A Harry Situation
By Jill Weber/ Jelsemium
Characters copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and used without permission or intent to make a profit.
Thank you all for reading and for patiently waiting for the next installment. With any luck, you won't have to wait this long for the next chapter.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Chapter Eight: Reach Out and Touch Someone
Ginny and Her Brothers:
Ron shrugged on the brown robes and laced them up nervously. He wished that Hermione was there. He was certain that she could undo/reverse/negate anything the twins could dish out. He smoothed down the front of his robes nervously. Nothing happened. He looked at the twins, but they merely watched him curiously. There was none of the eager anticipation they exuded when they were waiting for a prank payoff.
Pixie sniffed at the hem of his robe and Ginny circled him, wand drawn, ready for anything. "I don't see anything sprouting, growing, shrinking or changing color," she said. "How do you feel?"
"Depressed, dejected, and disheartened," George said.
"And close to tears," Fred added. "Our youngest siblings no longer trust us." He sniffed loudly.
"I never trusted you," Ron said absently. "I don't feel any different," he said to Ginny. He held out his arms and admired the way the sleeves hung.
"I'm astonished," Ginny confessed. "These not only look legitimate, they look good on you."
"You think?" Ron went to the kitchen to check himself out in the mirror over the mantel.
The mirror let out a wolf whistle. "You'll have all the little witches at Hogwarts swooning over you!"
Ron was taken aback, to say the least, and not just because the mirror was flirting with him. The velvety robes were chocolate brown, with gold detailing at the hems and collar. The design was simple, but there was something about the cut that made him look taller and his shoulders look broader. Or maybe it was the way he was holding himself. Now he really wished Hermione was there.
"Add a clean shirt… white would give this a classic look," Ginny murmured as she fussed with the front of his robe. "Then all you need are some decent shoes and you're set. The color is perfect for you." She fingered the material. "Is that velvet?" she asked.
"They bring out the color of your eyes," Fred added, half-ducking as Ron aimed a desultory swat at him.
"Well, actually, it's velour," George said to Ginny. "The velvet was out of our price range."
"That's okay," Ron said, memories of maroon velvet pricking at the back of his mind. He pushed them back. He bet Fleur wouldn't be so quick to dismiss him in these robes! Not that she'd ever see them, he told himself. Not that it really mattered that she wouldn't, either. Hermione would see them.
Fred circled Ron, examining the hang of the robes. "Nice, looks like we got 'em big enough."
"Maybe a little too big," George said.
"They need hemming, but otherwise they're fine," Ginny opined.
"Okay, little sister," George said. "It's time for you to try your robes on."
Ginny hesitated.
"Prove the Sorting Hat was right to put you into Gryffindor," George urged.
"What if I've decided to join Ravenclaw?"
"Too late," Ron said. "I tried mine on; now try on yours."
"We got your robes second-hand," Fred put in apologetically. "We didn't like the looks of the new dress robes and we thought this color would be good on you."
"Madam Gretchen said they were the perfect color for your complexion," George said.
"Well, for our complexion," Fred amended. "But yours is the same as ours. So they should look good on you."
Ginny studied the twins for a minute, wondering why they were babbling. She peeked into the box, but all she could see was white tissue paper.
"Would you please go try on your robes?" George urged Ginny. "I swear, on our backer's honor, that they won't blow up, cause you to change color, or anything nasty at all. Trust me?"
"Not unless you want to tell me who your backer is," Ginny said dryly. She propped the box against her hip and tapped a toe. She had a guess about the identity of the mystery backer, but she wasn't going to let on.
Fred and George exchanged looks. "He doesn't want his name associated with a joke shop," Fred said.
"Then why is he backing you?"
Fred and George exchanged another look, then a shrug.
"How about we swear on your boyfriend's Firebolt?" Fred asked slyly, in an effort to take Ginny's mind off their backer.
Ginny glared murderously.
