[A/N: Well, here it is at last. My promised "really weird" pairing. I've been calling this piece "enstrophe" since its conception, but the inversion that title implies wasn't revealing itself in the story too well. And just a few days ago a new title came to me (something that rarely happens; I generally write stories *around* a title.) Entelechy, simply put, is a completion- a full development or realization. That's what I think this fic is all about. I know, you're thinking, Ginny and Oliver? But why not?
To Sky, who is generally amazing and awesome; to Chris, who boosts my ego and writes like a dream; to Alicia and Apopilis, just cos.]
She knew he was home; it was his day off from the joke shop. Sighing, she gathered up her robes went to knock on his door. "Fred, you've something from the post."
There was no response.
Irritably she jerked open his door. "Fred-"
The glare of bare flesh made her mouth drop. For one thing, she hadn't the slightest who that girl underneath her brother was, and for another- fuck, how did she bend like that? Wasn't that painful?
Startled, the two stared at her.
"Um, I'm sorry," she said lamely after she regained her powers of speech. She dropped the letters just inside the doorway and closed it quickly.
She shook her head, trying to clear the unpleasant images from her brain. "This is just a bad day," she mumbled to her herself. "I think I deserve a scone just to balance out this karma."
She was pleasantly surprised to find George lounging around in the kitchen. "Hey, Gin," he said wryly. "Hear that commotion back there. Quite the mood-killer you are."
She flushed. "Shut up. Who is she?"
He scratched his forehead. "LaMora, maybe? Or LaNesa. La-something-or-other."
Ginny rolled her eyes and headed for the pantry. She rifled around the shelves. "Have you seen my scones?"
"Nope," came the reply, far too hastily to be innocent.
Turning around, she spotted several crumbs of evidence on his chin. "George," she said dangerously, "you didn't eat them, did you?"
"I might have done," he said evasively. "Could have been Fred, though." But George was skilled at the art of saving his ass. "Bad day today?"
"Oh, the worst," she said vehemently. She turned back to the cupboards and began searching again. "The Ministry just doesn't seem to listen to me. Apparently I'm too- dammit, George, did you eat all the sweets in here?"
"There's a bit of chocolate behind the bread on the third shelf," he said helpfully.
"Fantastic. Where was I?"
"Apparently you're too..." he prompted.
"Oh yeah." Ginny took a savage bite out of the chocolate. "Apparently I'm too weak and female to actually go on assignments. Maybe I should just quit and play Quidditch."
"Not with your ankle," George said easily. "But you could always come work at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."
"I'm afraid I'd have to decline." She crammed the rest of the chocolate in her mouth. "God, I'm going to regret this."
"The job offer?"
"The chocolate," she corrected. "I'm going to have a pimple the size of Mt. Fuji tomorrow." She sighed again, gave George an absent-minded hug, and trudged to her bathroom.
And so it was that she made up her mind to parade around the flat in little more than her undergarments, indulging herself in something else bad for her complexion: ice cream.
She didn't even bother with a bowl. She ate it right out of the carton while she slumped on the couch.
Janus's screeching signified the return of one or both of her brothers.
George had forgotten to bring one of their fake wands. He made some stupid comment about needing to impress the ladies and left again.
A few minutes later the twins came back in, grabbed a potted plant for no particular reason that she could discern, and departed again.
So, when, a few more minutes had passed, and a strong knocking came at the door, Ginny immediately saw that they'd both left their real wands behind when retrieving the plant. She rose, irritated, because they couldn't get in without their wands, and she'd have to abandon her ice cream. She snatched the pair of wands from the table and wrenched the door open. "Here are your stupid wands," she began to say.
But it wasn't her brothers at all.
It wasn't even that LaMystery girl.
Instead, Oliver Wood stood gawking at her, much the same way she'd done earlier.
She couldn't figure out why, since he knew she lived here, and there wasn't anything shocking about her answering the door-
-except the fact that she was only two degrees better than naked.
"Hi?" she offered. How exactly did one greet another when one was down to one's shivies?
"Are Fred and George here?" Wood asked in a strained voice, making a conscious effort to keep his eyes on her face.
"No, they're at the pitch, but they should be home again soon. Would you like to wait inside a bit?" she asked politely.
He nodded a bit nervously.
She waved him in and made a mad dash to her bedroom.
She dumped out the contents and turned it over. It seemed sturdy enough, so she used it as a stepping stool. The top shelf was still a bit high, but not too bad. With a quick jump she nabbed a pair of jeans-
-but missed her bucket on the way down.
She jarred her ankle and let out a string of curses. Her butt hurt like hell, too. The world was definitely against her today.
"Are you okay?" Wood asked through the door.
"Yeah," she lied through her teeth, rubbing her butt. She pulled on the jeans and sighed.
Her ice cream had probably melted by now.
God, I just saw my best friends' baby sister naked.
Well, nearly naked. Naked enough, so that very little was left to the imagination.
He swallowed.
And he had a good imagination.
She came hobbling out of her room in jeans and a sweater, and it was almost worse than before, because now he knew what was underneath.
She was what, nineteen? He forced himself to concentrate. The twins were two years younger than him, and she was three years younger than the twins- and if he was twenty-seven, she was...
22?
Alright, so it wasn't illegal or anything, but it still violated a moral code- thou shalt not objectify thy best friend's baby sister.
