Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Ginny and co; I merely play.
Summary: Ginny’s musings on love, being a girl at Hogwart’s, and the heir to the Weasley twins.
Secrets were tricky things. Ginny knew that, and she knew that secrets about liking and loving were the hardest of all. All the same, ever since she’d been knee-high to Scabbers, Ginny had been prone to hearing secrets, and being able to see the situation at hand more clearly because of it.
For example, there was all the rubbish about Hermione Granger these days. Nobody knew for sure if she preferred Harry, Ron, or Viktor, and people were quite catty about it. Probably this was because Hermione had the unfortunate tendency to be shrewish about the girlish bonding rituals that came with attending a stony, rather manly institution like Hogwart’s. Ginny knew for a fact that Lavender and Parvati weren’t *actually* all that much fonder or better at Divination than any other subject; however, Professor Trelawney would listen to her particular pets, make them tea, and see futures with the best-looking boys in the year in their palms.
Professor Trelawney always knew who a girl was dreaming of, as a matter of fact; Ginny had been dragged to one of the tea-parties by Susan Bones once, and she’d been rather impressed at Trelawney’s distinctly non-woolly comprehension of her students’ tempestuous romantic lives. Then again, she’d have to have some use for Dumbledore to maintain her, wouldn’t she?
Of course, Ginny already knew where Hermione’s heart truly sat at the moment. That had been quite something, to wake up quite by accident in the middle of the night to hear Hermione making very soft whimpering noises. Ginny had been ready to jump up and offer comfort when she noticed a distinctly wet sound amongst the whimpers, and Hermione saying a word that sounded far too much like her brother’s name for Ginny to do much except blush to the roots of her hair and cover her head.
Ron, of course, was oblivious, because Hermione, of course, was no good at showing she was interested. Ginny wanted to shake both of them, and Harry for good measure. Cho Chang! Honestly, Harry’s taste in girls was non-existent or worse. At least Ron had paid attention to Fleur Delacour, who was now happily paying attention to Bill. Ginny could understand that, even if Fleur was a trifle hysterical for her own tastes.
“Oi, Ginny, what’s the matter? Don’t you want a biscuit?” Fred asked, shaking the plate underneath Ginny’s nose. “Or are you too busy mooning about for Dean?”
“Did you make the biscuits?” Ginny asked, all too wise to the ways of her brothers. She and the twins got on best of all the Weasley children, being peas in a pod, but not for nothing was Ginny the twins’ lookout. They wouldn’t catch her twice.
“Honestly, must I eat everything before you’ll touch it?” Fred asked, sounding just like Mum. “You wound me and George’s hospitality, you do.”
“I *know* you, Fred,” Ginny said with a smile. Fred sighed, nodded, and took a large bite of the biscuit. When Ginny was convinced she’d not be sprouting anything she oughtn’t, she ate three or four. “These are quite good.”
“Thanks,” Fred said, grinning. “We’re going to improve them a bit, I think. There’s a firm up north who’ll pay top dollar for Breath-Brightening Biscuits.”
Ginny noted the vagueness of “a firm” and tilted her head. “A wizarding firm?” she asked. “A reputable one?”
“Alas, little sister, I fear there’s no market in reputable wizarding firms that want Breath-Brightening Biscuits. It’s a set of Muggle chemists, but they’re paying good cash for it and we always reinvest the money from Muggle jobs back into the R&D of the shop,” Fred said with the eminent practicality of a practiced con artist. Ginny smiled, threw up her hands, and took another biscuit.
“If the Ministry finds out, you’ll be out a fair bit in fines,” she pointed out. “Have you put aside for that?”
“When would the Ministry have time to investigate biscuits that banish bad breath?” George asked, emerging from the kitchen with a dishclout. “They’ve got You-Know-Who to worry about, Ginny, and so do we. Hence, we’re doing our duty for Britain by creating the best charmed products anyone’s ever seen. Anyway, you still haven’t said why you’re so quiet.”
“Reckon it’s Dean?” Fred asked his twin.
“Dean, Michael, Harry, Hermione…take a guess, win a prize,” George teased. Ginny scowled. “Oh, come off it. We’re pleased as we can be by you, little sister. You’re the heir to our throne, so to speak.”
She sat back and let them go into one of their spiels. It comforted Ginny in an obscure way, and when the twins were talking, they tended to go off on tangent that stayed comfortably away from subjects Ginny had no interest in sharing.
“We’d had such high hopes for Ron–”
“–foiled by you-KNOW-who…”
“Not that we’re not entirely fond of Hermione…”
“But she does make Mum’s hair look permanently down–”
“–and in any case, you’re as good a troublemaker as any–”
“It’s only a pity you’re not twins,” Fred finished. Ginny laughed. “So who is it? Come on, now, we’ll tell you which one of us Angelina’s dating this week!”
Ginny snorted. “Well, that’s not much use, is it? By the time I see Angelina again, she’ll be dating the other. It’s very White Teeth of her, and I suspect you’re all three putting me on about it.”
“Us?” George asked, the picture of innocence. “Never!”
“Rubbish,” Ginny said. “And why are you so keen to know what I was thinking about? Mostly I was just thinking that I wanted to shake Hermione and Ron for being twits, and Harry for good measure.”
Fred snickered. “Our favorite soap opera, except for Eastenders,” he said. “I don’t envy you having to listen to Hermione once that daft Luna gets her hooks into Ron.”
“Oi,” George said. “That’ll be a lark.”
Ginny took another biscuit. “Won’t it just!”
The conversation had turned away from the romantic entanglements of their friends and family after that, and Ginny had been grateful. Fred and George were the best brothers a girl with six brothers could have, but they were still brothers, and at times Ginny rather understood the fuss about Professor Trelawney. A good feminine shoulder to cry on was necessary at times, even one as prone to smelling like potpourri and herbs as Trelawney’s.
But that’s why Ginny had her two-way mirror and a very noisy phonograph she’d cadged off Mundungus Fletcher in exchange for accidentally not being around one day when he’d gotten cursed petunias or some rot. Sometimes it was useful, being a small redheaded girl whom most people wrote off as just another Weasley brat. They tended not to see you, and if you played your hand right, that was valuable.
Very softly, Ginny breathed on the mirror, then made sure that she was posed just right…there. That’d be an eyeful, wouldn’t it? Nobody could resist.
“Have a moment to play?” she asked. “I’m dead bored and I think the twins are plotting to use me as a test subject again.”
A moment’s pause. Then: “I’ve got all the time in the world for you, Ginny. You’ve got to tell me how you always manage to interrupt at just the most welcome moment sometime.”
“It’s a secret,” Ginny said, winking. Then she giggled.
Oh, how Ginny loved secrets.