The Unforgettable Forgotten Birthday by cwarbeck and Athea



Summary: It wasn’t everyday that a girl turned sixteen years old, but in the midst of the confusion brought about by eccentric relatives, odious cousins and commando gnomes gone berserk, no one in Ginny’s family seems to have remembered the important occasion! However, there was still hope… will one special boy actually make this forgotten birthday an unforgettable one?
Rating: PG-13 starstarstarstarstar
Categories: Alternate Universe
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2007.01.10
Updated: 2007.02.12


Index

Chapter 1: Chapter One
Chapter 2: Chapter Two
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
Chapter 4: Chapter Four
Chapter 5: Chapter Five


Chapter 1: Chapter One

Author's Notes: This story was written after watching the movie "Sixteen Candles" too many times and having endless discussions about it with Erika. I know that this 80's classic movie (oh no, I've revealed my age again) has inspired several H/G fics, but we hope that we gave it enough of our own twist to make it original. It was great fun to work with Erika, even though a whole ocean separated us. The power of H/G love, eh? ~cel

It was so much fun writing this story! Even though we had an idea of the plot before we started writing, I found myself anxiously awaiting Cel's chapters, excited to see where the story was going to be when it was my turn to add to it. So, thanks Cel for being willing to collaborate--it was a blast! ~Erika

Of course, thanks and hugs to the fantabulous Chreechree for her usual excellent beta skills.



The Unforgettable Forgotten Birthday

Chapter One


When Ginny Weasley opened her eyes that Monday morning, she was immediately hit by the nagging feeling that something important was supposed to happen today.

She stretched languidly, feeling the satisfying click as her spine realigned itself. Judging from the hazy pink light filtering through the filmy white cotton curtains of her bedroom window, tinting the cream painted walls with a muted rosy glow, she absently deduced that it was still quite early in the morning.

Ginny let her gaze wander lazily around her room. Her desk was piled haphazardly with her school books, quills, several different colours of parchment, and empty boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Her red and gold Gryffindor scarf was draped around the doorknob, along with her sun hat. She could see that the book she had been reading — a trashy Muggle romance novel that Hermione had lent her — was lying open on the window seat where she had spent the better part of the evening reading and rolling her eyes at the absurd situations the raven-haired heroine of the book had gotten herself into, all for the sake of winning the heart of the dashing redheaded hero.

The Burrow was unusually quiet. Normally the old rooster would be making a racket by now, and since Fred and George had moved into their own flat above their shop at 93 Diagon Alley, no more mysterious sounds and bangs could be heard emanating from their bedroom located one floor below hers. Ginny spent a few minutes enjoying the silence and contemplated whether or not she should go back to sleep. She was already about to doze off when she suddenly remembered why she had awoken so early on this lazy summer day.

It was not everyday that a girl turned sixteen years old.

Ginny smiled excitedly to herself. If she knew her mother, Molly Weasley was probably already downstairs cooking up a special breakfast like she always did on Ginny’s birthday. Although the past few weeks had been quite busy, with her parents’ involvement in the Order of the Phoenix and the war effort, her mother had been as excited as Ginny that her sixteenth birthday had been approaching.

Ginny threw back her quilted blanket and swung her body out of bed. She shuffled her way to her small vanity mirror and peered at her reflection.

She was disappointed to see that she certainly did not look any different. She had secretly thought that when she turned sixteen, her freckles — which she hated with the fire of a thousand suns — would miraculously disappear, her orangey-red hair would darken to a more glamorous auburn shade and that she would look — well — more mature, more attractive, more... womanly.

At the very least, she had hoped that her breasts would be bigger — bigger than the tiny bumps that were masquerading as her bosom anyway. Ginny thought enviously of her dorm mate, Caitlin Parker-Windsor — whose cup size had magically tripled during the past summer. If the admiring glances of the male population of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were anything to go by, an impressive décolletage was apparently one sure fire way to become popular.

Ginny sighed deeply. Maybe if she had a bigger chest…

A certain black-haired, green-eyed boy would finally get around to noticing you? A snide little voice inside her head taunted her.

Ginny frowned and shook her head. Bugger that. She was not going to go back to thinking about Harry Potter again. Sure they had spent a lot of time during the past term talking to each other; she even ate most of her meals with him, Hermione and Ron instead of her classmates, but she knew that he just saw her as Ron’s little sister. Besides, she did not think that Harry was the type of bloke who would be bowled over by remarkable physical assets. At least she hoped not.

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection, which gave a cheeky smile and made a face back at her. Ginny threw on her faded blue dressing gown and made her way to the bathroom. To her surprise (considering the early hour), her brother Ron was standing by the open bathroom door in his too-short maroon pyjamas, fanning the air with his long arms and yawning widely.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Ron warned her, still making wide sweeping motions with his hands.

“Why?” Ginny asked curiously.

Ron was forever hogging the bathroom which Ginny found quite annoying. Ron, after all, was a boy and simply could not need all that time to fix his hair, as he claimed. Ginny suspected that he was doing something else, but she really did not want to ponder what her brother was up to when he was alone in the bathroom. It had already been quite traumatic to discover why Fred had also spent long hours in the loo, and she did not want to have a repeat of the uproar her mum had made when Ginny accidentally discovered the twins’ choice of reading material behind the water closet.

“Great Uncle Bertram’s just got out of the loo. He was in there for hours.” Ron’s long pointed nose wrinkled in disgust.

Ginny stared at him, puzzled. “Uncle Bertie? What’s he doing in the Burrow?” Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh no. Does that mean that Aunt Tessie’s here too?”

Before Ron could open his mouth to answer, a voice boomed out from behind her. “Ginger pie!”

To Ginny’s dismay, a pair of arms spun her around and enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug. She smelled tuna fish and stale cigar smoke and looked up into the grizzled face of her father’s mother’s second cousin twice removed, or something like that. Ginny was hazy on the details as to how she was related exactly to him.

Great Uncle Bertram — or Uncle Bertie — had fading red hair with a bald patch the size of a galleon exactly in the centre of his pate, and striking light blue eyes. He was dressed in a maroon smoking jacket and held an unlit cigar in his right hand. He was trying to stop smoking the foul things but insisted on carrying an unlit cigar all the time. He claimed that it soothed him. He lived in Devon together with his wife, Great Aunt Teresa (Aunt Tessie) and their four budgerigars — Henry, Charles, William and Dodo, who was not really a budgerigar but a rather strange hybrid of a diricawl and a large purple parakeet.

Ginny suppressed the urge to groan and plastered a smile on her face. Uncle Bertie was actually quite all right, really, except for the fact that he treated her like she was still six years old. And he smelled of tuna fish. All the time. This was some sort of olfactory mystery since Ginny had never actually seen Uncle Bertie eat tuna fish.

“Hullo, Uncle Bertie,” she said faintly as he released her, ruffling her hair affectionately. She stumbled backward and glared at Ron when he smirked at her.

“My, my, you’re all grown up, aren’t you, Ginger pie?” Uncle Bertie beamed at her. “Tessie!” he shouted at the top of his voice, scaring the ghoul in the attic who began rattling his chain in agitation. “Come and have a look at who’s here!”

The door to Percy’s room opened, and a tiny witch came out. Her robes were a deep mauve color, which offset her lavender-tinted hair and pale white skin beautifully. She clapped her delicate hands delightedly when she caught sight of Ginny and Ron. She grabbed Ron and hauled him down to her level to plant a noisy kiss on his cheek.

Ginny stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to hide her giggles at her brother’s horrified face, but her own expression became wary when Aunt Tessie turned to her and flung her bird-like arms around Ginny. For such a small woman, she was surprisingly strong; Ginny could feel the air rush out of her lungs as her aunt squeezed her lovingly.

Unlike Uncle Bertie, Aunt Tessie smelled of violet-water, which was actually quite pleasant, if you ignored the fact that she sprayed it on so heavily that you could smell her coming from several kilometres away. Mr. Weasley often joked that Aunt Tessie was proof that, when Apparating, witches and wizards travelled slower than the speed of smell as the overpowering scent of violet-water made everyone’s eyes water profusely before her body actually materialized.

“My dear, you’ve grown into a beautiful young lady! Hasn’t she, Bertram?” Aunt Tessie chirped, holding Ginny at arm’s length and running an appraising eye over her. Ginny tried not to breathe too deeply as her aunt’s perfume assaulted her senses of smell and taste. Her vision was already blurring.

Aunt Tessie smiled fondly at her. “And look, Bertram, she’s gone and got herself breasts.”

Mortified, Ginny’s face flamed crimson as Ron gave a strangled laugh. Uncle Bertie nodded wisely.

“Perky ones, at that,” agreed Uncle Bertie. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Ron leaning weakly against the wall, holding on to his stomach as he practically cried with laughter.

Her cheeks positively burning now, Ginny smiled sweetly at her aunt and uncle then unobtrusively extended her leg backwards and kicked Ron hard on the shin. He gave a loud yelp of surprise and pain which Ginny coolly ignored.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Uncle Bertie?” Ginny asked, trying to steer the conversation towards topics which did not include any part of her anatomy, perky or otherwise.

Behind her, Ron grumbled under his breath and rubbed his shin gingerly, a pained expression on his face.

Aunt Tessie shivered dramatically. “Death Eaters, my dear,” she answered for her husband.

Ginny and Ron exchanged alarmed glances. “Death Eaters?” Ron repeated, askance.

“Yes, Death Eaters,” Uncle Bertie confirmed solemnly. “We were given warning that they were going to launch an attack in Somerset and some other nearby places. We were told to evacuate immediately. Since we have no other relatives living nearby and since The Burrow was deemed to be a safe house, I contacted your father. He was kind enough to offer your house as a temporary hiding place until we’re allowed to go back home.”

“I don’t mind, really,” Aunt Tessie interjected. “Even though Dodo was terribly bothered when we travelled by Floo. He made such a racket, and the poor dear has a heart condition, mind you.”

Uncle Bertie waved his hand impatiently. “He’ll get over it, Teresa.”

“I know, but he’s still such a baby when it comes to many things,” Aunt Tessie sighed. Ginny looked down at her feet to keep from laughing out loud. Her aunt and uncle had no children of their own and pampered their pets outrageously.

“Anyway,” Aunt Tessie continued brightly, “at least we’ll be able to catch up with what’s been going on with your family.” She reached out and pinched Ron’s cheek. “It’s always so wonderful to share in precious family moments. I remember, Ronald, when you were six, and you had to be brought to St Mungo’s because of that unfortunate incident when that garden gnome wouldn’t let go of your wil—”

Ron coughed loudly, the tips of his ears reddening. “Erm, yeah. I don’t reckon I could forget something like that,” he hastily muttered as a large smile formed on Ginny’s face. She remembered that accident vividly.

Ron had gotten the bright idea (from the twins of course) that it would be fun to pour treacle sauce down the holes of the gnomes to force them out so they could be chucked out of the garden. In retaliation, one particularly vicious gnome had launched himself at Ron and had latched onto the front of his trousers. Mrs Weasley had rushed out when Ron started screaming horribly while the twins, Charlie and Bill were rolling on the ground laughing, fit to burst. Percy was attempting to pin Ron to the ground in order to get rid of the gnome.

Ginny, being five at that time, had no idea what had just happened, except to note that Mrs Weasley appeared to be having a frantic game of "It" around the orchard with a squealing and shrieking Ron. She, of course, had been more than delighted to join in running madly after her increasingly purple-faced brother, who eventually collapsed on the ground from sheer exhaustion, a cackling gnome still firmly attached to his trousers.

In the end, it took a team of specialists and the entire Pest Advisory Board to finally get rid of the gnome’s death grip. Even now, that story was something the twins held over Ron’s head. The tenacious gnome was prime blackmail material which assured Ron’s cooperation in serving as the test subject of some of their nastier products for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Uncle Bertie chuckled loudly. “Well, I’m starving! When’s breakfast?”

“Oh Bertram,” Aunt Tessie admonished in a tone that reminded Ginny eerily of Hermione. “You’re always starving.”

“But I am!” Uncle Bertie replied, turning to head down the stairs to the kitchen. “I hope Molly has started breakfast already.”

Aunt Tessie followed him downstairs, twittering like the budgerigars she was so fond of.

