"There she is!"
"Quick! Here, get behind this…"
"Ouch! That was my eye, you imbecile!"
"Sorry, sorry, but I can't move my…"
"Shhhhh!"
The two arguing voices abruptly cut off at the third's warning. As one organism, three heads—black, red, and dark brown, respectively—peeked out from behind a statue of a portly man with three fingers. The plaque beneath the statue gave a rather interesting explanation for the man's missing digits, but none of the three heads bothered to read it. Instead, the three pairs of eyes—green, blue, and hazel, respectively—focused intently on the lone shadow stretching towards them down the hallway. None of the three heads even dared draw breath as the sound of footsteps came closer.
At the last second, before the mysterious shadow turned the corner, two of the heads withdrew, and with a muffled protestation, shoved the black-haired, green-eyed Harry Potter into the corridor alone. Harry threw a dirty look at his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger as they lifted fingers to their lips simultaneously. Grudgingly, Harry turned to face the ominous shadow alone.
The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World and Vanquisher of Voldemort, felt a strangling fear penetrate his gut. He'd never been so afraid in his short—but incredibly frightening—life. Over and over again, since his first year at Hogwarts, Harry had faced numerous trials, and survived mortal peril on an annual basis. More than annual, by his reckoning. And yet, he still felt more nervous now than he ever had while battling dark wizards, taming wild beasts, or, on the rare occasion, planning suicidal exploits into dangerous situations. At the thought of suicide, Harry once again turned to his friends. Both of the traitors peered at him stonily, reminding him that they were not here to back him up; they were here to make sure he didn't run away. Harry swallowed. Harry turned back to the hall. Harry froze.
"Hullo, Ginny," he said brightly. Ron's redheaded younger sister stared back at him, puzzled.
"Uh," She looked at the floor, wondering if she'd taken a wrong turn, "Hi, Harry."
An awkward silence filled the hall, imperceptibly dropping the temperature several degrees. Harry shivered. Why was this so difficult? He'd been madly in love with Ginny Weasley for three years. Why should he be afraid of talking to her? As though sensing his dilemma, Ginny broke the silence. Harry appreciated her for it; she was always one to take the lead. It was something he truly admired about her.
"So, I know we've been a little distant this year," she offered, hesitantly.
"Yeah, I know," Harry broke down and smiled, but faltered when she didn't return it.
"Well, there's a reason for it." Ginny's cold demeanor was beginning to frighten him. Harry drew a deep breath, and stepped closer to his girlfriend. Thankfully, she didn't try to get away this time, like she had when they'd ambushed her outside the Charms hall last Tuesday. After everything they'd been through together, it hurt Harry that Ginny didn't even want to discuss whatever problem she was having with him. He was her boyfriend, after all—they needed to be there for each other like that, or so Hermione told him. He shuddered at the memory of that conversation, two weeks ago...
"Harry," Hermione had approached him one day, outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts, "I think you need to talk to Ginny." Harry's head snapped up from the tattered copy of "Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them" he'd been flipping through. He narrowed his eyes at his highly intelligent and somewhat nosy friend.
"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously. Hermione only shook her head.
"Something's up," she lowered her voice, "Ginny's been acting…strange. Haven't you noticed how she doesn't hang about anymore? While we were all so caught up in fighting Voldemort—helping the Order, and Dumbledore's Army—well, she was always underfoot. But," Hermione continued, walking with Harry into the classroom, "Ever since we got back to Hogwarts, she's barely even spoken to us. Even you! On the off chance I catch her on her way out of the common room, she always makes an excuse for ditching us, especially when you're around. I'm serious, Harry. Something's wrong."
