Ginny accepted the flowers and breathed in their scent. “They’re beautiful, Harry,” she cooed, and by the way she smiled Harry thought she meant it. He was beginning to get the idea that everything might go well. He was on time. The flowers had survived, and Ginny seemed to like them. Harry couldn’t help but think in terms of Quidditch. Harry: 20, The Universe: 0. A little of that sick feeling left.
“Could you conjure a vase for me, please?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, of course,” said Harry, taken by surprise. Apparently she wasn’t carrying her wand. He pulled his out of his breast pocket. Distracted by Ginny, he conjured a largish stone vat into the middle of the living room about as wide as his arm was long and as tall as his waist.
Ginny giggled.
He quickly vanished the vat and tried again, forcing himself to concentrate. This time, he managed a tall, decorative ceramic beer stein, complete with silver cover. “This will do,” said Ginny. “We’d better not use magic for the water. I’ll fill it in the kitchen.”
When she left the room, it seemed like all the light had gone out of it. Harry walked irresistibly to the kitchen doorway to watch her fill the tankard with water. She set it on the table, taking a moment to arrange the individual blooms to her liking. Mrs. Weasley, seated in the room next to Mr. Weasley, was whispering at full speed.
Ginny turned smiling toward Harry and asked, “Are you ready?”
Harry realized that some reply was expected. “Er, sure, let’s go.” Ginny walked up beside him, pressing her arm against his and, like a bolt of lightning, Harry had an inspiration.
He took her arm.
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