Of Cheese, Quidditch, and Mutual Attraction

Of Cheese, Quidditch, and Mutual Attraction

Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.
--G.K. Chesterton

*

Ron could expect certain things when he went round to his sister's on a Saturday night. There would be food, a lot of it, and it would be very good. There would be ale, also in large quantities, because that was his responsibility and he took it seriously. The wireless would be tuned to a Quidditch match, and depending on who was playing it would be attended to with hushed reverence or half-talked over.

There were regulars at Ginny's - him, Neville, Luna, Colin. Other people came now and again, like Ernie and Susan and Hannah, and Harry and Hermione whenever they happened to be in town. And then, occasionally, there was a completely unexpected guest or two in Luna's wake, blinking and looking more surprised than not to find themselves in a bedsit off Bayswater Road.

Tonight there was lasagna and salad, Hobgoblin's Strong Dark, the Wigtown Wanderers against the heavily-favored Montrose Magpies, and an only slightly confused-looking Padma Patil.

Ron was at the kitchen counter, dishing up seconds, when he heard someone behind him. ". . . and Rufus the Warlock was so angry at having his blackberry patch burned up that he pulled out his wand and did one of the strongest shrinking spells ever known, and that's why you should never let a dragonfly land on your shoulder. Although it could feel interesting having your hair on fire, don't you think? Nice and warm. . . oh, hello Ronald, you know Padma."

Ron turned around. Padma was a half-step behind Luna, eyes dancing.

"Padma says smart things," Luna said. "You should pay attention." She produced a fork from her pocket or thin air or somewhere, leaned over and stabbed an olive out of the salad bowl, and drifted off.

Ron fought the urge to yell, You brought her! You mind her! Not that Padma seemed to need minding - she was standing there in front of him, just standing, not saying anything, but somehow she managed to be perfectly composed doing it.

Ron shifted his weight, foot to foot. He'd not found himself needing to make conversation with Padma Patil for quite a few years. He could just say Hi, there, and walk away, but suddenly felt determined to prove that he had, in fact, gained wisdom and maturity since age fourteen.

What would someone who'd grown say?

It was Padma who broke the silence, with a little laugh. "I feel under tremendous pressure to say something brilliant," she said, "but all I've got is - bloody hell, you're tall."

Ron grinned, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "And you're really short," he said, which wasn't quite what he'd been going for. Worried she might take offence, he went on, "Not weirdly short, or anything, just shorter than I remember. But maybe I'm thinking of Parvati."

And that was worse. Insinuating that girls were interchangable was always, always bad. Twins or no. Ron closed his eyes and wished for a Time Turner.

"She is taller than me," Padma said, "by that much." Two fingers, very very close together. "But she wears those ridiculous shoes. . . " Padma sketched in the air, and Ron could see them: small and pointy and precarious. And the rest of the outfit too, some tiny little thing that would have been quite fun to look at, but completely out of place here, tonight.

Padma, though, Padma was wearing a wearing a faded t-shirt, jeans, and flat brown sandals. He was about to ask her what her shirt said - it was in an alphabet he couldn't read - but he decided that might sound ignorant. Or like he was paying undue attention to her chest.

"Plate?" he asked instead, gesturing at the counter.

"Yes, please."

He picked up a plate, but instead of handing it over, reached for the spatula. Serving her would be a polite, gentlemanly, un-fourteen-ish thing to do.

"Oh, just salad, no lasagna for me," she said, reaching out to stop him.

"You sure? You should try it, Ginny's a better cook than you might think."

"I'm sure she is, but," Padma stepped closer, whispering, "I don't eat meat. Please don't say anything, I don't want to fuss Ginny, anyway I don't think she knew I was coming. . . ."

Ron leaned down a little, and whispered back, "What about cheese?"

"Couldn't live without it."

"Now you're talking brilliant," he said, grinning. "You're all right, then. Weasleys never put beef in lasagna. Gets in the way of the cheese."

Her smile was really nice, Ron decided.

He scooped up a nice-sized portion for her, put some salad on the side, and even popped the cap on her bottle of beer. They made their way back across the room to the group in front of the wireless, and after a moment's hesitatation, he chose a seat beside her.

The Quidditch announcer sounded excited about something, and Ron turned to Colin. "What's the score?"

"The Magpies are still up, but Wigtown's closing the gap. 70-250."

"Eh," Ron said. "It won't last."

He and Padma were sitting close - Ginny's couch was magically expanded for the evening, but it still wasn't huge - and Ron stole a glance at her. She was eating neatly, but with obvious pleasure, and he grinned. "Like it?"

She nodded enthusiastically over a mouthful. "I'm thinking of taking back anything I ever said about a Weasley. Any Weasley."

"Ah," Ron said. "Erm."

Padma waited a beat, let him wiggle around on the hook a little, then smiled. "And your brothers sold me a Spell-Check Quill once, so that's saying something."

"Ha!" Ron said. "I remember those! One time -"

The roar of the crowd on the wireless was loud, but Colin's whoop was deafening. "What happened?" Ron asked, juggling for a good grip on the plate balanced on his knees.

"110-260," Colin said. "Now if the Wanderers can get the Snitch first. . . ."

Ron snorted. "Burby? Beat Keigwin to the Snitch? Not a chance."

"Ah, but Keigwin's shaking off that injury," Hannah put in.

"Anyway -" Colin was cut off by another explosion of sound from the wireless.

"Quiet," Ginny said, and everyone was.

Ron worked sums in his head. It wasn't that he cared about Wigtown winning, but tonight had been expected to be a massacre, earning the Magpies who knew how many points toward the League finals. If they lost, or just hurried up and caught the Snitch for fear of losing. . . .

After five minutes or ten or fifty (time was meaningless when it came to Quidditch), the Magpies had their victory, but a modest one, and the group began to disperse. Some people tidied up, others pulled on jackets, and on their way over to the kitchenette, Ginny uttered the fighting words, "Not like it matters for the Cannons, eh Ron?"

He was in the midst of a reasoned defence against this scurrilous attack when Padma appeared at his sister's side. "Sorry to interrupt," she said, and those dark eyes were dancing again, "but I wanted to thank you for having me. Dinner was delicious, Ginny."

"Glad you liked it," Ginny said, "come back anytime."

"Maybe I will," Padma said. Ron was surprised to see her eyes flick towards him.

"It's fondue next week," he blurted, and hearing himself was another surprise, a bigger one. "I could owl you?"

"I'd like that," Padma said. He got to see one more smile, and then she walked away.

"Well," Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, noth- "

"A very nice step forward, Ronald," and there was Luna, and Neville too, his arm through hers. "Losing to sport is eight-point-three times better than losing to sulky boy-brooding." She frowned. "Although it can drop as low as three-point-six over the course of a season. . . where would you say we are right now, Ginny?"

"Oh, eight-point-three sounds about right," Ginny said. Ron hoped it bloody hurt, trying that hard to keep a straight face.

Nodding, Luna leaned in close to Ron, as if she were about to whisper a great secret into his ear. Then in a completely normal voice - no, louder than normal - said: "Winning's always nice."

Even Neville was not-laughing now.

There were rude comments, there were hand gestures, and of course, there was the classic stomping off. Ron considered all his options, and settled on graciousness. Because Luna saw possibility where others didn't, and maybe that wasn't always a bad thing. And, too -

Girls talked.