The Sugar Quill
Author: mdelaur  Story: And Now You Know How I Feel  Chapter: Chapter 2: Droobles Best Blowing Gum is Blue
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A/N: Thanks to my beta, Elanor Gamgee, for her great help

A/N: Thanks to my beta, Elanor Gamgee, for her great help. Thanks to the Sugarquill for their brilliance, to my readers and terrific reveiwers (!), and especially to my good friend CingStarz. She has stuck by my story and has read and guided me while waiting to get her story on Sugarquill. When she gets it published here, read it because it is great!


Chapter Two: Droobles Best Blowing Gum is Blue


            “Left foot… and right… foot… left foot…” Ron said under his breath, carefully edging his way down the hall to Ginny’s room. His arms were full of books, books that had been leant to him by Hermione at the beginning of summer.

            “Read something, anything! Don’t just lug around this summer, read a book! I have tons that I can let you borrow…” Hermione had insisted. She had piled his arms full of “good reading material” and insisted he read a few. 

Well, he had read a few - a few very boring books he had flipped through when he was at the worst stages of boredom. He was now returning the books after being scolded by his mother to clean his room.

            “Ooff!” he let out as the books went flying. Hermione ran from her room upon hearing the thud of the many books and helped Ron carry them inside. He hurried off when his mother called him back to his room, leaving Hermione to return the books to her chest.

            She flipped through the books briefly as she placed each in the chest, admiring the pictures and material. She froze rigidly, however, when a piece of parchment fell from one of the books and fluttered to the floor.

            “Oh! Oh, dear!” she said softly as she read the stanzas.


Fire Mints are red,

Droobles Best Blowing Gum is blue,

What can I say

Other than I love you?


            “Oh my, oh my! Did Ron…? Did Harry? Oh my, oh my!” she muttered. “Ron doesn’t… he would never… would he?” Hermione thought back to the week before when Ron, Harry, Ginny, and herself had walked up to Null Lake.


Always it has been this way,

Bottling my emotions inside day by day,


She remembered staring at Ron’s tall body as he and Harry dove in and out of the waves. She and Ginny had sat for an hour or more in the hot sand just watching the boys…

She sighed as she finished the last stanzas of the poem. If Ron – or Harry - liked her, that would just complicate their relationship. It just wouldn’t, absolutely wouldn’t work, she thought as she placed the poem on the bedside table. It just wouldn’t work out… she said to herself as she walked to the window and opened it to let in some cool air before heading for the bathroom. “Oh, how nice it would be though…” she whispered as she shut the bathroom door and peered into the mirror. “How ever so nice…” 

Hermione was oblivious to the gust of wind that sent the poem soaring onto Ginny’s bed…


“Hermione? Hermione?” Ginny called as she walked into her room. “Grr, she’s in the shower, and I really wanted to talk to her,” she said out loud as she threw herself face down on her bed. Quickly, however, she sat up when her eyes fell on the poem.

They widened in surprise as she read the lines and her hand fluttered to her mouth. This poem… it wasn’t, wasn’t meant for her, was it? She quickly flipped it over but nothing was written on the back. Certainly Harry wasn’t in love with her… was he?


Ginny likes me… Ginny loves me. How could she love me? She loves me.

            Harry was pacing back and forth through the hallway, thinking hard about the poem. Not much earlier she had walked by without the least flinch or blush or even a flicker of the eye. She had walked by like nothing happened…

            What would Harry say to her? He’d let her down easy, that’s what he’d do.

            “I’ll let her down easy, I’ll let her down easy…” Harry muttered under his breath.

            “Let who, dear?”

            Harry jumped and turned quickly, to see Mrs. Weasley coming up the stairs, laundry in hand.

            “Let me help you,” Harry said ignoring her question, his neck and cheeks growing hot.

            “I always take a walk outside when I need time to think,” she said kindly as she graciously handed Harry half of the load.

            “Thanks, I’ll try that.”


            “Who sent me that poem?” Hermione said softly as she stepped out of the shower. “Who sent me that poem?” She had thought all during her long shower but couldn’t come to a conclusion whether it had been Ron or Harry who had sent it.

Please let it be Ron…

            She gasped as she thought it. Do I really want it to be Ron? No, it was all a mistake. “I’ll let him down easy, I’ll let him down ever so easy.”


Ginny’s face flushed at the prospect that Harry had written the poem. How long had he liked her? Why hadn’t he said anything when they were both younger and Ginny had made it obvious that she was mad about him? Why hadn’t he spoken up earlier, shown any signs of liking her? Why was he telling her now?

            Ginny studied her reflection breathlessly in the mirror. She thrust her shoulders back and stood up straight. She admired the angle of her chin and the way her hair hung on her shoulders. She smiled, and frowned, turned slightly to see both sides. She gathered her hair in a ponytail and pouted her lips. Harry loves me…

            She grabbed the poem from where she had set it down on the bedside table and rushed out the door when she heard Hermione shut off the faucet in the bathroom. She ran through the hallway in such a daze that she blew right past a tall young man with red hair.

            She froze, turned, and let out a yelp. She threw her arms around Fred and squeezed him tight. “Fred! What are you doing here?”

            “I stopped by to talk with Dad… what’s that?” He stopped short as his eye caught a few words on the piece of parchment that she held.

            “Hey!” she called out surprised as Fred grabbed it from her hand.

            “Ginny! Who sent this to you?” he asked as he read the poem.

            “I- I don’t know.” she said softly. “Harry, hopefully,” she whispered under her breath with a final note.

            “You don’t mean…? Wittle Ginny has a crush on Big Harry again?”

            “Fred, stop that!” she said indignantly, crossing her arms with frustration.

            “Come on, you can’t possibly think that he’s in love with you, can you?” he continued in a more serious tone.

            “What do you mean?” she said, her voice rising. “You don’t think he could like someone so dull as me? Is that it?”

            “Ginny, it’s not that at all,” he said, pulling her close. “You are a terrific girl. Any boy would be extremely lucky to have you for a girlfriend. Look at you, you’re beautiful,” he said seriously. “You’ve grown up this summer, so should your loves.”

            “No, Fred, you’ve grown up. I can hardly see the old Fred in you. And I suppose you’re right. I haven’t liked him for the longest time, but when I got this poem, I - it all came flooding back. I don’t know what Harry thought when he wrote this poem to me but I’ve got to let him down easy. Keep the poem, I don’t want to look at it anymore,” she finished quietly. I’ve got to let Harry down easy…



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