Miss Hogwarts

With thanks to Bart Simpson, for the ingenious use of That Camera.

Miss Hogwarts

Chapter Five
Holding Hands

Harry thought his head was going to explode.

Ron stood on his right, scowling. For the past quarter hour, Ron had been muttering four-lettered cuss words a mile a minute, ranging from the mundane to the incredibly foul ones.

“I heard that, Ron,” Ginny growled.

Ginny was standing in front of them. She was in a rather cranky mood. They had planned to practice the basic dance for a couple of hours, but fifteen precious minutes had already slipped away and they hadn’t started yet.

It was all because the two boys didn’t want to hold hands.

“Can’t we dance without holding each other?” Ron asked his sister.

Ginny huffed as she put both hands on her slight hips. “The whole purpose of a dance partner is to lead the other,” she said. “How are you going to do that without holding Harry?”

“Why don’t you dress up as a guy and dance with him?” asked Ron.

“Where’s the humor in that?”

“Oh, so this is it—the talent portion is all about being funny. What a wonderful insight.”

“It’s part of it,” Ginny insisted. “And stop being a prat.”

Ron was about to retort, but Harry pulled him away. “Stop,” he snapped at the two of them. “We’re not getting anything done here.”

Ginny sighed heavily. “Finally, you’ve noticed,” she said witheringly.

Harry returned her withering gaze. Since when did Ginny Weasley told him what to do? It was unnerving. She was almost...almost like Hermione, in fact.

Harry made no attempt to tell Ron off about having to dance with him. He wanted to tell him, he was not the one who would wear a wig and a dress. But then again, Harry reasoned, Ron was only helping him.

It therefore turned out that the most intriguing question was how Ginny had gotten Ron to dance with him. Harry didn’t have the chance to ask yet—but whatever it was, it seemed that Ginny was someone you wouldn’t want to have you convinced.

Ginny looked at both boys half-pleadingly, half-sarcastically. “Now, please, I beg you—even if I have to fall on my knees, I’d do it—just...hold hands.”

In normal situations—that is, if he weren’t the subject of the whole incident—Harry would have laughed his guts out at the scene. Two boys being prodded to hold hands in the Transfiguration classroom that Professor McGonagall had agreed to let them practice in. Harry and Ron looked at each other alertly, as though expecting the other to pounce as soon as their hands touched.

Ginny tapped her shoes on the floor impatiently. “I’m waiting.”

After what seemed like ages, Harry and Ron’s hands met halfway.

“Well,” said Ginny. “Finally. A development.”

Harry swore he felt Ron’s hand grow cold with each passing moment.

“Now face each other,” Ginny instructed, which they did. Ron’s face and neck were the color of his hair, and their hands had begun to sweat. “Ron, put your other hand on Harry’s waist. Harry, your other hand will go to Ron’s shoulder.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other awkwardly. Hands shaking, Harry placed his left hand on Ron’s shoulder. Ron put his right hand on Harry’s waist—or more appropriately, Harry’s robes.

Ginny watched them squirm. “Harry, do it in a bit more girlish way,” she said. “Put the back of your hand on his shoulder instead. Like this.” She twisted her wrist around and set her fingers in a very elegant manner.

Harry attempted to do what Ginny did to her hand, but his fingers didn’t seem to want to curl the way he wanted them to.

“Good enough,” Ginny sighed. “We’ll get to it later—let’s do the basic steps first, then we’ll put them all together.”

Ginny began teaching them what she termed as “basic”. “Back, place, front, place” turned out to be an impossible succession of footwork. He and Ron stepped on each other’s feet, of course, but Harry felt he got the worse end of it—Ron’s feet were huge.

Dancing with Ron was worse, if possible, than being cooked up in an unused classroom with the prefects and the three other contestants that morning. Paul Arden, a sixth-year and the Ravenclaw prefect, had explained to them all that Hermione had told Harry, but adding (a tad mischievously, Harry had noticed) that they were to have rehearsals in the week before the contest. Harry had the strangest feeling that the whole Miss Hogwarts idea was Paul’s.

Malfoy and Eric Slevin, the Slytherin prefect that reminded Harry too much of Viktor Krum, had been in the back of the room, talking in hushed tones. Harry had seen Malfoy glare at him one too many times, but it didn’t bother him at all.

What really bothered him, actually, was Roger Davies. He was the last Ravenclaw he’d expect to join Miss Hogwarts—what with his bulky arms and broad shoulders—but he had been there, sitting between Harry and Justin Finch-Fletchey. He was the only one who had looked excited about the contest, and while Harry attempted to listen to Paul Arden, Roger had made comments that made him and Justin cringe.

