Miss Hogwarts

Miss Hogwarts

Chapter Nine
Harry and Harriet

...If he said he loved me,
I’d be lost, I’d be frightened.
I couldn’t cope, just couldn’t cope.
I’d turn my head, I’d back away.
I wouldn’t want to know.
He scares me so.
I want him so.
I love him so.

“Why,” Hermione asked Ginny very early the next morning, “did you do that?”

Ginny let out a disgruntled groan as she buried her face in Hermione’s pillow. Her words were muffled by it as she resumed ranting. “I don’t know! When I pulled away, I saw him looking at me and I suddenly ran away!”

“Wait, wait,” Hermione said, putting her palms up. “What was it about Harry that made you run away? Was there something in his face or something?”

“No!” Ginny looked up at her. “It wasn’t something on his face.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know, I told you!” Ginny sat up again and looked wildly at Hermione. “Hermione, it was embarrassing! What must he think about me now?”

“Well...what you did must’ve been really odd for him. He’d think you didn’t like his kiss.” Hermione seemed to think her last statement over. Then she gave Ginny a look reserved only for the intelligent examination of Arithmancy problems. “Is Harry a terrible kisser?”

Ginny blinked at her. “No, he...he’s not.”

Hermione slowly grinned lopsidedly. “He’s good?”

Ginny’s gaze fell on something far off. “He’s...good.” An image of last night appeared in front of her eyes—it was Harry, looking at her intently, his lips slightly parted as he touched her face.... She hugged the pillow to her chest. “Oh, Hermione, he was good...”

“Oh.”

Ginny didn’t notice Hermione’s mischievous smile, for her mind had gone back to last night, there on the stage. His lips were so soft, his mouth so skilled.... She could close her eyes at that very moment and remember the feeling of Harry’s thumb on her chin, and she would feel the remnants of the shocks she had felt then.

And his kiss... it was far more incredible than her fantasies. It was her first—but how could anyone do it like that? And how could it feel like that?

“What do you mean, he was good?” Hermione asked. There was an intrigued note in her voice that Ginny rarely heard coming from the Gryffindor prefect. “What did it feel like?”

Ginny snorted. “Hermione, you kiss Ron all the time.”

“Well, yes, but—” Hermione’s eyes suddenly widened. “Ginny!”

A naughty grin spread across Ginny’s face. “Hey, got you there.”

“No! I mean...we...oh, Ginny.” Ginny could see Hermione’s face burning into a bright crimson.

“I knew it,” Ginny went on. “Prefects always have an advantage, being able to sneak out at night...I remember seeing Percy and Penelope doing the same, my first year.”

“Ginny, you’re trying to change the topic of our conversation,” Hermione said sternly. Ginny immediately shut up. “Now. Can you tell me of any logical reason why you ran away from Harry when he kissed you?”

Logical reason, Ginny thought. Hermione was made for logic. Meanwhile, this problem defied all logic.

Ginny tried to take a stab at it, anyway. “I think I was...scared.”

“Scared?” Hermione repeated. “Why?”

So that was it, Ginny thought, Hermione was examining her psychologically. “I really don’t know,” she admitted.

Hermione stood up and paced the floor. “You say you’re scared,” Hermione said. “We can’t say you were scared of Harry, right? So we can say that you were scared either of anyone finding the two of you there, or of what could happen if you didn’t go. Now which one is it?”

“Um, neither,” Ginny said.

Hermione stopped and raised her eyebrows at her.

Ginny thought again. “It’s closer to the second, though,” she said helpfully. “But I can’t put a finger on it. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about what could happen, you know? It was just...what was already there.” She let out a sigh. “I’m not making sense, am I?”

Hermione, meanwhile, was searching her face. Then she said quietly, “Are you afraid of what you’re feeling?”

Ginny slowly looked up at Hermione.

“Are you afraid of what Harry might feel?” Hermione pressed on.

Ginny suddenly realized that she was tightly hugging her knees to her chest. She put her chin on her knees and sighed heavily.

“Oh, Ginny.” Hermione sat back on the bed and embraced her. “What’s wrong with that? You love him, don’t you?”

“I...guess I always have,” Ginny whispered.

