My So-Called Life As A Muggle
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. I'm just borrowing them for a little while.Rating: TEEN
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Chapter One – News From the Real WorldMuggle life was killing her. Or at least it was making her incredibly irritable.
Ginny Weasley slammed her foot hard onto the brake pedal of the freakishly small automobile she had just learned to drive a fortnight ago. A van with the words Speed Demon’s Plumbing thundered through the intersection, running right through a red light and nearly running Ginny into an early grave. She mumbled a few choice words under her breath, eased her foot off the brake and pressed it to the gas pedal. The little car putt-putted through the intersection, driving on towards the dilapidated-looking grey house that sat at the end of an otherwise deserted cul-de-sac.
“What I wouldn’t give to be able to Apparate home from work,” Ginny muttered as she pulled the tiny coupé onto the cracked concrete of the driveway. The car door gave a piteous squeeeak as she pushed it opened and she tripped as she tried to catch her footing on a large piece of stone that had become completely separated from the rest of the drive just that morning. In the process, her bag spilled onto the grass beside the pavement, showering the weed-ridden lawn with about a ream and a half of paperwork from the office she was employed at. Or at least the office she used to be employed at before having dumped dozens of important documents into the grubby garden. When her boss got a load of the muck on Mr. Dewitt’s depositions tomorrow morning…
“I’m toast,” acknowledged Ginny, picking up the thirteenth page in a row that was soiled. “Maybe I can explain what happened and he’ll understand,” she said to herself.
She held up page fourteen and fifteen of the Dewitt deposition. They were both sopping from the mud puddle they had landed in moments before. Ginny sighed.
“Yeah, and maybe pigs’ll fly out of Dewitt’s…”
“Ginny!” a voice called from the front door of the little grey house. It was one of her six brothers – her eldest – Bill. She sprang up from the grass, leaving the rest of the papers to collect more grime. She hadn’t expected to see Bill until at least another three days… he had written that he’d planned a short visit with her.
“Oooh, I am so glad to see you!” sighed Ginny as she tightly wrapped her arms around her big brother’s neck. “You wouldn’t believe me if tried to explain how glad!”
Bill chortled. “Oh, I wouldn’t, eh?” he said, rubbing his neck and pulling away so he could get a good look at her. “You look smashing, Gin – dead tired – but smashing, nonetheless.” He tousled her hair. “Did you do something different?”
“Just had it cut is all … the Muggle beautician added some layers. You think it looks okay?”
“Yeah, it suits you. Makes you look – Mum would kill me if she heard me say this – mature.”
“Oh, Merlin … not that,” said Ginny sarcastically, with a smirk. “Anything but that.” She and Bill laughed. Molly Weasley still couldn’t look at her twenty-one-year-old daughter and think of her as anything in the world but her wee baby girl.
Ginny urged Bill inside the house, temporarily forgetting about the mess in the front garden. “Come in, take a load off,” she said to her brother, dumping the papers she had retrieved along with the empty bag in the entry hall. “Tell me all the news I’ve missed by being cut off from the real world,” she said enviously. “How’s Fleur?”
Bill collapsed in an overstuffed purple recliner. “Oh, she’s ready to explode any day now, but I think the baby has other plans,” he said with a proud grin. “Mum swears she won’t go until Christmas, which’ll make for an eventful day, won’t it?”
Ginny got a glazed look in her eyes. “I can’t wait until Christmas,” she said with a sigh. “I miss everyone so much.”
“I gathered as much from the strangling you gave me when you arrived,” he said with a wink. “But don’t worry … only six more weeks to go.”
“Might as well be six years,” grumbled Ginny, kicking off the high-heeled pumps she’d worn to work that day – a requirement of the office dress code. Her feet throbbed in pain.
“Is the internship going that badly?” inquired Bill with a look of deep concern crossing his face.
Ginny thought before she spoke. To be entirely sincere with her brother, she should have told him that the internship with the Head Muggle Liaison was like a death sentence. And the trial period where she had to live completely and utterly as a Muggle – twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week – was misery. But she didn’t feel like being entirely sincere this evening. She was more in the mood for Bill to give her more news of home.
“No, it’s not that bad,” lied Ginny. “You just caught me having an awful moment … oh, damn!” she said, remembering the mess in the garden.
