Archive for July, 2005

Harry-Ginny on Book 607.24.05

All the excerpts found below are all from the Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince which shows how the Harry-Ginny relationship flowered in this book. And I myself enjoyed it the most.

* after boarding Hogwarts express…

“Fancy trying to find a compartment?”
“I can’t, Harry, I said I’d meet Dean,” said Ginny brightly. “See you later.”
“Right,” said Harry. He felt a strange twinge of annoyance as she walked away, her long red hair dancing behind her; he had become so used to her presence over the summer that he had almost forgotten that Ginny did not hang around with him, Ron, and Hermione while at school. Then he blinked and looked around: He was surrounded by mesmerized girls.

(Harry felt the first tinge of jealousy…)

Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny Weasley playing with Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this objection.

(It definitely shows here that Harry is now ‘really’ looking at Ginny.)
“Monday evening!” He felt suddenly light and happy. “Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?” he asked.
“I’m going with Dean — might see you there,” she replied, waving at them as she left.

(Harry is inviting Ginny at the Hogsmeade, remember at GoF where Hogsmeade is the very nice for dating couples? Like how Harry wanted to be with Cho at Hogsmeade? Maybe at this point he’s starting to get the idea of going out with her?)

Harry’s thoughts strayed to Ginny as they trudged up the road to Hogwarts through the frozen slush. They had not met up with her, undoubtedly, thought Harry, because she and Dean were cozily closeted in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, that haunt of happy couples. Scowling, he bowed his head against the swirling sleet and trudged on.

(Even though Harry is with his bestfriends, he still thinks of Ginny…)

“Panicked,” Ginny said angrily, landing next to Demelza and examining her fat lip. “You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!”
“I can fix that,” said Harry, landing beside the two girls, pointing his wand at Demelzas mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don’t call Ron a prat, you’re not the Captain of this team —”
“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —”
Harry forced himself not to laugh.
“In the air, everyone, let’s go. . . .”

(Harry is really enjoying now his time with Ginny and how he loves her wit.)

He kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful. When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.
It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry’s stomach, clawing at his insides: Hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Ron’s voice as though from a great distance away.
Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around. “What?” said Ginny.
“I don’t want to find my own sister snogging people in public!” “This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!” said Ginny.
Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return, as the newborn monster inside him was roar-ing for Dean’s instant dismissal from the team.
“Er . . . c’mon, Ginny,” said Dean, “let’s go back to the common room. …”
“You go!” said Ginny. “I want a word with my dear brother!” Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.
“Right,” said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, “let’s get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron —” “Yeah, it is!” said Ron, just as angrily. “D’ you think I want peo-ple saying my sister’s a —”
“A what?” shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. “A what, exactly?” “He doesn’t mean anything, Ginny —” said Harry automati-cally, though the monster was roaring its approval of Ron’s words. “Oh yes he does!” she said, flaring up at Harry. “Just because he’s never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he’s ever had is from our Auntie Muriel —”
“Shut your mouth!” bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.
“No, I will not!” yelled Ginny, beside herself. “I’ve seen you with Phlegm, hoping she’ll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it’s pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done your self, you wouldn’t mind so much that everyone else does it!”
Ron had pulled out his wand too; Harry stepped swiftly between them.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ron roared, trying to get a clear shot at Ginny around Harry, who was now standing in front of her with his arms outstretched. “Just because I don’t do it in public — !”
Ginny screamed with derisive laughter, trying to push Harry out of the way.
“Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?” You —
A streak of orange light flew under Harrys left arm and missed Ginny by inches; Harry pushed Ron up against the wall.
“Don’t be stupid —”
“Harry’s snogged Cho Chang!” shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. “And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, it’s only you who acts like it’s something disgusting, Ron, and that’s because you’ve got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!”
And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They both stood there, breath-ing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Rich’s cat, appeared around the cor-ner, which broke the tension.
“C’mon,” said Harry, as the sound of Filch’s shuffling feet reached their ears.
They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor. “Oi, out of the way!” Ron barked at a small girl who jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toadspawn.
Harry hardly noticed the sound of shattering glass; he felt dis-oriented, dizzy; being struck by a lightning bolt must be something like this. It’s just because she’s Ron’s sister, he told himself. You just didn’t like seeing her kissing Dean because she’s Ron’s sister. . . .
But unbidden into his mind came an image of that same de-serted corridor with himself kissing Ginny instead. . . . The mon-ster in his chest purred . . . but then he saw Ron ripping open the tapestry curtain and drawing his wand on Harry, shouting things like “betrayal of trust” . . . “supposed to be my friend” . . .
“D’you think Hermione did snog Krum?” Ron asked abruptly, as they approached the Fat Lady. Harry gave a guilty start and wrenched his imagination away from a corridor in which no Ron intruded, in which he and Ginny were quite alone — “What?” he said confusedly. “Oh … er …” The honest answer was “yes,” but he did not want to give it. However, Ron seemed to gather the worst from the look on Harry’s face.
“Dilligrout,” he said darkly to the Fat Lady, and they climbed through the portrait hole into the common room.
Neither of them mentioned Ginny or Hermione again; indeed, they barely spoke to each other that evening and got into bed in si-lence, each absorbed in his own thoughts,
Harry lay awake for a long time, looking up at the canopy of his four-poster and trying to convince himself that his feelings for Ginny were entirely elder-brotherly. They had lived, had they not, like brother and sister all summer, playing Quidditch, teasing Ron, and having a laugh about Bill and Phlegm? He had known Ginny for years now. … It was natural that he should feel protective . . . natural that he should want to look out for her . . . want to rip Dean limb from limb for kissing her… No … he would have to control that particular brotherly feeling. . . .
Ron gave a great grunting snore.
She’s Ron’s sister, Harry told himself firmly. Ron’s sister. She’s out-of-bounds. He would not risk his friendship with Ron for anything. He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and waited for sleep to come, trying his utmost not to allow his thoughts to stray anywhere near Ginny.
Harry awoke next morning feeling slightly dazed and confused by a series of dreams in which Ron had chased him with a Beater’s bat, but by midday he would have happily exchanged the dream Ron for the real one, who was not only cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with an icy, sneering indifference.

