Chapter 2: I’m Coming, I’m Coming!
Arthur Weasley, consummate lover of all things Muggle, had returned from work one day when Ginny was five with an aged record player in tow. For once, Arthur actually knew how to operate the contraption. Unfortunately, he had no records to try out with it. Not to be deterred in his fascination, he had returned the next day with a few dusty old records. Ginny’s reading skills weren’t yet up to par at that age, so Arthur had carefully pronounced each artist name and song title for his youngest child.
While all of her brothers were bored with their dad’s new toy within two hours (“You mean it doesn’t fly? Or shoot things? Not even roll over?”), Ginny pleased her dad when she begged to hear all the records every night before her bedtime. Within a few weeks, her tiny child voice was singing along, word for word. Arthur somehow found more records; Ginny stowed all the melodies and lyrics in her head. The records were mostly old Muggle standards that Arthur took off the hands of an ancient Muggle-born colleague. No matter the genre, Ginny absorbed everything she had the pleasure of listening to.
Her parents were slightly baffled by Ginny’s burgeoning talent, as they did not know of any other family member on either side who could hope to hold a tune. Yet as the years passed, Ginny’s voice developed into a rich and smooth alto, and her pitch was always perfect. Ginny sang everywhere, sometimes to the chagrin of everyone she knew – in the shower (“Er, Ginny? You’ve been in there an hour already!”), on the Hogwarts Express (“What do you mean this compartment’s taken? It’s just you singing!”), in her dormitory (“Ginny, honestly, we have Potions in six hours!”), even while perched on her broom during Quidditch practise (“Ginny! This is no time for arpeggios!”). Her family and friends had long since abandoned prodding her into singing on the spot, as they knew it embarrassed her a great deal.
Yet Ginny loved to sing more than anything, and rarely went about a day’s work without some tune stuck in her head. While various friends urged her to pursue a career performing, Ginny merely laughed off such suggestions, knowing that she wasn’t a born performer. Despite her quick temper and her outspoken nature, when it came to performing, oddly enough, she was extremely shy.
After leaving Hogwarts, Ginny aided Luna in building her journalism empire by contributing various pieces. What started as a side thing quickly evolved into a full-blown profession, as it turned out that not only did Ginny have a knack for writing, but readers also seemed to love her, and critics couldn’t get enough of her.
Thus, the girl with the lovely voice confined her singing to such unassuming locales as the shower, and focused on her career.
Luna really was a monster, Ginny decided, eyeing her beloved friend out of the corner of her eye. It was only eleven o’clock in the morning of the ball, and Ginny had already been rehearsing in the Ministry ballroom for three straight hours. Silently torturing herself with a bit of mental gymnastics (it really was way too early), Ginny growled in a way that would have made Luna proud when she realized that she still had about four more hours to go.
Peter (Oh, apologies, Ginny sneered, Pierre), the man whom Luna had hired to oversee the entertainment, was currently engrossed in forcing his fuchsia feather boa to drape in what he might have called an alluring way but Ginny merely termed “ridiculous,” as she’d whispered to Ralph earlier on in the morning. Ginny, personally, didn’t find it too hilarious that Luna had taken the pains to inform a man in possession of a feather boa that he had the full power to drill Ginny “with all the intensity of a hunt for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack – tough love is best!”
The Ministry drones that Luna despised so much threw laughably grateful glances at Ginny as they scampered off when Ginny took Luna by the arm and pulled her aside, unable to take any more.
“Ginny, what is it?” Luna asked, exasperated with the way that the lighting and decorations were going. Honestly, she reflected, even an amputated Nargle could do the job better than these Ministry monkeys.
“I need breakfast! I need to use the loo! I need a bath and to sleep,” Ginny moaned, dropping Luna’s arm and burying her face in her hands.
Luna goggled at her. “Are you serious? Ginny, the ball is tonight! You need to practise, practise and practise. Do you want me to spell your eyelids open? Would you like a catheter? I know how to insert one into…you know.” The look on her face could only be described as eerily eager. Luna thought she was being quite magnanimous.
A sudden yelp from Peter – er, Pierre – made both girls look around. I can’t believe it, Ginny thought. Then, recalling the fact that the man was in love with a strand of fuchsia feathers, she rescinded her last mental notation. It seemed as though the man in question had somehow entangled himself in his own boa.
“Isn’t he brilliant?” Luna beamed. “Nobody tops him when it comes to directing synchronized swimming sequences for up-and-coming competitive gnomes.”
“What the hell?” Ginny asked, momentarily bewildered by such an outrageous statement. “They do that?”
