The weather was disagreeable on the Saturday before the first Hogsmeade weekend. The sky was overcast, blanketing Hogwarts with a dull, gray color. Mild showers came and went during the morning, but the sun emerged from behind the clouds that afternoon, so Harry and Ginny decided to still go flying. They had only just taken off from their brooms, however, when the sky clapped with thunder and rain started falling heavily a second later. They managed to fly hurriedly towards the shelter of the Gryffindor locker room, but going to the castle was out of the question. It was practically a deluge outside.

"Argh!" Harry yelled in frustration after about ten minutes of sitting in the locker room doing nothing. "Stupid rain…. We should have listened to Hermione."

Ginny did not respond. She had taken off her shoes and was now busily trying to dry them off. She did not know the spell word though, so she tried different variations of the word 'dry' in all the languages she knew—which was only English. Harry looked dubiously at her. He wouldn't be surprised if her shoes started catching fire.

"Do you think it's okay to go out there?" he asked. It was only rain after all. There was no harm in getting a little wet.

"You go," said Ginny, "There's no way I'm going out there until this stops."

Harry sighed and sat, defeated, on the bench opposite her. He did not fancy getting wet by himself. He didn't like having nothing to do either and only a minute had passed before he started fidgeting restlessly on his seat. He started bouncing his feet up and down the floor, but Ginny looked disapprovingly at him so he stopped.

Ginny finally gave up on her rather impossible task after several minutes. She turned to Harry and reached into her pocket for a packet of Every Flavor Beans.

"Beans?" she offered.

Harry wasn't really hungry, but eating provided him with something to do, so he took a red bean which he knew to be cherry-flavored and popped it into his mouth. They sat in companionable silence for a while, taking care not to eat the suspicious looking beans. The only sound to be heard was the loud pitter-patter of rain and the not-so-distant rolls of thunder.

"This isn't going to stop anytime soon, is it?" commented Harry, breaking their silence. He looked forlornly out the window at the torrential downpour going on outside. "I wanted to try out that trick Wendell Parkin did this week. Did you see that?"

"The one on Thursday's Prophet?"

"Yeah…I guess I'll have to try that next Saturday…."

"It's Hogsmeade visit next week," she reminded him. "Well, I guess you can always stay…but I'm definitely going. It's my first Hogsmeade weekend."

"Oh yeah," said Harry, suddenly remembering that Ginny was a year below him. "Are you excited?"

"A little," she said casually. "But I've been there before, so not so much really."

"You've been there? When?" he asked curiously. "I thought you said it's going to be your first Hogsmeade weekend."

"Well, I went there one Friday last year, that's not really a weekend," she replied, sounding as though it was the most logical thing in the world. He stared at her, expecting further explanation. "Fred and George took me," she added.

Harry scoffed. "Why do I get the feeling you only use Fred and George's names to excuse your antics?" he accused her jokingly.

"Wha—I do not!" she said fervently. He raised one eyebrow at her. "Okay, maybe I do…sometimes…but it was really them who took me to Hogsmeade last year. I didn't go by myself."

"Alright, if you say so…."

"It's true!" she said loudly, throwing a couple of uneaten Every Flavor Beans at him.

"What? I said I believe you, didn't I?" he said, chuckling and catching the Beans expertly.

She looked suspiciously at him and threw another Bean his way. He caught it with the trained reflexes of a Seeker and burst out laughing at the hilarity of the situation. She joined him a second later.

It was several minutes before both of them regained their composure. Ginny stood up and headed for one of the windows. She stared outside, probably assessing if they could make a run for the castle without getting too wet. A few minutes later, she turned to face Harry, looking excited.

"I just remembered," she said breathlessly. "The First Task is on the Wednesday after Hogsmeade weekend…that's like ten days from now. What do you think it'll be?" she asked. "Charlie wrote me a few days ago, said he'd be coming here for the First Task...oh, do you think it involves dragons?"

"That would be cool," Harry said fervently. "Hagrid would love that."

"Yeah…I wonder what the Champions'll have to do."

"I hope Cedric Diggory gets top points—"

"Of course he will," she said surely. "He's really good. He got like, eight Outstandings in his OWLs, did you hear?"

Harry shook his head, he hadn't heard.

