Author's Note: Hi-hi, what's up, I like cheese? Munkee.Yeah. Umm.Read this silly, short little story. It's crispy. And cucumber-like. One of my personal favourites of my own sad collection of fan fiction. Yay. Also, if you like H/G R/H, we can officially be frenz. Whee!

Cucumbers On My Salad By: nerdinlove

"Slice these cucumbers, won't you, Ginny dear?"

I silently selected a knife from the cutlery drawer and lay a cucumber on the cutting board. As I thinly sliced the green vegetable, my mind drifted elsewhere. To Harry Potter, for instance. He was staying over at our house, like he normally does, giving me plenty of chances to embarrass myself. But he ignores it when I tip over the milk jug at the breakfast table, splattering him with ice cold milk. He pretends he doesn't notice that I turn hot red when he asks me to pass him the butter at dinner. He's that kind of boy. The kind that doesn't like to see a girl cry with shame and embarrassment because she's a fool. You know, girls like me.

After that cucumber was sliced, I washed another and started on it right away. Harry scarcely leaves my mind when he's over, even if he is two miles away at the pond with Ron and the twins. I can never get up enough courage to go to with them. Though, once, Harry asked me to. I almost died. Then I refused. I mean, I would have been totally out of it with four boys in my frowdy one-piece bathing suit and my lack of swimming talent. Geez, how pathetic can you actually become?

The answer is, No more pathetic than that.

I always search for hidden meanings when I'm around Harry, subliminal messages that he is secretly pining for me. Like when our hands brush briefly when I finally get around to passing the tray of butter. Or when he always tries to include me in his and my brothers' stuff. And how, when I'm finally wrangled into playing Quidditch with him, he always volunteers to be on my team. But, I always think sadly, there are no hidden meanings. He thinks of me as Ron's little sister, a kid, a child, an infant, a baby, a loser whom he had to take time from his Saving-The-World bid to rescue from Tom M. Riddle in her First Year.

I sighed pathetically and placed the cucumbers in the bowl next to the salad.

I heard the front door open and lots of feet shuffling around and the voices of four boys I knew very well. They were debating Quidditch, Harry's voice over the rest, declaring that Gryffindor was going to physically slaughter the Slytherins this year, followed by cheers.

The four of them burst into the kitchen with identical expressions of hunger on their faces. Their hair was dripping wet and they had towels slung over their shoulders.

"I'm starved Mum," said Fred, sniffing appreciatively.

"Well," said Mum, looking up from the roast chicken she was garnering, "go outside and set the table, will you? It's so nice out today. Then we can eat."

Groaning mutinously, my brothers backtracked outside, slamming the door behind them. Harry lingered for a second and Mum scuttled off to get the radishes out of the pantry, leaving the two of us alone.

I could feel my face burning red and forcibly studied the bowl of neatly sliced cucumbers.

Harry looked at me for a second, I could feel it. It gave me a sort of sick and wonderful sensation. "Ginny?" he said finally.

"Yeah?" I could feel my heart thudding in my ears.

"Will you put cucumbers on my salad?"

I froze. "Sure," I breathed.

"Thanks." Then he followed the same route as my brothers out the door, deserting me in a faint state of mind.

Am I crazy, or does that mean he likes me?