As he took his seat beside Ron, Harry let Hermione's warning sink in. Of course he'd noticed Ginny's odd behavior. But, then again, she'd always been headstrong and independent. He'd brought it up one evening near the beginning of the term when they shared a rare moment of privacy outside the dungeons. Ginny had only scoffed at his concerns, explaining that she was incredibly busy with schoolwork because she had a lot of catching up to do, considering she'd spent her entire sixth year fouling up the Death Eater's plans at Hogwarts. However, before Harry could respond, Professor Slughorn had stuck his head out of his office and—very politely—told them to sod off and take their lover's spat to someone else's doorstep. Ginny had stormed off, her red curtain of hair swinging angrily behind her, leaving a dumbfounded Harry to stand in total shock until Peeves, ever the charmer, had dumped a bucket of freshly molted mandrake skins onto him.
Altogether, the attempt had been an utter failure. Harry could understand why Ginny would have a lot of catching up to do, but he couldn't fathom why she'd dump all the blame onto him. He hadn't been twisting her arm when she set off a load of dungbombs in Alecto Carrow's office, or when she'd painted an obscene reference to Death Eater mating rituals in the entrance hall with Harlow's Hollering Ink. Drenched in mandrake goo, Harry had wandered dejectedly back to Gryffindor tower, hoping for the first time in his life that he didn't meet Ginny Weasley there.
As soon as he stepped through the portrait hole, Ron loyally abandoned his game of Gobstones to comfort his tortured friend. They'd joined Hermione at her desk, covered in its entirety with parchment, quills, bottles of ink, and books of varying thickness. Together, they brainstormed.
"Listen, mate, I know my sister's not exactly a soft touch," Ron said, keeping his voice down, "But I've never seen her like this before. You must have done something really awful, and she's waiting for you to apologize." His eyes flickered over to Hermione, who had recently given him a none-too discrete lesson about foul-ups and apologies. She'd found his secret stash of muggle men's magazines at the Burrow over the summer, and had abruptly stopped speaking to him. Ron hadn't a clue what he'd done to earn her wrath until, a week later, he felt lonely enough to pick through the smut, only to find that she'd bewitched the pictures to berate his masculinity and honor. Horrified, Ron had rushed to Hermione's room, fallen upon his knees, and begged forgiveness, explaining that he hadn't looked at the magazines for ages. She forgave him, and ever since, they'd enjoyed a steady, mutually beneficial relationship. Harry sighed.
"You guys are so lucky," he said wistfully, interrupting a debate as to whether Ginny's current attitude was merely an extended reaction to Harry's year away. Ron choked mid-sentence and turned a violent shade of red, and Hermione giggled girlishly. The sight of them simultaneously lightened Harry's heart and crushed it. Ron recovered from his momentary heart-failure, and slapped his best friend on the back.
"Cheer up, Harry," he said consolingly, "Maybe she's been cursed! Malfoy's been creeping around again—I can't believe that slimy bugger bothered to come back. I was hoping his whole family would leave the country after the war. It's the least they could do, after you saved their son," Ron grumbled, leaning back in his chair.
"Why would Malfoy curse Ginny?" Hermione protested, ever the voice of reason.
"Revenge, would be my first guess," her freckly boyfriend shrugged, "You know, getting back at the famous Harry Potter, who spoiled all his dreams of a pureblood paradise. Ferret probably doesn't like the taste of his own medicine." They all let satisfied smiles adorn their faces-Malfoy had been welcomed back to the magically-rebuilt school with the utmost respect and honor, as was demonstrated at the Beginning of Term Feast, when a meat-pie filled with poisonous snakes had launched itself at him...from the Hufflepuff table. If that wasn't hatred, none of them knew what was.
Then, Hermione leaned forward suddenly, as though she'd remembered something terribly important. Harry and Ron leaned in closer, accordingly.
"You know, I've heard that Malfoy's quite the playboy," she whispered, and Harry's mind began to reel with possibilities: Malfoy hexing Ginny, Ginny helpless to resist his predatory advances, Malfoy's hands all over her, touching her, groping her, doing all manner of explicit things to her—he had to stop himself before he began to hyperventilate. Hermione went on, "I hear they call him the 'Slytherin Prince,'" Ron shook his head, laughing.