"Erm, we swear on our hopes for winning another Quidditch Cup?" Not wanting to die at his young age, Fred backed away from Ginny, tripped and sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs.
Ginny shifter her gaze from Fred to George (who held up his hands in surrender) to Ron (who was still un-pranked). Then she sighed and took the box up to her room so she could change. (It was unfair, really, wizards could just pull on their robes over the casual clothes, but witches' robes usually took more effort.)
The effort proved worthwhile. The silky under robe was high necked and sleeveless. The gauzy over robe had sleeves that gathered just above the elbow and then fanned out in pleats. The under robe would make peacocks envious with the way the blues and the greens melted together. The over robe was a paler shade that blended the blues and greens together like a masterpiece from Monet.
Ginny laced up the back of the under robe rather clumsily and turned to check out the effect in her mirror, and gaped. The color of the robes made her hair look all coppery instead of the usual hideous orange. Damn, the robes even made her bloody freckles look good!
"Honey, if that doesn't knock Potter's eyes out, he is BLIND!" her mirror said.
Ginny snorted, but didn't answer. She was too busy arranging her robes so she wouldn't trip on her hems. She also had to roll up her sleeves so she could use her hands to put her hair up. She tried a couple of different styles before deciding on a high pony tail.
"Ginny, are you all right?" Ron called up the stairs.
Ginny shot a look at her clock, which read, 'Still Preening' and realized that she'd been taking her sweet time about this. No wonder Ron was worried. "Coming!" she called gaily and she stepped daintily down the stairs to show her brothers.
Ron was standing at the foot of the stairs, and the twins were a few paces behind him. The shocked expressions on their faces caused Ginny to falter and slow to a stop.
"What?" she asked, suddenly nervous. Did she look ridiculous?
"Ginny?" Ron said in a strangely husky voice.
Oh, no, the twins had pulled one over on her! What had they done?
But the twins were just as goggle-eyed. "Erm, Ginny, I, we, erm, you," George stammered.
Fred was the one who blurted out the appalling truth. "You're a GIRL!"
Ginny turned on her heel, hiked up her robes and marched back to her room.
The boys heard her door slam and then the muffled… but not muffled enough… sound of their little sister laughing herself sick. They exchanged dismayed looks.
"We are *never* going to live this down," Ron predicted gloomily.
Hermione on Her Own:
The owl from McGonagall hadn't been helpful.
"Dear Miss Granger, I do applaud your work ethic, however, summer break is for rest and relaxation. I suggest you do both."
McGonagall expected her to rest and relax? After all that had happened last year?
Hermione sighed. Then Hermione paced as she tried to come up with something to do. She'd been studying Bulgarian in preparation for her trip, and thought she could at least ask for directions, if she needed to. She picked up her phrase book, and then put it down. She looked at the neat pile of school books on her desk and wondered, again, if there was anyway to get a jump on next year's coursework. She'd finished all her essays, of course, even the optional extra-credit essays. She'd written to Prof. McGonagall for more work and had received that rather sniffy reply.
She paced over to her bookcases and began studying titles. Ron would laugh, she knew, but she didn't care. Reading was one thing that could usually calm her down; her books were like old friends. So she picked one at random, flipped it open, read a few sentences and then slammed it shut. Maybe War and Peace wasn't the best novel to calm her nerves.
She ran her finger along the spines and read the titles. "Robin Hood? No, Robin dies in the end. How about mythology? That might even prove useful, considering the sort of thing one might encounter in the Wizard world. How about The Labors of Hercules? No, that's a bad choice, considering how he died. Maybe she should read The Ring of the Nibelung or Beowulf? No those were other cases of the hero dying. The Iliad... no, too many people died in that. The Odyssey… has same problem. Le Morte D'Arthur speaks for itself.
