The Ginny Project (Working title)
Chapter One
Ginny Weasley pulled her red hair into a ponytail, blew her bangs, and sighed. She was eighteen years old and had only been working 3 months. Already, she was bored.
It wasn't that her job was not interesting. She was an intern, a healer-in-training. It was an exciting job, especially since she was working hands-on at St. Mungo's. Most people her age would kill to have such a job, but Ginny was bored. She wanted to help people, but not in the way she was helping them. She wanted to heal their minds instead of their bodies. She did not know pain, at least not in the way that she was supposed to for this job. She knew mental pain, the torture of emotional violation, but not this.
Her lack of interest, her detachment from her profession, had earned her the nickname "cold hard bitch" amongst the other interns. Anyone who knew her personally would have an uncontrollable laughing fit if they heard that, for Ginny was one of the sweetest, softest people they had ever met. If anyone had any social or emotional problem, they knew they could confide in Ginny, who would listen carefully then offer a hug and advice. They knew that Ginny was merely bored and disinterested with her profession. No matter how hard they tried to convince her to quit, however, she wouldn't. Ginny Weasley didn't give up that easily.
Ginny's shift ended at 6 and she went immediately home, declining politely the other intern's invitations to go to the Leaky Cauldron for drinks and dinner.
At home, she removed her clean white lab coat and unwound her hair from its tight ponytail. She checked her mail over without much thought until an envelope of thick crème parchment caught her eye. She picked it up, noticing with some interest the keen detail of the seal. She flipped it over and paused over the return address before tearing the letter open:
My dear Ginny,
I haven't seen or contacted you in the two years since I graduated Hogwarts, but I have been thinking about you lately. How are you doing? What are you up to now? And most importantly, how would you like to take dinner with me on September 15? It's a Saturday; we could meet at four, and then cruise around til six. Just casual dinner, not a date or anything special. I do hope you will consider my offer; please return a letter with your response. I will pick you up at four if yes.
See you soon,
Love,
Harry.
"Love, Harry?" she thought, slightly bemused. "What in the name of Merlin…?" She picked up her quill, withdrew a piece of parchment, bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and started to write.
Meanwhile, from his flat above 12 Grimmauld Place, 19-year-old Harry Potter paced back and forth ceaselessly. His owl Hedwig hooted nervously and cocked her head. Harry patted her head then muttered, "I hope she says yes. Please let her say yes." He paced into the wall, then stood back, slightly dazed. Hedwig hooted angrily and Harry smiled. "Sorry, Hedwig," he said apologetically. "I might have a date and I'm worked up about it." He patted the owl's head and offered another smile. He turned to the window just as a small, bright-eyed owl flew in, hooting excitedly.