"That's rich," he gasped, "What is it with that lot and royalty? As if their heads weren't already far enough up their—!" Ron was cut off by the sound of Harry's body hitting the floor. He and Hermione both leapt from their chairs to their friend's side. After a round of thorough slapping, the Boy Who Lived came to.
"What happened?" he asked groggily. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.
"We were talking about Ginny," Hermione ventured, her voice delicate.
"And Malfoy," Ron piped up. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head, and he slipped into a dead faint. Hermione grabbed the nearest roll of parchment and began beating her boyfriend senseless with it.
"You are utterly hopeless!" She growled. Ron cowered behind a chair, his arms upraised as a deluge of apologetic drivel spilled out of his mouth. Hermione lifted her weapon to continue the thrashing, but a flash of red out of the corner of her eye gave her pause. She lowered her arm, and Ron seized the chance to stand up and bound over the table to relative safety. Then, they both watched as Ginny walked gingerly over to their table.
"What happened to him?" She asked, indicating Harry, "Was it his scar?" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Did you even read the seventh book?" the muggle-born witch drew her wand and summoned her potions kit from the seventh-year girls' dormitory. "Of course it wasn't his scar, Ginny. Voldemort's gone. Harry's got nothing to worry about—except you."
"Me?" Ginny seemed shocked, but was so guarded that both Hermione and Ron grew skeptical.
"Gin, I don't know what's going on between you two," Ron motioned between his sister and the prostrate form of the Chosen One drooling on the floor, "But you've got to try and work it out. Harry's my best mate, and I'd do anything to see him happy…" With a glare, Ginny silenced her brother.
"Why don't you marry him, then!" She shouted, and stomped off, out the portrait hole with only her tattered bunny-slippers and a thin nightie on. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, bewildered.
"Marry?" They both said, looking down at their poor, sad sap of a best friend.
An hour later, after Hermione had conjured up a perfect Pepper-up Potion and Ron got Harry situated in front of the happily crackling fireplace, they both waited expectantly for him to say something. He'd sipped the peppermint-flavored concoction, and glanced cautiously from one concerned face to the other. Finally, he could take no more.
"What?" Harry demanded. Hermione looked at Ron, who averted his eyes and began chucking pieces of crumpled up paper into the fireplace. She heaved a sigh, and sat down next to Harry, placing a comforting hand on his arm.
"Harry," she leveled her hazel eyes at him, "Did you ask Ginny to marry you?"
"No," Harry lied. How did they know? Had Ginny told them? Was that what was bothering her?
"For Merlin's sake, Harry," Hermione said, exasperated, "Why on earth would you do that?" Harry shrugged noncommittally. He looked up at Ron, who concentrated with such severity that Harry was forced to wonder if his somewhat academically challenged best friend had been hiding a secret talent all these years. Harry lowered his gaze morosely to the floor and mumbled incoherently.
"What?" Hermione asked.
"I said," Harry raised his voice, and Ron finally turned to look at him, "That I…that…well, I guess it just hit me one day that Ginny's the perfect girl—no, woman—for me, and that I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. She's smart, she's beautiful, she's great in…" Harry choked as Ron narrowed his eyes into icy slits, "Anyway, I love Ginny. I'd do anything for her. So, I figured why the heck not? I visited Gringotts right before school started, when we were getting all our stuff, and picked up my mom's ring." Hermione gasped as Harry drew a small, black box out of his pocket.
"Your mother's ring?" Hermione gushed, losing herself in the romance of the moment. It fell to Ron to carry on the questioning.
"So, when did you ask her?" Ron asked, and Harry was grateful that Ron had forgiven him for having referenced his sister's mastery of bedroom etiquette.
"About a week into the term," Harry replied, recalling it. He'd made sure the timing was perfect, and led her from a pleasant, if somewhat strained picnic on the grounds into the castle and up to the seventh floor corridor. As he held Ginny's hand and spoken his wishes to the Room of Requirement, it seemed that everything in his chaotic life had finally settled into normalcy. He was meant to be with Ginny. Together, they stepped into…
"You took her to WHAT?" Ron demanded, not believing his ears. Was his friend off his rocker?
