His tender green eyes looked into mine. Oh, those eyes. I could get lost in them for hours; they transfixed me, inspired me. He clasped my hand in his.
He was warm and reassuring. He gave my hand a slight squeeze, and continued looking into my eyes. From far away, I began to hear a soft music – a slow, romantic tune. He held me, and we began to sway from side to side, holding each other tightly and never wanting to let go.
As the music strains began to fade, he tilted my chin up to his. And his lips pressed mine, the most pleasurable sensation I had ever felt. I felt like fireworks were going off inside of me, and I could hear angels from Heaven singing around us. A pure, sweet, innocent kiss.
* * *
Sigh. Or, at least, that's how I wish it had been.
My first kiss…hmm…a rather bumbling affair actually. Honestly, I doubt anyone's first kiss is all that special, the type you read about, I mean. You're so preoccupied worrying whether or not you're doing it correctly that you don't take too much time to listen for angels and heavenly music all around you.
What a question to ask a woman…goodness. I would give anything to tell you that he held my hand, and we took a walk, and then he said, "Ginny Weasley, I love you," and kissed me. But that's not quite how it happened. In fact, that wouldn't be just stretching the truth – that would be downright lying!
Actually, I'm not sure I remember how it happened at all. It's sort of faded in my memory now – gone after all these years. I have so many more happy memories, why remember the silly ones?
Every young girl waits for her first kiss, and I was no different. Through all manners of plotting and scheming, I tried to keep myself in a position where a boy could kiss me – because, of course, it was unthinkable for me to kiss the boy. I was a shy little girl, not too much experience talking to people outside my family. I wasn't bold at all, and certainly couldn't have taken the initiative with the boy. No, it would have to be him that swept me off my feet.
I imagined it often. I'd simply be sitting in a class when he'd come in, and kiss me in front of everyone and declare his love for me.
But real life never turns out like fiction, does it?
It was an important date…what was it? … Oh yes! Valentine's Day. It was Valentine's Day, and I was fifteen (almost sixteen) years old.
Valentine's Day had never been much of a holiday for me. My family wasn't the sort to hand out cards to each other proclaiming our familial love. All I can remember of Valentine's Days from my years at home, before I started Hogwarts, was my mum getting a box of chocolates and a kiss from my dad.
School was no different, though in my first year I plucked up enough courage to send a Valentine to a certain black-haired green-eyed boy who seemed to me like "the most handsome man on earth." Because, of course, in fantasies, you cannot refer to the hero, the important person, your crush,as a "boy." It just takes all the romanticism out of it.
Well, that year I had sent a singing Valentine to him. I had written the song myself, and was rather proud of it – it was quite good, or so I thought. But he had looked so mortified that I had desisted the next year, in fact, refrained from even wishing him a happy holiday.
But my private thoughts that he was "the most handsome man on earth" didn't really change in those four years.
And suddenly, another Valentine's Day was upon us.
By fifth year, my friends and I had established somewhat of a tradition of sending loads of school owls bearing valentines to ourselves, so that we could be viewed as desirable and popular. To my recollection it never worked, and in fact seemed to drive away a few boys who felt they had no chance.
We would, of course, send valentines to each other and to our other friends, but I never sent another one to him. My friends begged; they cajoled; they pleaded. "He's changed." "He's grown up." "He'd appreciate it." But I wasn't going to make the same mistake again.
Valentine's Day came, and, as I expected, about two dozen school owls flew at me with valentines – ones I'd made myself, for myself, signing them all with boys' names. "With all my love, Alexander." "Will you go out with me? – Jeffrey." "You're my favorite Valentine, Ginny. – Gregory."
I riffled through the pack, trying to find something I hadn't sent to myself, but trying to look bored, as if this happened every day.
And then I saw it.
Perhaps the most lurid valentine I had ever seen, and to this day, have ever seen. Pink flowers – a bright, neon pink – on the cover, surrounding a heart so red it looked orange, with blue lettering: "Happy Valentine's Day". Confused, I opened it, and found one word. "-Anonymous."
