MetaFic

Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley shared a compartment on their way to Hogwarts for their seventh year of school.  Harry and Ginny sat on one side, and Harry’s hand rested casually on Ginny’s thigh, tucked halfway beneath her modest uniform skirt.  They had started dating over the summer when Harry realized that Ginny was a really good flyer.  And besides, she was totally hot.  Harry admitted to himself that that was probably the primary reason he had asked her out.

He took a moment to stare at Ginny as she talked with Hermione.  The redhead truly was a knockout.  Her long hair hung down to her arse, and it was always perfectly smooth and neat even though it seemed to get caught on something every five minutes.  She had unbuttoned the top of her shirt, and from Harry’s vantage point he could see the top edge of her bra and the tantalizing valley between her breasts.  They were not the largest breasts Harry had ever seen, but Ginny was only four foot ten, so her C-cups (Harry had measured carefully) made her wonderfully voluptuous.  Besides, Harry was sure that her petite stature would come in handy someday.  He did wonder, though, how she had gone from almost flat-chested to her current curvaceousness in the few weeks he had spent at Privet Drive that summer.

Harry was quite fond of the rest of Ginny, including the smooth, muscular thigh currently beneath his hand, but honestly . . . how could he be expected to notice anything else about her when she had such fabulous hair and truly epic breasts?  He was only human.

Harry had worried at first that Ron would object to their relationship, being Ginny’s older brother and known for making stupid decisions with little justification.  Ron, however, did not care in the least.  After all, Ron said, he was not interested in Harry for himself, so Ginny was welcome to him.  That had shut Harry up.

Ron and Hermione sat on the opposite side of the compartment.  Hermione, Harry had to admit, was almost completely unattractive, but she had a very sweet face.  All things considered, Ron was lucky that she loved him for some reason.  Ron had his long arm draped over Hermione’s shoulders, and his dangling hand kept inching closer to her chest – what there was of it - but he had not yet made contact.  Harry was sure that Hermione would stop him soon; she was certainly not the kind of girl who would let her boyfriend feel her up when other people were present.

“I think England’s greatest prime minister was Lord Palmerston,” Hermione was saying.

“Oh, please,” Ginny replied, huffing spectacularly and rolling her eyes.  “It was Pitt the Elder, everyone knows that.”

“Lord Palmerston!” Hermione insisted.

“Pitt the Elder!”  With Ginny’s dulcet voice, even shouting was musical to Harry.

“That’s it, Weasley!”

Hermione started to rise from the bench, but the compartment door slid open, and she stopped suddenly.  Harry looked away from his beloved girlfriend and saw . . .

It was not human, he was sure of that.  It was much too beautiful.  Yet it did not have the cold grace of a Veela, either.  Whatever it was, it was definitely female, and that was good enough for Harry.  He snatched his hands into his lap and slid closer to the magnificent creature standing in the doorway.

She was petite, though not as grotesquely short as Ron’s sister, and she had long, blonde hair that looked as though it had just been caressed by the carefully-controlled breeze of a wind machine at a photo shoot.  She wore a halter top that plunged wonderfully down her front, revealing sun-kissed skin with no tan line in sight.  The bottom of the plunge showed not only the gap between her breasts but also the sides of the breasts themselves.  Her breasts were beyond epic; they were some variety of incredible that no-one had found a word for yet.  Harry could not see how they were possibly staying up, so he concluded that she was naturally buoyant.  The idea certainly matched the perfection of the rest of her.

The bottom hem of the shirt stopped just a few inches further down, revealing her midriff from the bottom of her ribcage, down her toned stomach, and along the smooth curve of her hips.  Harry’s gaze stopped at the top of her low-slung jeans, wishing he could see just another inch or two of her body.  Fortunately, the jeans were almost impossibly tight, so he had no trouble seeing how spectacular her legs were.

She also had green eyes.

“Hi, everybody!” the vision said.  Her voice was a bit lower than Harry had expected, but it was cheerful and full of promise for what it would sound like in other situations.

Miraculously, Harry managed to speak.  “Hi, umm . . .”

“I’m Claire,” she said.  “Claire B- . . . oh, ahh, Boingit.  Claire Boingit.”

