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What if Ginny is the only girl at Hogwarts?	By : Kujira Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4145 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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CH.1 - The start of an exciting year.
The Great Hall of Hogwarts shimmered with the familiar buzz of the start-of-term feast, but an unusual silence fell when Albus Dumbledore rose to speak. Candles floated overhead, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow over the faces turned up toward the staff table. His voice, though gentle, carried a weight that stilled even the most impatient first-year.
“It is with peculiar circumstances that we begin this year,” Dumbledore began, his twinkling blue eyes sweeping over the students. “An unprecedented international initiative—an exchange program to foster global magical cooperation—has seen every young witch from Hogwarts embark on a year of study abroad.”
A murmur rippled through the Hall. Every witch? That couldn’t be right.
“As such,” he continued, a faint, almost imperceptible frown touching his lips, “for this academic year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has only one female student in attendance.”
All eyes—whether from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, or Gryffindor—swiveled to one table, to one girl, as if pulled by a single, magnetic force.
Ginny Weasley felt the heat of hundreds of stares upon her and sank slightly in her seat, a flush creeping up her neck. She had known this was coming, had been told in a private, awkward meeting with Dumbledore over the summer, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. The weight of it was immense, a cloak of visibility she had never asked for.
And visibility, for Ginny, was a dangerous thing.
At sixteen, Ginny had blossomed into a devastating beauty that seemed almost unfair in its intensity. Her fiery red hair fell in waves over shoulders that seemed both delicate and strong. Her face, dusted with a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, was punctuated by warm, intelligent brown eyes that could flash with fierce spirit or soften with kindness. But it was her figure that drew gasps and held gazes captive—a womanly form so pronounced it seemed to defy the humble school robes she wore. Her breasts were full and heavy, straining against the fabric of her uniform with a lushness that made the simple act of breathing seem like a bold pronouncement. Beneath her skirt, the smooth, clean lines of her body were a secret every boy in the room was desperate to uncover.
And Ginny, bless her, was utterly oblivious to the spectacle she created. Or rather, her mind was so often elsewhere—on Quidditch plays, on Charms homework, on the darkening shadow she knew was falling over the wizarding world—that her awareness of her own body was curiously absent. It was a clumsiness born of a spirited mind, not a seductive intent.
She would bend over a trunk in the common room to retrieve a book, unaware that her shirt gaped open, offering a breathtaking vista of deep cleavage and the hint of light pink nipples against the pale swell of her breasts. She would climb the moving staircases, a step ahead of a group of boys, completely forgetting the way her pleated school skirt fluttered and rode up, granting fleeting, heart-stopping glimpses of creamy thighs and the neat, clean-shaven triangle of her pubis beneath simple white cotton panties.
The effect on the male population of Hogwarts was absolute and instantaneous. It was a silent, simmering frenzy. Sixth and seventh-year boys found themselves walking into walls. Younger boys blushed and stammered in her presence. Even the professors, from the usually stern Severus Snape to the jovial Horace Slughorn, found their lectures faltering when she shifted in her seat, their eyes snagging on the unconscious, graceful way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a movement that somehow accentuated the curve of her neck and the swell of her chest.
Ginny’s flush, which had been a steady warmth in her cheeks since Dumbledore’s first announcement, now erupted into a full, scorching blaze. The headmaster’s next words seemed to hang in the air, shimmering with impossible implication.
“—and given these most unique circumstances,” Dumbledore continued, his tone suggesting he was merely commenting on the weather, “we have made an adjustment to the sleeping arrangements. To ensure Miss Weasley’s safety and comfort, she will be residing in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory for the duration of the year. Specifically, she shall share with the fifth-year boys: Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnigan, and Mr. Longbottom.”
A collective, sharp intake of breath sucked the air from the Great Hall. It was followed by a moment of stunned silence, then a rising tide of murmurs, jealous groans, and disbelieving laughter.
Ginny’s head swam. Share a dormitory? With *boys*? With *Harry*? Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. Images flashed through her mind: her narrow four-poster at home, the familiar, feminine chaos of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory, the privacy of drawn curtains. All of it, gone. Replaced by a room full of Quidditch posters, discarded socks, and five boys she had known for years, who were now, in an instant, transformed into something terrifyingly… present.
Her eyes darted to the Gryffindor table. Ron’s mouth was agape, his face a comical mask of horror and confusion. Next to him, Seamus grinned widely, elbowing a beet-red Dean Thomas, who looked as if he might faint. Neville simply stared at his plate, his ears glowing like two bright lanterns. And Harry… Harry wasn’t looking at her. He was staring fixedly at the tabletop, a deep crease between his brows, his jaw tight. Was he angry? Embarrassed?
A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her. They must all be dreading it. The inconvenience. The awkwardness. *Her*.
Yet, as the initial shock began to ebb, a small, pragmatic voice whispered in the back of her mind. It could be worse. It could be so much worse. It wasn’t a room of leering Slytherins or unfamiliar Ravenclaws. It was Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Boys she’d grown up with. Boys who, for all their inevitable clumsiness around her now, were fundamentally good. They were, in their own ways, safe.
Across the table, the five boys were each wrestling with their own private storms. Ron’s horror was slowly being usurped by a fierce, brotherly protectiveness warring with a strange, uncomfortable thrill he refused to name. Dean and Seamus exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated glee, quickly masking it with false solemnity. Neville’s mind was a jumble of panic and a bizarre, hopeful curiosity.
And Harry, still avoiding all eyes, felt a confusing knot tighten in his stomach. The thought of Ginny—vivid, bright, utterly distracting Ginny—sleeping just feet away every night was… overwhelming. It felt like a blessing and a curse had been delivered in the same breath, and he hadn't the faintest idea what to do with either.
The feast concluded under a pall of surreal tension. As students began to filter out, the five boys walked toward the tower in a stiff, silent cluster, each acutely aware that the world they returned to would be irrevocably changed. Their dormitory was no longer just theirs. And waiting for them at the top of the stairs was a new, beautiful, and profoundly awkward reality.
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What if Ginny is the only girl at Hogwarts?