Ron and Ginny gazed after them in bemusement. Then Ron turned to look at Ginny, a wide, thoroughly obnoxious grin on his freckled face.

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

“Perky, eh?” he said in a highly amused voice, then ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door before Ginny could hex him silly.

Great, Ginny thought irritably, some birthday this is turning out to be.
*


Back to index


Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Author's Notes: Hey, we're both very thankful for the nominations this story has received. Thanks a lot!

Now, we're going to have to put a disclaimer here and say that this story is only very very loosely based on the movie, so we're not following the movie plot line scene for scene. That said, we hope you still enjoy the rest of the story.


Chapter Two


Knowing she would be locked out of the bathroom for the next thirty minutes or so, Ginny decided to go downstairs for breakfast before her morning shower. She had hoped to scrub away the after-effects of her aunt and uncle’s inspection but would have to settle for burying her embarrassment beneath a mountain of pancakes instead.

She took a moment before heading downstairs to remind herself that today promised to be a great day. She forced herself to take a deep, calming breath and was happy to feel her smile reappear on her sixteen-year old, though still-freckled, face. She refused to let an unexpected visit from distant relatives dampen her spirits. In fact, maybe it would not be so bad having Uncle Bertie and Aunt Tessie here for her birthday. After all, they were as good as grandparents to her and her brothers, and Ginny could not deny that grandparents were good at birthdays.

As she slowly descended the stairs, she allowed herself to indulge in her private birthday ritual. Since she knew her family could not afford lavish gifts, one of her annual presents to herself was to permit herself to dream about what they might purchase for her if money was no object. She always made herself wait until the morning of her birthday to make her official dream-wish, but she had a lot of fun in the days leading up to her birthday deciding what that wish would be. Some people would think she was setting herself up for disappointment, but she always made her wishes so over-the-top that she could never feel let down when her gift failed to materialize

The first year she remembered making an outlandish birthday wish was the summer she’d turned five. She had wished for a Porlock, complete with stable and a riding outfit that she had seen in one of the Muggle magazines that her father so dearly loved. That was the year before she had first sneaked into the broom shed. Every year since that glorious day when she had discovered flying, her official birthday wish had been essentially the same. Ginny Weasley had used each and every one of her private wishes to wish for a racing broom of her very own. She had dreamed of a Comet Excel when she was seven, had ached for a Shooting Star Elite when she was ten, and had lusted after a Firebolt the year she turned twelve.

She smiled slightly as a daydream burst into view. She envisioned herself soaring high above The Burrow. She heard the rush of the wind in her ears. She felt her stomach drop as she performed any number of high-altitude acrobatics. She gazed upon the faces of her brothers as they watched her in slack-jawed amazement during one of their Weasley family Quidditch games.

Then, without warning, her vision changed to a different kind of fantasy. She was racing Harry for the Snitch. They were neck and neck. She stretched. So did he, but she was a little quicker. After all, she was riding the Stratosphere, the fastest racing broom ever made. She felt the Snitch fluttering wildly in her hand just as Harry’s larger hand closed over hers. Ginny’s breathing quickened as they gazed into each other’s eyes, her heart beating just as madly as the wings of the Snitch in her hand. Harry whispered her name, he leaned in to kiss her and…

The sheer volume of the voices coming from the kitchen was enough to shatter her beautiful reverie. Ginny sighed heavily. Not that it really mattered. She could never seem to make her dream Harry kiss her no matter how often she tried. And she had definitely tried…and tried…and tried.

Ginny Weasley was no quitter.

In fact, for the past several years, well, ever since Harry had saved her from the Chamber of Secrets, Ginny’s dearest wish had not been for a broomstick. Sure, she told herself that to help her keep her sanity, but in reality she wanted nothing more than for Harry to look at her as more than Ron’s little sister, for him to take her in his arms, gaze longingly into her eyes, and kiss her.

She shook her head, clearing the vestiges of the dream, opened the door, and stepped into the chaos that was The Burrow’s kitchen. Ginny was accustomed to seeing a lot of faces around the breakfast table, but the sight of an overly-crowded, and magically enlarged, kitchen table filled with faces that did not belong solely to her brothers was a little disconcerting.

She quickly pulled her dressing gown closed as she scanned the faces at the table. Remus and Tonks were engaged in a lively conversation with Fred and George. The twins had apparently given Remus something that made his hair turn different colours at a rate even Tonks was finding hard to match. She was certainly trying to keep up, however. The rapidly whirling hues were dizzying yet comical. Ginny found herself smiling in spite of herself, as the twins roared with laughter.

Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Professor McGonagall were huddled at the end of the table. Ginny could not hear their words, but their hushed exchange betrayed an obvious agitation.

Uncle Bertie and Aunt Tessie were sitting along one side of the table talking loudly to their birds that were arrayed behind them. They were either unaware or unconcerned that half of the Order of the Phoenix was gathered in the Weasleys' kitchen. The birds were responsible for most of the noise in the kitchen. The budgies were chirping while Dodo squawked loudly, all four begging for food. Ginny was shocked as she watched Uncle Bertie put a piece of bacon in his teeth, turn to the birds, and let them snatch it from his mouth.

“Oh, Ginny, I’m so glad you’re awake,” a bedraggled Mrs Weasley said as she noticed her daughter had entered the kitchen.

Ginny smiled, turned away from the table, and prepared herself for her first birthday greeting. She was surprised when, instead of the kiss she had been expecting, her mum thrust a heaping platter of pancakes into her hands.

“Please, dear, could you take these to the table? I don’t want the bacon to burn.” With that, Mrs Weasley turned back to the stove.

Ginny stood frozen in shock and stared at her mother. Sure, there were a lot of people here and her mum had probably spent half of the night worried about her relatives, but that wasn’t it, was it? It was her sixteenth birthday. Her mum had talked about virtually nothing else for the past two weeks. Was it possible that she had actually forgotten? Ginny pivoted and brought the pancakes to the table.

“Well, at least I got the flapjacks,” she muttered under her breath. She dropped the platter on the table in front of her relatives and walked back to the stove.

“Is there anything else you need, Mum?” she asked. When her mum seemed perplexed, Ginny added, “Maybe something you forgot?” She looked at her mother expectantly, willing her to remember.

“I don’t think so, Ginny dear.” Mrs Weasley patted her absentmindedly on the shoulder, before turning her attention back to the enormous amount of rashers she was frying. “You go ahead and eat your breakfast.”

Ginny sighed and went back to the table, flopped down next to Tonks, and dropped her head on her arms.

“Fred, whatever could be the matter with our favourite sister?” George asked.

“She certainly doesn’t seem her fiery self this morning,” Fred replied.

“Definitely deflated.”

“Not perky at all.”

Ginny raised her head to see Fred and George grinning at her, their eyes twinkling. She did not know how they knew about her ‘appraisal’, but their choice of words had clearly been intentional. Then again, Ginny had long given up on wondering how the twins knew about almost everything that happened to almost everyone. She scowled. “Shut it, you two.”

The twins shared a look that let Ginny know the teasing was far from over. Fred continued, “I’m not sure perky is the right adjective, though.”

“Oh no? What descriptive term would you choose instead, Fred?”

“Well, I don’t feel up to the challenge of describing our sister’s attitude. I’m sure we could find someone to give us a second opinion, however.”

“What about you, Professor Lupin?” George asked innocently. Ginny thought she would die of mortification.

Lupin, who had been busy watching Tonks’ changing hair colour with a look of bemused admiration on his face, coughed slightly and turned his attention to the youngest Weasley. “Well, I think Ginny’s attitude is usually very pleasant,” he said uncertainly. He looked confused when Fred, George, and Tonks burst out laughing. Ginny’s scowl deepened, but she had decided that her best chance of escaping this conversation with anything resembling her dignity was to keep her mouth shut.

“So,” George said, “that’s one vote for perky and one for pleasant. Not bad at all, Ginny my dear.”

“Let’s make sure to get Harry’s opinion when he gets here,” Fred added with a wink.

Ginny meant to yell at the twins for their teasing. She meant to hex them into next week for making her birthday breakfast into what was, quite possibly, the most embarrassing meal of her life. She meant to threaten them for even bringing up the idea of asking Harry about her physical attributes — or lack thereof.

So she was quite disgusted with herself when the only thing that came out of her mouth was a rather breathless “Harry’s coming today?”

“Yeah,” George said, smirking at her knowingly. “Dad went to free him from the Muggles about ten minutes ago.”

Ginny tried to keep the smile off her face and the blush from her cheeks lest she invite more of her brothers’ ridicule, and decided to attack her pancakes with renewed enthusiasm.

At that moment, Ron walked into the kitchen and gazed around expectantly. Ginny saw Fred elbow George and nod in Ron’s direction. The twins had clearly found a new target.

Fred called out, “Ron! You’re looking absolutely smashing this morning, old bean!”

Ron’s ears flushed immediately and he looked at the floor as he shuffled over to the table and sat down next to Ginny.

“Hermione’s not here yet,” George said, “so you might as well eat.” He handed Ron a plate of pancakes.

“A manly man like you, just fresh from the shower, needs a suitable breakfast before his lady love arrives,” Fred expounded as he smothered Ron’s pancakes with butter.

Ron’s blush extended into his hairline as he looked to Ginny for help. Ginny just shrugged and took a drink of juice.

“Ahh…young love,” George sighed. He sprinkled lemon juice and some sugar over Ron’s pancakes, put his hand over his heart, and batted his eyelashes flirtatiously.

Ron tried to ignore them. He took a drink of his pumpkin juice, and looked to the door as if willing Hermione to walk through it. The minute he swallowed his first bite of pancakes, Ginny knew what had happened to Professor Lupin’s hair. Ron’s hair began cycling through every colour of the rainbow.

George, struggling to keep his face impassive, told Ron, “I’m sure Hermione will love what you’ve done with your hair this morning.”

Ron blushed a deeper shade of crimson that, oddly, complemented the current blue shade of his hair.

Ginny smiled at her brothers and rose to take her turn in the shower. She felt her smile widen as she thought of seeing Harry and Hermione for the first time that summer. This birthday was definitely starting to perk — argh — no, look up.

As she reached the kitchen door, her mum said, “Ginny dear, Uncle Heathcliff and Aunt Beth should be arriving shortly. When you’re dressed, would you help me get Bill’s old room ready for them?”

“Uncle Heathcliff and Aunt Beth are coming?” Ginny asked.

“Well, they live in Gloucester, dear,” said Mrs Weasley. “There have been reports of Death Eater activity there too, and they needed somewhere to go, so…”

‘Uncle’ Heathcliff was Mrs Weasley’s cousin. They had been inseparable as children, and it was obvious that he still thought the world of Molly Weasley. He had even named his second daughter “Little Molly” in her honour. Uncle Heathcliff had regaled the Weasley children with countless stories of their mother’s exploits, each more far-fetched than the last. Uncle Heathcliff’s stories always began the same way, “And then there was the time,” and ended with some risqué, but strangely believable, story of their mother’s antics. “And then there was the time that Molly charmed Grandma’s dentures to nibble on Grandpa’s ear at the dinner table.” “And then there was the time that Molly convinced me to hide in the broom shed when her brother brought a lady friend in to show her his broom, if you get my meaning.”

Molly’s response was always the same. “Oh, Heathcliff,” accompanied by a tsk of her tongue and a wave of her hand. To her credit, and to the twins’ great pride, she never blushed or showed any signs of guilt. She also neither denied nor confirmed any of the stories.

“So, does that mean…?” Ginny swallowed heavily, dreading her mum's answer.

Molly sighed. “Of course the girls, and Sherman, are coming too. Now go on, go take your shower.” She shooed Ginny from the room.

“This just keeps on getting better and better,” Ginny grumbled to herself.

While Uncle Heathcliff and Aunt Beth were the favourite relatives of all the Weasley children, their children were a different story, at least where Ginny was concerned.

Sherman had been adopted when his mother (Aunt Beth’s sister) and her Muggle husband had disappeared in an unfortunate accident involving a freak electrical storm, a wonky self-stirring cauldron and some exploding haggis. Now thirteen, Sherman had somehow latched on to the idea that he was Merlin’s gift to witches, never mind the fact that he was skinnier than a bowtruckle, and his voice was higher pitched than a Fwooper bird.

