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All The Tropes | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Romance Warnings: None Rating: R Reviews: 16 Summary: Harry and Ginny have been friends for so long, will anyone believe they are actually in love? They may have agreed to fake date for Ginny's protection, but what they don't realize is that it may keep Harry safe too. Hitcount: Story Total: 17805; Chapter Total: 2764 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: Sorry this has taken so long. I do have the next bunch of scenes mapped out so hoping to speed up my writing. |
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Tropes 4 There was an owl - actually, there were three owls - waiting at the kitchen window of Grimmauld Place when Harry and Ginny arrived, out of breath and staring at each other in horror. Harry jumped to let them in and each promptly dropped its burden on the kitchen table and flew off again. The Evening Prophet, already helpfully opened to the Page Six gossip column, and two magazines, each with SPECIAL EDITION marching across the front. Ginny grabbed one and read the headline. “Weasley scores off the pitch?” She gaped at Harry. “This is Quidditch Today, not some rag.” He picked up the other magazine. “LoveMagic is though, and according to it, the question on everyone’s mind is whether ‘my Quaffle has penetrated your hoop.’” He fell into a chair with a groan. “I’m going to kill your brother.” “I’ll help you,” said Ginny grimly. “Although, did you have to answer him?” “No,” said Harry shortly. “Not at that moment, at least.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, not sure if he was more upset or embarrassed. Upset won. How was he supposed to protect Ginny if he couldn’t even keep his mind focused enough to keep from blurting out in the middle of a magnification charm? For lack of anything better to do he picked up the newspaper. “What’s it say?” Ginny began rummaging through the icebox and at first Harry suspected she was trying to show how little she cared about the publicity. But as she began laying out the makings for several large sandwiches as well as the last of the leftovers from last Sunday’s Burrow dinner it occurred to Harry that they’d left the Ministry before either of them had had time to eat. “Make mine turkey, please,” he said. He flattened out the paper and began reading. Remembrance, Commemoration . . . and Love? One has to wonder exactly what it was that Merlin ordered up for the First Commemoration and Remembrance Ceremony at the Ministry this evening. Any fireworks planned for the end of the night will certainly seem dim when compared to the explosion that occurred only minutes after the event began. We don’t even need to credit an “unnamed but reliable source” for this news, not when every witch or wizard of any import personally witnessed the spectacle of one Harry Potter, newly received recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, holding hands with star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny Weasley. Ginny groaned. “I’m not the Harpies’ star Chaser; I haven’t even played a regulation match yet.” She slammed a piece of bread on top of the tower of meat and cheese she’d just made so roughly that the plate wobbled for a moment. “The team’s never going to let me live this down.” Harry put down the paper. “Are they going to be jealous?” He could imagine plenty of hurt feelings among the players who were far more senior than Ginny and getting much less attention. But she shook her head. “They know PageSix exaggerates everything; last year they wrote about that fall Kennedy had from her broom and said she was over 300 feet in the air and started dating the bloke who caught her as a thank you. Actually, she was only about 50 feet up and the referee slowed her fall. She started dating the Healer who patched her up, but not until weeks later.” She began making a second sandwich, this one more neatly. “They’re just going to tease me.” She gave him an apologetic look. “And you; it’s kind of a tradition to haze the first bloke - or witch - a Harpy hooks up with after joining the team.” She gave a little shrug. “They aren’t going to know it’s fake.” “Despite what I said, no one’s going to believe we aren’t sleeping together, are they?” Suddenly, dodging Bill when they escaped the Ministry seemed rather useless. Maybe they should have stayed, faced everyone at once, let them take their photos and ask their questions. Now they’d just have to deal with everything later. “If that’s your way of suggesting we hop in bed together to make this all more believable I have to respectfully decline,” said