“What sort of name is ‘Boingit’?” Hermione asked.

“Well . . . I don’t know.  But it’s my name, see?” Claire responded.  Then, without any warning, she thrust one fist straight above her head and kicked one shapely leg almost up to her nose.  “Go Boingit!” she shouted.

Harry watched the bizarre maneuver for several seconds after it ended.  “Oh, I get it,” he muttered.

“Aww, aren’t you sweet?”  Claire’s accent mangled all of her vowels in a way that reminded Harry vaguely of someone he had once known from Devon.  From Claire, however, it was unbearably arousing.  “What’s your name, sugar?”

Harry stood up and extended his hand.  “Potter.  Harry Potter.”

She took his hand, and Harry shook it a little more forcefully than was necessary, but she did not seem to mind.  “Harry Potter?” she asked.  “I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

Someone behind Harry spoke up in a shrill, waspish voice.  “He defeated Lord Voldemort when he was a baby.  Everybody knows that.”

“Oh, yeah, y’all!” Claire said, smiling up at Harry.  “I remember now.  I read about that in, like, fourth grade or something.  Good job, Harry.”

He straightened and tossed his fringe away from his forehead.  “It was nothing.  Do you want to sit with us?”

“You’re sweet, hon, but I’ve got my own little room on this train.  I’m just going around to all the compartments, introducing myself and saying hi to everybody.”  She giggled musically.  “I just love making an entrance, and this train is full of doors!”

“Yeah,” Ron said faintly.  “Doors.  Brilliant.”

“Thanks for offering, though,” Claire said.  She stepped forward, leaned up (Harry quickly looked down), and kissed Harry on the cheek.  “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Definitely,” Harry said.

Claire left the compartment, and Harry was not surprised to find that the back of her was just as flawless as the front of her.  A few moments after the door closed, he turned around and returned to his seat.  Fortunately, the person sitting next to him had moved closer to the wall, leaving him plenty of room to sit in solitude and think about Claire Boingit.

***

When all of the new first-years had been Sorted, the students in the Great Hall paused, making no sound as they waited.  Finally, Professor McGonagall said, “Hem-hem.  Boingit, Claire.”

The doors to the Hall opened, and Claire Boingit walked lightly through them.  For whatever reason, she had not changed into school robes, which made the cheerful bounce in her step quite prominent.  Smiling broadly at everyone, she flounced down the aisle, spun gracefully, and perched on the old, three-legged stool.

McGonagall held up the hat and paused.  “I’m sorry, dear.  I’m supposed to put this on your head, but I’d hate to muss such lovely hair.”

“Oh, don’t worry, ma’am.  It always looks good.”

The professor nodded, but she lowered the hat onto Claire’s head with a look of impending tragedy.  The moment it settled onto her flowing blonde tresses, the hat straightened into a perfectly smooth cone.  “Oh, my!” it said.

The rest of the students remained silent for a few minutes.  Finally, the hat exhaled loudly and sagged into its usual shape.  “Amazing,” it said.  “Simply amazing.”

“Thank you,” Claire said politely.

“My dear, dear girl,” the hat said.  “I have no idea which house to Sort you into.  You would be an absolute paragon of any house at Hogwarts.  I’ve never met someone so clever, so faithful, so driven, or so courageous.  You humble me.”

“Aww, you’re sweet,” Claire said.  “I have to be in some house, though, don’t I?”

“I suppose.  Perhaps . . . perhaps you could simply choose for yourself, Miss Boingit.  I would be honored to learn from your selection.”

The blonde nodded.  “Well, all right.  Let’s see . . . oh, I know!  My uniform back home was red, and our mascot was the lion.”  She pumped one fist into the air and shouted, “Go Lions!”  Looking up at the banners adorning the Hall, she said, “So I’ll take the one that’s red with a lion.  Which is that?”

“Gryffindor, my dear,” McGonagall said, beaming.  “My very own house.”

“Well, I’ll take Gryffindor.  I get to wear red, right?”

McGonagall nodded.  “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted.

The Gryffindors all cheered, and students in the other three houses could be heard sobbing uncontrollably.  Claire lifted the hat off of her head, but she paused when the hat shrieked.  “Wait!”

