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Author: Delylah Story: Love Fool Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 1 Words: 26,482
Friday Morning The headache that had begun the night before had not abated when Harry awoke the next morning to the shrill ringing of Ron's alarm clock. Ron was snoring straight through it until Harry fired his feather pillow at him, which knocked the offending clock to the floor before landing squarely upside Ron's head. "Ow! Bugger, Harry, that bloody hurt!" Harry didn't respond other than to send a dark look in Ron's direction. His foul mood from the previous evening had carried over along with the headache. The last thing he wanted was to be subjected to Ron's habitual griping about being forced to rise at the unholy hour of seven a.m. He stumbled through his morning routine and eventually found himself in the common room with only a vague recollection of having walked down the stairs on his own power. Ron and Hermione were unusually quiet on the way to the Great Hall, which was probably for the best. In his state of mind, Harry was afraid he would end up alienating all three of his best friends, instead of just Ginny. Harry and Ron had once again found Hermione alone in the common room, and Ginny's absence pained Harry more than he cared to admit. He looked forward to her sunny smile in the mornings, even though he thought it perverse that anyone could be so cheerful before noon. Ron and Hermione's looks of sympathy grated on his nerves; by the time they reached the Great Hall, his headache had intensified from the pressure of his teeth grinding together. As Hermione and Ron started around towards their usual side of the table, Harry walked down the inner aisle towards his own seat next to Ginny. He wondered whether she was speaking to him this morning. She said she accepted your apology in the library, but then you had to go and made an arse of your-- Harry stopped in his tracks before he had quite reached the table. He had automatically gravitated towards Ginny's vibrant red hair, but he was stunned to find when he took a second look that Ginny was sitting between Colin Creevey and Dean Thomas. For the first time in over a year and a half, she hadn't saved him a seat. It hurt. Harry was certain that it couldn't possibly have hurt any more if Ginny had simply taken the direct route and punched him in the gut. He tried to breathe, but he couldn't get past the invisible bands of steel that seemed to be squeezing his lungs. To make matters worse, there was a definite lull in the chattering at the Gryffindor table. The volume gradually decreased until almost every student at the table had fallen silent and was watching him. Ginny was the only exception. She continued chewing the toast she had taken a bite of, then washed it down with a swallow of pumpkin juice before calmly turning to acknowledge his presence. "Good morning, Harry," she said casually. Harry tried to speak, but he was unable to force any words past his lips. He looked away, towards Ron and Hermione instead. "'I’m not really hungry after all," he said quietly. "Harry...." Hermione began in a sympathetic tone, but it only caused Harry's anger to flare up. "Just shut up for once, Hermione, would you?" he snapped. Harry immediately regretted his words, for Hermione gasped, and he could see tears forming in her eyes. Ron stood, his ears flushing a dark red. "Harry, I suggest you apologize, or you and I are gonna have words outside." Harry hung his head in shame and mumbled, "Sorry, Hermione." With that, he turned back towards the door, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Snape sitting across the room at the head table, barely able to contain his expression of glee at Harry's misfortune. Harry ignored him and stalked out of the Great Hall, robes trailing out behind him. He didn't stop until he had reached the Quidditch pitch, which was deserted at this time of day. He didn’t know why his feet had brought him out here; his broom was still locked up inside his dormitory. He debated Summoning it, but he didn't really have the heart to go flying. Instead, he climbed into the stands and rested his aching head in his hands, threading his fingers into his hair. Well, that's it then, Potter. You've failed your mid-term which means you'll likely fail Potions, which means you won't be allowed to sit for the N.E.W.T. and your career as an Auror has crashed and burned before it even got off the ground. You've insulted one of your best friends and as a result, angered the other so much that he's likely to kick your arse the next time he sees you. And your other best friend has decided that you're just not worth her time. What the bloody hell are you supposed to do now? Harry looked down at his watch. Herbology had begun fifteen minutes ago. Hermione would likely be worried, but he didn't think he could have faced her yet, anyway. She had done nothing to deserve his anger, and he was a complete prat for taking it out on her. He would have to think of something extra-special to make it up to her. "Harry." A pair of shoes had materialized in front of Harry. He looked up to see Ginny holding a roll of parchment out to him. "You dropped this in the library