I Still Miss My Valentine (But My Aim is Getting Better)

"Lumos," whispered Ginny, cupping her hand over the tip of her wand and peering around the dungeons. She listened hard, but could hear no approaching footsteps. Maybe she really had escaped from the lust-crazed mob of teenage boys. One could always hope. Of course, she now had absolutely no idea where she was, which could definitely turn out to be a problem. According to Gryffindor gossip, the underdungeons of Hogwarts were home to Ghidrah, Rodan, several Sleezaks, The Creature From the Black Lagoon, the giant squid's love child by Moaning Myrtle, Sigmund the Sea Monster, and Thing One and Thing Two, not to mention a rumoured pair of Professor Snape's undergarments that had once escaped from the laundry and turned any student into stone who was unfortunate enough to lay eyes on them. Ginny thought for a moment about how best to proceed.

"Point me," she finally said, holding up her wand. It quivered and jerked towards the left, where a sinister passageway stretched into the darkness.. She gulped. Still, she was a Gryffindor after all, however badly maroon might clash with her hair. Ginny set her chin and started resolutely forward.

Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, pooling on the stone flor and running into the cracks of the walls in little rivulets. Maybe that was actually a good sign. Perhaps it meant that she was getting closer to the lake. But wait... wait... Ginny paused and cocked her head to one side, trying to decide if she actually heard the faint sound of footsteps far behind her. I wish I knew how to cast a Hearing charm... She kept walking while listening to the barely audible sounds, so engrossed in them that she only realized one of the stone walls had moved to swing itself into her path when she ran into it.

"Oof!" Ginny staggered back. That's not a wall! Feels more yielding, somehow...more like... oh dear, oh dear... Slowly, she looked up.

"Ugh, baby," grunted Gregory Goyle, grabbing Ginny and pulling her into a bone-crushing hug that was, mercifully, at least brief. Gasping and choking for air as she emerged from it, Ginny glanced down at her ribcage and noted that it now seemed to be shaped differently. She backed further down the corridor, and he advanced towards her. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't help thinking that it bore remarkable resemblance to certain scenes in badly dubbed Japanese films she'd watched at 3:00 a.m. during the week that her father had hooked up the illegal television set and satellite dish. Godzilla had always been involved. But is he the mean Godzilla of Destroy All Monsters? she thought crazily. Or the nice, friendly, happy Godzilla of Party on Monster Island?

"Hear me now and believe me later," said Goyle. "I am your new boyfriend.." He paused to throw a "most muscular" pose, and Ginny did have to admit that his brachialis and anterior delts popped out most impressively.

"Uh, Goyle--Greg--" she babbled, "I know you're a lovely person and all--at least, I'm sure you are, beneath your bullying, Neanderthal exterior--very, very far underneath--but this wouldn't work. No, it wouldn't work at all."

"It would," Goyle informed her in lordly tones. "You can be most useful, Ginny. You could pick out my posing briefs, oil me up before bodybuilding competitions, cheer from the audience, cook my broiled chicken breasts and mix my fat-free protein powder shakes--" He reached out hamlike hands to emphasize the point, but they closed on empty air. Ginny ducked out from under him at the last moment. Unfortunately, a body in motion tends to stay in motion, and Gregory Goyle was a lot of mass in motion. Ginny heard the distinct crack of his skull against the stone wall as she fled, followed by an echoing groan and a dull thud.

"Ginny," panted a voice below her left ear. "Wait up--"

She looked down to see Colin Creevey, camera swinging wildly around his neck as usual. He lifted it and began twisting the lens back and forth. That, too, was to be expected. However, the crazed look in his eyes was something new.

"Colin," she said nervously, still backing away, "I'm glad to see you, really I am, but--um--I don't think this is exactly the best time to take pic-"

Flash!

"Look, I'm trying to escape a mob at the moment, and although we're friends and all I really wish you wouldn't-"

Flash!

"Stop it!" she shrieked, rubbing her eyes. "Not here! Not now! I'm trying to get out of the dungeons and you're not making it any easier!"

