Great Dane size thanks to - luckycharms445, Henrietta-Black van der Snape, BEEN, Luna Lovegood8, Vanesa, Blood-Debt and SnowFlakeGinny for reviewing!

CHAPTER TWO

Merry Christmas?

"Ginny," my mother began tentatively. She had been hovering over my shoulder for the past twenty minutes, offering both cooking and relationship advice in one annoying, buy-one-get-one-free package. So far I had learnt that one must stir gravy anti-clockwise, not to wander off when boiling water (I only went outside for an hour) and that my sure fire way to meet nice men would be 'to smile more'.

"Why don't you have a rest?" she advised pointedly, peering down at the concoction I was avidly mixing in a bowl.

"Why?" I responded, looking proudly at my sure-to-be-delicious cranberry sauce. It really was turning out to be something of a culinary marvel. At first I had been worried; I mean who knew cranberries could turn such a sludgy brown colour? But I had persevered and voila forty minutes later I had a dish, which despite its strange lumpy bits, was something to be proud of.

"Well, dear, we both know cooking isn't really your strong suit," my mother said, patting me on the shoulder. I glared indignantly at her. Not my strong suit? Pah! I was a kitchen wiz! A dab hand! A chef of the highest skill! There really was no need to mention the infamous incident of 98 (think cabbage wallpaper and exploding carrots) I had come a long way, just last week Hermione had been praising my vegetarian casserole, in truth she had said it was so nice that she would just have to eat it in her bedroom, so to fully enjoy the taste-bud delighting experience. The fact that I had later spotted Crookshanks, the demon-cat, sporting suspiciously gooey whiskers had been completely coincidental I'm sure…

"I thought you wanted us to come at the crack of dawn so we could help with the food?" I grumbled, thinking wistfully of my warm, cosy bed, where, by following the ancient rules of a hangover, I should have spent all day snoozing in.

"I'd hardly call ten o'clock 'the crack of dawn' Ginny," my mother nagged before remembering her aim to get me, her only daughter, out of the kitchen. "Hermione and I have everything covered in here. Why don't you go and wake up Ron, he hasn't even opened his presents yet. I think-" she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, "that he's trying to avoid Hermione. The break-up was ever so hard for him."

My mother had her 'my-little-boy-is-so-sensitive' face on, so I refrained from reminding her that Ronniekins was actually having a rather pleasant time shagging Lola, (the bimbo whose biggest accomplishment had been writing her own name in nursery) and it was in reality, Hermione who rightfully deserved our sympathy. Talking of which, Hermione who had been enlarging the kitchen table, had stopped mid-incantation when Ron's name had been mentioned and was now, staring out of the window looking both angry and anxious.

"Fine. I'll get the lazy git out of his pit," I said resentfully before marching up the stairs and banging on the door. Normally I would have walked right in, wrenched off the duvet and shouted in his ear but since it was Christmas and mostly because I didn't want to risk walking in on something which a sister should never, ever encounter (I don't think I could have faced seeing any of Lola's perfect, un-wobbly flesh, especially since my own, slightly chubby face, had been scoffing mince pies all morning), I decided to be polite and simply bellowed, "Ron! Ron! Get your arse out of bed!"

I heard a grunt and two feet pounding on the floor. Minutes passed, in which I assumed Ron spent titivating his usual scruffy dog appearance into something vaguely human, before he emerged (blessedly alone) and swept me up in a big hug.

"Erm…" I choked out, his arms firm around me. "Rib cage being crushed here!"

"Sorry sis," Ron said deliriously happily, as he continued to squash me for a further minute before finally letting go. "I'm just excited, it is Christmas!"

I stepped back and glared at my twenty five year old brother, who was positively beaming, smiling ear to ear. He was wearing the exact same expression that Hermione had been faking for most of the morning. It was a look of freakish, 'commit-me-to-the-mad-house' glee. I suddenly wondered if it was too late to exchange the unstoppable watch I had brought him for a nice, comfy straightjacket, preferably one with room for Hermione too.

"Right…" I trailed off, turning to walk downstairs. Ron side-stepped in front of me and blurted out, "Is erm, everybody here yet…Charlie, Bill…everybody?"