Bill headed her off at the door. “I can take care of it faster than you can. Just sit down and relax.” He headed out the front door and was back again – grungy papers in hand – before Ginny even had a chance to prop her feet up on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” she said as Bill added the papers to the stack in the entry hall. “So, are you in the mood for dinner? I have these mostly tasteless things you can heat up in that little box over there.” Ginny gestured to the microwave oven on the counter next to the fridge.
“As tempting as that sounds, I thought I’d take you somewhere for a bite to eat this evening … my treat,” said Bill, looking suspiciously at the microwave.
“I won’t say no to that,” said Ginny, smiling at the prospect of eating something that wasn’t frozen one second and zapped the next. “But you do have Muggle money, don’t you?”
“Do I work for Gringotts or don’t I?” asked Bill, reaching into the back pocket of his trousers for his wallet. “But let’s check just to make sure.”
***
The meal was exceptional, second only to the cooking of her mother. Some Muggles really know what to do with cuisine, Ginny thought. And leave it to Bill to find the best eatery in a five-mile radius. Must be a Weasley trait, she thought as she took the last bite of her pudding.
“So, Fleur’s ready to deliver a month early,” said Ginny, reviewing the reports Bill had already given her on the family, “ … Charlie’s confirmed case of bachelorhood is driving Mum mad … Fred and George are celebrating the grand opening of another branch of Weasley Wizard Wheezes next weekend in Hogsmeade … but you’ve yet to tell me about Ron.”
Bill took a swig of water from his glass and look at Ginny seriously. “I think he’s ready to take the plunge,” he said solemnly.
“The plunge?” said Ginny, her mouth starting to gape slightly. “You don’t mean … he’s finally going to do it? He’s finally going to ask her?”
“That’s the word on the street,” he said, picking up his glass to take another drink.
“Word on the street?” asked Ginny, confused.
“Harry told me,” Bill said matter-of-factly.
Ginny felt her face start to warm. Over a decade later and the mere mention of his name still made her blush. You’re pathetic, Weasley, she thought.
“He just came out and told you Ron was ready to pop the question to Hermione?” Ginny said is disbelief as she gathered her composure again.
“I have ways of making people talk,” said Bill, scrunching his face up to look quite goblin-like.
Ginny laughed. “I know you do,” she said with a wide grin. “I remember that time you thought Ron had borrowed your wand … I was only four and Ron was only five … but you gave him a look that was just like Mum!”
They both erupted with laughter.
“And I used to be able to do her voice with that clever charm…”
“Until Mum fixed it so you’d be hexed if you even thought the incantation!”
They laughed again, this time so loudly the waiter came to see if anything was the matter. Through snorts of laughter, Ginny assured him they were both fine. The waiter raised an eyebrow as if to convey he thought the exact opposite were true.
Bill wiped the tears from his eyes and told the baffled attendant, “Check, please.”
*
Chapter Two – There Are Worse Kinds of Punishments, Or So I’ve Been Told
“Weasley!” roared a man’s voice over the intercom. “In my office … pronto!”
“How I ever got into Muggle Relations is beyond me,” muttered Ginny before pressing a button on the intercom to reply. “Yes, sir,” she said in a falsely calm tone. “Be right there.”
But Ginny knew exactly how she’d got into Muggle Relations. Approximately four years ago, her father approached her with a brightly colored pamphlet and a persuasive smile on his face. Newly chosen as Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley was desperate to rebuild the wizarding society after the darkness that the final days of Voldemort had brought. One step in the restoration was to re-establish a peaceful association with the Muggle world.
“I need good people in this department,” Arthur had told his daughter. “People I can trust.”
“But I never even took Muggle Studies, Dad,” Ginny had said, browsing over the pamphlet. “I barely know a thing about Muggles…”
“You can learn,” Arthur had assured her. “You can be taught the ropes and then…”
“Dad, I can’t,” Ginny had pleaded. “I’m not the right person for this job!”
Ginny distinctly recalled the disappointed expression on her father’s face when she told him no. It’s what convinced her to finally say yes to his plea for help on her 21st birthday. Nearly four years later, after hearing tales and horror stories of the inferior employees in the Muggles Relations Department, Ginny caved in at last and told her father she would sign on to an internship with Randall Howells, the wizard in charge of the non-magic community sector.