Hermione released her and looked into her eyes. “But?”

“But,” Ginny said slowly, “I’m not sure if...Harry feels...you know, the same.”

“Ginny, hasn’t it ever occurred to you that Harry might just like you as well?”

“Of course it has,” said Ginny bitterly. Everything was suddenly revealed to her clearly—and now that it was, she couldn’t stop herself. “But Hermione, it has only been...what? Four weeks? Four weeks since we finally talked to each other like we’re close and all. Before, we were living on opposite sides of the world, and I was only Ron’s little sister whom he saved in her first year...” Her voice trailed off.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “You’re afraid it might not be real for him. That’s why you ran away—you didn’t want to know if it isn’t.”

Ginny bit her lips. She felt something sharp and painful inside her nose bridge. Hermione was right—she was afraid Harry might not feel the same, or as strongly as she felt for him. She didn’t realize it the whole night she had lain awake, trying to figure out her eccentric behavior, but now it was clear.

She sniffled and hurriedly swiped at her eyes with her palm. “It had been really stupid, watching him from afar...and now that we’re close it’s even worse.”

Hermione took her hand. “Hey,” she said consolingly. “What if you’re just being paranoid? There’s no reason for Harry not to love you back. You know, I think he likes you very much, and this is his friend of four years talking.”

“Hermione.” Ginny couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Hermione said, standing up. She tugged at Ginny’s arm. “You’ll see that I’m right. Come on now. Breakfast.”

Ginny felt that doom wouldn’t leave her alone that day, however, once she and Hermione stepped into the common room. Ron and Harry were there, and they looked like they were having a conversation not unlike the one she and Hermione had just finished.

Harry was looking very bedraggled, even though he was already in his school robes. Ginny had to grip Hermione’s arm. She couldn’t look at him. No, she couldn’t talk to him.

You can’t not talk to him, said a voice in her head, that same taunting voice. You have to explain yourself.

“So, er,” Hermione was saying, looking at her. Her look plainly told her that she had to do what she had to. “I think you two need to...have a chat.”

Ron cleared his throat. “Erm. Right. Hermione?”

Ginny forgot to tease Hermione as she and Ron slipped out of the common room together. She and Harry were just standing in the middle of the common room, staring at each other. Why did he have to look so innocently attractive with that hair even more tousled than usual? And it wasn’t even that messy—she had touched it last night, and was surprised at how soft it actually was.

“Erm,” Harry began.

Ginny felt something jump inside her stomach. “Um,” she said. “We need to talk.”

Harry stared at her. Then, as though something from behind him kicked him on the shin, he immediately blurted out, “I’m sorry about last night.”

Ginny kept quiet. She had the impression that Harry was going to say something to explain himself.

Harry seemed to be struggling with an inner voice, too. “I,” he said tightly, “didn’t mean to...do what I did last night.”

Something heavy, like an anvil, fell on Ginny’s stomach. She had a feeling that she wouldn’t like this.

“I must have been out of my mind,” Harry said. His face was beginning to redden. “I didn’t want...I mean, I didn’t mean to...just...kiss you like that.” Ginny noticed Harry’s Adam’s apple bob up and down his throat. “It just came out of nowhere.”

Ginny felt numb. So that was it. He didn’t mean it. It was nothing—it was just some spur-of-the-moment kiss that came about because she was there and they happened to be alone. The kiss just came out of nowhere. Harry didn’t do it because he had feelings for her, but because...it just came out of nowhere.

“I’m really sorry,” Harry repeated. He probably noticed the hurt look on her face, but misinterpreted it. “I know you...you didn’t like it.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Like the kiss, Ginny’s last statement came out of nowhere.

Harry looked stunned, as though he didn’t really expect that from her. “You...didn’t?”

“No.”

Ginny wanted to scream at his face and slap him out of his wits. Didn’t he know how wonderful his kisses felt? She wanted to tell him just how his confession hurt, hurt so much that she couldn’t even feel it. She wanted to run back to her dormitory and cry her heart out.

But no—gone were the days when little Ginny Weasley had a crush on Harry Potter. She could see him now very clearly—and after last night, even clearer. She was not going to bawl in front of him.

It seemed to take Harry a lot of effort to apologize. “I’m really sorry.”

