Fluffy Firsts: Tales of Harry and Ginny's First Kiss

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Walking up the lane from Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry hitched a thumb under the strap holding the bag on his back and took a deep, lingering breath. Looming high on a flat plateau, flanked by an old, creaking forest on one side and a rolling meadow on the other, stood the Burrow. He hadn't seen it since his eighteenth birthday party a year ago, the night before he had left for Auror training and seeing it now as he strode up the dusty path brought back a flood of fond memories.

Harry dodged a raft of ducks that were making their way to the river for an afternoon swim and sighed contentedly. The Knight Bus had dropped him off in town; mostly so he could stretch his legs after being in orientation meetings all day, but also so he could just enjoy the sights and smells of the country.

"Oi!" yelled a familiar voice and two identical red heads bobbed into view from the shed on the left. "Who let you back here?"

"Sodding wards aren't worth the breath to cast them if they can't even keep you out."

"It's a pleasure to see you again, too, George," said Harry with a wide grin. "Besides, I helped build these wards, if you remember."

"Yeah, yeah," said Fred in mock disgust. "You had to contribute something to the war effort, you know."

It was an established pattern that Fred and George would lambaste Harry for his supposed lack of participation in the war and eventual undoing of Voldemort. Harry secretly enjoyed the teasing because it was the exact opposite of what he had received from just about everyone else in the Wizarding world.

"I'll have you know," Harry rejoined, "that I've been number one on Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor list since the war. And," he added with forced emphasis, "since I've been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, been given an honorary seat on the Wizengamot, etcetera, etcetera...."

"Put a sock in it, mate," George said as he shoved Harry towards the Burrow. "We don't want to hear about how many witches dream about your unmentionables, either."

"Yeah," chimed in Fred, who was walking on Harry's other side. "Or send you their unmentionables - wouldn't want Ickle Gin-Gin to get ideas."

At the mention of their younger sister, Harry had to repress a shiver as they walked closer and closer to the front door. Ron knew that Harry carried a torch for the now fully-qualified witch, since his last year at Hogwarts, despite the fact that Ginny seemed oblivious to it all, but the Twins were still in the dark about his secret. Ron had discovered this fact over a run-in with a bottle of Firewhisky and a blur of other drinks the night after their N.E.W.T.s were over. Harry's inebriation had led to the admission. Ever since, Ron had been shameless in his attempts to get Harry and Ginny together; actions that only made Harry withdraw into himself even more. The twins didn't know how close to the mark their good-natured teasing was hitting.

Harry swallowed down his nervousness. "Speaking of Miss Weasley, do you - do you reckon she's home now?"

Fred grinned and winked at George, saying in a conspiratorial whisper, "Definitely."

George held the door open while Fred pushed him inside. "Mum!" yelled George as he stood right by Harry's ear. "Look who we found playing with the knickers on the clothes line!"

Harry elbowed George in the side, sending the older boy into a fit of strained laughter while Fred continued, "He said Ginny would look nice in purple knick - oof!"

With both of the twins gasping for breath, Harry once again tried to force his face into a neutrally happy expression when Mrs. Weasley appeared. "What was that, Fred?" she asked, then saw Harry and launched herself at him, smothering him in a warm embrace.

"It's so good to see you, Harry, dear," she said in that mothering sort of voice which, strangely, Harry found he had missed.

As they stepped away, Harry said, "It was nice of you to let me stay for a while, Mrs. Weasley." Harry had no home. He'd left Dursleys' for good, and while training as an Auror, slept in the barracks.

"Oh, tosh," she said with the wave of a hand. "Call me Mum like a proper son, or if you're so inclined, Molly."

The twins had now recovered from Harry's elbow attack and were giving him appraising stares. "Son, is it?" asked Fred smartly.

"Already married our sister then?" added George with a soppy grin.

"Knock it off," said Harry under his breath, no longer able to keep the red from his cheeks. Had he been able to push his feelings deeper, their teasing wouldn't have rankled him so much, but since it had been almost a year since he had seen Ginny, Harry couldn't help himself.

"Now boys," interjected Mrs. Weasley, clearly aware of the effect the twins had on Harry. "Leave poor Harry alone and go finish whatever devilry you've been concocting in the shed."

"Yes, Mum," they said obediently, edging towards the still-open door. "Wouldn't want poor Harry to wet himself in anticipation of seeing his bride-to-be."

Before Harry could reach his wand to hex their smug smiles off their faces, they were out the door, laughing and singing a rude song about Harry and his dreams.