But as much as she dearly loved her father, she hated working in Muggle Relations. It wasn’t that she hated Muggles, with the possible exception of Harry’s relatives, the Dursleys, and Mr. Dewitt, that is … it was just that life as an M.R. Intern was not all the pretty pink-and-orange leaflet said it would be. Ginny always considered herself an enthusiastic person, with a good sense of fun (prerequisites of liaising with Muggles) but patience was not her strong suit. And lately, working in the M.R. Department of the Ministry of Magic was testing her endurance.
She strolled into Mr. Howells’ office, trying to look nonchalant. “You wanted to see me, sir?” she said calmly.
“Yes, Miss Weasley,” Howells growled. Apparently the fact that she was the daughter of the Minister of Magic himself did not faze him. “What in Merlin’s name happened to Dewitt’s deposition? It looks like you soaked half of it in Hippogriff dung!” Mr. Howells slapped the stack of papers gruffly onto his desk. Ginny noticed the half that Bill had brought back to the house was immaculate, but the half she had brought back was still soiled.
“I can explain that, sir,” Ginny began. “I tripped getting out of the car and my bag spilled … if I could have used magic to clean up the mess…”
“Or if you weren’t a clumsy oaf, perhaps,” Howells shot back. “If you had used magic, it would have been only too easy, would it not have been?”
Ginny slowly nodded.
“Well of course it would have been easy … but being a liaison in Muggle Relations is not an easy job, Weasley! And you need to learn discipline! You need to learn restraint! You need to learn to get along on this planet without depending on your wand!”
Ginny felt like she had been transported into a military compound and Howells was her drill sergeant. She felt like his little speech had warranted a salute and a “Sir, yes, sir!” If it weren’t for her father, she thought she might very well throw in the proverbial towel at that very moment. But the vision of her father’s desperate face made her squelch the urge to call it quits.
“You’re right, sir,” Ginny answered, secretly thinking he couldn’t have been more wrong. “I’ll try to do better in the area of discipline. Maybe I’ll watch an extra program on television tonight as punishment.”
“I don’t need any lip from you, Weasely,” Howells grumbled. He tucked the Dewitt deposition into a manila folder and with a flick of his own wand, sent it flying to a metal filing cabinet.
Hypocrite, Ginny thought bitterly.
“Having lunch this afternoon with Dewitt ought to be punishment enough,” Howells continued. “I have a meeting with some of the other department heads at the Ministry this afternoon and he’s expecting someone to bounce ideas off of regarding the new statutes on updating the Muggle Studies curriculum at Hogwarts. He’s been chosen to write the new textbook series for that subject area, you know?”
Of course she knew. It was all Wesley Dewitt ever mentioned anymore when he was around, which was much more often than Ginny could stand. He was a tall, thin Muggle man of about forty, with thinning hair the color of charcoal, and who had the terrible habit of calling Ginny “Little Lady” every time he saw her. Mr. Howells was right when he said having lunch with Dewitt was a punishment. She’d rather have cockroaches stuffed in her ears and nose and be charbroiled on a shish kebab than sit down for a meal with Wesley Dewitt.
“Meet him in the lobby at noon and be prompt … reservations for the restaurant are at 12:30, and they frown upon their customers being tardy.”
Ginny wanted to ask him if the maître d' gave out detentions for tardiness, but she resisted the urge.
She backed out of the office and wended her way back to her own cubicle.
“This job is making me absolutely mental,” she said, looking at her reflection in the monitor of her computer. She found the Muggle device utterly frustrating to use, therefore she usually left the thing untouched, unless Howells came by, saw it off and made her turn it on.
The internship Ginny had signed up for had been specific. She couldn’t be put in the Ministry building to work until she went through a trial period first. Said trial period involved the dreadful task of living as a Muggle for three months. This meant living in a Muggle neighborhood, driving a Muggle automobile and going to work in a Muggle office, all the while doing these things without the use of magic. In fact, her wand had literally been locked away in a vault at Gringotts the day she signed her contract with Randall Howells, to be returned the day the internship ended. To make it all seem authentic, Randall Howells himself posed as a manager at a Muggle firm with Ginny as his personal assistant. Wesley Dewitt was their connection. He had worked for several years as a Muggle representative to the wizarding world and he provided access to his firm as a front for Ginny’s trial period for the floundering M.R. Department. Many of the other interns who had signed on for similar trials had dropped out after the first few weeks, and the ones who did manage to make it through usually ended up burning out after a few weeks under Mr. Howells’ strict supervision. He ran a tight ship, but if Ginny’s father had faith in him…
But Ginny couldn’t figure out if her own faith in Howells was running out or not. She looked at a photograph of her family on her desk, which had been charmed to be still like a regular Muggle photo. Their faces beaming back at her gave her a little hope. Christmas was right around the corner, and even Howells had enough heart to give her a break from her trials to visit them for a few days, even if she was still prohibited from using magic during her visit. That would surely give her enough steam to finish out her provisional period.