She glared at her bookcases. She knew she had novels with upbeat endings, but suddenly she didn't feel like looking. Feeling like one of her best friends had betrayed her, Hermione stalked downstairs, itching for a fight. She'd decided on the battleground before her feet hit the first step. She was going to talk to Harry, and if those idiotic relatives of his thought they could stop her, they had another think coming.
Harry and Lily:
It was ridiculous, and he knew it. He should just unpack the trunk. It had belonged to his mother. His aunt, his mother's sister, said that he could have it. It responded to his touch like, well, like magic. (Leaving him to wonder why no owls were coming from Mafalda Hopkirk, was she sleeping on the job?) So why didn't he just unpack it and find out what was in there?
He rationalized his hesitation by telling himself that he had to put work before pleasure. He figured that it would take a few weeks to finish his summer essays and was astonished at how fast he could write when he put his mind to it. Rather, he was astonished how fast he could write when he wasn't putting his mind to it. He wasn't sure if he was spelling the words correctly, or using proper grammar, or even writing on the correct subject. He just needed something to keep his eyes and fingers busy, even if he couldn't quite focus his mind.
Harry lost track of how often he left his homework to stare at the trunk. Here was something his mother had once owned. He didn't have anything of hers. He wanted something of hers. No, he wanted something important of hers, something that had been as important to her as the Invisibility Cloak had been to his father.
His mouth thinned, an observer would have seen a definite resemblance between Harry and Petunia just then, but Harry wasn't looking into a mirror. *Don't be ridiculous, Potter. There can't be anything of value in here. She wouldn't have left it with the Dursleys if there was anything valuable inside. After all, she wanted to leave me with Sirius.* He paused. *Or was that all Dad's idea? I really don't know what Mum thought about him.*
Right now, the trunk had potential. There could be anything in there. But once he looked and found… nothing… then the mystery would be gone, the potential would be gone, and his mother would be gone… again.
He sat down and stared at his homework. He couldn't write to his friends about this. He couldn't figure out how to put his reservations into words. What he really wanted was somebody to talk to. He looked at the stairs. Aunt Petunia had been unusually polite, at times quite civilized, to him. Harry suspected that she was lonely. Maybe she could be persuaded to talk about his parents a bit, now, before…
The front door banged open. "Petunia, we're home!"
Harry, hearing his window of opportunity slam shut, sighed heavily. He looked at his homework and gave up. He just couldn't think. He moved over to the window and looked up. The sun was setting and the stars would be coming out soon. He shook his head and muttered to himself. "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight." Someone to talk to.
Someone To Talk To:
Hermione was organized. She planned ahead. She had a place for everything and made sure everything was put in place. It took her less than a minute to lay hands on Harry's phone number… well, the Dursleys' phone number. It was in her file of second year homework assignments.
"Mum, Dad, may I call Harry?" she asked as she came downstairs.
"Certainly," her mother said absently, absorbed as she was in her book.
Hermione rehearsed her speech while she waited for someone to answer. She had a few thinly veiled threats in case the Dursleys were reluctant to let Harry talk to her. Nothing too alarming, just enough to make them nervous, she hoped.
The phone was answered by a gruff-voiced male. "Yes, may I help you?"
"I would like to speak to Harry Potter, please," Hermione had decided to start out politely.
"Wrong number," growled the man. Then the line went dead.
Stunned, Hermione hung up. Had she wrote the number wrong?
"What's wrong dear?" her mother asked.
"I got a wrong number," she said. She sat down at the table and sighed. Crookshanks jumped into her lap and bumped his head against her hand. "I must have made a mistake when I wrote this down."
Her mother sat down and patted her arm. "Maybe their number has changed, Hermione," she suggested. "When did Harry give it to you?"
"Oh," Hermione said. "He gave us his number…" she paused. "… just after first year." She frowned at her father as he came in.
"What's wrong? More of the 'boys are all prats' essay?"
Hermione shook her head. "I was trying to call Harry, but I got a wrong number," Hermione said. "I don't know what to do now, unless Ron still has his number somewhere."