Little Molly was tolerable, after all she was only a baby.

But it was Cleotilde, Ginny’s fourteen year old cousin, who had been the bane of Ginny’s existence at all Prewett gatherings for as long as she could remember.

When they were younger, Cleotilde had taken great pleasure in ordering Ginny around. Ginny’s mother had incessantly reminded Ginny that “Cleo is your guest” and “It’s hard to be the youngest” so Ginny had allowed herself to be bossed about. They had always played whatever Cleo wanted to play and did whatever Cleo wanted to do. That, in and of itself, was not so bad. As the youngest of seven, Ginny was used to doing what others wanted. What really bothered Ginny was that playdates with Cleo always ended badly — something broke, someone was hurt, something caught fire — and Ginny invariably found herself being blamed for everything that had gone wrong, since she was supposed to be watching out for the younger girl.

Now that they were older, Cleo had a different method of getting under Ginny’s skin. As they matured, Ginny found that Cleo possessed every physical attribute Ginny lacked. Cleo was tall and shapely. Her long, chestnut brown hair always lay in perfectly behaved waves that gently framed her delicate oval face. Her strikingly blue eyes peered charmingly from beneath her long, dark lashes. Worst of all, her complexion was flawless. Not one blasted freckle.

Ginny grabbed her clothes and darted into the bathroom. She shut the door harder than necessary.

“All right, Ginny,” she said to her reflection.. “Just take a long, hot shower and start this day over. You’ll be fine…Cleo or no Cleo.”

It took longer than Ginny anticipated to wash away her disappointment with her birthday so far. After fifteen minutes under the scalding hot spray from the shower, she felt like she was ready to be a positive, hopeful — if forgotten — birthday girl. She stepped from the shower and slipped into her robe. She grabbed a faded yellow towel from the linen cabinet and rubbed her hair more vigorously than perhaps was necessary. She found a strange pleasure in seeing it standing up at every imaginable angle as it framed her face, which was still slightly pink from the hot water of the shower.

She left the bathroom feeling decidedly more cheerful. Her new-found energy vanished quickly as she walked into the hallway and saw her beautiful younger cousin clearly flirting with none other than Harry Potter.

Ginny closed her eyes and sighed, wishing she could go back in time ten seconds and comb her dishevelled hair before leaving the bathroom.

She opened her eyes and looked at her cousin. “Hi, Cleo,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice from cracking as tears threatened. Her cousin wore a supercilious smile that was somehow worse than if she had laughed outright at Ginny’s appearance.

Ginny forced herself to look at Harry. His eyes were wide, his jaw unhinged as he stared openly at Ginny. She felt the first stirrings of anger at the injustice of it all. Well, she refused to let Harry add to her embarrassment.

She gathered what was left of her pride, cleared her throat, and simply said, “Hi, Harry.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut, shook his head slightly, and mumbled a greeting before Ginny brushed past him and into her room. Ginny failed to notice that his face was just as red as her own.
*

Back to index


Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Author's Notes: Thanks to the abfab Chreechree, without whom these two writers would be lost at sea.


Chapter Three


Ginny furiously scrubbed at her eyes as she felt the prickle of hot tears. It all seemed a bit unfair. No one remembered her birthday, and then the boy she had fancied for so long had to see her looking like a hag.

Ginny sat down by her dresser and stared forlornly at her reflection. She looked even more frightening than she had imagined. Her face was still pink, and her freckles seemed to have multiplied in the short time since she had come from the shower and had run into Harry. And her hair! Ginny moaned as she surveyed the wild red tresses. Some of the previously standing locks were now hanging limply in random patches, so the overall effect was truly comical.

“Oh dear, you look ghastly,” her mirror declared, sounding horrified. “I do hope no one saw you like that.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Ginny replied sarcastically. Grabbing her comb, she savagely attacked her wet hair and pulled it into a ponytail. She stomped over to her wardrobe and changed into a faded orange Chudley Cannons shirt that had once belonged to Ron and a pair of old denim shorts. She then flung herself onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. If she never came out of her bedroom again, it would be too soon.

If she were really honest with herself, however, Ginny was secretly hoping that someone would come barging into her room to greet her a happy birthday. Falling down on their knees to beg her forgiveness for forgetting her birthday would not be a bad idea either.

She could hear the sounds of people clattering up and down the stairs, and she smiled when she heard the twins’ loud voices right outside her door. So those two gits had finally come to their senses and remembered it was their favourite sister’s birthday.

“Hey Fred, you think we left some of those prototype Whizz-Bangs in the attic?”

“I dunno. Let’s go have a look. Maybe we can hide one in Ron’s pants and make it go off the minute he sees Hermione.”

“Yeah, that would be one way to prove that Hermione can get a rise out of Ron.”

The sound of twins’ chortling faded as they made their way up the stairs.

Idiots, Ginny fumed. After a few minutes of gazing blankly at the pattern of cracks on her ceiling, she rolled over on her stomach and was glumly picking at the bedspread when she heard someone knock softly on her door.

“Ginny!” A feminine voice called out. “It’s me!”

Finally, someone she could talk to! Ginny hopped off the bed and opened the door to see her bushy-haired friend smiling at her. Hermione looked tanned and healthy from her vacation in the Caribbean. Ginny let out a squeak and embraced her friend in delight.

“Hermione! When did you get here? Has Ron seen you yet? You look great! How was Barbados?”

Hermione laughed and held up her hands. “Hey! One question at a time. First of all, I Flooed in just now, and yes, I’ve seen Ron. He was having a conversation with an Aunt Tessie of yours, so I didn’t get a chance to say anything except a quick hello. Barbados was fantastic. You should have gone with me.”

Ginny helped Hermione drag her trunk into the room, and they sat down on her bed. “I wish I had gone with you, and I wish we could be there right now. Anywhere but in this madhouse,” she said, hating but unable to stop the petulant note that had crept into her voice.

Hermione shrugged out of her light jacket and placed it neatly on the nightstand. She looked keenly at Ginny. “I was kind of shocked that there were so many people in The Burrow. What’s going on? And where did all those birds come from?”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, you mean Uncle Bertram, Aunt Tessie and their budgerigars. They’re here because there have been reports of Death Eater attacks near their home, and this is the only safe place for them right now,” said Ginny.

Hermione gasped. “Death Eaters? Oh my goodness. No wonder Professor McGonagall and the others are here. Was anybody hurt?”

“Only Dodo, as far as I can tell,” Ginny said.

“Who’s Dodo?”

“One of the budgies. The funny-looking one. Seems he had a bit of a coronary, if Aunt Tessie is to be believed.”

“Oh,” Hermione nodded, as if it were perfectly common occurrence for a bird to have a heart attack. “Aunt Tessie is the one with the violet hair who was talking to Ron?”

“Yeah. Her husband’s Uncle Bertram, the one with the cigar and who smells like tuna fish.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I’ll take your word for it. Are they the only ones here? There seemed to be a whole gaggle of people in the kitchen.”

“My other relatives from Gloucestershire are also here. Uncle Heathcliff’s a tall, reedy chap with a monocle, and, despite his ridiculous goatee, he’s actually loads of fun. Aunt Beth’s a rather large woman with brown hair and a tendency to giggle at the drop of a wizard’s hat. I haven’t seen them yet, so I don’t know if they look different since I last saw them. They have three children: Sherman—”

Ginny paused, unable to even say Cleo’s name without rekindling her embarrassment in the hallway. She felt her stomach curdle at the mere thought of Cleo. Would it be so bad to just forget her dear old cousin for the time being?

“—Cleotilde and Little Molly,” she finished, deciding that it was a bit unreasonable for her to take out her wounded pride on her relatives, no matter how nasty some of them were. After all, what was a forgotten birthday compared to the very real threat of death and destruction?

“All right,” Hermione said. “So Little Molly’s the girl with the blue eyes and brown hair who was practically throwing herself at Harry in the living room?”

“No. That would be Cleotilde.” Ginny said flatly. “My perfect cousin with the perfect hair and the perfect figure.” Ginny snorted in disgust. “Was Harry chatting her up? Not that I care, of course,” she added hastily.

“Of course,” Hermione smiled at her. “No, from what I saw, Cleotilde was giggling and batting her lashes, but Harry just looked bewildered. He seemed a bit frightened, come to think of it.”

Ginny was relieved that Harry appeared to be immune to Cleo’s charms. She suddenly felt loads better, and she smiled at Hermione.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Hermione jumped up and flung her trunk open. Digging through it, she finally extracted a small box wrapped in rainbow coloured paper. “Here,” she said, thrusting it into Ginny’s hands. “Happy birthday!”

Ginny stared at the gaily wrapped package and promptly burst into tears. Hermione sat down and looked worriedly at her. “What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no!” Ginny hiccoughed and wiped her face with her shirt. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I am grateful for your gift, I really am. It’s just that — you’re the only one so far who’s remembered that it was my birthday today. I guess I’ve been a tiny bit emotional, and seeing your gift brought it all out,” she said sheepishly, giving Hermione a watery smile.

“What?” Hermione said indignantly. “Ron and Harry didn’t remember?”

Ginny shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Come on, Hermione. Ron can’t even recall where he puts his shoes at night. And I don’t expect Harry to remember when my birthday is.”

“But still—”

“No, I’m more upset that Mum forgot. Dad had already gone to fetch Harry from the Muggles when I got down to the kitchen, but usually Mum makes me a special breakfast for my birthday. Today she just shoved some flapjacks at me and told me to serve the others.”

Hermione patted her hand sympathetically. “Oh, Ginny. It’s probably just slipped your mum’s mind because of all the stuff that’s happened today. I’m sure she’ll remember later.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Ron, however, has no excuse. Maybe I should say something to him and Harry.”

“Don’t say anything, Hermione,” Ginny said adamantly. “I don’t want to come across like I’m looking for attention. And you’re right, with so much stuff going on, my birthday isn’t foremost on people’s minds. There are more important things to worry about. It’s just another day. I’ll be fine.” She grinned and started tearing off the wrapper of her gift. “Besides, I got a gift from you, so that makes everything all right.”

She lifted the lid off the box and gasped. “Hermione!’

“Do you like it?” Hermione asked anxiously. “I saw it in Barbados and I thought that shade would look great on you. I know green is your favourite colour,” she said slyly.

“I love it!” Ginny exclaimed then bit her lip. “But I don’t think I can do justice to it.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione tutted. “It’s perfect for you. Why don’t you try it on?”

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Both girls turned to see a scrawny figure silhouetted in the doorway.

“Hello, ladies.”

“Hello, Sherman.” Ginny had to suppress the urge to snigger loudly as her ‘cousin’ strolled into her room, his hands stuck artfully into his pockets. Obviously, he had given a lot of thought to his outfit for the day. He was wearing rather uncomfortable-looking black dragon leather pants and a white button up shirt that made him look remarkably like an underfed pirate, although Ginny was certain that this was not the look he was striving for. He leaned nonchalantly against the wardrobe and managed to right himself quickly as his shoulder slipped of the corner of the cabinet.

“Well, Ginny, you just get prettier every time I see you,” said Sherman with a wink as he adjusted his collar. “When are you going to let me take you out to dinner and show you what a good time is?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “First of all, Sherman, I highly doubt if your idea of a good time is the same as mine. Secondly, you’re way too young for me. Besides,” she continued loudly over his protests, “we’re sort of related, so that makes the entire concept of us dating even more disturbing.”

“Ah, but we’re not related by blood now, are we? And what about all those Muggle royals who’ve gone off and married their cousins, eh? Being related never stopped them from dating.”

“Yes, but they only did that to preserve the royal lineage,” interjected Hermione, who was staring at Sherman with what could only be described as fascinated horror.

Sherman turned to Hermione, his face lighting up in what Ginny supposed was his idea of a charming smile. He sidled up to Hermione, grasped her hand and kissed it extravagantly. “You’re a bit of all right, aren’t you? Enchanté, ma douce chérie. Ginny, who is this vision of beauty before me?”

Ginny snorted loudly. “This is Hermione, a good friend of mine.”

