DISCLAIMER: Yes. Of course. Because after all this time, I've got the rights...Ehm. Not.
A/N: Because I was bored. Just another "What if?" sort of thing set in CoS. Oh, and since I've had two friends point it out to me so far: If in the beginning Ginny seems OOC for CoS, I figured, given Ron telling Harry that she "never shuts up, usually", the shy, quiet, elbow-in-the-butter-dish Ginny is just for Harry. So she'll be spunky in the beginning like in later books, but her character will become more recognizable as the "second book Ginny" when she actually meets Harry. Enjoy! R&R
Perhaps midnight was rather a dramatic time for a secret rendezvous to attempt a rather foolish "rescue mission," however to the three youngest Weasley males, it seemed fitting.
Ron grumbled predictably as Fred pinched, poked, and otherwise coaxed him out from his warm cocoon of quilts, stumbling around to locate sweaters, jeans, and his wand - just in case.
The twins and Ron tiptoed their way down the dark staircase and through the maze of objects that stood between them and the kitchen. As they hurried into the kitchen and closed the door softly behind them, they felt some relief - if they could get out of the house they were home-free, and the door was just there...
There was no chance that they'd be -
"You know, if you want to plan something like this rubbish, I'd suggest you don't do it in full earshot of your sister, yeah?"
- Caught.
"Ginny!" Ron squeaked. "We were just, um..."
"- Getting some water. We couldn't sleep, and -"
"Oh, belt up. Don't you give me that, you prats! Ron sleeps like a rock, I heard him snoring not five minutes ago. And there's no way you all just happened to be up at the same time. Besides, I told you - I heard you all planning."
"You'd better not tell Mum, Ginny - we're going to get Harry from his Muggle relatives, and you wouldn't want to botch that up, would you, Gin-kins?" Fred said, waggling his eyebrows playfully.
"I won't tell Mum," Ginny said in a fierce whisper, "but you'll get caught anyway if you go on with that plan of yours."
"What's wrong with it?" George asked, knitting his eyebrows in offence.
Ginny scoffed. "Oh, just about everything. First off, even if you do succeed in flying the car from here to Surrey, and back, the sun will just barely be rising. That is, if this goes off without a hitch. Which, it probably won't. Mum may not be up by then, but even if you all are able to get here and up to your beds without anyone noticing...how do you plan on explaining the sudden appearance of Harry bloody Potter tomorrow morning?"
The three boys shifted uneasily, mumbling nonsense about Harry coming up with an excuse.
Ginny sighed.
"Okay, here are our choices. One, we get him and take the heat. Two, we get him and tell Mum and Dad that Ron gave him directions to the house and his Uncle drove him here. Which is, admittedly, pretty pathetic, but it's better than nothing. What do you say?"
"Well, first of all," Ron said, "we are not going anywhere. You are going back to bed and keeping your mouth shut. But I guess we can try the second one," he added grudgingly.
"Come off it, Ronnie," Fred said. "She can come. She's up, she had the better plan, and she's a better prankster than you," he teased.
George nodded. "Yeah, Gin, you want to come?"
"Nope," Ginny said sarcastically. "I'm perfectly content to sit here on my bum and wait for you idiots to muck things up."
Fred grinned. "Right, then, that's settled. Let's get going!"
And with that, he grabbed Ginny's hand and the lot of them trooped out to the rusty old powder-blue Ford Anglia.
It was soon concluded that the only way to keep the car safely in the air was to all help keep Fred (and each other) awake.
Singing proved useful, because not only did George make a point to all but scream in his twin's ear, but Ron's voice sounded a bit like a Kneazle dying in a hailstorm.
"Bloody hell, Ronnie!" Fred groaned as Ron belted out unashamedly. "If you're going to sing, don't do it in Mermish!"
Ron "harrumphed", but George continued singing, prodding Ginny, who was currently too involved in a huge, satisfying yawn to even murmur the lyrics.
"Can you dance like a hippogriff? Na na na, na na na, na na na!" George continued, oblivious.
"ENOUGH!" Ron bellowed finally.
"But Ronnie," George whined, "how are we supposed to keep Freddie awake, if not for your horrible singing?"
"Poke him," Ginny suggested unhelpfully.
"Yeah, lets," Fred piped up in caustic enthusiasm.
"We're almost there, anyway," Ron said, pressing his nose to the glass of the window in what Ginny reflected would be a rather disturbing picture if she were on the outside of the car.