"What were the twins carrying on about?" came a new voice from the kitchen. "And who's the bride to be, Harry?"

Ginny Weasley was standing at the base of the stairs, towelling off her hair and smiling brightly at Harry.

All power of speech left Harry for a second and he ended up gaping instead.

"No one's getting married, Ginny," answered her mum so Harry didn't have to. "Fred and George were just having a bit of fun with Harry."

Ginny seemed to consider this for a moment, the motion of her hand slowing before she righted her head and flipped her towel over a shoulder. "All right, then," she said as she walked over to him. "Welcome back."

She pulled him into a quick hug. Harry caught a whiff of strawberries and vanilla and found himself still inhaling after she had stepped away. "Thanks, Ginny," he said quietly.

"So, Mum?" asked Ginny, turning back to Mrs. Weasley. "Could you bake some cake or biscuits for my date tonight?"

Something stung Harry when she said this and it was all he could do to not visibly wince. A thousand questions filtered into his mind like, Why would I think she'd not date other guys? and more importantly, Why did it matter that she did?

"Sorry, dear," said Molly with an apologetic glance. "Your father and I are heading into London for a well-deserved break ourselves." Molly looked fondly at her husband, who had just walked down the stairs.

"Hello, Harry," said Arthur as he gave Harry a solid handshake. Then turning to his wife, he said, "Best be off if we want to make the show."

"We've got tickets to the opera in London," explained Molly. "Dinner and The Barber of Seville," she said wistfully. "I don't think I've ever been so pampered."

"Well, you certainly deserve it," Arthur said happily, grabbing his suit coat from a peg on the door. Had Harry not still been working out how he was going to absorb the news that Ginny had a boyfriend, he might have noticed that Arthur's outfit was perfectly matched, unlike at the fashion fiasco of the Quidditch World Cup.

"What about my biscuits?" asked Ginny petulantly. The pout on her lip was almost cute, Harry mused, a sudden surge of bitterness welling inside him.

Then demonstrating that his mind and heart were acrimoniously divided, Harry blurted out, "I can make chocolate-chip cookies."

Molly paused in mid-stride on the way to retrieve a dark-purple shawl that matched her handbag. "Cookies?" she asked. Then seemed to change her mind and said disbelievingly, "I didn't know you could bake. Besides, what are chocolate-chip cookies, anyway?"

"I learned a lot at the Dursleys," Harry answered simply. "An American in my barracks at the Auror Academy showed me how to bake them. They call biscuits 'cookies' over there." Then turning to Ginny, Harry said, "They're actually fairly good, it's a butter biscuit with bits of chocolate in it."

A pall of nervous energy broke over the four of them before Molly smiled. "Well, there you go," she said and picked a bit of lint off the shawl. "We'll be back late, so don't wait up for us!"

Then, before Ginny could get a word in edge-wise, Arthur and Molly Disapparated with a loud pair of cracks.

Far from dissipating the tension, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's abrupt departure only added to the apprehension Harry felt with every breath.

"Well," said Ginny with a tentative glance in his direction. "I guess you're all I've got, then."

"I reckon, so," Harry said, fumbling with his worn Puddlemere tee shirt.

After a beat, Ginny huffed and in a bold move, grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him to the kitchen. "We don't have all afternoon, you know," she said with a sudden smile. "I've got to leave at six o'clock."

"Right. Six o'clock," he repeated.

"What's the first step, then?" asked Ginny once they had made it into the kitchen. "I'm rubbish with baking."

"That can't be true," Harry offered.

"What?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Because I'm Molly's daughter? Is that what you were going to say? Well, I've got the domestic sense of a flobberworm."

"Actually," said Harry, gaining some confidence. "I was going to say that it isn't that hard, and that anyone can learn how to cook."

Ginny blinked and had the grace to look abashed. "Oh."

Taking a moment to appreciate Ginny's stance, he quickly decided that while there were prettier witches in the world, it wasn't her figure or face that attracted him to her. As the pink on her cheeks faded and she twirled the end of her towel in her hand, Harry realized that it was because she was - Ginny.

"I'll get the ingredients together while you brush out your hair," he said, pointing to the drying red tresses draped haphazardly over her shoulders. "Most blokes prefer their dates with kempt hair," he said with a hint of sarcasm to make sure she knew he was poking fun at her.

Harry was relieved when she stuck her tongue out at him and walked slowly over to the stairs. "I'm not starting without you," Harry called to her. "You're going to do the second batch by yourself, Ginny."