(First time that Harry realized that his feelings for Ginny are not elderly-brother anymore.)

*…after winning the Quidditch match against Slytherine…

Laughing, Harry broke free of the rest of the team and hugged Ginny, but let go very quickly. Avoiding her gaze, he clapped cheering Ron on the back instead as, all enmity forgotten, the Gryffindor team left the pitch arm in arm, punching the air ami waving to their supporters.

(Harry cannot help showing up his real emotions!!!)

“There isn’t anyone I want to invite,” mumbled Harry, who was still not trying to think about Ginny any more than he could help, despite the fact the fact that she kept cropping up in his dreams in ways that made him devoutly thankful that Ron could not perform Legilimency.

(Harry is getting more serious now with Ginny, though he doubts if it’s ok with Ron.)

You could’ve taken anyone!” said Ron in disbelief over dinner. “Anyone! And you chose Loony Lovegood?”
“Don’t call her that, Ron!” snapped Ginny, pausing behind Harry on her way to join friends. “I’m really glad you’re taking her Harry, she’s so excited.”
And she moved on down the table to sit with Dean. Harry tried to feel pleased that Ginny was glad he was taking Luna to the party but could not quite manage it.

(Harry’s jealous heart!)

“Harry, you’ve got a maggot in your hair,” said Ginny cheerfully, leaning across the table to pick it out; Harry felt goose bumps erupt up his neck that had nothing to do with the maggot.

(Now, Harry is putting some malice…hehehe!)

Hermione gave a tinkling laugh and said, “There’s a cable over here… Coming. Ginny?”
“No, thanks, I said I’d meet Dean,” said Ginny, though Harry could not help noticing that she did not sound very enthusiastic.

(Some hope for Harry, at last!)

“Ginny came in to visit while you were unconscious,” he said, after a long pause, and Harry’s imagination zoomed into overdrive, rapidly constructing a scene in which Ginny, weeping over his lifeless form, confessed her feelings of deep attraction to him while Ron gave them his blessing. . . .”She reckons you only just arrived on time for the match. How come? You left here early enough.”

(Even in pain, Ginny can give Harry happiness …how sweet!)

Hermione even escorted them down to breakfast, bringing with her the news that Ginny had argued with Dean. The drowsing creature in Harry’s chest suddenly raised its head, sniffing the air hopefully.
“What did they row about?” he asked, trying to sound casual as they turned onto a seventh-floor corridor that was deserted but for a very small girl who had been examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looked terrified at the sight of the approaching sixth years and dropped the heavy brass scales she was carrying.
“It’s all right!” said Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. “Here …”
She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, “Reparo.” The girl did not say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as they passed and watched them out of sight; Ron glanced back at her.
“I swear they’re getting smaller,” he said.
“Never mind her,” said Harry, a little impatiently. “What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?”
“Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it,” said Harry, still trying to sound casual. “Or are they still together?”
“Yes, they are — but why are you so interested?” asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look.
“I just don’t want my Quidditch team messed up again!” he said hastily, but Hermione continued to look suspicious, and he was most relieved when a voice behind them called, “Harry!” giving him an excuse to turn his back on her. “Oh, hi, Luna.”

(Uhm…Hermione is noticing your secret now Harry!)

“Use your lucky potion!”
“Ron, that’s — that’s it!” said Hermione, sounding stunned. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it?”
Harry stared at them both. “Felix Felicis?” he said. “I dunno . . . I was sort of saving it. …”
“What for?” demanded Ron incredulously.
“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” asked Hermione.
Harry did not answer. The thought of that little golden bottle had hovered on the edges of his imagination for some time; vague and unformulated plans that involved Ginny splitting up with Dean, and Ron somehow being happy to see her with a new boyfriend, had been fermenting in the depths of his brain, unacknowledged except during dreams or the twilight time between sleeping and waking. . . .
“Harry? Are you still with us?” asked Hermione.
“Wha — ? Yeah, of course,” he said, pulling himself together.

