Growing Up Weasley

Chapter 4. When Harry Met Ginny

The next morning, Ginny awoke unnaturally early. Lifting her head to peer at the window through which the sun was just beginning to shine, she wondered what on earth had caused her to wake up. She listened. It wasn't Hermione, who was sleeping like the dead. And no one else seemed to be awake in the house. She flopped back down on her pillows and screwed her eyes shut. She was a light sleeper by nature and could only hope (and beg the gods of naps and counting sheep) to get back to sleep before the rest of the house woke up.

There it was again. Only now Ginny knew what it was. Someone was knocking on her door. "Go 'way," she muttered into her pillow. To no avail. One more knock. Thoroughly irritated, she flung back her covers and stomped across the room. Mornings were not her best time.

"What?" she hurled, not at all ladylike, as she jerked open the door. Then - embarrassment. "Oh. Harry. Sorry." She felt herself going red and was glad for the relative darkness of dawn. She had to wonder what he was doing at her door at this ungodly hour. Could it be possible that her mother and Hermione were right? No, surely Harry wasn't hoping to sneak into her room. Hermione was in the next bed!

"Quidditch," he said, holding up his broom. As understanding registered in her sleepy eyes, he grinned good-naturedly. "We were going to practice, remember?" Then, taking in her just-tumbled-out-of-bed appearance, he shrugged. "Or not." He winked.

Her brain was just waking up, but Ginny wasn't slow to register the flirtatious twinkle in Harry's eyes. She blushed even brighter red, and she was sure he could see it now. She fidgeted a moment in the doorway, uncomfortable yet slightly preening under his gaze. "Harry, please." She rolled her eyes and pretended not to be affected by his words. "Go on. I'll get dressed and meet you out back in five minutes."

"Five minutes?"

She grinned. "Well, maybe ten," she conceded. "Now get out of here before Percy wakes up and starts shrieking about my maidenly virtue." She gave him a little shove and closed the door, listening to him chuckle softly in the hall for a moment before she raced to her closet.

With seven children and a low wage from the Ministry, Arthur Weasley wasn't able to keep his daughter in the latest fashions like her friends. Most of the time, Ginny didn't mind. And as she considered the early-morning chill rising from the earth outside, she was actually grateful. Old jeans of Charlie's (which probably hadn't fit him since he was twelve) over long thermals of indeterminate age and value, with a maroon jumper Ron had avoided wearing as often as he could and a pair of sturdy boots that might have been Fred's or possibly even Percy's. Good thing she wasn't trying to impress Harry with her appearance, Ginny mused as she brushed and nimbly braided her carroty hair. A glance in the mirror ("Maroon is definitely not your color, love - And wash that sleep out of your eyes!") and she was ready to go. Her bedside clock whispered, "Five minutes late," as she slipped out of her room and tiptoed down the stairs.

After stealing a morning scone from the kitchen (magically piping hot and buttery), Ginny grabbed her broom from the mud room just off the kitchen and headed outside. The fresh air helped to wake her up a bit more, so that by the time she reached the field, she was as awake as Harry. She found him sitting on the little rise of earth that hid the field from the rest of Ottery St. Catchpole, watching the sun come up. She sat down companionably beside him. "Morning."

"Morning." He turned to her and asked, "Ready?" She nodded, and he stood up. "Let's go, then"

Ginny laughed. "Are you mad, Harry? Or do you always wake up before dawn to play quidditch?" Even as she asked, though, she finished her scone and got to her feet. "Lead the way, Captain." Harry scrunched his nose a bit, adjusting his glasses. It must be unconscious, Ginny thought, swallowing a giggle. Harry didn't seem like the kind of boy who adjusted his glasses with his nose. It was kind of cute. Then she hurriedly filed away that picture of Harry to think about later.

They walked to the middle of the field, and then Harry began explaining the rules of the game. "Now, there are four balls. The Quaffle, the -"

"I know how to play, Harry," Ginny interrupted irritatedly.

"Fine." He turned a little bit red. "Sorry, Gin. Er...well, what position do you want to play?" He'd never had to audition players before; the empty positions seemed to fill themselves last year. Ron was the new Keeper, and Seamus Finnegan became a Chaser after Angelina Johnson graduated. This year, Ginny (and the rest of Gryffindor House) knew, Harry had to replace four people on the team: two Beaters and two more Chasers.