last night; it looks like your Transfiguration notes. You left the Great Hall before I had a chance to give it to you." "Thanks,” Harry replied tersely, looking back down at his feet. Ginny sighed impatiently. "Are you just going to sit out here all day?” she asked. "I might." "But why--" "Ginny,” Harry interrupted tiredly, “thanks to the little stunt you pulled in there, I've failed my potions mid-term. I really don't want to talk just now." Ginny closed her eyes, a sick look washing over her face. "I didn't think, Harry. You made me so angry last night at practice, and then at the library, too. Maybe we can explain....” Harry gave a sharp bark of laughter. "This wasn't just a mid-term for me, you know. Snape says my original potion was disposed of. Your reaction to the potion is the only shot I have at passing. If I fail the mid-term, I'll fail potions this semester, which means I won't be able to sit for the N.E.W.T., which means...." "You won't be able to qualify for the Auror program," Ginny finished quietly. Harry nodded miserably. His initial anger had faded, and he made no complaint when Ginny took a seat next to him. "What can I do, Harry?" she asked in a soft voice. "I don't think there's anything you can do, Ginny,” Harry replied. “You know how Snape is. He won’t let me retake the examination.” "No. But there has to be some way to convince him the potion worked. Maybe if you told him I was trying to make you jealous?” she mused aloud. Harry shook his head. "I don't think he'd buy that, especially coming from me. But maybe.... " he trailed off as a plan began to form in his mind. If Snape wanted a show, perhaps they would be able to give him one he'd never forget. "Maybe...?" Ginny prompted. "Well,” Harry began slowly, “Snape would have to see something that would convince him that you had tried to make me jealous because you fell in lo-- I mean, because the potion had worked." Ginny began to nod in understanding. "Something like a public display of affection? A good old-fashioned snog, perhaps?" she said with a sly grin. Harry flushed. "Yeah. Something like that." Ginny considered the matter for a moment then answer, “All right, Harry.” Harry felt a thrill of hope zinging through his veins. "Really? You'll do it?" "Yes. When and where?" Harry thought for a moment. "We don't have much time, because the deadline is tonight. I have double Potions this afternoon, so could you meet me in the dungeons after lunch? I think that would be the best place to catch him." "Fine. I'll be there.” Ginny stood and began walking toward the stairs, then she turned back to face him. “By the way, Harry?" she began with an edge in her voice. Harry could feel the knot tightening in his stomach once more as he answered, “Yes?” "Don't think this means I've forgiven you. You said some horrible things to me yesterday, but I don't think I would be able to live with myself if I were the reason the world is deprived of someone who will probably turn out to be the best Auror who's ever lived,” she said with a wry smile. "Right. Thanks, Ginny." Ginny climbed back down out of the stands and walked to the castle by herself, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts, which were still a jumble of confusion. He soon left the Quidditch pitch and made his way over to Hagrid's hut where he helped feed the growing menagerie until it was time for class. Hermione appeared before any of the rest of the students, looking relieved to find Harry there. "Professor Sprout asked about you when didn't show up for Herbology,” she said coolly, joining in to help feed the Bowtruckles. “Where have you been?" "I walked out to the Quidditch pitch first to blow off some steam, then I just came here. Hermione, I'm really sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it. I hope you know that." Hermione sighed. "Yes you did mean it, Harry, but I understand. I've been meddling in your business, and I'm sorry, too." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and Harry felt some of the weight lift from his shoulders. If only he could smooth things over with Ginny so easily. For the second time in two days, the class passed by in a blur for Harry. He began to feel as if butterflies were fluttering about in his stomach at the thought of kissing Ginny. By the time lunch rolled around, he was too nervous to eat, so he told Hermione to go ahead without him. He spent most of his lunch period visiting Hedwig at the Owlery, who was miffed at him for having stayed away too long. Finally, he looked at his watch for what seemed to be the hundredth time and saw that it was time for him to meet Ginny. Harry climbed down the stairs to the bottom of the West Tower, where he was surprised to find Ginny waiting for him. "How did you know I was here?" he asked. "Hagrid told me. I came to make sure you really wanted to do this," Ginny answered. Her tone was oddly subdued, and Harry didn’t know what to make of it. "What other choice do I have, Ginny? If you have any better ideas, I'd love to hear them." Ginny looked down and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. "I can't think of a thing." She looked up at him then with an expression that could only be described as resigned. "All right. Let's get