***Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine in this section is Kilmeny Bytheway. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling.***
If you need someone to count on, count me in
Someone you can rely on through thick and thin
When you start to count the ones that you might ever doubt
If you think of counting me, count me out
When you count the ones that want you, count me too
And if I'm not first on your list, count me blue
Just be sure you count on me, and when the countin's through
Count me madly in love with you
–Glen D. Hardin
"Get off it, Malfoy." Harry's voice, shaking with anger, carried through the corridors. Uh-oh, Ginny thought, as she fought her way through the crowd.
"Oh, is Potter the Prefect going to take away some points?" Malfoy's drawling voice was dripping with contempt. "You know you can't make it stick—I'll just go to Snape, and he'll give me the points back right away."
"I can make it stick if I go to Dumbledore—all I have to do is tell him what you said, and Snape won't have a leg to stand on."
"What did I say? I can't seem to remember saying anything—except that now that your filthy little Mudblood girlfriend seems to be permanently attached to that Muggle-lover Weasley's hand, you've found yourself a nice replacement. So has that pretty red-headed shadow of yours given you any action yet?" Ginny, still fighting through the crowd, froze. What was she hearing?
"Hermione was not my girlfriend, and don't you ever call her a Mudblood again. And if I ever hear another word about Ginny out of that slimy Slytherin mouth of yours, I might just follow Professor Moody's example, and hang the consequences. Would you like to be a ferret again, Malfoy? Just say the words."
Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but he never had the chance. Professor McGonagall appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. "What's going on here?" She addressed her question to Harry. "As a seventh year and a school prefect, I'd expected better of you."
"I was just trying to discipline Malfoy, Professor. He was calling students 'Mudblood' again."
McGonagall's face contorted with anger. She turned to Malfoy, fuming. "Mr. Malfoy, you know perfectly well that Professor Dumbledore has outlawed the use of that word. Twenty points from Slytherin, and if it happens again, it will be detention. Now, off with you."
Malfoy turned and stalked away, obviously unrepentant. The crowd began to disperse, and Ginny walked toward Harry, whose face was still red with fury. When he saw her, his expression changed to one of concern. "Ginny! Did–did you hear that?"
Ginny was heartily embarrassed, but tried to act like it didn't bother her. "Umm. . . yes, I did. Thanks for standing up for me, Harry."
"I—it was nothing, Ginny. Malfoy loves to attack my friends—it's the only thing that makes me angry anymore."
"He's—he's said stuff like that before?" Ginny was startled, and more than a little angry.
"Well, yeah." Harry looked a bit sheepish. "Actually, that was pretty tame—if McGonagall hadn't come along—well, I'm glad she did. I wouldn't want you to hear some of the things he's said about you." Harry looked angry again. "Malfoy's lucky he's still here—Ron's just about strangled him several times—for your sake, and Hermione's."
"Why can't people understand that we're just friends?" Ginny spat the words out. After all the work she'd done to convince Harry she didn't love him—and Malfoy kept saying stuff like that? He'd never think of her the way she wanted him to if he had to keep denying it in front of Malfoy. "I mean, my first year was a long time ago."
"I don't think Malfoy knows what it means to be friends with a girl. To him, girls are only good for one thing, and—well, let's just say that talking isn't it."
Now Ginny really lost it. "Why that slimy little git—why didn't you turn him into a ferret? If you don't, I will, next time I see him—"
Harry interrupted her. "No, Ginny, don't. This isn't your fight."
"He just insulted me, didn't he? I'd say that makes it my fight."
"No. We all decided—Ron, Hermione, and me—that Malfoy will get what he deserves someday. I've threatened to curse him a million times—but I haven't done it since fifth year. It would just make him nastier, and get us detention. One day, we'll work out a way to really get him—but not right now. Okay?"
Ginny took a deep breath. "Okay, Harry. Just make sure that when he gets it, he really gets it—for me, for Hermione, for Ron, and for every girl on the planet."