"I told the Room that I wanted to go to the place where Ginny and I had our first kiss. So, the room morphed itself into that storeroom where Voldemort hid Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem." As Harry carried on with his explanation, Ron's face paled. "Of course, I'd nearly forgotten that Goyle—or Crabbe, I don't really remember; they're really just the same anyway—had set loose the Fiendfyre and incinerated everything inside."
"So, you took my sister to a burnt-up store room," Ron prompted, unsure whether he wanted to hear the rest. Hermione tore her eyes away from Lily Evans Potter's engagement ring, and listened with rapt attention. Harry, she decided after several moments, had clearly lost his mind.
"Yeah," Harry said slowly, "I tried to make the best of it, so I got down and one knee and told her everything I just told you guys—that she was smart and beautiful and funny and everything I could ever want or need in a woman—and took out the ring, and asked her to marry me." Ron just shook his head.
"Mate, you've got a way with dark wizards," he chided, "But you don't know the first thing about women." Hermione nodded her head in grave agreement.
"Of course, she said no," Harry finished miserably. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that said, clear as day, "Serves you right." Hermione began to pat Harry's shoulder once again, and she took the empty goblet out of his hands. It truly pained her—both of them—to see Harry tortured like this. They had to find a way to fix things between Harry and Ginny. If only to preserve their own sanity.
And that is how Harry had ended up in his current unbearably awkward situation. After hours of discussion, Ron and Hermione had formulated a fool-proof plan for Harry to win Ginny back. They'd put Operation: Ambush into play the very next day.
Over a week and some change, the Trio carefully tracked Ginny's movements. When the time seemed ripe, Harry and Ron left the Library and headed upstairs. It was cool and moist inside the castle on that fateful Tuesday. Harry, chilled at the prospect of another run-in with Ginny, protested as a rather insistent Ron pressed a bouquet of flowers and some assorted sweets into Harry's arms and shoved him into the empty Charms hallway. After almost two weeks of stalking Ginny beneath the invisibility cloak, which only fit two of them now that Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all filled out, they knew that she would pass through his hallway—alone—on her way up to Transfiguration after her break ended.
Sure enough, the flame-haired Gryffindor Chaser stepped into the corridor only seconds after Ron cast Harry to the wolves. Her carefree smile vanished, and she froze.
"Harry," she said warningly, "What are you doing."
"I brought you flowers," He said, lamely. Ginny placed her hands firmly on her hips.
"Oh yeah?" She mocked, "Did you pluck them off Dumbledore's tomb?" Ouch, Harry thought.
"No, I didn't," He took a deep breath. This was going to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. "I know you don't like daisies." He tried smiling at her, but Ginny only tossed her head and laughed darkly. Behind a suit of armor, Ron slapped himself in the forehead. Daises were Ginny's favorite flower.
"What in the name of Helga Hufflepuff are you talking about?" Ginny snarled, "I love daisies. Don't you remember when…" She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "This is ridiculous. Why am I arguing with you over flowers? I told you I wouldn't marry you and that's final!" And without further provocation, Ginny turned around to take the long way up to Transfiguration. Harry let his arms fall limply to his sides. The Mood Roses, an exotic species of flower that Ron had had to swap Neville Longbottom six Chocolate Frog cards for, turned a deep, mournful blue, wilting before his eyes. Ron emerged from his hiding spot, and slung an arm around Harry's drooping shoulders.
"Don't worry, mate," he said, relieving Harry of his burdensome box of sweets, "I'm sure she'll come around. Just give it time. All Weasley women are stubborn as they come; just look at my mother!" Harry fixed his friend with a withering green gaze.
"Ron," Harry said dully, "Your mother isn't a Weasley. She just married one."
"You know what I mean," Ron replied, stuffing something pink and mushy into his mouth.
Hermione suddenly appeared from a shortcut behind them, and shouted a greeting. At the sight of the roses, and then Harry's tortured eyes, Hermione forgot the congratulatory speech she'd prepared while mindlessly translating runes.
