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Ginny followed Harry through the portrait hole, unable to refrain from smiling as she took his outstretched hand.
“So,” she said in a sing-song voice as they walked down the empty hallway and out of view of the Fat Lady’s portrait.
“So,” Harry repeated, chancing a glance at her and then looking away.
And then back again.
Seeing as he had just kissed Ginny Weasley and was now holding her hand, he figured it was okay to stare at her.
Merlin, she was so beautiful. He had known that for ages, but it wasn’t until now that he was able to properly appreciate it. He had only been able to take sneaking glances at her from across the common room or during Quidditch practice. But now that he could fully look at her, he was even more smitten than before. She was all freckles and flowers and light. Every bit of her seemed to be shining--from the hair that danced on her shoulders ever so slightly as they moved, to the creases on her cheeks from smiling. A smile, Harry thought with delight, that he had very likely put on her face. He was struck with a sudden urge to kiss those dimples or, at the very least, caress them. The monster in his chest purred at the thought, but he forced his hand to stay at his side.
“You just kissed me.”
Ginny’s tone was playful and her lips were still curved upward.
“I did,” Harry said, slightly dumbfounded.
He stopped walking suddenly, forcing Ginny to skid to a halt, and gaped wordlessly at a suit of armor standing in the corridor. He had just kissed Ginny Weasley--the thing he had been dreaming about doing for months. He had just done it in front of all of Gryffindor tower, and Ron hadn’t punched him and Ginny hadn’t hexed him. In fact, she was standing right there next to him, her hand in his.
Just then, Ginny gave that hand a little tug, as if to remind him she was there (as if he needed reminding).
“Any chance there can be a repeat?”
Harry turned to her, his mouth still open a little in wonderment. Then, he bent down, cupped her face and pulled her lips to his. His lips were a little more hesitant this time, Ginny realized. Their first kiss had been all adrenaline and excitement. They had moved on impulse and instinct. This one was almost like an experiment--one that Ginny wanted to test the boundaries of. Going on her tiptoes, she wrapped her hands around his neck and deepened the kiss. Harry trembled for a moment in surprise and then let out an unintentional, but barely audible, moan, bringing an arm around the small of Ginny’s back.
This kiss might be better than the first, Ginny thought. But she couldn’t tell if her brain had just been unable to process how incredible the first had been until Harry’s lips were again joined to hers. Because kissing Harry--well the word incredible didn’t justify it.
She was pretty sure her inner 11-year-old was cartwheeling. That must be why her heart was racing, every part of her tingling. She had long wished for a kiss like this, one that set her senses ablaze and made her feel, finally, like she was doing something right.
In her most indulgent of fantasies, it was Harry who could give her this kind of kiss. But she had always tried to temper these thoughts, even when she sensed his lingering looks over the past few months. If she didn’t get her hopes up, then she couldn’t be as disappointed when her dreams turned to delusions.
Yet, here she was, snogging Harry Potter in the corridor and it was even better than her fantasies because his hand was warm on her back and he was moving in sync with her. And it was real.
This was so different than any other kiss she had had.
Kissing Michael Corner had been like pressing lips with a tissue--soft, but altogether dull. She had put up with it because they were dating and kissing is what boyfriends and girlfriends did. But there had been no fireworks, no spark that she was certain she was supposed to feel. She had spent most of the time wondering when the whole thing would be over.
Dean had been marginally better, but that might have been because they had done more than just inexpertly peck each other on the lips. The inclusion of hands and tongues had made it more exciting. Still, she had felt like she was simply going through the motions and mechanics, smiling when he smiled, sighing when it felt appropriate. It had all been playacting, and it frustrated her that he hadn’t seemed to notice. She would sit there listening to him groan as her lips grazed his neck and wonder if he, too, was acting. That motion couldn’t have been so pleasurable as to elicit those kinds of sounds. When their teeth crashed uncomfortably together, she would ponder dully if it had been his mistake or hers that caused their teeth to clank. Or perhaps she was supposed to like that? Maybe it was a sign of passion she was incapable of feeling.
But no, Ginny decided as Harry’s lips parted from hers all too soon, what had been missing was Harry. She was dimly aware of how sappy that seemed, but she couldn’t be bothered to care, not when her stomach swooped at the sight of Harry’s glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Ginny couldn’t comprehend how she had ever tolerated even looking at a boy without glasses. They added an unparalleled level of attractiveness to his every being.