"Sorry about that," she said with a smile, wincing a bit. "Wrenched my ankle a bit in there." She made a face. "Same one I broke with the Cannons."
Oliver blinked. "The Chudley Cannons?"
"Yeah." Ginny looked at him strangely. "You didn't know?"
"When did you play with them?" He didn't remember this. He definitely didn't remember this.
"Three whole games, right after I got out of Hogwarts," she said cheerfully, plopping down on the sofa. "Then I broke my ankle. The onsite wizard really sucked. It never healed right; gives me aches with the least bit of trouble."
"Chaser?" he guessed. She was such a slight thing, she couldn't have played anything else. He could probably fit his hand around her waist.
Ginny nodded. "A damn good one, too," she said proudly. "But now I sit behind a desk at the Ministry and fill out forms."
"Sounds...exciting," he attempted.
Ruefully, she laughed. "You don't have to be nice, it sucks. I'd give anything to play Quidditch again-" she held up a finger, "but for a good team."
A broad grin filled his face. "Puddlemere's got a shot at the Cup this year."
Her eyes were wistful. Gorgeous brown, dark and rich like chocolate.
His stomach rumbled. Loud.
Evidently she heard it- well, how could you not? it was practically a siren- and said, "I'd offer you my ice cream, but it's soupy and icky. And don't tell me I could just use a freezing spell, because it makes it taste funny."
Oliver repressed a laugh. "I'm okay."
"No, really. I'll fix you something, if you like."
"If it's not too much trouble," he said hesitantly.
Ginny was already up. "Grilled newt sandwich?"
"That would be great."
The twins had certainly spared no expense in the apartment. Antique furniture, hardwood floors, as well as an unhealthy amount of Muggle contraptions.
Fascinated, he watched her prepare the snack.
And it hit him.
She could cook, she could play Quidditch, and she was great on the eyes.
It was really too bad she was related to his best friends.
"Do you cook for the twins, too?" he asked.
"I cook for myself," she said, "but they usually wind up eating it."
Wood leaned against the wall. "It's really good," he said, or at least she thought he did. His mouth was a bit full, so he could be saying, "Is rare hood," but that really wouldn't make much sense.
"Thanks," she replied.
She scraped off the extra bread crust from the pan and crossed the room to put it in Janus's feeder. She turned around, finding herself in close proximity to Wood.
Her heartbeat quickened, but she tried to dismiss it. "You've a crumb on your chin," she said, because it was the only coherent thing that could come out.
She reached up to brush it away, but he caught her hand.
"I'm going to regret this," he said, eyes brooding and serious.
"The sandwich?"
"This kiss," he corrected.
The words "what kiss" died on her lips. His mouth brushed hers briefly at first, then longer and deeper as moments passed.
He pulled back after a bit. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asked bluntly.
"I shouldn't have- I mean..."
"Oliver, I'm not twelve years old," she said impatiently.
"Yeah," he said in a slightly strangled tone. "I just realized that."
"Well, good." She threaded her fingers through his hair and brought his face down to hers.
It was almost funny, how she'd never even thought of Wood in a romantic sense before. He was just the twins' friend, a guy who dropped by approximately bimonthly and got them into the Chudley-Puddlemere matches cheap. And now... now, that she was pressed up against him, mouths scouring each other, she couldn't imagine not wanting him.
She sighed into his mouth, a little breathy thing of contentment and desire. His arms slid around her, slowly, full of uncertainty. "Ginny," he said softly, "maybe we should talk about this."
His warmth was seeping into her skin and thinking no longer was a priority. "Whatever you're going to ask, the answer is yes."
At that point, he forgot what he was going to say.
"Should I go?" he asked, his voice floating to her ears.
She snuggled closer. "Mmm, no. You're so toasty."
"Your feet are like ice cubes," he accused. His legs pulled back from hers.
"They wouldn't be," she said pointedly, "if you kept yours there for awhile."
Reluctantly he returned to his former position.
"Better?"
"Much," she acknowledged.
A few moments of silence passed.
He cleared his throat and the vibration echoed through her. "Do you think-"
"Are you always this chatty?" she inquired.
"Well-"
"I think you ought to get some rest," she said primly. "I might have some use for you later on."
"Oh," he said, and promptly shut up.
Neither seemed disturbed by the fact that two people occupied her bed.
"Hi, Gin," George said, then peered at the man next to her. "Hi, Oliver."
"I suppose you're wondering how we got back in without our wands," Fred said with a chuckle. "We'd been hanging around with two nice girls at the pitch-"
"Two very attractive girls," George cut in.
"Well, LaConsha dropped by to reschedule, and needless to say, she wasn't pleased to find me with... er..."
"Andrea," George supplied.
"Right. So she followed us home-"
"-chased, really-"
"And then fired a series of strong heat spells at our door."
"Which would explain both how we got in, and why you probably smell smoke."
"I think I should probably go put out those flames," Fred said thoughtfully."
"Might be a good idea," George agreed, retreating to the kitchen. He peered over the stove. "Can I have some of this tea, Gin?"
"I don't think she's listening to us, somehow," Fred called from the foyer.
"Oh," said George. "Right."
As he drained the last of the pot, he glanced back at Ginny's room. The euphonious rhythm of their breathing brought the corners of his mouth up.
"It's about time," he said to no one in particular, and closed the bedroom door.
And no one disagreed.