Happy Valentine's Day!
It's not generally a big day for me, but as spidergirl30 pointed out, why not just spread some love today?
So I have four - yes, four - gifts for you today.
First, chapter 14 of RfE. :)
The plot bunnies were kind as well, so I have three little ficlets (well, one is more or less fic-length) to offer up. Dedicated with much love to you, my lovely f-list, for brightening up my life so much! *hugs to you all*
Enjoy!
Title: Love
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2884
Summary: Snapshots of Ginny Weasley's Valentine's Days.
One.
She is full of sunshine and giggles, such a happy baby. Molly Weasley tickles her daughter under the chin and marvels at the pure, joyful sound of Baby Ginny’s laughter. She is a miracle, this tiny girl, the first girl in several generations of Weasleys. And Molly is oh so grateful that she will grow up in a world without fear, a world where the Dark threat of You-Know-Who is no longer hanging over them.
Molly’s eyes glance to that clock on the mantle, half-expecting to see all hands on Mortal Peril. Even thought it’s been nearly half a year since they moved, Molly still feels relief to see her children’s hands on Home, Arthur’s on Work - no, Travelling now.
She smiles, because any moment now, Arthur will be walking through the door. She kisses Ginny on the forehead and tucks her into her crib gently.
What better gift for Valentine’s Day, she thinks, than knowing that everyone she loves is safe and well?
Two.
He peeks into the nursery. Someone has forgotten to draw the curtains, and moonlight spills across the innocent faces of his youngest brother and sister. Bill Weasley tiptoes into the room and peers over the railing of his baby sister’s crib.
As if she senses his stare, her eyes flutter open and Bill steps back uncertainly, afraid that she will start crying, that the noise will bring his mother and father up here. He should be in bed, himself, but he’s feeling restless, and Charlie is snoring so loudly.
But Ginny only makes a gurgling laugh, and she reaches a chubby hand out to him. Bill gives her a finger, and she brings it to her mouth, testing out her teeth on it.
‘No, no,’ whispers Bill, withdrawing his hand. Ginny’s mouth works into an adorable little pout.
‘Tell you what,’ says Bill, with a glance at the door. ‘I’ll tell you a story, all right?’ He settles down by the crib. ‘Once upon a time … there was a beautiful redheaded princess, and she had lots of princes who came to visit her on Valentine’s Day …’
Three.
In her first memories, she’s toddling around, waving her hands and laughing.
She doesn’t remember crashing into the kitchen table, although from the scar just behind her ear, it must have happened. She doesn’t recall upturning Mum’s cauldron, but Charlie assures her that it happened. Dad likes to say, jokingly, that she at least gave him and Mum a unique place to spend their Valentine’s Day evening.
‘But it doesn’t matter that we were at St Mungo’s the whole night,’ Dad tells her. ‘Valentine’s Day is for the people we love, and we love you.’
Ginny does remember love.
Four.
‘Read me the story again!’
‘Darling, you’ve heard it so many times - you could read it by yourself.’
‘But I want you to. Please, Mummy?’
‘All right. But I want you to read along with me. Can you do that, Ginny?’
‘YES!’ She opens the cover of The Boy Who Lived and begins to recite the story from memory. Even if she can’t read properly yet, she’s heard this story enough times to know how it goes. Ginny doesn’t even notice that her mother is only listening amusedly to her.
‘And the story is real, Mummy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, darling, it is.’
Ginny blows a kiss towards the window. Her mother looks at her in surprise. ‘What did you do that for, Ginny?’
‘It’s Love Day, Mummy. That’s what Daddy said. And Harry Potter doesn’t have a Mummy or Daddy to give him a kiss.’
‘No,’ says her mother sadly. ‘No, he doesn’t.’
She doesn’t know why her mother gives her a big hug and a kiss on her cheek then.
Five.
Ginny eyes the large tray of biscuits on the kitchen table. They’re so tempting, heart-shaped with pink icing, and they smell heavenly. Mummy won’t mind if she takes just one, will she?
Her fingers inch out towards the nearest biscuit …
‘Ginny Weasley! Are you spoiling your dinner now?’
Ginny’s hand snaps back to her side, and she shakes her head quickly.
‘Just looking, Mummy!’ Mummy’s head pops round the door, scanning the tray. When she’s satisfied that the biscuits are intact, she returns to her cleaning in the next room.
Fred and George sneak in a moment later, and put their fingers to their lips. Fred winks at Ginny, and she understands it to mean that if she helps them, she’ll get a share of the bounty.
‘Mummy,’ she calls, running out of the kitchen. ‘Why are they all heart-shaped?’
Mummy beams at her. ‘Do you know what day it is, darling?’
Ginny thinks for a moment. ‘Love Day!’
‘That’s right. So the biscuits are heart-shaped to show how much Mummy loves you.’
Ginny nods happily. The twins must have snuck out a decent number by now. She runs off to get her share.
Six.
‘It’s called Valentine’s Day, Ginny, not ‘Love Day’,’ says Percy patiently. ‘Mummy and Daddy only told you it was called Love Day because you were too small to say the real name properly.’
She hates when Percy talks like that, like she’s too young to know any better. But she knows if she keeps asking him, he’ll tell her the story of how Valentine’s Day came about, just as he told her about Christmas and Hallowe’en.
‘So what’s a Valentine?’
‘It can be lots of things. A gift to a special person. Or a special person.’
‘I’m special!’ says Ginny excitedly. ‘Am I a Valentine?’
‘No-o … not exactly.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because - because you have to love someone and give them something on Valentine’s Day for them to be your Valentine.’
Ginny turns this information over in her mind. ‘If I give you something, then you’ll be my Valentine?’ She grins toothily at her brother. Percy opens his mouth to correct her, but thinks the better of it.
‘Yes,’ he says, smiling at her.
But when Ginny makes him a little cut-out of a heart, Fred and George are roaring with laughter, and so he declines with a shake of his head.
Seven.
She awakens in the middle of the night to a snatch of music. Ginny tiptoes out of bed and pads softly down the stairs, towards the living room, from which the strains of Celestina Warbeck are wafting.