“Woah,” Harry murmured, his cheeks pickening as he realized how foolish he sounded. He felt a little dizzy, as if he had just pulled out of a sloth grip roll, but much more pleasant.
Ginny giggled, regretfully removing her arms from around his neck. Harry, realizing his hand was pressed against Ginny’s back, jumped back hastily, turning even redder. Ginny couldn’t suppress another chuckle and reached for his hand.
“What?” he laughed at her satisfied expression.
“Nothing, it’s just nice seeing you blush for a change.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” Ginny said with a smirk, swinging his hand and taking the lead down the hallway. “I was so used to it being me doing all the blushing.”
“Reckoned I’d even the scales.”
“Good.”
Ginny bit the inside of her mouth to prevent herself from purring at Harry as he straightened his glasses and attempted to flatten his hair. It sprang back up immediately, but Ginny liked it better that way. She had to resist the urge to reach out and muss it up further.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Harry blurted out before he could help himself.
Ginny nudged him.
“What? Kiss me?”
Harry felt the color deepening on his cheeks as he nodded.
Ginny smirked.
“Really? Because for me I’ve wanted to do that since I was about 10.”
Harry laughed again.
“For you it’s been what? Five? Six months?”
Harry blushed again. That was pretty much exactly how long it had been.
“How’d you know?” he muttered.
“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” Ginny teased.
Harry gulped, recalling every embarrassing thought he had ever had about Ginny in her presence and hoping she hadn’t been able to read all of those, too.
“I’ve been a real prat, haven’t I?”
“A real prat, yeah.”
“Did you really know, I, er--”
Admitting even now--even when they were holding hands, even after they had kissed not once, but twice--that he fancied her felt like a deep confession. He was afraid that upon his revelation he would wake up in his four-poster and realize this had all been a dream. Or worse, that this was all real, but she was about to change her mind.
“I didn’t know for sure, no,” Ginny explained. She hadn’t let herself believe, more like. It had been impossible for her inner 11-year-old not to notice the way his eyes seemed to follow her when he didn’t think she was paying attention. It had been impossible, too, to prevent her stomach from swirling whenever he laughed harder than the others at one of her lame jokes.
“But I had an inkling hope,” she continued. “I mean, no Quidditch captain can get hit in the head with so many bludgers without there being an underlying reason.”
Harry raised his free hand embarrassingly to the bruise on the back of his head that had been left by his latest bludger injury.
“Oh, right,” Harry sighed, relieved that Ginny had not disclosed that she knew legilimency and was aware of exactly what he had been thinking every time she disappeared into the girls’ showers after Quidditch practice.
They had reached the staircase and hopped on just before it moved. They were quiet for a moment as the staircase floated downward. The stairs were empty aside from them, but as they moved several flights lower the sounds of students rose up to meet them. Still holding his hand, Ginny turned to him and smiled. Harry’s stomach flip flopped for reasons that had nothing to do with the staircase landing firmly on the first floor. Harry realized then he still needed to be certain.
“You’re okay with this, right?” he asked nervously.
Ginny raised her eyebrows.
“Didn’t I just say that I hoped you liked me?”
“Er--”
Harry replayed Ginny’s words. She said she had had an inkling hope that he liked her. An inkling hope. He didn’t think he had ever heard a more wonderful phrase.
“Er, yes.”
Ginny nodded and squeezed his hand, stepping off the stairs first and leading him down the corridor.
“That’s right, I did, so stop worrying.”
“Sorry.”
Ginny looked at him with slight exasperation. He still looked rather bashful, so she stepped in front of him and took his other hand.
“Harry, if I wasn’t okay with this, you’d know,” she said. Her tone was teasing, but she fixed him with a hard stare, so he would know she was serious.
Harry opened his mouth, closed it and then grinned.
“Can I k--”
“Nope, I’m going to kiss you first this time.”
She closed the gap between them, eager to experience again the rush that was the feel of his lips. Harry inhaled the smell of her. She still smelled like flowers. He wondered, not for the first time, how that was. Did she keep flowers by her bedside? Or was it some sort of perfume or shampoo? Or was his brain so addled by her brilliance that he had hallucinated the sweet smell? These were questions, Harry realized with a thrill, he might actually get answers to.
“And for the record,” Ginny murmured into his lips when they broke apart. “You don’t have to ask if you can kiss me. I quite like it, if you couldn’t tell.”
“Good. Me too.”
