Harry lay flat on his stomach, virtuously trying to concentrate on the Transfiguration notes spread out before him. He was, however, far too distracted by the warm body next to him to get any solid revision accomplished. He stole a glance at her. She had long ago given up studying and was attempting to shape her nails with a file Hermione had loaned her earlier that afternoon. A long strand of hair fell across her cheek. Casually, Harry reached out and pushed it behind her ear.
“It’s no use,” she said, bringing her eyes up to him and tossing the file away. “Quidditch is wonderful….” She held up a hand before his face; her nails were short and square and looked, Harry thought, perfectly adorable. Ginny batted her eyelashes rapidly and spoke in an exaggerated French accent. “But it veeks absolute havoc upon my nails.”
Harry snorted and captured her hand; it was soft within his. “I don’t see anything wrong with your nails.”
“They’re not very feminine,” Ginny said, as Harry traced the outline of her hand along the blanket beneath them.
“They look fine to me.”
“Mmm,” Ginny hummed quietly. “Of course you think they look fine. You’re a boy.”
“And therefore I’m not qualified to judge nails?” He brought his eyes to her face, to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Ginny looked pointedly at his own uneven nails. “Nope.” Abruptly, she sat up, pulling her hand out of his. “And Amelia loaned me this….” From a pocket in her frayed knapsack she produced a small bottle of shockingly-pink varnish. “I had hoped to put it on, but I guess it’s rather pointless.” She sighed. “It clashes horribly, and it’ll chip as soon as I get on a broom.” With a look of longing, she slipped the bottle back into her bag.
Harry sat up. He fished inside her pocket and pulled the bottle back out. It had the fitting description of Wild Watermelon looped upon it in garish gold writing. “If you want to wear it, you should.”
Ginny crinkled her nose. “It’s really not a big deal.”
Without a word, Harry twisted the cap and pulled Ginny’s hand towards him. Immediately, a scent suspiciously like paint thinner hit his nose. “Let me,” he said, settling her hand on his knee.
Ginny laughed delightedly. “You want to paint my nails?”
Harry shot her a grin. “Yep.”
“All right.” Ginny stretched her fingers slightly on his leg. Her hand felt warm and good and comforting.
It was harder than he’d imagined. His hands shook slightly. Her nails were tiny and the thick, goopy polish seemed to want to spread beyond their edges. He continuously had to scrape at her fingers with his own nails, staining the tips the same bright pink. He found he didn’t mind.
When he was finished with both hands he looked up to find Ginny studying him. He was rather delighted to see she turned a shade very similar to the polish when he met her eyes, although she seemed quite unembarrassed by the fact. The look in her eyes took his breath away.
“You stick your tongue out when you concentrate,” she told him, grinning.
“Mmm hmm,” Ginny said. “It’s cute.”
“Oh. Well….” He coughed. “No one’s ever called me cute before.”
“Well, you are,” Ginny said. “And quite fit as well.”
Harry felt his own cheeks heat just slightly under her gaze, and a pleased, contented feeling rose within his chest.
“I could do this every week if you’d like,” he said, holding his wand to her hands to whisper a quick drying spell. “That way you’d never have to worry about them chipping.”
“Paint my nails every week? Ron would never let you hear the end of it.”
“Yeah, I can handle Ron.” Ginny settled herself between his legs. He held one of her hands up to the sunlight and studied it. “We could get all sorts of colors. Paint them a different one each week.”
Ginny moved her cheek along his chest. “Okay,” she said, snuggling into him.
Harry smiled and dropped a kiss upon her sun-warmed hair. He discreetly slipped the bottle of varnish into his pocket. He’d buy Amelia a new one at some point.
This one...this one he wanted to keep for himself.