The door is just ajar, and Ginny peeks through the gap.
Mum and Dad are dancing. Ginny can’t help but stare as they waltz across the living room; Dad twirls Mum, and then spins her round into an extravagant dip. Mum comes up laughing, and puts her arms around Dad’s neck.
Ginny closes the door gently, wondering whether it’s really her parents she witnessed, or a fairy tale she walked into by mistake. As she climbs back up the stairs to her room, she thinks she likes being the little girl of a fairy tale.
Eight.
‘It’s beautiful, Ginny!’ says Dad proudly. ‘And I’m sure it’ll taste delicious as well.’ His finger wanders towards the cake, but Ginny has seen him sneak bits of Mum’s cake too many times. She swats at his hand.
‘No, Dad, you can’t have it until after dinner,’ she says, with her hands on her hips. She wonders why Dad laughs at this.
It doesn’t taste anything like Mum’s cakes, and Ronnie and the twins are quick to point this out, but Dad says it’s delicious all the same. Ginny basks in his approval.
She’ll remember the warmth of his praise every time she sees that picture with the pink cake, across which Happy Valentine’s Day love Ginny is written in icing.
Nine.
Bill’s girlfriend pats her on the head, and calls her a sweet little girl. Ginny scowls, but the girlfriend doesn’t seem to notice. Bill, however, does, and he gives her a stern look. Ginny sticks her tongue out at them behind their back.
She doesn’t want Bill to go out with this girlfriend. She wants him to stay at home and play with her, because Bill has been away for so long and now he’s going far, far away again, and she won’t see him for a long time again.
She’s still fuming when Bill returns home after his date. He sits on her bed, and she pretends to be asleep, but he’s not fooled.
‘I think you’re jealous, Ginny-bear.’
She won’t let him cajole her over with the use of his pet name for her.
‘You do know I’m going to miss you more than any other girl in this place when I leave, don’t you?’ Bill sighs when she doesn’t reply. ‘You’ll always be my favourite sister, you know.’
‘I’m your only sister,’ she retorts, and then curses herself when Bill laughs.
‘I knew you weren’t asleep. Ginny, look at me.’ She does so, reluctantly. ‘No matter how many girls I take out for Valentine’s Day, you’ll still be my little sister, all right? Come on, give me a hug.’
And she does.
‘I’ll miss you when you go,’ she tells him.
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But I’ll send you pictures of the pyramids.’
‘Will you send me real Egyptian sand?’
‘Of course.’
‘Okay then.’
Ten.
‘Ginny!’
Her eyes fly open, and she feels a sense of irritation. She was soaring over the sky, powerful and free. And now, suddenly, she’s cold and wet and there’s a rock sticking into her back.
Someone pulls her into a bone-crushing hug and she gasps, spluttering. Her throat feels clogged up with water. Ginny pulls away and is sick all over the grass.
‘What happened?’ she croaked. And then she remembers climbing the tree branch, remembers falling, hitting the surface of the pond with an enormous splash, remembers feeling winded on the impact and seeing black …
Her head pounds.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Ronnie. He’s wet through, and shivering as well. ‘I shouldn’t have dared you to go up there.’
‘I don’t think doing a Valentine’s Dare was such a good idea,’ she agrees. He hugs her again, and then pulls her to her feet.
Eleven.
‘… and Ickle Ronniekins …’ Ginny giggles as she reads Fred and George’s letter from school out loud, ‘Ickle Ronniekins has a girlfriend.’
Mum clucks her tongue at that. ‘Those two,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Ronnie’s much too young for a girlfriend.’
Ginny is quite thankful for that. She doesn’t want Ronnie to have a girlfriend. She wants Ronnie to come home and play with her and be her best friend again.
‘When’s Ronnie coming home?’ she asks, even though she knows the answer already. She wants Mum to reassure her.
‘You know when, Ginny,’ Mum says. ‘When the school year ends.’
Ginny sighs. It’s only February. July is months and months away. Mum glances at her.
‘Cheer up, darling. He’ll be home before you know it!'
Twelve.
I was so humiliated, she writes. I shouldn’t have done it. He didn’t even like it.
He doesn’t know how to appreciate you.
Tears splash from her eyes, splattering the pages of her diary.
I’m sorry, Tom. Her handwriting is wobbly. I’ll put you away, I’m getting you all wet -
No, don’t. You can cry on me if you want. Until you feel better.
Oh, Tom. She presses a kiss to the page. You’re my real best friend. I love you.
She feels a little hollow after she writes the words, as though there is less of her inside, but chalks it down to the heartache she feels because Harry Potter will never be her Valentine.
Thirteen.
Ginny is so angry at her brother that she could spit fire at him. Or at the very least, try out her new Bat-Bogey Hex on him. Hermione Granger is behind the door, crying her eyes out in the toilet cubicle, and Ginny doesn’t know what to do. She wishes she hadn’t come into this particular toilet, at this particular time … but no, then who would help Hermione?
It’s Valentine’s Day, she thinks, it’s a day for love. Not - not - tears and hate.
Hermione emerges from the cubicle at last, her face dry, but her eyes red and the sleeve of her robes wet.
‘My brother’s an ass,’ Ginny tells her firmly. Hermione nods, but as though she is trying to convince herself. She looks at Ginny shrewdly, then.
‘Harry isn’t much better,’ she says, just as firmly. Ginny feels herself blush, takes an involuntary step backwards. Her eyes meet Hermione’s, and they seem to reach an understanding.
‘Who needs boys?’ Ginny says flippantly. ‘Friendship is better. You can be my Valentine today.’
Hermione giggles a bit at the insinuation. ‘Thanks, Ginny.’
Fourteen.
‘Neville - he’s not your boyfriend, is he?’ Michael’s voice is hesitant.
‘No - no, he’s not.’ Ginny looks at him curiously. ‘What made you think so?’ Is this why Michael has seemed so reluctant to approach her?