Anonymous! How perfectly thrilling! Someone I didn't know had sent me a valentine! That just about made my Valentine's Day.
I was so excited that I didn't see a boy, sitting a bit of a ways down the table, carrying on a conversation with his friends with a slight red tint in his cheeks.
The day went on, and my classes were breezed through in a daze as I tried to figure out who this "Anonymous" might be. I kept waiting for someone to approach me, to confess his undying love for me.
That, obviously, didn't happen.
By the end of the day, I was sick and tired of it. I had never been a patient person, you know. I felt if "Anonymous" wasn't at least going to come and talk to me, he wasn't worth my time. And it was with these thoughts that I sat down in the common room that night, with every intention of reading a book and ignoring the very-much-in-love couples making kissy-faces at each other all around me.
"Er…Ginny…could I talk to you? … You know…alone?"
It was him.
It was him.
Oh dear Lord, it was Harry Potter, and he wanted to talk to me. Alone.
I felt like my heart was going to stop.
I did manage to make a weak sort of choking noise, causing him to pound me on the back rather forcefully.
"All right there?" he asked.
"Uhh," I managed, but I cleared my throat and said, "Yes."
We walked out of the common room, and I could feel my friends' eyes on me, and I could practically hear the whispering that was going to start the moment I left.
"There's a really nice sky today," he ventured. "I though I might take you up to the Astronomy Tower to show you it-" He blushed quite red, and I'm sure he wasn't the only one. "But it was, er, occupied," he finished, looking embarrassed.
Astronomy? Astronomy, of course. Why hadn't I seen it before? He knew that was my favorite subject – that's why he wanted to talk to me. Why had I been so silly? Thinking he had sent the Valentine!
"Well," I said. "Thanks for telling me about it; I'll be sure to watch for it out the dormitory window."
"Er, Ginny," he replied, but I heard no more, because he had just put his arms around my waist and pulled me so close I forgot (or maybe it wasn't possible) to breathe.
I felt his lips, pressing hard against mine, and my nose and his nose were crushed together. Believe me, the last thing that was on my brain was dancing under the moonlight as we kissed.
My arms were sort of squashed between me and him, making for a rather awkward position. My eyes were wide open – I didn't think to close them like I always did in my daydreams. His were closed though, and I thought that he looked very unattractive from this angle. His nose looked too big when it was right there in front of my eyes, and he looked like he was concentrating very hard.
The wristwatch that was peeking out from the arm of his robes was caught in my hair, and was tugging it quite dreadfully. I didn't want to tell him that though.
This went on for another minute or so. I was wondering what I was supposed to do with my hands, my nose, my feet for heaven's sakes, which, I must add, were getting caught up in the hem of his robes.
And then it was over, just like that, and I had to reach up and wipe a little of his spit from around my mouth, where he had become, I suppose, a little too eager.
Both of us turned very red, and to my surprise, he turned tail and ran as if on fire.
I simply stared at the back of him, a bit dazed, a bit confused.
I remember thinking to myself, Is that all? This is it?
* * *
Well, you've wormed it out of me, so I suppose all of you can go back to your business now. What a silly question to ask. You are all very bothersome. You should leave a woman of my age to her peace, for goodness sakes! Have you been going around asking everybody this? Honestly, people nowadays!
And like I told you – no one's first kiss is very good; I don't know why you were expecting mine to be. After all, I was fifteen, and had never kissed anyone before then. Did you expect me to be very good at it?
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's Valentine's Day, and I have to go find a card with hot pink flowers and a red heart with "I Love You" in the middle for my husband.
(By the way, it's safe to say we've improved a fair amount at kissing over the years.)
* * *
author's notes: My first contest fic, and I have no idea if it's any good. So if you could be a dear and review, that would be great. Thanks to Cori (you rock!) and Surreal (I schnookered you into it) for beta-ing. Also, don't try to tell me no one's first kiss is that bad – believe me, I should know!