Ginny didn’t say anything. She just stared back at Harry’s face defiantly.

“Look,” Harry said. Ginny could see sweat breaking out of his forehead. “Is there...anything I can do to get you to...to forgive me?”

Ginny felt herself soften at Harry’s expression—so sincere and troubled. That was a foolish question. Because, despite everything, she couldn’t bear to think that she had a grudge against him.

That didn’t mean he was going to get away from it so easily, however.

“Fine,” said Ginny, the wheels in her head turning. “There is something.”

Harry blinked. Apparently, he realized that whatever was in Ginny’s mind, he wasn’t going to like it.

“I see that you’re already doing good in the rehearsals,” Ginny noted. “But like I said last night, you weren’t enjoying it.

“So,” Ginny said, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m asking you now to live it out.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked apprehensively.

Ginny dropped the bomb. “Today, at breakfast, you are going to act like Harriet towards the boys.”

Harry stared at her. The look on his face reminded her of how clueless he had looked when everybody told him that they had nominated him for Miss Hogwarts. Had it been really four weeks? It was like only yesterday.

“You mean,” Harry said now, “flirt with them, all that?”

“Yep,” Ginny affirmed. “The Walk, that seductive smile, you know?”

Harry gaped at her disbelievingly. It was almost enough for her to feel completely better.

Almost.

Harry approached her, stood right in front of her, and lowered his eyes so that they were level with hers. “You’re doing this just to spite me, aren’t you?”

“No,” Ginny told him coolly. “I’m doing this because you told me you wanted to practice. I’m only doing what’s best for you.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Yes.”

Harry narrowed his eyes into slits. “Fine,” he said after a while. He straightened up, but didn’t take his eyes off her. “Fine.”

Ginny smiled at him triumphantly. Boys. They didn’t have a clue.

* * *

Apart from his talk with Ginny in the common room, Harry found two other surprises that morning.

First—that Ron would take his current position with Ginny lightly. It probably had something to do with Hermione, but after giving Harry a good long tongue-lashing about “not being too disgusting with Ginny” and “taking care of her,” Ron had given him some brotherly advice.

Which backfired, apparently.

Second—that Ginny was right about one thing: if there is one thing men will never understand, it is the way women’s minds work. Harry had learned that the hard way.

Of course, he should have seen it coming. They had odd, unpredictable minds, girls. At one time they’d be really sweet, and then after a while they’d run away, without any explanations, after being kissed.

Then, they’d be really nasty, and they’d make the guys suffer for something they had done. Like running away, without any explanations, after being kissed.

At least Ginny wasn’t at the Gryffindor table yet. She had told him that she would follow later. Harry looked at his watch. Seventeen minutes before first period. He wouldn’t have to make a fool out of himself for a long while.

The owls arrived that morning. There were more owls than usual—in fact, Harry had never seen so many owls before. But he wasn’t too surprised.

“It’s out,” Harry said simply.

“Yes,” Hermione said beside him. “I can see that.”

An owl dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet towards Hermione, which she caught and quickly unrolled. Four solo pictures adorned the front page—those of Malfoy, Roger, Justin and Harry. Simple shots of them in school robes, thankfully. Harry’s picture smiled back at him uneasily—he was always like that on photos.

Harry and Ron looked at the paper from behind Hermione, while Fred and George stooped over.

HOGWARTS HOLDS PAGEANTRY ON HALLOWEEN

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will hold a one-of-its-kind “beauty pageant” tomorrow, at eight o’clock in the evening in its Great Hall.

The professors of Hogwarts have given their consent to the students to hold this contest, which involves boys cross-dressing and competing in a beauty pageant-like competition.

Dubbed “Miss Hogwarts,” the contest will feature four students from the different houses competing in a gala of talent, wits and evening gowns.

All proceeds of the contest will go to the construction of the Hogsmeade Orphanage, scheduled for opening on New Year’s Day.

The four contestants, Draco Malfoy from the Slytherin house, Roger Davies from Ravenclaw, Justin Finch-Fletchey of Hufflepuff house, and Harry Potter of Gryffindor—

“Hermione!” George groaned. Hermione had turned the paper to the third spread. “Do you read that fast?”

