Love Bites (Harry Potter: Official Dragon Tamer, Part One)

Magic History for Muggles: Less Abridged

Saturday Morning
31 October 2009
Ginny's POV

"Hey," Micah's voice hummed in my ear suddenly as she plopped down beside me.

Victoire and I were making wreaths using some of the branches and flowers we'd gathered while Dominique insisted she was "helping," although turning somersaults in the grass was a step in wreath-making that I had, apparently, been skipping all my life.

"Hi," I greeted, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "How are you doing? Enough crazy for you, yet?"

How I'd lucked out to find a girl like Micah, I'll never know.

Not only was she bloody perfect, but she was adjusting to my family and the wizarding world like a fucking champ.

"I have a feeling the crazy's just getting started," she laughed, leaning into me and watching the wreath weave itself under the charm I'd cast.

"You know, it makes sense, now," she mused, resting her chin on my shoulder. "That you sucked so much at making decorations and stuff back in Boston."

I threw my head back and laughed, remembering our first Christmas together when I'd arrived at her parents' home only to discover we were decorating.

Imagine, if you will, an already-clumsy twenty-six-year-old trying to weave a garland of holly and ivy or wrap a popcorn string around a Christmas tree for the first time in her life using absolutely no magic.

I'd been relieved when Declan, Micah's father, had gently plucked the mangled garland from my hands and insisted that he needed someone to help him drink a glass of eggnog and observe the decorations going up, making sure they looked okay from the sofa in the centre of the room.

Declan had rescued me from countless other embarrassing attempts at decorating Muggle-style over the next few years, always glad that Micah had found someone who could "keep him company" while he enjoyed a drink and directed everyone jovially from the sofa.

Growing up with six brothers, her family assumed, had made me absolute shit at arts and crafts but had gifted me a liver of steel.

"Erm," Micah bit her lip and glanced towards the front garden, where she and Draco had been gathering decorations.

"I was wondering if maybe we should offer to help Fleur?" she asked hesitantly. "I was going to, then wasn't sure if it'd be awkward because I'm not a witch...."

I frowned.

"No, I'm sure she and Draco have it covered," I replied, having no idea myself what sort of preparation would be necessary for this ceremony of theirs.

"Draco's not here," Micah informed me, eyes twinkling mischievously.

"And neither is Harry," she added, and I groaned and rolled my eyes.

"Of course they're bloody not," I giggled.

You'd think Harry and Draco were two randy little fourteen-year-olds who'd just discovered orgasms, their Hogwarts-era penchant for constantly sneering, shoving, and taunting each other now manifesting itself by them constantly kissing, groping, and, well, taunting each other.

I'll admit, I had been apprehensive when Harry had finally revealed his mystery man to me one weekend when I'd gone down to meet him in Edinburg for a match.

"Draco?" I'd repeated incredulously. "Draco Malfoy?!"

"No, Gin," he'd replied, rolling his eyes. "The other Draco we went to school with."