"You're right, Ginny," said Colin eagerly. "Come up to my room! It's ever so much more private. There's some wonderful posing space."

"Oh no," she groaned. "Not you as well!"

"Ginny, I've figured out how I'm going to make a name for myself in photography," he informed her, blocking her path and clutching at her arm. "You're going to be my new model! My muse, my inspiration, my artistic partner! Together, we'll explore uncharted waters of pure aesthetic expression. Oh, and Playwizard would pay a fortune for some good nudes." Desperately, Ginny tried to back away, but Colin only advanced on her.

"Give up. You can't resist me," he panted.

"Oh--I can, believe me, I can-" Ginny slipped on a damp patch on the floor, which gave Colin the opportunity to grab her other arm.

"But it's fated to be. It's always the photographers that end up with the models. So let's mix up our chemistry, Ginny," he leered, "and see what develops."

Ginny decided later that as punishment for bad puns alone, Colin fully deserved what happened next.

Flash!

Ginny lunged forward. Colin fell back. The camera turned so that the flash went off directly into his face. He gave a loud screech and stumbled against the wall. Unfortunately, he was standing over one of the many lake trapdoors in the underdungeons at the time. Dimly, Ginny heard a faraway splash. But there was no time to feel relief, because even as she listened to make sure Colin wasn't scrambling back up the passage, a faint sound of footsteps was unmistakable. She started running down the corridor in the opposite direction. At least, she thought it was the opposite direction. Ginny frequently became lost while crossing quite ordinary-sized rooms, so the point may be said to be in doubt.

A figure moved across the far end of her field of vision. She stiffened, grabbing her wand. "Who is it?" she asked nervously. When the figure drew closer, she recognized it as Ernie MacMillan. He smiled pleasantly on seeing her.

"Are you lost, Ginny? I'm a bit at loose ends, as well," he said in a friendly way.

She watched the Hufflepuff narrowly, alert for sudden moves. He looked perfectly normal, his hair precisely cut to a length of three-eighths of a centimeter below his ears, as usual, the normal stuffed-prat-prefect expression on his face. But appearances might be deceiving. Had he eaten any of the cookies, or not? She didn't think so. Yet she couldn't quite remember...

"I say, what are you doing down here?" he asked, coming closer, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. He didn't jump on her, or attempt to rip her clothes off, or declare undying lust. So Ginny relaxed.

"Really, I'm relieved to see you, Ernie," she confessed.

"Oh?"

"Well, yes. You see, every boy at Hogwarts has been driven temporarily stark raving mad by a love potion I brewed for Valentine's Day. But I know that I can trust you, because--" Ginny faltered. Actually, she wasn't entirely sure why she should, aside from the fact that Ernie MacMillan had never been seen to exhibit the slightest sign of any sex drive whatsoever. At the moment, it seemed enough.

"Because eating any of your Valentine cookies when no other refreshments were available would have been strictly against the rules for any of the prefects," Ernie said calmly. "The edict's been in existence since 1066, when the Norman Invasion caused a temporary shortage of haggis."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Ginny with a sigh of relief. "And you've always followed every rule to its precise letter, Ernie. A girl feels safe around you. Now, if you can only help me find a way out of these dungeons and down to the lake, we'll--"

Then she felt a hand at her ankle. Startled, she glanced down to see the Hufflepuff prefect kneeling at her feet in the corridor of the dungeon, his fingers clutching her red leather slippers. "Uh--Ernie?" she asked tentatively. "Is anything--er--"

"But that's just it, Ginny. I haven't followed the rules," said Ernie, the now-familiar look of crazed lust entering his eyes.

"Oh, no," she moaned in horror. "Not you!"

"In fact, I've been-- I've been- a naughty prefect! There! I've said it!" burst out Ernie. I ate half a Valentine cookie!"