"Hermione's downstairs," I answered smiling, "with her new boyfriend Ricky. God is he gorgeous! All tanned and muscular, mmm…those muscles, rippling down his stomach. Sorry, I'm drooling just thinking about it." I pretended to fan my face and sneaked a peak at Ron's stricken expression. I know it was an evil thing to do but as his sister it is my sworn duty to taunt him whenever the opportunity strikes.

"I begged, literally down on my knees, for Hermione to agree to share him," I continued in mock-exasperation, "I'd get him on a Tuesday, she'd get him on a Wednesday and so on. The weekends, now they would have been trickier, what with the two of them being horded up in that one little room, with all the windows steaming up…"

"Enough!" Ron cried. "Is he down there right now?" he began angrily, moving towards the stairs. He was doing the puffed up, macho thing I had once seen an ape do in a zoo (after 7-year old Fred had high-jumped the barrier and began eating stray bananas - I knew he should have been given to a pack of wolves to rear)

"Ron," I said through a particularly wicked giggle, "I'm kidding! Good lord, do you fall for anything?"

"I knew you were," Ron said with a face resembling a ripe tomato. "I didn't want to hurt your ego by calling you an immature, annoying cow, who, quite frankly, has very chubby ankles!"

I glared. He glowered. We then smiled, placed our hands on each other shoulders and at the same time, in the same happy, nostalgic tone shouted, "Wrestle!"

"Still fighting," a voice said pleasantly, "It's like I never left."

I'd dreamt about this moment. I would turn around, looking ravishingly beautiful of course, and then he, lovely and repentant, would beg my forgiveness for buggering off and deserting me to the clutches of bad dates with worse breath, and then after a sufficient period of grovelling I would take him back, frostily at first but I'd soon thaw out and we would be deliriously happy. Sound too good to be true? You bet your grandmother it does…

What really happened went a little something like this…

"Harry!" Ron shouted, "Great to see you mate!" He bounded forward ready to embrace his long-lost friend; unfortunately his bounding was slightly happened by the fact his hand was still firmly entangled in my hair.

"Ow!" I screeched, as Ron pulled me forward, momentarily oblivious that he had an angry sister growing out of his arm.

He stopped just in front of Harry and with his spare hand drew him into a manly hug. Mortified, didn't even cover it as I stood squirming in a position far too close to Harry's (gloriously fit) chest and as he, a smile on his face, said wryly to Ron, "I think you've forgotten something, mate."

Ron, the gormless, insensitive idiot, only laughed and roughly pulled his hand from my hair, of which every strand was unspeakably embarrassed.

"When was the last time you washed your hair Ginny?" Ron said jokingly as he pretended to wipe his hands on his trousers.

I meant to let out a low, deadly growl. It came out as a whimper.

As Ron was talking happily to Harry, I stood back and silently stared to see how much he had changed. I looked especially closely for any horrible, oozing warts, bald spots or hairy ears. There was nothing, nada, not a beer belly in sight. He looked absolutely bloody gorgeous. The bastard!

"Ron! Harry's here!" Hermione's excited voice came from downstairs. Ron grinned and rolled his eyes. "I thought I was the slow one!"

"Come on then," Ron said, leading the way downstairs. I stayed still. So did Harry.

"Hello Ginny," he spoke quietly.

Pitter patter…went my unruly heart.

"Oh, greetings stranger, how are those feet of yours? Still tired from stomping all over my soul!"

"Hello Harry," I breathed. "How are the monks?" I asked, in a classic example of talk before thought.

Harry looked puzzled. "Monks? No idea, never seen one."

Never seen one? But Ron had said the reason he had fled like a yellow bellied coward with tragically bad hair (ok, I added that bit) was so that he could find himself or some other stupid, selfish thing which made abandoning a girlfriend of three years all worth it

I waited for Harry to gallantly fall to his knees and offer an explanation of his whereabouts these past five years. He didn't. Instead he asked the question, all people like me, dreaded.

"So, how've you been?"