“Hello gorgeous,” he leered at Hermione. “I’m Sherman, Ginny’s cousin and lover of all things beautiful, such as you. Tell me, are you by any chance, a thief?”

“Wh-what?” asked Hermione, puzzled. “No, of course not! Why would you ask that?”

“Because you seem to have stolen my heart,” said Sherman melodramatically, putting one hand over his chest.

Ginny groaned and stood up to usher him out of the room. “Come on, Sherman, time to leave.”

“But, wait, did it hurt?” he asked Hermione, who looked at him warily.

“Did what hurt?” she replied.

“When you fell out of heaven, of course,” said Sherman cheekily.

Ginny groaned again. “Good-bye, Sherman.”

“Wait! Don’t you want to experience the wonder that is the Sherman Love Machine?” he called out to Hermione as Ginny slowly but surely pushed him out of the door.

“Oh! Well — um — how — uh — very kind of you to — erm — offer, Sherman,” stammered Hermione, “but I think that my delicate constitution isn’t quite ready yet for something of that — erm — magnitude,” she finished tactfully.

Sherman looked a bit disappointed but bounced back admirably. “Oh well, I seem to remember seeing a foxy witch downstairs with pink hair. Maybe she’s up for a few rounds in the broom shed with the Sher-man.” And with that, the Sherman Love Machine exited Ginny’s room, surreptitiously wiping his sweaty face with his sleeve.

“Well, that was certainly… different,” said Hermione, breaking the stunned silence that had descended upon them. Ginny let out the snicker she had been holding back, and soon she and Hermione were giggling madly, clutching at each other as they tried to catch their breath.

“Good grief,” gasped Ginny, “where the heck did he get those awful pick-up lines? Poor Tonks!”

Hermione simply shook her head. “Poor Professor Lupin,” she said in between giggles, “he doesn’t stand a chance against the Sherman Love Machine.”

After a few more minutes of laughter, Ginny picked up her fallen present and said, “All right, I’m going to try this on now.” Squealing in excitement, she ran to the bathroom, changed, then dashed back to her bedroom. “Well?” she asked, striking a pose.

Before Hermione could give her opinion, the door swung open again.

“What the bloody hell are you wearing, Ginny?” Ron bellowed, appearing quite scandalised.

Hermione and Ginny turned to see a red-faced Ron standing in the doorway. Most of his hair had now settled back into its normal colour, but it still had a few renegade violet streaks running through it. Behind him, a slack-jawed Harry was goggling at Ginny.

“It’s called a maillot, Ronald,” Hermione said coolly.

“Doesn’t anyone ever knock on the door anymore?” Ginny glowered at her brother. She could feel her colour rising, but she could not be certain if it was because she was mad at Ron or because of the way that Harry was staring at her.

“A what?” Ron asked. He grabbed Ginny’s dressing gown and attempted to cover her with it. She huffed angrily and turned away from him to sit down on her bed.

“A mah — yoh,” said Hermione, enunciating slowly as if talking to a two-year old. “A one-piece bathing suit for women, simply styled and usually having a scoop neck and shoulder straps. Or in terms you can understand, a swimming costume.”

“I know it’s a swimming costume,” Ron retorted irritably. “Don’t you think it’s a little revealing for Ginny to wear? People will get the wrong idea about her if she wears that!”

“Come off it, Ron,” Ginny said impatiently. “It’s perfectly decent. It’s not as bad as some of the things other girls wear, for Merlin’s sake.”

Ron folded his arms across his chest. “But it’s showing too much of your legs, Ginny. Mum’s going to have kittens. Right, Harry?”

Harry tore his gaze from Ginny’s well-shaped legs and looked guiltily at Ron. “Um,” he said eloquently, his face strangely flushed. “Yeah?” he timidly offered.

Ron smiled triumphantly. “See, even Harry thinks so.”

Hermione frowned. “Ronald, I happen to have a similar bathing costume. Are you saying that if I wear it, you’re going to think that I’m a scarlet woman?”

Ron gaped at her. “You’ve got the same thing?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, but it’s blue.”

Ginny hid a smile behind her hand. Of course Hermione would pick that colour.

“You wore it in public?” her brother yelped. “In front of people?”

“That’s what ‘public’ means, Ron.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I wore it to the beach in Barbados. You normally need a swimming costume to go swimming.”

“Would you like Hermione to model it for you, Ron?” Ginny asked impishly.

Ron’s blue eyes bugged out of his head. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out.

“Well, if you decide you want to see Hermione in her maillot, you come back and tell us, all right?” Ginny stood up and walked towards the two boys. She noted with interest that Harry was trying to avoid her gaze, but his eyes kept drifting down to her legs. Blushing slightly, she firmly took them by the elbows and ushered them out of the room. “Maybe we’ll see you later at the pond, hmmm?” She shut the door in their glazed faces and turned to Hermione. The two girls looked at each other then started howling with laughter.

“I thought Ron was going to have a conniption when he realised you wore the swimming costume in public,” Ginny chortled. She picked up her shorts and slipped them on.

Hermione laughed. “How does he think I got this tan? By wearing my robes to the beach? Honestly.”

“Well, that’s Ron for you. He’s a bit thick, really,” Ginny said dryly, flopping down on her stomach beside Hermione. “Not to mention he’s a big old prude.”

“Harry seemed to like your suit,” Hermione smiled knowingly. “The poor boy looked like he was hit on the head by a Bludger.”

“Please,” Ginny waved her hand dismissively, although her cheeks reddened. “He’s probably never seen me in anything except ratty old clothes and Hogwarts robes, and he was just surprised, that’s all.”

“If you say so,” Hermione said lightly. “I think Harry’s suddenly realised how grown up you are.”

“Right,” Ginny scoffed. “Pull the other one, Hermione. Next you’ll be telling me that Harry has been watching me and that he’s fancied me all this time.”

Hermione shrugged. “All right, I won’t tell you.”

Ginny opened her eyes wide. “What?” she shrieked. “Hermione! What are you on about?”

“Oh, nothing. Harry just seems to be more aware of you nowadays. He’s always talking to you, isn’t he?” Hermione smiled smugly at her. “Are you telling me that you seriously haven’t noticed that?”

Ginny shook her head. “He was only talking to me because you and Ron seemed to be spending so much time together.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione coughed uncomfortably. “That’s only because we had lots of prefect duties.” She firmly steered the subject away from Ron and her. “But even when we were with Harry, he made it a point to include you in the conversation. Didn’t he always ask you to eat with us?”

“Well, yeah,” Ginny admitted. “But maybe he was just being brotherly, because I am his best friend’s sister.”

Hermione gave an unladylike snort. “Well, there wasn’t anything brotherly about the way he was gawking at you a while ago. He looked like Christmas had come early for him.”

Ginny stared at her, and a smile slowly lit up her face. This birthday was turning out to be brilliant after all.

Just then, the door burst open again and Cleo sashayed into the room, her long brown hair rippling prettily on her shoulders. She turned and pulled her paisley-patterned trunk in with her.

Then again, things could still become pear-shaped.

“Hello, Ginny. I see you’ve managed to fix your hair.”

“Hello, Cleo,” replied Ginny half-heartedly, then added in and undertone, “I see you’ve managed to ruin my day again.”

“Your mum said that I was supposed to share this room with you and someone named Hermaphrodite.” Cleo surveyed the room haughtily, her mouth making a moue of distaste as she took in the faded rose-coloured quilt on the bed and the worn-out rag rug on the floor. “I wanted my own room, of course, but Mother and Father said that there was no space left. How do you manage to live in such cramped quarters? I’ve always wondered how this shack has stayed upright with all of you Weasleys.”

Cleo paused in her harangue when she spotted Hermione. “Hello. Who are you?” she asked rudely.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny before offering her hand politely. “Hello. I’m Hermaphrodite,” she said, causing Ginny to snigger softly beside her. “I mean,” Hermione elbowed Ginny in the ribs, “I’m Hermione Granger. I’ll be staying with Ginny too. You must be Cleotilde. Pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed.” Cleo shook her hand limply and then sat down imperially onto the chair beside Ginny’s desk. She looked at Hermione from head to foot, seeming to linger on Hermione’s bushy brown hair. “Oh, you must be the one Ron’s been gushing about. Are you also friends with Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? Who knew he’d be so dishy? Do you know if he has a girlfriend? I’ve been trying to talk to him, but he always seems to be busy doing something,” she pouted and expertly flicked her hair over her shoulder.

Ginny shifted restlessly on the bed, becoming very brassed off with her cousin. Hermione placed a calming hand on her arm. “As a matter of fact, Harry’s my best friend. And no, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, but I do know that he’s interested in somebody right now,” she said, giving Ginny’s arm a meaningful squeeze.

“Really?” Cleo examined her glossy nails. “Is this girl pretty?”

“Yes, and, more importantly, Harry thinks so,” Hermione replied, smiling at Ginny, who smirked back.

“Oh?” Cleo said in disbelief, as if she could not imagine anyone prettier than her.

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly.

“Hmm.” Cleo turned to look at Ginny. “That’s a nice swimming costume, Ginny. A little old-fashioned for my taste, but it’s still all right. Is it new?”

Ginny bristled and fought down the urge to hex her. “Yeah, Hermione gave it to me for my birthday.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your birthday’s in February, right?”

Ginny gritted her teeth. This girl really was odious. “No. As a matter of fact, it’s today.”

“Well, fancy that. Happy birthday, then,” Cleo said carelessly. “How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?”

“Sixteen,” Ginny ground out, her fingers reaching for her wand. Hermione gave her a warning look.

“Whatever.” Cleo yawned and closed her eyes.

There was a soft knock on the doorframe, and the girls looked up to see Harry smiling shyly at them. Cleo immediately straightened up and flashed him a charming smile. “Well, hello there, handsome,” she purred.

Harry glanced at her briefly. “Uh, hello.” He looked back at Ginny and Hermione. “Ron said that he’d like to take you up on your offer, Hermione,” he said, his gaze lingering again on Ginny’s legs. “We’ll meet you at the pond for a swim, yeah?”

Hermione blushed, but she stood up and grabbed her own maillot from her trunk. “All right. I’ll just be a minute.” She went to the bathroom to put on her suit.

“That sounds like a good idea. It gets so dreadfully hot here in the country.” Cleo rose gracefully from the chair and opened her own trunk.

Ginny bit her tongue before she could point out to Cleo that she had not exactly been invited. She busied herself instead by getting a fresh towel from her closet.

“I’ll just change into my bikini. Would you please wait for me, Harry?” Cleo said coquettishly. “I might get lost on the way to the pond.”

Harry looked gobsmacked but was apparently too much of a gentleman to refuse. “Um, okay, I guess.” He looked uncertainly at Ginny as he reluctantly followed Cleo out of the room.

Seething inwardly, Ginny nevertheless smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll see you there, Harry.”

Harry paused at the door and gave her a brilliant smile. “I’ll be waiting, Ginny.”

*

Back to index


Chapter 4: Chapter Four

Author's Notes: Hey, thanks to everyone who nominated this story for the DSTAs!

We'd like to thank Leiselily, who gave us the British menu for the lunchtime picnic, and of course, to Chreechree, for everything.

Only one more chapter to go!


Chapter Four


Ginny pulled her denim shorts over her swimming costume and went down to the living room to wait for Hermione. She shut her eyes and could not help but smile as she let herself relive the events that had just taken place upstairs. She reflected on the way Harry’s gaze had lingered on her and on his unconvincing reply to Ron’s insistence that their mother would not approve of her new suit. She considered the way he nervously avoided her eyes as she ushered him from her room. Could Hermione be right?

Was it possible that, after all this time, Harry was actually interested in her?

After a few minutes, she heard the bathroom door squeak open. She expected to hear her friend’s gentle tread on the rickety stairs but was surprised when it did not come. Curious, she poked her head into the stairwell.

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said softly. Ginny could practically hear Hermione’s blush in her voice.

“You’re welcome,” Ron replied just as quietly, his voice deeper than normal. “It’s…well…it’s something I should have told you a long time ago.”

Ginny quickly removed her head from the stairway and headed outside. She did not want to eavesdrop on this particular private conversation. If Ron had managed to be less of a git than he normally was, Ginny had a feeling that Hermione would not be seeking her company for quite some time. As she opened the back door, she felt it hit someone who appeared to be lurking on the back porch.