"Okay, but you don't know what you're getting into," she replied from the top of the stairs. "I'm really a dreadful mess in the kitchen."

"We'll see. Brush your hair and get down here as soon as you're done."

"Yes, sir," she said mockingly with a fake salute before disappearing behind the wall on the landing.

Shaking his head and sighing, Harry walked to the unfamiliar pantry and rifled through various tins and pails. Finding the flour, sugar, and salt easily enough, Harry placed their containers on the countertop by the sink and resumed his hunt for the right ingredients.

By the time he had found the measuring spoons, Ginny had returned to the kitchen and was watching Harry as she leaned against the oven. Noticing the queer smile on her face, Harry hooked an apron with his forefinger and launched it at her.

"First rule in the kitchen is, you've got to were protective clothing," Harry said in a perfect imitation of Mad-eye Moody. "Constant Vigilance!" he barked to make his point and caused Ginny to jump a little.

"Did they have to drag his sorry hide out of retirement again just to train the likes of you?" Ginny asked cheekily.

Ignoring her comment with all but a wry smirk, Harry replied, "Just joking. But you really should put that on, or your dress will be covered in flour and dough by the time we have any biscuits made."

Ginny relaxed and Harry snuck a peek at her when she looped the top of the apron over her head and tied it around her waist. She finished adjusting the floral print fabric to cover most of her front while Harry was jotting down the ingredients list on a piece of torn parchment with a dull pencil.

"Here's the recipe," he said, pushing the list towards her, so she could get a look at it. "We'll start by softening the butter and pre-heating the oven."

Harry retrieved four sticks of butter and placed them on a small ceramic plate while Ginny lit the cooker. He was about to put them in the oven when Ginny grabbed his hand. "What are you doing?" she asked with a quizzical expression.

"Softening the butter," Harry replied, trying not to let her cool fingers distract him but shivered involuntarily just the same. "I'd normally let it sit out for an hour before we started, but since you're pressed for time..."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him playfully. "What are they teaching you at that school of yours?" She took the plate from his hand and placed it back on the counter. Then with a flick of her wand, the butter glistened and sagged a bit at the edges.

"Apparently they don't think household charms would come in handy battling against dark wizards," Harry replied, slightly abashed at forgetting he could use magic to help things along.

"That soft enough?" she asked with a twinkle in her eyes, gesturing at the plate.

"Can you sink your thumb into it?" he asked in reply.

Ginny extended her right thumb and inverted it, pressing it into the nearest stick. "Yep," she answered and licked off the dab of butter left on the tip of her thumb.

"Then it's soft enough," he said, swallowing hard a few times. "Set the oven for three-seventy-five and we'll start putting the dry ingredients together."

Wand still in hand, Ginny pointed it at the oven and rotated her wrist clockwise until she was satisfied the temperature was right.

Harry found two decent-sized bowls and proceeded to measure out the flour. "Two and a quarter cups of flour, a teaspoon of salt, and baking soda each..." He measured these as well, cutting the top of the measuring spoon with a butter knife to make sure the amounts were accurate.

Ginny watched him curiously and Harry said, "Now this is very important.... You've got to stir the dry ingredients together with the knife, or you get an uneven distribution of salt and soda." He made a face and finished, "Very bad for the biscuits...and the people eating them."

"Right," Ginny said with a nod. "Stir the dry ingredients to ensure proper distribution."

Harry gave her a lopsided smirk. "No wonder you got so many N.E.W.T.s," he teased. "Mind like a steel trap."

With a tinkling laugh, Ginny touched his shoulder and leaned into him. "More like I was brainwashed by Hermione at the tender age of twelve to study until my eyes bled."

"Well, at least you've got the marks to get a nice, cushy Ministry job."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him for the second time that afternoon and Harry couldn't help noticing how pink it was in contrast to her lips, face, and hair. "No stinky Ministry jobs for me, thanks," she said.

Shaking his head slightly and tearing his eyes from her lips, Harry moved over to the larger bowl. "Now," he said with a small break in his voice, "we combine the sugar, butter, and eggs."

Ginny walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a small basket of eggs. "Just took them from the hen-house this morning."

Harry overturned the plate with the butter and holding two of the sticks with a spatula, watched as the other two plopped into the bowl with a sticky squelch. He pushed the flour and salt tins to the back of the counter and shifted the sugar tins to the front. "Three-quarter cups of white sugar and the same with the brown." Looking up to meet Ginny's eyes, he said, "But you have to pack the brown sugar or the biscuits will come out flat."