Rupert's eyebrows went up. "And you were the one who got three hundred and twenty percent in Muggle Studies?" he teased. He went to the telephone. "Do you know the Dursleys' address?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, it's in that folder next to the phone," Hermione replied.
Rupert flipped the folder open as he dialed. Hermione and Emma heard him asking directory assistance for the Dursleys phone number.
Hermione blushed. How could she have forgotten that? Maybe she should have stuck to Muggle Studies after all.
Rupert jotted down the response and thanked the operator, then came over to the table. "Here, is this the number that you have?" he asked, handing her the paper.
Hermione compared the two numbers, and then she frowned. "Yes, I had it right."
"Perhaps you misdialed?" Rupert said.
Hermione looked at the touch tone telephone and raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, yes," Rupert said impatiently. "I know that isn't a rotary telephone. That's a figure of speech, all right? Let me try." He turned on the speaker so his girls could hear the conversation and then took great care in dialing the numbers. Soon he was speaking to a gruff-voiced man. "Good evening, Mr. Vernon Dursley?"
"Speaking."
"I'm calling on behalf of the Boy Scouts of Great Britain. May I ask how many boys under the age of seventeen live in your household?"
"One!" snarled Vernon Dursley. "He's not interested in your organization!" The next sound was the phone being slammed down.
"What a nasty person," Rupert said.
Emma snorted. "I can't believe he lied."
"Maybe he can't count," Hermione said darkly. "Harry's always said they were a bit dim."
"Normally, I wouldn't encourage young folk to insult their elders, Moppet, but I think Harry has obviously been provoked by those…"
"DAD! Don't call me MOPPET!" Hermione looked around, a horrified expression on her face as if she expected Ron and Harry to suddenly appear and laugh. "What are we going to do now?"
Rupert thought of a quote that he thought was especially fitting. "I think this situation requires a really futile and stupid gesture! And we're just the people to do it!"
"Dear, why don't we try reason and diplomacy before we go make fools of ourselves?" Emma asked gently.
"Emma, we're dealing with idiots," Rupert responded. "Besides, my way is more fun."
"Dad, you sound like Ron," Hermione sighed.
"Must be why you fell in love with him."
"DAD!"
"You keep calling me that," Rupert said, pretending to be aggrieved. "And in that tone, too. If you keep it up, you'll be hurting my feelings in a year or two."
Hermione rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Mum, why did you marry him?"
"It was a triumph of hormones over intellect," Emma confessed, in affected tones. "So let that be a lesson to you when you start dating." She stood up decisively. "Let's see if a woman to woman chat can't clear this up." She also turned the speaker on, and when the phone was answered, she asked the shrill voice that answered if she could speak to Mrs. Petunia Dursley.
"Speaking," whined the nasty voice.
"Hello, my husband and I are renting a house in your neighborhood and we've been told that your son does yard work," Emma was still speaking in her pseudo-posh tones.
"NO! My Dudley doesn't do menial work," snapped Petunia.
"Perhaps your nephew would be interested?"
"NO!"
Petunia cut the conversation off by slamming the phone down.
Emma scowled for a moment before saying: "Very well, Rupert, let's try it your way. And do be obnoxious about it."
Rupert grinned and Hermione was struck by her father's similarity to Ron. Oh, dear, maybe she was attracted? Oh, dear.
Rupert put the telephone on rang up the Dursleys once again. When the gruff voiced Vernon answered, Rupert said in a falsetto voice. "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"
Vernon didn't bother to answer; he just smashed the phone down.
"Rupert!" Emma laughed. "That was so… so…"
"It's a classic!" Rupert responded.
Hermione looked at them blankly.
"Prince Albert in a Can is a brand of tobacco," Rupert explained. "If the poor unfortunate says 'yes,' then the prank caller is supposed to say 'Well, ask him to get out, I have to go!'"