“Just hang on,” Hermione said, skimming the rest of the article, which seemed to be continued to page four and five. “Well,” she said finally. “It’s a lot better than I had thought—although...”

“Although...?”

Hermione turned to Harry. “No offense, Harry, but the article didn’t gloss on you.”

Harry looked at her blankly. “Er, great?”

“It talked a lot about Malfoy, though.”

“WHAT?” said Harry, Ron and the twins in unison. Fred snatched the paper from Hermione. The four boys began reading a likely paragraph:

“It’s a good thing, helping,” Draco Malfoy, the ruggedly handsome (Ron gagged at this point) Slytherin contestant, told the Prophet. “My family has always made it a point to do something for the less fortunate ones.”

Harry glanced at Malfoy at the Slytherin table, and was surprised at what he saw. Malfoy’s usually pale face was a brilliant red as he read the Daily Prophet. When Crabbe elbowed him, grinning, Malfoy yelled at his face angrily.

“Interesting,” Harry said. “What do you make of it?”

George set the paper aside, chuckling darkly, and motioned to the Slytherins. “Obviously it’s one of them who sold this story to the Prophet.”

Hermione nodded. “You know what I think? Lucius Malfoy won’t pass up this chance of showing the wizarding community that his family will take great pains to do something for the orphanage.” She seemed to think about it for a while. Then, wincing slightly, she added, “And I mean, great pains.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked suspiciously.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing.”

Fred squinted at Hermione. “So you’re saying Lucius Malfoy sold this story?”

“Well,” Hermione said, “it’s a hunch. Or at least, someone sold it under his orders.”

It was a sickening prospect. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy wanted good press for his family and did not care that his own son was going drag to get it.

The five of them stared at each other. Then Fred and George began to grin, and Ron joined them, and soon they were all laughing hysterically.

Just then, a tawny owl dropped a letter on Harry’s head. Still snickering, Harry tore the envelope open, and was surprised to see that it was from Sirius. He held the letter under the table and began reading.

Harry,

I read that article in the Daily Prophet, about the fund-raising activity there. Seems like you’re going drag. What a nice surprise—my godson in a ball gown.

“Is he being sarcastic or what?” Harry muttered. He went on reading.

Parents seem to be in an uproar here. But you know, if your father were alive, he’d be extremely proud of you for putting charity above humiliation. I don’t know about Lily, though...but it IS for good cause, so she probably wouldn’t mind.

Hope you win! Don’t smudge that lipstick.

Sirius

P.S. Send me a picture of you in drag. A good one, all right?

“The git,” Harry said as he quickly stuffed the parchment into his pocket. But just as he did, a couple more owls dropped letters in front of Harry.

Harry picked up one of them and raised his eyebrows at the name of the sender. “Who’s Martha Schilling?”

“One of your fans, probably,” Ron answered dryly as he caught another letter sent by a barn owl.

Harry tore open the letter and read. “‘Harry Potter, I thought you had more sense in you to do charity work decently.’ Now this is my fault?”

More owls came flying his way and dropped letters on his plate, answering his rhetorical question. Muttering angrily, he shoved them away and let Ron and Hermione sort them out. Roger and Justin seemed to be getting a lot of owls, too, although he and Malfoy seemed to be getting the bulk of them.

“Oh, lookie, it’s from good ol’ Ollie!” Fred said, handing him a roll of parchment. Harry took it, wondering what his former Quidditch captain had to say, and read.

Harry, mate,

If there’s anyone who’ll be able to pull this act off, it will be you. Puddlemere is having a rigid training session so I can’t be there to watch. The best of luck, though! Keep the Gryffindor banner flying.

O. Wood

Harry grimaced. Typical Oliver Wood. If Wood were still in Hogwarts, he’d probably be a worse coach than Ginny—Harry could easily imagine Wood telling him and Ron to practice till midnight.

“Hagrid,” Ron said, holding a letter. He and Hermione were reading Harry’s fanmail, or hate mail, discarding them after reading. Harry took the seemingly short letter from Ron.

Harry,

Just read the Daily Prophet. Don’t mind those who tell you off. You’ll be great, I know it.

