sound of a voice calling her and watched as Draco Malfoy made his way towards her across the nearly empty Atrium. She quickly glanced around. The only person there was a security guard at the other end who was now watching Draco rather suspiciously. Ginny’s friend had already Apparated home.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Ginny replied when he was close enough that she could speak quietly. “What a surprise to see you again.”

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Draco told her, his voice also lowered as he, too, glanced around the Atrium, looking for eavesdroppers. Draco continued, “Your appointment to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is quite the accomplishment.”

Ginny gave Draco a small smile, pulling on her right glove as she replied, “Thank you. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“You should be proud of yourself for being appointed a department head so young,” he replied. There was an awkward silence before he said, even quieter, “It’s been a long time.”
Ginny held up one gloved hand and shook her head. “Don’t,” she said as firmly as she could without raising her voice.

“Then why did you--” began Draco, but he stopped abruptly and took a step away from her as a group of three people passed them on their way to the fireplaces.

Ginny shifted on her feet and looked up at Draco. She could tell from the set of his jaw that he had more to say. Glancing around she made up her mind.

“Look, we decided a long time ago to forget,” Ginny told him, rushing to finish when he opened his mouth to interrupt, “but if you insist on continuing this, we should leave. Take the lift and go outside, walk around downtown London for a spell and clear up…everything. No one will be around to…bother us then.”

“To see us, you mean,” Draco replied.

“That’s not what I said,” hissed Ginny.

“But it’s what you meant. I understand. After all, a Malfoy and Weasley together….” he trailed off.

“Who we are has nothing to do with any of this,” snapped Ginny, already heading for the phone booth and jabbing a finger at the button. She walked inside and hit the button for the street level.

Draco stood crammed into the tiny phone booth with her, attempting to stand as far away as he could. He glanced sideways at her, then stared straight ahead and said evenly, “Who we are has always had everything to do with all of this and we might as well stop pretending otherwise.” He exited the phone booth and waited for Ginny. “Are you warm enough? It’s chilly.”

“I’m fine,” she replied.

They walked in silence. It seemed that neither knew what to say.

“Where have you been?” Ginny finally asked. Draco could tell by her tone that she was no longer annoyed or frightened or whatever it was she had been with him. “France still?”

“Russia,” replied Draco. “A while ago I found that France no longer had anything to offer me.”

“And there was in Russia?” Ginny wondered. She could see Draco leaving France for a tall, frosty Russian beauty. Her heart lurched and her stomach tied itself into knots at the thought of Draco effectively taken. But then Ginny reminded herself that she had no control over Draco Malfoy, and he had none over her. She reminded herself that whatever had happened between herself and Draco was over, it was in the past and it was buried. And it had meant nothing. It had to have meant nothing. A Malfoy and Weasley did not make sense. There was no reason for it to have happened.

“There was—is, actually—a position for me as Potions Master at Durmstrang,” Draco replied. “I live in St. Petersburg.”

“Potions Master, that’s quite the dignified position,” Ginny said awkwardly. “You
should be proud of yourself as well.”

“I am,” Draco replied. After another spell he commented, “I don’t know you anymore.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ginny apprehensively.

“Look at us,” Draco replied, motioning with his arms, “we’re walking down the street as though we were total strangers. You’ve crossed your arms, I’ve shoved my hands in my pockets. And I have no idea what to say to you.”

“You’ve changed, so have I,” said Ginny.

Ginny looked at Draco for a long time. They had stopped walking. Finally, she looked down and said, “It didn’t mean anything, Draco. I would have thought that you, of all people, would have understood that.”

Draco tried to ignore the stab of pain he had felt at her words and nodded his head. “What if I want it to have meant something?”

