Godric walked through the large stone corridor of the upper castle into an
immense, Victorian ballroom; one of the many rooms in the mansion. He
smiled slightly as he saw her standing, her back encased in yellow
dressing, facing him. She looked out the window absentmindedly.
His black boots echoed slightly off the far walls and she turned around, her golden hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. She gave an affectionate smile, showing all her sparkling white teeth. She was truly beautiful.
He noticed she had a worn book in her lap; it must be the Prophecy.
"Is that it?" he asked her, gesturing to the book with his right hand. She nodded.
"Tis nearly finished." She opened the front cover and he walked over to her, taking the book from her grasp and read the neat, loopy writing on the yellowed pages. Godric sighed.
"I wish it could be all of us," he said wistfully. Helga touched his shoulder warmly.
"He does not harness the power as you do," she told him quietly. He took her hand in his as he followed her past gaze out of the large glass window covering the south wall.
"I hope he does not turn." But Godric knew, deep within his soul, that he already had.
* * *
It was a day like any other early June day; Ginny woke to the sound of sparrows chirping madly and the sun just above the horizon of hilly forest sides. But despite the beautiful, harmonious morning that had just begun, she was still a cranky fifteen year old who would much rather sleep in until twelve, and her incredibly odd dreams weren't helping matters.
Nevertheless, she rubbed her red, puffy eyes with one weak fist and rolled her tongue in a yawn, licking the old dew off her lips from sleeping with her mouth slightly open all night. She shuffled across her hardwood floor and out the door, thudding gracelessly down the steps and into the cramped kitchen where an amazing and horrible surprise was waiting for her.
With her eyes barely open and her hair about six times larger than it normally was, she certainly was not expecting to see Harry Potter sitting at the table gnawing at a piece of buttered toast absentmindedly. Hoping beyond hope that he hadn't seen her, she raced back up the stairs as quickly as she had come down and slammed her door shut with a bang.
Harry stared, looking up at where he had heard the door slam above him, a blank expression on his face.
"It's Ginny," Ron said, pouring some more orange juice into his chipped glass mug. "What do you expect her to do, come downstairs with Fred's boxers on her head and ask you to dance?" Harry grinned slightly out of the corner of his mouth.
"Of course not. It's just. It's been five years and I come over here nearly every summer," Harry said, picking at his third helping of scrambled eggs. Ron stared at him.
"At least she's not being forward and asking you to snog behind the oak tree," Ron retorted, making Harry blush slightly.
"Are you going to eat that?" Ron asked, pointing to his eggs. Harry shook his head.
"I'm full. Here, take the bacon too," Harry added, spooning the generous remains of food onto Ron's plate. He dug into them greedily.
"I don't see how you can eat that much and stay so bloody thin," Harry told him. It was true; Ron hadn't seemed to have gained a pound since Harry had met him in his first year, even if he had grown a few feet or so.
Harry himself wasn't doing too badly, either. His hair was still black and untidy, his eyes still neon green, but his body had become fuller and he had grown a few inches himself since the past summer.
A few moments passed in which Harry watched Ron wolf his breakfast down noisily. And then, as if on cue right as Ron licked his plate savagely like a wild best and wiped his mouth with a dishcloth, Harry heard a much more radiant thump, thump, thump coming from the stairs.
He turned in his wooden rotating chair and saw a much different Ginny padding down the stairs. She had obviously charmed her hair to make it straight and sleek, and she was now wearing a second hand, but pretty, light green summer dress.
She had gotten tan in the week or so that they had been off school, her freckles looking fainter than at the castle. Her hair was about elbow length and it had, if anything, gotten even redder. But her smile was the same. It was the same smile that lit up her pretty and usually pale face with light.
Her feet were encased in light blue flip-flops that made an airy kind of noise when she walked.
This time as the trotted down the narrow hallway, even though Harry thought he could see a hint of a blush on her cheeks, she sat down gracefully beside Ron and nibbled on a piece of toast from a wooden platter in the center of the island.
"Hi Harry," she said, not looking at him.