“Ow!”

Ginny peered around the door. “Tonks?” she asked hesitantly, as a stream of curse words filled the air.

“Shh!” the young Auror hissed frantically from her crouched position, one hand rubbing the side of her face. Her hair was now the same shade of green as the leaves of the begonias she was peering out of. “Keep your voice down, will you?”

“What are you doing behind that potted plant?”

“I’m hiding from that pest of a cousin of yours, Sherman!” said Tonks. She stood up and frowned at Ginny.

“Now, Tonks. I bet a dose of the Sherman Love Machine is just what you need,” Ginny said with a smirk.

Tonks rolled her eyes and huffed angrily. “Good grief! You won’t believe what that little tosser said to me in front of half the Order!”

Ginny shook her head, grinning broadly. “I can just imagine.”

“You have no idea,” groaned Tonks. “So, your twit of a cousin marches up to me in the middle of my conversation with Minerva and plants his uninvited, scrawny little arse right between the two of us. Minerva was so shocked that she looked like she’d been hit with a Full-Body Bind.”

Ginny giggled softly as the image of a frozen, open-mouthed Professor McGonagall presented itself.

“And then, Sherman goes on and says in that ridiculously girly voice of his, ‘Can I take your picture?’, and I said ‘Why?’, and then he says ‘Because I want Father Christmas to know exactly what I want under my tree this year’!” Tonks threw up her hands in disgust.

Ginny began laughing loudly, causing Tonks to glare at her.

“It’s not funny!” Tonks stamped her foot. “Merlin, I’m never going to hear the end of this from Moody and Kingsley. And Remus! I’m going to hex that old werewolf’s bits when I catch him!”

“What—” Ginny managed to wheeze out in between giggles, “—what did Professor Lupin do?”

“The fool told Sherman that he’d gladly give him a photograph of me!” said Tonks crossly. “For free!” she added in an outraged voice, making Ginny laugh even harder than ever.

After Tonks had ranted for several more minutes about what she was going to do to Professor Lupin and his furry little bum, she said good-bye to Ginny and Disapparated, saying that she was going to go hunt down Remus at Grimmauld Place, right after she checked the Death Eater situation over at Gloucester and Somerset.

Ginny jumped off the porch, skipping all the steps, and landed on the gravel path that led to the pond. She walked slowly, enjoying the feel of the rocks under her feet and the warmth of the summer sun. She stopped for a moment and turned her face heavenward, smiling, scrunching the gravel between her toes as she did so. What did it matter that only Hermione had remembered her birthday? It was an absolutely gorgeous day, and it was quite possible that the absolutely gorgeous Harry Potter had finally noticed that she was a girl.

Ginny granted some form of release to the excitement that was building in her and ran, carefree, down the path. The sun glinted off the placid surface of the pond. Pausing only long enough to wriggle out of her shorts, and to take note that she was the first one to arrive at the pond, Ginny dove headfirst into the cool, inviting water.

She swam several laps, feeling lean and powerful as she forced herself to circle the pond as fast as she could, enjoying the way the muscles in her shoulders and legs burned from the effort. She reached the deepest part in no time. As she treaded water, she took pleasure in the gentle chirping of the birds and the soft rustling of some gnomes as they wandered through the thick grass surrounding the pond.

She was beginning to wonder if anyone would join her when she heard the sounds of people approaching. She realised that only Harry and Cleo had come to the pond. Ginny smirked, apparently her brother and Hermione had found other ways to distract themselves. Ron was not quite as thick as she had thought.

Ginny turned to face the path and saw that Harry had entered the clearing, Cleo hanging on to his arm. Ginny frowned as she caught sight of the slightly bewildered expression on Harry’s face, and then widened her eyes in shocked embarrassment when she saw her cousin.

Cleo appeared to be wearing a bathing costume that solely consisted of two pieces of yellow yarn. Ginny had never seen anything like it. No wonder Harry appeared to have been run over by a herd of hippogriffs. She momentarily forgot to move her arms and legs and sank rapidly under the surface of the water. The water in her lungs served to bring her back to reality, and she came up sputtering. She struggled to the rock ledge on the east side of the pond and clung to it, trying to catch her breath.

Harry, in his Gryffindor scarlet swimming trunks, freed himself from Cleo’s clutches and hurried over to peer into the pond. “Ginny? Are you okay?” he asked quickly.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, still coughing up water. “It’s just…” She paused. There was no way she could tell Harry that the sight of her cousin wearing scraps from her mum’s knitting basket had almost caused her to drown.

“It’s just a little too much?” Harry volunteered in a conspiratorial whisper, winking as a smile curved his lips.

“Or a little too little,” Ginny offered. They watched as Cleo spread a towel on the ground and fussed about, bringing out all sorts of lotions from the enormous bag that she had brought along with her.

To her great surprise, Harry chuckled. “Yeah, exactly.” He shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry you had to wait for us. I’ve no idea why it took ages for her to change into that tiny thing. When I first saw her I thought Hermione had been knitting for the house elves again, and your cousin had grabbed one of her creations by mistake.”

Ginny chuckled at the mental image of Dobby wearing a bikini. “Or maybe Fred and George put a shrinking charm on her suit, and she hasn’t realised it yet?”

Harry snorted, trying to keep from laughing loud enough for Cleo to hear. “Well, one thing’s for sure,” Harry continued when their laughter subsided, “your mum can’t complain about your swimming costume after she sees that.”

Ginny smiled and climbed out of the pond. She felt Harry’s eyes on her as she exited the water. Her skin seemed to burn under Harry’s gaze, and she felt extremely nervous and giddy all of a sudden. She silently thanked Hermione for remembering her birthday.

To cover up her anxiety, Ginny slicked her hair away from her eyes and nonchalantly said, “Okay, Harry. Diving contest time. You in?”

“Um, sure. There’s just one problem,” Harry said. He seemed self-conscious for some reason.

Ginny looked at him inquisitively. Before she could ask what the problem was, Cleo called out to Harry in a syrupy voice.

“Harry, be a sweetheart and put some lotion on my back? Please? I can’t quite reach it.”

Harry glanced in Cleo’s direction. Ginny felt her heart sink. Did he want to spend time with Cleo instead of her?

“Oh, erm, is it all right if I do it later, Cleotilde?’ he replied vaguely. “I’m talking to Ginny.” Cleo scowled at him, but he had already turned away. “I don’t know how to dive, Ginny,” he admitted sheepishly, seeming to have forgotten the other girl entirely.

Ginny could not contain her giddy laughter at Harry’s less-than-enthusiastic response at the younger girl’s attempts to be coy. “Oh, is that all? Don’t worry. A dive is kind of like a Wronski Feint without the broom.” She grinned encouragingly. “Here, watch.”

With that, Ginny performed a perfect dive, sinking deep into the water. A moment later, she ascended and broke the surface, her hair swirling around her like a fiery halo. “See? That’s all there is to it.”

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s all, huh?” He took a deep breath as he uncertainly surveyed the water. He turned and set his glasses on the bank. “All right,” he said at last, and with a deep breath, he sprang from the rocks into what was quite possibly the world’s finest belly flop.

As he resurfaced, he was greeted by Ginny’s ringing laughter. “Ow,” he said, smiling in a self-deprecating way. “Well?”

Ginny struggled to stop her giggling. “Splendid, Harry,” she said. “But I probably should have been more specific. I meant a dive should look like you doing a Wronski Feint without the broom. That was a brilliant imitation of Malfoy, though.”

Harry joined in her laughter. A rather loud and dramatic sniff from Cleo caught their attention. They shared a look before turning her way.

She was sitting on the sand with her legs stretched gracefully in front of her. Her hands were placed slightly behind her so that her back was arched and her face was lifted toward the sky.

Ginny felt a twinge of guilt as she watched her cousin, alone and friendless, on the water’s edge. She was sure the guilt was brought about by years of her mother’s nagging. She was slightly appalled that she felt any sympathy at all, but nevertheless, it was there. She decided she should at least make an effort to include the younger girl. “Would you like to join us, Cleo?”

The brunette merely wrinkled her nose in disgust and shook her head. She stuck out her chest a little further and resumed her Quidditch Illustrated cover pose.

Harry leaned closer to Ginny and whispered, “It’s probably for the best. Doesn’t yarn shrink when it’s wet?”

Ginny snorted. She looked up to find Harry’s emerald eyes locked on hers. There was something unreadable in their depths that made Ginny shiver.

“Are you cold?” Harry asked, concern evident in his features.

Ginny shivered again but said, “Nah.” She pulled gently on his arm. “Come on, let’s try again. I wouldn’t want to deprive her of the opportunity to look down her nose at our childish antics.”

They continued their “contest.” Ginny performed a spectacular front somersault. Harry did another belly flop. Ginny completed a graceful backward dive. Harry did another belly flop. On and on they went until at last Harry executed a dive that, while far from splash-less, at least did not knock the wind out of him upon entry. He climbed out of the water, grinning, and sat on the edge of the rock.

“You win, Ginny,” he said. “How do you make that look so easy?”

Ginny sat beside him. “Years of practice. You were getting the hang of it towards the end,” she said diplomatically.

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you’re supposed to look like this after a series of perfect dives, then?” He indicated his very red chest and arms.

Ginny looked at his chest and felt her gaze linger much longer than she could justify as clinical observation. She could not help ogling him, and she blushed deeply.

Harry suddenly turned and retrieved his glasses. Ginny noticed he fumbled them slightly as he tried to put them on.

Oh, sweet Merlin, he’s trembling!

Before Ginny could even consider what that might mean, Cleo, sick of being the outsider — and probably stiff from all that posing, Ginny thought uncharitably — forced herself between them on the rock ledge and daintily placed her feet in the water.

“Oh, that feels heavenly,” she sighed as she pointed her toes and gracefully moved her legs through the water. She put her hand on Harry’s shoulder and simpered. “It was getting so hot over there.”

Ginny felt her temper flare and was about to scathingly retort that Cleo seemed to have had no trouble putting her sunblock on after all, when Harry’s expression silenced her. He had shifted his body slightly away from Cleo and was looking at the other girl as if she was a giant flobberworm that had suddenly made a very unwelcome appearance.

“You could have joined us, you know,” Ginny said, suddenly feeling quite generous towards her cousin in light of Harry’s clear disinterest. She looked back to Harry and added bravely, “It was loads of fun.”

“Yeah, it really was,” Harry agreed quietly, staring back at her. Ginny dizzily noticed how green his eyes were.

“Oh, no,” Cleo said, making a face. “That water is filthy. See, you’ve got something in your hair. Ew.”

“Here, I’ll get it.” Harry reached around Cleo and delicately pulled a leaf from Ginny’s hair, causing goose pimples to erupt on her skin. She shivered and looked down, suddenly too timid to meet Harry’s gaze. She was mortified to notice that her arms and legs were not the only places where her goose bumps were evident. She quickly crossed her arms and bent over, pretending to look down into the pond.

Cleo turned to Harry. “I can’t believe I forgot my sunhat.” She leaned in so close that their shoulders touched. “Did I get any freckles?” she asked, lifting her face to his.

“No, not yet,” he answered, backing away slightly from her. “Maybe if you keep trying, though,” he said encouragingly.

Ginny whipped her head in Harry’s direction. Was it possible that he actually thought freckles were a desirable by-product of sun exposure? She pinched herself surreptitiously to ensure she was not dreaming.

At that moment, Ron and Hermione, who was wearing a blue sundress over her maillot, came into view, walking very close to each other. It might have been the shadows, but Ginny was quite sure she had seen Ron pull his hand from Hermione’s just as they reached the pond. There was a pretty blush colouring Hermione’s cheeks, and they both had dazzling smiles on their faces.

“Glad you could finally join us,” Ginny teased. She pushed herself to her feet and walked over to her friends. “You missed a spectacular display of diving prowess.”

Harry also took his feet out of the water to join them. “I don’t know if ‘spectacular’ is the word I’d use. ‘Spectacle’ is more like it, at least where I was concerned. Ginny was the one who was spectacular.” He looked at Ginny, his admiration clearly visible on his face.

