The Hogwarts Express, Ginny’s POV.
“Ginny was doing a quiz in the Quibbler” and I took the ball and ran
with it. Subtitled: Why Harry/Cho and Ginny/Michael are all wrong and
Harry/Ginny and Cho/Michael are all right.
Thanks to Smith for all the help, and to Aibhinn for the fabulous beta job and the encouragement.
“I’m off to the toilet,” says Harry. I look up as he
leaves. He’s been so sad and withdrawn ever since Sirius died. I really want to
talk to him, but I don’t feel like I’m close enough, even after everything that
happened this year. Somehow I feel like I’ll always be Ron’s little sister
first, Ginny second. I fight the urge to sigh heavily and tragically—that’s not
something that’s bothered me in a while.
Neville nudges my foot and gives me a sympathetic smile, as if he’s
reading my mind. Damn him, sometimes he is too
The real reason I haven’t approached Harry is not because I’m afraid of
him brushing me off or snapping at me. I can handle that. The truth is, I understand
why he wants to keep it to himself. Something like that happens—something
terrible—and you don’t want to share it, because no one else can really
understand. The twins would laugh and make it into some joke, Ron would brush
it off as nothing compared to his latest big adventure, Mum would just go into
hyperactive worry mode…
But I’m thinking about Harry, I remind myself. That’s new, too;
usually I’m reminding myself not
to think about Harry. Maybe if you have someone you can really trust and talk
to, it wouldn’t matter that they might not know exactly what you’ve been
through, because they know you,
and that’s enough.
I look at Ron and Hermione. She’s telling him all about something in
the Daily Prophet. Harry’s got them; he’s fine. I’m sure he’ll open up to them
eventually, though I don’t expect to hear anything about it. Hermione’s good at
keeping secrets (eep, thank goodness!!).
I begin to dig through my bag, looking for something to distract me,
but all I come up with is the copy of The
Quibbler that Luna gave me before we left. She’s a great girl, but
sometimes… I have to laugh.
I leaf through the magazine. Oh goodie, a quiz! “Determine your
romantic type.” This should be interesting.
Your ideal date would be:
a. A candlelit dinner for two. (I fight the urge to gag.)
b. A game of Quidditch followed by a
day exploring a new place. (Ooh! That sounds fun!)
c. A visit to the beach or a day
well, I guess that wouldn’t be too bad…)
I mark my answer and move onto the next question.
Communication to you means:
a. Sharing all of your feelings with
your significant other, from your smallest annoyances to your deepest fears. (Can you say… oppressive?)
b. Discussing every aspect of your
relationship that may cause problems. (For Merlin’s sake, all you’d do is discuss!)
c. Opening up when you have gained
each other’s trust. (Yeah, that’s more like it.)
I guess that’s one of the things that clued me into
the fact that my “relationship” with Michael was going nowhere. He always wanted
me to talk about it! “Ginny, you can’t keep it all inside.” Oh I can’t, can I? “You have to discuss
your feelings.” Yeah, I’ll show you
And then the idiot, the fool, the git has the nerve to go and
The food trolley arrives and at the same time there is a loud commotion
in the hallway.
“I’d better go--” Hermione begins, but Ron interrupts her.
“No, you stay here, you’re reading. I’ll go check it out.” Sometimes he
can be really sweet. Sometimes.
Then I notice Hermione buying lots of extra chocolate frogs. I have to
wonder, how long until…
Neville catches my eye and we exchange a knowing glance. Ok, sometimes
it is nice to have someone to
share moments like these with. It’s nice to have someone who also notices the
little things. I just wish he wouldn’t notice the little things about me.
Neville asks me if I want anything, but I lie and say I’m not hungry,
then return my stare to the quiz page. My mind keeps drifting back to the
argument I had with Michael after the Quidditch match.
Just because we won--that’s what started it all. What am I supposed to
do, lose? To make him happy? “I bet you made Potter proud, that’s all that
matters, isn’t it?” No, you prick, you’re my boyfriend! You’re supposed to be proud of me!
For catching the Snitch from under that floozy’s nose—I got it from
right in front of her eyes! Who else could have made a catch like that?
Most important physical trait:
a. Hair: has to look good! (Oh, give me a break!)
b. Eyes: the window to the soul. (I’ve always thought there was something
to that saying.)
c. Body: needs no explanation. (There’s a point. A good body is nice.
But—not really the most important… I’ve always liked eyes best.)
Well, maybe Harry could have made a
catch like that.
Yeah, that’s what Michael said too. Bastard.
I crumple a bit of the magazine—oops—and Hermione gives me an odd look.
