A/N: I own nothing herein.

This Valentine's Not Inclined

Valentine's Day. The bane of singletons, the curse of couples. Or 14 February to you and me.

It's three weeks away, and the pairing off is reaching panic levels. Would that I could just scarper.

It's not fear, you see, but dread. Not so much from the sight of young lovers mooning over one another. That numbs me. Nor does my malaise stem from witnessing the pained anxiety as the boys seek anything their girlfriends will actually like while the girls wonder how far they'd be willing to go. No. It's the chase that worries me.

I should have known Katie wasn't lying about boys chasing after we queens of Quidditch, especially after that git fawned over Cho for three fecking years. Wanker. 'Our fit young bodies drive them mad with lust,' Katie swore as we emerged from the changing rooms after our last Quidditch match, smiling seductively at some seventh-year from Ravenclaw. She doesn't need to flirt, but more practice never hurts.

So far, eight have asked me to go to Hogsmeade with them, three of whom proposedgoing a little further. I'm glad I've expanded my repertoire of hexes beyond the old stand-by; so many were prepared for the Bat Bogeys.

May just end up going with Neville. Least he won't try anything. Well, after the Department of Mysteries...

Ah, Hermione and the idiot. Followed by the prat. Scowling already? Not even gone eleven. Must have been hiding that one away, like the Twins did their Firewhisky, so lovingly bequeathed to their most beautiful and talented sister, provided I don't get pished and start snogging every Gryffindor boy from fifth year up. A sufficiently maternal grimace ensured they didn't take that proscription any further. Like he'd notice anyway.

'Hey Ginny.' I am surprised. He deigns to initiate a conversation with me, or more pointedly one that doesn't begin with a lecture about proper Defence or Quidditch techniques.

'Harry.' Tosser.

He slumps down into the next chair, frowning with even greater intensity at Ron and Hermione. Don't tell me the git fell for Hermione now. Maybe Ron might finally knock some sense into the git, though.

'If I hear them say one more bloody thing about Valentine's Day, I'll spew.' First sensible thing he's said in months. I guess that deserves a grunt in agreement.

'So, who you going with?' he asks, still glaring at the young couple. Harry, Harry, always falling for the taken ones. Just desserts, I say.

'I've already six brothers; I don't want another.' He raises his hands in surrender and has the decency to look apologetic. At least he's stopped glowering at those two. There's a hint of devilry in his eyes as he looks at me.

'Dunno. Dean's going with Parvati.'

He raises an eyebrow. Parvati had forgiven Harry for the Yule Ball debacle and had begun flirting with him in their sixth year. Thinly veiled hints, sly winks, 'careless' or guiding hands showed him all he needed to know, had he not been so bloody naïve. Maybe it was an act. Judging from his behaviour, I don't think so. He was dead tempted — well, he blushed a lot, stammered a bit, and was dead nervous every time she came near — but as she wasn't seeing anyone, she wasn't interesting enough. Until Dean came along. I doubt Parvati knew what hit her when Dean applied the full measure of his charm in her direction. Didn't hurt that he actually paid attention to her. Berk. (Harry, not Dean.)

If only Dean and I hadn't argued before Christmas... I don't even know why now. Spending too much time on Quidditch? In the library studying for my OWLs? Didn't let him go far enough? No, despite being Seamus's friend, Dean's a gentleman. Then again, he did leave me for Parvati. Harry and Dean're both berks. 'Mebbe Neville.'

Shock and surprise, Harry nods appreciatively. 'Decent bloke, Neville.'

'I think so,' I mutter, growing increasingly tired of the turn this conversation's taking. Noting the challenge in my voice, he rises from the chair and avoids my gaze. 'Who're you taking?' Stupid, stupid. Look peeved.

'Luna, perhaps.' I never... He mightn't be such a complete wanker after all. 'Just as long as she doesn't suggest Madam Puddifoot's.' The mere mention of the name causes us both to shudder. Michael had taken me there once, after which I vowed never again. I've never been anywhere so bloody tacky. Established for boys desirous of post-prandial knicker-snapping. No thanks.

'That's very mature of you, Mr Potter.'

'Don't be so shocked, Miss Weasley. Even us childish gits have our moments.' He grins. Ah, so he overheard me talking to Parvati. I grace him with a sardonic smile.

'We'll see.' Daft arse.

Instead of the expected grumble, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 'There's me believing you knew me so well,' he groans as he makes his way to the boys' dormitories. I can't help watching him trundle past Ron and Hermione – once more raising his eyes towards the ceiling and shaking his messy mane – up the staircase, not bothering to turn around to catch me staring furiously at him.

Git.

No longer able to stand Colin's pleading looks or the leers of the other Gryffindor lads, I venture forth in search of Luna.

Where she might be, I've no idea. That girl has made unpredictability an art form. Likely, she's pestering poor Hagrid to believe her strange tales about Crumple Horned Snorkacks, Heliotropes, or furry salamanders. Now that Ron has finally made his feelings known to all, she's been more reluctant to include herself in our tiny circle. I've convinced Harry to help me to drag her from her pleasant little world and back into reality. Neville tries as well, but he can only take so much insane rambling before he invents an excuse to leave. Harry, being the peculiar little sod he is, simply accepts Luna for who she is. There I went playing Emma and Mr Knightley fell for Harriet. Sodding Hermione and her Muggle books.

Yes, Luna and I really must talk.