Hagrid

“I wonder,” Harry mumbled, setting the note aside, “if Hagrid has seen my potential of being a good cross-dresser.”

“He probably saw it the moment he brought you to the Dursleys,” Ron said.

“I was one year old then, for God’s sake. How was he to see that?”

Ron looked at Harry’s face closely. “Um...your long eyelashes were a giveaway?”

Fred and George snickered, then looked at something behind Harry. The back of Harry’s neck suddenly began to prickle. “Where’ve you been?” they asked in unison.

Harry surreptitiously glanced at his watch. He had five minutes. He slowly turned around to face her.

Ginny’s hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, but a few stray strands had escaped from it. There was something shiny on her lips. She looked as though she had just freshened up.

She looked amazing.

Pretending to be a girl was going to be hard.

“Gryffindor Tower,” said Ginny matter-of-factly. Her eyes fell on Harry. Before he could make out what she was thinking, she smirked at him.

All right, then, he thought. He had long figured out that Ginny didn’t really tell him to do what she wanted to make him forgive her—she wasn’t like that at all—but she had challenged him, and for some reason he wanted to respond to it, the way he did to her challenge to join Miss Hogwarts.

Harry tossed an imaginary wig on his head. “Why, Ginny darling,” he gushed in his best sexy girl voice. “Is that lipstick there?”

Hermione, Ron, Fred and George stared at Harry, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Ginny, however, had a disapproving look about her. Apparently she wasn’t too convinced.

Ron started to laugh. “You’re taking the whole Miss Hogwarts thing too seriously,” he told Harry. Fred and George started to snicker, too.

When inspiration struck—sudden, clever inspiration—Harry put a hand above his chest dramatically. “Oh, Ron, I’m hurt,” he said, pouting and projecting his eyebrows pathetically. He cast Ginny a glance. “I’m serious about the two of us, you know.”

Fred and George burst into laughter. “What the hell?” Ron exclaimed. He inched farther from Harry.

Ginny, Harry saw, was suddenly wide-eyed in realization.

Harry put a hand on Ron’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “How can you just...dismiss all that’s happened?”

“You’re bloody SICK!” Ron yelled, smacking Harry’s hand away.

“Oh, I don’t know, Ron,” Harry said huskily. Then, before he lost all the nerve he had left in him, he traced a finger on Ron’s hand on the table. He gave Ron a seductive look, then smiled at Ginny meaningfully. “Last night was amazing though, wasn’t it? Wish it could happen more often.”

“AAAAAAAAARGH!” Ron yelled, standing up. His face a bit green, he strode away from Harry and hid himself behind Hermione. “GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!”

“What’s the matter, Ron? Was I a bad kisser?”

“HARRY—SHUT UP! I MEAN IT! STOP IT!”

“It’s Harriet, darling.”

Ron definitely looked ready to belch slugs.

Harry could see that Ginny was now blushing down to her neck. She shot him a glance—an embarrassed, questioning one—and he smiled.

It worked.

* * *

Overall, the last day before what seemed to be the longest night of Harry’s life was in disarray. In every class, Ron was skirting him, usually hiding behind Hermione and shooting him disgusted glances.

When he went down to the common room after a bath that night, he heard the Weasleys talking about him.

“Where’s Harry?” asked Fred.

“Still taking a bath, I think,” Ron said.

“He’d gone up at nine,” George said. “It’s almost eleven. You mean he’s still taking a bath?”

“When I went there, he had been there for an hour, and when I was done taking a shower he was still bathing.”

Fred laughed. “You took a shower with Harry?”

Ron issued loud oaths at Fred, to which everybody laughed and Hermione shrieked, “Ron!”

Harry descended the steps slowly. He first caught sight of Ginny, who was sitting on one of the huge couches by the fire, a book on her lap, chuckling with her brothers.

“I’m done,” Harry announced, and everyone looked up at him.

Harry noticed Ron pale beneath his freckles. Ginny, meanwhile, had a secretive, knowing smile on her face when she looked up at him.

“Took you a while,” said Ron guardedly.

“You think I liked touching your hand?” Harry asked him. “I had to rid myself of all residue. Ugh.”

“Well, what were you playing at, then?” Fred asked.