"Lo, Gin," he replied happily. She gave a nervous smile. Ron, not taking notice of this, drank the rest of the juice from his mug and wiped his mouth on his sleeve rudely. Ginny glared at him for a moment before noticing that Harry was still looking at her.
"Where's mum?" she asked. Ron shrugged.
"I dunno. The store's my best guess." Ron gave a sly grin. "But, as long as she's not here, the clearing in the wood is always open for a little practice.," he said mischievously.
"Ron, you know we're not supposed to go there without mum casting a sealing spell on it," Ginny said, reminding Harry of Hermione. Just to be safe, he wasn't going to say anything in case a sibling rivalry (in their case, war) was on its way.
Ron rolled his eyes and, to Harry's joy, ignored her instead of retorting back. But Harry had a strong feeling that they were most likely going to practice after breakfast, anyway. He merely glared at her, his blue eyes tiny slits in his freckled face.
* * *
Ginny, against her will, had stayed inside the house to wash the boys' dirty dishes as they undoubtedly snuck off to the woods from the back door. She glared through the window and into the grass, as if it had offended her.
She scrubbed with the scouring pad into an old china plate with great strength, accidentally scratching the paint off. She finally stopped scrubbing when she heard an er, er, er like the sound of someone scraping their nails against a chalkboard coming from the one she was currently working on.
Finally, as she saw the tip of Harry's broom stick appear out of thin air from underneath his invisibility cloak, she slammed the mutilated plate on the table with a loud thwack and removed her rubber gloves, running up the stairs.
She opened the door to her slightly slanted, oval shaped room with blue, flowered wallpaper that she had picked out herself. She walked over to her dresser, opening the first drawer and yanking out some denim summer shorts and a yellow tank top.
It was a bit of a waste, she thought, to have made herself over, charming her hair and showing off her best dress, to just yank them off again. But she guessed that Harry would be more interested in her flying skills than her looks.
She unbuttoned her dress and through it aside, pulling the top over her head and the shorts onto her hips. She slipped back on her flip-flops haphazardly, grabbing the old shooting star he rounded corner of the room and ran through the door in frenzy, eager to show off her Quidditch skills even if it was with a crappy broom.
* * *
"Here we are," said Ron happily, slipping the sweltering invisibility cloak off of him and Harry, who was standing beside him, Firebolt in hand. Sweat was pouring down his face, but he knew that once he got up in the air things would definitely cool off.
"Oh shit," Ron mumbled beside him.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I left the Quidditch balls in the house. Now, Ginny's gonna have a fit," he said, slapping his sweaty forehead.
"Great. So now we're stuck in the middle of an old Quidditch pitch surrounded by trees in the bloody hot middle of nowhere," Harry said sarcastically, much unlike himself. But he couldn't help it; the one hundred eleven degree weather was enough to get under anyone's skin.
"God, Harry- if I didn't know better, I'd say you sound like M-," but a voice behind him cut Ron short.
"Alright, you wooses, now we're stuck in the middle of an old Quidditch pitch surrounded by trees in the bloody hot middle of nowhere, with Ron's sister and all the Quidditch supplies I could dig out of our attic," Ginny said with a large, wooden trunk under her right arm, her other grasping a shooting star.
Harry scanned her over; she looked and acted quite differently than she had when they were back in the house. She was wearing old, faded denim shorts, and a wrinkly yellow tank top. Her hair was done up in a messy pony tail and her expression was a mix of eagerness to get in the air and a hint of sarcasm that Harry had never seen there before.
He watched her mounted her broom in takeoff position, and look behind her shoulder at Ron- who wasn't used to Ginny being so forward around his friend- and Harry, who was gaping at her. Ginny, fighting another blush, kept her cool.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked, kicking off the ground and soaring into the air, her toes brushing the tops of the elm trees.
"you know what?" asked Ron looking at Harry, both of the mounting their brooms.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I think she just asked you to snog behind the oak tree."
* * *
Harry stared in awe as he watched Ginny loop and swirl around in the air with perfect acquisition, and the fact the she was riding a shooting star made it all the more spectacular. Her fiery red hair whipped around in the ponytail holder behind her and he could hear the wind whistling as she cut through it at a tremendous rate.
