One Trick Pony

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I blearily open one eye. Who in the name of Merlin's filthy socks would be sending any owl at...seven am? On a Sunday, for cripes sake!

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I yawn and start to clamber out from beneath my stack of blankets. I moaned once at Christmas that Hogwarts felt a bit chilly sometimes at night and mum ends up sending six blankets. Six! Nothing like a Weasley to not do something by halves. Oh, yeah, that's right I'm a Weasley. Ginevra Weasley, to be precise, but everyone calls me Ginny, or Gin. I'm the youngest and the only girl, which is both a blessing and a curse.

Anyway, back to my rude wake up call. I look around the room to see if any of my dorm mates are aware there's an owl beating itself silly against our window, but none of them have even twitched. Lucky buggers. I've always been such a light sleeper.

I stretch my arms up high above my head and yawn as I make my way over to the window. On closer inspection of the overzealous bird I'm able to see that it's George's owl Nelly. Why he felt the need to name his teeny, tiny little bird after a fictional Muggle elephant I shall never know. Irony, I suppose. He's all about the irony. I open the window and gust of wintery air makes me shiver and goose bumps spout up all over my arms. I hate February. It's just clinging on to the winter chill and refusing to let spring take over. I presume it's just resentful that it doesn't always get the same amount of days, I mean, that constant change has got to be frustrating...right? Anyway, I digress.

I fumble for a second to relieve the owl of its burden and no sooner is the string off her foot Nelly ruffles her feathers and exits via the window again, as if she were never there. I race back to my bed and dive beneath the covers in hope that my now icy feet can regain a little feeling in them again. Once I'm settled beneath my plethora of blankets I open the note to see what George has to say.

Lovely darling baby sister,

He wants something.

I am terribly sorry for writing to you so early on this day of rest (please don't Bat Bogey me!)

I snort. Silly, George. If he was here, he'd be receiving a lot worsethan a bloody Bat Bogey Hex for waking me up this early. Why did he presume that would be his punishment? Half an hour of Tallantellegra would be more appropriate, or a well placed Stinging Jinx.

But I'm writing to ask if you could send me back that book I lent you last week. Today, if possible, please! It's quite important, I need to check a few ingredients in it before Fred and I start testing the newest products – by the way do you fancy being a guinea pig?

Um. No.

Anyway, hope you're well and causing lots of mischief (but not too much. And especially not with boys...)

I roll my eyes. Big brothers.

Speak to you soon, Gin-a-ling,

George (the better looking twin).

I laugh a little, and put the note on my bedside table. I'll just get a couple more hours sleep and then send off the book.

OOO

I'm woken later to the sound of my roommates whispering.

"Abby, quiet! You don't want to wake Ginny up, she Bat Bogey you from here to the Leaky Cauldron!"

I scowled but drifted back into slumber easily.

OOO

Finally awake, dressed and lucid, I hunt out George's book and head off through the Common Room.

"Ginny!"

It's Ron. I know it's Ron before I even turn around. And I also know that he'll be sat with Harry and Hermione. The two boys will be cramming in homework before tomorrow and Hermione will be clucking at the disapprovingly but secretly loving the fact they need her help. It's the same every Sunday without fail.

"Hey guys." I waved over at them and meant to continue my trek to the Owlery but Ron had different ideas. He bounded over and pulled me to their table.

"Ron!" I groused. "I need to send this off to George and get breakfast before they stop serving it."

He pushes aside my concerns easily. Argh, brothers.

"We'll be quick, Gin. Promise." chimed in Harry, his emerald eyes wide and puppy dog like. I may not be dating him, anymore, but the boy still knew how to tug at my heartstrings.

"Fine, spit it out." I sit at the vacant chair and look at the trio expectantly.

Hermione's hair is looking bushier than usual this morning, I notice. Maybe she forgot to use her special products last night. Or, I hope she did or I'd want some money back...

"Don't look so serious, Ginny. It's not a big problem or anything."

"Okaaaay." I, personally, didn't think I looked all that sombre, but who knows? I can't see my own face right now. I probably just look severely unimpressed.