‘You - well, you were at the Yule Ball together …’
Ginny laughs. ‘Silly, that doesn’t mean I’m his boyfriend. I mean, just because I went to the ball with him - well, my brother went to the ball with Padma Patil, and they’ve hardly spoken since.’
‘You still seem to be on good terms with Neville.’
‘Because we’re friends.’
‘Oh.’ Michael seems relieved. ‘Well, he’s - he’s still a lucky bloke.’ He’s blushing as he says this, and Ginny feels a thrill in the pit of her stomach. No boy has ever spoken to her this way before. If only Harry …
But no, she squashes those thoughts. Harry doesn’t like her. Michael is here, Michael is talking to her this Valentine’s Day, not Harry, and she’s going to forget about Harry now. Truly, she is.
So when Michael, redder than ever, asks if she’d like to go with him to Hogsmeade, she says yes.
Fifteen.
She sees them walking into Hogsmeade together, and even though she knew it would happen, even though Hermione had given her fair warning, Ginny can’t help but feel a pang in her heart.
She hates that it elicits any form of reaction from her, hates that the sight of Harry next to Cho makes her want to Bat-Bogey Hex someone. She takes a deep breath, and forces herself to calm down.
Michael. She thinks of Michael. It’s not fair to Michael for her to be thinking of Harry. Michael is her boyfriend now. Michael, Michael, Michael. She repeats his name in her head, forcing herself to think of him, and only of him.
But there is a ferocity in her dives, an intensity in the way she glares around the pitch, searching for the Snitch during Quidditch practice.
After it’s over, she convinces herself that she is upset with the terrible quality of their Quidditch team.
Sixteen.
Dean buys her flowers, owl-order from Orchideous! at Diagon Alley, but she wishes he wouldn’t. It makes her feel ungrateful, to be harbouring resentment about this show of possessiveness, when she knows Dean simply meant to be romantic on Valentine’s Day.
He’ll be expecting a thank you kiss for it, she’s sure, and she wonders when snogging has become something obligatory and distasteful.
Maybe since Ron and Lavender started displaying their tonsils in public.
Dean can’t understand her feelings on the whole situation - every time she brings it up, he says, in a placating sort of tone, ‘Why don’t you accept Lavender, if she makes Ron happy?’ He doesn’t seem to realise that Ron isn’t happy, that the only girl who could ever make him happy is miserably avoiding him now.
Maybe Dean is hoping for a similar response from Ron - acceptance. Ginny wonders if Lavender says the same thing to Ron: ‘Why don’t you accept Dean, if he makes Ginny happy?’ Assuming, of course, they actually untangle their lips from each other long enough to talk.
And maybe Ron’s response would mirror her own.
Because Ginny isn’t happy with Dean, after all.
Seventeen.
She’s told herself over and over again that she can’t expect anything today, but a small part of her still wishes, still hopes.
It’s been half a year.
She closes her eyes, as though that will conjure him up next to her. She can still construct a perfect mental image of him - his tousled hair after her hands have just run through it; the shine of his green eyes, looking at her as though she is the only person that matters; the curve of his cheek; every contour of his body …
She wishes she could keep him in her heart always, safe. If only her love could protect him.
Love. Oh, Ginny knows about love. She has experienced it in each and every way.
From the comforting safety net of love her family wove her growing up - to the twisted, selfish love Tom Riddle offered her. The strong, steady love of friendship; the sweet, shy adoration of a first crush. The fairy tale love between her parents, which she now knows to be founded on trust and respect, and which she longs to share with the one she loves one day.
She wants to take all this and blend it into something powerful, something pure, something great and good enough to shield Harry from any harm.
She loves him.
If only that could be enough.
Title: Neville's Heart
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,052
Summary: On the day that Harry Potter wakes up, Neville finds a bit of love in his own corner as well.
Ginny seemed to know, before Susan even said the words. Her face, which had been drawn, tight, and anxious for so long, relaxed at last. In her eyes, the light of hope kindled, like a candle that was being relit after many months.
‘He’s awake, isn’t he?’ she said quietly.
‘He’s awake,’ Susan confirmed.
There was no squeal of joy, no gasp of relief. To an outsider, Ginny might have appeared completely calm. But Neville, sitting next to her, could feel her shaking.
‘Take me to him.’
She gripped his hand for support as she stood to follow Susan. It felt so cold, her palm. Neville tried to imagine how she must feel; very much the way he would if the Healer in charge of the Long Term Spell Damage ward arrived to tell him that his parents …
Ron and Hermione were waiting outside Harry’s ward, both with tears in their eyes and their faces wet. Neville wanted to say something to them, but ‘congratulations’ didn’t seem to cut it, and anyway, Ginny was pulling him forward, through the door that Susan held open.
She let go of him, then, flying across the room to the bed in which Harry lay.
It was a magical moment, the instant they touched. Neither spoke any words, but both seemed to light up the moment they connected.
He watched as Harry’s hand travelled over Ginny’s face, slowly and carefully, as if assuring himself that she was real. He watched as Ginny put her arms around Harry and lifted her mouth up to his, two lovers reuniting at last …
And he had to look away, to give them privacy. There was something about the whole scene that awakened an ache inside him, a longing to have someone to cherish as much as this pair of lovers did. Without thinking, Neville turned and headed for the door. This room was too filled with raw charged emotion, which he couldn’t intrude on any longer.
He nearly walked into the other pair outside the door.
‘He’s awake,’ Hermione was saying, her voice breathless with tears. ‘Awake.’
Ron said nothing, but pulled her roughly to him and kissed her, as though he had no other outlet for his feelings. Neville shook his head with mild amusement, and walked on down the corridor.
‘He couldn’t have picked a better day.’ He heard the voice of George Weasley just behind a door.
‘A Valentine’s Day gift for Ginny.’ That was definitely Luna, sounding dreamy.
‘Well, since my sister’s getting hers now …’ George trailed off, and Neville thought he knew what he was following his words up with. He smiled to himself. George and Luna - no one had seen that one coming. But they were happy, and that was all he could wish for a friend as loyal and worthy as Luna had proved to be.