She answered with certainty. "Beater."

Now, Ginny knew as well as anyone that it was very uncommon for a girl to play that position. It required a strong arm and a certain daring - and perhaps a bit of a death wish. Those bludgers lived up to their name. In fact, she thought, all the female beaters she's ever seen were...well...massive. Which Ginny was not. She went on the defensive before Harry even said a word. "I'm stronger than I look, Harry, honestly. And I'm ambidexterous."

His eyebrows shot up, but Harry was too much of a gentleman to say anything. "Well, what about Chaser, Ginny? I know you're fast." He coughed. "Flyer. You're a fast flyer."

She rolled her eyes. "Chaser?" she spat, as though the word was a curse. "Harry, you've got to let me try! I know I'm good. I can be a beater." He opened his mouth as if to make a judgment, and she beat him to it. "If you say one word about how dangerous it is to be a beater, Harry Potter, I will brew up a love potion that makes you a slave for Malfoy for the whole year. And I can do it, too. Hermione'd probably help me."

"Calm down! I haven't said a word, and already you're threatening my life?" He shook his head, but Ginny could detect a touch of a smile. "Get up on your broom; we'll see what you can do."

For almost three hours in the ever-brightening early morning sun, Harry and Ginny practiced. She could tell he was impressed (but making a valiant attempt not to show it) as she returned every ball he sent her way. Right hand or left, it didn't matter. She'd been telling the truth: she could play as well with either arm. And she had good aim. It was difficult to take careful aim, to send bludgers at a specific target, but Ginny hadn't grown up with six quidditch-mad brothers (well, five quidditch-mad brothers and Percy) for nothing. She was good. Very good. Possibly even better than Charlie, and he'd been legendary at Hogwarts. She had a certain finesse that Fred and George had lacked, and her light weight allowed her to fly almost as fast as Harry, though her broom was of decidedly inferior quality. She was as stubborn as Ron, and as determined not to let a single ball go by. Add to all that a ferocity that was pure Female Weasley, and she made a phenomenal player.

"Let's take a break," Harry called, and they landed their brooms.

The day had already warmed considerably, and both had long since removed their jumpers. Now Ginny dropped to the ground and lay there, spread out, red-faced and sweating. "Phew!" she sighed. "Do you always work the team so hard, Harry? I am exhausted."

Harry flopped down beside her. "Yes, well, you know. Three years with Oliver Wood are enough to make anyone a little bit mad. Sorry, Gin."

She rolled over on her stomach, and rested her chin on her hands, looking at him. "No need, Harry. I didn't mean it. Well," she corrected, "I did, but not in a bad way." She felt her ears begin to turn red - the famous Weasley blush, it always started with the ears - and looked away. Regaining her assurance, she asked, "So? D'you think I'll do?"

This time, Harry blushed. "Yes," he finally said. "I think you'll do."

Ginny gazed steadfastly at the ground, and did her best to hide her smile. They lay there in companionable silence for awhile, each caught up in a world of private thoughts.

For Ginny, there was a lot to think about. Like any normal fifteen-year-old girl, thoughts of boys often filled her head. And no matter how hard her brothers tried to keep her locked away like a postulate nun, she was well aware of the many masculine eyes cast her way as she traversed the enchanted Hogwarts halls. Her friend Ivy Martin had whispered about it a few times last year. Of course, Ivy was the class beauty, with big dark green eyes that matched her name, and long brown hair that reminded Ginny of nothing so much as liquid chocolate, and a budding hourglass figure that put Ginny's top-heavy frame to shame. So Ginny didn't pay Ivy's words too much mind. But now, with Harry beside her, Ginny began to think sweet thoughts.

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, by the real thing. Harry was standing again, and he cast a shadow over her. She squinted up at him. "Reckon we should head back, Gin? Breakfast is probably finished."

She shook her head. "It's Saturday." He gave her a quizzical stare. "Brunch," she explained, then stretched. She sat up. "We probably should go back, though." He reached for her hand and helped her up. Ginny felt unexpected tingles at Harry's touch. "Thanks," she said, jerking her hand away.