"Well, the thing is, we're entering this duelling contest that the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor is setting up. It's extracurricular."

I nod to show I'm listening. I have a vague inclination where this conversation might be going.

"And Hermione doesn't have a second." finishes Ron.

Hermione looks at me in earnest. I can tell she really wants to do this. And I should say yes, duelling practise is always handy. Just as I'm opening my mouth to respond, Harry beats me to the punch.

"And you'd be amazing Ginny, with your Bat Bogey Hex and everything."

"Oh, Merlin, yeah," jibbers the brunette girl excitedly. "With that on our side, Gin, you know we'd win. I mean I can do all the complicated little spells and you can confuse or distract them with that!"

I feel the colour drain from my face and then two little spots of red appearing on my cheekbones.

Through clenched teeth I respond, "no."

The trio look shocked.

"And for your information, Hermione, I am very good at complicated little spells too!"

I don't give them a chance to respond. I huff out of the Common Room with my head held high, glaring at some first years who dare to look at me.

I, thank you very much, am a very accomplished witch. I really am. Defence Against the Dark Arts is one of my best subjects, and the truth is I'm great at spells, especially under pressure. I used the bloody Bat Bogey Hex twice in my whole life. Twice. And suddenly it's the only thing in my arsenal?

I'm so blinded by my internal monologue I don't notice myself careen into someone. A very tall, wonderfully scented someone.

The shock of my colliding with him sends us both to the ground. I'm sprawled on top of him, my copper hair flying everywhere.

"Bloody hell, She-Weasley!"

I know that drawl. I look down and am greeted by grey eyes, pale blond hair and the kind of face that makes angels weep. Draco Malfoy.

Crap.

I'm in such a rush to at least push my face away from his I just end up straddling him.

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley, get off of me, you're crushing me beneath your fat arse!"

Now that's too far. I know for a fact my arse isn't fat. I play Quidditch five times a week, eat healthily (apart from the odd chocolate cake at certain times of the month) and have been told my several ex-boyfriends I am completely delectable naked. By this point my already riled temperament flares and I pull out my wand. George's book is discarded on the floor beside us.

"Another Bat Bogey, Weasley?" he drawls, attempting to push me off him.

"What?" any thoughts of hexing him seem to disappear and I feel word vomit beginning to rise in my throat.

"I can do loads of things besides that stupid hex, you know, Malfoy! I can do different magic I can cook, I can fly, I can write, I can make people laugh, I can darn socks, I can dance, I can...I can..."

Before I know what is occurring Malfoy has grabbed a fist of my crimson hair and pulled my face hard down to his. His lips find mine easily and instantly I'm reeling. He tastes of peppermint and smells of sandalwood and cinnamon. I can feel his nails scratching my scalp and his other hand drifting down my back and cupping my bottom. I flick my tongue out and run it along the length of his lips. He opens his mouth a little wider and our tongues seem to dance together for a moment.

Just as I'm about to really lose myself in the moment, I find that I have been deposited on the floor in a heap. My hair is askew, my lips swollen and my shirt is creased and unbuttoned a little. Malfoy is standing over me looking deliciously rumpled. I did that, a part of me proclaims proudly. He looks at me for a second and does something I'd never have thought a Malfoy knew how to do; Draco smiles and winks at me, cheekily.

"You can kiss too, Weasley. See you around."

With his parting words Draco strides off down the corridor with, if I'm not mistaken, a definite spring in his step.

I cough, stand, and straighten my clothing. Picking up George's book, I smile to myself. I hope you were listening that, World; Ginny Weasley is not a one trick pony.

Ramble;

Just a silly little fic I wrote in about an hour. It was inspired by rowan-greenleaf.

She said: I am so, so TIRED of Ginny Weasley and the frickin Bat-Bogey Hex!

Every time it comes up in a fic I roll my eyes in disgust! Is that all she can do?

Even Harry does more than Expelliarmus all the time, signature spell or not!

Seriously, you writers, this got old a long time ago!

It's also the first time I've written Ginny in first person, so it could well be horrible – let me know your thoughts!

Tash.