“What’s wrong?” Claire asked, looking up at its battered brim.

“I’ve never met someone so wonderful, so spectacularly flawless.  I’m sure I’ll never find anyone else like you.  Can I . . .”  The hat took a deep breath.  “Can I be your hat, Miss Boingit?”

Claire lowered the hat into her lap and stroked it gently.  “Aww, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.  What’s your name, hon?”

“My name?” the hat asked.

“Sure.  You’ve got to have a name.”

“Well, yes, I do.  It’s Sorting Hat.  Everyone knows that.  Didn’t you hear Minerva introduce me?”

“All right, Mr. Hat . . .”

“Please, call me Sorting.”

“Thanks.  You can call me Claire.  The thing is, Sorting, that people need you.  I’d love to have you as my hat, but then what would Hogwarts do to Sort people?”

The hat twisted in her hands.  “But I would rather be your hat.  I’d be a very good hat, you know.  I don’t have to look like this.  I can be anything that goes on your head.”  With a soft belching noise, the hat transformed into a pink Alice band with rhinestones along the edges.  “See?”

“That’s really nice, Sorting, but I think Hogwarts needs you.  You’re so good at Sorting that they named it after you, didn’t they?  That’s pretty special.”

The hat burped again and turned back into its usual shape.  “I suppose,” it said, its pointed tip drooping.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come and visit you sometimes,” Claire said.  “We’ll be great friends.”  

“But . . . but I love you!”

With a smile and a final pat of the hat’s brim, Claire handed it back to Professor McGonagall and stood up.  Miraculously, empty seats appeared next to half of the students at the Gryffindor table.  Claire scanned the house quickly and then moved to sit next to Harry.

“Hi,” he choked out.

“Hey, Harry,” Claire said.  She turned her head away from him, giving him a lovely view of her honey-coloured curls.  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name on the train.  I’m Claire.”

“Ginny Weasley,” the person on her other side said.

“I’m happy to meet you, Ginny.”  Claire looked across the table, and Ron and Hermione introduced themselves in turn.  That led to a few minutes of confusion as everyone within earshot, including several Hufflepuffs, shouted out their names.  She did not look back at Harry until the distant introductions faded into the background noise of the Great Hall.  “Everyone’s so friendly here, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

Ron cleared his throat.  “That was really nice how you handled the hat.  It’s not every day that someone shouts they love you, eh?”

“It’s special every time, of course,” Claire said, placing three sprigs of parsley on her plate.  “But eventually you learn to be kind about it.  It’s just a really nice compliment.”

“In that case, I love you, too,” Harry said.

Claire smiled and patted him on the head, and they both began laughing.

A few minutes later, when Claire had finished her parsley, Dumbledore stood up and gestured for quiet.  “Welcome, everyone, to another year at Hogwarts.  I have just a few announcements before I send you off to your warm beds.

“Firstly, most of the relevant rules and restrictions are posted prominently on signs in the common rooms and corridors.  Read those and do what they say, or don’t do what they say not to do.

“Secondly, I am saddened to inform you that all of the male prefects from last year have either vanished or been defrocked.  Therefore I must appoint a Head Boy from the seventh-year population.  It is my pleasure to announce that Harry Potter will fill that role this year.”

Many of the students applauded, and Claire turned to Harry.  “Head Boy?  Is that good?”

“Uhh . . . yeah.  It’s like being in charge of the students who are in charge of the other students.”

“Oh, so you’re like head cheerleader!  Congratulations!”

Ron snorted.  “Defrocked.  That’s not how I’d put it.  They didn’t give any reason at all.”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” Hermione said.  “It’s terribly unfair.”

“Oh well,” Ron said, shrugging.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.  “I must also appoint new male prefects.  I hereby appoint Michael Corner, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Theodore Nott, and Ron Weasley as seventh-year prefects.”

“What the bloody hell?” Ron muttered.

Harry grinned.  “Congratulations, Ron.”

“I always knew that the selection of a Head Girl for this year would be easy,” Dumbledore continued.  “I must admit, however, that I never expected it to be quite this easy.  Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Claire Boingit as our new Head Girl.”