this over with." She didn't have to make it sound like a chore. Is the thought of kissing me so bad? Harry wondered. Then he mentally kicked himself. She said yes, you idiot. Get going! The butterflies Harry had felt earlier returned in force, and brought all their relatives along, too. Now that they were committed to this course of action, Harry wasn't certain this was the brightest idea he'd ever had. He was about to kiss Ginny Weasley. It wasn't that he was frightened exactly.... After all, he had kissed girls before. There was Cho, and Susan Bones, and Parvati Patil, and, well, he guessed the time with Luna Lovegood counted. But this was different. He wasn't certain he could put a finger on precisely why it was different, other than the fact that Ginny was Ron's little sister. But that wasn't quite it. Maybe it was just that, well, he knew Ginny. He knew what she looked like at 6:30 in the morning, before she'd had a chance to brush her hair or wash her face. He knew that she preferred Muggle music to the Weird Sisters. He knew that her best subject was Charms, and her worst subject was Arithmancy. He knew her favorite flavor of Bertie Bott's Beans (grass) and her least favorite food (pumpkin pie). It suddenly occurred to him that, over the years, he had grown to know Ginny almost as well as he knew Ron or Hermione. Ever since the summer at the Burrow after his first year, she had always simply been there. And he was finally coming to realize that he liked it that way. Lost in his thoughts, Harry failed to notice that they had arrived at the dungeons. He nearly collided with Ginny when she stopped outside the Potions classroom. "We're here," she announced, turning to face him. "Yeah. We're here." Harry rocked back on his heels, with his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Well?" "Well, what?" Harry asked. "I thought you wanted to get this over with?" Ginny snapped impatiently. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was glaring up at him as if he were an annoying bug she'd like to squash. "No, actually, it was you who said that. Look, d'you think you could at least pretend you don't hate me for a few minutes?” Harry pleaded. “It might make this easier." Something changed in Ginny's eyes, and she heaved a great sigh. "I don't hate you, Harry. I just.... I know this was my idea, but the thought of putting on a performance for Professor Snape is...." “Revolting?” Harry finished drily. “I thought about it all morning, and it just doesn’t seem right,” Ginny drew in a deep breath before finishing, “to pretend to feel something we don’t.” Harry felt as if one of the Hogwarts ghosts had glided straight through him, leaving behind a chill that couldn’t be chased away. He stared at her for a moment, uncomfortable and at a loss to explain his disappointment at her words. He only knew that he had to convince her to do this...and that it wasn’t just about his examination anymore. “Maybe we shouldn’t think of it that way,” he said finally. “We’re just...we’re just pretending that the potion worked, that’s all. I’m sorry, Ginny, if I could think of any other way....” "I know, Harry," Ginny replied. The irritation in her eyes had diminished, and Harry even thought he detected a bit of sadness, which seemed at odds with the situation. Then a mask seemed to fall over her face. "Ok, so, let's get this over with," she said briskly. Harry checked his watch. "We have a couple of minutes. You know Snape--he always walks in precisely when class starts.” "But, Harry, that means I'll be late for Transfiguration! McGonagall will give me a detention. And that will be on top of the detention that Snape will give both of us for snogging in the hallways." "Oh," Harry said, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He hated the idea of getting Ginny in trouble with her professors. "I hadn't thought of that." Ginny's eyes blazed momentarily, as if she were struggling to hold her temper in check. She inhaled deeply several times before speaking. "Harry Potter, so help me, if you don't get an O on your Potions N.E.W.T. and receive top marks in the Auror program to boot, I will never forgive you for this." Harry nodded. "I will. I swear, Ginny, I'll never ask you to do anything like this again." An odd expression crossed Ginny's face. "No, I don't suppose you will." Ginny grabbed Harry's wrist and flipped it so that she could check the time on his watch. "Not much time left." She looked up at Harry expectantly. Harry froze. "Um.... Where....what...." "Oh, for Merlin's sake." Ginny yanked hard on Harry's arm so that the distance between them was closed and he was standing within mere inches of her. The top of her head was just about even with his nose. Once again, he was pleasantly surprised by the aroma of strawberries. Definitely her shampoo, he thought as he inhaled discreetly. "Don't just stand there, Harry. Put your arms around me," she commanded. "Oh. Right." Harry placed his hands on either side of her shoulders. Ginny rolled her eyes, then removed his hands from her shoulders and replaced them at her waist. She in turn slipped her arms up around his neck, where her fingers seemed to take on a life of their own, twining into the short hair at the nape of his neck. Harry felt goose bumps spread from his neck down to his arms, and he couldn't quite manage to suppress the accompanying shiver. Glancing down, he thought he detected a pleased expression on Ginny's face. She pressed a little closer, edging one of her knees in between his, and Harry felt the butterflies in his stomach incinerate. From somewhere down the corridor, the sound of a door opening registered faintly. Ginny must have heard it, too. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered, "Kiss me." Then she opened her eyes again. Harry felt as if he were falling. The look in Ginny's eyes was so warm, so real, that for a moment, he couldn't help but believe she loved him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, so hard that he was certain she could hear it. If she did, she gave no sign. Her eyes were locked onto his, and they remained so as he slowly bent his head to hers. Finally, just before his lips met hers, her eyes fluttered shut, as did his. Even with his eyes shut, her expression still burned in his brain, fueling the fire pooling in the core of his body. Gently, his mouth grazed hers once, then again, in just the barest hint of a kiss, leaving his body throbbing for more. He pulled back and inhaled sharply, partially to gain control over himself, and partially to make certain he had permission to proceed. When she didn't retreat or push him away, he descended once again, pressing his mouth firmly to hers and savoring the warm contours of her lips. Kissing Ginny was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced before. He had never dreamed that her mouth would be so soft and pliant under his, that his pulse would race uncontrollably as her hands skimmed over his back, or that he would experience a rush of heat so intense that it made him forget everything else but her. Unbidden, his left arm slipped securely about her waist while his right hand traveled slowly up her back and threaded itself into her hair. He gently tugged her forward until her body was pressed closely to his. In response, Ginny's arms tightened around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin. The sharpness of her nails in his flesh sent another wave of heat through him from head to toe, leaving every nerve in his skin tingling with pleasure. Harry's fingers itched to slip beneath the soft fabric of her robes to explore the warm curves of her flesh. Even as the stray thought crossed his mind, his hand slipped from her waist and his fingers dug into her hip, dragging her even more firmly against him so that she could feel for herself how aroused he was. Ginny moaned softly into his mouth, and when her lips opened beneath his, Harry nearly jolted out of his skin in surprise. He delved into her mouth, tentatively at first, then more boldly in response to her soft sigh of pleasure at the contact. He pressed her firmly against the stone wall, intent on thoroughly exploring the sweetness of her mouth. The last vestiges of rational thought fled, leaving only one word resounding in his head: Mine. At that moment, Ginny began to pull away. In response, Harry's arms tightened possessively around her. If she thinks I'm letting her go now, he thought, she's crazy. I'll.... "Just what do you think you're doing?" an icy voice hissed behind Harry. Ginny pulled abruptly out of Harry's arms, leaving him feeling as if she had torn away a part of himself with her. When he opened his eyes, she stood before him, gazing up with a mixture of sadness and resignation. The warm, loving look he had seen before was gone. Did I imagine it? Harry thought. "Potter! Weasley! Explain yourselves at once!" Snape demanded. "Um..." Harry began, unable to form a coherent thought. "Sorry, Professor," Ginny interrupted. "It must have been the potion. I just...couldn't help myself," she explained in a dull voice, shrugging. Professor Snape's eyes darted from Ginny to Harry, then back to Ginny again. "Do you really expect me to believe that after you've spent the past thirty-six hours paying no attention to Mr. Potter whatsoever, that you've suddenly become smitten, Miss Weasley?" Ginny nodded glumly, but Snape shook his head. "Nice try. Twenty-five points from Gryffindor for inappropriate behavior. Each. I suggest you proceed immediately to your next class, Miss Weasley. Potter, I'll speak with you after class." Harry tried to catch Ginny's eye, but she turned without looking at him and strode down the corridor, her shoulders ramrod straight. He started after her, but Snape stopped him. "Don't even think about it, Potter. Get into that classroom immediately." For the first time since declaring his intention to qualify for Auror training, Harry didn't bother to pay attention during Potions class. Fortunately, they were beginning a new unit on the process of distillation, so Professor Snape was dictating notes. Harry retrieved a Perpetually Printing Plume and set it to record. He kept his eyes averted from the front of the room, seemingly focused on his parchment, when in reality the words were a mere blur. All he could see was Ginny's face: her anger with him at practice the night before, the look in her eyes just before he kissed her, and her sadness when the kiss was over. Harry