“It can’t. This is my life, Draco. I work for the Ministry and I’m successful. My parents are so proud of me. My life makes perfect sense and I know this is what I’ve always been supposed to do. This is what I’ve always been supposed to become. And I’m seeing someone,” said Ginny, raising her head to once again meet his gaze. “I’m seeing someone I will never have to hide from my family or friends. I’ll never have to make explanations for him. I’ll never wonder when I walk into a room if his father hurt anyone there. This is my life now, Draco, and it makes sense. What happened between us did not make sense and it can’t mean anything. Until tonight I’d nearly forgotten about you and what happened. It can’t mean anything. We both know it can’t.”

Draco looked at Ginny then as if he truly were looking at a stranger. What he saw was a beautiful, sophisticated successful woman, but he wondered what it had cost her. He wondered if she were happy. She had not said she was happy.

“Ginny,” whispered Draco, closing the gap between them and grasping her arms. “You’re trying to convince me that we should just forget what happened six years ago in France. After all, there isn’t any logical explanation, we should write it off as a mistake. But we have a little mystery here, Ginny. No matter how much you want to erase what happened six years ago, it happened, and you will have to come to terms with that at some point. It’s obvious you never trusted me. You never even told me your full name. Why not?”

“It didn’t matter,” Ginny told him, looking away and pulling her arms half-heartedly, though not breaking his grip on her.

“It’s a beautiful name,” Draco told her. “Ginevra, like Guenevere,” mused Draco. “Tell me, Ginny, are you someone’s Guenevere? Are you in love with that bloke you’re seeing?”

Ginny looked away and did not reply. Draco wondered what it would be like to be truly loved by such a woman. He had once thought he might have been, perhaps he would have been the Lancelot to Ginny’s Guenevere. But that had all been stupid dreams induced by the hot sun in France.

“It’s obvious you don’t want to be seen with me, and to some extent I don’t blame you,” said Draco softly. “After all, I am the son of a Death Eater, my name has been dragged through the mud. You would have so much explaining to do. But, Ginny, if you didn’t want to be seen with me, if you truly wanted to forget France and never divulge that you know Draco Malfoy much better than you should, why did you send me this?” Draco had reached into his pocket and was holding something in his hand. “If France really meant nothing to you, why did you break the rules and send me this? Why, after six years of silence on both of our parts, did you finally contact me if you had truly forgotten me?”

Ginny stared at Draco, but said nothing.

“Here,” said Draco, something that could have resembled the sneer Ginny had seen so often at Hogwarts appearing on his face. He shoved what he held in his hand into hers. “I have to go. I have some things to tie up before returning to Durmstrang.”

“You’re going back?” asked Ginny, gripping the paper he had given her in her hand. A thousand other things to say danced on the tip of her tongue, but never made it out of her mouth.

“I have no reason to stay. That was the reason I came back, Ginny,” said Draco, gesturing to what she held. “Goodbye.”

He did not touch her when he left. He merely took out his wand and Apparated. Ginny glanced around, anxious to see if any Muggles might have seen him, but they had not. They had wandered into a wizarding section of London.

Ginny stood out on the street for a few minutes, basked in the orange glow of the streetlights. It felt strange to be on a deserted street. Finally, she looked down at what Draco had shoved at her. It was his invitation to the ball.
Mister Draco Malfoy
Is cordially invited
To the British Ministry of Magic’s
Annual Ball by
The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Invitation Only. Formal. Table 12.
She stared at it. Ginny had not realized that the invitation would state who had requested it. She had only been curious. She had wanted to see Draco Malfoy one last time, wanted to put aside her curiosities and questions for good. Ginny knew that Harry Potter would be proposing to her soon. She knew that she and Draco had agreed, six years ago, to go their separate ways and never look back. But she had to confess she had looked back. So she sent him the invitation, knowing he would show up and she would be able to look at him and decide whether there could be another life out there for her other than the one she had chosen. Not necessarily a life with Draco, but a different life from hers. She supposed that she had invited Draco because he was the only time she had ever strayed from what she knew to be her path in life. And ever since then Ginny had wondered if for that brief time in France she had accidentally strayed from the wrong path onto the right one.

