Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the immediate plot!

Author's Note: So, here I am – I'm back for some reason I do not know of. Nonetheless, I felt the urge to write something other than English papers. Yep.

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The Daily Prophet

February 1, 2000

Looking for Love?

Please owl Maggie Blackburn for more information about these lovely lads!

Today's Bachelor #1 is twenty-four years old, attended Hogwarts as a Ravenclaw, and is currently a freelance writer. He believes his best subject was Charms, but he also possessed a penchant for Potions. His hobbies include carpentry, swimming, and scrap-booking. This gorgeous young man has luscious brown hair and sensual lips waiting to be captured by the kiss of love.

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I raise my eyebrows at The Daily Prophet. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Blind dating, I mean. A lunatic must have written the dating section of the newspaper. After all, who wants to date someone who liked Snape's class? And who wants to date a man who likes scrap-booking? And who wants to date someone who is a writer – they're usually a bit loony.

I tuck a stray lock of my carrot-resembling hair behind my ear and continue to the next ad.

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Today's Bachelor #2 is also twenty-four, but this blond prince attended Salem School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the United States. He recently moved to England – so yes, he still has that sexy American accent – and is currently teaching Quidditch. He aspires to open his own Quidditch academy. His hobbies include gardening, swing-dancing, baking and of course, Quidditch.

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This is ridiculous. Maggie Blackburn really is a lunatic – a raving one at that! I wonder if she screens the "lovely lads" who submit their profiles for the ads. My guess is that she doesn't, because both of these bachelors are rather… feminine, if I say so myself.

I have nothing against Americans (They do have quite sexy accents), Quidditch players (They usually have nice muscles), or cooking men (Who doesn't like good food?), but that was where the masculine qualities of Bachelor #2 ended rather abruptly. Gardening? Swing-dancing? And baking? Indeed, cooking is one thing; baking is another.

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Today's Bachelor #3 is a smashing, dark-haired twenty-one-year-old who attended Hogwarts as a Gryffindor. This darling has always been skilled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, is a professional Quidditch player, and desires nothing more than a down-to-earth girl to keep him company. His hobbies include reading, watching the stars (This one's a romantic!), and most recently, sculpting.

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I feel my eyes widened.

Three must be a lucky number, because this one has potential. Apparently, he's looking for someone down-to-earth. That would be me. Some (like my inner mind) call me plain, but Mum calls me beautiful. Therefore, the happy medium is down-to-earth.

Hermione has always said that reading breeds intelligence. And stargazing is slightly reminiscent of Trelawney, but it really is quite romantic as long as it doesn't interfere with the man's sanity. Oh – and sculpting is pretty "exotic," as the wonderful Maggie Blackburn would put it. And Defense Against the Dark Arts? It's always nice to have a protector, even though Voldemort is non-existent now. And to be quite honest with myself, I have consistently preferred dark-haired men. Michael. Dean. Most recently, Brian. And of course, Harry.

Shoving thoughts of a certain dark-haired wizard out of my head, I grab my quill and a piece of paper.

Dear Ms. Blackburn – scratch scratch scratch. Nope, too personal.

To Whom It May Concern: - scratch scratch scratch. Eh, too formal.

This is harder than I thought it would be.

Ms. Blackburn,

I am writing to inquire about Bachelor #3 from February 1st.

Please and thank you.

Sincerely,

Ginny Weasley

What am I thinking, really? I'm not quite sure. Blind dating is really not my thing – not that I've had any previous experiences with it. Actually, dating in general has never been my thing.

I have had quite an unfortunate history with boys. Michael was an immature attempt at having a relationship, Dean was too busy dealing with his teenage hormones to pay much attention to anything other than my mouth, and Brian seemed to have trouble controlling his interest in the female species.

So here I am. Twenty years old, working as an architect, single, and "becoming an old maid," as Mum says. I personally don't see anything wrong with being an "old maid," nor do I see myself as an "old maid" at twenty, but even if I don't really want to date someone through a newspaper ad, I guess I do need a date to Ron and Hermione's wedding in two weeks.

I fold the piece of paper and tie it to my owl's leg.

"Drop it off at The Daily Prophet office, Belle."

Well, that's that. If worst comes to worst, Bachelor #3 will turn out to be a serial killer and I will die. Actually, that would be pretty bad. But I doubt that will happen. So if worst comes to worst, I will simply have no date to the wedding. I won't really mind. In fact, I'll be relieved.

As if on cue, the lock turns on the door of the flat that Hermione and I share. I hear the voices of my favorite brother and my favorite person – my youngest brother's fiancé.

"Ron, would you quit pushing?"

"I would stop if you would walk faster!"

"Is a box of silk flowers and centerpiece pots really that heavy?"

"Yes, dear, if your fiancé insists on buying two billion flowers and just as many pots."

"I didn't buy two billion! You're exaggerating!"

My favorite person and her fiancé can be quite entertaining when they are standing in my living room bickering, and one of them is holding a box while complaining about how unbearably heavy it is.

Ron's face begins turning red – that's usually the signal that the fight is about to get ugly – as he opens his mouth to argue.

"Hello there!" I say cheerily.

My favorite person and her husband-to-be finally realize that I'm in their benign presence.

"Ginny! We were just talking about you before Ronald started complaining about how heavy a silly little box is," Hermione says.

"Excuse me! First you call me an exaggerator, and then you say that our wedding centerpieces are silly?" Ron huffed.

"Er, I don't mean to interrupt any sweet exchange between you two, but I think you could solve the problem if Ron would just, you know, put the box down," I interject.

Hermione begins chuckling silently, and Ron's ears turn bright red. He drops the box unceremoniously.

"I need to use the bathroom," my brother mumbles as he charges out of the living room.

I smile at Hermione.

"I guess the wedding shopping was pretty interesting, wasn't it?" I ask, already knowing the answer is affirmative.

My sister-in-law-to-be returns my smile and collapses onto the couch.

"Yeah, it was interesting, to say the least."

Hermione's face lights up, and I'm worried. The last few times her face has done that weird glowy thing have been when she's tried to hook me up with some blokes in her department at the Ministry. I groan inwardly.

"It was interesting, actually. Ron and I were just discussing how many wedding guests the Burrow could hold. We've invited all of our close friends, but then I realized that our friends will be guests. You know, counterparts," Hermione explains.

"Otherwise known as dates," I conclude for her. I sense a migraine.

"Correct. I knew you would understand. We even put 'Please bring a guest' on the invitation." Hermione's face seemed to glow even brighter, if that was possible.

I knew what she was hinting at.

"So basically, you want me to bring a date."

Hermione clapped her hands together. "Exactly!"

A thought – one of those light bulb kind of thoughts – popped into my head.

"But I'm your maid of honor. I can't bring a date, because he'll end up sitting in the audience alone. It would be quite rude of me to just leave him in the crowd for an hour, wouldn't it?" I try to weasel my way out of bringing a date.

Hermione bites her lip.

"Well, yes, but that's how things always are. Bridesmaids are still expected to bring guests to the weddings," she replies.

Drat.

I'm probably going insane, or maybe I just don't want to be attacked by Hermione for being anti-dating, but I feel my lips move and hear my voice say, "Of course. I'll have a date. He'll be there."

Hermione beams and throws her arms around me.

"Oh, Ginny, the wedding will be perfect!"

Perfect. Just perfect.

I hope worst doesn't come to worst.