Chapter One: Fire Mints are Red

Mrs. Weasley sighed and clutched a worn piece of parchment to her heart. She sat back on her heels and reread the lines she still, after almost forty years, knew by heart…

Fire Mints are red,

Droobles Best Blowing Gum is blue,

What can I say

Other than I love you?

Always it has been this way,

Bottling my emotions inside day by day,

I have never felt just like I do,

And this emotion is only for you,

Through thick and through thin,

Together we’ve been,

And now you know how I feel.

          She had been giving the attic a much-needed cleaning when she, quite accidentally, had stumbled upon a poem that Mr. Weasley had given her when they were young and in school. It wasn’t an exceptionally well written poem, fancy or overly romantic… it was just right.

          The poem had been misplaced during the packing after the two had gotten married, and only now had it been found. Mrs. Weasley’s heart raced and her palms began to sweat like they used to when she was a teenager. Oh, how in love she had been with Arthur then, and still! And all along she had thought him mad about Kristen Wanderlic…

          The poem had been placed under her pillow in the beginning of sixth year… how he got into her room was still questionable. She had no idea who it had been from until Arthur had confessed his love. It had brought the two friends together at last.

          Molly stood up, brushing dust from her slightly graying hair, and climbed down the rickety ladder that led back down to the hallway. She glanced at the clock that was tacked overhead and sighed once more. It was too late to wake her husband and reminisce, for he had a very important meeting to attend early the next morning. She instead headed for the kitchen and placed the poem where he was sure to find it…

          Harry woke up in his sleeping bag that lay on Ron’s bedroom floor and glanced at the green glowing numbers of the muggle digital clock charmed to work without electricity that Ron kept by his bed. As his eyes focused on the numbers, Harry grunted and rolled over. Four-twenty-nine was too early to be awake. He pulled the bag over his head, but minutes later wiggled out for he couldn’t return to sleep.

          His rather short body of previous years had grown some, but not nearly as much as Ron’s. While the girls were filling out and becoming more womanly, the boy’s voices were cracking and their limbs were too large for their bodies. Harry’s hair stuck up all over the place and he walked clumsily through piles of clothes on the floor, searching for his glasses.

          As he placed them on his nose, his stomach grumbled loudly. He took the stairs two at a time and headed for the kitchen. Harry grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies from a plate at the center of the table but fumbled with them at the sight of a piece of parchment that rested nearby. As a cookie fell to the floor and rolled across the room, he slid the corner of the parchment from under the plate and walked to the window for enough light to read the poem.

Fire Mints are red,

Droobles Best Blowing Gum is blue,

What can I say

Other than I love you?

          Harry gasped at the lines and kept reading, oblivious to the smear of chocolate on his cheek and the sweetness of the cookie in his mouth.

Always it has been this way,

Bottling my emotions inside day by day,

I have never felt just like I do,

And this emotion is only for you,

          Harry took a gulp from a glass nearby and swallowed. With a jolt he looked down at the glass in his hand and nearly threw up. He dumped the rancid milk in the sink and filled a clean glass with cold water from the faucet. After drinking two glasses full he continued reading the poem, the taste of the old milk still present in his mouth.

Through thick and through thin,

Together we’ve been,

And now you know how I feel.

          He reread the lines in full, pulled out a kitchen chair, and sat on it, his thoughts still on the poem. The poem had obviously been placed strategically for him. No one else’s favorite cookie was chocolate chip. Ginny’s was oatmeal raisin, Ron’s peanut butter, Hermione’s sugar, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s white macadamia nut… but it didn’t matter. The poem was written with him in mind and who else besides Ginny could have written it? Certainly not Hermione… right?

          Harry knew for certain that he in no way wished to be more than friends with Hermione… but Ginny, well… Harry wasn’t sure where he stood. Always before he had dismissed her as Ron’s little sister, but now that she was fifteen she had really grown up, both physically and mentally. She was noted to be quite pretty by all who met her and she was more mature than she had been. She was a favorite among the popular crowd in Hogwarts, especially with the boys, and she had dated several times in the past year.

          And Harry hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off Ginny when they had gone to Null Lake the week before. Her gold bathing suit had brought out the highlights in her hair and her gold bathing suit had brought out the highlights in her hair and her gold bathing suit had brought out the highlights in her hair and her gold bathing suit had brought out the highlights in her hair and her gold bathing suit had brought out the highlights in her hair and…

          Harry shook his head clear of Ginny in her bathing suit and hurriedly flew up the stairs and into Ron’s room, his hand still clutching the poem. He looked around wildly in the room for a place to safely stash the poem until he was ready to think about it once more. He jumped at the sound of Ron’s bedsprings squeaking and thrust the parchment into one of the books that was thrown in a pile by his feet.

          “What are you doing up so early?” Ron mumbled at Harry, rubbing his eyes from the light the lamp made in the room.

          “No- othing,” Harry replied. He quickly slipped back into his sleeping bag and lay there for another three hours, his mind completely on Ginny.