"Don't worry about that, Ginny. Now, you'd better get off to dinner—we've got Quidditch practice at seven, remember?" Harry got that maniacal glare in his eye that he always got when talking about Quidditch lately—ever since he'd been made Captain. He was every bit as fanatical about it as Oliver Wood—Ginny figured it came with the position. She'd been a Chaser on the team for the last two years—ever since Katie, Angelina, Alicia, Fred, and George had all left in one fell swoop. Harry had been startled that she was any good—although he should have known. She did have six older brothers, after all, and she'd been dragged into playing more games than she could count. All that practice had done her good—she was now the best Chaser on the team, and with Ron as Keeper, Gryffindor had another Quidditch Cup victory the year before. Fred and George had even bought her a used Nimbus 2001 for Christmas out of the proceeds of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, to celebrate another Quidditch player in the family. Gryffindor had already won their first match, against Ravenclaw—who were considerably worse after losing Cho Chang as Seeker—and their match against Hufflepuff was coming up in a matter of weeks, right before the Christmas holiday.
"I'll be there, Harry, don't worry."
"You'd better be." Harry grinned. "Or it'll be detention for you!"
"Oh, that is so not fair—you can't be Prefect and Quidditch Captain at the same time!"
"Who says?" Harry laughed. Ginny liked it when they joked around like this—especially after a confrontation with Malfoy. It helped Harry to forget.
"You, know, it's a good thing they didn't make you Head Boy—you'd be insufferable!" Ginny slapped him playfully on the arm as she walked by. "See you at practice!" she called down the hall.
Harry watched her go with mixed feelings. He was sorry that Ginny had heard Malfoy—although when he said that his latest comment was pretty tame, he was telling the truth. But she didn't need to be exposed to that. Especially since Malfoy probably wouldn't have said a word if she hadn't been his friend— There you go again, blaming yourself for everything, Harry thought to himself. Malfoy is Malfoy, and you are Harry—and nothing he does your fault. Ginny helped you see that. Gratitude for Ginny swept through him, as it had so many times over the past year or so. How he had ever survived without her friendship, he had no idea. She'd been able to keep him sane—making him see things in a way he simply couldn't, turning his mind to other things when he got too bogged down with what was going on in the world around him—making him laugh when he felt like nothing could make him laugh ever again. Just knowing she was there to talk to when he needed her gave him so much comfort. And she was there—just like a good friend should be. There was no more awkwardness. It seemed her crush had finally disappeared. Harry found that he missed it somewhat—he was so used to the idea of Ginny's adoration—but her friendship more than made up for it. If only he could do something for her—show her how much she meant to him—
"Oy, Harry! Where've you been?" Ron called as he walked towards Harry, with Hermione close behind. "Come on, you've got to get some dinner or you'll be late for Quidditch!"
Harry had a sudden idea. "Ron, Ginny's birthday is on the nineteenth, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Ron replied. "She hates that it's so close to Christmas, 'cause it always seems to get lost. It'll be even worse this year, since that's the day of our match with Hufflepuff."
"That's what I was thinking. What do you say we give her a surprise party?"
Hermione squealed. "Oh, Harry, what a great idea! After the match, you keep her down on the pitch for a while—that'll give the rest of us the chance to get back up to the tower. I'll go down to the kitchens and talk to Dobby about getting food sent up during the match—he'll be happy to help, and besides, I'm Head Girl, they'd do it for me anyway—and Dean can do decorations, and Hogsmeade's next weekend, so we can get her presents—Oh, I'm so excited!"
Ron groaned. "Harry, I think you've created a monster." Hermione gave him a look that said she was not amused. But Harry was smiling. This'll show her how wonderful she is. Perfect.
A week later, however, he was not so happy. He was standing in the middle of Hogsmeade's high street, utterly unsure of what to do. What on earth should I get her for her birthday? Hermione's birthdays had always been easy—sweets, or a new book. But Ginny was different. He'd never got her a present before, and he wanted this one to be special—kind of making up for all the birthdays he'd missed. And yet he didn't want it to be too special—like the necklace Ron had given Hermione this last year. That'd look too much as though he liked her—which he did, just not that way. He finally decided it needed to be something practical, so there couldn't be any romantic connotations, but something rather—expensive. So she'd be sure to get the point. He wasn't worried about being able to afford it—the piles of gold in his vault hadn't noticeably shrunk even in the past seven summers—but he was still at a loss what to get her.
He wandered from store to store, looking at all sorts of things—sterling silver inkwells, dragon-hide book bags, inkable sugar quills (he bought one of those for himself; the biggest problem with sugar quills was that you couldn't write with them), solid gold cauldrons—but he couldn't find a thing he wanted to get her. Finally, he ended up in Kilmeny's Kreatures, the local magical pet store. The saleswitch was the owner herself—a tall, dark-haired witch who introduced herself as Kilmeny Bytheway.