Harry pulled his Firebolt forward so that he was only a foot away from Ginny; she glanced over at him and flashed an impish smile. Harry followed her swerve behind an apple tree and back on the course again.
Again and again, Ginny would weave through branches trying to lose him. After a few minutes, however, when she was in the lead by a few feet, she stopped her broom and wheeled around to face Harry.
What the hell was she doing? Ginny waved to him, her gin widening. Harry stared at her, dumbfounded. And after a few moments, he saw what she had done.
WHAM! Harry ran headlong into a tree branch. He sat there for a moment, his broom lowering to the ground, Ginny laughing hysterically.
"Ouch," he mumbled, falling spread-eagle onto the grass, his glasses askew. Ron pulled down beside him, followed by Ginny.
"Harry, all you alright?" Ginny said through giggle. Ron shot daggers at her. Harry lay there for a moment, staring at the sky.
"Wow," he said. "Good move. I'll have to use it against Malfoy in the flying turtles tournament." Ron rolled his eyes.
"Ginny, now you've gone and done it. You've knocked him bonkers." Ginny rolled her eyes.
"He'll be fine. Harry, get off the ground. We're not going to carry you home," she said, walking towards the clearing.
Ron looked at Harry and shrugged his shoulders.
"She can get fierce," he said, looking at Ginny as she opened the wooden gate to the pitch.
"No, she can get gamey," Harry replied, fixing his glasses.
* * *
Inside the house, Ginny was sitting of the overstuffed, pale green sofa in the living room, turning the knobs on a wizard radio. Ron said something to Ginny that Harry couldn't here, and she glared at him with sharp cinnamon colored eyes. He wondered if it had to do with him.
He opened the glass door, rubbing his forehead where a lump was forming. Ron didn't seem to notice him.
"God, Gin, if you fancy him that much.," Harry made a noise in his throat and blushed. Ron turned to look at him and pulled the collar of his shirt.
"Er, Harry, do you want to go upstairs? I can show you your room," Ron said, trying to change the subject. Ginny cast a willful sideways glace at him. He shook his head at Ron.
"I think I'll stay down here." Ron shrugged.
"Suit yourself then," he said. Harry noted the strange, uneasy glance as he padded down the tiled hallway. Ginny sighed.
"Honestly," she said, shaking her head, "I don't see why you're friends with him."
"Well, he's loyal, caring, sort of trustworthy-,"
"pigheaded, stupid, obsessed with the cannons, A complete loser, and basically just one huge moron all together," Ginny cut him off. Harry said nothing and sat down beside her. She turned the poor knob on the radio more vigorously than before.
Finally, after a few moments, Ginny turned it off and set it on the ground, picking up a magazine from the floor instead. Harry watched her. She had her hair down now, and it flowed over her shoulders like grape vines.
She tapped her foot on the floor, and Harry could tell she was stalling. Her eyes flickered over to him, then back to the page, and then back to him again like a ping pong ball. She looked at his forehead where the large lump was forming and her eyes corrugated.
"Harry, your forehead," she said, setting the magazine on her lap and reaching up to his brow.
"No, really, I-.," but he stopped, aware that she wasn't listening. She put her forefinger on the weld, and Harry could feel it sinking, the pain lessening. And, after a few moments, he felt it go away completely. Ginny removed her finger, smiling at him. Harry stared at her in awe.
"How did you.," Harry said.
"It's something I've been able to do for years now," Ginny told him matter- of-factly.
"But. the Ministry.They can track it, can't they?" Harry asked, not exactly ecstatic to be in trouble with authorities again. Ginny shook her head.
"I don't understand it either, but dad says that they can only track magic that comes from a wand," she said. Harry nodded.
"I can blow stuff up as well," Ginny stated. Harry stared at her in awe.
"What did you blow up?" Harry asked cautiously, afraid that the reply might make him nauseous. Ginny giggled.
"One day when I was twelve, I looked into my stupid old talking mirror and it said that it couldn't make a sow's ear look like a silk purse. I threw my lamp at it and it busted into a million tiny pieces. The ministry had to come and pick it up piece by piece, because it kept screaming even though it was broken. It was quite creepy, really."