"Budge up, Ron," Ginny said, wriggling until she could see out the window too. What she saw was breathtaking.
"Ooh," she breathed. The city they were flying over was a crisscrossed spider web of a map, goldenrod lights curling through it like drops of early-morning dew. A few cars scuttled like spiders through the mostly-empty streets, their headlights like glowing eyes.
Slowly, they entered Suburbia, the shops and roads becoming fewer, the houses becoming cookie-cutter and painfully tidy.
George frowned, peering out the windshield.
"Now, Privet Drive should be...somewhere around here," he said a little lamely.
Ginny shot him a scathing look. "Oh? Care to elaborate, O High Prankster King?"
"Oi! What am I, then?"
"My trusty advisor and servant," George proclaimed, puffing out his chest like a blowfish and grinning cockily.
"Ahem," Ron interrupted pointedly, peeling his nose off of the window to survey his siblings with annoyance. "We have a problem."
"And no way to solve it but the slow way," Ginny added mournfully.
"And what would that be, sister of mine?" Fred queried.
Ginny shrugged. "Drive around till we find it?"
Ron groaned loudly. "You're kidding!"
"Well, who's the one that never got proper directions?" Ginny countered.
"It's not my fault! He hasn't answered a single letter I've sent him this summer!"
Ginny frowned. "Well, that's troubling," she murmured thoughtfully. "But anyway!" she said louder. "If you want to get back for breakfast, we'd better get started."
"Drive," Ron urged Fred immediately at the mention of the morning meal.
It didn't take but a half hour and six close calls with Muggles for the four to locate Privet Drive.
"Tell me you at least know the number," George said anxiously to Ron.
"Yeah, we don't want to go peeping in folks' windows, right?" Fred added, looking as though he might like to.
"It is number...ehm...Four. I think. You know, he might have said two..."
"Ron!" three voices wailed.
"Four! Four! I'm sure of it," said the gangly boy hastily.
Fred slowly maneuvered the car over the immaculate lawn of the house indistinguishable from the others on the block save the large brass number four adorning the wall next to the bland, eggshell white door.
"Oh, how I'd love to let a few garden gnomes loose in that lawn," Fred sighed wistfully as George moaned in longing.
Ginny shook her head. "Some other time. Now, let's focus on finding Harry."
As she said it, she turned from her brothers to hide her widened eyes. She was about to meet Harry Potter! And, oh, she was wearing her old faded blue pajamas that used to be Ron's and a gray and emerald Weasley sweater that used to be Bill's, and had she even remembered to brush her hair?
With a furtive glance at her brothers to be sure that they were focused solely on attempting to locate the right window, Ginny reached up and yanked her fingers through her long copper mane which was tousled from sleep and George's incessant need to make sure it was sufficiently mussed up every ten minutes or so. She tugged it into a ponytail with a hair tie that had been suffocating her wrist. Wisps like tongues of flame clung to her cheeks and she brushed them off impatiently as Fred parked with a grating screech of brakes in front of a window with...
"Bars?" she said incredulously. "Bars! What on earth - What kind of people are they?"
"The not-generally-very-nice type," Fred declared with an air of great solemnity.
"Humph," was Ginny's irate reply.
Ron rolled down his window and leaned his torso out to grasp the bars.
"Oi, Mate! Harry!" he hissed to the lump of covers and head of messy black hair in the small cot in the corner of the room.
Harry muttered something unintelligible that sounded like "Du...by..." and rolled over.
"Harry!" Ron persisted, rattling the bars. "C'mon, Harry, wake up!"
"Don' wanna...go away...trying to sleep..."
"Charming," Fred said cheerfully.
"Yeah, Ronnie, he sounds just like you!"
Ginny wasn't listening. She was watching Harry throw an arm over his face, his onyx hair sticking up at all angles, his fingers splayed over his eyes and one flushed cheek.
She ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips and winced, retreating further into the shadows of the car as her brothers renewed their efforts.
What would it be like to be friends with him?
The thought came unbidden, but she frowned. Why on earth would he want to be friends with his best mate's baby sister?
Slowly, she built a resolve. She would not act foolishly. She would be friendly, because anything else was stupid and futile.
At that moment, Harry's arm flew off his face and his bright green eyes flew open wide.
Ginny took a deep breath and told herself that she wasn't a fool.
A/N: This will be a two-shot, nothing more. The next and final chapter will be up...sometime soon. No promises, no deadlines, but it WILL be up.