"Oh, Ernie, please, do get up--do stop licking my slipper, I really wish you would, I'm sure it's not at all sanitary--"

"You'll have to punish me. I have a squirrel whip in my room. You might have to wear a black leather bustier while using it. It's the one I put on in the dead of night at every full moon when I dance about the Astronomy Tower, singing I Enjoy Being a Girl. But I think it'll look rather better on you."

"Ernie, I like you, really I do, but I simply don't think of you that way--stop sucking my toes!" Ginny said sternly, trying to step back.

"Ooo, Mistress Ginny is becoming angry!" he said, his eyes shining. "I think this unruly slave needs some discipline in order to behave properly."

Biting her lip, Ginny decided that the time had come for stricter measures. She took careful aim and kicked him in the area her mother had outlined for just such a situation when she'd taken her daughter into the kitchen before fourth year for what all her aunts always referred to as The Talk. Ernie gave an awful groan and rolled over onto his side, clutching said area, which made Ginny feel rather guilty.

"Thank you, Mistress," he gasped. "May--I--have-- another?"

In response, Ginny turned and fled.

She had run kilometres, by now, it seemed. Surely she must be getting close to the exit by the lake. Of course, it was rumoured that marauders from the original Viking invasion of the Scottish coast under Eyok the Malnourished in the ninth century were still wandering around the Hogwarts dungeons, but Ginny reassured herself that it was because men never would ask for directions. She stopped to catch her breath, reaching down to fit one of her red slippers better onto her foot. She'd lost the other one in her mad dash from Ernie. If only she knew Cinderella charms... but those were sixth year...

"Looking for something?" said a voice.

Ginny glanced up to see Michael Corner holding out a hand, one red slipper dangling from a finger.

"Oh! Thanks awfully." She gave him an absent smile, fitting on the slipper.

"Is that all you've got to say?"

"Well, yes. I suppose it is," said Ginny. "Unless you know the way out of the dungeons. That would be frightfully helpful."

"Ginny!" He caught at her arm. "Don't you know who I am?"

She studied his face carefully, then shrugged. "I'm afraid not."

"We dated for almost a year!"

"I'm terribly sorry, no."

"I used to snog you all the time in deserted Charms classrooms!"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Remember after the fifty-ninth incredibly frustrating snog session when you wouldn't let me touch you below the neck, when I cornered you in the janitor's closet and asked you to prove you were a real redhead? And then you kneed me in the groin and ran out into the corridor?"

"Oh..." Ginny's brow furrowed. "I suppose a very vague memory is coming back to me now. Whatever happened after I left you lying on the floor, writhing in agonizing pain?"

"Filch came along and did the same thing," Michael said gloomily. "I couldn't walk properly for a week."

"That's, ah--really too bad," said Ginny. "Now, if you do know the way out of the dungeons, maybe you could draw me a--"

"And every time I asked you to come to the Astronomy Tower with me, after that, you claimed that you had to wash your hair." Michael continued speaking as if he hadn't heard her.

"Uh--"

"Or rearrange your spellbooks." He began to advance on Ginny. She glanced around and saw that he was backing her against a wall.

"Um--Matthew, did you say your name was?"

"Once you said you had to polish your broomstick."

"Listen, Murray, I'm sure we can talk this thing out--"

"As I recall, I told you that I had a broomstick you could polish, if you liked." He had her pinned to the rough stones now, and Ginny realized with some alarm that she did indeed remember the incident to which he referred..

"Did they ever, er, get you down from that beam in the Great Hall where I had hexed you to hang by your underwear?" she asked in what she hoped were politely conversational tones.

"Eventually," said Michael. "But I was known as 'Captain Wedgie' for the rest of the year. A man can't just forget a thing like that, Ginny."

Ginny gulped. "I'm sorry. Really, really, really sorry! Um--Mark, was it?"

"I'm special!" Michael exploded. "I'm unique! I'm Michael Cornelius Corner! I like bacon and onion quiche! I secretly paint my toenails scarlet! I think of Bee Gees songs from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack when I wank off, for some inexplicable reason! See, I do have a personality! And you're never going to ignore me again!"