Ginny flipped the invitation over and was not surprised to see that there was a note on the back. She looked at the writing carefully and realized it was an address. He had given her the location of his residence in Russia. Ginny put the invitation into her pocket, glanced around, took out her wand, and Disapparated. From a window three stories above her Draco Malfoy looked out and watched Ginevra Weasley disappear from the street below him. He leaned his head on the windowpane and knew that in a few moments he would have to gather all of his paperwork and put things to rights so that he could leave by the end of the week. Draco thought briefly of the place he now called home, of the woman who would be waiting there for him. But Draco knew that no matter how fond he was of the strange city he lived in, his heart would forever remain in England.

Sealed with a Kiss

2004-08-13T18:34:56Z

War rages around Harry Potter as he attempts to write a letter to the girl he loves. Harry discovers that the task is much more difficult than he ever imagined. H/G. PG-13.

Sealed with a Kiss

Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. pertaining to Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. All I own is the story.

Harry Potter stared down at the piece of parchment in front of him. Approximately half of it was filled with words. Around Harry in the cramped tent lay numerous balls of crushed parchment. He put his head in his hands, ready to declare defeat. All of the words on his current piece of parchment were no better than those on the ones lying around him on the ground. The words were odd and disjointed. Harry felt as though the message he wished to convey was muddled and had been lost in translation. Harry felt as though he were attempting to write in a foreign language that he had never learned. Harry was desperate. It was a lost cause. It was hopeless. Harry wondered what would happen if he merely gave up and refused to write anything. It would be so easy to snap his quill in half, to tear up the parchment until the blank space mocking him was no more than thousands of tiny scraps littering the ground of his tent.

Pushing himself away from the tiny table that he had crammed into the tent, Harry viciously wondered why the tent had not been modified much. An image of Hermione immediately rushed into his mind, saying “This tent was not modified for your comfort, Harry Potter! It is the property of the Ministry of Magic and its only purpose is to keep you safe and dry while out on the battlefield!” Harry chuckled to himself but could not help himself from longing for one of the tents the Weasley’s had taken with them to the Quidditch World Cup in his fourth year. At least then Harry would have been able to have a decent bed and desk, as well as sufficient room to pace. It had been a long time since Harry had room to pace. The Second War had dragged on and on since its start at the end of his fifth year. Here he was, twenty-three years old, and the war was still raging around them. It had reached a critical point. Harry expected he would be coming face to face with Voldemort within the next month, if not within the week. This was what made his current task so important. Harry was trying to write a letter to Ginny.

Ginny, Harry thought, closing his eyes as a rush of color invaded his senses. Ginny was soft curves and red hair. Ginny was too many freckles to count. Ginny was laughter and kindness and temper all rolled into one. Running a hand through his unkempt black hair, Harry sighed. He knew how he felt about Ginny. The problem was that he needed to tell her, just once more, before anything else happened. Harry groaned in frustration. He was just no good at writing anything, especially at writing this. How was he supposed to catalog Ginny’s scent for her? How was he supposed to tell her how she made him feel those few times he had been able to wake up next to her? How was Harry supposed to be able to explain the millions of things that made him love her? Harry’s thoughts took him back in time to when he was at Hogwarts and had stood on the Quidditch pitch, awkwardly kissing a girl named Ginny Weasley. How was Harry supposed to tell Ginny how he felt every time he kissed her, every time he looked at her? There was not enough paper, ink, or time in the world for Harry to tell Ginny everything he needed her to know. Frustrated, Harry stood, staring wildly around the bare walls of the tent, desperate for inspiration. Instead of inspiration, Harry received interruption.

“It’s bloody miserable out there, mate,” Ron Weasley grumbled by way of greeting as he entered the tent he and Harry shared, shaking water off of his cloak as he closed the flap.

“Thanks for the update, I couldn’t quite make out the howling wind and the pounding rain from in here,” came Harry’s sarcastic reply as he glared at his best mate.