He kissed her again and was about to bring his hand to her hair when he heard giggling behind them. Blinking, he looked around to see a pair of first-years scurrying away.
“Maybe this isn’t the best location,” Ginny chuckled, gesturing around at the corridor off of the Entrance Hall where the staircase had brought them.
“Right,” Harry agreed. “I reckon the whole school will know about us before dinner.”
“Well, you did kiss me in front of a quarter of the school, so things were bound to get around eventually.”
“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked quickly.
“That people know about us?” Ginny quirked her head in thought and then grinned. “Not at all. I’d shout it from the rooftops if I could.”
Harry was about to laugh and then realized he, too, would love to announce to the whole world that he, Harry Potter, was holding the hand of Ginny Weasley, that they had kissed no less than four times. Four times! He wondered if he would continue to keep track. He hoped there would be so many kisses that they would be impossible to count.
Regardless, Harry had never had much good news to share. He was struck with a sudden need to spread this one good thing.
“Then let’s,” Harry said firmly.
It was Ginny’s turn to laugh.
“What?”
“Shout it from the rooftops--well, maybe not the rooftops exactly, but come on.”
He took off running, Ginny giggling with her hand still in his. They arrived at the Entrance Hall, where students were milling out of the Great Hall from a late lunch or onto the grounds to enjoy the sunshine. Ginny kept pace with Harry as he sprinted up the steps and pulled her to the bannister.
“You’re sure you want people to know about us?” Harry asked.
“Of course,” Ginny replied, a little breathless. She wasn’t sure if it was from their race up the stairs or from the deep look Harry was giving her.
“Do you trust me?”
Ginny melted.
“You know I do,” she sighed.
Harry broke into a wide smile.
“OY HOGWARTS!” Harry shouted, feeling uncharacteristically whimsical. He felt that same tug he had experienced when he had taken Felix Felicis--that this was something he was supposed to do. The dozen or so students in the Entrance Hall turned to look at him, and he took a deep breath.
“I FANCY GINNY WEASLEY!”
Nervous laughter broke out throughout the hall, and Harry glanced at Ginny. She blinked at him in shock.
Harry swallowed, wondering if he had bungled everything and opened his mouth to apologize.
But then Ginny let out a gleeful whoop and leaned over the bannister.
“AND I FANCY HARRY POTTER!” she cried. She nearly added a “so much,” but was wary of showing too much of her heart too soon. Riddle had taught her that didn’t end well. Instead she added, “AND WE’RE DATING!”
“YEAH WE ARE!” Harry bellowed.
“Good for you, mate,” a Hufflepuff called back. He sounded half sarcastic, half serious.
Someone else whistled, and the laughter in the hall was greater this time. Harry didn’t know if it was at their expense or in support, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Laughter bubbled out of him like it had been building up inside for ages. He couldn’t recall any other moment that had made laughter the most natural response in the world.
He was lighter than he ever remembered and fell into Ginny, who joined him in cackling at their own absurdity.
He sounds so free, Ginny thought, and the idea made her even giddier. Absentmindedly, she kissed him gently on the cheek and he reddened, but smiled somehow even wider.
“Fancy a walk around the lake?” he asked when their breathing settled.
“Yes, please,” Ginny replied.
Harry was vaguely aware of students whispering and snickering at them as they walked hand-in-hand down the stairs and onto the grounds, but he had eyes only for Ginny and the way the sun seemed to illuminate her every being.
They were quiet for a while as they walked across the grass, enjoying the swinging of their hands. There was a slight breeze, and Harry studied the way it ruffled the ends of Ginny’s hair. He was so used to seeing it in a ponytail during Quidditch practice, but she must have taken it out after the match, for her hair fell in waves along her shoulders and back. The color of it was an amazing red. Her brothers had red hair, too, but there was something about the color on Ginny that made it particularly vibrant.
“Oh, how was your detention?” Ginny asked brightly.
Harry snorted and raised an eyebrow.
“You actually want to hear about my detention?”
Of course, Ginny thought, I want to hear everything about you. Color rose in her cheeks at the embarrassment of nearly saying that out loud.
“Just reckoned it could lead to some good Snape bashing,” she said instead as nonchalantly as possible.
“Yeah, he was on top form,” Harry scowled. He stopped walking and looked at Ginny seriously.
“I never got to thank you,” he said. “For the other day.”