Almost everyone in the Hall applauded thunderously.  Amidst the tumult, Claire threw her arm across Harry’s shoulders and squeezed him gleefully.  “So that means we’re, like, co-heads or something!”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning.  “Yeah, something like that.”

“So what do we have to do?”

“For now, just make sure the prefects are doing what they’re supposed to.”

“Okay.  Who’s a prefect?”

Harry nodded across the table.  “Ron and Hermione, for starters.”

As Dumbledore dismissed everyone, Claire rose to her feet.  “All right, you two.  Do what you’re supposed to.  And don’t forget that Gryffindor is the best house at Hogwarts!  Woo!”  She pumped her fist into the air again.

Beaming, Ron and Hermione moved away and began rounding up the first-year Gryffindors.  Professor McGonagall waded through the crowd to Harry and Claire.  “Mr. Potter, Miss Boingit.  If you will proceed to the eighth floor of Gryffindor Tower, you’ll find the Heads’ suite prepared for your use.”

“The eighth floor?” Harry asked.  “I didn’t know there was an eighth floor.  I’ve been at the very top for six years.”

“There wasn’t one before, but there is now,” McGonagall said.  “No one will be able to see it except you two and anyone you bring with you.”

Harry shrugged and turned back to Claire.  “Come on, I’ll show you.”  Leaving the rest of the Gryffindors to their own devices, Harry led her out of the Hall and up the moving staircases to the Fat Lady.

“Oh, heavens,” the portrait said, her eyes widening when she spotted Claire.  “Come right in, dear.  And Mr. Potter, too.  How nice.”

“This is the common room,” Harry said as he helped Claire step through the portrait hole.  “We spend time here, do our revision, that sort of thing.”

“It looks really homey,” she said.  “Like a coffee house or something.”

Harry nodded, though he was not sure what she meant about a house made of coffee.  “Yeah, just like that.  Let’s go find that suite.”

In a moment of selfless courtesy, Harry gestured for Claire to precede him up the stairs.  The trip to the top of Gryffindor tower had never seemed so short or so interesting to him.  As promised, an eighth flight of stairs led them to an eighth landing with a single door.  Inside was a smaller replica of the common room, complete with a miniature fireplace containing a pile of burning twigs.  Two doors stood open, leading to identical rooms which each contained a four-poster bed, a wardrobe, and a small bathroom.  Harry’s familiar school trunk waited at the foot of one bed, and a pile of brown bags with the letter V stamped all over them covered the foot of the other.

“So here we are,” Harry said.  “Not bad, eh?”

“It’s really lovely.  Like living in an antique store.”

“Yeah, exactly.  So . . . err . . . do you want to go to bed now, or go back to the common room, or . . .”

“Oh, I don’t think I could sleep yet,” Claire said.  “This has all been so exciting.  Just let me change right quick, okay?  Then we can hang out up here or go back downstairs if you’d like.”

“Sure, definitely,” Harry said, grinning.  “I’ll just wait here.”

“Thanks.  I know it seems silly, but I just can’t stand to wear this much indoors if I don’t have to.  I’d rather be comfortable, you know?”  Smiling again, she turned and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

For several seconds, Harry stood and stared at the blank door.  Then he turned a chair to face the door and sank into it, trying to force his face into an expression of polite interest.  Unfortunately, his delirious grin kept forcing its way to the surface.

Twenty minutes later, the door opened and Claire emerged.  She had changed into a crimson silk nightgown with spaghetti straps and a heart-shaped neckline.  The fabric clung to her hips and then flared gently down to her knees, where it ended with a few inches of translucent lace.

Harry’s eyes quickly made their way back up to her face, and he was proud to say that they only made a few stops along the way.  “Err . . . are you cold?”

“No.  Why?”

“No reason.  You look nice.”

“Thank you, Harry.  You’re sweet.”

He gestured to the chair across from him.  “Do you want to talk for a bit and go down to the common room later?  I can, you know, answer any questions you may have.”

“Sure!”  Claire bounced across the room and settled into the chair, folding her smooth, creamy legs beneath her.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I have a question first,” Harry said.  At her nod, he continued.  “Where did you come from?  Why are you here?”

