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Fellytone Call
By Rick Peterson

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Category: Summer Challenge (2005-4)
Characters:None
Genres: Comedy, Fluff
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 13
Summary: Harry gets a call for help from Ginny.
Hitcount: Story Total: 5899







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Fellytone Call


All characters are the property of J. K. Rowling. No money is being made on this story and no infringement of copyright is intended.


“Boy! Get down here!”

Harry jumped, almost smearing a line of the Potions essay he was working on. So far this summer, the Dursleys had pretended he wasn’t there. He rather liked it; particularly as in three weeks, when he turned seventeen, he could leave 4 Privet Drive forever. He wondered what had caused Uncle Vernon to admit to his existence. He didn’t think it could be anything good.

“Now! Do you hear me, boy? Now!”

Harry jumped off his bed and hurried down the stairs. He found Uncle Vernon in the living room, holding the telephone receiver.

“You tell your freaky friend,” he snarled, “that she is not to call here again. I will not have your sort calling and bothering us!”

Harry blinked at this. His wizarding friends would not normally use the telephone; most of them knew nothing about such things. He wondered if it was Hermione; being muggle-born, she knew all about telephones and might well call if it were too urgent to use an owl. He took the receiver from Uncle Vernon.

“Uh, hello?”

“Harry, please, I need your help! The Pleaze-men arrested me and I need someone to get me out! They’ll only let me make one fellytone call and yours is the only number I know! Please, please, don’t let my Mum find out!”

Harry jumped at the noise level. He held the receiver away from his ear. “Ginny, is that you?”

“Of course I’m me! Who else would I be!?!”

She went into a loud and complicated explanation; but Harry was distracted by Uncle Vernon screaming, “And tell her to stop yelling! I can hear her from here! Is she deaf or something?”

Harry cradled the receiver against his chest to muffle the sound and glared at Uncle Vernon until he stomped off.

“Uh, Ginny, you don’t have to yell. I can hear you fine.”

“Oh.”

“Please start over. Why were you arrested?”

“Solsticing? Which is stupid, because it’s been weeks since the Summer Solstice and what’s wrong with it anyway?”

It took a few moments for Harry to figure that one out. Could she mean soliciting? Harry had a vague idea that the term was used in connection with prostitution. But that was ridiculous; how could anyone think little Ginny Weasley was a prostitute? How old was she, anyways? Oh, right. She was sixteen, less than a year younger than Harry. It was still ridiculous.

“Where are you now?”

“I told you: the Pleaze Station.”

“Which Police Station?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Uh, yeah, there are lots.”

“Oh. Just a second.” He heard her yell to someone, “Hey, which Pleaze Station is this?”

There was a muffled response and then Ginny said, “Charing Cross Road Station. It’s a few blocks from The Leaky Cauldron.”

“What were you doing in Muggle London, anyways?”

“Fred and George, of course. They promised to show me around. I think they go there often. But then they met some muggle girls and started flirting with them. Fred told me to get lost for an hour or two. Like I wanted to watch that! So I wandered around a bit. This man came up to me and started showing me slips of paper with muggle pictures on them. You know, ones that don’t move. Some of them were actually quite pretty, although most of them were exactly the same, which seemed kind of pointless. When I tried to give them back to him, he started saying all sorts of horrible things. What kind of girl did he think I am?”

Harry had a good idea just what kind of girl the man had thought she was and felt an overpowering desire to jinx him. He recalled that the Wizarding World did not use paper money; Ginny would have no idea what the ‘slips of paper’ were.

“I was really tempted to hex the man,” Ginny fumed, “but then the Pleaze-man came over and I thought he would help me. Instead he arrested both of us! Honestly, I don’t understand these muggles and I don’t think I want to!”

Harry silently but fervently hoped she never would. “Okay, Ginny, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

Harry bounded up the stairs. Uncle Vernon shouted something, but he ignored him. Harry grabbed up some things he thought he’d need, then turned to leave. He had a thought and turned back to pull up the loose floorboard. He pulled some things out, pocketed them and then raced down the stairs. Uncle Vernon grabbed his arm before he could run out the door.

“I heard what you said. So she got arrested, did she? Well, don’t think you can bring that strumpet back here. I won’t stand for it. You understand me, boy?”

Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at Uncle Vernon’s chest. “In three weeks,” he snarled, “I’ll be seventeen and I can hex you all into oblivion without anyone caring a whit. And if you ever so much as mention her again, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Uncle Vernon recoiled and Harry pulled open the front door. He was sure there was a member of the Order of the Phoenix near by who, if asked, would see to it that Ginny was rescued. But it would inevitably get back to Mrs. Weasley and he did NOT want to be the one to have to explain ‘solsticing’ to her; so instead he ran to the curb and stuck out his thumb.

The Knight Bus shrieked to a stop in front of him. He jumped on board before Stan Shunpike could start his spiel and barked, “The Leaky Cauldron.” He held his breath but the Knight Bus took off again before anyone appeared to interfere.

Harry jumped off the Knight Bus as it came to halt in front of The Leaky Cauldron. He tossed Stan a galleon and called out, “Keep the change!” as he charged up the street.