(Well, it show’s how much Harry fancies Ginny, huh?)

Getting through the portrait hole was simple; as he approached it, Ginny and Dean came through it, and Harry was able to slip between them. As he did so, he brushed accidentally against Ginny.
“Don’t push me, please, Dean,” she said, sounding annoyed. ; “You’re always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own. …”
The portrait swung closed behind Harry, but not before he had heard Dean make an angry retort.. . . His feeling of elation in-creasing, Harry strode off through the castle.

(Now we can say that the Felix Felicis is really working, and somehow Harry should thank the Half-Blood Prince for the book…hehehe!)

“Coward,” said Hermione, though she looked amused. “Well, it was a bad night for romance all around. Ginny and Dean split up too, Harry.”
Harry thought there was a rather knowing look in her eye as she told him that, but she could not possibly know that his insides were suddenly dancing the conga. Keeping his face as immobile and his voice as indifferent as he could, he asked, “How come?”
“Oh, something really silly . . . She said he was always trying to help her through the portrait hole, like she couldn’t climb in herself . . . but they’ve been a bit rocky for ages.”
Harry glanced over at Dean on the other side of the classroom. He certainly looked unhappy.
“Of course, this puts you in a bit of a dilemma, doesn’t it?” said Hermione.
“What d’you mean?” said Harry quickly.
“The Quidditch team,” said Hermione. “If Ginnyand Dean aren’t speaking . . .”
“Oh — oh yeah,” said Harry.

(Well, Harry should celebrate now!)

Neither of them seemed to have noticed that a fierce battle was raging inside Harry’s brain:
She’s Rons sister.
But she’s ditched Dean!
She’s still Rons sister.
I’m his best mate!
That’ll make it worse.
If I talked to him first —
He’d hit you.
What if I don’t care?
He’s your best mate!
Harry barely noticed that they were climbing through the portrait hole into the sunny common room…

(Just follow your heart!)

Ginny did not seem at all upset about the breakup with Dean; on the contrary, she was the life and soul of the team. Her imitations of Ron anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goal posts as the Quaffle sped toward him, or of Harry bellowing orders at McLaggen before being knocked out cold, kept them all highly amused. Harry, laughing with the others, was glad to have an innocent reason to look at Ginny; he had received several more Bludger injuries during practice because he had not been keeping his eyes on the Snitch.
The battle still raged inside his head: Ginny or Ron? Sometimes he thought that the post-Lavender Ron might not mind too much if he asked Ginny out, but then he remembered Ron’s expression when he had seen her kissing Dean, and was sure that Ron would consider it base treachery if Harry so much as held her hand. . . .
Yet Harry could not help himself talking to Ginny, laughing with her, walking back from practice with her; however much his conscience ached, he found himself wondering how best to get her on her own. It would have been ideal if Slughorn had given another of his little parties, for Ron would not be around — but unfortunately, Slughorn seemed to have given them up. Once or twice Harry considered asking for Hermione’s help, but he did not think he could stand seeing the smug look on her face; he thought he caught it sometimes when Hermione spotted him staring at Ginny or laughing at her jokes. And to complicate matters, he had the nagging worry that if he didn’t do it, somebody else was sure to ask Ginny out soon: He and Ron were at least agreed on the fact that she was too popular for her own good.
All in all, the temptation to take another gulp of Felix Felicis was becoming stronger by the day, for surely this was a case for, as Hermione put it, “tweaking the circumstances”? The balmy days slid gently through May, and Ron seemed to be there at Harry’s shoulder every time he saw Ginny. Harry found himself longing for a stroke of luck that would somehow cause Ron to realize that nothing would make him happier than his best friend and his sister falling for each other and to leave them alone together for longer than a few seconds. There seemed no chance of either while the final Quidditch game of the season was looming; Ron wanted to talk tactics with Harry all the time and had little thought for anything else.

(Love is growing here..)

He was having a bad enough time without Hermione lecturing him; the looks on the Gryffindor team’s faces when he had told them he would not be able to play on Saturday had been the worst punishment of all. He could feel Ginny’s eyes on him now but did not meet them; he did not want to see disappointment or anger there. He had just told her that she would be playing Seeker on Saturday and that Dean would be rejoining the team as Chaser in her place. Perhaps, if they won, Ginny and Dean would make up during the post-match euphoria. . . . The thought went through Harry like an icy knife. . . .

(Just thinking of Ginny-Dean getting back together is really hurting him.)