“Oh, that.  I’m from a town called Odessa in Texas.  You know what Texas is, right?”

“Sure.  Cowboys and such, right?”

“Yep!  I grew up there, but . . . well, things have gotten a bit rough there for me lately.  It’s a long story.  So I decided to spend my senior year at Hogwarts. I’ve always loved y’all’s accents.”

“Good for us, eh?” Harry said.

“Oh, Harry,” Claire said, leaning forward to squeeze his knee.  “You really are the sweetest.”

“Thanks.  Did you . . . err . . . did you see that village when we got off the train?  Hogsmeade?”

“Sure.  It looks like something off a post card.”

Harry marveled for a moment that she could say so many things he did not understand yet agreed with completely.  “That’s it.  So, sometimes they let us go to Hogsmeade on weekends.  It’s a big outing.  People go down there with friends or . . . or whatever.  So I was wondering if you’d, you know, like to go with me.  Whenever they let us go, I mean.  There’s this really nice little tea shop there, and . . .”

“Oh, Harry,” Claire said again, squeezing him again to stop his bout of verbal incontinence.  Then she leaned back in her chair and smiled gently.  “I have a boyfriend back home, Harry, and I love him all to pieces.”

“Oh.  Well . . . that’s good.”

“It’s the best thing in the world,” she said.  “Why are you asking me out, anyway?  Just to be nice?  ‘Cause I saw you and Ginny together on the train, and I can tell you two are completely in love with each other.”

Harry blinked.  Of course he loved Ginny.  How could he have forgotten?

He grinned.  “Well, I just thought it would be polite.  I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Claire squealed and bounced up onto her knees, leaning forward eagerly.  “So you are in love!  I knew it.  I can always tell.”

“Yeah, we are.  Me and Ginny,” Harry said, finally managing to remain focused on her face.  “She’s wonderful.”

“I bet she is.  She just seemed like she wasn’t feeling well tonight at dinner.”

“Did she?” Harry asked, embarrassed that he had not noticed.  “Do you mind if we go on downstairs, then?  I want to make sure she’s okay.  We’ll be roommates, more or less, so I can answer questions anytime you want.”

“Of course, Harry.  Let me get my robe.”

Harry had no idea why she would want to wear her school uniform when she had not worn it for the feast, but he nodded.  She disappeared into her room and emerged a moment later wearing a long dressing gown that matched her nightdress.  Together, they descended the stairs to the common room.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were sitting in front of the fire, and several other students were scattered around the room in small groups.  When Harry and Claire appeared, Ron stood up and moved away from his place in the middle of the sofa.  Hermione followed him to a loveseat nearby, but Ginny remained on the end of the sofa with her arms crossed.

“Hi, y’all,” Claire said, curling up at the opposite end of the sofa.

Harry sat between the two girls and turned to Ginny.  “Hi.”

She scowled and did not look at him.  “Hello, Harry.”

“Are you feeling all right?  Claire said you didn’t sound very good at dinner.”

“What do you care?” Ginny asked.  “I’m surprised you and Claire even bothered to come down from your little love-nest.”

“What?” Harry asked.  “Ginny . . . how could you say that?  She loves her boyfriend back in America, and I love you.  You know that.”

She turned and met his eyes, her own brown orbs glistening.  “You do?”

“Of course I do.  What’s not to love?”

Ginny threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.  “I love you, too, Harry.  I’m sorry I ever doubted you.  I guess I’m just moody today.”

Harry, who was enjoying the feeling of her chest pressing against his, decided he was not concerned with her mood.  “It’s fine, love.  I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Ginny released him and climbed quickly into his lap.  He put his hand atop her crossed legs, and his eyes immediately found the inviting neckline of her uniform shirt.  Grinning mischievously at him, Ginny reached across the sofa and pulled Claire’s attention away from her conversation with Ron and Hermione.  “Hello.”

“Hi, Ginny.  You feeling okay?”

“Yes, thank you.  I wasn’t myself at dinner today, so I just wanted to introduce myself again.”

“Don’t worry, we all have days like that,” Claire said, winking.