He had gone several blocks before he slowed down. Had he picked the wrong direction? No, there it was. He cut into a nearby alley and threw the invisibility cloak over himself. He walked over to the door to the Police Station, gathered up his courage and pushed it open. There was a constable at the front desk. He frowned at the door opening (apparently) on its own and got up to investigate. Harry slipped around him and headed towards the back. There was another door, but he was able to slip through it before the constable turned around. He passed a couple of offices — in one a man seemed to be filling out paperwork — before he found the holding cells. Several men were sitting in one; in the other, he spotted a mane of fiery red hair. Ginny was hunched over, sitting on a bench.

In a whisper, he called, “Ginny!”

She stood and turned around. Harry gaped. He had not realized how much school robes hid. By contrast, the low slung, hip-hugger jeans and tank top not only showed plenty of midriff but emphasized curves he had never known were there. Ginny had filled out since the last summer — in all the right places.

“Harry? Where are you?”

“I’m under the invisibility cloak.”

“What are you doing here?”

Harry was nettled at this greeting. “You called me, remember?”

“You were supposed to get a hold of Hermione!”

That must have been the part he missed, when Uncle Vernon was yelling at him. “What can she do that I can’t?” he demanded.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well, let’s see. She’s seventeen, so she can do magic and apparate and, oh let’s not forget, the Death Eaters aren’t looking for her!”

Those were, Harry admitted to himself, good points. “Well, I’m here now. So…”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “How did you get here, Harry?”

“Knight Bus.”

“Harry, you prat! Stan Shunpike is a horrible gossip. Do you WANT the Death Eaters to catch you?”

“I’ll just have to get you out of here before Stan can give us away,” Harry answered, trying to sound nonchalant. He pushed his hand out from under the cloak and dropped a couple of Skiving Snack boxes into her hand.

“I can’t use magic to unlock the door,” he explained, “so we have to get them to do it for us. Take one of these and then call for help; there’s someone close enough to hear. If they think you’re sick, they’re bound to unlock the door to help you. I’ll do the rest.”

Ginny nodded, although she was clearly still annoyed that he had come in person. She unwrapped the snacks, bit off the ends of both and started chewing. Then she started crying, in a suitably piteous voice, “Help! Help!”

The men in the other cell looked up at this and started yelling for the constables to come and help the bleeding, vomiting girl. Ginny had evidently gotten both a Puking Pastille and a Nosebleed Nougat.

It took awhile but eventually the man from the office strode in, looking annoyed. He took one look at Ginny, on all fours over a puddle of blood and vomit, and cried, “Jesus!” and ran back out. She really looked a sight and Harry started to worry that she shouldn’t have taken both. He saw her put her hand to her mouth and start chewing; he knew she had taken the antidotes. She stopped bleeding and vomiting almost immediately, but there was already enough blood and vomit to convince anyone that she was seriously ill.

The man reappeared, followed by the constable holding a ring of keys. One sight of Ginny was all he needed and he hurriedly unlocked the door to her cell. He left the keys in the lock as he entered the cell. The other man stood just outside. Harry maneuvered behind him and, just as the constable was kneeling in front of Ginny, he pushed him as hard as he could. The man stumbled forward, but grabbed the side of the cell entrance before he fell. Harry lifted a foot and kicked out. His foot stuck out from under the cloak as he did it and an apparently disembodied shoe connected with the man’s bottom. He fell on top of the constable.

Ginny demonstrated her Chaser’s reflexes by rolling out of the way and jumping quickly to her feet. She ran out of the cell while the two Policemen were still untangling themselves. Harry slammed the cell door behind her and turned the key in the lock. Shouts from the other cell indicated that Harry’s shoe had not gone unnoticed. The shouting redoubled when he swept the cloak around Ginny, causing her to disappear from sight.

“Stay close,” Harry hissed, wrapping an arm around her. They ran down the corridor, threw open the door, crossed the vestibule and raced out of the Police Station. They ran down the street. Harry pulled them into an alleyway a block from The Leaky Cauldron and took off the invisibility cloak.

He rummaged in a pocket and, after pulling out one of Fred and George’s fireworks — a diversion thankfully unneeded — found a handkerchief. He handed it to Ginny, who wiped the blood and vomit off her face. He followed it with a bottle of Butterbeer. Ginny took a swig, swished it around her mouth and spat it out.

“Much better,” she sighed. Then she grabbed Harry and kissed him soundly. “That was brilliant!”

Harry brought up a hand and touched his lips gingerly. He stared at Ginny.

“What’s the matter, Harry? You act like you’ve never kissed a girl before!”

“Well, there was that one time with Cho…”

“One time?” Ginny smirked. “You sure didn’t make much of your opportunities.” She quirked an eyebrow. “So?”

“So what?”

“So, is she a good kisser?”

If Ginny had asked that question even a few minutes earlier, Harry would have had no idea how to answer. Now…

“No,” he said firmly, his eyes still fixed on Ginny.

Ginny started to blush under his continued stare. “Well,” she told him breathlessly, “you’ll just have to pick better next time.”

Harry nodded. “I will.”
Reviews 13
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