Chapter 14

Clarke's Second law

The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

...

It took exactly fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes and twenty seconds to get Ginny to cool down and listen to him without making a dive for her wand.

Well, actually, it had taken fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes, twenty seconds, numerous failed apologies, a few randomly placed punches and, oh sweet Merlin, several nauseating love notes passed through the bottom of her door, some which he could make out through the whispers from her room, were read aloud by Ginny as she and Hermione gave frequent rumbles of suppressed laughs. And since Harry wasn't all that brilliant at penning his romantic thoughts the sodden Romeo way, he had to go to Ron for help and had wasted two out of those painfully long hours trying to get Ron to stop rolling on the floor with laughter.

A fat lot of help he was.

Regardless, he was determined to get her to say yes to going out with him. Alone. Just him, her and a hopefully irresistible candlelight dinner.

His hands were sweating already.

And finally when Ron emerged from the floor with carpet burns on his arms (Ha!) he said with a straight face, "Compliment her. Give her a flower or something equally nice. Eat small morsels. I learned that the hard way," he added, mumbling in a low voice. "Be a gentleman: open doors and pull out chairs. Give her a peck if she lets you but don't go too far, if you catch my drift."

The ghoul upstairs catches your stupid drift, Ron. Can you possibly say something useful for once?

But the Harry in the physical manifestation muttered a quiet "Thank you" and made his exit, cursing himself for even attempting to get advice from Ron. Hermione didn't like others opening doors for her and she fumed smoke it if anyone so much as gave her the impression that she couldn't pull out her own chair to seat herself. And no compliment would ever seep into Hermione deep enough to make her forget if she was mad at Ron. If Hermione, who mostly kept her emotions under control, behaved so, why would Ginny, a self-confessed fire-breathing dragon, be any different?

He had no idea how he was going to get her to agree, but he knew one thing: desperate times called for desperate measures. And gods, was he desperate.

***

He tracked her down hours later in the garden where she was plucking peonies for dinner. He had stalked her every move to get her alone and he wasn't going to mess this up now. Besides, nothing could be ruined in such a beautiful setting, with the wild flowers in languid bloom and the sun drifting towards the horizon-

"Take another step forward and the boy who lived will be begging for death."

OK, so maybe it wasn't all that fool-proof.

He approached her cautiously, hoping that any threats she aimed at him were generally empty.

"I'm warning you," she said, finally looking up at him.

Harry did his best to take that seriously, but he just couldn't. Not when she was standing so close to him that he could just reach out and she'd be in his arms. Not when the sunlight was reflecting off her hair, making it look a rich golden instead of the usual scarlet. Not when her eyes were all but beckoning him closer.

And who was he but a poor mortal to allow himself to be beckoned?

And earn a good kick in a the shin for that.

"What the-" he yelled, frantically rubbing his leg. "What the hell was that for?!"

He looked up at her and was surprised to find her clutching her side, laughing with glee.

She's insane. That's all there is to it. You're asking a madwoman out! Run, run now when you have the chance and hide!

"Have you lost it?" he pondered aloud, discovering slowly that her shouts her laughter were turning infectious. He succumbed; a low sound of happiness resonating from deep in his chest that he knew had nothing to do with him finding any humour in the situation (his shin was still throbbing). He just liked laughing with her.

Ginny wiped a tear off the corner of her eye and gradually stood back straight, a satisfied smirk still on her face. "Did that hurt?"

"Are you really asking?" he said incredulously.

"I like to be told I'm strong."

He snorted. "Well, trust me. You're strong."

He say her eyes glint with a mysterious sparkle as she asked him, "So what's with all those boring apology letters?"

"Boring?" he said, wounded. "I'll have you know that I meant every word I wrote. And they mean a lot to me."

"Oh, looks like I awakened the poet in you."

"There were no poems in there."

"Really? I didn't notice. I fell asleep after the second one."

He clamped a hand over his heart in mock dismay. "That hurt. You hit me deep, Weasley."

"You'll recover," she shot back as she picked her last flower. "So what did you really send those for? Besides to provide me with amusement and Hermione with ample ammunition against you."

This is it. Judgement Hour.

"I was thinking... That is... Do you want to, umm, go down to the village tomorrow night?"

"Like on a date?"

"Well, yes," he replied nervously. "Is that a problem?"

"No, it isn't. Any suggestions on attire?"

"Uh... Anything you want, I guess."

"Cool," she said and started walking away towards the house before it hit Harry. Any suggestions on attire?

Whipping to face her retreating back, he said "So does that mean you're coming?"

She turned to face him, still walking backwards, dodging the bushes as if she knew the way around blindfolded. "Do I have to hit you on the head with something to make it clear?"

He blushed again. "No. I got it."

She sent a luminous smile his way. "Good. But this time around, if I fall asleep due to utter boredom, don't attempt to snog me."

And with that she had run into the house, leaving Harry feeling a multitude of emotions at the same time. She remembered the kiss. So either she didn't want to bring it up which might mean she isn't really interested, or maybe it was just that bad.

Either way, he wasn't winning.

But he hadn't felt the need to bother with those details since he was so sure that if Ginny didn't like him already, she was definitely going to fall for him by the end of the night.

***

"What the hell do you wear on a date?!"

Ron looked up from his book (since when did he start reading anything besides Quidditch magazines?) and gave a long sigh of heavy suffering. "Harry," he said, throwing his legs over the armchair and walking towards him. "Harry, Harry, Harry. It's just Ginny. She wouldn't even mind if you turned up naked."

Harry smiled weakly. "Really?"

"Well, no. You turn up naked, I'll probably pummel you. No offense, but I'd like to keep her away from the male anatomy for a while. You know, till she gets married or reaches her fortieth birthday..."

Stop, Ron. Just STOP.

Exasperated, Harry turned to Ron and said with a violent hiss, "Ron, I finally got Ginny to go out with me. I am not going to ruin this by trying to suggest that we sleep together."

Ron pulled a face and pondered on this while Harry picked three more shirts to try. "So what you're saying is, you won't bring it up on this date..."

Harry slammed the case of his trunk and bellowed, "Her virtue is safe, you can trust me on that!"

"Fine," mumbled Ron. "She is my sister, you know. I'm still allowed to look out for her."

Slouching, Ron exited the room, leaving Harry shamefaced and feeling extremely shallow.

Harry sprinted to the door and poked his head out. "Ron, listen. I'm sorry about that. Just stressed out, you know."

Ron twisted around and gave Harry a half-smile. "I know. Take it easy, mate. It never used to be like this."

"Yeah. But that was before."

Ron walked back up to the door and leaned against the opposite wall. "Then maybe that's what you should work towards. What it used to be."

Harry instantly dismissed the idea. "Not that I don't want to take relationship advice from you. I think we're both too different now to go back to what we were."

Looking at his feet and shaking his head, Ron gave a snort of disapproval. "Whatever you say, mate. I'm going to get something to eat. Best of luck... With everything."

And with that, Ron tumbled down the stairs, and Harry was left with an entrenched sense that he was missing something here. He just didn't know what that was.

***