“Give it a rest, Hermione!” said Ginny, and Harry was so amazed, so grateful, he looked up. “By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!”
“Well, of course I’m glad Harry wasn’t cursed!” said Hermione, clearly stung. “But you can’t call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it’s landed him! And I’d have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —”
“Oh, don’t start acting as though you understand Quidditch,” snapped Ginny, “you’ll only embarrass yourself.”
Harry and Ron stared: Hermione and Ginny, who had always got on together very well, were now sitting with their arms folded, glaring in opposite directions. Ron looked nervously at Harry, then snatched up a book at random and hid behind it. Harry, however, little though he knew he deserved it, felt unbelievably cheerful all of a sudden, even though none of them spoke again for the rest of the evening.

(Well…seems that Ginny still have some feelings for Harry)

“We won!” yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. “We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!”
Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
After several long moments — or it might have been half an hour — or possibly several sunlit days — they broke apart. The room had gone very quiet. Then several people wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of nervous giggling. Harry looked over the top of Ginny’s head to see Dean Thomas holding a shattered glass in his hand, and Romilda Vane looking as though she might throw something. Hermione was beaming, but Harry’s eyes sought Ron. At last he found him, still clutching the Cup and wearing an expression appropriate to having been clubbed over the head. For a fraction of a second they looked at each other, then Ron gave a tiny jerk of the head that Harry understood to mean, Well—if you must.
The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, he grinned down at Ginny and gestured wordlessly out of the portrait hole. A long walk in the grounds seemed indicated, during which — if they had time — they might discuss the match.

(The realization of all Harry and Ginny’s dream!)

The fact that Harry Potter was going out with Ginny Weasley seemed to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry found himself newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks. After all, it made a very nice change to be talked about because of something that was making him happier than he could remember being for a very long time, rather than because he had been involved in horrific scenes of Dark magic.
‘You’d think people had better things to gossip about,’ said Ginny, as she sat on the common-room floor, leaning against Harry’s legs and reading the Daily Prophet. Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it’s true you’ve got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.’
Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.
‘What did you tell her?’
‘ I told her it’s a Hungarian Horntail,’ said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. ‘Much more macho.’
Thanks,’ said Harry, grinning. ‘And what did you tell her Ron’s got?’
‘A Pygmy Puff, but I didn’t say where.’
Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing.
‘Watch it,’ he said, pointing warmingly at Harry and Ginny. ‘Just because I’ve given my permission doesn’t mean I can’t withdraw it -’
“Your permission”,’ scoffed Ginny. ‘Since when did you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself you’d rather it was Harry than Michael or Dean.’
‘Yeah, I would,’ said Ron grudgingly. ‘And just as long as you don’t start snogging each other in public -’
‘You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrash-ing around like a pair of eels all over the place?’ demanded Ginny.
But Ron’s tolerance was not to be tested much as they moved into June, for Harry and Ginny’s time together was becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny’s O.W.L.s were approaching and she was therefore forced to revise for hours into the night. On one such evening, when Ginny had retired to the library and Harry was sitting beside the window in the common room, supposedly finishing his Herbology home-work but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour he had spent down by the lake with Ginny at lunch-time, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.
‘I want to talk to you, Harry.’

‘What about?’ said Harry suspiciously. Only the previous day, Hermione had told him off for distracting Ginny when she ought to be working hard for her examinations.
The so-called Half-Blood Prince.’
‘Oh, not again,’ he groaned. ‘Will you please drop it?’
He had not dared to return to the Room of Requirement to retrieve his book, and his performance in Potions was suffer-ing accordingly (though Slughorn, who approved of Ginny, had jocularly attributed this to Harry being lovesick).

(Sweet days…hehehe!)

He was finding these detentions particularly irksome because they cut into the already limited time he could have been spending with Ginny. Indeed, he had frequently won-dered lately whether Snape did not know this, for he was keeping Harry later and later every time, while making pointed asides about Harry having to miss the good weather and the varied opportunities it offered.

(I would also hate Snape for doing that if I am Ginnny..)

‘You need what’s wrapped in them, it’s the Felix Felicis. Share it between yourselves and Ginny too. Say goodbye to her from me. I’d better go, Dumbledore’s waiting -’

(Harry is thinking of Ginny above himself.)

… It seemed hours and hours ago that he had met Professor Trelawney, that he had given Ron and Hermione Felix Felicis. . . . He suddenly wished he had said a better good-bye to them . . . and he hadn’t seen Ginny at all. . .

(Missing her already? Harry should concentrate! Hehehe!)

How long had they been away? Had Ron, Hermione and Ginny’s luck run out by now? Was it one of them who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or was it Neville, or Luna, or some other member of the DA? And if it was … he was the one who had told them to patrol the corridors, he had asked them to leave the safety of their beds … would he be responsible, again, for the death of a friend?

(Shows one of Harry’s attitude, which possibly why Ginny loves the guy!)

