Chapter 1
Wow.
Harry had never considered himself to be a particularly intellectual person, but today his thoughts had reached an unprecedented level of, well, stupidity.
"Oh, why don't you just walk over and say hi?" demanded Hermione irritably. "Unless you think women are turned on by drool…"
Harry shook his head to clear it. Hermione was right; he was practically drooling over the girl a few chairs away. He was going to do it this time. He had beaten Voldemort six times; surely he could face a member of the opposite sex. He was getting up! He was walking toward her seat! He was…walking back toward his friends.
"Dammit!" he mumbled. "Every time…"
"You'll do it eventually, mate." Ron patted him sympathetically on the back. Hermione, on the other hand, was much less understanding; she glanced at Harry, and, surmising that he had, once again, failed to make a move, rolled her eyes. "Honestly," she scolded him, "you'll never get anywhere if you…"
"…don't try, I know, I know," Harry finished miserably. "It's just that, you know…"
"No, actually, I don't," replied Hermione frankly, turning back to her homework and becoming deeply engrossed in a question about vampires.
"I have to agree with her on this one," Ron told Harry. "What's so intimidating about my sister, anyway?"
"You want it alphabetically?" retorted Harry.
"No thanks," replied Ron hastily, but Harry was no longer listening; his gaze had already wandered back to Ginny.
"I give up!" Ron exclaimed in mock despair, throwing his hands into the air. "And if you'll excuse me, I have a torture session with Snape that I simply cannot delay a moment longer." He scooped up his bag, and called, "Bye, Harry!" over his shoulder.
"Mmm…bye…" replied Harry, his brain not yet having switched from Ogling Mode into Normal Person Mode.
Ginny…even her name was perfect. It occurred to him that he didn't even know what it was short for. Virginia? Ginivra? Harry pondered the fascinating question.
He suddenly noticed the Great Hall was nearly empty. He reached for his wand and said, "Discernem horare."
Glowing pink sparks issued from his wand to form "7:30."
Harry gave a yelp of distress, shoved his wand into his backpack, and sped out of the room so fast observers could have sworn he was on his Firebolt.