A Perfect Gift

A Perfect Gift

'Ginny, I need help!'

Groaning slightly at the interruption, Ginny turned her attention away from her bowl of porridge, and looked up at the lanky figure beside her. It was cold in the basement kitchen of number 12 Grimmauld Place, and she was sitting by herself at the long wooden table for an early breakfast. Hunched over the steaming bowl in an attempt to warm herself, she had been thinking about the letter she'd just received from Michael before the sudden arrival of the newcomer.

'Ginny?' Ron stepped closer, adamant to attract her attention, desperation in his expression. His fingers fiddled distractedly with a loose thread on his pants pocket.

'What's wrong?' she asked vaguely, wishing he would just leave her alone. It was too early for ... For anything, really, she thought idly. She placed her palms on the side of the bowl, sighing inwardly as it warmed her chilled hands. She hated this kitchen; it was too dreary and imposing, nothing at all like the comforting warmth of the Burrow. She supposed the former Blacks never thought far enough beyond themselves to consider providing heating for their servants. And then, there was that infernal house-elf, Kreacher, who was always in the way somehow. Ginny didn't like his shifty behaviour - it unnerved her, even though his deliberate, snide comments didn't faze her. She had learned to shrug off insults years ago; it was a necessity when you lived with six brothers.

Her thoughts drifted to her father, recuperating in St. Mungo's after that terrible attack, and a sudden fear filled her heart.

'It's not Dad, is it?' she asked sharply, almost cricking her neck as she swivelled to face Ron properly. He looked puzzled for a moment, then relaxed somewhat.

'No, Dad's fine,' he said slowly. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief and slid back down in her seat. She picked up her spoon and ate a mouthful of porridge. That snake attack had truly frightened her - she'd thought she'd lost her father forever. 'It's something else ...' Ron continued, his voice shaky and unsure. 'I don't know ...' he trailed off rather lamely. Ginny glanced up at him curiously and decided this was important - and interesting - enough to give him her full attention.

'Ok,' she said, nodding to the chair beside her, 'sit down and tell Aunty Ginny what's bothering you.'

Ron cracked a familiar grin, and she knew immediately that he needed female advice. He pulled up the chair beside her and, casting a quick glance around the empty room, leaned over and mumbled something unintelligible in her ear.

'What?' she asked, tilting forward and pushing her long red hair out of her face in order to hear him better. Ron's ears flushed; he repeated himself, his cheeks burning brightly. Ginny turned to face him, unimpressed.

'Ron, all I hear is "mumblemumble". Speak up!'

Ron's face and ears were no longer distinguishable from his hair. He took a deep breath.

'Idontknowwhattogethermioneforchristmas,' he garbled in a rush.

Ginny rolled her eyes and leaned against the back of the chair. 'Is that all?!' She wasn't sure whether she should be amused or exasperated. Ron glared at her.

'Look, Ginny, don't take the mickey out of me. If I wanted that I could've gone to Fred and George.' He stood up abruptly, his face clouded.

'Ron, sit down!' Ginny grabbed the hem of his jumper, tugging sharply as he began to stride off furiously.

'Ginny, let go!' he growled. He tried to prise off her grip and walk away at the same time but Ginny held on determinedly, almost toppling off her chair with the force of his attempted exit.

'Ahh!' she cried as the chair skidded backwards and teetered dangerously on two legs. Ron sighed loudly and abandoned his escape effort, stepping back towards her and steadying her seat. Still, she didn't relinquish her hold.

'Mum's going to murder me when she finds this jumper's been stretched,' Ron complained, pouting at his sister.

'I know,' Ginny commented unconcernedly, 'so stop whining about it. Sit down, Ron.'

She gripped his jumper tighter until he sighed and gave in, falling ungracefully into the chair. Releasing the material, she sat up in her chair, tucked her hair behind her ears again, and put on her business face.

'You know Christmas is only two days away?' she asked.

'Yeah, I know.'

'Ok then. So you need a Christmas present for Hermione -'

'Shh! Not so loud, Ginny! Geez ...' Ron looked about the room nervously. Ginny shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching.

'Well, if you don't want my help, I'll just -'

'No!' Ron hissed fiercely. 'No, I need your help. You're a girl - what do girls like?'

Ginny raised her eyebrows. 'So, you think because Hermione and I are of the same gender, we're part of some secret society, where-'

'I didn't say that!' Ron interrupted hastily.

'- where we meet every Tuesday afternoon for tea and scones with jam and cream, spending our time gossiping and doing each other's hair?' she finished, managing a straight face. Ron stared at her, intrigued.

'Do you really?' he asked naively.

'No, you gullible git!' Ginny laughed. Ron folded his arms across his chest, blushing in embarrassment.

'Thanks a lot, Ginny,' he said, grumbling. He slumped down in his chair, muttering darkly.

Ginny smirked good-naturedly. 'Well, do you want my help or not?' She looked at him expectantly.

'Yes, please.'

'Ok,' she said. 'Well, it is Hermione we're talking about - how about a nice book?'

'Giving Hermione a book is like wishing Snape would wash his hair - it's already been done,' Ron snorted.

'All right, then.'

Ginny paused, thinking hard. She'd had the same problem while trying to find the perfect present for Michael. She, however, had already sent the gift to Hogwarts, accompanied by a long letter explaining her sudden disappearance at the end of term, which, she remembered reading in his reply, had made him frantic with worry. Ginny gave a small smile, but turned her thoughts to the more immediate problem.

A sly realisation snaked though her mind. Since when did Ron care so much about finding Hermione a good present anyway? Unless ... maybe ... yes ... Her thoughts travelled back to the Yule Ball last Christmas. A cheeky-looking grin spread across her face.

'What's so funny?' Ron asked suspiciously, not liking the look on her face one bit.

Oh, Merlin, she thought, he's blind to it!

'Oh, nothing, nothing,' she replied. 'I was just thinking ... how about you give her something a little different - like a perfume, maybe?' If he likes that idea -

Ron's face lit up. 'Ginny, you're a genius!'

'I know.' She flashed a wry smile to hide her glee. 'It's a hard life.'

Ron grinned at her and ran out of the kitchen.

She picked up her spoon, returning to her breakfast. Should I tell Hermione? She paused, the spoon half-way to her mouth. Nah, she decided after a moments thought, it's probably better that she works it out for herself. She swallowed the spoonful of porridge, her grin slowly widening.

Well, she thought smugly, this is going to be a very interesting Christmas.