couldn’t remember when he'd been more confused. Professor Snape’s sharp voice cut into his thoughts. "Class is over, Mr. Potter. As your Plume has copied down your notes, I don't see that your continued presence serves any useful purpose." Harry started out of his reverie. The classroom was empty, save for Snape and himself. Even Hermione had departed, probably at the professor's command. "You wanted to speak with me?" Harry asked in a monotone. "Do not ever try to pull a stunt like that again, Potter,” Snape replied in a deadly tone. “Contrary to what you may think, I am far from stupid. The effects of a love potion cannot be faked. You are dangerously close to failing your midterm, I'm afraid.” Harry felt his earlier anger return. "I don't understand it. I measured everything just so, timed the additions, and stirred the exact number of times. The potion was the right color, the right consistency. It was viable. It had to be." Professor Snape clasped his hands together behind his back and scrutinized Harry for a moment before answering. "There are only two possibilities here, Potter. Either the potion was not viable, despite what you may believe, or you are mistaken in your facts. I suggest you research the matter. If you are unable to present me with evidence to the contrary by seven p.m., you will receive a zero as your midterm grade. I don't think I have to elaborate upon what the consequences of failing will be." Frustrated, Harry attempted to argue. "But Professor, I've read the instructions over and over and I know I followed them to the letter. I think Ginny is hiding something." "What motive would she have for doing such a thing? Does she want to see you fail?" "No," Harry mumbled. "Just as the effects cannot be faked, neither can the effects be circumvented. If Miss Weasley was under the influence of the potion, she would be incapable of averting its effects." Snape scribbled something on a scrap of parchment and handed it to Harry. "Remember, Potter. Seven p.m." Harry stalked angrily out of the Potions dungeon, crumpling up the parchment and stuffing it into his pocket. He had resigned himself to failing the midterm, but it didn’t seem important anymore. What was important was finding Ginny. He needed to know if the kiss had affected her as deeply as it had him. Unfortunately, Ginny was nowhere to be found. When he waited for her outside her classes, he was told she was absent. When he visited the infirmary, she wasn't there, either. Harry skived off the rest of his classes for the day to search for her on the grounds, but to no avail. When he finally resorted to consulting the Marauder's Map he discovered she was in her dormitory, which was the one place Harry couldn't confront her, thanks to the alarm system. Obviously she was avoiding him, but he was damned if he knew why. Finally, Quidditch practice rolled around. Harry had been willing to bet that Ginny would skip it, but she arrived with several other members of the team. By unspoken agreement, neither addressed the other directly. Harry conducted the practice in a haze, automatically going through the motions that had become familiar to him after countless hours on the Quidditch pitch. He worked the team hard, but his lack of enthusiasm seemed to be contagious. Harry ended the session an hour earlier than he had intended, and he couldn't bring himself to utter his usual pre-game pep talk. Ron didn't speak to him the entire hour, leaving Harry to assume he was still sore on Hermione's behalf. Ginny, to his surprise, hung back after everyone else had left. She locked the Bludgers down after Harry wrangled them into the chest, then waited until after he had secured the Snitch to speak. "I guess Snape really didn't buy it, did he?" she began softly. "No," Harry said shortly. "I'm really sorry, Harry. I guess...I guess maybe I'm not as good an actress as you thought," Ginny said with a nervous laugh. Harry felt as if she had reached into his chest, taken his heart into her little hands and crushed it with all her might. No, you're a damn sight better, he thought. Obviously the kiss hadn’t affected her the way it had affected him, and he couldn’t stop the wave of resentment he felt. "Harry? Aren't you going to say anything?" Harry folded his arms against his chest, and looked at her, pleased to see her slight smile begin to fade. "What is there to say, Ginny? Other than it's too bad it wasn't Colin's potion instead of mine? Maybe then you wouldn't have had as much trouble performing," he said coldly. Without warning, Ginny hauled back and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. Harry almost welcomed the pain; it took his mind off of the ache in his heart. "I don't ever want to speak to you again," Ginny said in a freezing voice. Her face had paled so much that her freckles stood out like tiny bronze Knuts against her skin. Harry was shocked to see tears glittering in her eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to call her back when she turned and left him standing alone. Instead, he dragged the Quidditch chest back to the changing rooms by himself, where he sank to the floor, at a loss for what to do with himself, other than ponder how things had gone wrong so quickly. Damn Snape