"Next time, Harry," she assured him, "Next time, we'll make sure she doesn't get away."
Now, Harry stood before Ginny once again, and faced with her glare—which was very similar to, and yet completely different from her brother's—he felt his resolve crumble. She'd just informed him that there was a reason behind her behavior; now, he would have to ask her why she'd suddenly become so spiteful, or she would go ahead and tell him anyway. Either way, he'd find out, so he chose to be proactive.
"Ginny, why haven't you been talking to us? To me? I'm not just your boyfriend, I'm your closest friend. I've told you a hundred times: I love you, and I'd do anything for you. If you have a problem, I'll do whatever it takes to fix it…" Harry launched into a list of what he'd do for her. Ginny listened patiently, but she was going to be late.
"Harry," she said gently, not wanting to hurt him too much.
"If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here for you…" Harry went on.
"Harry." Ginny said, louder than before. Really, this was getting out of hand.
"If Ron's rude to you, I'll thump him; don't think I won't…" Harry's eyes flickered to the statue.
"HARRY." Ginny said, giving him the chance to listen one last time.
"When you go to sleep at night, I'll tuck you in…" He was a locomotive; unstoppable, irresistible.
"HARRY! I'M SEEING SOMEONE ELSE!" Ginny finally shouted at the top of her lungs. Harry stopped mid-if, and stared at her, confused.
"Someone…else?" It was an alien concept to him. He simply couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Harry's face fell, and he heard Ron and Hermione bickering behind the statue: "She just said she's seeing someone else!" "It's not possible; this is Ginny we're talking about." "But she just said she's seeing someone else!" "You didn't hear her properly!" Ginny rolled her eyes.
"You heard me properly, all right," she said menacingly, "And don't think I can't hear you—Ron, Hermione! You've been meddling where you don't belong, and I'm sick of it. This is between Harry and me, so you lot can just clear off!" Ginny, who usually had a firm hold on her emotions, was beginning to lose it. It boggled her mind that she'd wasted years of her life looking up to these…buffoons. She must have been daft.
"Ginny," Hermione said, stepping bravely from behind the three-fingered memorial, "We all know you've been mad at Harry, but could you at least have it out with him before you dump him? I don't believe that you would actually start seeing someone behind Harry's back. You're better than that," Hermione took a cautious step forward, "Better than lying." Ron emerged behind her, and crossed his arms sternly.
"Oh, she's not lying, Hermione," Ron said, and there was no arguing with that tone, "My sister's many things, but never a liar." Ginny felt her ears turn red, even though he was insulting her. Fine, she thought, they can have it their way, "So," Ron continued, stepping forward to flank his unbelieving best friend, "Who've you been seeing, eh?"
Ginny fidgeted nervously. She hadn't expected it to happen like this, hadn't expected all three of them to confront her, though she should have known better than to underestimate the Golden Trio. Inseparable, people called them, with the hypnotic awe of the deranged.
"Well," Ron demanded, "Might as well get it in the open now, so Harry can forgive you."
"Forgive ME?" Ginny raged, and even Ron backed down. She reminded all three of them of Norbert(a), Hagrid's pet dragon from their first year at Hogwarts. "A face only a mother could love," was the best way to describe the scaly menace, and Harry and Hermione in particular had reason to despise the pointy little bugger. "Why would I ask HIM to forgive ME?" Ron ignored her, repeating his question.
"Did you go back to Dean?" Harry asked quietly, his green eyes meeting her gaze at last.
"No," Ginny replied defiantly, trying to be nonchalant.
"Neville?" Harry ventured. Ginny blanched.
"Are you bloody stupid?"
"Oh, Merlin," Harry buried his face in his hands, "It's that twit, Seamus!"
Then, with all the silken seductiveness of a snake, another voice joined in the tragic mayhem. Harry and Ron stood, their mouths agape, as they listened to such unfamiliar words issue from a well-known, and hated, mouth, in an equally well-known, and hated, drawl. Hermione, being the only one present (Ginny aside) not impaired by testosterone-fueled mystification, drew her wand.