Ginny felt her cheeks grow hot and hastily addressed Hermione and Ron. “Where were you guys, anyway?”

“Ron?” Harry asked, surprised by the horror-struck look that had come over his best friend’s face. “Ron?”

When Ron still did not answer, Harry and Ginny followed his gaze to the edge of the water and saw what had him so rattled, and why his face nearly matched his orange Chudley Cannons shirt. Ronald Weasley had just caught his first glimpse of his cousin’s barely-there bikini. Harry and Ginny rolled their eyes at each other and then burst out laughing.

Ginny put her hand on Ron’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “I guess my suit’s not so bad now, eh?”

This finally seemed to clear Ron’s head. “Uncle Heathcliff lets her walk around in that thing? In public?”

”Amazing, isn’t it?” Ginny shook her head. “I’ve never understood why Uncle Heathcliff and Aunt Beth let her do a lot of things. I just know that I plan to be standing right next to her when Mum sees my new suit for the first time.”

“You’ll get your chance soon enough,” Hermione said, also looking askance at Cleo. “Your mum asked us to tell you all that lunch is ready. We’re having a picnic in the garden.”

“Great,” Ginny said. “I’m starving.”

She was surprised when Harry suddenly called out “Race you, Ginny!” before running down the path.

“Oh no you don’t, Harry!” Ginny yelled and took off in hot pursuit.

By the time they reached the garden, they were both out of breath and laughing. Harry’s head start had paid off as he had entered the garden clearing several paces ahead of Ginny. He bent down and put his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

“Oh, Harry dear, come and get something to eat. You must be famished after all that swimming. And Gin…” Mrs Weasley’s voice trailed off and her eyes widened as Ginny sprinted into the clearing. Her face paled when she saw Ginny’s new maillot.

Ginny chanced a look at Harry before closing her eyes and waiting for the tirade she knew would come.

“Ginevra Molly Weasley, what in the name of all things good do you think you’re wearing?”

Ginny knew she had to think of something to say to interrupt her mum before she hit her stride, but the only thing she could think to tell her was that the suit had been a birthday gift. She certainly was not going to say that and make it seem that she was making her mum feel guilty by mentioning it.

“Young lady, I want you to march yourself into the house and change this ins…” Mrs Weasley’s voice faded away for a second time. Ginny smiled inwardly at the look of stunned disbelief on her mother’s face as Cleo and her crocheted yellow bikini entered the garden. Ginny’s cousin proceeded to the hammock and stretched out in it, pointedly ignoring everyone and looking very put out that she had been left behind so abruptly.

“I — you — Cleo — yarn —” Mrs Weasley’s usual eloquence failed her, so she simply stared in shock at Cleo’s parents, who were both sitting at the table. Uncle Heathcliff looked away guiltily, and Aunt Beth offered a sheepish giggle as she rose and made her way to her daughter, levitating a plate of food in front of her.

Mrs Weasley shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Right. Go ahead and eat.” She turned away, mumbling to herself as she set out the remainder of the food on the side table by the porch.

Ginny did not need telling twice. She quickly surveyed the array of food in front of her — ham and cheese sandwiches, pork pies, mixed salad, sausage rolls — and grabbed some of each. She noted that there was strawberry shortcake, and of course, since Harry was present, an enormous treacle tart. She debated if she should feel happy or offended that her mum had found the time to make Harry’s favourite dessert on the same day that she had forgotten her only daughter’s birthday. Happiness won out when she saw the glee on Harry’s face as he helped himself to a massive piece of treacle tart.

“Where are Uncle Bertram and Aunt Tessie, Mum?” she asked, looking around. “And Dad?”

“Oh, those two barking mad bird-lovers had some trouble with Dodo suddenly keeling over again, so they decided to stay inside to keep an eye on him.” A tall, thin man standing at the head of the picnic table called out to her. “And your Dad’s gone back to the Ministry for a while.”

Smiling, Ginny walked over to Uncle Heathcliff who wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. “There’s my Ginny-Gin-Gin! I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up.”

“Hi, Uncle Heathcliff. Where’s Little Molly?” Ginny asked as she chose a seat at the table, and her uncle settled opposite her.

“She’s upstairs, taking a nap with Sherman. Poor baby got a little frightened with all those mad birds squawking. And I think the birds got a little frightened by Sherman’s squawking, to tell you the truth,” he said in an undertone, looking furtively at Aunt Beth, who was trying to tempt a pouty Cleo with a slice of strawberry shortcake.

Ginny snorted into her glass of pumpkin juice.

Uncle Heathcliff adjusted his monocle and looked curiously at Harry, who had sat next to Ginny.

“Oh, this is Harry, Harry Potter. Harry, this is my Uncle Heathcliff,” Ginny said, inclining her head towards Harry. “We were swimming.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.” Uncle Heathcliff reached out and grasped Harry’s hand firmly, his eyes doing the inevitable flick towards the lightning scar visible through Harry’s wet fringe. “I should’ve known it would take one extraordinary wizard to handle our Ginny. I suppose that if you can handle this little fireball, you can handle anything, even You-Know-Who.”

Uncle Heathcliff seemed to realise he had said something wrong as he noticed the identical blushes that had risen furiously on Ginny’s and Harry’s faces. He tried to recover and spare the youngsters any further discomfort. “Yes, our Ginny has never settled for ordinary friends, that’s for sure. Now don’t get me wrong, she gets along with everyone, but it takes someone with superior wit to really make an impact.” He winked at Harry. “She’s a lot like her mother that way.”

Ginny braved a glance at Harry and was relieved to find him smiling at Uncle Heathcliff, who continued to talk loudly in order to steer the conversation away from the awkward moment. Aunt Beth came back to sit beside her husband, giggling quietly as Harry politely shook her hand.

“You may not know this, Harry, but Ginny’s mother had some wonderfully unusual friends. There was Anne Charleston; she could rival Fred and George, that one could. And Beverly Smith, she went through her entire third year without speaking a word. Sang everything. And Jane Topdahl, she collected something. Hmm…What was it? Molly, what did Jane Topdahl collect?”

“Butterbeer corks,” Molly answered succinctly, as she made her way to the side table with a huge bowl of potato salad.

“Ah, yes, butterbeer corks. I seem to remember she made a necklace of them once,” Uncle Heathcliff laughed. “An odd duck, that one was. Married a newspaper man, didn’t she, Molly?” He then shook his head. “A real shame what happened to her.”

Ginny and Harry shared a smile as they realised who the infamous Jane Topdahl must have been.

“But you kids should have seen your mum’s gang when they got together. What they wouldn’t get up to,” Uncle Heathcliff reminisced fondly. They were always good for a laugh.”

“Oi! Hang on!”

Fred and George, who had just come out of The Burrow, hurriedly grabbed a pork pie each and sprinted over to the picnic table. They pretended to scuffle with each other as they both tried to claim the seat next to Uncle Heathcliff. Aunt Beth was unceremoniously shoved aside, but she took it all in good stride and even giggled a bit more at the antics of the twins. After a ridiculously prolonged battle involving much pushing and pulling of clothes and facial appendages, Fred finally claimed the bench, and George perched almost daintily on his lap. They both looked eagerly at Uncle Heathcliff.

“Do my ears deceive me, or do I sense the beginning of ‘And then there was the time’ time?” Fred asked eagerly, trying to dislodge George off his lap.

Uncle Heathcliff laughed a great big belly laugh surprising for a man so thin, and slapped his leg. “That predictable, am I?”

The twins nodded exuberantly.

“All right, then,” said Uncle Heathcliff, scratching at his wispy goatee. “I guess I was about to tell a particularly sordid tale of your mother and her friends, and their antics in the prefects’ bathroom.”

George quickly jumped off Fred’s lap and ran to where Hermione and Ron were dishing up their lunch. He paused momentarily to goggle at Cleo looking bored on the hammock, before he came to himself and grabbed them both by the arm. “Quick, it’s story time!” He tried to drag them back toward the picnic table.

“Hey! Watch it!” Ron shouted, trying to keep his already overflowing plate from tipping over. “I’m not even halfway done!” He carefully put another sausage roll on top of the five that he had already appropriated then turned to Hermione. “We really should hurry, though. We don’t want to miss one of Uncle Heathcliff’s stories.”

As soon as Hermione and Ron had found seats at the picnic table, the twins made an elaborate show of silencing the group. Uncle Heathcliff merely laughed and began his tale.

“Well, let me tell you about the time that your mother and her friends charmed the portrait of the mermaid in the prefects’ bathroom. You see, several of the boys in their year had had the brilliant idea of flying outside the girls’ dormitory window at bedtime, hoping to sneak a peek at things that properly modest young witches usually keep covered up.”

“Already tried that once,” Fred mumbled, his mouth full of pork pie. “Didn’t work.”

“Yeah,” George chuckled. “That’s because Angelina spotted you and threatened to call McGonagall.”

Harry and Ron sniggered appreciatively when Mrs Weasley reached over and smacked Fred on the head as she passed behind him, holding a large pitcher of iced pumpkin juice in one hand. Ginny motioned for them to keep quiet as Uncle Heathcliff proceeded with his tale.

“As they watched the buxom Anne Charleston change from her school robes into her nightgown, one of the voyeurs forgot he had to keep his broom steady and crashed right into the dormitory window.”

The Weasleys and Harry all burst out laughing. Even Hermione struggled to keep from smiling.

“That was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, that was,” Uncle Heathcliff said with a grin. “Now, your mother and her friends happened to notice that all of the little buggers had access to the prefects’ bathroom, and they came up with the perfect idea for revenge.”

“What did Mum do?” Ginny asked interestedly.

Uncle Heathcliff put his finger on the side of his nose. “There was a painting of a mermaid in the bathroom, you see, and they somehow charmed it so that whenever one of those blokes entered the bathroom, it would act like a window of sorts.”

“You mean they could…?” Ron interrupted.

“Yes. They had a mirror in the sixth-year girls’ dormitory that reflected everything that the mermaid could see. And I mean everything.”

Uncle Heathcliff stopped and peered at Harry in concern when the boy suddenly choked on his pumpkin juice. “Are you quite all right, Harry?”

“Sorry, just suddenly remembered my fourth year,” Harry muttered weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Ron and Hermione shared an amused glance.

Fred turned to his mother and said, “Nice one, Mum!”

Molly Weasley only sniffed disparagingly, taking a seat beside Uncle Heathcliff.

“Ah, so there’s more to the story!” George said, recognising his mum’s signal that the tale was not yet finished.

“Well,” Uncle Heathcliff continued, “These four devious young ladies also charmed the mermaid to — shall we say — ‘size’ the boys up? Those poor boys definitely heard some things that no teenage boy wants to hear a beautiful young woman — or mermaid — say while he’s in his birthday suit, if you understand me.”

Uncle Heathcliff’s audience roared with laughter, except for Mrs Weasley who inserted her customary “Oh, Heathcliff!”, and Hermione who muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “It serves them right” under her breath.

“Hang on,” Ron said. “How come you know about this prank, Uncle Heathcliff?”

“Because he was the one who crashed into our dormitory window,” Molly said matter-of-factly, standing up to get more treacle tart from the kitchen.

“Well done, Uncle Heathcliff!” Fred and George congratulated the now red-faced man.

As the guffawing subsided, the twins excused themselves, made a beeline for their mum, and attempted to get her to divulge the charm she used to pull off that spectacular prank. Aunt Beth and Uncle Heathcliff also stood up to go back into The Burrow. The rest of the group went back to their meal, still chuckling about Mrs Weasley’s exploits.

“I think Mum is a lot more like Fred and George than she likes to admit,” Ginny whispered to Harry, as Hermione admonished Ron for trying to stuff an entire sausage roll into his mouth.

“Actually, I think that your mum’s a lot like you.” Harry took another bite of treacle tart and smiled at her. “That was brilliant.”

Ginny returned his smile. She really felt like she had to be dreaming. Did Harry just imply that he thought she was brilliant? What other surprises would this day hold?

“So, angels, missed me?”

Ginny and Hermione exchanged dismayed glances as Sherman slid into the seat beside Ginny.

“Let’s get this party started, because the Sherman Love Machine is finally here!” He looked around him then waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Hermione and slung an arm around Ginny’s shoulder.