There were two bodies lying there, lying facedown in a pool of blood, but there was no time to investigate. Harry now saw red hair flying like flames in front of him: Ginny was locked in combat with the lumpy Death Eater, Amycus, who was throwing hex after hex at her while she dodged them: Amycus was giggling, enjoying the sport: “Crucio – Crucio – you can’t dance forever, pretty-”
“Impedimenta!” yelled Harry.
His jinx hit Amycus in the chest: He gave a piglike squeal of pain, was lifted off his feet and slammed into the opposite wall, slid down it, and fell out of sight behind Ron, Professor McGonagall, and Lupin, each of whom was battling a separate Death Eater. Beyond them, Harry saw Tonks fighting an enormous blond wizard who was sending curses flying in all directions, so that they ricocheted off the walls around them, cracking stone, shattering the nearest window -
“Harry, where did you come from?” Ginny cried, but there was no time to answer her. He put his head down and sprinted forward, narrowly avoiding a blast that erupted over his head, showering them all in bits of wall.

(Even on great danger, love still finds a way.)

A much smaller and warmer hand had enclosed his and was pulling him upward. He obeyed its pressure without really thinking about it. Only as he walked blindly back through the crowd did he realize, from a trace of flowery scent on the air, that it was Ginny who was leading him back into the castle. Incomprehensible voices battered him, sobs and shouts and wails stabbed the night, but Harry and Ginny walked on, back up the steps into the entrance hall.

(Somehow unconsciously Harry is following Ginny, showing how much effect Ginny has to Harry.)

“We’re going to the hospital wing,” said Ginny.
“I’m not hurt,” said Harry. !
“It’s McGonagalls orders,” said Ginny. “Everyone’s up there, Ron and Hermione and Lupin and everyone -”

(Harry is following Ginny, underdog? LOL! hehehe!)

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were spending all of their time together. The beautiful weather seemed to mock them; Harry could imagine how it would have been if Durnbledore had not died, and they had had this time together at the very end of the year, Ginny’s examinations finished, the pressure of homework lifted … and hour by hour, he put off saying the thing that he knew he must say, doing what he knew it was right to do, because it was too hard to forgo his best source of comfort.

(Harry now is realizing the effect of Dumbledores death…)

‘I suppose I’m just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her,’ sighed Ginny later that evening, as she, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking out over the twilit grounds,
‘She’s not that bad,’ said Harry. ‘Ugly, though,’ he added hastily, as Ginny raised her eyebrows, and she let out a reluctant giggle.
‘Well, I suppose if Mum can stand it, 1 can.’
‘Anyone else we know died?’ Ron asked Hermione, who was perusing the Evening Prophet.
Hermione winced at the forced toughness in his voice.
‘No,’ she said reprovingly, folding up the newspaper. ‘They’re still looking for Snape, but no sign …’
‘Of course there isn’t,’ said Harry, who became angry every lime this subject cropped up. They won’t find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they’ve never managed to do that in all this time …’
‘I’m going to go to bed,’ yawned Ginny. ‘I haven’t been sleeping that well since … well … I could do with some sleep.’
She kissed Harry (Ron looked away pointedly), waved at the other two and departed for the girls’ dormitories.

(This is really sweet…)

Harry looked at Ginny, Ron and Hermione: Ron’s face was screwed up as though the sunlight was blinding him. Hermione’s face was glazed with tears, but Ginny was no longer crying. She met Harry’s gaze with the same hard, blazing look that he had seen when she had hugged him after winning the Quidditch Cup in his absence, and he knew that at that moment they understood each other perfectly, and that when he told her what he was going to do now, she would not say ‘Be careful’, or ‘Don’t do it’, but accept his decision, because she would not have expected anything less of him. And so he steeled himself to say what he had known he must say ever since Dumbledore had died.
‘Ginny, listen …’ he said very quietly, as the buzz of con-versation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet. ‘I can’t be involved with you any more. We’ve got to stop seeing each other. We can’t be together.’
She said, with an oddly twisted smile, ‘It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?’
‘It’s been like … like something out of someone else’s life, these last few weeks with you,’ said Harry. ‘But 1 can’t … we can’t … I’ve got things to do alone now.’
She did not cry, she simply looked at him,

‘Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He’s already used you as bait once, and that was just because you’re my best friend’s sister. Think how much danger you’ll be in if we keep this up. He’ll know, he’ll find out. He’ll try and get to me through you.’
‘What if I don’t care?’ said Ginny fiercely.
‘I care,’ said Harry. ‘How do you think I’d feel if this was your funeral … and it was my fault …’
She looked away from him, over the lake.
T never really gave up on you,’ she said. ‘Not really. I always hoped … Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more – myself.’
‘Smart girl, that Hermione,’ said Harry, trying to smile. ‘I just wish I’d asked you sooner. We coukTve had ages … months … years maybe …’
‘But you’ve been too busy saving the wizarding world,’ said Ginny, half-laughing. ‘Well … I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn’t be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.’