“He just needs to stop sticking me with crap like lunch with Dewitt,” Ginny told the image of her dad. “I mean, there are worse kinds of punishments,” she said glumly. “Or so I’ve been told.”
She looked at the ugly, steel-grey office clock that hung above her desk. 11:53 A.M. She had exactly seven minutes to get to the lift and get down to meet Dewitt in the lobby.
*
Chapter Three – Lunch Date
“Hiya, Little Lady.”
Ginny felt her stomach lurch. She had just lost any semblance of an appetite she might have had before that. Wesley Dewitt stood waiting for her dressed in an ugly grey-green suit and a frighteningly hideous plaid tie. His charcoal black hair was combed strategically to hide balding patches, but Ginny didn’t know whom he thought he was kidding. It was apparent that natural hair was only going to adorn that pasty head for a couple more years at best.
“You can’t imagine how pleased I was when Howells informed me you were going to be my lunch date,” he said with a wide smile.
“Date?” choked Ginny. “This is not a date, Mr. Dewitt. We’re going to lunch in order to discuss the revamping of the Muggle Studies curriculum at …”
“Keep your voice down, Little Lady,” Dewitt said, still smiling as he eyed a couple of businessmen nearby who had given Ginny an odd look when they overheard the term “Muggle.” “I’m aware of what our affairs are today … I meant that it was a business date, that’s all.”
Ginny shuddered as he said the word “affairs.” That word alone made her want to immediately Apparate home and take a 45-minute long shower to scour away the looks Dewitt was casting her way. He was just an icky, icky man. He was old enough to be her father, for Merlin’s sake.
***
At the restaurant, Ginny poked at her wilted salad without any real thought of wanting to eat it. Dewitt had scolded her for ordering so little, while he dug into a heaping plate of greasy fish and chips. He babbled on about what topics his textbook series would focus on, while Ginny found it nearly impossible to focus on his words. She distracted herself by looking at a painting on the wall behind him, of a young man nearly being gobbled up by a shark while a boatful of sailors tried to rescue him.
How appetizing, she thought.
“Great restaurant, isn’t it?” asked Dewitt after swallowing his last mouthful of fish.
If you like bad company, revolting food and disturbing artwork, thought Ginny as she nodded politely. She wondered if he was going to ask for the check anytime soon.
“So,” he began, reclining in his chair. “Over pudding you can tell me a little bit about you … I’ve come to realize that I don’t know all that much about you, and we’ve talked enough business to be getting on with, I think.” He winked at her.
I’m going to heave, Ginny thought, suddenly feeling like the young man in the painting, with Dewitt as the shark.
“Oh, there’s no way I could stomach pudding,” assured Ginny, feeling quite positive her freckles were turning green at the thought of giving Wesley Dewitt her bio as they shared a treacle tart.
“Don’t be silly,” Dewitt said. “You must have saved plenty of room … you barely even touched that rabbit food you ordered!”
“A girl has to watch her figure,” Ginny said icily, trying to drive home the point without having to come right out and say she wanted to get the hell out of there.
“Your figure looks fine to me,” Dewitt said. He waggled his eyebrows a bit.
“Will you excuse me?” Ginny blurted out. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”
She departed the table so quickly her chair nearly toppled over. She pushed the door to the lavatory open and quickly latched it behind her.
Maybe if I stay in here long enough, he’ll get the hint and go away, Ginny thought hopefully.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin for several minutes. I want to go home, she thought suddenly and desperately. She sat down on the anchor-patterned tile and fought the urge to sob like a two-year-old.
Knock, knock, knock. “Is everything all right in there, Little Lady?”
Ginny felt something inside of her well up like lava in a volcano, ready to blow. She swung the door open and bellowed, “My name is Ginny Weasley … got it? Do not ever call me ‘Little Lady’ again, if you know what’s good for you!” She slammed the door to the lavatory closed and bore her brown eyes upon Wesley Dewitt, who was looking temporarily dumbstruck. “And if we’re all finished here, I need to get back to work!”