"No flat biscuits," said Ginny with a sardonic grin. "Luke won't like that at all."

Harry raised his eyebrows, his emotions equally divided between curiosity and an insane surge of jealousy. "Luke, eh?"

Ginny's face remained impassive as she cracked an egg into the bowl. "Yes. My date for tonight."

"Would I know him?" he tried to ask neutrally, pushing the brown sugar down into the measuring cup with the back of a teaspoon harder than was strictly necessary.

"No," she said with a wistful smile. "He asked me out last week and a bunch of us are going to the cinema and then to play games at his flat."

Harry's ears perked up when he heard they were having a first date and he tapped the cup on the side of the bowl so the sugar slid into it as a single, solid mass. "So it's a group date?"

"Yeah, but why the sudden curiosity in my love life, Harry?" she asked as she threw the egg shells into the rubbish bin and proceeded to cap the sugar containers.

Harry started, suddenly unable to think. "Well...I, uh - That is to say..." Something finally flashed into his head and he blurted, "I'm just concerned about you...and want to make sure you're okay." It was a completely stupid thing to say and as soon as it left his mouth, he instantly regretted it.

"I'm capable of taking care of myself, Harry. In case you need reminding, I'm the one who took out Malfoy and Goyle so you could have a clear shot at Tom." Her cheerful demeanour vanished and a fire lit in her brown eyes, sending shivers up his arm of a different sort.

Desperate to look appropriately contrite, Harry let his head sink down until his fringe covered his eyes from her view. "I - I know," he said quietly, watching the egg whites soak into the sugar, leaving the yolks to float alone on the surface of the mixture. "I'm sorry. I just...." He trailed off, not able to get his conflicting thoughts to cooperate long enough to form a coherent sentence.

Ginny's finger touched his chin and pushed it up until she could look into his eyes. "You just what, Harry?"

Something flashed on her face and the fire was extinguished, giving him the ability to press on. "I do worry about you, but not like - not like Ron or Bill would."

Her head cocked slightly to one side and she seemed to be fighting some kind of internal battle. "Then what kind of worry is it?"

Harry's heart was beating frantically as he struggled to find an answer that both satisfied her curiosity and didn't reveal his feelings. "I...uh, just don't want you to get hurt."

Ginny's eyes fell to the bowls on the counter. "Oh," she murmured and pushed at the one with the wet mixture in it. "What do we do next?"

Slowly wiping his hands on his apron, Harry sighed. "I couldn't find any vanilla extract. Do you have any, or should I pop over to a shop?"

"Let me check," she said, quickly ducking back into the pantry where Harry had retrieved the dry ingredients.

Harry used the butter knife to cut into the still coherent sticks of butter, pushing the mixture around with it until she returned. What is it about Ginny that totally disarms me? he wondered.

"One teaspoon," he said to her when she sent him a questioning look, the small glass bottle pinned between her thumb and forefinger.

Ginny measured the strongly-scented liquid and poured it into the bowl.

With a deft stirring motion, Harry beat the butter, eggs, and sugar together until it was slightly fluffy. Then he tipped half of the dry mixture into the bowl and continued to turn the wooden spatula until the flour had been absorbed into the wet. He repeated the process until he couldn't turn the spoon and all the flour had been added.

"There," he said with a sense of accomplishment. Ginny had watched in silence, but Harry had the feeling that she wasn't watching the bowl.

"Now we just need some chocolate chips," Harry said as he put the bowl down, the spatula sticking up in the solid dough.

"Right," said Ginny as she bit her lip in thought. "I think I saw some over here."

Harry followed her into a small cold-larder where the meats and cheeses were stored. "Aha," she said in triumph, hoisting a bag of the small brown pieces of dark chocolate. "I thought we had some here."

Harry smiled at her as she turned around. The closet was only as wide as one person and Harry was in the doorway, but she stood still, not pressing him to move. They stared at each other for a moment before Harry lost his nerve and backed out, a faint twinge of pink across his ears.

With a repressed sigh, Harry watched her pour some of the chips into the bowl and stir them in. He pulled out two large baking sheets and placed them on the counter by the oven, standing deliberately away from Ginny while she finished working the batter.

Taking a sheet each, Harry and Ginny dolloped small portions of dough evenly on their light grey surfaces until there were sixteen on each. Then they went into the oven one at a time for ten minutes until the edges were just barely turning brown. "You don't want them to be too crispy," Harry had explained.