"He'll definitely get top points," she said, more firmly this time.

"You seem so sure," he commented.

"Of course, he's from Hogwarts. Love your own," she added jokingly, grinning widely at him.

"Do you like him?" he blurted out. He didn't know what made him do it, but he had voiced the question before he could stop himself.

"What?" she asked, amusement and incredulity vying for first place on her face. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you always say how good he is," he began sheepishly, wishing now that he hadn't said anything. "And well, he's good-looking…I mean, even blokes can see that—"

"Harry, just because a girl thinks a guy is good and handsome doesn't mean she likes him," she said kindly. He could detect a small tone of mischief in her voice though and he couldn't help but wonder whether she was secretly laughing at him inside her head.

"Well, you said…love—"

"Love your own?" she said. She really was laughing now. He was starting to feel a little mortified. "Come on Harry, I said 'he's from Hogwarts, love your own'. It means I'll always be partial to him 'cause he's from our school."

"Oh," he said quietly. What she said actually made perfect sense. Even he, Harry, was biased towards Cedric, too. (Ron was biased towards Krum, but that was just him). He grinned sheepishly at Ginny.

"Merlin," she said, rolling her eyes at him, "you overanalyze more than Hermione sometimes…."

He tried to give a casual shrug, and looked anywhere but at Ginny, who was probably wearing a very wide, mischievous grin right now (he was too embarrassed to check and look at her). His eyes fell on the Quaffle at the foot of the lockers and he took it, eager for some distraction. He turned to the other side of the room and started kicking the Quaffle against the wall.

"Hey, you know football?" she asked, surprise evident in her voice.

"Er, a bit, yeah," he answered truthfully. He knew what football was, and he'd played a few games, but that was about the extent of it.

"How come?" asked Ginny, sitting on the bench directly beside where he was standing. "I mean, did your Dad teach you?"

"Nah, not Dad, he doesn't know football," he replied. Sure, his Dad knew how to kick a ball, but then again, who didn't? "Mum enrolled me to a Muggle school when I was seven and we played football there."

"Oh," she said, nodding her head in understanding. "Are you any good? Do you support a team? Wait, you enrolled in a Muggle school? What's it like?"

"Which one do you want me to answer first?" he asked, laughing.

"The Muggle school thing," she replied, eyes round with obvious wonder and curiosity.

"Well, I'd only been there for five months," he told her, "I don't really remember much... Except that I had a fight with this boy once—he lost and had a tantrum and started wrecking the teacher's table…. Mum grounded me for a whole week!"

"Is that why you only went for five months?" she asked, giving him a very amused expression. "Did you get expelled or something?"

"No...I turned all my playmates' skins green," he said reminiscently. "We were playing football and I suggested that we play Quidditch, and well of course, they didn't believe me. I got mad, and then, bam! Green…."

Ginny snorted. A moment later, she started laughing hysterically, doubling over and clutching her stomach. Harry started laughing too. It was quite a funny memory.

"They had to get a couple of Obliviators at the scene," he continued with a reminiscent grin. "Mum decided then that it wasn't safe for me to go to a Muggle school, which was perfectly fine with me because I then spent all my time at the Centre with Dad and Sirius. They were the ones who taught me the basic stuff, and Mum too, on weekends or when she had time off from St. Mungo's."

"I still can't believe you turned everyone green!" Ginny exclaimed breathlessly, still trying to control her laughter. "That was the reason Mum was so adamant against putting us in Muggle school. I mean, I can only imagine what Fred and George would do to everyone."

"Or you…you would probably turn everyone to goo," he said jokingly. He kicked the Quaffle towards the wall.

"Shut up," she said playfully. She stood up, stopped the Quaffle which had rolled towards her and kicked it towards him. "So, do you support a team?"

"Er, Liverpool?" he replied unsurely.

"Are they any good?"

"Well, they're better than me or my playmates," he said, prompting a chuckle from her. "I mean, I don't really know…I've only seen them play once. Actually, they're the only team I've seen play, and Chea-something, can't remember the name. One of my playmates—"

"Who you turned green—"

"—yes. Well, he invited me to watch a game at his house, and it was Liverpool against Chea-blah…and Liverpool won, so I support them," he finished with a winning grin, knowing full well that his logic didn't really make sense.

