Waiting - H/G - PG-13
Title: Waiting
Author: shocolate
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Words: 999
Rating: PG-13

Happy birthday fitzette - I hope this counts as a Harry/Ginny, I am not very good at keeping on track…


Waiting
****
Ron untucked his shirt for a third time, artistically ruffled his hair, then prowled back and forth, poking various objects as he passed them on sideboard or mantelpiece.

Harry watched him as he sat on the couch, leafing through the evening newspaper.

“What d’they do, anyway?” Ron asked, picking up a Muggle musical box and jumping when it started playing.

Harry looked up at him. “I think there’s some pressure thingy in their bottom,” he said.

“What?” Ron said, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing happens while there’s pressure on their bottom,” Harry said. “You need to pick them up.”

Ron looked very confused.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“The music box,” Harry said.

Ron blinked and replayed the conversation in his head.

“OK,” he said slowly. “I was asking what do women do, getting ready, that takes so ridiculously long – but apparently, when you pick them up, you release the pressure on their bottom.”

Harry snorted.

“Good to know,” he said. “Although now I’ll never look at Hermione’s bottom in the same way, again.”

Ron grunted and put the music box down.

“Really,” he said, sprawling beside Harry and put his feet up on the coffee table. “They knew we’d be here at seven – we’re always here at seven – and they are never ready - why are they never ready?”

“Part of their charm,” Harry said firmly.

“Isn’t,” Ron said. “Their charm – and when I say ‘they’, I do not include my sister – is soft breasts and gorgeous arses and long hair that smells good. None of which have a time element, so why aren’t they ready?”

Harry laughed.

“And why don’t you mind?” Ron demanded. “They always keep us waiting, and it was bad enough when they were at school, because at least we’d be at the Three Broomsticks, and we’d have a couple of drinks by the time they got there. But now. Now they have their own flat – which I still think is ridiculous – and we have to sit here, in a blizzard of knickknacks, while they are probably reading or doing paperwork and keeping us waiting on purpose.”

“While I wouldn’t put it past Hermione bringing home work from the Ministry,” Harry said. “I doubt Ginny is in there practising scoring.”

“Goal scoring,” Ron said darkly.

“Of course,” Harry said blandly. “And I don’t mind because I quite like the idea that my girlfriend - and when I say girlfriend, I don’t mean your sister – is fresh out of the shower and damp in interesting places and powdering herself with that big, pouffy pink powderthing. And dabbing perfume behind her knees. And putting on stockings and suspenders.”

Ron’s eyes were wide.

“And I like that she keeps me waiting while she does it.”

Ron decided to ignore the image of his sister in stockings.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “She - and when I say she, I don’t mean my sister – can be all girly and making herself all pouffy and perfumed while we are still at home, getting ready – and I shave for Hermione, don’t make out I’m some sort of caveman, here – and the inappropriate under…things can be covered up in a proper frock, by the time we arrive.”

“D’you know how long I kept her waiting, Ron?” Harry asked.

“You don’t keep her waiting,” Ron scoffed. “You don’t put crap in your hair and you always stay the night here, so it’s me who has to make sure my bedroom is Hermione-able.”

“I’d happily have Ginny spend the night at our place,” Harry said. “It’s you who can’t cope with the idea.”

Ron grunted.

“And I don’t mean I kept her waiting while I was damp in interesting places,” Harry explained. “I mean I kept her waiting while I did the whole Horcrux thing.”

“How is that the same thing?” Ron asked. “I was sexually stressed enough having Hermione with us in that effing tent. The thought of you doing anything worse than… pining over Ginny’s dot…”

He shuddered ostentatiously.

“Will you stop making everything about sex?” Harry asked.

“I like sex,” Ron pointed out.

Harry snorted.

“But my point is,” he said, “that Ginny waited a whole year while we searched. And that’s horrible. She was a pretty sixteen-year-old girl; the worst she should have been kept waiting for is for her boyfriend to find a clean shirt and remember to shave.”

“So?”

“So,” Harry said. “Now I am a pretty nineteen-year-old boy, and I like waiting while she rolls her stockings up her thighs, because she has fantastic thighs and she keeps the stockings on while they are wrapped around my waist and there are no Death Eaters involved.”

“Still my sister,” Ron said sternly.

“So,” Harry repeated. “I don’t know if she’s doing it purposely, but even if she is, I am happy to wait for her.”

“You’re too soft,” Ron muttered.

“Ah, you should see me later,” Harry mused. “’Cept I’ll be being hard here, and you’ll be home with Hermione.”

“Shut up!”

The lounge door finally opened and Ginny entered, just as her brother launched himself onto her boyfriend, tackling him to the floor.

She stood over them, looking as long suffering as only a woman with six brothers could manage.

“Hermione had an owl from work,” she said. “She says it’s really important, and she’ll meet us at the party.”

Harry laughed as the indignant look on Ron’s face was replaced with one of horror as he rolled over and glimpsed the flash of naked thigh up his sister’s dress.

He hauled Ron to his feet and bent to kiss his girlfriend.

“You smell good,” he murmured, his hands sliding round her waist and cupping her bottom.

“Did I keep you waiting?” she asked, her arms linked around his neck as she stood on tiptoe to return the kiss.

“I don’t mind,” Harry said. “I like picturing you getting dressed, it’s like picturing you getting undressed, only playing it backwards in my head.”

Ron retched.