“Cool contest they’ve made up, don’t you think?” Roger had asked.

“Er, yeah,” Justin had mumbled.

Roger had sat back on his seat, grinning widely. “They’ve made all sorts of plans for me already. How’re you going to get breasts?”

Harry and Justin had looked up at the same time, horror-struck. Who would have thought of talking about breasts with boys you barely knew, and who were two years younger than you?

Roger didn’t let them answer, though. “The girls in my house were thinking of human transfiguration. Cool, don’t you think?”

Roger had looked seriously thrilled.

Harry had stiffened. He saw Justin swallow hard. Justin’s face had turned a sickly green, and Harry wasn’t surprised if his face had looked the same. “Er, yeah,” he had managed to croak out. “Cool.”

He had told Hermione this (leaving out the story about breasts and human transfiguration of course) after the meeting, and Hermione had looked at him most gravely.

“Harry,” she had said, patting his shoulder, “The one who thinks Miss Hogwarts is nothing but ‘cool’ is a serious contender.”

Meanwhile, Ginny was shaking her head as Harry and Ron made their futile attempt at dancing. When Ron kicked Harry on the ankle—not very accidentally—she threw her hands up in frustration. “Ron, you’re messing up on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I’m not!” Ron snapped back.

“Oh, come over here,” she said, grabbing his wrist.

Relieved that Ron had finally released him, Harry watched Ginny as she easily placed herself into the position Harry was supposed to take. “The technique is, follow my feet. You always start with your left foot forward,” she explained. “So if I do this”—she drew her right foot back—“your left foot follows it.”

Why did it look so easy when Ginny did it? After a few tries, Ron caught up with Ginny’s steps. Ron did all right, really...he didn’t look so bad, dancing with a girl. A girl, Harry repeated to himself.

But then again, he was supposed to be a girl in Miss Hogwarts.

Ginny gave up teaching Harry and Ron after another quarter hour. “Maybe you should get the feel of the song first,” she finally suggested.

“Great,” said Ron, quickly releasing Harry’s hand and wiping his on his sweater. “What’s the song, anyway?”

“Heaven at Midnight. By Magical Grooves.”

Ron looked at Ginny disgustedly. In Ron’s polluted mind, Harry reasoned, there could be only one thing that could be described as “heaven at midnight.”

“It’s not what you think,” Ginny said, apparently reading both boys’ minds, especially her brother’s. “It’s about a boy and girl dancing at midnight, and they’re happy about it, and—oh, why am I saying this, you won’t understand it either way.” She gave her wand a flick and said, “Playback!”

The song Harry heard the night before issued out of Ginny’s wand. Heaven at Midnight was a very upbeat song, with lots of percussions and xylophones. The singers were warbling in falsettos, which actually sounded good with the melody. It sounded like the sort of song you’d hear in evening parties at the beaches—not that Harry had been in one.

Harry heard a ticking noise in the room. At one corner of the room, Ginny was snapping her fingers and bobbing her head up and down as the song played. It suddenly struck Harry how devoted she was to helping him through the contest. It seemed as though if she was driven to do something, she gave her whole heart to it, even to the point that she bossed people around. He always thought she was calm on most circumstances. This Ginny Weasley, the one teaching them how to dance, was someone he hadn’t seen before.

The song began to fade, and Harry looked away as Ginny turned back to them. “What do you think?”

“Awful,” said Ron.

“Great,” Harry said at the same time.

Ron gave Harry a look of disbelief.

“Well, at least one of you likes it,” Ginny said brightly, grinning at Harry. “Shall we continue?”

Harry decided to stifle a huge sigh. He owed it to Ginny.

* * *

For the rest of the week, right after dinner, Harry, Ginny and Ron practiced the dance in the empty Transfiguration classroom. Hermione, who came to watch every now and then, had suggested they lock up every cranny and put Silencing Charms all over the room, just in case someone was spying.

“This dance will pave the way for Harry’s success,” she was saying as they headed to Potions class on Friday after lunch. “And Ron’s our secret weapon.”

“This doesn’t flatter me at all,” Ron said flatly.

“Why not?” Hermione asked cheerfully. She seemed to be having a lot of fun with Ron being the butt of jokes, not her, for once. “You’re a good dancer.”

Harry saw Ron’s ears turn beet red, but he was quite sure it wasn’t out of anger.

Harry dreaded Friday more than any day of the week. As it was every year, the fifth-year Gryffindors took up double Potions with Slytherin. Harry had never been more annoyed with the set-up than now, as they entered their classroom in the dungeons.