Me? Like chocolate ice cream with strawberries and sprinkles on top! I mean I have no boyfriend, no money and work for a hell bitch who I'm considering spending my meagre savings on hiring a hit man for and how could I forget last night? when according to Hermione, I had lustfully asked Colin Creevy if he would care to partake in a flash dance of flesh! But other than that I've been…

"Great! Work is great! Life is great! Everything is, y'know, great!" I replied with an overenthusiastic hand movement which caused a picture to crash dramatically of the wall.

Harry made to walk forward and (probably) perform CPR on the wailing wizard but I stopped him with my cunningly thought out lie.

"It was intentional, thought I'd better make a start on the spring cleaning."

"It's December, Ginny," Harry said, flaunting his use of ridiculous, unimportant logic.

Oh. Right. Then.

I was saved from any further embarrassment by my mother's shrill call of, "Ginnnnnnny! Bill, Fleur and the kids are here!"

Wonderful, an afternoon with the children of the corn, they were probably plotting of ways to mortally wound their 'doting' Aunt Ginny already.

"Coming!" I shouted back as I moved nimbly past Harry and down the stairs, all the while, excruciatingly conscious not to trip up and land with my arse waving the air.

"Happy Christmas Gin," I heard Harry murmuring softly from behind me.

And to you Harry. And to you.

11111

"Would you like the Gravy, Auntie Ginny?" chorused the Terrible Trio from across the table. A suspiciously sparkling gravy dish was offered to me; three identical faces smiling innocently as their politeness was met with several 'ooh's' and 'aren't they lovely's'

"Why? What've you done to it?" I asked shrewdly. I had experienced too many 'accidents' caused by my nieces and nephew to fall for their cute 'we-wouldn't-really-turn-Aunt-Ginny's-hairbrush-into-a-angry-rattlesnake' faces.

At nearly six, Petra, Gabby and Arthur Jnr, had the luxury of being the only grandchildren in the family and as a result were spoiled to their rotten cores. Everybody adored their freakishly blond hair and face-filling freckles. Everybody expect me, that is. I was the only person, who saw that the triplets weren't docile angels but rather specimens of pure, prodigious evil.

"Ze children are not trying to poison you Ginny," Fleur said, smiling with her impossibly white teeth. I mean seriously white…she looked like a walking, talking toothpaste ad. Fourteen hours of childbirth and not a single stretch mark in sight. Despite this Hermione still refuses to accept my theory that dear sister-in-law is actually a regenerative alien, sent down from planet flawless to taunt the less-fortunate.

The whole table glared at me disapprovingly.

"No thank you, children," I responded, with an uber-niceness that would make even singing nuns vomit into their prayer books.

A second later something warm and smooth circled its way around my ankles. Being a sister of troublesome twins I feared the worst, unfortunately all my years of sibling 'games' had not prepared me for the horror that was…playing footsy with Lola.

"Ron," I whispered, digging an elbow in his side. "Please tell your girlfriend to stop assaulting my feet!"

My brother at least had the decency to turn red before mouthing something to Lola, who of which was receiving scary, 'death-is-too-good-for-you' glares from Hermione. Lola, unsurprisingly, had not been invited to dinner. My mother was a loyal woman and with Hermione being like a daughter to her, she had not been best pleased to find the blond bimbo knocking on the door one hour ago, bearing gifts of Firewhiskey and mistletoe. She was even more displeased to find that the whole of the male attention had cunningly been diverted to Lola's nearly bare chest, ever since. On the last count, she had asked, 'Aren't you cold, dear?' six times. Fred and George had different concerns.

"Impressive piece of work," George mused, peering down Lola's shirt. Ron had now turned a shade between magenta and red.

"Indeed," Fred agreed with a professional little nod. "Now, Lola, how would you feel about a bit of market research? Strictly above board of course." Fred blew upon his hands and wiggled them before her. "Nice and warm…"

"Fred!" screeched my mother. "Behave yourself! The poor girl didn't come here to be…felt up by you!" Ron was now purple.

"She shouldn't be here at all!" muttered a voice on the other side of me. I turned to see Hermione grinding her teeth. She looked as if she was either going to cry or turn green, jump on the table and rip out Lola's jugular. I'd go for the latter.