Luna nodded solemnly. “Oh yes, people are tragically underestimating their potential for-”
Shaking her head, Ginny interrupted by growling again, this time making even Luna jump, startled. After a deep breath, she resumed her earlier griping. “Luna, really, I can sing all these songs in my sleep – sometimes I do in fact sing them in my sleep. I’ve known all of them since I was a child, my pitch is perfect, my rhythm is spectacular, my tone is mesmerizing, my arse looks nice in my jeans, seriously! We do not need to have four more hours of rehearsal.” Ginny added a stern look for added measure. Not that those ever worked on Luna.
“But the decorations aren’t all up yet, the lighting refuses to sort it self out, I’m about to rip out Ralph’s hair…”
“Luna, you really need to lay off the hair-”
“Ralph!”
The man who made a spectacular cup of tea appeared instantly at Luna’s side, and Ginny had to grin at the nervous twitch currently residing in his left eye. Surely he had it worse than her.
“Yes, Ms. Lovegood?”
“I’d like a cup of tea, if you please. And what the hell is that on your right cheek?” A beat. Then, sternly, “Wrong cheek.”
Ralph flushed, wiping furiously at the cheek in question. Ginny’s grin widened a fraction as the ink merely spread.
“Never mind,” Luna interjected as Ralph fumbled for an answer. With a nod, Ralph ran off to work his magic, mumbling all the way – “One cup of tea, wash right – right! - cheek, save the world…”
Luna really is a bad influence, Ginny mused to herself, if everyone who spends enough time with her develops the nasty twin habits of muttering under their breath like a deranged person and growling like a cat with a hairball stuck in its throat.
“ – about that catheter?” Luna wasn’t done with Ginny yet.
“NO!” The ballroom fell silent at Ginny’s outburst, with all the suddenness of a Silencio.
Luna gaped at Ginny. Had she just said no to the Director of Events?
“I don’t need to rehearse anymore, Luna. If all those years of singing along to my dad’s records weren’t enough, then I can’t help you now. And I have absolutely nothing to do with the decorations and the lighting. I’ll just be in your way. Not to mention, you don’t want your star performer to tire herself out before the big show, do you?” Ginny felt slightly bad that she was selling out everyone else. But only slightly. Every man for him self, right?
“But Pierre hasn’t even taught you the choreographed dance number yet.” Luna’s suddenly misty gaze caused Ginny to pause. Only for a second, though. They hadn’t been best friends since their Hogwarts days just because they both happened to have a thing for dancing in their underthings to the Weird Sisters’ tunes. Definitely not lesbians, of course. No, Ginny knew Luna’s modus operandi front-to-back and back-to-front, thank you very much.
“You know I don’t dance, Luna.”
“I wholeheartedly believe in the goodness in people…in their ability to change.”
“Luna Lovegood!”
“Not even one little can-can?” Luna pleaded.
Ginny regarded Luna with narrowed eyes. “Don’t force me to run over to Cassie’s right this moment, so that I can snog her senseless and catch whatever it is that made her ill,” she threatened.
Luna was utterly appalled. This was supposed to be civilised warfare! “You wouldn’t.”
“The six Galleons in my pocket and Professor Trelawney say I would.”
The tension was so thick that even Voldemort would have backed away very, very slowly. The ballroom waited with bated breath. Even Peter/Pierre and his fuchsia feather boa had momentarily desisted from grappling with each other; he was currently gaping at the two women from his head-locked position on the stage.
Sighing, Luna nodded in reluctant acquiescence, only to be rushed at by a newly energized Ginny. That level of squealing ought to be made illegal, Luna thought with a wince.
Ralph smiled as he turned to one of the Ministry workers. “That’s two Galleons you owe me, mate.”
With promises to be back, all done up and warmed up, two hours before the ball, Ginny rushed out of the ballroom, mentally primed for a long bath and an even longer nap. The only thing that followed her out the doors (poor Ministry workers, indeed) was a barked-out, “I’m sending a stylist over later!” from Luna.
Luna, ever vigilant (she had always been rather fond of Mad-Eye), did not miss the envious looks that currently graced all the faces of her workers, as they stared in despair at the ballroom doors hiding Ginny’s retreating form. Run, Ginny, they all thought. Escape to your freedom. The Director of Events rolled her eyes. Where’s Pierre gone off to? She frowned. I don’t remember telling him he could go for lunch this early. Luna shrugged.
“BACK TO WORK!”