“Harry tells me you have a boyfriend back in America.  How could you stand to leave him?  I’d go spare without Harry.”

Claire nodded, her smile fading to a look of flawless martyrdom.  “It’s awful, it really is.  But I can email him or text him anytime, and I’m going to call him every night.  We’re even going to set up dates on Skype so I can actually see him sometimes.”

Ginny did not know what many of those words meant, but she nodded.  “That’ll be nice.  What’s he like, anyway?”

“He must be pretty special if you love him,” Harry added.

Claire smiled and looked at Ginny.  “Is he always this sweet?”

“Always,” Ginny said.  “Actually, he’s even sweeter when we’re alone.”

“Good for you.  Anyway, my boyfriend . . .”  Claire trailed off and sighed, a dreamy expression overtaking her face.  “He’s incredible.  You all seem like really nice folks, but he’s . . . he’s indescribable.  He totally made me who I am today.  I mean, he’s like, my Saviour or something, you know?”

A small crowd of students had gathered around the fire, listening to Claire, and they all nodded knowingly.

“I mean it.  I was on this really bad path, and-” She broke off and looked around at the group.  “By the way, are any of y’all named after obscure watch makers?  ‘Cause I really can’t be around anyone named after an obscure watch maker.”

“Get lost, Michele,” Ron said, jerking his head towards the door.

The French boy stood up and tossed his head.  “Fine.  She is not my type anyway, yes?  I will go and find my Draco.”  He sashayed out of the common room, his leather pants creaking softly as he moved.

“Oh god, not another gay student,” Hermione muttered.

“Go on, Claire,” Ginny said.  “He’s the only one with a name like that.”

“Great, thanks,” the blonde replied.  “So anyway, my boyfriend totally saved me from all of that.  He’s the one who suggested I come to England for a while, even though I know he misses me as much as I miss him.  I just . . . I can’t tell you how perfect he is.  He’s strong, and handsome, and brave, and smart, and rich, and loyal, and gentle, and sweet, and humble, and . . . and just everything good all at the same time.”

“Does this hero of yours have a name?” Ginny asked, grinning.

“Oh, right.  His name is Dav . . . err . . . Davin.  Yeah, Davin.”

“That’s an unusual name,” Hermione said.

“I know, isn’t it awesome?  I think it’s absolutely the perfect name.”  Suddenly she jumped slightly, reached inside her robe, and pulled out a pink cell phone that was visibly vibrating.  “Oh, speak of my savior.  Hang on, y’all.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Claire said into the phone.  “Awwww . . . yeah, I miss you, too.”  She paused and then giggled.  “Not now, hon, I’m with some friends.  Other students, silly.  It’s one of those places with different houses, kind of like school clubs, and each one gets their own dorms.  I’m in the red one.  I know, right?”

She glanced at Harry and winked.  “Oh, hey, you remember in fourth grade when we had Mrs. Williams for history?  D’you remember hearing about Harry Potter?”  She rolled her eyes.  “Well, I’m not surprised.  You spent that whole year passing me little notes asking if I liked you.  Yes you did!  I still have them.  Anyway, he defeated this seriously dark wizard when we were little, and he’s here at school with me.  Isn’t that cool?

“Hang on.”  Claire pressed the phone to her chest and glanced around at the other students.  “I’m going to go up to bed and see if he’ll sing me to sleep.  Goodnight, y’all.”

“’Night, Claire,” Harry said.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Ginny said, winking at the other girl.

“Oh, you hush.”  With a final smile, Claire turned and headed for the staircase, already talking into the phone.

As the other students drifted away, Ron shook his head.  “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“She’s something, all right,” Hermione said darkly.

Ginny settled against Harry’s chest.  “I like her,” she said.

Hermione’s thick eyebrows rose almost to her bushy hair.  “You do?”

“Yes.  And I think you should, too.”

“Oh.  I suppose I do, then, if you do.”

Harry tilted his head down and whispered into Ginny’s ear as he squeezed her arse with one hand.  “Want to see my love-nest?”

She hummed pleasurably against his chest.  “Definitely.”

“C’mon, then.”

Ginny slid off of Harry’s lap, and he politely gestured for her to precede him up the stairs.