Ginny primly. She frowned suddenly and pointed at the fireplace. “What’s that?” Harry whipped around, wand out, and deftly grabbed the floating scroll of paper out of the air. “It’s from Gawain,” he said, relaxing. Of course it wasn’t anything dangerous; the number of people who could send anything directly to Grimmauld Place was very small. He quickly read the note before crumpling it up and lighting it on fire with the tip of his wand. Ginny pushed one of the plates of food across the table. “Let me guess, we’re in trouble for leaving early.” “Worse,” said Harry. “We’ve become even more fascinating by leaving early; Robards wants to know if I’m free to speak to someone from Charms and Hexes tomorrow.” He got up and pulled a bottle of pumpkin juice out of the icebox, frowned at it, and plunked a bottle of Firewhiskey on the table. “That’s a trade publication for magical law enforcement; if they’ve shown interest then we’re really in for it.” As much as he’d fought being held up as the Ministry’s poster boy during Fudge’s and then Scrimgeor’s time in office, this was different. He was an Auror, he respected the Ministry’s leadership now, and they could use all the good press they could get - there were still a number of wizards who thought the Aurors were overfunded and unnecessary now. Not surprisingly, the biggest criticism usually came from those who’d not participated in the War at all. Ginny had turned the Evening Prophet towards her and was silently reading the rest of the gossip column. “Whoever wrote this liked my dress, at least. Said I ‘clean up nice,’ as if that’s such a surprise.” She pursed her lips and Harry laughed. “It’s just that everyone’s used to seeing you a mess from Quidditch.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her. “Maybe that’s what I’ll tell the interviewer, that I started fancying you when I realize you clean up nice.” He let the chair legs fall back to the ground and picked up his sandwich. “Prat,” said Ginny. “I’d hex you but unfortunately we are on the same team now. If I put you out of commission then what will I do?” She poured a glass of pumpkin juice and then added a shot of Firewhiskey to top. “If you hex me in public the magazines will all suspect you’ve become a scorned lover,” said Harry around a mouthful of turkey. “I think that was the theme of one of those romance novels. They’ll all be trying to figure out who I’m shagging instead of you.” He couldn’t say why, but thinking about his and Ginny’s situation as if it was a fictional story made it feel easier somehow. As long as it felt half like a joke he didn’t have to think too much about the realities, since tonight had proved that he was completely incapable of dealing with those right now. He finished his bite of food and poured himself a pumpkin/whiskey drink like Ginny’s. “I’m sorry.” Ginny looked quizzically at him. “What for? That you’re already talking about shagging another witch?” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “I can barely fake date you; there’s no way I’m going to be able to manage sleeping with someone else at the same time - real or fake.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and she rolled her eyes conjured a napkin. “I’d expect my boyfriend to have better manners, you know.” She gave him an open look. “So what are you sorry about?” Harry sighed. “For rushing us out of the Ministry instead of facing everything head on right away.” The napkin Ginny had conjured had crimson and gold trim on it, he noticed. It was an impressive bit of magic and he said so. She rolled her eyes. “It’s from the set my mum always adds to the food baskets she sends home with us,” she said. “I didn’t transfigure anything.” She lay her hands flat on the table. “And I was rushing out along with you, so don’t take all the blame yourself.” Her mouth twitched. “I’m at least 20 percent to blame.” “Prat,” said Harry. “At least it gives us some time to get our story straight. Are you free tomorrow?” Ginny made a face. “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Sunday in preparation for our first game Tuesday. I’m not even coming to dinner Sunday. Why don’t we just talk now?” Truthfully, Harry was still feeling a little too rattled about what had happened at the Ministry to think about what else he and Ginny needed to talk about right now. He would much rather they get together in a day or two when he’d had time to think. It felt like more of a homework assignment than a case for the Aurors, and Harry had nearly always procrastinated with those. He focused in on something else Ginny had said. “Wait, you aren’t coming on Sunday? Why didn’t you tell me before now?” He