Hermione looked faintly outraged. "Is that supposed to be funny?"
"To certain minds, that is the height of humour," Emma said. "To most normal people, it's just annoying."
"You did ask for 'obnoxious,'" Rupert pointed out.
"You were going to do that even before I asked for obnoxious," Emma said.
"I live to anticipate your needs, my love," Rupert said in unctuous tones.
Emma just laughed.
"Honestly, you two are as bad as the Weasley twins!" Hermione exclaimed.
"You're the one who's been telling us what horrible people the Dursleys are," Rupert said.
"Well, yes. And I'm not saying that they don't deserve every nasty prank you and/or the Weasley twins can come up with. However, I don't see how this is going to get me the chance to talk to Harry."
"Well, my plan, such as it is, is a matter of probability," Rupert answered. "There are four people living in that house. Assuming that Harry is, in fact, at Privet Drive, I figure that odds are, sooner or later, Harry will have to answer the phone."
"Unless he's locked in his room again," Hermione said darkly.
Emma and Rupert exchanged looks.
"If Harry doesn't ever answer the phone," Rupert said. "Then we shall apply logic and diplomacy."
"We'll also write to, sorry, owl the Weasley twins," Emma said demurely.
Hermione gaped at her mother.
"I can't see how we can get in trouble for using magic on Muggles," Emma continued blandly. "After all, we're Muggles, too. We can't use magic."
Hermione's eyes were as wide as Galleons. After a few minutes, she found her voice. "I've created a monster," she said.
Her parents laughed.
"Sorry, my dear, but the ugly truth is out. Your father and I were young once and every now and then, we have a flashback. It's my turn on the phone," Emma said, picking up the handset.
A new voice answered, one that had to be Dudley. It was an obnoxious blend of Vernon's sullen growl and Petunia's petulant whine. "Yeah?"
"Hello, is this the International House of Pancakes?" Emma said in an equally nasal voice.
"Huh? No," Dudley answered before hanging up.
"I think that's the first time that phone has been hung up properly all evening," Emma murmured.
Rupert moved forward, but Emma waved him back. "No, it's still my turn," she said mischievously. She dialed quickly and when Petunia answered, she said: "Govorite li angliski?"
Petunia huffed and hung up.
"Where did that come from?" Rupert laughed.
"Well, shouldn't the International House of Pancakes be getting calls from all over the world?" Emma asked.
"It's Bulgarian," Hermione put in. "It means 'Do you speak English?'"
"Ah, been brushing up for the trip, have you?"
"Haven't you?" Emma asked, slightly taken aback.
Rupert shook his head, picked up the note pad by the phone and started writing. "Dear Ron, she gets it from her mum. So sorry, old boy."
"Honestly, Rupert," Emma scolded, pulling the paper out of his hand and ripping up the sheet.
"My turn!" Rupert said happily. He thought for several minutes, sighed, and then called the Dursleys', still using the speaker phone. When Dudley answered, Rupert said: "Eil Beurla agad?"
"And that was?" Emma asked, after Dudley had hung up.
"'Do you speak English?' Only this time in Gaelic," Rupert replied. "I couldn't remember how to ask where the loo was."
Emma shook her head, but refrained from making a comment.
"My turn," Hermione said. "Hang on a moment." She went into the library and came back with a German-English dictionary. After a few minutes study, she called the Dursleys and politely said to Petunia: "Wo ist die Kammer des Schreckens?"
"Go away!" snarled Petunia. 'Clang!' went the phone.
"Where is the Chamber of Secrets?" Emma translated with a giggle.
Hermione grinned. "Well, it was on everybody's mind a few years ago."
"My turn!" Rupert said snatching the telephone away from his daughter. This time, when Vernon answered, Rupert bellowed at the top of his lungs: "Yo, Homey! Wassup!!? "
"Clang!"
"Dad! What was THAT?" Hermione said when she could stop laughing long enough to catch her breath.
