Chapter 2
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the immediate plot!
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Well, this is dandy. I had promised Hermione that I would bring a date to her wedding, but I still haven't heard back from the dear Ms. Blackburn. I suppose this isn't worst coming to worst, but it's pretty close.
The words "Madame Milkin's" are on the tip of my tongue as I stand in front of my fireplace; I'm meeting Hermione for a fantastically fun gown dressing. I'm fifteen minutes late, and I know I'm going to get a nice, sound scolding from my best friend.
As I prepare to step into the fireplace, I hear a smack.
My head whips around to the living room window and I see my owl, Belle, beginning to float downward.
"Oh, Pig and Errol are rubbing off on her," I say to myself as I pull out my wand.
"Accio Belle!" I call with a flick of my wrist.
Smack.
Ah, that was a bad idea. I should have opened the window first, then Accio-ed the poor dear.
I chuck my wand into my purse and open the window, pulling Belle inside carefully.
As I try to make amends for smashing her into the window, she grunts disgustedly and stays only long enough for me to untie the letter on her leg.
With a flutter, my owl is out the window again – free of a rather foolish owner.
I look at the letter addressed to Miss Ginny Weasley in neat, curvy handwriting. I squeal just like I did when I received my official invitation to Hogwarts nine years ago; I've been waiting for Maggie Blackburn's reply for two days now, and it's finally here.
I do a mental drum roll, but just as I open the letter, Hermione's angry face pops into our fireplace.
"Ginny Weasley! May I please ask what you are doing on this sunny Saturday afternoon?"
I point to the letter.
"And what is that, exactly?" she demands.
"Oh, it's the reply from Mag-" I cut myself off before my mouth informs Hermione of my current dating issues. Yeah, she doesn't know about those wonderful issues quite yet.
"Um… The reply. From… the magazine! The magazine!" I sputter.
Hermione shoots me a skeptical look before deciding to ignore my last comment.
"Do you know where you should have been twenty minutes ago?" she interrogates.
"Madame Milkin's!" I reply promptly.
"And why are you at the flat instead of at Madame Milkin's?" she asks, her voice sounding like that of Madame Hooch explaining why Quidditch is played on brooms.
I point to the letter again as I grin widely. I can't risk opening my big mouth again.
Hermione rolls her eyes, and I hear her mutter a barely audible "whatever."
"Just floo here now."
Order received. I jump into the fireplace as soon as Hermione's head disappears, letter still in hand. I tumble out of Madame Milkin's fireplace looking quite disheveled, I imagine.
As I brush the soot off my clothes, Hermione grabs my shoulders and hauls me over to the measuring stool, where a thin-mouthed Madame Milkin is waiting with her measuring tape in hand. I never knew anyone's mouth could be so thin, really. Hermione grabs my purse and the letter from me and conspiratorially nods to Madame Milkin.
After a few minutes of being measured this way and that, Hermione drags me over to the aisles of evening gowns that Madame Milkin reserves for her wedding customers.
I follow that favorite person of mine along the aisles as she tosses potential gowns at me until my head is hardly visible behind the heap of blues and pinks and purples. I am blissfully unaware of Hermione's dress-shopping tactics from behind my wall of gowns.
The shopping goes on and on, and by the time Hermione and I Apparate home, my feet feel like a hippogriff has stomped on them repeatedly.
This has been a long day, but my eyes brighten when I remember that I have a certain letter to open. I pause and listen to make sure that Hermione is in the shower and not available to witness my foolish attempts at dating, then fumble through my purse, where I had stuffed the letter earlier.
Dear Ms. Weasley,
I would be honored to present you with more information about Bachelor #3, who has received word of your interest as well. This bachelor, however, does not wish to divulge his name or address until he corresponds to you through owl.
Bachelor #3 has instructed me to give you his temporary owling address, which is as follows:
2731 S. Warring Boulevard
-Hogsmeade-
Thank you for your interest, and please do inform me of any developments with Bachelor #3!
Best wishes,
Maggie Blackburn
Editor, Looking for Love?