Dewitt didn’t answer, so Ginny took the opportunity to stomp out of the restaurant. And for the first time in a long time, she felt as if she’d actually accomplished something.
That feeling was short-lived, unfortunately. She’d been in her cubicle all of ten minutes before she heard Dewitt’s voice in Howells’ office.
“That girl is quite a firecracker, Randall … I like her.”
Ginny leaned over her wastepaper basket immediately upon overhearing his words. She was positive she was going to heave this time.
*
Chapter Four – So, How Many Shopping Days Left Until Christmas?
The letterbox at the pitiful grey house hadn’t seen a piece of post for days and Ginny had no reason to think today would be any different as she maneuvered the car up the drive and put it into park. Last week she’d gotten a letter from her mother, who had placed about eleven stamps on it causing the postman to ask what kind of nutter addressed it and sent it that way.
The same kind of nutter who gives birth to someone who thinks he has to shout through the telephone, Ginny recalled thinking.
Ron had just called her that morning.
“IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I USED A FELLYTONE, I PRACTICALLY FORGOT HOW!” Ron had roared.
“Practically?” Ginny replied, holding the receiver away from her ear. “Stop shouting, or I’ll hang up.”
“Sorry,” said Ron in a still-louder-than-normal voice.
“Just speak normally,” Ginny warned, “or I will hang up.”
“Sorry,” Ron said again, this time in a normal voice.
“So, what do you need, Ron?” Ginny asked, somewhat impatiently. “I’d really love to be able to talk, but I’m running late for work as it is.” She meant that earnestly … she’d had given anything to chat with Ron instead of facing another day at the office.
“I need some advice … on jewelry,” said Ron sheepishly. “I’m planning on getting Hermione … something … for Christmas.”
“Would this ‘something’ be something that can adorn her finger?” said Ginny in a goading sort of voice she reserved only for him.
“Who told?” moaned Ron. “You haven’t been talking to Harry, have you?”
“No,” said Ginny. But suddenly she wished she had talked to Harry.
Where the hell did that come from? she thought as her cheeks burned. She was glad Ron couldn’t see her.
“If you haven’t spoken to Harry…” Ron sounded confused.
“Bill told me,” interrupted Ginny, anxious to turn the focus away from Harry.
“But Bill doesn’t know…”
“I suppose he figured it out on his own, Ron,” Ginny interrupted again, hoping Ron wouldn’t decipher that Harry spilled the beans to Bill. “I mean, we all knew it’d happen sooner or later.”
“Really?” asked Ron.
“You’re thick, you know that?” Ginny said, trying not to let her amusement sound in her voice. “And I would be more than thrilled to give you advice about the ring, but I can’t right now. I’m late for work … call me tonight?”
“Okay,” Ron had said and she hung up to leave for work.
All day at the office, Ginny battled with envious thoughts of Hermione, who would be the recipient of a beautiful engagement ring on Christmas morning. She looked longingly at her own, bare left hand. What would a thin, golden band with a glittering stone look like as it embellished her ring finger?
Oh, stop being a child … be happy for Ron and Hermione, she told herself every time the envious thoughts sprang up.
She was happy … she was more than happy … she was ecstatic for them. But she also wished some of their kind of happiness for her, too. She wished she had someone to care about her the way her brother cared for Hermione.
“And how are you doing today, Ginny.”
The voice was like Peeves scratching metal across one of the Hogwarts chalkboards.
“I’ve been better, Dewitt,” she said without bothering to look up.
“If you’re not busy later…”
“Oh, I’m afraid I’ll be busy all day long,” she said, still not glancing up.
It was all she could do to avoid encounters with Wesley Dewitt since the nightmare of a lunch date they’d had a couple of days ago. She’d thought bitching at him would have been a total turn off, but apparently she’d been wrong.
So now, as she finally found herself “home” after a day of mental torment, she was shocked to discover the usually empty letterbox had a small beige envelope occupying it.
Immediately, Ginny ruled out the letter being from her mother since it had the proper postage affixed. She picked the envelope up and her heart pounded as she recognized the hand her name and address had been written in. She flipped the envelope over to confirm the sender. There, scrawled on the back, was the name and address of Harry Potter.