I just smile at her. She has it easy. At least she knows who her soul mate is,
even if he is clueless and a complete git.
Speaking of the git, here he is, back with Harry. Apparently Malfoy and
his goons thought it would be fun to attack Harry outside a compartment full of
DA members, who proceeded to turn them into slugs. Not much of an improvement,
in my opinion.
Harry buys a huge stack of Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Pasties but only
eats a few before pushing the pile towards me.
“Do you want any, Ginny? I guess I thought I was hungrier than I
actually am.” He smiles sheepishly.
“Thanks.” I smile back and take a Pumpkin Pasty to nibble on, trying
not to damn him for the fact that I feel like I did when I was eleven and he
gave me stack of Lockhart books. Neville catches my eye again and gives me this
look. I glare at him and bury my
nose in The Quibbler.
“What’s that you’re doing?” asks Harry, eyeing my quill.
“A quiz,” I answer simply, hoping he doesn’t ask more. I don’t feel
like telling Harry I’m trying to find out my romantic type. Fortunately he
doesn’t, and he and Ron start a game of chess.
Hermione begins to read out loud again from the Daily Prophet. I really don’t want to
think about Death Eaters, etc., right now, so I tune her out and go back to my
Ideally you would:
a. Have a whirlwind romance with a
stranger. (A stranger? Did I read
b. Have a long-term relationship
develop into love. (That way you know them—and trust them—before you get involved. That’s
a good idea. I make a mental note to compile a list of long-term friends for
love interest consideration.)
c. Work out the kinks in a passionate,
turbulent interaction with someone special. (Huh, that doesn’t sound familiar at all!)
You know, I bet Harry wouldn’t have caught the Snitch like that,
though. He’d be too busy staring at Chang’s wholesome good looks.
Wholesome, my arse.
That’s not really fair, and I know it. She’s had a hard year... huh,
and took it out on the blokes.
But what is it with that girl? I can’t wait to see the next guy I take
an interest in go flying into her arms, too. Ok,
end rant, I tell myself, turning back to the quiz.
In a relationship you look for
a. Has a great sense of humor. (That’s definitely important: laughter is
the shortest distance between two people. Plus, I doubt someone with no sense
of humor would last 5 minutes in my family.)
b. Treats you like a princess. (Ugh. No thanks.)
c. Looks out for
everyone’s best interests, but loves you unconditionally. (Oh, wow, well, that’s… Hmm. I’d like to
be loved unconditionally. And putting everyone’s best interests first, that
just seems so… right--)
“It hasn’t really started yet, but it won’t be long
now,” Hermione says, seeming awfully resigned as she folds up the newspaper. I
stare at my quiz, trying not to think about… things, until Ron’s voice
distracts me further.
“Hey, Harry,” Ron says, and I look up in time to see
Chang walk by—speak of the devil. But she and that awful sneak Marietta just
keep on walking; I wouldn’t even have thought she’d seen Harry if it weren’t
for the fact that her cheeks turned several shades darker. There’s a small
consolation; at least I’m not the only one with that curse.
Which location do you think has the
most potential for romance?
I’m barely done reading the question when it occurs to me, vaguely,
that Harry is either a very bad chess player or not paying attention to the
game at all.
a. A café. Perfect--set a table for
excuse me, Madame Puddifoot, while I go spew in your lace-doily-covered toilet.
“What’s going on with you and her, anyway?” Ron asks, stumbling over
his words a bit.
“Nothing,” answers Harry, not bothering to keep his voice down like Ron
had (which was stupid because we could all hear him anyway).
b. The great outdoors—there’s nowhere
like a hill overlooking a lake for those amorous conversations. Amorous snogging
maybe, but who goes to a hill overlooking a lake to ponder? I could ponder quite comfortably
in my bed. Should I choose to ponder. Then, I could also snog quite comfortably in my bed—
“I heard she’s going out with someone else now,” says Hermione, also
stumbling over her words. Honestly, the pair of them!. She looks as though
she’s afraid Harry might explode again. I’m a bit curious to see his reaction
I’m quite relieved that he doesn’t seem perturbed at all. I’m even
thinking maybe we should start a club—The Indifferent Exes—but then Harry gets
that haunted look on his face again and I wonder if he’s not so indifferent
c. Train stations. There’s something
about journeys—beginning and ending—that just gets to you! Despite the cheesy wording, I suppose
that’s true enough.
“You’re well out of it, mate. I mean, she’s quite good-looking and all
that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful.”
Ron, giving love advice? That’s laughable! Although, I admit to myself as I circle my answer (letter
c), I do agree with him. The last
thing Harry needs is someone who cries and gets emotional at the drop of a hat.