Ginny pointedly removed Sherman’s arm and shifted, leaning closer to Harry, who turned slightly to allow her more room to move away from Sherman. He did not appear to mind that she was practically pressed up against his chest. His bare chest, Ginny realised with a shiver. His arm was not touching her but was braced on the bench next to her, effectively sheltering her from Sherman.

“Who’s this Sherman bloke?” Harry murmured, his warm breath tickling Ginny’s ear and causing the little hairs on her arms and neck to stand up. “And is he for real?”

Not trusting herself to look into those impossibly green eyes, she kept her gaze trained on Sherman, who was slicking his hair back in a gesture worthy of Draco Malfoy. “Sherman’s my Aunt Beth’s sister’s son. She adopted him when his parents disappeared due to some exploding haggis.”

“Exploding what?”

Sherman spoke again before Ginny could answer Harry’s surprised question. “So, what do you say, Ginny? Hermione? Fancy a ride on the old broomstick?”

Ron choked on his sausage roll and Hermione had to pound him hard on the back. After finally regaining his breath, Ron narrowed his eyes and frowned at Sherman. Harry simply looked stunned.

Appearing undeterred by their less than enthusiastic reaction to his presence, Sherman winked at Hermione, not seeming to notice that Ron was now growling softly at him.

“You know, Hermione, if I could rearrange the alphabet, I would put U and I together. Get it? You and I? Together?”

Ginny snorted and felt Harry shake with suppressed laughter beside her. Hermione’s mouth was hanging open in disbelief.

“Would you touch me, so I can tell my friends that I’ve been touched by an angel?” Sherman blithely continued, unaware of the angry crimson flush that was slowly creeping up Ron’s neck.

“Bloody hell! That’s it!” Ron threw down his fork, stood up and began to stalk furiously towards Sherman, who paled and seemed to notice the boys for the first time.

“Uh, well, erm,” Sherman stuttered, hastily rising from the table and backing away from Ron. “I — I think — I think I hear Aunt Beth calling me. See you later.” With that, he turned and bolted for the house, dodging several garden gnomes along the way.

Ginny and Harry began laughing loudly, while Hermione tried to calm Ron down and stop him from running after Sherman.

Several ear-piercing shrieks startled all of them. They turned to where Cleo had been sitting in the hammock, daintily eating her lunch. Encircling her was a veritable horde of garden gnomes, all of whom were attempting to climb onto her lap.

Ginny, together with Harry, Ron and Hermione, watched open-mouthed as Cleo jumped from the hammock and began batting at the gnomes surrounding her.

“Mummy!” shrieked Cleo, swatting away a gnome that was clinging to her arm. “Daddy!”

The back door of The Burrow burst open and Uncle Heathcliff, with Aunt Beth trotting frantically after him, sprinted towards their daughter. Behind them, the twins, Mrs Weasley, Uncle Bertram and Aunt Tessie also dashed into the garden. Ginny could see Sherman’s pale face peering curiously out the kitchen window.

“Cleo, darling! Make a run for it!” Uncle Heathcliff shouted, waving his arms madly in the air.

Giving one final squeal of dismay (and a well-aimed kick at a gnome that was trying to climb up her leg), Cleo ran to her mother, who enfolded her hysterical child in her arms. Mrs Weasley came up and guided them both back into the house.

The entire throng of gnomes threw themselves on the ground and pounded the earth with their tiny fists. A loud cacophony of wailing and howling filled the air.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Uncle Bertram bellowed the question that was on everybody’s mind. He looked at Uncle Heathcliff shrewdly, and Ginny was taken aback to see the younger man flinch and avert his eyes.

“Heathcliff,” Uncle Bertram said, pointing his unlit cigar at the other man, “is your daughter a Squib?”

*

Back to index


Chapter 5: Chapter Five

Author's Notes: Well, this is it. The last, extremely fluffy chapter. It's been immensely fun working together, and we hope that sometime in the future, we might manage to finish another story - maybe even before Deathly Hallows comes out!

Our love to Chreechree, for her fantastic beta skills and support and for her ideas on the commando-gnomes-gone-berserk scene. Heck, she practically wrote it! Our gratitude to everyone who voted this story as Best Comedy in the January DSTA. What a birthday present for both of us - and we only recently found out that we share a birthday! LOL.

Yes, we totally made up the stuff about Squibs and gnomes. And yes, the last part is wholly based on the last scene of the movie Sixteen Candles. Happy Valentine's Day!


Chapter Five


“So,” said Harry disbelievingly, as they were sitting around the living room later that evening, “are you telling me that you never knew that Cleotilde was a Squib?”

“Yeah! We had always been told that she had gone to Beauxbatons, like Sherman the Git,” Ron replied. “Who would have thought? No wonder she’s such a spoiled little brat. Her parents tried to make up for her being a Squib.”

Ginny smiled contentedly. She was lounging in her favourite overstuffed armchair, her feet dangling over the side. Harry had settled himself on the opposite armchair, and Hermione and Ron were sitting together on the settee. The adults were all in the kitchen, talking about the events of the day.

Apparently, the Death Eater threat had been neutralized, and it was deemed safe enough that all the aunts and uncles could return to their homes tomorrow morning, albeit under heavy guard from the Order.

The twins had said good-bye shortly after the Cleotilde fiasco, claiming that they had a lot of work to do at their shop; they had come up with an idea for a new product after talking to their mum. Ginny had overheard them excitedly discussing how they could devise a miniature version of the Mermaid mirror charm that Mrs Weasley’s gang had ingeniously created. “Portable Peepers! Think of the possibilities!” The twins were practically beside themselves with glee.

Cleo had disappeared into her parents’ room after lunch and had refused to come out again, no matter how much her father pled, and no matter how many times the gnomes kept hurling themselves at her window. She had been heartily embarrassed by the fact that her secret had been found out.

Hermione had explained to a confused Harry that garden gnomes could always tell which wizards or witches were actually Squibs — something to do with pheromones, apparently — and tended to follow a Squib around like adoring fans. Uncle Heathcliff had broken down and emotionally confessed that, yes, Cleo was a Squib and they had tried to cover it up all these years, but could you really blame them for doing so? He then got into a bit of a shouting match with Uncle Bertram when the latter had offered to send for a Kwikspell course; Mrs Weasley had to give Uncle Heathcliff a very healthy dollop of a calming draught and sent him off to bed to recuperate.

Hermione gave Ron a light slap on the arm. “That’s not a very nice thing to say about your cousins, Ron,” she admonished.

“Hermione!” Ron turned to the brown-haired witch, clutching his arm and pretending to be mortally wounded. “Ouch! That hurt! My arm’s still sore from the de-gnoming, you know.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Ron,” Hermione sniffed, but she was smiling at him.

Ginny and Harry exchanged glances and stifled their laughter. Since that morning, Hermione and Ron had been inseparable, and were quite affectionate towards each other. Even the twins’ merciless teasing had not stopped Ron from holding Hermione’s hand as often as he could. The only time Ron willingly left Hermione’s side was when Mrs Weasley ordered him, Harry and the twins to chuck out the gnomes that had run amuck in the garden.

In a desperate attempt to reach Cleo, several of the gnomes had tried to smuggle themselves into the house by hiding in a bowl of sprouts that Mrs Weasley had been carrying into the kitchen, and one intrepid little bugger had managed to get inside by climbing the ivy growing along the wall of the house. It had startled Aunt Tessie when it dropped onto her head while she was using the loo, and the resulting uproar had sent poor Dodo, who had been balanced precariously on the bathroom sink, into a prolonged conniption that he had yet to recover from.

Ron stood up and stretched his lanky frame. Then he turned to offer his arm to Hermione. “Um, would you care for a walk?” he asked shyly.

Hermione smiled charmingly. “Why, thank you, Ron. I’d love to.” She took his hand and rose from her seat. “What about you two? Harry? Ginny? Would you like to join us?” she asked.

Ginny giggled softly when she saw Ron glaring and shaking his head frantically at her and Harry from behind Hermione’s back. “Oh no, I think I’ll stay here, Hermione. I’m feeling too lazy.”

Harry was grinning at Ron. “Yeah, me too. You two go on ahead. Maybe we’ll catch up with you two lovebirds later,” he said. At Ron’s pleading look, he hastily added, “Or maybe not. I’m knackered from all those spectacular belly flops that I did at the pond.” He waved them off. “See you in the morning.”

Hermione looked at them uncertainly. “All right, if you’re sure…”

“They’re sure. C’mon, let’s go,” Ron tugged at her hand impatiently, and Hermione let herself be dragged out of the house, giving a little wave as she left.

Ginny and Harry burst into laughter. They were still chuckling softly when the peculiar smell of tuna fish mixed with violet water wafted towards them, and Uncle Bertram and Auntie Tessie, who had Dodo perched forlornly on her shoulder, entered the living room.

“No manners, that Heathcliff,” Uncle Bertram was loudly complaining to Aunt Tessie, who was paying more attention to Dodo than to her husband. “I could have got that Kwikspell course for him at half the price, you know. Why, Mr. Wylie from next door already has a Repeated Course Repeater discount, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind letting us use it.”

Aunt Tessie stopped fussing over Dodo and the alarming amount of feathers he was shedding all over the floor, when she saw Harry and Ginny smiling at each other.

“Oh look, Bertie, don’t they look adorable?” Aunt Tessie sighed dotingly. “Young love is so grand, isn’t it?”

Uncle Bertram beamed good-naturedly. “I say, you two make quite the handsome couple.” He leaned down and pinched Ginny’s cheek, much to her horror. “Such a beautiful lassie, you are.”

Ginny could hear Harry sniggering quietly in his chair, but his laughter was cut off when Aunt Tessie patted his head in turn, much like the way she had been patting Dodo a while earlier. “And you, young man, such a good-looking boy. You two will have such pretty children.”

Ginny’s face was generating so much heat that she wondered why The Burrow was not yet ablaze. She peeked at Harry and was mortified to see that he, too, had turned a bright scarlet and was blinking up at Aunt Tessie in confusion.

“Um, Uncle Bertram, Harry and I are not—”

Just then, Dodo gave a pitiful sort of croak and toppled slowly from Aunt Tessie’s shoulder. “Merciful heavens!” Aunt Tessie screamed, catching Dodo before he could plummet to the ground. “Bertram! Do something!”

Uncle Bertram grabbed the strange bird and started blowing into its beak, whilst he ran up the stairs towards their room. “Tessie!” he yelled, in between breaths, “grab the Attenborough Advanced Emergency Resuscitation Potions Kit from your bag!”

“I’m on it!” Tessie shouted back, hurtling up the stairs behind him then jostling him out of the way.

As the sounds of their frenzied footfalls disappeared, Harry and Ginny stared blankly at each other for two seconds until Harry snorted loudly, and they both dissolved into hysterical laughter. Ginny was laughing so hard that tears were falling from her eyes. Harry was doubled up, clutching at his stomach as he tried to stop laughing.

“Sorry about that, Harry,” Ginny gasped out when her giggles finally died.

“No worries, Ginny. Although I am a bit concerned about Dodo.” Harry picked up a bright purple feather off the floor and began chuckling softly again.

Ginny let out a snort. “I need to get a glass of water. Do you want one, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I just need to catch my breath. Thanks, Ginny.”

Ginny stood up, wiping the tears from her eyes and headed to the kitchen. She was glad that Dodo’s dramatic collapse had removed any potential awkwardness that might have come up between Harry and her, after Aunt Tessie’s comments about them having beautiful children. Pondering this seriously, Ginny became lost in visions of a pretty, green-eyed, red-haired daughter until her Dad’s voice startled her from her musings.

“Hello, Ginny.” Arthur Weasley stood up from the kitchen table where he had been nursing a mug of coffee. He went to Ginny and gave her an enormous hug, kissing the top of her head lovingly.

“Hi, Dad,” Ginny said after he released her. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

Mr Weasley looked sadly at his only daughter. “Ginny, your mum and I are so sorry! Because of all the excitement, we completely forgot that it was your birthday!”

Ginny felt a smile creep across her face. “That’s all right, Dad. I was sure that you would remember eventually. And it has been a madhouse around here today.”