and his stupid love potion anyway, Harry thought bitterly. Bet he got a real charge out of finding yet another way to torture me. Thoughts of Snape brought to mind the scrap of parchment the professor had handed him before he had left the classroom earlier. Harry fished it out of his pocket and smoothed out the wrinkles. It was a pass to the Restricted Section of the library, along with a book title - Ensnaring the Senses: Love Potions in Theory and Practice. Harry shrugged to himself. He didn't have anything better to do at the moment. Might as well try and find out just where I went wrong. When Harry arrived at the library, he gave the pass to Madame Pince, who retrieved the book for him and then escorted him to a cubicle in the reading room. He cracked the book open and searched the index for Imitor Ardoris. He felt a sense of foreboding when he flipped to the page numbers indicated. Maybe the potion affected me somehow, instead of Ginny? he wondered. He began to read. The Imitor Ardoris is one of the milder love potions known to the wizarding world. The effects are temporary and are usually not dangerous. It is effective only when ingested directly. Harry was certain he had not ingested any of the potion. He skipped over the material he was familiar with, but he nearly dropped the book in surprise as he began the next passage. The brewer is forewarned that Imitor Ardoris is useless in a situation where the subject already harbors deep feelings of romantic love for the administrator. It is unclear whether the potion is completely ineffective in these cases, or if the effects simply cannot be discerned from the routine behavior of the subject in question. Stunned, Harry recalled snippets of conversation with Ginny, Ron and Hermione from the past two days. "I feel perfectly fine, no differently than I always do." "She seemed just like she does every other morning." "I'm not acting any differently towards you than I have for the past two years, Harry." "Maybe you should do a bit of research on the subject, and find out what went wrong," "I followed every instruction to the letter. That potion was authentic. If there's anything wrong here, it's something to do with you." "You're probably right, Harry." "Harry, you're an idiot." Without a second thought, Harry grabbed the volume up and sprinted out of the library, with Madame Pince squawking at him in the background. He made it down to Professor Snape's office with barely five minutes to spare. "Yes, Potter?" Harry threw the book onto Snape's desk. It fell open to the page he'd marked, and he pointed to the passage he'd discovered. "The potion.... It didn't work because she already.... I think maybe she...." Snape looked from Harry to the book and then to Harry again. "Well, Potter, it seems you're not a complete idiot after all. I suppose I have no choice but to pass you. With seventy percent. You should have known better than to pour a love potion into a butterbeer bottle. Be glad you're passing at all." "But..." "You're dismissed, Potter." Snape nodded at the door then returned to the work spread across his desk. Harry, still reeling from his discovery, somehow managed to find the door without any assistance. Furthermore, he was shocked that Professor Snape had accepted his evidence so easily. He had expected to have to fight tooth and nail to get a passing grade based on his flimsy theory. It was almost as if he knew, Harry thought. But that's not possible... Absently, Harry climbed the staircases to Gryffindor Tower. He didn't hear the shouting until he had almost reached the Fat Lady's portrait. "Hermione, let go. This time he's gone too far. First he insulted you, now he's done something to make Ginny cry. He's got it coming to him!" "Ron, butt out! Ginny doesn't want you picking a fight with Harry anymore than I do. They have to work it out on their own." Harry gave the password to the Fat Lady, who was still sulking over his recent rudeness to her. When he stepped through the portrait hole, he found Ron and Hermione just a few feet away. Hermione was tugging as hard as she could on Ron's arm, obviously attempting to keep him from seeking Harry out. "Here I am, Ron. Go ahead. Hit me with your best shot. I deserve it." Harry threw his arms wide open and closed his eyes, bracing himself for either a right hook or a stinging hex. When the blow didn't come, he opened his eyes to find Ron contemplating him with an odd look on his face, before finally turning to his girlfriend. "Hermione, Harry and I need to have a little chat. Don't even think about trying to follow us." Hermione started to argue, but then held her tongue. "Fine. But I don't want to see any bruises, on either of you. Got it?" "Right, love," Ron nodded solemnly. "I'll only bruise him where it doesn't show." "Ron..." Hermione warned. "I was joking! We're only going to talk, I swear." He kissed Hermione quickly, and she seemed to take this as reassurance. Ron turned to Harry and motioned towards the portrait hole. They stepped through and walked through the corridors until Ron was satisfied they wouldn't be overheard. He stopped and stared at Harry for a long time, almost as if he didn't know him. Finally, when Harry had decided he couldn't stand the silence