Neville continued walking. He wasn’t quite sure where he was headed, but it was no big surprise when he ended up outside the door to his parents’ ward. It was a day to be spent with those he loved, after all. And since his friends were otherwise occupied, he should pay a visit to family.
‘Hi Mum,’ he said. ‘Hi, Dad.’
They stared at him blankly.
‘I just … well, it’s Valentine’s Day. Do you remember that?’
Of course they didn’t. They never did. Neville sighed.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day anyway.’ He patted his mother carefully on the shoulder. She was hunched over a box, ruffling around inside. After a moment, she held up something to him.
‘Droobles'?’ he tried to joke. She didn’t respond, only grabbed his hand and pressed the wrapper into it. Neville looked down.
It was a wrapper. But she had folded it into the shape of a heart.
‘Mum?’ he glanced at her, wide-eyed, but she was humming to herself now, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t know if she even knew what she had given him.
Still …
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said softly, kissing her cheek. He glanced at his father, who was now staring at him now, grinning stupidly.
‘Sometimes I think you know more than you let on,’ he told them.
‘Maybe they do,’ said a voice.
Neville jumped, and turned to see Susan standing by the door, watching.
‘How - how did you know I was here?’
‘I followed you,’ she said simply. ‘But even if I hadn’t …’ she shrugged. ‘I’ve often seen you in here, when I do my rounds.’
He wasn’t sure what to say to this. There was silence, broken only by his mother’s tuneless humming. Susan approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘I think they must remember you, somewhere in their minds.’
‘How do you know?’
Another long pause. And then: ‘I know I wouldn’t be able to forget a man like you.’ She said it so softly that Neville wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. While he was wondering if his ears had deceived him, the gentle pressure on his shoulder disappeared. Susan was walking away.
Still not quite sure what to do, how to respond, Neville stared dumbly at the carefully-folded heart-shaped wrapper in his hands.
‘I think -’ he glanced round at his parents. ‘I think she might like me.’ He felt a bit dazed, saying it out. His mother stopped humming, and looked at him. Was he imagining the hint of the smile tugging at her lips? Was it just him, or did his father’s stare seem encouraging all of a sudden?
‘I’ll - I’ll take that as a yes,’ he said, feeling a bit dazed. ‘Thanks.’
Then he got up quickly, and hurried out of the door.
‘Susan!’
He didn’t stop to wonder why she had been walking so slowly that she was only halfway down the corridor. He sprinted the length of it, skidding to a stop right before her.
‘Do you - do you want to go out for dinner tonight?’ Neville found himself holding his hand, the one with the little heart-wrapper, out to her.
Susan looked down at his palm in surprise, and then back to Neville’s face. Her eyes crinkled as she broke into a lovely smile.
‘I’d love to,’ she said. And she placed her palm in his, over the tiny heart, holding it there between their hands.
Title: Padfoot's Valentine
Rating: G
Word Count: 616
Summary: Padfoot finds a friend to spend Valentine's Day with. A missing moment from GoF.
Padfoot raised his nose and sniffed at the door. The scent of baking bread wafted out through the crack underneath, but that wasn’t the only thing he was searching for.
This place had it, though - there was a scent of warmth, of kindness. Sirius would never understand how his canine form could sense such things, but Padfoot knew that a loveable stray would be welcome in this household. He settled down to snooze on the doorstep.
*
‘And where did you pop up from?’
He awoke to a gentle nudge and a lilting Scots voice. A woman - he could tell by her smell that she was kind, but Padfoot’s eyes were none too good, so there wasn’t much chance of placing her appearance, or even her age. Still, he wouldn’t have minded if she were older than Dumbledore and had five hairy moles on her face, as long as she invited him into that warm house with the lovely aroma drifting out. Padfoot’s nose followed the scent automatically.
‘Ah, you’ll be after my bread, then. Well, now, I will not mind, as long as you agree to a bit of a clean-up first. You are rather muddy.’
He woofed softly, hoping she’d understand it as agreement.
‘You agree, then? Step in, my friend, and wipe your feet, if you please. Ah, yes, you are trained.’
Fifteen minutes later, after he had succumbed to a rub down with a damp cloth, he was in the kitchen, being served up a delicious helping of home-cooked bread.
‘Goodness, you look as though you’ve not eaten for a week!’ exclaimed his hostess. ‘I wonder who you belong to … they must be frantic, looking for you. Funny, I’ve not heard any news about a lost dog around these parts.’
She let him eat until he’d had his fill, complaining good-naturedly about how he’d cleaned out her entire week’s rations. Sirius felt a bit bad about it, but Padfoot’s instinct was to go on eating until he was full, and after all, the dog knew best about these things. It wouldn’t do for him to act too human.
‘I’ll make you a bed in the front room. You’ll be wanting to go home, I suppose, but it’s getting late, and … well, most people will have other things to do.’ She finished her sentence with a sigh.
It was a comfortable mat before the fire that she laid out for him, and she donated several cushions as well.
‘I’m taking the chance that you are house-trained,’ she said, mock-severely. ‘If I find that you wet the bed …’
He barked softly, and settled down by the hearth. What a treat, to sleep in a warm house tonight!
His hostess returned presently, smelling of fresh soap. She settled down next to him and rubbed behind his ears. Padfoot liked that. His tail wagged.
‘Actually,’ she admitted, ‘I’m a little selfish. I could have owled to find your owner right away, but … I wanted the companionship. It’s Valentine’s Day, you know. All my friends are out on the town, so …’ she ran her hand down his sleek back, ‘just me, all alone.’
Sirius felt like laughing. So it was Valentine’s Day, was it? Well, just his luck, to be snuggling with a girl - and he doubted, from her wistful tone of voice, that she was old and ugly - but only as a dog.
All the same, it was nice to have a bit of human companionship. He wondered if all along that wasn’t the reason why he had come out of the cave today.
He’d have to return, eventually, but for tonight, he was happy to cuddle with this lonely girl.
ETA how could I forget? Voting opened today at rhr_awards! What better way to spend Valentine's Day reading and voting for some fantastic fics!