He lunged at her, rubbery lips about to close over her mouth with all the sensuality of a landed mackerel. Ginny closed her eyes and gave herself up for lost.

A strangled "urkh!' met her ears. Not exactly what she had expected to hear. She cautiously peeped through her fingers to see Vincent Crabbe holding Michael Corner several inches off the ground by his neck and pummeling his head.

"Let--me--go," spluttered Michael.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Crabbe idly, twisting his ears.

"What?" Michael stared at him. "Did you say a two-syllable word?"

"I wish you wouldn't say the word 'what.' It's very irritating." Crabbe added a few kidney punches to punctuate his words.

"What? A four-syllable word? I thought you only communicated in grunts and simple signs--"

"If you say 'what' one more time, I will be forced to elucidate my position on the matter in no uncertain terms."

"Wha--"

"I'm afraid I'll have to send you down to the giant squid now," Crabbe said in conversational tones, opening a trapdoor in the floor with one clublike foot.

"You'll never get away with this!" spluttered Michael.

"I think I will. Nobody will ever know what happened to you. You'll disappear as thoroughly as Schrodinger's cat, and your end will be as mysterious as the solution to Einstein's Unified Field Theory." Whistling the end of Schubert's Unfinished Symphony, Crabbe stuffed Michael through the little door, which unfortunately wasn't quite as large as the smaller boy's head.

"You wait! Just wait! I'll be baaaaaack..." Splash.

"Are you all right?" Crabbe asked Ginny solicitously once the frantic flailing sounds from below had died away.

She eyed him nervously. Ginny didn't think he'd eaten any of the cookies, but she was sure of very little at this point. After all, at any moment he might declare his undying lust. She didn't know if she could endure the entire situation turning out to be one of those Beauty-and-the-Beast/King- Kong-and-Fay-Wray/Godzilla-and-that-creepy-little-Japanese-kid-in-the-short-pants things. "I'm okay," she said guardedly, noting with relief that he had moved no closer to her.

"I'm sure you don't want to wait for any additional members of your hormonally crazed fan club to make their appearance," Crabbe continued, smiling.. "Shall we?" He pointed at a little stone door behind her. It's the one that leads out to the shore of the lake! Ginny realized. Perhaps... perhaps everything really was going to start returning to normal now. She heaved a sigh of relief.

A puff of smoke billowed up in the middle of the dark corridor. Had Ginny been more experienced with interdimensional travel, she likely would have recognized it as a sign that a traveler had reappeared in the current four-dimensional spacetime continuum. However, she was not, and it remains doubtful that the realization would have lessened the shock, anyway.

A figure shimmered, wavered, and resolved itself into Draco Malfoy. It took Ginny several seconds to resolve its identity, however, since she had previously only seen Draco Malfoy in a succession of understated black robes, or perhaps a subtly Slytherin green sweater, or a button-down linen shirt with a discreet Hogwarts crest embroidered over the breast pocket. This was a new look, although Ginny could not decide which aspect of it represented the greatest departure from his normal appearance. Perhaps it was the matching red stockings, garter belt, and corset. Then again, it might have been the shiny black six inch heels, with their laces that were wrapped up to his knees and tied in neat bows. His mouth was smeared rather inexpertly with what Ginny did recognize as "Scarlet Sin" lipstick. Then, too, there were the fake eyelashes, heart-shaped beauty patches applied at random all over his face and chest, quite crookedly placed Lee Press-On Nails, and sparkly confetti sifting out of his hair, which had undergone a heavy application of Suave Sta-Hold spray and been teased until it was clearly about to bite.. The smoke around him thinned, and he peered through it.

"Legolas!" called Draco. "I took your place in that fanfic recreation, so don't say I never did anything for you. It was even worse than you thought. You should've seen the spelling, punctuation, and grammar issues.... anyway, my heart just wasn't in it, but I did do my best--so we're even now--Legolas?" At that moment, he caught sight of Ginny.

"You really ought to close your mouth, Weasley," Draco said. "Something might fly in."