“You’re squirming, Harry,” Seamus said as he, Dean and Neville came up behind Harry. “Scared of meeting Malfoy face to face?”

Harry lifted his chin up defiantly. “As far as Miss Hogwarts is concerned, Malfoy is history.”

“Great fighting spirit you have there.”

“It’s Malfoy,” Ron told Seamus, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course he’s got fighting spirit.”

Harry saw some of the Slytherins look their way as Ron mentioned the name. Malfoy was sitting at the back of the room, looking strangely subdued.

“Just look at him,” Ron went on. “He’s bleedin’ scared of Harry already.”

“A wonderful way to get a Slytherin scared, huh?” Dean remarked. “Be a girl.”

Seamus gasped mockingly. “Maybe he’s already got a thing for you!”

Ron laughed boisterously, taking no notice of Hermione trying to hold him back. “Have you worn that gown in front of him, Harry?”

“No—and shut up!” Harry bellowed.

Just then, Professor Snape came into the room, billowing black robes and all, and quickly made the introduction: “Ten points from Gryffindor for taking the whole Miss Hogwarts business seriously, Potter,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. Then, as though he didn’t make it clear yet, added, “You yelp like a girl.”

Harry swore inwardly. The Slytherins snickered. Ron threw him a smile that looked more amused than sympathetic. For once in his life, Ron was smiling at something Snape said. Harry made a mental note to use an Unforgivable Curse on his best friend right after the class.

“Get your partners,” Snape barked at the class. “We have a complicated potion to make.”

“We always do,” Ron muttered, scooting over Hermione.

Harry sat beside Seamus. He didn’t hear Ron. He was looking at the large block words Snape was scrawling on the blackboard: VOICE-ALTERING POTION. PAGE 278.

Harry took out Magical Drafts and Potions and turned it to page 278. He found the ingredients to the potion.

“Crushed chrysanthemum petals, powdered tarantulas and chicken intestines are the most crucial ingredients in this potion,” Snape said. “The amount of petals will determine the range of voice—the more petals you put in, the higher the range. The tarantulas can make your voice strong or weak.”

At this point, Snape’s eyes fell on Harry. “The chicken intestines, meanwhile, will change the huskiness of the voice. And you can use a meter of it, Potter, if you want to do a good job in Miss Hogwarts.”

The Slytherins guffawed in unison. Harry stared back at Snape witheringly. He was having fun with all this.

Harry began putting all the minor ingredients into his cauldron. Then he cut two inches of chicken intestine. It was enough—of course he wasn’t about to play along with Snape. He tossed the intestine to his cauldron and watched the liquid crackle.

“Hand me those petals, will you, Ron?” Harry heard Hermione say as he began crushing his own petals with his mortar and pestle.

“Hang on,” said Ron. He picked up the bowl that held the petals, and was handing it to Hermione when his hand slipped and the whole bowl came splashing down Ron’s cauldron.

“Bugger!” Ron yelled. He would have said something ruder afterward, if Hermione didn’t tug at his robes and motioned to Snape, who was striding over.

“Another ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape said, a hint of an amused grin on his face again. “Are your hands getting a hangover from all that dancing, Weasley?”

The Slytherins roared with laughter. Malfoy cracked a wide grin. Ron’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Hermione, wide-eyed, stared back at Ron.

Harry just smiled, bemused. What do you know? he thought. He was smiling at Snape’s joke, too.

* * *

“BLOODY HELL!”

The cuss words shooting from Ron’s mouth after classes didn’t sound so bad to Harry. Hermione didn’t think it was funny, though. “Ron,” she snapped, “stop swearing all over the place!”

“How could I?” Ron yelled. “They already know!”

“They’re going to find out you’re the dance partner soon, anyway. What we should be worrying about right now is how much they’ve seen of the dance—”

“You mean this isn’t important at all? Hermione, I’ve lost all my dignity!”

Harry lost his earlier reservations to retort. “You’re not the one who’s going drag, you know.”

“But I am going to dance with someone in drag,” Ron told him. “And no, that’s not what I’m made for. I was born with a broomstick for a reason!”

Harry’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. He glanced at Hermione, who was looking back and forth at them, clueless.

“You have a way with words, you know that, Ron?”

Harry whirled around at the sound of the voice. Ginny had suddenly appeared behind Harry. She was looking at Ron disdainfully.

“What do you mean, he has a way with words?” Hermione asked Ginny.

Ginny shrugged. “Ask him,” she said, jerking a thumb toward Ron.

“Shut up, Ginny,” said Ron, reddening.