The walk back to the Burrow was an awkward one. Ginny mentally berated herself the whole way. Why had she jerked away from Harry? He probably thought she hated him. Ugh. Horrible, horrible. She didn't hate him. Clearly. In fact, she rather liked him, after a fashion. Not like she did when she was ten, thank heaven. After all, he wasn't really Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived to her anymore. Not the stuff of legend. Just...Ron's friend Harry. Harry Potter, Captain and Seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team. Harry, who slid by in potions and made fun of divination. Harry, who had some great adventure or other every year.

Harry Potter, uncatchable catch of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Far prettier girls than Ginny had tried to catch Harry's eye, and only Parvati Patil had ever managed to have a dance with him. It had only been a duty dance, but still - what chance did Ginny really have?

Wait a minute. This was Harry she was thinking about, not some handsome, dashing wizard. Plain old ordinary Harry, with glasses and unmanageable hair. For the past three years, they'd managed to exist in the same House without any of the embarrassing situations that plagued her first year. She was not going to start acting all - coquettish - around him now.

"After you."

They'd reached the Burrow without her noticing it. Now Harry was holding the door open for her. With her new determination not to act a fool, she smiled brightly and said, "Thank you," before passing into the house. He followed, and she continued. "Thanks for practicing with me, too, Harry. Really. You're brilliant."

"Er...sure, Ginny. No problem." They set their brooms down and were about to open the door into the kitchen when Harry put a hand on her arm, stopping her. She looked back. Harry was holding a finger to his lips. "Shh." Now she could hear the voices, too. She grinned. It appeared Harry didn't mind eavesdropping, either. They listened closer.

"Ron, Harry's your best friend!" Hermione exclaimed softly.

"I know!" Ginny could hear the warring emotions in her brother's voice and wondered what they were talking about. After a moment of tense silence, she found out. "But she's my baby sister, 'Mione. And I don't care about his personal code of honor or his prospects or anything else. He just better not do anything to Ginny."

Hermione laughed. "Don't you think it's time you dropped the 'baby' Ron? Ginny's fifteen. And besides, I think they're good for each other."

Ron snorted. Ginny wanted to burst through the door and perform a particularly nasty curse on her brother - how dare he snort like that at her expense? And he was worried about what Harry might do to her precious reputation? "Good for each other? My sister practically gets killed by Tom Riddle and almost kills the rest of us in the process. Or don't you remember? You were Petrified at the time."

"I remember perfectly," Hermione shot back, and Ginny could tell she was beginning to lose her temper, too. "And I remember that you were never really in danger. Behind a wall of fallen rock with Professor Lockhart, isn't that right?"

Ha! Take that, Ron, Ginny thought, turning to grin at Harry. He gave her a bit of a wary grin in return. The awkwardness of her situation came flooding back, and Ginny felt her ears turn pink. She turned away.

"I just don't think Ginny's old enough to be going out with Harry," Ron said petulantly. "'Mione, the way he was looking at her yesterday, I think he might be, well, keen on her." Ron was obviously uncomfortable with the thought. "Stopped right in the middle of a story about those awful muggles he lives with just to say hello and ask how her summer was - it wasn't right!" Ginny blushed even brighter. "And now they're both gone." Then his tone changed. "Y'know, 'Mione, everyone else is having a bit of a lie-in. Maybe we -"

"What a marvelous idea, Ron!" Hermione interrupted a little anxiously. "I'll bet your mother would be pleased if someone else made breakfast this morning. Where are the eggs?"

"That's not - I didn't -" But it was obvious, from the sounds in the kitchen, that any amorous thoughts Ron might have been entertaining had been squelched under Hermione's forage through the pantry.

It sounded safe. Ginny turned around once again, about to ask Harry if he thought the coast was relatively clear now. It was too embarrassing for both of them to stay eavesdropping any longer, and besides, it didn't appear that anything else was about to be revealed by Harry's two best friends. But when Ginny turned, she was caught by Harry's eyes. He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before - the same way he'd stared yesterday when he first arrived. She blinked twice. "Harry?" In half a second, his countenance changed, and Ginny thought she detected a note of determination in his glass-green eyes. In another second, it was over. Chaste, practically undetectable. And then his eyes reflected triumph.

He had kissed her.

Harry opened the door to the kitchen and breezed through, leaving Ginny in the mud room, mouth agape, ready to swoon.

Her Lancelot had arrived.