“Hmm, what did I do the other day?” Ginny mused. “Save you the last piece of treacle tart?” She shot him a saucy smile. “Wear a particularly revealing top?”
Harry gulped down the image that swam to the front of his mind of Ginny in an outfit that exposed nearly every bit of her and forced himself to be serious.
“For standing up for me,” he explained. “When Hermione was getting on me about, well, you know, what happened.”
The glorious image of Ginny was replaced with the memory of Malfoy bleeding out in the bathroom and he shuddered. Ginny squeezed his hand and kissed him very lightly on the lips. His stomach swooped. Five times now!
“Of course,” she said. “Continuing to go on about it wasn’t going to do anything. I knew you felt guilty. And--” Ginny’s throat went dry for a moment, but she reminded herself that this was Harry and she pressed on, albeit a little quieter. “And I know what it feels like to feel guilty.”
Harry stroked her arm instinctually.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“Don’t be,” Ginny said quickly. “I don’t like people being sorry for me.”
“I know.”
He kissed her because he didn’t know what else to say and hoped his lips would be of better use that way. This kiss felt softer than the others, but when they broke apart they both felt more centered than before.
“What I did is different though, you know,” Harry whispered. “I should have known better.”
“So should’ve I,” Ginny said tightly.
His last conversation with Dumbledore floated back to him. Ginny hadn’t just been possessed by Riddle’s memory. She had been possessed by a horcrux. Suddenly, Harry wanted to tell Ginny everything, all that he had learned this year about the diary and the others Riddle had hoodwinked, to impress upon her that what happened with the Chamber wasn’t her fault, not in the least bit. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone but Ron and Hermione about his lessons, but surely this was an exception.
“Gin,” Harry began. He didn’t know why he had shortened her name. It had just come out like that and it sounded right. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. Riddle--”
But Ginny cut him off.
“New rule,” she said firmly. “No talking about that noseless git, not when the weather’s so nice and there are so many better things we could be doing. Yeah?”
Harry grinned in spite of himself.
He wanted to be honest with Ginny, but he really didn’t want to talk, let alone think, about Riddle either. For, when he and Ginny settled down next to a birch tree by the lake, Voldemort and horcruxes and the war and the pressing pressure of the prophecy never felt so far away. It was like he was just Harry, not the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One.
“So, you wanted to hear about my detention?” Harry began.
At Ginny’s nod, he launched into the story that was the banal torture of rewriting the details of his father and the other Marauders’ misdeeds. In the dimness of Snape’s office, the experience of reading his father and Sirius’ names had been painful. But in the sunshine with Ginny, the Marauders’ antics became rather amusing. They bantered over which prank was best and which one would be most worthy to try out on Cormac McLaggen or Zacharias Smith.
Their conversation then switched to the match, and Harry made Ginny recount every detail. She took great pleasure in describing Cho’s disappointment when Ginny snagged the snitch while the Ravenclaw was still yards away.
After that, they decided they had enough of talking and used their lips in other ways. Harry thought he could have stayed there forever, snogging and snuggling by the lake, but as the sun set his stomach gave a loud rumble.
“Hungry?” Ginny giggled.
Harry groaned.
“No, don’t want to get up,” he mumbled into her hair. He was resting against the tree and she was leaning on him. His shoulder was a little numb from the weight of her head, but the feel of her pressed against him more than made up for it.
“I don’t either, but if we’re caught we could lose all the house points I won us today.”
Harry moaned, but shifted. Ginny reluctantly withdrew herself from his side and they helped each other sit up.
As they walked back to the castle, Ginny’s stomach grumbled, too.
“I reckon we missed dinner,” she sighed.
Harry shot her a grin.
“Fred and George never showed you how to get into the kitchens?”
They had actually, but Ginny had never gone without them.
“Oooh you’re brilliant!” she cried.
They took off running to the castle, eager now for the prospect of food. When they reached the corridor off the entrance hall, Harry tickled the painting of the pear and gestured for Ginny to go first into the kitchens. The house elves were pleased to fill them up with chicken, potatoes and pudding, and Harry was relieved to see that Kreacher was nowhere in sight. He was either trailing Malfoy or hiding from his master. Harry didn’t care which.