heard the accusation in his voice and Ginny’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “It hadn’t come up before now,” she said coolly. “You don’t need me to be there to have dinner at my house, you know. Or do you?” “Of course not,” said Harry. “Don’t be daft.” The accusation was in his voice again and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Sorry,” he said after a second. It wouldn’t do for him to start a row; this was Ginny, for fuck’s sake. Although that was likely the problem. “I don’t know how to be more than your friend,” he admitted. He twisted the napkin in his hand, unsure how they’d moved on so quickly from joking about other witches he might be shagging. Ginny’s face softened. “Thank you for being honest, at least.” She leaned forward, her face suddenly fierce again. “Promise me that no matter what else happens, we’ll always be honest with each other.” “Of course,” Harry responded immediately. “You’ll know if I’m not, anyway. Won’t you?” Not that there had been many times he’d ever lied to Ginny; there just hadn’t been a reason before. Not that there would be now either, he reminded himself. “It’ll get easier, the more we do it,” he said bracingly. “Not . . . not lying. Faking it, I mean. Although, I guess that is a kind of lying too? Just not to each other.” Ginny’s next smile was easier. “I get it, Harry.” She picked up her sandwich again. “I think we’re overthinking things. Maybe we shouldn’t try so hard to plan things out.” She shrugged. “As far as we’ve told everyone, you just recently decided you fancy me and I even more recently agreed to date you. Maybe neither of us know where it’s going, so a little awkwardness is to be expected.” She took a bite of her food and watched him while she chewed. Harry thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “I guess that makes as much sense as anything.” He couldn’t think of a better idea, at least. He nodded again. “Actually, it makes a lot of sense. I won’t be so worried about messing up our story because we don’t really have a story.” Now Ginny’s smile was approving. “Exactly.” She leaned in and gave him a piercing look. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve had so much experience dating since Cho, and that was what, three years ago?” “But it was for almost six months!” he said defensively. “Plus four dates with Aquila Surge from Magical Games and Sports, and one with that Healer whose name I can’t remember.” “That’s what you get for asking out a witch you met when you were half unconscious,” said Ginny. “And her name was Saorise.” Harry grimaced. He’d ended up at St. Mungo’s (the first time) only two weeks into Auror training when the thrill of defeating Voldemort had worn off and the need to track down all of the remnants of his evil had become the department’s top priority. Everyone was overtaxed and uptight and treated Harry and Ron basically as fully qualified Aurors, which had nothing to do with the fact that he’d walked right into a Bludgening Hex and been knocked out. He rubbed his temple in remembrance. “I’m not sure the date was even fully over before she ran to Witch Weekly to tell them what I liked to order for dinner,” he said with a trace of bitterness. “At least if I’m dating you I know they’re going to have to work for news.” “As long as you’re a proper boyfriend, I’ll keep your secrets,” said Ginny lightly. “Otherwise I’m likely to sell the color of your pants to the highest bidder.” “As long as you don’t offer up the actual item,” he said with a laugh. “People are already going to think we’re shagging; we don’t need to give them more proof.” Ginny shuddered. “Don’t worry.” She wiped her mouth on her napkin and banished the plate to the sink. “So can I go now? I’m knackered already thinking about the training Gwenog’s going to be putting us through.” Harry stood up too even though he hadn’t finished his sandwich. “Just to be clear, you told your mum you weren’t coming to dinner Sunday before she knew about . . . us, right?” Ginny was halfway to the hearth but she stopped and turned, looking truly apologetic. “Maybe you can tell them you’re sick?” Harry shook his head. “I’m not running away anymore,” he said firmly. “But I wanted to know what to expect.” He paused. “As if I could guess what to expect from your family.” He sighed and handed her the Floo powder. “I’ll send you an owl afterwards to let you know how it went.” “As long as Bill doesn’t ask again if we’re shagging, you’ll be fine,” said Ginny soothingly. She patted his arm before whirling away in a swirl of flames. Somehow, Harry doubted that. |
| Reviews 16 |
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