Ron stopped in his tracks and glanced at Harry. Then he carefully set his drenched cloak on the table beside his bed. Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head so that he could stare at the ceiling.

“Not going well for you?” Ron asked, letting his eyes slide to observe Harry before quickly pulling his gaze back to the top of the tent.

“You could say that,” growled Harry.

“It doesn’t have to be a bloody work of art, you know,” Ron replied.

“And what the bloody hell did you write in yours?” Harry demanded. All of the Aurors and the others who were fighting Voldemort had recently been encouraged to write final letters to their families, just in case anything happened. The fact that there was a just in case scared Harry more than he wanted to admit.

“I told Hermione that I loved her,” Ron said simply.

“That’s it?” Harry asked suspiciously. “I swear I saw your bloody quill scratching at two o’clock this morning.”

“Well, there was a bit more to it than just that,” admitted Ron. “But the point is it’s not as if it’s perfect. Ginny’s not going to care if it’s perfect or not, mate. She’ll just want to know that you love her.”

“How the hell do you know that?” grumbled Harry.

“Ginny is my sister,” Ron reasoned.

Harry barely acknowledged that Ron had said anything.

“Look,” Ron finally said, “I’m going to turn in. Good luck with that letter.”

“Right,” Harry replied, sitting down at the table once again and pulling the piece of parchment before him.

Harry thought of Ginny one more time and this time he pulled a new piece of parchment towards him, scribbling madly across it.

Harry did not know how much time had passed when he finally set down his quill and read what he had written, but he did know that while his letter was not at all eloquent, it was the best he could do. He reviewed his work and then wiped two tears out of his eyes. Harry then took out his wand, sealed the parchment and put a few quick spells on it. One of those spells would take the parchment to Ginny should anything happen to Harry. Taking his quill up one last time Harry scrawled a name across the front.

Two weeks later Ginny woke up to the feel of something lying in her right hand. She opened her eyes and finally saw what it was. The piece of parchment lying on top of her right hand bore her name on it in a very familiar scrawl. Her heart pounding, Ginny took out her wand and opened the parchment.

Ginny,

I wish that I did not have to write this letter. I wish that I could be home with you right now, holding you in my arms and whispering these words in your ear. There are so many things I need to tell you Ginny. There are so many things I want to say. You are my life, Ginny. You are the reason that I am happy. Before you I didn’t believe that I deserved happiness. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I know I’ve told you that about fifty million times already, but I know that you need to hear it again since you never seem to quite believe me. To me you are the most beautiful thing in this world.

There are so many things to say but I do not know how to say them. I suppose the most important thing for you to know is that I love you. I love you so much that I can hardly breathe around you. I love you so much that you make me speechless. You are my life, Ginny. But I also have a request. Don’t let yourself be miserable. Find someone else. It hurts so much to write those words. I wanted to be the one waiting for you at the altar of a tiny church in Ottery St. Catchpole. I wanted to be the one slipping some outrageous diamond on your finger and asking you to marry me and telling you not to worry about what the diamond cost. I wanted to be the one to wake up with you every morning until your hair turns white and your skin is so wrinkled it looks like you’ve stayed in the bath too long. I wanted to be the one to see you growing bigger and bigger with my baby. I wanted to be the one you made a family with. But it hurts more to think that you would never have any of those things. It hurts more to think of you old and alone without a husband, without children all because you loved a stupid boy named Harry Potter who had to go and die too early. It’s very arrogant of me to think that I mean that much to you, Ginny, but I can’t help it. You will always be mine and I will always love you, but don’t wait for me, Ginny. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you were unhappy.

Love forever,
Harry

Ginny started to cry as the final spell Harry had put on the piece of parchment revealed itself to her. An image of Harry curled itself out of the parchment and leaned forward to brush its unsubstantial lips across Ginny’s. As it dissolved Ginny collapsed across the parchment and began to cry over the letter the Boy Who Lived had sealed with a final kiss.

