This Valentine's Not Inclined
Ch.3 – Moon and Sun
29 January, V-Day minus 16
Damn it all.
Four days of chasing about after Luna without success. I've collided with Harry (the git) a number of times and told him repeatedly I wanted to apologise to her, but I might as well have asked the walls. If I'd known she'd felt so seriously about Neville – if I hadn't been as dim as the prat – I never would have accepted his invitation. No, considering the alternatives, I still would have. Damn and feck.
Not that Neville hasn't made a right nuisance of himself lately. The sidelong glances, the awkward attempts at light conversation, the cloying mannerisms. I've no doubt a trip to Madam Puddifoot's is in the works. Merlin, save me now!
It was worth a try.
Storming out of a disappointing Charms class, in which I'd managed to banish a quill into an inch-thick plank of oak (regrettably it was part of Professor Flitwick's rostrum, earning me detention and a stern after-class reprimand – I was astonished), the thunderclouds raging over my head, I saw him. Harry. The berk himself. Talking with some young woman with long flowing brown hair who was behaving all too familiarly with him. An unbecoming rage billows within me. I'll kill him. For Luna, of course. As I surge towards them I hear a pair of easily recognisable female laughs, and a blonde with slightly bulbous eyes latched onto Harry's arm like a limpet. Dropping my satchel unceremoniously onto the stone floor, I announce my presence nearby with a resounding thump and the shattering of inkpots.
'Er, hi, Tonks, Luna,' and pause to glower, 'Harry,' I splutter, bending to repair the mess I made before Filch gives me detention. I take in the prat's face long enough to see his grin fade into a frustrated frown. Three pairs of feet scutter towards me to assist.
'Hello, Ginny,' Luna finally replies in her somnambulist's voice with a genuine smile. She placed a placatory finger onto my lips quelling my apology before it had the chance to leave. Harry gently pries a book from my hand, inspects it for damage, and replaces it in my restored bag, continuing on to make the occasional repairs to my other texts. His hands graze mine more frequently than they have cause, earning the odd quick slap from me. Tonks reassembles my inkpots, irretrievably empty, and stores them safely in my satchel.
'You're becoming as clumsy as I am,' Tonks says with a faint laugh. You're too kind, Nymphadora. I bite back that and other appropriate retorts, managing only a grumbled, 'Thanks.'
'Why are you here, Tonks?' I ask a mite more sharply than I intended.
'Didn't Harry tell you?' Since when did that git tell me anything without being hounded? His face darkens and Luna scowls at him.
'After all she's done for us,' the younger woman chunters, the trace of a smile crossing her lips.
'Er, right,' the Auror answers Luna. An expression of utter incredulity mirrors that on my face provoking a giggle from Luna and a snicker from Harry. All very happy families now, Miss Lovegood.
He glances at me briefly, the smirking twit, and I feel the fury burgeoning again. His grin fades swiftly, replaced by an aggrieved grimace and a surly tone. 'We best let Tonks explain it to you, then.'
With the task of correcting my errors complete, the Metamorphmagus reveals her sordid little secret. 'Well, Ginny, you know how the Death Eaters are becoming more of a menace.' Who bloody doesn't? 'And that there have been some incidents nearby.' Yes, yes, I do read The Daily Prophet on occasion. For my sins. These pauses are driving me mad. Yet this time she peers up and down the corridor seeing off any stragglers. 'Dumbledore expects they'll attack next Hogsmeade weekend, unless it's cancelled.' Oh, what a pity. Back to the broom cupboards with the lot of them. 'So he's going to give each of the Houses, and their associated friends,' do grow up, Tonks, 'a day within Hogsmeade as he sees it in the Room of Requirement.'
Sod and bugger.
'I know things look grim right now, Ginny,' she begins. I won't let her finish that foolish thought, however.
'I'm going with Neville.'
She bears the visage of one struck full on with a Confundus Charm. 'He's...' say it, 'nice.'
'Yes, he is.'
'What did...'
'Who gives a sodding damn what that little prick thinks,' I hiss.
Her response takes me aback. A maternal glower washes over me, managed without even the slightest actual metamorphosis, as she dresses me down. 'I meant your brother, you foul-mouthed ickle git.'
'So did I.' We both know we're lying, but only because we are so good at it ourselves. A conspiratorial chortle echoes between us.
'I suppose...'
'At dinner tonight,' she interjects.
'Why is Dumbledore...'
'Only allowing his perception and memories of Hogsmeade?' That habit of interrupting is dead irritating. 'Who knows what you perverse little hooligans would imagine for yourselves? All the angry letters to the Headmaster from parents wondering why their daughters were in the family way, Hogwarts' wards be damned.' She has a point there.
Even so... 'Why are you here, Tonks?'
'Somebody has to watch over you lot,' she replies. 'Who better than a Metamorphmagus to do it? I can be one of the merchants or a Seventh Year, maybe even a Fifth Year like yourself or a Sixth Year such as...'
'Well, you're busy,' I grumble, 'and I have to get to class.' She nods at the unfinished farewell and makes for the staff room before I call her back. 'Are you bringing Charlie at least?' Mum and Dad said he was back for a short visit.
Her lower lip contorts agonisingly. Sod. Don't tell me Charlie hadn't told her. I'd never believe he's as thick as Ron. Perhaps it runs in the family. Shudder. I hope not. Bad enough I fall either for blokes who don't know I exist or those who wish I was someone else. Wincing at my error, I move to comfort her but she backs away. They didn't have another fight, did they? Those two are worse than Ron and Hermione at times. 'Er, I have to see Dumbledore about the arrangements,' she mutters as she turns to go.