"Hmmm… let me guess," she began in a mock-thoughtful tone, "Liverpool wears red?"

"Actually, yeah—"

"They do?" she asked, her jaw dropping and her eyes widening in a mixture of shock and amusement. "I was just kidding!"

He chuckled as he kicked the Quaffle towards the wall. The ball rolled towards her and she stopped it with her foot.

"Damn..." she murmured, "Wanderers, Liverpool, Gryffindor…. You have a thing for red, don't you?" she added in an offhand joking manner, her red hair bouncing as she tried to juggle the scarlet ball with her feet.

Harry stared at her, his eyes following hers as she followed the progress of the Quaffle from her feet, to the air, and to the floor. Suddenly, he burst out laughing. He sat down on the bench and doubled over in mirth. For some reason, something had hit him as really funny, but he couldn't understand what it was.

"Yeah, yeah, I can't juggle," she said wryly. "I'm going to get better though, you'll see…."

"I wasn't laughing at that!" he defended, though he wasn't sure about it. Maybe her juggling skills—or lack thereof—was what hit him as really funny.

Ginny rolled her eyes disbelievingly at him and turned back to her 'juggling'. Her kicking was erratic and all she succeeded in doing was kick the ball for at most two consecutive times before it fell to the floor. Harry bit his lip, trying not to smirk. It was quite funny. At least he could keep the ball off the ground for longer than five seconds. But then again, he was taught by boys who probably grew up sleeping with footballs as their pillows. Which reminded him—

"Hey, how come you know football?" he asked her. Even though she couldn't juggle, it was quite obvious that she did know the game. Juggling was a pretty common football term, but for someone who had no Muggle relations at all, he had expected the concept to be quite foreign.

"Oh, er…" she began tentatively. She turned away from him in the pretense of kicking the Quaffle towards another wall, but not before he caught the pinkish tinge that was starting to spread throughout her cheeks. He looked intently at the back of her head, now more intrigued with her answer than he had been a second ago.

"Dean and I ran into each other a few times last year," she continued, her back still turned away from him. "He was practicing too. Football, I mean. He used to come here at around the same time I did, 'cause no one's practicing Quidditch. And well, he started teaching me some stuff, but only a little, we don't really meet up all the time. He prefers coming on mornings. He supports West Ham. He's really good…."

She turned to face him, her cheeks and neck redder than they'd been a minute ago, and gave him an embarrassed smile.

"And he's a mean juggler," she added, sounding as though it sealed the deal (whatever the deal was).

"You're blushing," he pointed out. Part of him wanted to tease her, part of him didn't, so he contented himself with giving her a very smug smile.

She gave a casual shrug, her cheeks regaining their normal color, but he could tell that she was still a little embarrassed.

"How come I don't see him coming around this year?" he expressed his wonder. "It would be a good time to practice, since no one's using the pitch for Quidditch training."

"Probably busy," she said nonchalantly. "He's got a girlfriend, you know…. He probably spends all of his free time with her."

"He does?" he asked in surprise. He was always late when it came to those kinds of things.

"Yeah, it's that fifth year Gryffindor. Miriam Morrell."

"Oh…." He looked at Ginny, wondering if she was alright with it. She obviously liked Dean. After all her blushing, only Ron would miss that fact. "Sorry…."

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, amused.

"Well, er, you know," he paused, wondering whether he had assumed wrongly again. "Er—"

"Oh, that…well, it doesn't matter. It's just a crush anyway," she said casually.

He looked at her, not believing that she didn't feel bad about it. After all, if it was him in her position, he definitely wouldn't be alright with it.

"I mean, it stings, just a tiny bit," she said, showing with her thumb and index finger just how 'tiny' she meant it. "But other than that, it's fine, honestly. I mean, I don't really like him that much, so it really doesn't matter."

He continued to look unbelievingly at her.

"You don't believe me?" she asked, snorting. "Well, believe whatever you want to believe—"

"Fine, fine, I believe you," he said, giving in. "Whatever you say…."

She grinned smugly at him.

"But you do like him?" he asked, wanting confirmation.

"A little, yes," she replied, smiling and nodding at him. "But like I said, not that much," she asserted.

He smiled back. That fact was oddly comforting.

Betaed by: PadfootProngs7