Flying Lessons 101

2004-08-12T20:46:51Z

Harry asks Ron what it's like to kiss a girl you actually like (one who isn't crying at the time). Ron's answer: "It's like flying." Harry finds out the truth about kisses, as well as the truth about Ron and Hermione. One shot, OotP spoilers. RHr HG
This is also posted at ff.net. The story itself is mine, the characters are not.

Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. pertaining to Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling. All I own is the story.

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were out at the Quidditch pitch. Harry had agreed once more to help Ron out with his Keeper skills. Even at seventeen the tall redhead had never quite overcome his insecurities despite the two Quidditch Cups he had helped Gryffindor win. And that was how Harry found himself out on a Quidditch pitch not thinking about the Snitch for once, but attempting to score goals past Ron. Harry found himself relaxing despite the workout he was receiving. It was comforting to know that although some things in the world were spiraling out of control, Ron and Harry were still best mates.

“Pitiful excuse for a Chaser, Potter,” Ron yelled good-naturedly from his place in front of the goal hoops. “Even my little sister can throw a quaffle better than that!”

“Your little sister just happens to be a Chaser for Gryffindor!” Harry shouted back.

Ron’s expression became rather gleeful and as he passed Harry the quaffle for another shot he said, “Percy could make a better Chaser!”

“Percy!” Harry choked out, taking aim with the quaffle again and pelting it at the middle hoop. He liked to think that he would have scored a goal if Ron had not blocked the quaffle and returned it to him.

“Percy!” Ron agreed.

“Well, even Percy isn’t attached to the apron strings of a bird he’s not even dating!” retorted Harry, a mental image of Hermione Granger, one of his other best friends, circling in his head.

Ron’s face immediately went bright red and he began to mumble something under his breath. Harry placed the quaffle under his arm, forgetting about Keeper practice, and urged his broom forward to approach Ron where he hovered in front of the goals. A malicious gleam appeared in Harry’s eyes.

“What was that?” asked Harry, a smirk on his face, “I didn’t quite hear it.”

Ron looked up at Harry, murder in his eyes and a grin on his face, saying, “I said at least I can honestly say that at seventeen I’ve had more than just a sloppy, wet kiss in the Room of Requirement from a girl who cried her eyes out every second of the day!”

Harry was just about to throw what would amount to a little more than a friendly punch when Ron’s words finally caught up to his ears and he stilled his fist, staring at Ron, whose ears had turned bright red. Ron was flicking some invisible dust off of the handle of his broom, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Who have you kissed?” Harry demanded.

“Bit more than just a kiss, mate,” Ron declared with a smile. “More like a good healthy snog if you ask me.”

“Who!” Harry demanded again.

“Who else?” Ron asked. He suddenly smiled as he put his hands behind his head and leaned back, making a comical sight on his broom as a smile came onto his face. “None other than Hermione Granger, brightest witch in the school. I swear, that girl was born knowing everything and sometimes it pays off.”

All of the sudden Harry felt awkward. Ron had hit the mark earlier. Being the Boy-Who-Lived did not make Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Snogged-Half-the-School. While Harry had indeed had a few more kisses than a sloppy, wet, miserable kiss with Cho Chang during his fifth year, he had never snogged any of the witches at Hogwarts. Suddenly envious of Ron, Harry also had the burning desire to question him.

“So, Hermione snogs well?” Harry asked cautiously.

“Don’t tell her I said anything,” Ron suddenly pleaded. “She’d have me locked away in Azkaban in two seconds if she found out that I told you.”

“Right, like Hermione will take off the time from studying for the N.E.W.T.s to give me the time of day, much less listen to what happened on a Quidditch pitch,” replied Harry, rolling his eyes.

Ron grinned. “But, yes, kisses like a bloody genius that one,” Ron replied.

Hesitantly, Harry asked, “Really? It was that good?”

