Dedicated to my faithful
Alpha-reader Circe, who claims not to be firmly in the H/G camp, but this
fic made her drool. And with thanks to my Beta-reader, Elanor Gamgee;
with my apologies: I left the socks in.
Disclaimer: The characters
are JKR’s, as is the setting. I just animate them a bit now and again
for fun, but no profit.
“Ron, has your mum
been up to take the washing again?” Harry wore a confused expression.
Ron peered over the
edge of his bed. “If so, she’s slipping. There’s a whole pile of mine
on this side of the bed, so I’d have to say ‘no.’”
“Hmmm. I wonder where
my dress shirt got to?” Even though he’d already searched the entire room,
Harry looked in his trunk, and in Ron’s closet again as well, to no avail.
“Ah, well, it’s not like I need to get dressed up for anything anytime
soon, and I’m sure I’ll find it sooner or later.”
“Did you tell George
about your mysteriously missing garment, Harry?” Ron asked, after they’d
adjourned to the field in the Weasley back yard, preparing for a little
two-on-two Quidditch. “Maybe Fred nicked it.”
“What’s that? Missing
garments? It’s not thick, woolen socks is it? If so, that’d be Ginny,
subtly letting you know that she’s accepted you as a member of the Weasley
clan,” George suggested, then lowered his voice. “’Bout time, too, if
you ask me. Four years is plenty long to hold onto a crush!”
“What was it that
went missing, Harry?” Fred inquired.
“My white dress shirt.
I wore it the other evening when the whole family went out to that nice
restaurant up in Hogsmeade. I’ve not seen it since,” Harry replied, still
puzzled, but not overly worried.
“Well, that’s a new
one by me. Can’t say as Ginny’s ever stolen a shirt from any of us before,
so I doubt it’s her. You probably just mislaid it. Did you ask Mum?” Fred
was improvising Bludgers out of apples as he asked.
“No, but I will tonight.
It’s not a big deal. I mean, it’ll turn up, won’t it?”
After dinner, and
once all the washing was done and the dishes put away, Harry inquired
of Molly Weasley as to the possible whereabouts of his shirt.
“No, dear, I’ve not
done any laundry yet for Ron or you. Are you sure it’s not in Ron’s room?
Or perhaps in the washroom, if you took it off in there before your shower?”
Sudden recollection
dawned in Harry’s mind; he had taken it off in the washroom. He raced
upstairs and was surprised not to find his shirt there. “I know I took
it off up here,” he muttered to himself, and walked back to Ron’s room
shaking his head.
As he was heading
up the stairs to the room, Ron was coming down, and they met on the landing
outside of Ginny’s room.
“Any luck with Mum
and your shirt?” Ron asked.
“Not a sausage, though
I can quite well remember taking it off before I got into the shower the
other day.”
Ginny chose that
moment to open her door, curious who was chatting outside her bedroom.
Harry and Ron both gave her a look, as all she was wearing was an oversized
white button-down man’s shirt, its cuffs rolled up a few times to that
they didn’t swallow her hands entirely. Her hair was down and the curls
concealed the collar of the shirt entirely. Her pale, smooth legs extended
from below the tail of the shirt, which came very nearly to her knees.
Her feet were bare but for some sparkling lacquer on her toes.
“Say, Harry, isn’t
that OOF!” Harry had put his elbow into Ron’s ribs.
Ginny flashed Harry
a smile and, without a word, returned to her room and closed the door
behind her.
“What in hell was
that about? That was your bloody shirt!” Ron spluttered, still clutching
his ribs.
Harry hadn’t moved,
his face frozen in shock. He finally spoke, saying, “Yes, it sure was.
But you have to admit, she looked better in it than I ever have.”
Ron rolled his eyes and hit Harry over the top of the head
with his Chudley Cannons hat.
Ginny stood in front of the full-length mirror, looking at herself in
her recently acquired, new favorite nightdress. Her face was only slightly
flushed after revealing to Harry that she had been the thief. He didn’t
seem at all upset, and had even stopped Ron from ruining the moment for
her.
She held her arms
out to her sides and rolled the cuffs up another turn. At least Harry
wasn’t a gorilla like Ron. Three or four rolls on the sleeves had sufficed
to make it fit just fine, whereas one of Ron’s shirts would have come
nearly to her ankles and required even more rolling at the cuffs.
Not that she’d ever
had any desire to wear one of Ron’s shirts. She’d had access to them for
years, but never stolen one of them, nor from any of her other brothers.
She grabbed the collar
of the shirt and pulled it up over her face, covering her nose, and breathed
in. It still smelled like Harry: soap, a hint of the cologne he’d worn
the last time he wore the shirt, and boy. She closed her eyes and inhaled
deeply again, wondering just how long it would stay smelling this sweet
to her.
Yes, it was definitely
her new favorite nightdress. Perhaps her new favorite garment ever.