Arthur Weasley, consummate lover of all things Muggle, had returned from work one day when Ginny was five with an aged record player in tow. For once, Arthur actually knew how to operate the contraption. Unfortunately, he had no records to try out with it. Not to be deterred in his fascination, he had returned the next day with a few dusty old records. Ginny’s reading skills weren’t yet up to par at that age, so Arthur had carefully pronounced each artist name and song title for his youngest child.
While all of her brothers were bored with their dad’s new toy within two hours (“You mean it doesn’t fly? Or shoot things? Not even roll over?”), Ginny pleased her dad when she begged to hear all the records every night before her bedtime. Within a few weeks, her tiny child voice was singing along, word for word. Arthur somehow found more records; Ginny stowed all the melodies and lyrics in her head. The records were mostly old Muggle standards that Arthur took off the hands of an ancient Muggle-born colleague. No matter the genre, Ginny absorbed everything she had the pleasure of listening to.
Her parents were slightly baffled by Ginny’s burgeoning talent, as they did not know of any other family member on either side who could hope to hold a tune. Yet as the years passed, Ginny’s voice developed into a rich and smooth alto, and her pitch was always perfect. Ginny sang everywhere, sometimes to the chagrin of everyone she knew – in the shower (“Er, Ginny? You’ve been in there an hour already!”), on the Hogwarts Express (“What do you mean this compartment’s taken? It’s just you singing!”), in her dormitory (“Ginny, honestly, we have Potions in six hours!”), even while perched on her broom during Quidditch practise (“Ginny! This is no time for arpeggios!”). Her family and friends had long since abandoned prodding her into singing on the spot, as they knew it embarrassed her a great deal.
Yet Ginny loved to sing more than anything, and rarely went about a day’s work without some tune stuck in her head. While various friends urged her to pursue a career performing, Ginny merely laughed off such suggestions, knowing that she wasn’t a born performer. Despite her quick temper and her outspoken nature, when it came to performing, oddly enough, she was extremely shy.
After leaving Hogwarts, Ginny aided Luna in building her journalism empire by contributing various pieces. What started as a side thing quickly evolved into a full-blown profession, as it turned out that not only did Ginny have a knack for writing, but readers also seemed to love her, and critics couldn’t get enough of her.
Thus, the girl with the lovely voice confined her singing to such unassuming locales as the shower, and focused on her career.
Luna really was a monster, Ginny decided, eyeing her beloved friend out of the corner of her eye. It was only eleven o’clock in the morning of the ball, and Ginny had already been rehearsing in the Ministry ballroom for three straight hours. Silently torturing herself with a bit of mental gymnastics (it really was way too early), Ginny growled in a way that would have made Luna proud when she realized that she still had about four more hours to go.
Peter (Oh, apologies, Ginny sneered, Pierre), the man whom Luna had hired to oversee the entertainment, was currently engrossed in forcing his fuchsia feather boa to drape in what he might have called an alluring way but Ginny merely termed “ridiculous,” as she’d whispered to Ralph earlier on in the morning. Ginny, personally, didn’t find it too hilarious that Luna had taken the pains to inform a man in possession of a feather boa that he had the full power to drill Ginny “with all the intensity of a hunt for a Crumple-Horned Snorkack – tough love is best!”
The Ministry drones that Luna despised so much threw laughably grateful glances at Ginny as they scampered off when Ginny took Luna by the arm and pulled her aside, unable to take any more.
“Ginny, what is it?” Luna asked, exasperated with the way that the lighting and decorations were going. Honestly, she reflected, even an amputated Nargle could do the job better than these Ministry monkeys.
“I need breakfast! I need to use the loo! I need a bath and to sleep,” Ginny moaned, dropping Luna’s arm and burying her face in her hands.
Luna goggled at her. “Are you serious? Ginny, the ball is tonight! You need to practise, practise and practise. Do you want me to spell your eyelids open? Would you like a catheter? I know how to insert one into…you know.” The look on her face could only be described as eerily eager. Luna thought she was being quite magnanimous.
A sudden yelp from Peter – er, Pierre – made both girls look around. I can’t believe it, Ginny thought. Then, recalling the fact that the man was in love with a strand of fuchsia feathers, she rescinded her last mental notation. It seemed as though the man in question had somehow entangled himself in his own boa.
“Isn’t he brilliant?” Luna beamed. “Nobody tops him when it comes to directing synchronized swimming sequences for up-and-coming competitive gnomes.”
“What the hell?” Ginny asked, momentarily bewildered by such an outrageous statement. “They do that?”