Once the first batches were cooled on a wire rack and the next was in the oven, Ginny began following Harry's instructions to make a second batch of dough. Harry watched her combine the wet and dry ingredients before he stepped over to the refrigerator to pour two mugs of milk. Then, with a small plate of cooled biscuits, set them and the mugs down on the counter in front of her, just as she was finished stirring in the chips.

"Oh, that looks good," she said, a small sheen of sweat dotting her brow. Ginny pushed the remaining dough from the first batch into the bowl of freshly made batter and set it down by the oven.

With a contented sigh, she tipped her mug back and drained half of the milk in one lingering swallow. "Ahh. Now for some biscuits!" She grabbed one off the plate and Harry followed suit, both crunching into them at the same time.

After swallowing and chasing the biscuits down with the rest of their milk, Harry and Ginny sat by the oven until the next batch was finished. "That was some biscuit, Harry," said Ginny, her bright smile returning.

"Told you. I just hope they're a hit for your date," Harry ground out reluctantly.

"Did you really learn to cook like this from those awful Muggles?" she asked sincerely. "Or was it that cute American witch from the Auror Academy?"

Harry rested his elbows on his knees and sighed. "I never said it was a witch," he said with a pointed look. "But yeah, I learned a lot of things about cooking from the Dursleys. I guess it's the one thing I took from my childhood. A solid appreciation for good-quality baking."

His crooked smile must have been visible because she reached out a hand to hit his shoulder. As her hand made contact, however, it seemed to stick and a strange dizzy sensation washed through him. Harry wasn't completely certain, but he thought her hand was trembling as it continued to touch his shoulder, its heat radiating through his thin cotton shirt.

Looking into her eyes, Harry had a strange, hazy desire wash over him and he could see that desire reflected in Ginny's eyes. Her hand was now clasped around a fistful of his shirt and their faces were growing closer together. Just as Harry was certain they were going to kiss, the oven timer went off and they jumped apart.

"I'm - I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I don't know what came over me."

Ginny's fist unclenched and she let it drop beside her, letting out a shaky breath as she did so. "It's all right."

Harry pulled the sheets out of the oven and used a metal spatula to separate the cookies from the sheet and place them on the cooling rack. The strange dizziness lingered; he tried to fight it off. It was oddly similar to the effect alcohol had on him and he wondered if the milk was bad.

Soon, it was almost six o'clock and all the biscuits had been made. Ginny held a bag with two covered plates of biscuits in her hand. "I, uh...guess I should go," she said awkwardly.

Harry made a noncommittal shrugging motion with his shoulders and watched her Apparate out of the kitchen. "Have a nice night," he said sullenly before turning to the mess that had once been Mrs. Weasley's clean kitchen. Harry sighed as he surveyed the messy dishes, flour laden counters and doughy utensils. Then with sudden inspiration, Harry decided that he might as well make another batch of dough to present Mrs. Weasley with some biscuits. It was her ingredients they had used, after all.

*

As six o'clock turned into nine, Harry found himself sitting at the kitchen table, half a bowl of dough in front of him and a few stray flecks of batter on his chin. The dough that did make it to the oven sat in a covered container on the clean counter and Harry wondered if the Americans had as much difficulty making the actual cookies as he had on this third batch.

A muted crack announced the arrival of someone behind him but Harry couldn't find it within himself to turn around.

With a rustle of plastic, Ginny set her bag and purse down on the table next to where Harry sat and took the seat next to him. "Hi, Harry," she said quietly. "Waiting up for someone?"

Harry let the spoon he had been using to eat the dough fall back into the bowl. "Just trying to decide if the Americans have got things backwards."

Ginny gave him a questioning glance so Harry continued. "I like the dough almost as much as the biscuits," he said casually, offering her a clean spoon.

Hesitating slightly, Ginny took a bite of dough. "Mmm," she said thickly. "That's actually quite good."

"So how was you're date?" The question came out almost of its own accord but Harry found himself looking at Ginny with some sense of excitement to know the answer.

"It was all right," Ginny said, taking another scoop of dough, but not looking at Harry directly.

Again, unable to help himself, Harry pressed her for more information. "Was it Luke, or just the date itself?"

"No," Ginny said with a small smile as she waved the partially-cleaned spoon in front of her face. "It wasn't the date."

It took a second for her words to sink in and when they did, Harry had to repress the surge of hope that shot through him. "So...you, uh...didn't have a good time with Luke?"

"Let's not talk about him anymore," she said suddenly. "Let's talk about us."