“What?” Hermione insisted on knowing, for some reason.

“Forget it!”

“It’s something rude, isn’t it?”

Good Lord, thought Harry. Despite how many sets of encyclopedias she read, Hermione still had the most innocent mind in Hogwarts.

“No, it’s not!” Ron asserted.

Well, thankfully, Ron didn’t want to corrupt it with any dirty thoughts.

Harry tuned out the exchange. He noticed that Ginny was carrying something wrapped in a napkin, apart from a couple of school books. By the looks of it, she was going to take it out.

“Where’re you going?” he asked.

“Outside,” Ginny replied matter-of-factly. Then, probably upon noticing Harry’s surprised look, she added, “I’ve got no one to talk to in the table.”

Ron suddenly stormed off furiously to the Gryffindor table, with Hermione trailing behind him. They didn’t seem to notice that Harry and Ginny were left behind.

Harry sighed. “Well,” he mumbled, “looks like I’m between those two again.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” Ginny said, smiling sympathetically. “Well...I’ll better be off.”

Harry smiled back, thinking about how cute Ginny looked with the way she smiled. Then, out of nowhere, he was suddenly struck by an idea. “Hey,” he said, brightening up, “I’ll come with you.”

Ginny’s eyebrows snapped together. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean,” Harry said quickly. “You could use some company, and...well, it seems like those two”—he motioned at Ron and Hermione, who were sitting together at the Gryffindor table—“have to solve their problem by themselves.”

“Oh...sure!” Ginny said, her cheeks turning pinkish. “Come on.”

Harry grinned and followed Ginny out of the castle.

A blast of cool air greeted them. It was a sunny autumn day. Yellow, red and brown leaves floated on air as the wind blew them off the trees in the Forbidden Forest, toward their direction.

Ginny took a deep breath beside Harry. “Lovely day, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Harry let Ginny walk a few paces ahead of him. The wind blew her hair back, and the sunlight shimmered on it, casting hues of red and gold. Her hair was long and incredibly straight—and it looked so smooth, too. Harry felt a strange urge to touch it, but somehow stopped himself.

“So, Ginny,” he began instead, absently kicking a stone in the way, “there’s something I’ve been trying to figure out since Sunday.”

Ginny tilted her head to look at him. “Yep?”

“How did you convince Ron to dance with me?”

“Oh, it wasn’t so hard,” Ginny said, giggling lightly. “When he’s so against it that he won’t budge even if I twisted his arm”—Ginny twists her brothers’ arms? Harry hated to think about what she’d do to him if he hadn’t agreed to Miss Hogwarts—“I’ll have to use other measures.”

“Like what?” Harry asked curiously.

Ginny sighed happily, as though relishing the memories. “Well, when I was eight and Ron and I were the only kids left at the Burrow, Dad brought this camera home. We had a lot of fun with it.”

“Uh-huh?”

“And...well, we got a bit rowdy and started taking candid pictures.”

“Let me guess. You took his picture while he’s in the loo.”

“Oh, no,” Ginny said, grinning. “He took it himself.”

“He what?”

“Yeah!”

Harry gaped at her. “You blackmailed him—you told him you’d show it to everyone!”

“Only to Hermione,” Ginny replied, winking at him. “It worked.”

Harry had to shake his head in disbelief. This was one girl you wouldn’t want to face off with. But surprisingly enough, there he was, walking with her without any thoughts of leaving.

Ginny led him to the benches at the back of the castle, where they had a view of Hagrid’s hut and the Quidditch pitch not far off. The mountains were hazy in the distance. All of these were in a backdrop of a periwinkle sky. It was a lovely day, indeed...

Harry settled beside Ginny, who Indian-sat on one end of a wide bench and handed Harry a buttered croissant. “Snacks,” she said, smiling.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered and bit into the bread.

Ginny took a bite from her own croissant and looked out to the pitch thoughtfully. After she had swallowed, she said, “Hermione’s always going on about practicing you for the question and answer portion.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled. “She nags a lot.”

Ginny shrugged. “I nag you a lot, too—you know, for the dance.”

Harry looked at her, and saw that she wasn’t teasing. “You know you’re nagging me?”

“It just occurred to me last night.” She smiled quickly. “You don’t seem to mind too much, though.”

“Yeah...I guess not,” he said absently. And now that he thought about it, he really didn’t mind it for some reason.

Ginny finished her croissant and dusted her hands. “So...I’ll ask you a few questions, and you answer them. Remember that the judges will probably go for a very witty, intelligent answer. It always happens that way.”