(And my drabble, The Frost Melts was nominated! :D)
So I have four - yes, four - gifts for you today.
First, chapter 14 of RfE. :)
The plot bunnies were kind as well, so I have three little ficlets (well, one is more or less fic-length) to offer up. Dedicated with much love to you, my lovely f-list, for brightening up my life so much! *hugs to you all*
Enjoy!
Title: Love
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2884
Summary: Snapshots of Ginny Weasley's Valentine's Days.
One.
She is full of sunshine and giggles, such a happy baby. Molly Weasley tickles her daughter under the chin and marvels at the pure, joyful sound of Baby Ginny’s laughter. She is a miracle, this tiny girl, the first girl in several generations of Weasleys. And Molly is oh so grateful that she will grow up in a world without fear, a world where the Dark threat of You-Know-Who is no longer hanging over them.
Molly’s eyes glance to that clock on the mantle, half-expecting to see all hands on Mortal Peril. Even thought it’s been nearly half a year since they moved, Molly still feels relief to see her children’s hands on Home, Arthur’s on Work - no, Travelling now.
She smiles, because any moment now, Arthur will be walking through the door. She kisses Ginny on the forehead and tucks her into her crib gently.
What better gift for Valentine’s Day, she thinks, than knowing that everyone she loves is safe and well?
Two.
He peeks into the nursery. Someone has forgotten to draw the curtains, and moonlight spills across the innocent faces of his youngest brother and sister. Bill Weasley tiptoes into the room and peers over the railing of his baby sister’s crib.
As if she senses his stare, her eyes flutter open and Bill steps back uncertainly, afraid that she will start crying, that the noise will bring his mother and father up here. He should be in bed, himself, but he’s feeling restless, and Charlie is snoring so loudly.
But Ginny only makes a gurgling laugh, and she reaches a chubby hand out to him. Bill gives her a finger, and she brings it to her mouth, testing out her teeth on it.
‘No, no,’ whispers Bill, withdrawing his hand. Ginny’s mouth works into an adorable little pout.
‘Tell you what,’ says Bill, with a glance at the door. ‘I’ll tell you a story, all right?’ He settles down by the crib. ‘Once upon a time … there was a beautiful redheaded princess, and she had lots of princes who came to visit her on Valentine’s Day …’
Three.
In her first memories, she’s toddling around, waving her hands and laughing.
She doesn’t remember crashing into the kitchen table, although from the scar just behind her ear, it must have happened. She doesn’t recall upturning Mum’s cauldron, but Charlie assures her that it happened. Dad likes to say, jokingly, that she at least gave him and Mum a unique place to spend their Valentine’s Day evening.
‘But it doesn’t matter that we were at St Mungo’s the whole night,’ Dad tells her. ‘Valentine’s Day is for the people we love, and we love you.’
Ginny does remember love.
Four.
‘Read me the story again!’
‘Darling, you’ve heard it so many times - you could read it by yourself.’
‘But I want you to. Please, Mummy?’
‘All right. But I want you to read along with me. Can you do that, Ginny?’
‘YES!’ She opens the cover of The Boy Who Lived and begins to recite the story from memory. Even if she can’t read properly yet, she’s heard this story enough times to know how it goes. Ginny doesn’t even notice that her mother is only listening amusedly to her.
‘And the story is real, Mummy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, darling, it is.’
Ginny blows a kiss towards the window. Her mother looks at her in surprise. ‘What did you do that for, Ginny?’
‘It’s Love Day, Mummy. That’s what Daddy said. And Harry Potter doesn’t have a Mummy or Daddy to give him a kiss.’
‘No,’ says her mother sadly. ‘No, he doesn’t.’
She doesn’t know why her mother gives her a big hug and a kiss on her cheek then.
Five.
Ginny eyes the large tray of biscuits on the kitchen table. They’re so tempting, heart-shaped with pink icing, and they smell heavenly. Mummy won’t mind if she takes just one, will she?
Her fingers inch out towards the nearest biscuit …
‘Ginny Weasley! Are you spoiling your dinner now?’
Ginny’s hand snaps back to her side, and she shakes her head quickly.
‘Just looking, Mummy!’ Mummy’s head pops round the door, scanning the tray. When she’s satisfied that the biscuits are intact, she returns to her cleaning in the next room.
Fred and George sneak in a moment later, and put their fingers to their lips. Fred winks at Ginny, and she understands it to mean that if she helps them, she’ll get a share of the bounty.
‘Mummy,’ she calls, running out of the kitchen. ‘Why are they all heart-shaped?’
Mummy beams at her. ‘Do you know what day it is, darling?’
Ginny thinks for a moment. ‘Love Day!’
‘That’s right. So the biscuits are heart-shaped to show how much Mummy loves you.’
Ginny nods happily. The twins must have snuck out a decent number by now. She runs off to get her share.
Six.
‘It’s called Valentine’s Day, Ginny, not ‘Love Day’,’ says Percy patiently. ‘Mummy and Daddy only told you it was called Love Day because you were too small to say the real name properly.’
She hates when Percy talks like that, like she’s too young to know any better. But she knows if she keeps asking him, he’ll tell her the story of how Valentine’s Day came about, just as he told her about Christmas and Hallowe’en.
‘So what’s a Valentine?’
‘It can be lots of things. A gift to a special person. Or a special person.’
‘I’m special!’ says Ginny excitedly. ‘Am I a Valentine?’
‘No-o … not exactly.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because - because you have to love someone and give them something on Valentine’s Day for them to be your Valentine.’
Ginny turns this information over in her mind. ‘If I give you something, then you’ll be my Valentine?’ She grins toothily at her brother. Percy opens his mouth to correct her, but thinks the better of it.
‘Yes,’ he says, smiling at her.
But when Ginny makes him a little cut-out of a heart, Fred and George are roaring with laughter, and so he declines with a shake of his head.
Seven.
She awakens in the middle of the night to a snatch of music. Ginny tiptoes out of bed and pads softly down the stairs, towards the living room, from which the strains of Celestina Warbeck are wafting.