"I understand that's how Americans greet each other," Rupert said with dignity.
"Rupert, you've been watching the telly too much," Emma chided, grinning broadly.
They sat around trying to think of a way to top that last one. Finally, Hermione broke the silence.
"I have one," she said. Once again, she rang up the Dursleys line. When Petunia answered, Hermione sang, as shrilly and off key as she could.
Allons enfants de la Patrie
Le jour de gloire est arrivé
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'étendard sanglant est levé
L'étendard sanglant est levé
Petunia hung up at that point, so Hermione finished La Marseillaise in her normal voice.
Entendez vous dans les campagnes mugir ces féroces soldats
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras, égorger vos fils, vos compagnes
Aux armes citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons, qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!
Her parents applauded.
"I'm glad you remembered the French anthem," Rupert said with genuine pride. "Now what?"
"I have an Esperanto – English dictionary," Emma said. "Let me look up a phrase."
"You could just make up some gibberish," Rupert pointed out. "They wouldn't know."
"I would know," Emma answered haughtily as she headed for the library. She found a phrase that she liked and rang up the Dursleys.
The telephone rang for several minutes.
"Looks like we've outworn our welcome," Emma said unhappily.
Just then, the phone was picked up and a pleasantly husky voice spoke. "Hello, Dursley residence."
The voice was so unlike the other three that it had to be Harry's. However, Hermione frowned uncertainly. "Harry?" she said.
"Hermione? Have you been making prank calls all evening?" Harry sounded amused.
"Well, I wanted to talk to you and those Durlseys were being impossible," Hermione said rather defensively.
Harry laughed. "You don't have to justify your actions to me," Harry said. "I'm the one who's always complaining about them."
"I can see why," Rupert commented.
"Eh? Who's that?" Harry asked.
"Sorry to intrude," Rupert said. "You're on the speaker phone. Hermione's mother and I wanted to help her get through to you. I confess, most of the pranks were ours."
"Must be where she gets it," Harry murmured.
"Excuse me? Get what?" Hermione demanded.
"Tell me again how you got the recipe book to make that… what was that shape-shifting potion again?" Emma asked 'innocently.'
"Poly-juice potion," Harry supplied. "Which we got from 'Most Potente Potions' which we got…"
"Harry, do you know why I called?"
"Erm, no," Harry said.
"I'm beginning to wonder myself," Hermione said darkly. "Are you all right?"
Harry sighed.
"I thought not," Hermione said. "You're voice sounds funny."
Harry laughed. "Oh, that. I must have dropped it."
"You dropped your voice?" Hermione asked.
"Well, how else could it have broken?" Rupert threw in.
Rupert and Harry shared a laugh. Hermione and Emma sighed audibly. Hermione picked up the note pad next to the telephone and wrote 'Boys are born prats, discuss' and she and her mother shared a grin over that.
***
Author's Notes:
As you may have figured out, I've been having writer's block. The part with Harry exploring the trunk is just NOT working. So I shuffled chapters around so as not to keep you waiting any longer. If you want a sneak preview of what he's going to find… one of the items was mentioned earlier in this story. Another was mentioned in my other story 'Harry Potter and the Bookwyrm.' (If you really don't want to read the whole thing, just read the epilogue.)
I was planning to include Hermione and Harry's phone conversation this time, too. Sigh.
Rupert's quote is from National Lampoon's Animal House. All foreign quotes are faithfully tendered. No, that's not how most Americans normally greet each other. Yes, that is the actual French national anthem that Hermione was singing. No, I don't speak anything but English, myself. I got these translations online at .
By the way, prank calls are annoying, don't try this at home. Telephone calls can be traced too easily nowadays.
Special thanks to:
sew2100, Allison, Angel of the North: I'll try to keep up the good work!
Female Fred: Yep, they seem fundamentally nice to me, for all they're joking. They're a lot of fun to write!
