Disclaimer: As always, copyright's belong to J.K. Rowling, etc, etc. Marigold and Glin belong to me.
Author's note: I've gotten questions about Ron's loveless life and general non-inclusion in this story. Hopefully, if things go as planned, Ron will be popping up sometime soon, and he may even get a love interest. I'm working my tushie off on this piece, but everyday new ideas keep coming as to how to resolve certain plot problems. I'll give you one hint as for where this might be going. Pansy may be making an appearance sometime. Or maybe she won't. Maybe I'm lying.
Such is the wily and inscrutable way of me.
If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, or pleas (i.e. "I want this to happen") let me know. It just might influence future chapters.
"Tell me again why a satellite dish is out of the question."
"Minnie, this really isn't the time. Hermione and Angelina will be here any minute now."
"We'd get Comedy Central. I could watch Jon Stewart."
"And he would be..." Ginny fished for an explanation to McGonagall's mania.
"He's only the news anchor on the most important television program ever," the cat said exasperatedly.
"I'm still not seeing him as a necessity."
"Once we get the satellite dish you will. The man's hot enough he could bubble my cauldron any day."
"A. That's sick. B. No satellite dish, no television."
"But with your absolutely grotesque raise, we'll be swimming in superfluous galleons."
"My 'grotesque' raise isn't going to make a dent in the debt I'm going to be racking up. I still have to buy a dress for Hermione's wedding, and I'll have to get an entire new wardrobe. I can't be going to summits looking like I've stepped straight out of 1994. It would be disgraceful to the entire country." She continued as the cat rolled her eyes and stopped listening. "Plus, I'll probably have to rent a manor house or something. I can't exactly entertain foreign dignitaries in a flat a block away from Knockturn Alley." Ginny became close to hysterical. "I can just see the woman downstairs complaining because the French Minister takes hour long bubble baths and the plumbing's gone all leaky..."
"Fine. Go shopping." The feline shot her a warning glance as someone knocked on the door. "But rest assured, we will be discussing this later, Miss Weasley."
Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled the door open to reveal Hermione. Her hair was pulled neatly back into a French braid, as per usual. She looked rather bored.
"I apparated from practice. Harry gets all nattered up if I don't go and watch every once in a while."
"At least it's something interesting like quidditch," said Angelina as she stepped out of the fireplace. "In addition to an attempted switch with George last week, Fred decided to make me his new test subject. I really think that trusting my husband with a chocolate croissant, when we all know his history with dessert pastries, should be rewarded with something a bit better than being lucky to get the webs off my fingers this morning." She wiggled her fingers as if to demonstrate their recently recovered status.
"Ten sickles says she was a duck," remarked McGonagall.
"My ten goes to a Canada goose," said Ginny.
"Amateur adolescents," Hermione scoffed as she smiled at Angelina. "You were a platypus, weren't you?"
"You really shouldn't gamble with her anymore," said Angelina with a wry smile. "She is an auror."
"Forget it," Hermione said as Ginny reached for her purse. "Angelina's right. I really shouldn't participate in these little contests.
"Speaking of forgetting things, I think I've forgotten something." Angelina's brow furrowed in deep thought. Fishing around in her purse, she retrieved a small, marble-like object. "And according to the this I'm definitely forgetting something. That's odd. I've no clue what..." Her voice trailed off as a neon splash of color shimmering into view beside Hermione.
"Oh, right," Angelina looked sheepish. "Glin insisted on coming along. Hope you don't mind."
"Before you answer that," said the witch. "I promise not to oppress your wardrobe choices if you'll do the same for me."
Considering Glin's taste, the task was easier said than done. While each had their own style, Glin's was most assuredly the wildest.
Today, she sported clear robes. Beneath them was some sort of body suit, fashioned out of vinyl. The vinyl was designed with a print of overlapping lawn flamingoes in varying hues. He short platinum blond hair (surprisingly, it was naturally platinum, rather than out of a bottle.) sported streaks of color corresponding to color of the flamingoes. Completing the look were green go-go boots.
Although, in fairness, Glin's appearance wasn't out of character. As a seventh year transfer student from the Salem School to Hogwarts in Fred and George's class, she'd made quite a splash. Ginny supposed it was because of her upbringing. Her parents had been rather hands off when it came to discipline, having previously believed themselves incapable of reproducing. What they lacked in strategy, they more than made up for in eccentricity, a trait that many wizards believed to be genetic. They had named their little miracle Glinda Theodora Goodrich. The nickname "Glinda the Goodrich" had, most likely, been inevitable.
In deference to her childhood issues, most people she knew now referred to her as "Glin." "Most people" being defined as "everyone but Ron." Ron preferred to call her "Freak of Nature."
Angelina shot Glin's outfit a bemused glance before turning to Ginny. "Where are we going?"
"Well, Padma's store has been in 'Witch Weekly' a few times. I thought we might try there."
They walked down the street with McGonagall trailing behind them, picking her way past mud puddles and bits of litter careless passersby had abandoned on the sidewalk. As Glin contemplated making an appearance in a store that Witch Weekly knew about, let alone mentioned in their articles, she shuddered. Aloud she merely spoke beneath her breath. "How very mainstream and pedestrian of us."