“Yes,” Ron admitted, his ears turning red and grinning sheepishly. “I don’t know how to describe it.” Ron looked at a loss for a moment and then his eyes brightened as he continued, “Well, you know how you feel when you’re on a broom, flying?” Harry nodded that he did know. “It’s like that. It’s like flying.”

Harry sat still on his broom, not certain what to make of this new information. Certainly he had never kissed a girl and felt anything remotely like flying.

Ron was eyeing Harry uneasily and seemed to think he needed to say something to his friend. Ron opened his mouth and said, “You must just have bad luck with birds, mate. Always picking the ones who cry.”

“Hey, Lavender didn’t cry when we were kissed,” Harry said indignantly, snapping out of his thoughts.

“No, but she nearly poked your eye out with her wand as she tried to reapply her lipstick in the middle of it,” Ron chortled.

“All right, so I don’t exactly have a stellar record,” said a disgruntled Harry. “It’s not for lack of trying!”

Ron took a look at his best mate and said, “Look, maybe you just haven’t really wanted to kiss any of them. I mean, with Cho, first kisses are always bloody awful and it didn’t help that she turned all teary eyed whenever you looked at her funny. And Lavender, well, I never really understood why you tried that one, mate, although I suppose she’s pretty enough. Aren’t there any witches you want to snog?”

“Plenty!” Harry retorted, chucking the quaffle at Ron’s head so that the redhead had to duck.

“Right then, enough with the practice. We should head in. Dinner soon. I told Hermione we’d meet her there,” Ron spat out as he sped towards the ground, intent on avoiding another of Harry’s quaffles to the head.

“I’ll be in after a few minutes,” Harry called to Ron. “Go on and meet Hermione without me or she’ll be likely to have your head. I just want to fly a bit, you know, practice a bit while it’s still light.”

As Harry flew around the pitch he thought about his answer to Ron’s question. Of course he wanted to snog plenty of witches, but there was one in particular that stuck out in his mind and he knew that Ron would not appreciate it if he told him about that particular fantasy. Ginny Weasley, thought Harry, was one of the most wonderful girls he had ever met. She was smart, she was gorgeous, and she was funny and could always make him feel as though he had almost won a game of wizard chess before she beat the pants off of him. Besides, she was brilliant on a broom. Harry had seen her work as the Seeker in his fifth year when Umbridge banned him from Quidditch, but he had not paid much attention to anything besides how she handled her broom. It was really his sixth year, when she joined the team as a Chaser, that Harry noticed her. He remembered how he had almost lost the first three games she played in because he was too busy staring dreamily at her. It was more distracting than playing against Cho Chang, who suddenly did not present any distractions for Harry at all. Harry remembered how his teammates had yelled at him as the Snitch whizzed past his ear because he was too busy staring at Ginny’s marvelous curves. It was definitely not his fault that the wind rushing past her pressed her robes against her body, showing off her beautiful breasts. Harry had been quite shocked indeed to discover that his best mate’s sister had the most wonderful pair of breasts he had ever laid eyes upon. Curves like that should be illegal in Britain. He should have known that day that he was in trouble and that Ginny was the cause of it, but it would not be for another month and an unfortunate incident at dinner before Harry realized that he fancied Ginny Weasley.

Turning out of a dive Harry thought back to that particularly embarrassing dinner. Hermione and Ron had been arguing next to him and Ginny had been rolling her eyes and making faces as though she were dying in front of him. If she had continued to do that all would have gone spectacularly, Harry was certain. But she had taken a break from her goofy faces to request that Harry pass her the shepherd’s pie. Harry was convinced that he could have managed that one as well, but Ginny had smiled at him as she asked. If only she had not smiled at him, Harry was certain that dinner would have gone off without a hitch and he would have passed Ginny the shepherd’s pie without incident. As it was he had merely stared at Ginny and put his elbow in the butter dish. Blushing furiously, he had started to splutter something about Quidditch as he grasped the nearest object, which happened to be a treacle tart, and thrust it into Ginny’s hands. Harry had barely had time to notice that Ginny’s face was flaming red as well, matching her hair. She had just smiled and taken the tart from him, not even asking for shepherd’s pie again. Harry had been glad that Hermione and Ron had been otherwise engaged so that he did not have to either hear Ron’s jokes or face Ron’s wrath if he figured out that Ginny was the reason Harry had butter on his elbow. Just as Harry was leaving the dinning room, however, Ginny appeared at his side and silently handed him a handkerchief. He had taken it, confused.