He needs someone cheerful, who’s willing to give a good snog to get his mind
off things every once in a while.
Not that I am interested
in the job.
“She’s probably cheerful enough with someone else,” Harry replied, his
voice back to the indifferent tone. I’m trying really hard not to care about
the fact that he doesn’t seem to care.
But he’s hit the nail on the head—if half of what Hermione says about
Chang is true (and judging by the ‘cheerful’ remark, I guess it is) then she
and Michael should be getting along just fine. They can stay up late at night
in the Ravenclaw common room talking about their “feelings” and “discussing
How can you just trust someone to open up like that? If I talked to
everyone who asked about my “feelings” I’d have no friends left. They’d all be
scared away by the girl who let Lord Voldemort take over her soul—
“Who’s she with now, anyway?” Ron’s voice saves me from the lovely
track that train of thought was going down.
“Michael Corner,” I answer automatically. I’ve told this story so many
times in the last month that I’ve got a whole monologue scripted and memorized.
Of course, my preciously oblivious brother would
be the last to know.
“Michael—but—but you were
going out with him!” Ron’s eyes look like they’re about to bulge out of his
head as he stares at me, and his ears are turning red. I can see Hermione
rolling her eyes at Ron’s confusion—it’s as though he’s never heard of a
“Not anymore.” I launch into my much-practiced
explanation. “He didn’t like Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw at Quidditch and got
really sulky, so I ditched him and he ran off to comfort Cho instead.”
It’s true enough; that’s how it started anyway. I just
deliberately leave out the part where he accused me of still fancying Harry,
and the other part where he complained that I “never opened up to him” and how
I was “emotionally distancing myself.” And the part where I told him he
couldn’t understand me even if I did open up to him. At which point he
suggested I confide in Harry, who was sure to understand me. I promptly
suggested he go comfort Cho, who would be sure to appreciate his emotional
openness and communication skills, and leave me alone. Although, now that I
think of it, I may not have used those exact
And then the git put Pepper-up Potion, which he is
well aware that I am allergic to, in my school bag. I only found it this
morning, but it explains why my nose has been itching for the last month.
I’m out of questions on my quiz, so I flip it upside
down and begin to add up my score—soon I’ll
know my romantic type, I can hardly wait! The upside-down magazine
reminds me of the trip at the beginning of school, and I’m suddenly very glad
we sat in the compartment with Luna that day. I really like having her for a
“Well, I always thought he was a bit of an idiot.”
Honestly, Ron sounds practically gleeful! Why, oh why do I have to have an
older brother who thinks no one is ever going to be good enough for me? If I
ever get married, my poor husband will have to put up with Ron’s disapproving
looks for the rest of his life. However long he survives, anyhow, with Fred and
“Good for you,” Ron continues. Well, yes, I did do a
pretty good job with the breakup, if I say so myself. “Just choose
WHAT? Someone better?
While I have to admit that Michael and I were not exactly suited, I doubt I
could find someone better. And
he’s a nice enough guy, most of the time. Is anyone
good enough for me, in Ron’s opinion?
I manage to control my inner rage and respond calmly,
without revealing the fact I am testing the waters a bit. I choose a name not
so much at random, but someone I know for a fact Ron thinks very highly of.
“Well, I’ve chosen Dean Thomas, would you say he’s
Apparently not, I
think, as I calculate my final score while Crookshanks “helps” Ron collect the
chess pieces that scattered far and wide when he had his apoplectic fit. Both
Hermione and Neville are looking at me like I’ve gone mad, but I ignore them. I
don’t dare look at Harry—if he’s indifferent, I’d rather not know. If he’s not,
well, I’d rather not know.
I turn the page, ready to find out my “romantic type”.
No, that can’t--
That can’t be…This is ridiculous. Why is it always—no.
No. I—no. I don’t have a—. This is stupid.
Just stupid. A stupid, stupid quiz. I hate quizzes
anyway, why did I do it in the first place?
They’re never right.
Forget it. Forget
it. I am going to get off this stupid train and leave this stupid
magazine behind and forget it.
Your Romantic Type: The Hero
He wants what’s best, what’s fair,
and he’s willing to do what it takes to get it—not just for himself, but for
everyone else, too. You love him for his admirable qualities: consistency,
bravery, and the fact that he’s willing to risk his life for yours. But heroes
also have a tendency to be hard-headed and have an independent streak. You may
have some work to do convincing him he needs you by his side, but when it comes
down to it, it will take a real Lancelot to ride off with you in the sunset!