The door is just ajar, and Ginny peeks through the gap.
Mum and Dad are dancing. Ginny can’t help but stare as they waltz across the living room; Dad twirls Mum, and then spins her round into an extravagant dip. Mum comes up laughing, and puts her arms around Dad’s neck.
Ginny closes the door gently, wondering whether it’s really her parents she witnessed, or a fairy tale she walked into by mistake. As she climbs back up the stairs to her room, she thinks she likes being the little girl of a fairy tale.
Eight.
‘It’s beautiful, Ginny!’ says Dad proudly. ‘And I’m sure it’ll taste delicious as well.’ His finger wanders towards the cake, but Ginny has seen him sneak bits of Mum’s cake too many times. She swats at his hand.
‘No, Dad, you can’t have it until after dinner,’ she says, with her hands on her hips. She wonders why Dad laughs at this.
It doesn’t taste anything like Mum’s cakes, and Ronnie and the twins are quick to point this out, but Dad says it’s delicious all the same. Ginny basks in his approval.
She’ll remember the warmth of his praise every time she sees that picture with the pink cake, across which Happy Valentine’s Day love Ginny is written in icing.
Nine.
Bill’s girlfriend pats her on the head, and calls her a sweet little girl. Ginny scowls, but the girlfriend doesn’t seem to notice. Bill, however, does, and he gives her a stern look. Ginny sticks her tongue out at them behind their back.
She doesn’t want Bill to go out with this girlfriend. She wants him to stay at home and play with her, because Bill has been away for so long and now he’s going far, far away again, and she won’t see him for a long time again.
She’s still fuming when Bill returns home after his date. He sits on her bed, and she pretends to be asleep, but he’s not fooled.
‘I think you’re jealous, Ginny-bear.’
She won’t let him cajole her over with the use of his pet name for her.
‘You do know I’m going to miss you more than any other girl in this place when I leave, don’t you?’ Bill sighs when she doesn’t reply. ‘You’ll always be my favourite sister, you know.’
‘I’m your only sister,’ she retorts, and then curses herself when Bill laughs.
‘I knew you weren’t asleep. Ginny, look at me.’ She does so, reluctantly. ‘No matter how many girls I take out for Valentine’s Day, you’ll still be my little sister, all right? Come on, give me a hug.’
And she does.
‘I’ll miss you when you go,’ she tells him.
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But I’ll send you pictures of the pyramids.’
‘Will you send me real Egyptian sand?’
‘Of course.’
‘Okay then.’
Ten.
‘Ginny!’
Her eyes fly open, and she feels a sense of irritation. She was soaring over the sky, powerful and free. And now, suddenly, she’s cold and wet and there’s a rock sticking into her back.
Someone pulls her into a bone-crushing hug and she gasps, spluttering. Her throat feels clogged up with water. Ginny pulls away and is sick all over the grass.
‘What happened?’ she croaked. And then she remembers climbing the tree branch, remembers falling, hitting the surface of the pond with an enormous splash, remembers feeling winded on the impact and seeing black …
Her head pounds.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Ronnie. He’s wet through, and shivering as well. ‘I shouldn’t have dared you to go up there.’
‘I don’t think doing a Valentine’s Dare was such a good idea,’ she agrees. He hugs her again, and then pulls her to her feet.
Eleven.
‘… and Ickle Ronniekins …’ Ginny giggles as she reads Fred and George’s letter from school out loud, ‘Ickle Ronniekins has a girlfriend.’
Mum clucks her tongue at that. ‘Those two,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Ronnie’s much too young for a girlfriend.’
Ginny is quite thankful for that. She doesn’t want Ronnie to have a girlfriend. She wants Ronnie to come home and play with her and be her best friend again.
‘When’s Ronnie coming home?’ she asks, even though she knows the answer already. She wants Mum to reassure her.
‘You know when, Ginny,’ Mum says. ‘When the school year ends.’
Ginny sighs. It’s only February. July is months and months away. Mum glances at her.
‘Cheer up, darling. He’ll be home before you know it!'
Twelve.
I was so humiliated, she writes. I shouldn’t have done it. He didn’t even like it.
He doesn’t know how to appreciate you.
Tears splash from her eyes, splattering the pages of her diary.
I’m sorry, Tom. Her handwriting is wobbly. I’ll put you away, I’m getting you all wet -
No, don’t. You can cry on me if you want. Until you feel better.
Oh, Tom. She presses a kiss to the page. You’re my real best friend. I love you.
She feels a little hollow after she writes the words, as though there is less of her inside, but chalks it down to the heartache she feels because Harry Potter will never be her Valentine.
Thirteen.
Ginny is so angry at her brother that she could spit fire at him. Or at the very least, try out her new Bat-Bogey Hex on him. Hermione Granger is behind the door, crying her eyes out in the toilet cubicle, and Ginny doesn’t know what to do. She wishes she hadn’t come into this particular toilet, at this particular time … but no, then who would help Hermione?
It’s Valentine’s Day, she thinks, it’s a day for love. Not - not - tears and hate.
Hermione emerges from the cubicle at last, her face dry, but her eyes red and the sleeve of her robes wet.
‘My brother’s an ass,’ Ginny tells her firmly. Hermione nods, but as though she is trying to convince herself. She looks at Ginny shrewdly, then.
‘Harry isn’t much better,’ she says, just as firmly. Ginny feels herself blush, takes an involuntary step backwards. Her eyes meet Hermione’s, and they seem to reach an understanding.
‘Who needs boys?’ Ginny says flippantly. ‘Friendship is better. You can be my Valentine today.’
Hermione giggles a bit at the insinuation. ‘Thanks, Ginny.’
Fourteen.
‘Neville - he’s not your boyfriend, is he?’ Michael’s voice is hesitant.
‘No - no, he’s not.’ Ginny looks at him curiously. ‘What made you think so?’ Is this why Michael has seemed so reluctant to approach her?
‘You - well, you were at the Yule Ball together …’
Ginny laughs. ‘Silly, that doesn’t mean I’m his boyfriend. I mean, just because I went to the ball with him - well, my brother went to the ball with Padma Patil, and they’ve hardly spoken since.’