“For the butter,” Ginny has merely told him, smiling and blushing again as she hurried ahead to catch up to some of her friends.

Harry still had the handkerchief, without the butter.

Suddenly, Harry looked up and realized that he had been flying for at least another hour and the sky had grown dark. Cursing himself, Harry headed for the ground. He knew that by this time not only had he missed dinner, but Hermione and Ron would be worried about him. As he landed, Harry saw the unmistakable gleam of red hair in the fading light by barrier around the Quidditch pitch.

“You missed dinner,” a female voice called out to him.

Harry shouldered his Firebolt and headed over to where Ginny Weasley stood, keeping his head lowered and hoping he was not blushing too badly.

“I lost track of time,” Harry admitted as he drew closer to her, swinging his broom off his shoulder and leaning it against the barrier.

Ginny smiled, then a light pink touched her cheeks as she looked away from Harry and held up a small bundle. “Hermione asked me to bring this out to you. She would have herself, but--”

“But she has to study, I know,” said Harry, amusement showing his voice. Ginny laughed at the expression on Harry’s face and handed over the food. Harry untied the napkin and dug in, realizing that he was famished. As he was munching on a roll he looked over at Ginny, who was staring up at the sky. “Treacle tart?” Harry asked suddenly.

“No, thanks,” replied Ginny. “I already ate. Besides, I don’t like it that much. Ron does though.”

Harry blushed furiously and continued to stuff his face as a diversionary tactic. Ginny appeared to be bored and he was just going to tell her she could go back to the castle, that she did not have to wait for him when she said, “Still enjoying your Firebolt?”

Harry glanced at his broom, and then replied, “Yeah. It’s the smoothest ride you’ll find.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Ginny admitted. “I’ve never ridden anything as nice as a Firebolt.”

Suddenly, the roll lodged itself in Harry’s throat and he swallowed hard. He stared at Ginny, who looked at him in turn. Finally he found his voice and stammered, “Did you want to ride it?”

“I thought you shared my brother’s opinion that women on your broom would curse it,” said Ginny in an amused tone.

“That’s just applied to Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “She’s rubbish at flying. I reckon if Ron didn’t fly double with her she’d fall off and his broom would go crashing into the Whomping Willow.”

“They’re somewhat of a couple now, did you know?” asked Ginny. “Hermione told me this afternoon. Don’t tell Ron she told me though.”

“Ron told me this afternoon. But don’t tell Hermione I know,” replied Harry.

The two teenagers looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“About time,” said Ginny, wiping tears out of her eyes as her laughter subsided.

Harry crumpled the empty napkin and stuck it in his robes. “Yeah,” he agreed. After a few moments of silence he cleared his throat. Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Well, would you... you wouldn’t happen to… did you want to have a go on the Firebolt before heading back up to the castle?” Harry spit out.

Ginny grinned at him and nodded eagerly. “That would be wonderful, Harry.”

“Only thing is,” said Harry, summoning courage from somewhere, “as there’s only one broom and I don’t fancy standing around here in the dark while you have all the fun, we’ll have to ride double.”

Harry could have hit himself in the head after the suggestion fell from his mouth. You’ve done it now, Potter, he thought to himself. She’ll turn and run into the castle for sure, telling all the birds on the way how much of a perv you are. Harry did not catch the sly look on Ginny’s face before her answer tumbled from her lips.