any longer, Ron spoke. "Ginny doesn't cry. Ever. You know that, right?" "I know,” Harry admitted reluctantly, guilt creeping over him. "What did you do to her?" Ron demanded. "I was a complete bastard to her, but I'm going to fix it, I swear,” Harry said, throwing up his hands in defense when Ron drew his wand. “I just need to know something first." Ron scowled, but lowered his wand. "What do you want to know?" "How...how does Ginny really feel about me?" "Merlin, you really are thick, aren't you?" Ron shook his head unbelievingly. "And Hermione thought I was bad." Ron sighed and continued. "She loves you, Harry. I don't think she ever stopped." "But Hermione said in fifth year..." "Well, yeah. But that was different. She doesn't have a crush on you anymore, that part is true. She had a crush on The Boy Who Lived, and I think that died the night of the Yule Ball back in fourth year. She had a crush on a knight in shining armor, and you turned out to be merely human, like the rest of us. But Harry, she loves you." "Why didn't she ever say anything?" "What was she supposed to say? We all know the pressure you've been under. She didn't...she didn't want to burden you, or make you uncomfortable. Regardless of whatever else she may feel for you, she's your friend, you git. Probably the best friend you've got, except for Hermione and me, of course." "She could have told me,” Harry insisted. Ron rolled his eyes. "When? After Sirius died? Or maybe after the attack on Hogsmeade last year? Or how about when Percy turned up with the Death Eaters? Yeah? How about then?" Harry was silent. "The point is, Harry, she thought you had more important things to worry about. I told her to tell you, but she wouldn't listen. Said you couldn't be bothered with something so frivolous as...." Ron trailed off. "Love?" Harry asked in a choked voice. "Yeah. Her words, not mine,” Ron clarified. “She made me promise not to say anything to you, ever. She's watched you go out a few times with girls like Susan and Parvati, watched you treat them like afterthoughts. She was afraid that if by some chance you did return her affection, she'd wind up the same as them, and she couldn't stand that. She has too much pride. She's a Weasley, after all." Ron was silent for a long moment. Harry was, too. Finally, Ron heaved another heavy sigh. "Well, now you know. And I think it would be better for everyone if you just...leave off, Harry. Just let it be. She'll get over being angry in a few days, and then you'll be friends again." Let it be. Never tell her that I think that I could.... That I want to.... That she makes me feel.... No. When Ron stared at him strangely, Harry realized he was shaking his head vehemently, and he tried to explain. "I don't think I can do that, Ron. I really need to talk to her. I'm afraid...I'm pretty sure she's got the wrong idea about something, and I need to set her straight." Ron eyed Harry, studying his face. Finally, he smiled faintly, as if he saw something that pleased him. "All right, Harry. She went back to the Quidditch pitch a little while ago. Said she needed some air. But make no mistake. You may be my best mate, but Ginny's my sister. If you hurt her, you won't have to worry about Voldemort anymore, trust me." "I understand," Harry replied solemnly. He shot Ron a grin and headed for the stairs, which he took two at a time all the way down to the ground floor. Then he sprinted out the main entrance and didn’t stop until he reached the Quidditch pitch. Ginny was there, just as Ron had promised. She was practicing with a Quaffle that she had charmed to return to her whenever she threw it through the hoops at the end of the pitch. Harry walked out to the middle of the pitch and seated himself in the grass, watching Ginny fly gracefully. He lost track of how much time passed before she finally noticed him and landed. She walked over to where he sat and stood in front of him, looking down at him scornfully. "I don't want you here," she declared in a steely voice. The butterflies Harry had felt before he had kissed her had returned once again, leaving him feeling queasy at the possibility that what he had to say might not make a difference. But he had to try. "I don't blame you,” he began nervously. “But I sort of had to come. There's something really important I need to tell you." Ginny waited silently, and Harry's neck began to ache as he looked up at her, trying to screw up the courage to tell her what he needed her to know. "Would you sit, please?" Mutely, Ginny seated herself across from Harry, just out of arm's reach, and again waited for Harry to speak. Harry swallowed nervously. What if I'm wrong? What if Ginny Weasley just happens to be the only witch in the world to be immune to Imitor Ardoris? What if she laughs at me? Don't be a git, Harry. She's waiting. He had waited too long. Ginny began to get her feet. "I don't have time for this. I've got a Charms essay to finish," she said coldly. "Wait, Ginny, please," Harry pleaded. Ginny stilled and sank back down on her knees. She appeared ready to bolt at any minute, and she visibly flinched under Harry's scrutiny. She looked down at the ground and began pulling at tufts of dry grass. Harry noticed her hands were