‘You still seem to be on good terms with Neville.’
‘Because we’re friends.’
‘Oh.’ Michael seems relieved. ‘Well, he’s - he’s still a lucky bloke.’ He’s blushing as he says this, and Ginny feels a thrill in the pit of her stomach. No boy has ever spoken to her this way before. If only Harry …
But no, she squashes those thoughts. Harry doesn’t like her. Michael is here, Michael is talking to her this Valentine’s Day, not Harry, and she’s going to forget about Harry now. Truly, she is.
So when Michael, redder than ever, asks if she’d like to go with him to Hogsmeade, she says yes.
Fifteen.
She sees them walking into Hogsmeade together, and even though she knew it would happen, even though Hermione had given her fair warning, Ginny can’t help but feel a pang in her heart.
She hates that it elicits any form of reaction from her, hates that the sight of Harry next to Cho makes her want to Bat-Bogey Hex someone. She takes a deep breath, and forces herself to calm down.
Michael. She thinks of Michael. It’s not fair to Michael for her to be thinking of Harry. Michael is her boyfriend now. Michael, Michael, Michael. She repeats his name in her head, forcing herself to think of him, and only of him.
But there is a ferocity in her dives, an intensity in the way she glares around the pitch, searching for the Snitch during Quidditch practice.
After it’s over, she convinces herself that she is upset with the terrible quality of their Quidditch team.
Sixteen.
Dean buys her flowers, owl-order from Orchideous! at Diagon Alley, but she wishes he wouldn’t. It makes her feel ungrateful, to be harbouring resentment about this show of possessiveness, when she knows Dean simply meant to be romantic on Valentine’s Day.
He’ll be expecting a thank you kiss for it, she’s sure, and she wonders when snogging has become something obligatory and distasteful.
Maybe since Ron and Lavender started displaying their tonsils in public.
Dean can’t understand her feelings on the whole situation - every time she brings it up, he says, in a placating sort of tone, ‘Why don’t you accept Lavender, if she makes Ron happy?’ He doesn’t seem to realise that Ron isn’t happy, that the only girl who could ever make him happy is miserably avoiding him now.
Maybe Dean is hoping for a similar response from Ron - acceptance. Ginny wonders if Lavender says the same thing to Ron: ‘Why don’t you accept Dean, if he makes Ginny happy?’ Assuming, of course, they actually untangle their lips from each other long enough to talk.
And maybe Ron’s response would mirror her own.
Because Ginny isn’t happy with Dean, after all.
Seventeen.
She’s told herself over and over again that she can’t expect anything today, but a small part of her still wishes, still hopes.
It’s been half a year.
She closes her eyes, as though that will conjure him up next to her. She can still construct a perfect mental image of him - his tousled hair after her hands have just run through it; the shine of his green eyes, looking at her as though she is the only person that matters; the curve of his cheek; every contour of his body …
She wishes she could keep him in her heart always, safe. If only her love could protect him.
Love. Oh, Ginny knows about love. She has experienced it in each and every way.
From the comforting safety net of love her family wove her growing up - to the twisted, selfish love Tom Riddle offered her. The strong, steady love of friendship; the sweet, shy adoration of a first crush. The fairy tale love between her parents, which she now knows to be founded on trust and respect, and which she longs to share with the one she loves one day.
She wants to take all this and blend it into something powerful, something pure, something great and good enough to shield Harry from any harm.
She loves him.
If only that could be enough.
Title: Neville's Heart
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,052
Summary: On the day that Harry Potter wakes up, Neville finds a bit of love in his own corner as well.
Ginny seemed to know, before Susan even said the words. Her face, which had been drawn, tight, and anxious for so long, relaxed at last. In her eyes, the light of hope kindled, like a candle that was being relit after many months.
‘He’s awake, isn’t he?’ she said quietly.
‘He’s awake,’ Susan confirmed.
There was no squeal of joy, no gasp of relief. To an outsider, Ginny might have appeared completely calm. But Neville, sitting next to her, could feel her shaking.
‘Take me to him.’
She gripped his hand for support as she stood to follow Susan. It felt so cold, her palm. Neville tried to imagine how she must feel; very much the way he would if the Healer in charge of the Long Term Spell Damage ward arrived to tell him that his parents …
Ron and Hermione were waiting outside Harry’s ward, both with tears in their eyes and their faces wet. Neville wanted to say something to them, but ‘congratulations’ didn’t seem to cut it, and anyway, Ginny was pulling him forward, through the door that Susan held open.
She let go of him, then, flying across the room to the bed in which Harry lay.
It was a magical moment, the instant they touched. Neither spoke any words, but both seemed to light up the moment they connected.
He watched as Harry’s hand travelled over Ginny’s face, slowly and carefully, as if assuring himself that she was real. He watched as Ginny put her arms around Harry and lifted her mouth up to his, two lovers reuniting at last …
And he had to look away, to give them privacy. There was something about the whole scene that awakened an ache inside him, a longing to have someone to cherish as much as this pair of lovers did. Without thinking, Neville turned and headed for the door. This room was too filled with raw charged emotion, which he couldn’t intrude on any longer.
He nearly walked into the other pair outside the door.
‘He’s awake,’ Hermione was saying, her voice breathless with tears. ‘Awake.’
Ron said nothing, but pulled her roughly to him and kissed her, as though he had no other outlet for his feelings. Neville shook his head with mild amusement, and walked on down the corridor.
‘He couldn’t have picked a better day.’ He heard the voice of George Weasley just behind a door.
‘A Valentine’s Day gift for Ginny.’ That was definitely Luna, sounding dreamy.
‘Well, since my sister’s getting hers now …’ George trailed off, and Neville thought he knew what he was following his words up with. He smiled to himself. George and Luna - no one had seen that one coming. But they were happy, and that was all he could wish for a friend as loyal and worthy as Luna had proved to be.