Harry laughed.
His black boots echoed slightly off the far walls and she turned around, her golden hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. She gave an affectionate smile, showing all her sparkling white teeth. She was truly beautiful.
He noticed she had a worn book in her lap; it must be the Prophecy.
"Is that it?" he asked her, gesturing to the book with his right hand. She nodded.
"Tis nearly finished." She opened the front cover and he walked over to her, taking the book from her grasp and read the neat, loopy writing on the yellowed pages. Godric sighed.
"I wish it could be all of us," he said wistfully. Helga touched his shoulder warmly.
"He does not harness the power as you do," she told him quietly. He took her hand in his as he followed her past gaze out of the large glass window covering the south wall.
"I hope he does not turn." But Godric knew, deep within his soul, that he already had.
* * *
It was a day like any other early June day; Ginny woke to the sound of sparrows chirping madly and the sun just above the horizon of hilly forest sides. But despite the beautiful, harmonious morning that had just begun, she was still a cranky fifteen year old who would much rather sleep in until twelve, and her incredibly odd dreams weren't helping matters.
Nevertheless, she rubbed her red, puffy eyes with one weak fist and rolled her tongue in a yawn, licking the old dew off her lips from sleeping with her mouth slightly open all night. She shuffled across her hardwood floor and out the door, thudding gracelessly down the steps and into the cramped kitchen where an amazing and horrible surprise was waiting for her.
With her eyes barely open and her hair about six times larger than it normally was, she certainly was not expecting to see Harry Potter sitting at the table gnawing at a piece of buttered toast absentmindedly. Hoping beyond hope that he hadn't seen her, she raced back up the stairs as quickly as she had come down and slammed her door shut with a bang.
Harry stared, looking up at where he had heard the door slam above him, a blank expression on his face.
"It's Ginny," Ron said, pouring some more orange juice into his chipped glass mug. "What do you expect her to do, come downstairs with Fred's boxers on her head and ask you to dance?" Harry grinned slightly out of the corner of his mouth.
"Of course not. It's just. It's been five years and I come over here nearly every summer," Harry said, picking at his third helping of scrambled eggs. Ron stared at him.
"At least she's not being forward and asking you to snog behind the oak tree," Ron retorted, making Harry blush slightly.
"Are you going to eat that?" Ron asked, pointing to his eggs. Harry shook his head.
"I'm full. Here, take the bacon too," Harry added, spooning the generous remains of food onto Ron's plate. He dug into them greedily.
"I don't see how you can eat that much and stay so bloody thin," Harry told him. It was true; Ron hadn't seemed to have gained a pound since Harry had met him in his first year, even if he had grown a few feet or so.
Harry himself wasn't doing too badly, either. His hair was still black and untidy, his eyes still neon green, but his body had become fuller and he had grown a few inches himself since the past summer.
A few moments passed in which Harry watched Ron wolf his breakfast down noisily. And then, as if on cue right as Ron licked his plate savagely like a wild best and wiped his mouth with a dishcloth, Harry heard a much more radiant thump, thump, thump coming from the stairs.
He turned in his wooden rotating chair and saw a much different Ginny padding down the stairs. She had obviously charmed her hair to make it straight and sleek, and she was now wearing a second hand, but pretty, light green summer dress.
She had gotten tan in the week or so that they had been off school, her freckles looking fainter than at the castle. Her hair was about elbow length and it had, if anything, gotten even redder. But her smile was the same. It was the same smile that lit up her pretty and usually pale face with light.
Her feet were encased in light blue flip-flops that made an airy kind of noise when she walked.
This time as the trotted down the narrow hallway, even though Harry thought he could see a hint of a blush on her cheeks, she sat down gracefully beside Ron and nibbled on a piece of toast from a wooden platter in the center of the island.
"Hi Harry," she said, not looking at him.
"Lo, Gin," he replied happily. She gave a nervous smile. Ron, not taking notice of this, drank the rest of the juice from his mug and wiped his mouth on his sleeve rudely. Ginny glared at him for a moment before noticing that Harry was still looking at her.