But Dobby appeared midway through their meal and babbled excitedly about how thrilled he was to see Harry Potter happy and how if Ginny were anything like Ron, then she would be perfect for Harry. (“Well, don’t worry, Dobby. I’m even better than my brother,” Ginny had assured him to the elf’s delight.) Dobby set them up with the best treacle tart Harry had ever tasted. He wasn’t sure if Dobby’s cooking was superior to the other elves or if the company made it better. Despite the fact that Harry and Ginny were bursting with food, Dobby insisted they take the rest of the treacle tart, plus an assortment of pastries back to their dormitory.
By the time they exited the kitchens, it was well past curfew, so Harry pulled out the invisibility cloak he had grown used to keeping in his pocket all year and threw it over the both of them. Ginny was ecstatic at the chance to finally get to hide underneath it. Her voice barely a whisper, she drilled Harry with questions about the cloak and begged him for anecdotes about the various times he had used it. Harry couldn’t bring himself to shush her. If they were caught sneaking back to the common room, so be it. It would be worth it just to continue to hear Ginny’s voice, to feel her breath hot against his neck.
They slowed when they finally reached the seventh-floor corridor where the Fat Lady’s portrait hung.
“So,” Ginny began in that same sing-song tone she had used earlier that day. “Are you going to kiss me again?”
“I thought we didn’t have to ask each other.”
Their lips crashed together simultaneously, and Harry tried to remember how many kisses this had been, but he was happy to realize that he had already lost track. This time, Harry brought a hand to her hair--her glorious hair. That beautiful flowery smell must be coming from her hair, he thought, because the scent got stronger when his fingers stroked the strands. He would have to confirm with her later. He had forgotten to ask about the flowers when they had been by the lake. But no matter. There would be time for that question and more. So much time. Because Harry didn’t plan on this ending any time soon. He never wanted this to end.
“POTTER! EVANS!”
Harry and Ginny leapt apart and whipped around. Professor McGonagall was standing in the corridor, her lips a thin line. Harry realized numbly that the cloak had slipped off of them. The sweets Dobby had packed in containers were on the ground, too.
And then that McGonagall had shouted the wrong name.
McGonagall’s eyes widened and she seemed to pale as she realized her mistake.
“I mean, Weasley!” she snapped, regaining her composure with a blink. “What are you two doing?”
Ginny chanced a quick glance at Harry, who recognized she was confused. Ginny didn’t know Evans was his mother’s maiden name, he thought with a jolt.
“Sorry, professor,” Ginny squeaked when Harry didn’t say anything. It had been pretty obvious what they had been doing. “We, er, lost track of time.”
Harry gaped wordlessly at McGonagall, whose chin wobbled uncharacteristically. Confused, Ginny nudged Harry with her elbow. He jumped.
“Er, sorry, professor,” he said stupidly. “It won’t happen again.”
McGonagall raised her eyebrows.
“I highly doubt that,” she sniffed. But then her expression softened and she shook her head, sighing slightly. “Now, get back to your common room.”
Harry stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to move, so Ginny tugged him forward, hardly believing their luck.
“I can’t believe she didn’t take house points,” Ginny hissed before giving the Fat Lady the password. “Or give us detention.”
She climbed through the portrait hole, and Harry had enough sense not to help her.
“Are you all right?” she asked when he made it into the common room. There were hollers and whoops from their housemates upon seeing them. The party, it seemed, had died down after several hours, but the room was still more crowded than normal, even for a Saturday night. Harry’s face was pale, and Ginny bit her lip, suddenly fearful that he had changed his mind.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, taking her by the elbow and bringing her to a secluded corner of the common room. “It’s just, McGonagall, she, er, she thought we were my parents.”
Ginny frowned, trying to work out what Harry meant.
“Evans was my mum’s maiden name,” he explained. “That’s why she called you that. Not Weasley.”
Ginny inhaled sharply, taking Harry’s hand and stroking it. It was the hand Umbridge had marked with “I must not tell lies.” This boy, so many scars, she thought.
“That must be hard,” she whispered finally. “Hearing them mentioned with no warning.”
Harry nodded.
Ginny wanted to kiss him deeply again, but she could feel the eyes of the common room upon them and knew the moment would turn into a spectacle when it was supposed to be a private one.
“We do look like them,” Harry said softly. “I’ll show you their pictures sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
He smiled sadly.
“I suppose it’s nice to think about,” he said pensively. “That they once had a day like this, lounging by the lake, sneaking into the kitchens, getting caught past curfew by McGonagall.”
“I bet they were very happy.”
His eyes twinkled and some of the light he had felt when they were by the lake came back.
“Yeah, I bet they were.”