Harry could not bear to hear these things, nor did he think his resolution would hold if he remained sitting beside her. Ron, he saw, was now holding Hermione and stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping from the end of his own long nose. With a miserable gesture, Harry got up, turned his back on Ginny and on Dumbledore’s tomb and walked away around the lake. Moving felt much more bearable than sitting still: just as setting out as soon as possible to track down the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort would feel better than waiting to do it …

(This is the hardest thing that Harry ever has to do, and my heart is crying for him as well)

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Harry Potter 6 – The Half Blood Prince07.20.05

I just finished reading the book. I got it yesterday. The book is wonderful. I was really touched when I was reading the last chapter. It is really touching. The things that Harry has to sacrifice, his friends and his love. With Harry Potter 4 (Goblet of Fire), he was involved with Cho Chang. And I knew that sooner or later he will fall in love with Ginny, who really loves and understands him. It was really sweet when they kissed after winning the Quidditch Cup. I just hoped that in the end after Harry killed Voldemort, he will find his way back to Ginny. True love conquers all!!!

I’m looking forward for Book 7…Will that be the end of the Harry Potter Saga? Or one Horcruxes per book. I’m really excited.

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p o o p i e s07.18.05

The Poopie List

For some strange reason, women are less able to appreciate and marvel at the rich variety, the dimensional and textural distinctions, the olfactory nuances, as well as the experiential concomitants of this most fundamental physiological function.

Ghost Poopie

The kind where you feel the poopie come out, but there is no poopie in the toilet.

Clean Poopie

The kind where you poopie it out, see it in the toilet, but there is nothing on the toilet paper.

Wet Poopie

The kind where you wipe your butt 50 times and it still feels unwiped, so you have to put some toilet paper between your butt and underwear so you won’t ruin them with a stain.

Second Wave Poopie

This happens when you’re done Poopie-ing and you’ve pulled up your pants to your knees, and you realize that you have to Poopie some more.

Richard Simmons Poopie

You poopie so much you lose 30 pounds.

Gassy Poopie

It’s so noisy, everyone within earshot is laughing.

Drinker Poopie

The kind of Poopie you have the morning after a long night of drinking. Its most noticeable trait is the skid marks on the bottom of the toilet.

Lincoln Log Poopie

The kind of Poopie that is so huge you’re afraid to flush without first breaking it into little pieces with the toilet brush.

Corn Poopie


Gee-I-Wish-I-Could-Poopie Poopie

The kind where you want to Poopie but all you do is sit on the toilet and fart a few times.

Wet Cheeks Poopie (The Power Dump)

The kind that comes out of your butt so fast, your butt gets splashed with water.

Liquid Poopie

The kind where yellowish-brown liquid shoots out your butt and splashes all over the toilet bowl.

Mexican Poopie

It smells so bad your nose burns and the room must be condemned.

Spinal Tap Poopie

That’s where it hurts so badly coming out, you could swear it was leaving you sideways.


The kind where you strain so much to get it out, you practically have a stroke.

The ‘I-think-I’m-giving-birth-through-my-asshole’ Poopie

Similar to the Lincoln Log and The Spinal Tap Poopies. The shape and size of the turd resembles a tall boy beer can. Vacuous air space remains in the rectum for some time afterwards.

The Porridge Poopie

The type that comes out like toothpaste, and just keeps on coming. You have two choices:
flush and keep going, or risk it piling up to your butt while you sit there, helpless.

The ‘I’m-going-to-chew-my-food-better’ Poopie

When the bag of Dorritos you ate last night lacerates the insides of your rectum on the way out in the morning.

The ‘I-think-I’m-turning-into-a-bunny’ Poopie

When you drop lots of cute, little round ones that look like marbles and make tiny splishy sounds when they hit the water.

The ‘What-the-hell-died-in-here’ Poopie

Also sometimes referred to as The Toxic Dump. Of course you don’t warn anyone of the poisonous bathroom odour. Instead, you stand innocently near the door and enjoy the show as they run out a-gagging and a-gasping for air.

The ‘I-just-know-there’s-a-turd-still-dangling-there’ Poopie

Where you just sit there patiently and wait for the last cling-on to drop.

Champagne Poopie

You’re so constipated that by the time the cork blows, a bubbly liquid streams from your ass.

Kling-On Poopie

The kind where, when you go to wipe it, it’s there waiting on the edge.

Blow Out Poopie

The Poopie that’s preceeded by a fart so vicious, you have to check the bowl afterwards to make sure there are no cracks.

Exorcist Poopie

The kind where yellowish-brownish liquid shoots out of your ass and burns your ass while it splatters all over the toilet. (See Liquid Poopie)

Peek-A-Boo Poopie

It comes halfway out, then it goes back in, comes back out, goes back in, etc.

Pregnancy Poopie

The kind where you’re really backed up and it makes you grunt and wheeze for a long while until it finally splits your crack in a child bearing fashion.(See Pop a Vein Poopie, Spinal Tap Poopie)

Rabbit Poopie

It comes in cute, round portions, but there loads of it about. Actually, you’re never really finished, but stop at some point from boredom.

Alphabet Poopie

It comes leisurely, with one or a few breakaways, and when you look at it
you think: “Doesn’t that just look like the letter …?”