Elektra Joradees Gamblin: I intend to keep it up! Hopefully at a faster pace!
Chocolate Muse: My holidays were fun, thank you! I actually finished all my holiday chores early, as opposed to finishing at one o'clock in the morning on Christmas, maybe I was channeling Hermione. ** Speaking of Hermione, just because she's had a set back doesn't mean she's defeated! ** I am actually basing Hermione's father on Ron. I figure girl's are frequently attracted to guys who remind them of their fathers. ;-) ** Sorry this chapter took so long!
Ozma: I agree, there must have been times when Lily and Petunia got along. Sirius thought that Harry would want to stay with the Dursleys, so he must have had some reason to think that Lily and Petunia liked each other. ** Hermione seems the type to always have a plan. ** I hope Rowling shows more of Hermione's parents. They're jake in my book, even though I know almost nothing about them. They let Hermione stay at Hogwarts for Christmas when everybody thought Sirius was trying to kill Harry. I figure that showed proper Gryffindor spirit. ** I hope the Ministry is paying attention to what's going on with the Muggle born, even if Fudge is an idiot. I figure one reason Harry wasn't in trouble after he blew up his aunt was because he used involuntary magic. ** Yep, the twins figured if Harry wanted them to get new robes for Ron, then they should get new robes for Ginny, too. ** I like writing Ron and Ginny. I hope Rowling does more with Ginny next book.
Ian: I understand. If it makes you feel better, Harry will be compensated (big time!) for all the misery that I'm putting him through.
Lady Phoenix Gryffindor: Well, his hair's not all white, or even mostly white. It's mostly its usual (canon) messy black. He's just got a few white streaks. I figure he's earned them.
Iniysa: I'm going to try to make your next wait a lot shorter!
Alla: Glad you like my Ginny and Ron interaction. I really like those two and I hope to see more of them in canon. I figure that being so close in age, they must be pretty close. I also figure that accepting gifts from the twins is a risky proposition at best, and downright foolish at worse.
Andrea13: Yep, Petunia is more human when Vernon and Dudley aren't around, but the gin is! Can you just see Ron trying to gently persuade Harry into confessing by half throttling him? But I'm sure it's not just a guy thing, I've been tempted to do this myself.
Chary: Thanks, I'm trying to update regularly. ** I thought that it would make sense for the Ministry to check up on wandless magic during the summer. Usually it's caused by emotional distress and I'd liked to think that the Wizarding community would care if a child was upset enough to have to defend himself or herself that way. ** Thanks for the comments on the interaction between Ron and Ginny. They've been a blast to write so far. ** Yes, Dumbledore's visit is actually written. I was going to post it after Harry explored the trunk, but it might come sooner. ** One more hint as to what's in the trunk… you might consider the time of year. It's something a lot of people do that time of year. ** You're impatient? (Looks at 'Beloved on This Earth' for an update and taps her foot impatiently.)
Shyanne: I'm updating as fast as I can! Honest!
Brad: Thanks! I'm rather proud of my grammar and spelling skills! (And having a spellchecker doesn't hurt at all.) ** Glad you like the humor!
VenusDeOmnipotent: I actually do check out the favorite list of my favorite writers.
MoNmOn: Thanks! It seemed to me that if the twins were going to buy Ron some new dress robes, they may as well buy something for Ginny, too. (I wonder if Rowling will think of doing that? I hope so.)
Pseudonym Sylphmuse: I try to review all the stories that I like. Your Ginny stories are fun to read. I haven't really written any romance into this story, yet. I may not get any in this summer. I was sort of planning for the actual romance to come during the school year. (Got to get cracking and finish before June 21st!)
Aniwda: Glad you like how I handle Ron and Ginny! Siblings are my specialty!
allison : With any luck, the next updates will come closer together! I have to finish soon!
Malach: Glad you like the story! Summer is going to be very interesting for the kids in my universe. I can hardly wait to see what J.K. has in store for them!