callused, like his, from hours of practice with the Quaffle while wearing Quidditch gloves. Her nails were short and bare, unlike Lavender's and Parvati's. Harry slid his fingers under hers and absently ran his thumb over her knuckles. When he looked up at Ginny, her eyes were fixed on their hands; hers was trembling in his. Harry thought his own might be trembling, too. "Ginny," he began again, and when she looked up at him, he continued, "I've been a complete prat the past few days." Ginny nodded in agreement. "Yes, you have." "Probably longer." She arched an eyebrow. "I won't argue with that." "And I know I'd deserve it if you really never spoke to me again.” When Ginny remained silent, Harry steeled himself and continued. “I...I hope you won't, though. Stop speaking to me, I mean. Well, you already did, but I hoped you might start again." A faint smile began in the corner of Ginny's mouth, and Harry looked down, undecided if he should be encouraged or embarrassed. "Bollocks. I've never been very good at this kind of thing," Harry muttered. Ginny's hand closed around his own, and she squeezed gently. Harry looked up to find that she was watching him now, and the look he had seen in her eyes that morning, just before he'd kissed her, was back. His breath caught in his throat, and all the pretty words he wanted to say to her disintegrated. He struggled to find a way to make her understand. Her steady gaze unnerved him, so he focused on the Quidditch hoops over her shoulder in the distance. He knew he'd never tell her what she needed to hear if he kept looking at her, looking back at him. "You chew on the tips of your quills when you're nervous, and you twirl a strand of hair around your finger when you're studying for a test," he said softly. He risked a glance at Ginny; she appeared puzzled, but she was still listening. He took a deep breath and plunged onward. "Your favorite Bertie Bott's beans are the grass flavored ones. You drink your butterbeer cold instead of hot. You like tulips better than roses. You've been sneaking your brothers' brooms out of the shed when they weren't looking since you were old enough to walk. You hate Arithmancy, you love Charms, you have exactly seven freckles on your nose, and you have the cutest little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're looking at me like I'm nutters." Ginny's free hand drifted to her face to rub at the crease as Harry continued. "I like it when I find you waiting for me in the common room before breakfast in the mornings. I like that I know your schedule each day without even having to think about it. I like that you're the only person with enough nerve to tell me off when I'm being a prat. I hate watching Colin Creevey even breathing anywhere near you. I like watching you at Quidditch practice when you're not looking. I like sitting next to you on the sofa in the common room in the evenings when you're studying. I love the way your hands feel in mine, the way you tasted when I kissed you, and I hate that it took me so long to figure out that I..." Harry didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Ginny leaned over and cupped his face in her hand as she pressed her lips against his. Harry's heart drummed rapidly in his chest in relief and exhilaration. He slid his hands into the soft curtain of her hair, then snaked an arm around her waist and yanked her to him because she seemed so far away. She collapsed against him with a soft sigh, twining her arms about his neck and holding on as if she were drowning and he was a life preserver. When she slipped her hands down to his waist and then up under his jumper to caress the bare skin of his back, a deep rumble of pure pleasure sounded somewhere inside of Harry that he couldn't and didn't want to stifle. Ginny giggled softly against his mouth in delight and gently nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. The rumble became a distinct growl of possessiveness, and Harry rolled her over so that her back was pressed into the soft turf beneath them. In response, Ginny only clung more tightly as he dipped into the sweet warmth of her mouth, marveling at the intimacy of holding her like this. He felt as if he could never get enough, but at the same time, it was almost too much. It couldn't possibly be happening. Harry broke the kiss and stared at her lying beneath him; her hair was tousled where he had run his hands through it and her lips were red from his kisses. His hand drifted up to her face, where his knuckles lightly brushed against her jaw. Almost fearfully, he asked, “Is this real? Do you really....” he trailed off in a low voice, unable to voice the question. What if the answer was no? Ginny caught his hand and slid her fingers in between his and squeezed gently, but hard enough to remind him that yes, she really was there. “Of course I do,” she answered softly. In response, Harry released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as relief flooded him with warmth. "Ginny, I have to tell you..." he began, but she shushed him by pressing her fingers against his lips. “No, you don’t, Harry. I already know," she murmured softly as she touched her lips to his once more.
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