"And don't give me any 'By the way, Kilmeny, what's your last name?' jokes, because believe me, I've heard them all. You're Harry Potter, of course. What can I do for you?"
Harry explained his dilemma. Kilmeny nodded as though she understood. "Practical, yet meaningful. Well, I think I've got just the thing for you. Come on over here."
She led Harry to the back of the store. There, in a beautiful gold cage, was the most magnificent owl he had ever seen. He was a snowy owl, like Hedwig, but much larger. His feathers were so white they almost glowed in the dark, and though he was only sitting on a perch in a small cage, his posture was regal, as though he were king of all he surveyed.
"I'll take him," Harry said without hesitation.
"Shh. . .I think they're coming!"
"Ow, you stepped on my foot!"
"Quiet, or they'll hear you!"
The portrait hole opened, and Harry and Ginny stepped through. Suddenly, the lights flared on, and everyone yelled "Surprise!" Ginny's mouth dropped open. A giant banner flashed "Happy Birthday, Ginny!" and the entirety of Gryffindor was there, cheering and clapping. She turned to Harry, still gaping. "Did you know about this?"
"Of course he did!" Hermione said, running up and giving her a hug. "It was his idea!" Harry grinned at Ginny, then kissed her on the cheek. Ginny felt her face go red. "I just wanted to let you know that you mean a lot—so I decided, what better way than to throw you a party? It's a good thing we won the match, though—I wouldn't have felt much like celebrating if we'd lost."
Ginny still couldn't speak—she was so flabbergasted. Harry, throw her a surprise party? It was impossible. She must be dreaming. Before she could say anything, Hermione had dragged her over to a table, piled high with presents and food. A large cake, complete with 17 candles and "Happy Birthday Ginny," took up most of the room. "Make a wish!" Hermione squealed happily. Colin stood close by, his camera poised. Ginny thought briefly, then took a deep breath and blew out the candles. Everyone clapped and cheered as they all went out.
The rest of the night passed in something of a blur. She got so many presents, she didn't know where she'd put them all—a Muggle book called Pride and Prejudice from Hermione ("It's my favorite book—I've bewitched it to read itself to you.")—a photo album from Colin, full of wizard pictures of herself and her friends—a box full of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products that Fred and George had sent in—a pair of pretty barrettes from Parvati Patil—a box of caramel pecan fudge from Ron—even a pair of socks from Dumbledore, which he had Dobby knit—one with a pattern of broomsticks, the other with yellow stars. Harry, for some odd reason, smiled at that present. She thought she heard him mutter, "You can never have enough socks" under his breath, but she didn't understand that at all.
Late that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Ginny helped Harry, Ron, and Hermione clean up (the house elves would have done it, of course, but Hermione insisted). She sighed happily. "This has been my best birthday ever."
"It's not over yet!" Harry grinned. "You probably didn't notice, but I haven't given you my present yet."
"I thought the party was your present," Ginny replied.
"Nope—I just wanted to wait until everyone else had gone. Sit down, and I'll go get it."
Ginny sat as Harry ran up to his dormitory. She heard him come down the stairs, then pause before the door at the bottom. "Close your eyes!" he yelled through the door. Obediently, Ginny closed them. She waited as Harry walked toward her. She could feel that he was near her, but she didn't open her eyes.
"All right. Open them."
Ginny did—and gasped. A beautiful, snowy white owl was held out in front of her, a bow attached to the top of its cage.
"Oh, Harry—he's beautiful—but, Harry, it's too much—you shouldn't have—"
"Just think of it as 6 years of back birthday presents—besides, I have ulterior motives. Errol's not going to last forever, Pigwidgeon is too small to carry big packages, and I expect lots of letters from the Weasley household in the future. Besides, Hagrid bought Hedwig for my birthday. It's about time I passed on the favor. So, what are you going to name him?"
Ginny looked closely at her new owl. He stood erect, confident in his standing in the world. Majesty hung in the air around him. Yet he also looked kindly, and wise.
"I'm going to name him Solomon."
Harry smiled.
A/N: One more section to go! You'll love it, I promise. :)