“But we forgot!” A new voice wailed from the back door. Mrs Weasley hurried in and threw her arms around Ginny. “What kind of parents are we?” she started to cry into Ginny’s shoulder.

“Mum, really, it’s all right.” Ginny patted her mother on the back, holding back a laugh at Mrs Weasley’s show of emotion.

“Oh, and I was beastly to you when I saw you in that swimming costume,” Mrs Weasley sniffled, dabbing her eyes with her pinny. “Hermione gave you that as a present, didn’t she? She told me just now, when I saw her and Ron in the garden. She’s a good girl, that Hermione. And a good friend too, since she was the only one who actually remembered it was your birthday.” She blew her nose noisily on her apron. Ginny looked helplessly at her father.

“Now, Molly,” said Mr Weasley as he put an arm around his wife and guided her to the kitchen table. “How about a nice cup of tea, eh?” He Summoned a chipped blue teacup from the sink and tapped it with his wand, filling it with hot chamomile tea.

“Really, Mum, I’m not angry with you,” Ginny said, sitting down beside her mother. “I have to admit, I was a bit crushed this morning, but the day’s turned out brilliantly though, so no worries.”

While her mother was still sniffling quietly into her tea, Mr Weasley placed a small, brightly wrapped package on the table in front of Ginny. Ginny looked up at her father, her smile evident in her sparkling eyes.

Arthur chuckled softly. “Well, go on and open it,” he said encouragingly.

Ginny quickly tore the paper from the package to reveal a black velvet jewellery box. Her eyes grew wide as she opened the box and saw a delicate gold locket displayed on white satin. “Mum, Dad, it’s beautiful!” Ginny exclaimed breathlessly.

Her Mum’s spirits seemed to lift considerably. “It’s charmed to show you a picture of anyone in the family. All you have to do is hold it and say their name. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Ginny held the locket gently in her hands and quietly said “Charlie,” She opened the locket to reveal a smiling picture of her older brother. He waved and winked cheekily at her. She winked back, showed the picture to her Mum and Dad, and closed the locket.

She pictured her other absent brother and said, “Bill.” This time, much to her growing delight, the locket revealed Bill’s face.

She closed the locket and turned to thank her parents when Harry’s voice called to her from the hall.

“Ginny? Is everything okay in there?” He paused in the doorway as his eyes darted from Mr and Mrs Weasley, to Ginny, to the crumpled wrapping paper on the table. Comprehension seemed to register in his eyes and he smiled at Ginny.

“Harry,” Ginny said softly, still holding the locket and smiling back at him.

As if sensing it was present-time, two owls arrived at the kitchen window, tapping the glass impatiently with their beaks. As Mrs Weasley and Harry hurried over to let them in, Mr Weasley nudged Ginny’s shoulder and whispered, “Open it.”

Ginny looked at him questioningly, but quickly opened the locket. There, surrounded by an oval of small gold, was a charming picture of Harry smiling shyly at her. She beamed at her dad and looked back to the picture of Harry.

“Well, he’s family too, isn’t he?” said Mr Weasley rather knowingly, as he helped fasten the locket around Ginny's neck.

The owls swooped down to deposit their parcels on the table and then soared away again.

Ginny opened the smaller box first to reveal an intricately knotted leather bracelet with a single peridot gem embedded in the clasp. “Ooh, it’s brilliant,” she said, fastening the bracelet around her left wrist as she read the short note from Charlie.

Hey Squirt, hope you receive this on time. I almost forgot to send it to you and then I had a ruddy time finding an owl to deliver it at the last minute. Sorry I couldn’t come home for your birthday, but I hope to see you all next month.

She admired the smooth polished stone and the complex design of the soft leather. “Thanks, Charlie,” she whispered to herself.

She eagerly reached for the next package which was wrapped in brown paper. “Turkish Delight!” Mrs Weasley cried out in pleasure when Ginny had torn the paper off. She offered her mum the open box while she perused the letter from Bill, who was on assignment in Istanbul.

Happy birthday, Ginny, and sorry if this arrives a bit late. Had some problems with some of the tombs at the Archaeology Museum in the Topkapi Palace. I’ll tell you all about it when Fleur and I get home. Be sure to give Mum some of the pistachio ones that she loves so much.


Ginny grinned and looked up to see Mrs Weasley popping another large piece of the sweet in her mouth. Ginny was about to reach for her own Turkish Delight when a bedraggled owl flew in and landed with a loud thud on the table, clutching a large package in its talons.

“Errol!” Ginny exclaimed, standing up to examine the bird to see if it was still breathing. Errol opened a bleary eye and hooted feebly at her, sticking out its leg. Ginny hastily untied the package, and Harry picked up the owl to give it some water.

“It’s from the twins!” Ginny said happily, noticing the triple W logo of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She opened the package gingerly — it was from the Fred and George after all — and out floated sixteen pearly pink balloons, with the words “Happy Birthday Ginny!” twinkling merrily on each of them. She retrieved a rolled-up parchment from the bottom of the box. When she touched it, it unfurled itself and the twins’ voices echoed throughout the kitchen.

“Ginger Beer!” said Fred’s disembodied voice.

“We’re the lowest of the low!” said George.

“We’re the vilest of the vile!”

“We’re the idiotest of the idiots!’

“What? ‘Idiotest’? What does that mean? That’s not a word!”

Ginny began giggling when Fred stopped his commentary to berate his brother. She saw that Harry was also chuckling quietly and shaking his head.

“It is too a word!”

“It is not!”

“It is too!”

“It is — Oh forget it.” Fred’s tone became exasperated. “Anyway, Ginny love—”

“We’re sorry that we forgot our favourite sister’s birthday!” the twins chorused.

“Sorry we can’t be there ourselves right now,” Fred apologized.

“Yes, we’re kind of indisposed at the moment,” George said.

“George, where are you?” Ginny’s eyes widened as another voice was heard, this one decidedly of the female persuasion.

“Fred darling, we’re waiting!”

Mrs Weasley’s eyes narrowed as yet another woman’s flirtatious tone floated through the air. She glanced at the family clock, where both the twins’ hands were pointing to “Do you really want to know what they’re doing right now?”

“Oh bugger,” Fred muttered.

“D’you reckon this special Recording Parchment will pick that up?” came the worried voice of George.

“Merlin, I hope not,” Fred answered in an undertone, before his voice became louder in order to cover up the suspicious background noises composed mainly of giggling and squealing. Harry and Ginny were openly laughing now, and Mr Weasley was attempting to hide his smile behind his hand. “So, Ginger pie, to make up for it, we hereby offer you these lovely balloons—”

“—all of which will presently burst to give you something of surpassing beauty, to represent our hopes that, one day, you too may become as beautiful as them!” said George.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Only Fred and George could manage to compliment and insult you at the same time.

“Best cover your ears now,” Fred advised.

“We’ll pop in tomorrow so you can thank us in person,” George added.

“Until then, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

And with a loud bang, all the balloons simultaneously exploded, covering the entire kitchen with pink and white roses. Ron and Hermione, who had just appeared at the back porch, hurried in. Hermione gave a loud gasp of awe, and Ron and Harry looked dumbfounded.

Mrs Weasley blinked and picked out a white rose that had got stuck in her hair. “Those boys!” She shook her head and gave the rose to Ginny. “Well, you have to admit, they have style.”

“What are all the roses for?” Ron asked then gave a loud yelp when Hermione stomped on his foot. “Ow! Oh, right. Happy birthday, Ginny,” he said sheepishly, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry I forgot.”

“That’s okay, Ron. I know you’re complete rubbish at remembering anybody else’s birthday except yours and Hermione’s and Harry’s,” Ginny said, smiling at her brother and her best friend, whose face was a very charming shade of pink. How could she be mad at Ron when he looked so happy with his arm around Hermione? She looked up and caught Harry gazing intently at her. She waited for him to greet her too, but he kept silent. Ginny turned to her mum to hide her disappointment.

“We’d better gather all these roses, Mum, before we drown in them,” she said nonchalantly, bending over to collect some of the numerous blooms.

“I’ll take care of it, Ginny,” Mrs Weasley offered. Taking out her wand, she transfigured several old tea cups into elegant clear cut glass vases. She pointed her wand at the flowers and they arranged themselves gracefully in the vases. She waved her wand another time, and all but one vase — which flew to the windowsill — disappeared. “There, I’ve sent the rest of them to your room. Now, as it’s getting quite late, I think you should get to bed, the lot of you. We’ll have a proper birthday party tomorrow, my dear, I promise.” She patted Ginny’s arm affectionately. “I’ll make you a special breakfast, all right?”

“Thanks, Mum,” Ginny nodded, hugging first her mother, then her father, before bidding them both a good night.

Hermione, Ron and Harry also murmured “Goodnight”, and the four of them turned to trudge up the stairs. When they got to Ginny’s door, Hermione kissed Ron softly on the cheek and made her way into the room. Ron drifted clumsily up to his room below the attic, a goofy grin on his freckled face, leaving Harry and Ginny alone in the darkened hallway.

Ginny’s senses seemed to have become heightened as she stood close to Harry. She could hear the faint clatterings from Percy’s room where Aunt Tessie and Uncle Bertram were still apparently trying to revive Dodo. The heady fragrance of roses wafting out from the open door of her room made her quite lightheaded, and she was very conscious of the intoxicating nearness of the black-haired, bespectacled boy of her dreams.

“Well,” she said, as Harry silently stared at her with those startling green eyes. “Good night, Harry. See you tomorrow.” She turned to go but was surprised when he gently caught her wrist.

“Ginny,” he said softly, turning her hand to hold it in his own. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise that it was your birthday today.”

“That’s okay, Harry. I’m glad I got to spend it with Hermione, Ron and you.” Ginny marvelled at the warmth of his hand on hers. “Especially with you,” she added shyly, peeking at him from under her lashes.

“I’m glad, too. Today was one of the best days of my life, particularly that part when we were at the pond together, and you were in that new bathing costume of yours. Thank Merlin for Hermione and her brilliant gifts, right?” He smiled cheekily at her blush and gave her hand a small caress with his thumb, making her shiver even though the night was warm. “But still…”

He fumbled around for his wand, gave it a little flick and conjured up a rather squashed-looking chocolate cupcake floating in mid-air. It had a single white candle on it. “Good thing I’m allowed to do magic now, yeah?” he said proudly, then whispered another spell, and the candlewick sputtered to life, its tiny flame reflecting off Harry’s glasses. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I don’t have a gift for you, Ginny, but…”

She looked up at him to see his emerald gaze on her mouth before his eyes drifted up to meet hers, and she read the unspoken question in them. She nodded mutely, feeling a thrill of anticipation run through her entire body as Harry slowly lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and all she could think of was that Harry was kissing her, kissing her in front of her room in her mother’s house, kissing her like that, and this was absolutely the greatest birthday ever.

As Harry’s mouth moved over hers, sending the most marvellous sensations racing up and down her back and causing a dizzying explosion of lights in her head, Ginny dimly thought that not only was this the best birthday ever, but Harry was undoubtedly the most fantastic kisser in the world.

When they finally, reluctantly, broke apart, he grinned at her and said, “Wow. I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you this morning when you came out of the bathroom.”

Ginny giggled, feeling weak in the knees. “Are you mental? I looked awful, Harry! My hair was sticking out all over the place like a banshee!”

Harry brushed a strand of her hair off her face, gazing at her intently. “You looked wild and untamed and absolutely stunning. I always think you’re beautiful, Ginny.”

She felt a warm glow at his words. He thought she was beautiful!

“And to be completely honest, I’ve actually wanted to kiss you since the middle of last school year.”

“What?” Ginny’s eyes opened wide in shock. She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. “Well, you better start making up for all that wasted time, Harry.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry said obediently, laughing as she arched her eyebrows at him. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her again, this time a bit more ardently. Ginny slid her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with equal fervour. Both of them were breathless when the kiss ended.

“That was totally brilliant, Ginny.” He sighed happily, then grabbed the cupcake and held it out to her. “Now go on, make a wish before this candle burns out.”

“Oh, there’s no need for me to do that, Harry.”

He looked puzzled. “Why not, Ginny?”

She placed one hand on his cheek. “Because,” she whispered softly as his mouth slowly curved into a brilliant smile, “it already came true.”

*end*

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