"Where's mum?" she asked. Ron shrugged.
"I dunno. The store's my best guess." Ron gave a sly grin. "But, as long as she's not here, the clearing in the wood is always open for a little practice.," he said mischievously.
"Ron, you know we're not supposed to go there without mum casting a sealing spell on it," Ginny said, reminding Harry of Hermione. Just to be safe, he wasn't going to say anything in case a sibling rivalry (in their case, war) was on its way.
Ron rolled his eyes and, to Harry's joy, ignored her instead of retorting back. But Harry had a strong feeling that they were most likely going to practice after breakfast, anyway. He merely glared at her, his blue eyes tiny slits in his freckled face.
* * *
Ginny, against her will, had stayed inside the house to wash the boys' dirty dishes as they undoubtedly snuck off to the woods from the back door. She glared through the window and into the grass, as if it had offended her.
She scrubbed with the scouring pad into an old china plate with great strength, accidentally scratching the paint off. She finally stopped scrubbing when she heard an er, er, er like the sound of someone scraping their nails against a chalkboard coming from the one she was currently working on.
Finally, as she saw the tip of Harry's broom stick appear out of thin air from underneath his invisibility cloak, she slammed the mutilated plate on the table with a loud thwack and removed her rubber gloves, running up the stairs.
She opened the door to her slightly slanted, oval shaped room with blue, flowered wallpaper that she had picked out herself. She walked over to her dresser, opening the first drawer and yanking out some denim summer shorts and a yellow tank top.
It was a bit of a waste, she thought, to have made herself over, charming her hair and showing off her best dress, to just yank them off again. But she guessed that Harry would be more interested in her flying skills than her looks.
She unbuttoned her dress and through it aside, pulling the top over her head and the shorts onto her hips. She slipped back on her flip-flops haphazardly, grabbing the old shooting star he rounded corner of the room and ran through the door in frenzy, eager to show off her Quidditch skills even if it was with a crappy broom.
* * *
"Here we are," said Ron happily, slipping the sweltering invisibility cloak off of him and Harry, who was standing beside him, Firebolt in hand. Sweat was pouring down his face, but he knew that once he got up in the air things would definitely cool off.
"Oh shit," Ron mumbled beside him.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I left the Quidditch balls in the house. Now, Ginny's gonna have a fit," he said, slapping his sweaty forehead.
"Great. So now we're stuck in the middle of an old Quidditch pitch surrounded by trees in the bloody hot middle of nowhere," Harry said sarcastically, much unlike himself. But he couldn't help it; the one hundred eleven degree weather was enough to get under anyone's skin.
"God, Harry- if I didn't know better, I'd say you sound like M-," but a voice behind him cut Ron short.
"Alright, you wooses, now we're stuck in the middle of an old Quidditch pitch surrounded by trees in the bloody hot middle of nowhere, with Ron's sister and all the Quidditch supplies I could dig out of our attic," Ginny said with a large, wooden trunk under her right arm, her other grasping a shooting star.
Harry scanned her over; she looked and acted quite differently than she had when they were back in the house. She was wearing old, faded denim shorts, and a wrinkly yellow tank top. Her hair was done up in a messy pony tail and her expression was a mix of eagerness to get in the air and a hint of sarcasm that Harry had never seen there before.
He watched her mounted her broom in takeoff position, and look behind her shoulder at Ron- who wasn't used to Ginny being so forward around his friend- and Harry, who was gaping at her. Ginny, fighting another blush, kept her cool.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked, kicking off the ground and soaring into the air, her toes brushing the tops of the elm trees.
"you know what?" asked Ron looking at Harry, both of the mounting their brooms.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I think she just asked you to snog behind the oak tree."
* * *
Harry stared in awe as he watched Ginny loop and swirl around in the air with perfect acquisition, and the fact the she was riding a shooting star made it all the more spectacular. Her fiery red hair whipped around in the ponytail holder behind her and he could hear the wind whistling as she cut through it at a tremendous rate.