Feminist Poopie

No matter what it looks like or how it comes out, it’s a man’s fault.

Blowtorch Poopie

Poopie that burns your ass so much, you’d swear that it’s flammable. (usually occurs morning after eating WAY too much spicy food).

Dual Density Poopie

The kind where some poopie floats and some poopie sinks to the bottom of the bowl.

Ribbon Poopie

A semiliquid fecal matter that is too thin to be a Lincoln Log Poopie but not runny enough to be a Liquid Poopie. Rather, it looks like a 1-inch wide piece of brownish fettuccine, with some specks of color.

The Public Poopie

Poopie that reminds your senses of the warm, moist stench that embraces you when you enter a less than sanitary public restroom.

Fat Boy Poopie

Poopie powerful enough to level a small city.

Flood Poopie

You poopie so much that it acts like a huge sandbag and ends up flooding your bowl and running out all over the place, leaving you to clean up a brown,pasty mess. (Add a bonus point if John Mellencamp does a relief concert to help cleanup efforts)

Dream Poopie

When you haven’t been to the toilet in 14 days, this is the Poopie that you’ll be dreaming about.

Upper Class Poopie

The kind that thinks it doesn’t smell.

The Liquid Plumber Poopie

This kind of poopie is so big it plugs up the toilet and it overflows all over the floor. You should have followed the advice from the Lincoln Log Poopie.

The Surprise Poopie

You’re not even at the toilet because you are sure you’re about to fart, but oops…….a Poopie!!!

The Dangling Poopie

This Poopie refuses to drop into the toilet even though you know you are done Poopie-ing it. You just pray that a shake or two will cut it loose.

The Mood Enhancer Poopie

This poopie occurs after a lengthy period of constipation, thereby allowing you to be your old self again.

The Ritual Poopie

This poopie occurs at the same time each day and is accomplished with the aid of a newspaper.

The Guiness Book of Records Poopie

A poopie so noteworthy it should be recorded for future generations.

The Aftershock Poopie

This poopie has an odour so powerful that anyone entering the vicinity within the next 7 hours is physiologically affected.

The “Honeymoon’s Over” Poopie

This is any poopie created in the presence of another person.

The Groaner Poopie

A poopie so huge it cannot exit without vocal assistance.

The Floater Poopie

Characterized by its floatability, this poopie has been known to resurface after many flushings.

The Ranger Poopie

A poopie refuses to let go. It is usually necessary to engage in a rocking or bouncing motion, but quite often the only solution is to push it away with a small piece of toilet paper.

The Bombshell Poopie

A poopie that comes as a complete surprise at a time that is either inappropriate to poopie (ie. during lovemaking or a root canal) or you are nowhere near poopieing facilities.

The Snake Charmer Poopie

A long skinny poopie which has managed to coil itself into a frightening position – usually harmless.

The Olympic Poopie

This poopie occurs exactly one hour prior to the start of any competitive event in which you are entered and bears a close resemblance to the Drinker’s poopie.

The Back-To-Nature Poopie

This poopie may be of any variety but is always deposited either in the woods or while hiding behind the passenger side of your car.

The Pebbles-From-Heaven Poopie

An adorable collection of small turds in a cluster, often a gift from heaven when you actually CAN’T poopie.

The Premeditated Poopie

Laxative induced. Doesn’t count.

The Schizophrenic Poopie

Fear of poopieing – can be fatal!

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Currently reading the book Persuasion lended to me by Len. Thanks Len!

For summary…

Persuasion was Austen’s final completed novel and was written between 1815 and 1816, and published incompletely revised immediately after her death with Northanger Abbey. As so often in Austen’s novels, Persuasion concerns the social issues of her time and particularly the matter of class. The story begins with the letting of Sir Walter Elliot’s seat, Kellynch Hall, to his annoyance as a man of self-aggrandising and showy tendencies. Persuasion is the tale of the romance between his pretty and friendly younger daughter Anne who meets the novel’s hero, Captain Wentworth and in spite of social barriers and the rival Musgrove sisters – Louisa and Henrietta – pursues his affection having once turned him down as a spouse. Accidents and various engagements ensue leading to what the reader hopes will be another finale of poetic justice and requited love.

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a visit07.14.05

A visit from Aimz and Luisa. This is Luisa’s first visit to our humble home. We have to go to munisipyo with Malen. This to have them all as friend. Always very supportive.

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A friend emailed me this and I really liked it. Thanks Fritzie!


TRUST is a very important factor for all relationships. When trust is broken, it is the end of the relationship. Lack of trust leads to suspicion, suspicion generates anger, anger causes enmity and enmity may result in separation.

A telephone operator told me that one day she received a phone call. She answered, “Public Utilities Board.” There was silence. She repeated, “PUB.” There was still no answer. When she was going to cut off the line, she heard a lady’s voice, “Oh, so this is PUB. Sorry, I got the number from my Husband’s pocket but I do not know whose number it is.”