"Put that thing away, Granger," the voice said lazily as a tall form, too gangly to be considered muscular and far too man-pretty to carry the title "handsome," stepped from behind the corner. "Potty, Weasel," Draco Malfoy nodded to Harry and Ron as he advanced toward Ginny, who turned to him and smiled warmly. She enjoyed watching her now-ex-boyfriend and git of an older brother struggle to reattach their dangling jaws enough to speak. They both failed, miserably.
"Ginny and I are together," Malfoy stared at the bewildered Gryffindors coolly, "And I would prefer that you not harass her at every turn for making the best decision of her life." Harry reached into his robes, but Hermione's hand on his shoulder reminded them of where they were. They were at Hogwarts, not on a battlefield, and Draco Malfoy—though utterly repellant—was not a dark wizard. Well, not anymore. Harry wondered if Malfoy's past would excuse Harry's murdering him before the Wizengamot. Harry relaxed, and let his arm fall numbly back to his side. Probably not, he decided.
"Ginny," Harry turned to the girl he'd asked to marry him—foolishly, yes, but sincerely, "Is this what you want?" Ginny nodded enthusiastically, and Harry's heart broke a little more. "Are you happy?" She nodded again, looking lovingly up at Malfoy, who smirked at her with that pathetic excuse for a genuine smile. "You're not under some kind of curse?" Harry asked at last, feeling light-headed. Ginny rolled her eyes, and began to twirl her finger across Malfoy's slender—and very likely hairless—chest.
Harry nodded, and turned to face his two best friends. Their faces mirrored his own dismal sense of betrayal. He stared at them for several seconds before his eyes flew upwards and they both reached out to catch Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World and Vanquisher of Voldemort, as he slumped in a dead faint. As he and Hermione slung Harry between them, Ron turned back to where his sister stood, wrapped around the vile Malfoy.
"You'll pay for this, Malfoy," he said, deadly quiet, "I swear it on my brother's grave."
For a moment, Ginny's eyes seemed to glaze over, remembering Fred falling to the floor, victim of an explosion. Then, she noticed Ron glaring at her, and looked away. Without another word, the Golden Trio retreated down the hallway, leaving Ginny and Draco Malfoy alone. The moment they disappeared around a corner, Ginny pushed herself away from the Slytherin Prince and began primping her hair.
"That went well," she remarked, adjusting her robes. On the other wall, Malfoy had his back to her, dusting himself off. Slowly, he drew a long red hair from off his sleeve, and discarded it.
"Better than expected, I'd wager," he replied, drawing a small bottle of Wulf Wilhelm's "Pure Ecstasy" ("When the witches start to scream, don't be alarmed; it's the scent of a Wilhelm's wizard that's got their senses charmed.") and began to spritz his neck and chest. "I didn't think I'd ever have the pleasure of seeing Potter break down like that; savior of the wizarding world my arse," Malfoy chuckled, and turned to face Ginny.
"Malfoy," she crossed over to him and peered up at his lean, pale face, "You're an insufferable git."
"And you're a filthy blood-traitor, whose father should be locked in a muggle loony bin."
"See you tomorrow?"
"Most definitely." Malfoy began to leave the way he came, but paused, "And in the future, try not to get so close to me, Weaselette. Wilhelm's isn't cheap, but I guess you already had that figured out." He trotted down the side passage, humming the Wilhelm's jingle. Ginny listened until his voice died away, and then let out a deep breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Then, finally alone, she drew a tattered photograph out of her breast pocket. There were dark brown rings crusted on it where she'd spilt her coffee one morning. In the photo, a disgruntled image of herself in miniature ducked in and out of the frame, trying to find a way to get around the coffee stain to Harry's image on the other side.
"Incendio," Ginny muttered, drawing her wand. Within seconds, the photo crumbled to ash,
One down, she thought, replacing her wand in her satchel, two to go.