'Tonks?' Instead of turning around, she quickens her pace, careering, head downcast and shoulders hunched, through the corridor.
Am I cursed?
3 February, V-Day minus 11
When Dumbledore announced he'd cancelled the next Hogsmeade weekend as well, the Great Hall nearly rioted. At least he'd momentarily achieved the lofty goal of school unity, I thought. Being Dumbledore, he only needed to clear his throat once for the student body to resume their seats. Most students greeted the proclamation that we would be able to visit a replica Hogsmeade within the Hogwarts grounds with equal albeit joyous fervour. Each House would choose which shops they would most like to attend and Dumbledore would arrange what he could with the local merchants. Considering the loss of the lucrative Hogwarts trade, doubtless most shopkeepers would leap at the chance. And the female contingent and their simpering partners will guarantee Madam Puddifoot's will be there, wherever there is.
Today is the last day to place our votes (three each). For me, it's an easy three: the Three Broomsticks, Zonko's, and Honeydukes. Despite my pleading and his denials, I know Neville chose Madam Puddifoot's. He's never been able to lie to me, which would be something of a compliment if he didn't keep trying. Berk.
The Limpet still hasn't let him go, excepting the odd meal and trips to their respective common rooms. Five days have passed and Luna's still clinging to Harry's arm like it's a Snorkack or whatever it is. She even started looking a little smug. Any more smug and she'll be a pug like Pansy. Daft bint. To think I was worried about her after that brouhaha over Neville. Never again, I tell you, never again.
Harry resembles the cat that caught the canary – which I guess he has – only that he doesn't seem to be swallowing it quite well. There are moments when he looks ready to flee, or at the very least downright uncomfortable. Serves him right for fawning over Hermione. Speaking of whom…
At dinner she and Ron were behaving positively repulsively, casting sly sidelong glances at one another, holding hands at the table. I'm beginning to wish I'd never pushed them together. If those two gits start using sickening pet names for each other I'll spew all over them. Fortunately, if that can truly be said when confronted by such a sight, they only look like they are about to snog. The urge to boak is almost overpowering.
'Have they started yet?'
However did Harry rid himself, even momentarily, of Luna? I see her goggling at him with that overwrought enraptured gaze. My shoulders tense as I cringe in disgust. Can't anyone behave normally anymore? Am I the only sane one?
'What are you blethering on about, Harry?' He pretends not to notice my irritation and sits next to me. Dean glowers at him, even though my former boyfriend uses it as an excuse to move closer to Parvati.
'Them,' Harry answers with a nod towards his two friends.
'Gone off Hermione now?'
He stares at me as if I'm barmy. Me of all people. Mr I'd-Forgotten-You'd-Been-Possessed. Wanker.
'What?' he finally gasps. 'I never...'
'Nice to see you've moved on, though,' giving a nod to Luna across the Great Hall.
'Ginny...' he starts with that same gormless expression, hands out in supplication.
'I've got to study,' I announce, 'OWL year and all that,' rising from the Gryffindor table.
Dean gives me an odd look as well, but a glare and an emphatic nod towards Parvati refocus his attention elsewhere. Now I'm of interest to everyone since they're already taken. Am I to be just their bit on the side? No bloody thanks.
Gathering my books and materials, I retreat to a neglected classroom near the Library where Peeves ensures I'm left unmolested.
I think the dirty old poltergeist holds a bit of a torch for me – eurgh! – or maybe it's just a mentor-pupil sort of thing. He sees me as a potential successor to Fred and George. That and the threat of an exorcism after he tried to hobble Katie just before the season's first Quidditch match against Slytherin. Bloody Baron put him up to it, my arse. The way that evil wee prat goes after our captain, I'm certain that vile beast has some wicked intention towards her, though that might be because the Gryffindor Chasers always were a distraction to the Twins. Competition is everywhere.
I'm woken by a piece of chalk snapping on the bridge of my nose. 'Peeves, you git!' That bloody hurt, the prick.
'Ten minutes before curfew, Ginevra.' He loves it when my face burns red with indignation at my given name.
'Shall I reveal your proper name to all...?'
'No, Miss Weasley, that won't be necessary,' he pleads contritely.
He escorts me in silence back to the Fat Lady's portrait, creating diversions for Filch when necessary. The Common Room holds greater terrors for me than a simple detention, though. They're at it again, and not alone either. Seamus and Lavender have joined them, thankfully on the other side of the room so I don't lose what little of my dinner I was able to keep down from before. Dean and Parvati are on their way up their respective staircases while Harry... He's sitting in front of the fire glaring at it, whether to make it burn brighter or to extinguish it I've no idea. Still, his eyelids are fluttering as he struggles against the sleep that threatens to overtake him. Going against my best interests, I sit in the chair beside his.
'Hello, Harry,' I enter mimicking Luna's dreamy voice.
He rolls his eyes and glares at me from the corner of his eye. 'Ginny.' Keep it succinct and precise, Mr Potter. He notices the welt on my nose and my chiding expression. One observation cancelling the other, his gaze returns to the fire as a pained frown contorts his features. 'I never fancied Hermione, you know,' he swears. Could have fooled me.
'What's wrong with her? Was it the big front teeth, the bushy brown hair instead of blond or black? What?'
He shakes his head in exasperation. 'She's a sister to me, maybe even a mother of sorts,' he declares. His words are barely audible over the crackling fire.
'And Luna?'
He emits a sigh that becomes an irritable groan. 'Can't you ever just leave off?' he growls before heading the lads' staircase.
Can't even take a little light teasing. What a git.
I follow soon after to avoid the sight of further snogging and who knows what else, nearly falling over from fatigue myself.
If only I could escape those bloody dreams.