Neville continued walking. He wasn’t quite sure where he was headed, but it was no big surprise when he ended up outside the door to his parents’ ward. It was a day to be spent with those he loved, after all. And since his friends were otherwise occupied, he should pay a visit to family.
‘Hi Mum,’ he said. ‘Hi, Dad.’
They stared at him blankly.
‘I just … well, it’s Valentine’s Day. Do you remember that?’
Of course they didn’t. They never did. Neville sighed.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day anyway.’ He patted his mother carefully on the shoulder. She was hunched over a box, ruffling around inside. After a moment, she held up something to him.
‘Droobles'?’ he tried to joke. She didn’t respond, only grabbed his hand and pressed the wrapper into it. Neville looked down.
It was a wrapper. But she had folded it into the shape of a heart.
‘Mum?’ he glanced at her, wide-eyed, but she was humming to herself now, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. He didn’t know if she even knew what she had given him.
Still …
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said softly, kissing her cheek. He glanced at his father, who was now staring at him now, grinning stupidly.
‘Sometimes I think you know more than you let on,’ he told them.
‘Maybe they do,’ said a voice.
Neville jumped, and turned to see Susan standing by the door, watching.
‘How - how did you know I was here?’
‘I followed you,’ she said simply. ‘But even if I hadn’t …’ she shrugged. ‘I’ve often seen you in here, when I do my rounds.’
He wasn’t sure what to say to this. There was silence, broken only by his mother’s tuneless humming. Susan approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘I think they must remember you, somewhere in their minds.’
‘How do you know?’
Another long pause. And then: ‘I know I wouldn’t be able to forget a man like you.’ She said it so softly that Neville wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. While he was wondering if his ears had deceived him, the gentle pressure on his shoulder disappeared. Susan was walking away.
Still not quite sure what to do, how to respond, Neville stared dumbly at the carefully-folded heart-shaped wrapper in his hands.
‘I think -’ he glanced round at his parents. ‘I think she might like me.’ He felt a bit dazed, saying it out. His mother stopped humming, and looked at him. Was he imagining the hint of the smile tugging at her lips? Was it just him, or did his father’s stare seem encouraging all of a sudden?
‘I’ll - I’ll take that as a yes,’ he said, feeling a bit dazed. ‘Thanks.’
Then he got up quickly, and hurried out of the door.
‘Susan!’
He didn’t stop to wonder why she had been walking so slowly that she was only halfway down the corridor. He sprinted the length of it, skidding to a stop right before her.
‘Do you - do you want to go out for dinner tonight?’ Neville found himself holding his hand, the one with the little heart-wrapper, out to her.
Susan looked down at his palm in surprise, and then back to Neville’s face. Her eyes crinkled as she broke into a lovely smile.
‘I’d love to,’ she said. And she placed her palm in his, over the tiny heart, holding it there between their hands.
Title: Padfoot's Valentine
Rating: G
Word Count: 616
Summary: Padfoot finds a friend to spend Valentine's Day with. A missing moment from GoF.
Padfoot raised his nose and sniffed at the door. The scent of baking bread wafted out through the crack underneath, but that wasn’t the only thing he was searching for.
This place had it, though - there was a scent of warmth, of kindness. Sirius would never understand how his canine form could sense such things, but Padfoot knew that a loveable stray would be welcome in this household. He settled down to snooze on the doorstep.
*
‘And where did you pop up from?’
He awoke to a gentle nudge and a lilting Scots voice. A woman - he could tell by her smell that she was kind, but Padfoot’s eyes were none too good, so there wasn’t much chance of placing her appearance, or even her age. Still, he wouldn’t have minded if she were older than Dumbledore and had five hairy moles on her face, as long as she invited him into that warm house with the lovely aroma drifting out. Padfoot’s nose followed the scent automatically.
‘Ah, you’ll be after my bread, then. Well, now, I will not mind, as long as you agree to a bit of a clean-up first. You are rather muddy.’
He woofed softly, hoping she’d understand it as agreement.
‘You agree, then? Step in, my friend, and wipe your feet, if you please. Ah, yes, you are trained.’
Fifteen minutes later, after he had succumbed to a rub down with a damp cloth, he was in the kitchen, being served up a delicious helping of home-cooked bread.
‘Goodness, you look as though you’ve not eaten for a week!’ exclaimed his hostess. ‘I wonder who you belong to … they must be frantic, looking for you. Funny, I’ve not heard any news about a lost dog around these parts.’
She let him eat until he’d had his fill, complaining good-naturedly about how he’d cleaned out her entire week’s rations. Sirius felt a bit bad about it, but Padfoot’s instinct was to go on eating until he was full, and after all, the dog knew best about these things. It wouldn’t do for him to act too human.
‘I’ll make you a bed in the front room. You’ll be wanting to go home, I suppose, but it’s getting late, and … well, most people will have other things to do.’ She finished her sentence with a sigh.
It was a comfortable mat before the fire that she laid out for him, and she donated several cushions as well.
‘I’m taking the chance that you are house-trained,’ she said, mock-severely. ‘If I find that you wet the bed …’
He barked softly, and settled down by the hearth. What a treat, to sleep in a warm house tonight!
His hostess returned presently, smelling of fresh soap. She settled down next to him and rubbed behind his ears. Padfoot liked that. His tail wagged.
‘Actually,’ she admitted, ‘I’m a little selfish. I could have owled to find your owner right away, but … I wanted the companionship. It’s Valentine’s Day, you know. All my friends are out on the town, so …’ she ran her hand down his sleek back, ‘just me, all alone.’
Sirius felt like laughing. So it was Valentine’s Day, was it? Well, just his luck, to be snuggling with a girl - and he doubted, from her wistful tone of voice, that she was old and ugly - but only as a dog.
All the same, it was nice to have a bit of human companionship. He wondered if all along that wasn’t the reason why he had come out of the cave today.
He’d have to return, eventually, but for tonight, he was happy to cuddle with this lonely girl.
ETA how could I forget? Voting opened today at rhr_awards! What better way to spend Valentine's Day reading and voting for some fantastic fics!
(And my drabble, The Frost Melts was nominated! :D)