Harry pulled his Firebolt forward so that he was only a foot away from Ginny; she glanced over at him and flashed an impish smile. Harry followed her swerve behind an apple tree and back on the course again.
Again and again, Ginny would weave through branches trying to lose him. After a few minutes, however, when she was in the lead by a few feet, she stopped her broom and wheeled around to face Harry.
What the hell was she doing? Ginny waved to him, her gin widening. Harry stared at her, dumbfounded. And after a few moments, he saw what she had done.
WHAM! Harry ran headlong into a tree branch. He sat there for a moment, his broom lowering to the ground, Ginny laughing hysterically.
"Ouch," he mumbled, falling spread-eagle onto the grass, his glasses askew. Ron pulled down beside him, followed by Ginny.
"Harry, all you alright?" Ginny said through giggle. Ron shot daggers at her. Harry lay there for a moment, staring at the sky.
"Wow," he said. "Good move. I'll have to use it against Malfoy in the flying turtles tournament." Ron rolled his eyes.
"Ginny, now you've gone and done it. You've knocked him bonkers." Ginny rolled her eyes.
"He'll be fine. Harry, get off the ground. We're not going to carry you home," she said, walking towards the clearing.
Ron looked at Harry and shrugged his shoulders.
"She can get fierce," he said, looking at Ginny as she opened the wooden gate to the pitch.
"No, she can get gamey," Harry replied, fixing his glasses.
* * *
Inside the house, Ginny was sitting of the overstuffed, pale green sofa in the living room, turning the knobs on a wizard radio. Ron said something to Ginny that Harry couldn't here, and she glared at him with sharp cinnamon colored eyes. He wondered if it had to do with him.
He opened the glass door, rubbing his forehead where a lump was forming. Ron didn't seem to notice him.
"God, Gin, if you fancy him that much.," Harry made a noise in his throat and blushed. Ron turned to look at him and pulled the collar of his shirt.
"Er, Harry, do you want to go upstairs? I can show you your room," Ron said, trying to change the subject. Ginny cast a willful sideways glace at him. He shook his head at Ron.
"I think I'll stay down here." Ron shrugged.
"Suit yourself then," he said. Harry noted the strange, uneasy glance as he padded down the tiled hallway. Ginny sighed.
"Honestly," she said, shaking her head, "I don't see why you're friends with him."
"Well, he's loyal, caring, sort of trustworthy-,"
"pigheaded, stupid, obsessed with the cannons, A complete loser, and basically just one huge moron all together," Ginny cut him off. Harry said nothing and sat down beside her. She turned the poor knob on the radio more vigorously than before.
Finally, after a few moments, Ginny turned it off and set it on the ground, picking up a magazine from the floor instead. Harry watched her. She had her hair down now, and it flowed over her shoulders like grape vines.
She tapped her foot on the floor, and Harry could tell she was stalling. Her eyes flickered over to him, then back to the page, and then back to him again like a ping pong ball. She looked at his forehead where the large lump was forming and her eyes corrugated.
"Harry, your forehead," she said, setting the magazine on her lap and reaching up to his brow.
"No, really, I-.," but he stopped, aware that she wasn't listening. She put her forefinger on the weld, and Harry could feel it sinking, the pain lessening. And, after a few moments, he felt it go away completely. Ginny removed her finger, smiling at him. Harry stared at her in awe.
"How did you.," Harry said.
"It's something I've been able to do for years now," Ginny told him matter- of-factly.
"But. the Ministry.They can track it, can't they?" Harry asked, not exactly ecstatic to be in trouble with authorities again. Ginny shook her head.
"I don't understand it either, but dad says that they can only track magic that comes from a wand," she said. Harry nodded.
"I can blow stuff up as well," Ginny stated. Harry stared at her in awe.
"What did you blow up?" Harry asked cautiously, afraid that the reply might make him nauseous. Ginny giggled.
"One day when I was twelve, I looked into my stupid old talking mirror and it said that it couldn't make a sow's ear look like a silk purse. I threw my lamp at it and it busted into a million tiny pieces. The ministry had to come and pick it up piece by piece, because it kept screaming even though it was broken. It was quite creepy, really."
Harry laughed.