Without mutual trust, just imagine what will happen to the couple if the telephone operator answered with just “hello” instead of “PUB”.

A man asked his father-in-law, “Many people praised you for a successful marriage. Could you please share with me your secret?”

The father-in-law answered in a smile, “Never criticize your wife for her shortcomings or when she does something wrong. Always bear in mind that because of her shortcomings and weaknesses, she could not find a better husband than you.”

We all look forward to being loved and respected. Many people are afraid of losing face. Generally, when a person makes a mistake, he would look around to find a scapegoat to point the finger at. This is the start of a war. We should always remember that when we point one finger at a person, the other four fingers are pointing at ourselves.

If we forgive the others, others will ignore our mistake too.

A person visited the government matchmaker for marriage, SDU, and requested “I am looking for a spouse. Please help me to find a suitable one.” The SDU officer said, “Your requirements, please.” “Oh, good looking, polite, humorous, sporty, knowledgeable, and good in singing and dancing. Willing to accompany me the whole day at home during my leisure hour, if I don’t go out. Telling me interesting stories when I need companion for conversation and be silent when I want to rest.” The officer listened carefully and replied, “I understand you need television.”

There is a saying that a perfect match can only be found between a blind wife and a deaf husband, because the blind wife cannot see the faults of the husband and the deaf husband cannot hear the nagging of the wife. Many couples are blind and deaf at the courting stage and dream of perpetual perfect relationship. Unfortunately, when the excitement of love wears off, they wake up and discover that marriage is not a bed of roses. The nightmare begins.

Many relationships fail because one party tries to overpower another, or demands too much. People in love tend to think that love will conquer all and their spouses will change the bad habits after marriage. Actually, this is not the case. There is a Chinese saying which carries the meaning that “It is easier to reshape a mountain or a river than a person’s character.”

It is not easy to change. Thus, having high expectation on changing the spouse character will cause disappointment and unpleasantness.

It would be less painful to change ourselves and lower our expectations…

There is a Chinese saying which carries the meaning that “A speech will either prosper or ruin a nation.” Many relationships break off because of wrong speech. When a couple is too close with each other, we always forget mutual respect and courtesy. We may say anything without considering if it would hurt the other party.

A friend and her millionaire husband visited their construction site. A worker who wore a helmet saw her and shouted,”Hi, Emily! Remember me? We used to date in the secondary school.” On the way home, her millionaire husband teased her, “Luckily you married me. Otherwise you will be the wife of a construction worker.” She answered,”You should appreciate that you married me. Otherwise, he will be the millionaire and not you.”

Frequently exchanging these remarks plants the seed for a bad relationship. It’s like a broken egg – cannot be reversed.

Different people have different perception. One man’s meat could be another man’s poison. A couple bought a donkey from the market. On the way home, a boy commented, “Very stupid. Why neither of them rides on the donkey?” Upon hearing that, the husband let the wife ride on the donkey. He walked besides them. Later, an old man saw it and commented, “The husband is the head of family. How can the wife ride on the donkey while the husband is on foot?” Hearing this, the wife quickly got down and let the husband ride on the donkey.

Further on the way home, they met an old Lady. She commented, “How can the man ride on the donkey but let the wife walk. He is no gentleman.”
The husband thus quickly asked the wife to join him on the donkey. Then, they met a young man. He commented, “Poor donkey, how can you hold up the weight of two persons. They are cruel to you.” Hearing that, the husband and wife immediately climbed down from the donkey and carried it on their shoulders.

It seems to be the only choice left. Later, on a narrow bridge, the donkey was frightened and struggled. They lost their balance and fell into the river. You can never have everyone praise you, nor will everyone condemn you. Never in the past, not at present, and never will be in the future.

Thus, do not be too bothered by others words if our conscience is clear…

This is a true story which happened in the States. A man came out of his home to admire his new truck. To his puzzlement, his three-year-old son was happily hammering dents into the shiny paint of the truck. The man ran to his son, knocked him away, hammered the little boy’s hands into pulp as punishment. When the father calmed down, he rushed his son to the hospital.

Although the doctor tried desperately to save the crushed bones, he finally had to amputate the fingers from both the boy’s hands. When the boy woke up from the surgery & saw his bandaged stubs, he innocently said, “Daddy, I’m sorry about your truck.” Then he asked, “But when are my fingers going to grow back?” The father went home & committed suicide.

Think about this story the next time someone steps on your feet or u wish to take revenge. Think first before u lose your patience with someone u love. Trucks can be repaired… Broken bones & hurt feelings often can’t. Too often we fail to recognize the difference between the person and the performance. We forget that forgiveness is greater than revenge.

People make mistakes. We are allowed to make mistakes. But the actions we take while in a rage will haunt us forever.

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ESCA Team Building @ SM Megamall07.12.05

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ESCA Team Building @ SM Megamall07.12.05

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ESCA Team Building @ SM Megamall07.12.05

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