“All right.”

“All right?” asked Harry, his voice suddenly squeaking slightly. “Well, right.”

Harry helped Ginny vault the barrier and mounted his broomstick, motioning for her to sit in front of him. When Ginny had arranged herself on the Firebolt, Harry cautiously wrapped one arm around her, the other gripping his broom, and kicked off. They soared into the air and for a moment Harry concentrated only on the wind in his hair and feeling of flying. But then he tightened his arm around Ginny.

“Marvelous,” he heard Ginny whisper.

“Do you want to steer?” asked Harry.

“All right,” agreed Ginny.

Ginny’s soft, slim hands replaced Harry’s larger, calloused ones and now both of his arms encircled her waist as she flew his broom. She raced from one end of the pitch to the other, diving, looping, circling.

“Harry, this is wonderful!” Ginny called to him, the wind tearing her words from her throat.

At least another half hour passed, Ginny flying and Harry paying less and less attention to his surroundings and more and more attention to the young witch in his arms. Finally, when Ginny’s cheeks were cold against his, Harry put his hands over her frozen fingers and they landed softly on the Quidditch pitch. Ginny got off of the broom and her cheeks were pink from the cold, her eyes gleaming with happiness as Harry, too, dismounted. He looked at her and thought she had never looked prettier than she did right then. Harry’s eyes fell involuntarily to Ginny’s full lips and the urge to kiss her was more than he felt he could resist. He took a small step toward Ginny, waiting for her to back up, but she did no such thing. Instead she flung her arms out and threw her head back, looking at the sky.

“You rotten boy, keeping that broom all to yourself for so many years!” Ginny accused him, wagging a finger at Harry as he moved closer still to her, a smile breaking out on her face.

“I’m glad you liked it,” said Harry, now only a whisper away from her.

Ginny seemed to finally notice that Harry was right in front of her. She blushed, but she did not move away. Her head tilted up to look into his face and she smiled again. Harry knew that her smile would be his downfall. It was a smile that blinding could light up the night sky. Harry thought that along with her luscious curves, her smile should be made illegal. How else was a bloke supposed to be able to think with her around, smiling all the time?

“Knut for your thoughts, Harry?” Ginny whispered, her heart racing as she hoped he could not hear it.

“Would you…” Harry stammered. “I mean… would you hate me if I were to kiss you right now?”

Ginny’s face flushed again as she slowly shook her head and whispered, “No, I think that would be all right.”

“All right,” said Harry. He did not move, he just stood there, staring down at her, his broom clutched tightly in his left hand.

“Harry?” asked Ginny nervously.

“Right,” replied Harry.

He felt himself nearly shaking as his right arm gently encircled her waist. Her hands fluttered to his upper arms as he lowered his lips to hers. Harry bumped his nose awkwardly against Ginny’s and she giggled as he changed his angle and felt his lips brush timidly against hers. Harry opened his eyes slightly to look at Ginny’s face, making sure that she was not disgusted with him. He thanked his lucky stars that she was not pushing him away as he once again lowered his lips to hers and brushed them gently.

Finally, Harry pulled away, his arm still holding Ginny, her hands still on his arms. Ginny’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him, blushing once again.

“I guess that’s why you put your elbow in the butter dish,” Ginny whispered.

Harry chuckled and nodded, not caring that he was blushing as well.

“We should head in,” Harry told Ginny.

She nodded and he swung his Firebolt onto his left shoulder, holding his right hand out to her. Ginny looked surprised at first, but then she threaded her fingers through Harry’s and together they set off up towards the castle, the Quidditch pitch a dark shape behind them. Harry felt as though he were walking on clouds as he and Ginny made their way towards the castle.

As they neared the entrance Harry thought of how he would tell Ron that his description of kissing was slightly off. For Harry Potter had found out that kissing Ginny Weasley was better than flying ever was.