Us? Harry repeated in his mind, then looking at Ginny, saw that she was now staring right into his eyes. "You've got some batter on your cheek," he said, brushing his right cheek with his thumb.

Ginny wiped her left cheek, a puzzled expression on her face as she looked at her still clean fingers.

"Not that cheek," he said, reaching out to wipe the smudge of batter with his thumb. As he touched her cheek, the dizziness returned. He licked the batter off of his thumb. Ginny's eyes went wide. Her hand flicked over to the mixing bowl, picking up a smear of batter which she wiped onto her temple.

"How about now?" she purred.

Harry shrugged and went to wipe the smudge off of her temple when Ginny grabbed his hand. The dizziness surged again. The room felt considerably hotter. Harry left his hand in her firm grip and leaned forward, licking the batter from her forehead, then giving her temple a kiss.

"Better," he replied, licking his lips.

Ginny's hand returned to the bowl and another spot of dough appeared on her cheek. This time, Harry abandoned all pretence, gave into the buzzing in his head and leaned in to lick the dough off her face, crunching on a chocolate chip in the process.

Before Ginny could make another go at the bowl, Harry took a finger of batter and smeared it over his nose. "I think there might be some on my face, too."

The smile on Ginny's face grew and took on a feral quality. She leaned in close and whispered, "I'll just have to get it off, then."

Soon, the bowl was empty and the next thing Harry knew, they were in the living room, on the sofa, kissing like there was no tomorrow.

*

Molly and Arthur Apparated home an hour later, deciding to appear in the living room to not disturb anyone with the noise of their arrival. When Molly saw Harry and Ginny passed-out on the couch in a loose embrace, covered in chocolately kiss-marks and love bites, she was torn between wanting to hex her daughter for being so impertinent and the desire to ask them when the wedding date was.

When she saw Fred and George standing with an almost empty bag of chocolate chips, looking at each other in abject terror, she had a quickly repressed flash of admiration for her sons' ability to create happiness out of chaos.

"M - Mum. Dad," Fred stuttered. "We didn't expect you back so soon."

Molly adopted a pose that indicated her disapproval. It was best to start off cross, just in case there really was a reason to punish them.

"They weren't supposed to pass out, George," Fred said to his brother in a calmer voice than Molly had expected. Perhaps he knew she was bluffing.

"Yeah, well, Snape always did say that the poison was in the dose - I think we're going to have to either make the chips smaller or cut back on the strength of the vibrataclasho tincture."

"Vibratawhatsit?" asked Arthur sceptically.

"Good to know that it works, though," Fred answered, completely ignoring his father's question. "Some things you just don't want to test with your brother."

"Isn't that the truth, though?" agreed George. Turning to Arthur he pulled his back straight, as if he were reciting in class. "Vibrataclasho tincture does some interesting things - lowering inhibitions, for one thing. We've been dickering with it for a while now, trying to figure out the proper dose and all - it complements chocolate quite well, so we reckoned that the end product would have to be some sort of chocolate sweet," he said.

"We'll clean up, Mum, have a nice night - this is kind of our fault after all."

Yep, the twins were definitely in damage control, now. But for some reason, Molly didn't mind. "As long as you're sure they won't be in any danger from those chips," she reprimanded as strongly as she could manage.

"No problem," Fred assured, turning on his high-powered smile. "It was a derivative of an old love potion that Snape lectured on in our third year."

"Yeah," interjected George. "Even Neville could brew it right."

"You should know, Mum. It only works on people who already have an attraction for one another." Fred was rubbing his hands together conspiratorially as George was patting him on the back.

"Well," said Molly with another glance at the sleeping teens. "Let them be for now, then we'll check on them in the morning. I reckon they're going to have a headache the size of Hogwarts."

The twins turned towards the kitchen when Molly cleared her throat. "Oh, and boys? Not a word of this until they've sorted things out. Do you understand?"

Crestfallen expressions washed over them, but they nodded sullenly and made their way to start work on the dishes piled in the sink.

Arthur, who had let Molly work things out with the boys on her own, put his arms around his wife. "It's about time, isn't it?"

Finally letting a smile break across her face, Molly nodded. "Yes, Arthur. It is."

"I was about to ask Fred myself if there was something they could do to help them along a little," he continued.

"When did you figure it out?" Molly asked.

"Last year," Arthur replied. "At his birthday party. When Harry was giving Neville a wicked look as he was dancing with Ginny...." He shook his head at the memory. "How about you?"

Again, Molly smiled. "Since the day they met at King's Cross," she said. "I knew it would happen from that very day."