I find myself snorting. Who was this mystery Bachelor #3? And why was he so paranoid? In fact, he almost reminds me of... Oh dear. He reminds me of one Mr. Potter – a lot. I grab the old issue of The Daily Prophet that I had stuffed in my desk drawer.
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Today's Bachelor #3 is a smashing, dark-haired twenty-one-year-old who attended Hogwarts as a Gryffindor. This darling has always been skilled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, is a professional Quidditch player, and desires nothing more than a down-to-earth girl to keep him company. His hobbies include reading, watching the stars (This one's a romantic!), and most recently, sculpting.
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Drat. Bachelor #3 probably is Harry Potter. Dark hair. Twenty-one. Gryffindor. DADA. Quidditch! I can't believe I never realized it. I didn't know about the reading, stars, and sculpting, but the boy (or man) had practically lived in my family's house for ten years!
This is awful! I –
Wait. Perhaps this isn't so awful. I mean, I've been over him for ages, but I guess there will always be a soft spot for him. The crooked glasses. The messy hair. The shy smile. Yes, I suppose I do still have a tiny soft spot for him.
So inquiring about Bachelor #3 might have been the best decision I've ever made in my entire life. I can "blind date" Harry while knowing who he is and not being afraid that my "blind date" is a serial killer.
I suppose I might as well send my owl over. No hurt to try, right? And who cares if I already know who he is?
I clear my throat and head to my room for a quill and some paper. As I pass the bathroom, I hear Hermione turn the shower off and I speed up my step a little.
Locking the door to my room, I sit down and feel a flutter in my stomach. I roll my eyes at myself. This whole thing is just so silly. I feel a familiar flame creep onto my cheeks as I imagine what Hermione would say if she knew I was trying to blind date someone I already knew. I bury my face in my hands when I picture Mum's reaction. Or Lavender's. Oh, she would laugh me straight to 2731 S. Warring Boulevard and tell me to just jump him already!
Knock knock.
"Ginny?"
I jump out of my chair. Surely she didn't know about my little scheme? I mean, Hermione is smart, but she is not clairvoyant. At least I hope not.
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Do you know if we have a new bottle of hand lotion somewhere? I looked in the bathroom but couldn't find any."
Oh, thank Merlin. She doesn't know.
"Um, no. I don't think we have any," I reply quickly.
"All right, thanks."
I hear Hermione's footsteps pad away.
Quill in hand. Paper on desk. Breathe in, breathe out.
Dear Bachelor #3, -scratch, scratch.
I would really rather call him Harry, but he doesn't know that I know who he is yet. So Bachelor #3 he is.
Start over.
Dear Bachelor #3,
I am owling you because I read your profile in The Daily Prophet's dating section. I found myself interested in meeting you, so I contacted Maggie Blackburn. She gave me your temporary owling address, so here I am.
I suppose it's only fair if I reveal a bit about myself, so you can decide whether or not to toss my letter. I am twenty years old and attended Hogwarts as a Gryffindor (not unlike yourself), so I reckon I must know of your name, if not you personally. Of course, I won't offer my name, since that would take all the fun out of this blind dating affair.
Anyway, I'm currently working as an architect and share a flat with my best friend. My occupation hints at the fact that I'm artistic, which explains part of the reason I decided to owl you – you sculpt. My best subject in school was always Charms, although I quite enjoyed Herbology as well.
I know this introduction was rather hasty and superficial, but I believe I've covered the basics.
If it suits your fancy, please reply via the owl I sent to your address.
Sincerely,
Carrot (only a pseudonym – don't worry!)
P.S. – About the greeting, I wasn't sure exactly what to call you. I apologize if it impersonalizes you!
I wonder if I should tell him about the wedding and my need for a date. Nah, that will make it seem like I'm using him for a fling.
I smile a complacent smile, fold the letter, and tie it to Belle's leg. Poor dear, she's been out hiding from me all day, but she had no choice but to come back for food.
"2731 S. Warring Boulevard!" I tell Belle.