Harry knew he was barely witty. Being witty was something Ron was good at, not him. The broomstick, Harry thought, wincing inwardly. But Harry nodded at Ginny anyway.

Ginny looked down on the books on her lap. She rubbed a finger back and forth across the spine of her battered Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four. Then she asked, “Why did you join Miss Hogwarts?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. He thought it was obvious enough. “Well...for one thing, I was pushed—no, more like encouraged by the Gryffindors to join.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. “You’d have to do it in a really witty, girly, sexy manner.”

Harry blinked. “Sexy?”

Ginny nodded eagerly. “Say something like...like, ‘The Gryffindors trust me so much that they knew I should be here’. Then use your signature girl voice. Make it seductive, really seductive, and remember—it’s supposed to be a girl’s voice.”

Harry hesitated, shuddering inwardly. Harry’s potion had turned his voice into a strong tenor, and he had sounded like Pavarotti, actually. But a seductive girl’s voice? He didn’t think anyone in the class was able to do it. It sounded impossible.

“But,” Ginny went on, “don’t start with innuendos and those things. The professors won’t like it.”

“Oh, I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry said.

“Well, go on, you can do it.”

Harry never really considered himself “sexy” as a boy...and now he’s supposed to act like a sexy girl. Good grief. How exactly does one become sexy?

He thought of the mannequins in Gladrags. Hands on hips, eyelashes batted. And the voice. Seductive, sexy, girl’s voice. And it had to be...natural.

Out of impulse, Harry threw his shoulders back, placed a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow at Ginny. “The Gryffindors have incredible faith on my wits and charms that they didn’t have to think twice about putting me here onstage with you,” he said in a husky woman’s voice.

Ginny gasped, then broke into a grin. “Harry! That was amazing!”

Harry snorted. It seemed like he didn’t need the Voice-Altering Potion, after all—he was a natural. Then he wondered why the thought of it wasn’t uncomforting at all.

“Okay, how about this,” Ginny said. “Umm...what is your greatest achievement so far?”

This time, Harry knew exactly what to do. He posed, titled his head on one side, “Being sexy enough to be chosen by my housemates for Miss Hogwarts,” he said in the same voice.

Ginny threw her head back and laughed hard. “My goodness, Harry, that was perfect!” she exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

“It comes out naturally,” Harry replied, grinning. He assumed a girl’s voice again. “Next question, please.”

Ginny pursed her lips as she shifted in place so that her legs were spread out on her side. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the legs above her slightly worn-out socks were slender and creamy white. Then, catching himself, Harry looked away and stared hard at the pitch.

“Okay,” Ginny said. She touched her chest dramatically. “What...is your deepest, greatest desire?”

Harry straightened up all of a sudden and gaped at Ginny. He was sure he had heard that question before...but no, it wasn’t a question...it was something Dumbledore had told him in his first year...

It was when Dumbledore found him gazing into the Mirror of Erised a few nights after Christmas. “The mirror shows nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts,” the headmaster had told him.

Harry was silent for a long while. What is your deepest, greatest desire? Oh, he knew the answer, all right.

Ginny let out a small gasp, as though she suddenly realized her tactlessness. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to,” she said guardedly.

Ginny’s brows were furrowed in unease, but in a way that she seemed to be waiting for his answer nonetheless.

“A family,” Harry said, his voice almost drowned by the sound of the wind.

When Harry looked back at Ginny’s face, he saw an expression unlike the one he had quite expected. She didn’t look at him with deep concern—like the one Hermione and some other people gave him whenever he talked about his parents, rare as those moments may be. Ginny didn’t even look scared, as though she didn’t know what to reply to what he had just said.

She just gazed back at him unflinchingly with those bright brown eyes, and that was all she had to do to let him know that she already knew, and that she understood completely.

After a moment, she smiled. Then, to Harry’s surprise, she reached out and touched his hand. “You’ll always have mine, you know.”

Harry instantly felt a warm glow fill him from inside. How was he to know that Ginny, apart from being so sarcastically amusing, was also helpful, kind and sensitive? It showed in the strangest occasions, but they were there.

He smiled back at her. With nothing else left to say, he whispered, “Thanks.”

Ginny smiled warmly, and nodded.

Jenna’s Notes:
1.) “Ronald...move me.” Now you know from where the dance is inspired. ;)
2.) Chicken guts don’t taste so bad, really.
3.) I can’t help but add something about OBHWF here, so... there.
4.) Hey, this is fun - if anybody's interested to do a fanart for me, I'm an email away. :D
4.) So how IS Harry going to get breasts? Find out in the next chapter...