"Oh, I don't mind Molly," Lola said perkily, "The boys are just interested in magical enlargement. They said earlier that they were thinking of branching out into cosmetic magic. I'm happy to help." She turned towards my dad, blonde ponytail swishing in the air and added, "How about you Arthur? Do you share your son's interest?"

Now my mother was purple. My father meanwhile lifted his head, mumbled something and hastily went back to fiddling with his new muggle calculator.

Family dinners, especially Christmas were always eventful. Last year Percy had stupidly agreed to taste-test one of the Terrible Trio's 'mystery chocolates', the mystery being that they turned the person into the exact opposite of who they were; Percy had walked around with a pink Mohawk,'bitchin' tattoo and lip piercing for two weeks before the spell finally wore off. Thankfully, Mr. Middle-aged had decided to go to his girlfriend's this year, thus sparing us from his usual lectures on the 'lazy youth of today'. To match his descent into grouchiness I had brought him a pair of slippers. He had brought me a pen. Actually a 5-pack of biro pens. Nice one, Percy!

"It's a shame Charlie can't be here," Bill said, wisely changing the subject. "Mind you, that one is only happy when doing something ridiculously dangerous. Man after my own heart."

Charlie, much to my mum's distress, had decided to spend his Yule-time scaling the heights of Mount Everest (hopefully not in his ever-present leather trousers) with his wife, Anya, a muggle who is quite simply brilliant.

"Well, we're risking our lives too!" George exclaims, picking up a bowl of my delicious cranberry sauce and cringing. The drama queen…

"I can't remember Ginny's cooking being too bad," Harry compliments. I turn slightly to look at him, sitting on the other side of Ron. Other than the obligatorily fan fare over his return, he's been unusual quiet, just sitting and watching, a content smile on his face. I've seen his face show many things, fear, desire, hatred but never contentment.

"What about the time I gave you raw chicken?" I asked, recalling with a wince the five hours Harry spent locked in the bathroom.

He laughed a little but made no remark.

The meal went on, the usual festivities washing over me as I tried not to turn towards Harry. I was supposed to be angry at him not making moon-eyes.

"So Ginny, how's the job going?" my father questioned gently. My attention for the last few minutes had been focused on pulling faces at the Terrible Trio, so I looked up with a start.

"The hell bitch still reigning supreme?" Bill added, with a sympathetic shudder.

"Well," I began tetchily, "She's still Satan's lipstick wearing minion, if that's what you mean."

Ron huffed and said, "It can't be that bad!"

Like he'd know! His boss at the Ministry (international sports division), was a complete sweetheart, a doddery old man whose wife made Ron chocolate brownies every week. Just once I'd love for old Jenkins to get possessed by a control freak demon who had a fondness for whipping employees!

"No? How about this? Last week I had to pick up her mountain of dry cleaning, then put it into her wardrobe- colour co-ordinated of course and then, in case my fun levels were running too low, she asked if I'd give her carpets the quick once over with the bloody hover! I did but not before her toothbrush received the same treatment around the toilet bowl!"

"Ginny!-

"What? I've only got to suck up to her until the committee makes its decision. I'm sure to get the job, after all the only decent competition is Luna and she told me that her essay was on the 'top 100 ways that the Quibbler was better than the Prophet'. Weird choice for her but it has to be good for me, Right?"

An uncomfortable hush fell over the table. Even Lola had the good grace to stop slurping her eggnog.

"What?" I asked worriedly. A bad feeling flooded the pit of my stomach. Only Hermione looked as puzzled as me.

Harry coughed awkwardly and asked "That wouldn't be the position of special features writer, would it?"

I nodded. The bad feeling had started to growl

"Ron was supposed to have told you," Harry said, staring stonily at my red-faced brother/future murder victim.

Please tell me he's not going to say what I think…

"It's one of the reasons I came back," He said, now smiling slightly. "I got the job last week."

No way. Not a chance.

"I'll guess we'll be working together," Harry said, eyes twinkling. "Should be fun."

Yeah…fun…

I forced a smile. "I'm sure it will be."