Luna nodded solemnly. “Oh yes, people are tragically underestimating their potential for-”
Shaking her head, Ginny interrupted by growling again, this time making even Luna jump, startled. After a deep breath, she resumed her earlier griping. “Luna, really, I can sing all these songs in my sleep – sometimes I do in fact sing them in my sleep. I’ve known all of them since I was a child, my pitch is perfect, my rhythm is spectacular, my tone is mesmerizing, my arse looks nice in my jeans, seriously! We do not need to have four more hours of rehearsal.” Ginny added a stern look for added measure. Not that those ever worked on Luna.
“But the decorations aren’t all up yet, the lighting refuses to sort it self out, I’m about to rip out Ralph’s hair…”
“Luna, you really need to lay off the hair-”
“Ralph!”
The man who made a spectacular cup of tea appeared instantly at Luna’s side, and Ginny had to grin at the nervous twitch currently residing in his left eye. Surely he had it worse than her.
“Yes, Ms. Lovegood?”
“I’d like a cup of tea, if you please. And what the hell is that on your right cheek?” A beat. Then, sternly, “Wrong cheek.”
Ralph flushed, wiping furiously at the cheek in question. Ginny’s grin widened a fraction as the ink merely spread.
“Never mind,” Luna interjected as Ralph fumbled for an answer. With a nod, Ralph ran off to work his magic, mumbling all the way – “One cup of tea, wash right – right! - cheek, save the world…”
Luna really is a bad influence, Ginny mused to herself, if everyone who spends enough time with her develops the nasty twin habits of muttering under their breath like a deranged person and growling like a cat with a hairball stuck in its throat.
“ – about that catheter?” Luna wasn’t done with Ginny yet.
“NO!” The ballroom fell silent at Ginny’s outburst, with all the suddenness of a Silencio.
Luna gaped at Ginny. Had she just said no to the Director of Events?
“I don’t need to rehearse anymore, Luna. If all those years of singing along to my dad’s records weren’t enough, then I can’t help you now. And I have absolutely nothing to do with the decorations and the lighting. I’ll just be in your way. Not to mention, you don’t want your star performer to tire herself out before the big show, do you?” Ginny felt slightly bad that she was selling out everyone else. But only slightly. Every man for him self, right?
“But Pierre hasn’t even taught you the choreographed dance number yet.” Luna’s suddenly misty gaze caused Ginny to pause. Only for a second, though. They hadn’t been best friends since their Hogwarts days just because they both happened to have a thing for dancing in their underthings to the Weird Sisters’ tunes. Definitely not lesbians, of course. No, Ginny knew Luna’s modus operandi front-to-back and back-to-front, thank you very much.
“You know I don’t dance, Luna.”
“I wholeheartedly believe in the goodness in people…in their ability to change.”
“Luna Lovegood!”
“Not even one little can-can?” Luna pleaded.
Ginny regarded Luna with narrowed eyes. “Don’t force me to run over to Cassie’s right this moment, so that I can snog her senseless and catch whatever it is that made her ill,” she threatened.
Luna was utterly appalled. This was supposed to be civilised warfare! “You wouldn’t.”
“The six Galleons in my pocket and Professor Trelawney say I would.”
The tension was so thick that even Voldemort would have backed away very, very slowly. The ballroom waited with bated breath. Even Peter/Pierre and his fuchsia feather boa had momentarily desisted from grappling with each other; he was currently gaping at the two women from his head-locked position on the stage.
Sighing, Luna nodded in reluctant acquiescence, only to be rushed at by a newly energized Ginny. That level of squealing ought to be made illegal, Luna thought with a wince.
Ralph smiled as he turned to one of the Ministry workers. “That’s two Galleons you owe me, mate.”
With promises to be back, all done up and warmed up, two hours before the ball, Ginny rushed out of the ballroom, mentally primed for a long bath and an even longer nap. The only thing that followed her out the doors (poor Ministry workers, indeed) was a barked-out, “I’m sending a stylist over later!” from Luna.
Luna, ever vigilant (she had always been rather fond of Mad-Eye), did not miss the envious looks that currently graced all the faces of her workers, as they stared in despair at the ballroom doors hiding Ginny’s retreating form. Run, Ginny, they all thought. Escape to your freedom. The Director of Events rolled her eyes. Where’s Pierre gone off to? She frowned. I don’t remember telling him he could go for lunch this early. Luna shrugged.
“BACK TO WORK!”
Author notes: I'm all kinds of upset because someone put a dent in my car today...although reviews always make me happy :)
And don't worry, Mr Malfoy shall be making an appearance soon.
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