Involuntarily, her hands began to shake as she held the envelope, staring at his name. Why was he writing to her? And why … oh, Merlin, why … was she reacting this way? She hadn’t seen Harry in months – five months to be exact. The longest she had gone without seeing him since she was ten-years-old. And here lately she’d taken to acting like an adolescent every time his name was mentioned.
“Oh, Merlin … maybe I’m going through Harry Withdrawal.” Ginny laughed at the absurd notion. She slowly tore into the envelope and removed the piece of parchment to read.
Dear Ginny,
How’s life as a Muggle going?
“That’s a loaded question, Harry, dear,” Ginny chuckled as she read on.
The last time I spoke to your mum she mentioned that you had a mild case of homesickness.
“To say ‘mild’ is putting it mildly.”
She was recruiting anyone and everyone to write or call to lift your spirits.
“So, where are all these letters from the recruits?” Ginny had collected hardly any post from friends or family since her captivity … er, stay in the Muggle world. Occasionally she’d receive a phone call, but since it was once in a blue moon that she received a letter, she supposed everyone must have got lost on his or her way to the Muggle post office.
I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write sooner, but work has been all consuming of late.
“He’s working too hard … I need to tell Ron to tell him to take it easy.”
I’ve been thinking about you, though.
Ginny read this line three times. Then she scolded herself when she discovered her cheeks had gone red again.
If you need any tips on Muggle life, just ask. I have years of experience.
She laughed. This was true.
I hear we’ll get to see if you survived the trials this Christmas. Your mum has insisted I take some time away from the job to come to the Burrow. Of course, you know I wouldn’t have it any other way, so I look forward to hearing your take on living magic-free.
“Harry’s coming to the Burrow for Christmas,” Ginny said as a guilty smile crossed her lips. Definitely something to look forward to.
Hang in there.
“Now I think I might be able to.”
I’ll see you soon,
Harry
“Soon,” Ginny cooed. She read through the entire letter two more times before she told herself to snap out of it.
The sound of the telephone ringing helped her snap.
“Ron,” she said into the receiver as she picked it up.
“What if it had been a total stranger?” said the voice on the other end.
“I don’t give my number out to total strangers, you git!” laughed Ginny.
She heard Ron huff into his end of the line. “Anyhow, the reason I called…”
“You want to know how many shopping days left until Christmas, right?”
“I know how many shopping days are left … it’s the what I need to shop for that’s giving me fits. I don’t want to pick out something Hermione’ll think is awful … I need some female advice.”
“You could always ask Mum,” Ginny said.
“Do you hate me that much? Would you really want our mother to find out before Hermione does? That could be a disaster of catastrophic proportions.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Ron … I wasn’t serious,” she was trying not to laugh at him again. “What do you have in mind, ring-wise?”
“Well,” Ron began, a definite note of uneasiness present in his voice, “I have this catalog from a shop in Diagon Alley … and it’s got all sorts of stuff, but only a few of them look right for an engagement ring.”
“Describe to me what you’re looking at,” said Ginny, trying to get a mental picture of what Ron had before him.
“Some of them have bands with carvings … some of the bands are gold, some are silver.”
“You’ll want gold, but maybe a nice white gold,” Ginny commented. “And I’d say a simple band without the carvings.”
“And then there’s the matter of the stone,” Ron said, gulping. “There’s a really fantastic one here, but it costs more galleons than I’ll ever earn in a lifetime.”
“I once heard Hermione mention she thought an emerald-cut stone was pretty,” Ginny said. “You’re lucky I filed that pertinent little piece of information away for a rainy day.”
“Thanks, Ginny … you’ve been a great help.”
“I can’t wait until I see Hermione’s face as she’s showing the ring off to everyone.”
“You really think she’ll say yes?”
“Count on it,” Ginny assured him.
Later that evening, as she sat cozied-up in her fluffy dressing gown, sipping tea and gazing into the firelight, Ginny imagined Christmas Day with her friends and family. Everyone would be in great spirits, thanks to Ron and Hermione’s wonderful news. And Fleur most likely would be bringing the newest Weasley into the world by then.
And she’d get to see Harry again. It had been far too long since she’d seen him. She set her teacup on the side table, closed her eyes and imagined the scene in her dreams.
TBC
I laughed at Ginny's way of describing Wesley and grew happy for her when Harry wrote and said he'd see her at Christmas and as she spoke with Ron on the phone about the kind of ring to buy Hermione! 