“Acting,” Harry said simply. He strode towards them and sank into an empty armchair. “Practice.”

Ron was still looking wary. “So...it wasn’t real.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ron. You’re not that attractive.”

Hermione looked stung.

“At least to boys,” Harry added helpfully. “Or, at least to me.”

Ron stared at him. “I hope you’re telling the truth. We’re dancing tomorrow, and I don’t want anyone to think that...that. I’m going to bed,” he snapped, standing up quickly. He stomped up the stairs to their dormitory.

“This is rich,” Harry grumbled, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back on the couch. “Now he thinks I’m a—what did Mrs. Weasley call you?” he asked Hermione. “Scarlet woman, that’s it.”

Ginny snorted. “You know about that?”

Harry raised his eyes at Ginny. It was the most normal thing she had said to him all day.

“Fred, George,” Hermione said quickly, “you still happen to have some...um, spare Snot Balls, right?”

Harry cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” George said. “Why?”

“We might need some...um, spare. Can you prepare a couple more pairs of Harry’s...balloons for tomorrow?”

Why did he need two more pairs, when the one he already had (the twins had replaced the balloon he had burst) had Reinforcement Charms on them? Harry looked at Hermione. She didn’t seem to want to meet his eyes.

“Why sure,” Fred said, standing up with a grin. “Anything for Miss Gryffindor.”

George stood up as well. “Our stuff’s upstairs, we’ll give them to you tomorrow, all right? ‘Night, you three.”

“Get some beauty rest, Harriet,” Fred added.

When Fred and George disappeared from view, Hermione proceeded to gather her things. Harry immediately realized what Hermione was trying to do—leave him and Ginny together. Alone.

“I’d better go up, too,” Hermione said. “Good night.”

“See you tomorrow,” Ginny said.

When Harry and Ginny were finally alone, he waited for her to speak first. Which she did, after a long minute.

“Did you mean what you said? At breakfast?”

Harry gazed back at her. He didn’t say anything.

Ginny tore her eyes off him and gazed at the fire. The flames, Harry saw, were almost the exact color as her hair.

“Yeah,” he said finally.

Ginny hugged her knees to herself and rested her chin on them. “I should have been the one who apologized.”

“No,” Harry said. “But I think you do owe me an explanation.”

Ginny blushed; she smiled at Harry in that embarrassed way, which he found very cute on her. “You said you didn’t mean it. Last night,” she muttered.

“Huh?” Harry said, knotting his forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“You said...it came out of nowhere.”

Harry stared. “Well, it did,” he said recovering. “It was all because...oh. You mean...?”

There was a look of comprehension on Ginny’s face. “I...I thought...you didn’t mean it.”

“Oh!” So that was it—she had misunderstood what he had told her. She had thought it meant nothing to him. Ironically, he had also thought it had meant nothing to her. Harry laughed. “And there I was, thinking that I was doing it all wrong—”

Ginny gasped, turning even redder. “You thought that?”

“What was I supposed to think after you ran away from me?”

Ginny bit her lip, smiling, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. They were all right now. And Ginny didn’t take her eyes off his. It seemed to be an invitation.

Harry stood up and approached her on the couch, holding her gaze. He had been waiting to do this again since last night. His very lips ached just by thinking about it.

He sank on the couch beside her.

And Ginny promptly stood up, and quickly strode towards the girls’ staircase.

“Go to bed, Harry,” she snapped at him.

Harry gaped at her. She was doing it again! He stood up. “What is wrong with you?” he asked irritably.

Ginny didn’t look back.

“Oh, I get it,” Harry said disdainfully, marching to the foot of the girls’ staircase. “You only like me when I’m wearing a wig or a gown. What should I do now, then? Be Harriet for the rest of my life?”

Ginny stopped climbing the stairs. When she turned around, she was pinkish, and she had on that secretive smile again.

“I do love Harriet,” she said softly. Then her smile widened. “But I love the boy she really is even more.”

Harry gazed back at her, stunned.

Then she turned back around, climbed up, and disappeared.

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there, staring up at the girls’ staircase, Ginny’s words ringing repeatedly in his head: “I love the boy she really is even more.”

Yes, Ginny Weasley was a mystery.

And he only loved her more for that.