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Sounds of sleep rustled through the sixth year dormitory. Ron's rumbling snores, the groans of bedsprings as Dean rolled fitfully from one side to the next, the occasional word from a restless, mumbling Neville.
Having long since grown accustomed to having roommates, Harry was used to it all. He couldn't remember it bothering him once in six years.
Except for tonight.
Tonight every single sound grated against his ears. He'd tried pulling his curtains, draping his pillow over his ear, casting a muffliato. But then that buzzing sound aggravated him just as much.
Sleep just would not come.
And every second that passed made it harder to ignore why.
It wasn't the insignificant noises his dormmates made keeping him up. It was the argument being replayed over and over in his head, every word of it, and the image of a bright-faced, bright-haired Ginny Weasley whirling around and stomping away from him, angrier with him than she'd ever been.
Frustration and guilt mixed with his own anger in his stomach. Heaving a sigh, Harry slung his feet over the side of his bed and to the floor. He couldn't lay here all night and think about their fight. If he wasn't going to sleep he might as well start that Charms essay he'd been putting off. Or maybe he could sit in the common room and think about their fight.
Do me a favour and leave me the bloody hell alone!
He tensed up remembering the way she'd said it–not exactly a shout but loud enough to echo through his brain hours later. Another surge of emotions took over him, giving him the oddly specific urge to kick a tree. The common room was sorrowfully out of trees, so he wound up on the couch, glaring at the wall.
Nothing, Harry, there isn't a single other thing that I want from you.
What did that mean? His head fell into his hands, and he sat there, contemplating ripping his hair out, until he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps to his right. He looked up quickly, hand flying to his wand, only to freeze at the sight of her. He felt his pulse quicken. She was loosely covered in thin pyjamas, feet bare and hair lazily pulled up–softly contrasting the fierceness of her posture.
He didn't say anything, didn't think he could if he tried, his tongue suddenly heavy in his mouth. Ginny stared back at him from the entrance to the girls' dormitories, shock and anger and stubbornness filling her gaze. He saw the moment she decided, the telltale tensing of her jaw before she stepped deeper into the room, finally breaking eye contact when she sat on the far end of the couch.
He didn't–couldn't–take his eyes off her, and she wouldn't say anything, so he watched as she did exactly what he'd been doing moments ago: trying to pick a fight with the wall.
He broke first, his patience wearing thin, finally snapping under the pressure of the tension in the room.
"Ginny," he said slowly. "What are you doing down here?"
She answered quickly, testament to the still-hot anger boiling underneath her skin. "Thought I'd come hang out in the common room, isn't that obvious?"
"In the middle of the night?"
"Yes."
"Do that often, do you?"
"All the time."
"Ginny."
"What?"
He ran his hand through his hair, a war raging inside of him–one side telling him he didn't do anything wrong, not really, and the other side reminding him that he'd handled the entire situation horribly, and would it really be worth it, losing her over this?
It wouldn't, he decided quickly, and blurted out, "Look. I'm sorry–"
"Yes, we covered that earlier, didn't we?"
His temper flared up again, and he would soon drive himself insane if he didn't just stick to one emotion.
"I am."
"Sorry for what exactly?"
"For–for–" His brain battled with the words he knew he should say.
"Exactly," she snapped at him. "Don't say things you don't mean. Don't apologise if you're not really sorry."
"I'm sorry for upsetting you!" he said earnestly.
She crossed her arms and looked away from him again. She would be almost scarily still if not for her leg, shaking mercilessly against the ground.
Anxiety and anticipation forced their way up his stomach and wrapped around his throat, choking the words out. "Look, if we're going to end things–"
"End things?" Her head swung back in his direction. "Is that what you want?"
"No! I thought that's what you–"
"Why would you think that?"
"Because!" he gestured aimlessly through the air. "We got into this stupid bloody fight!"
A variety of emotions shot out from behind her eyes, and Harry fell victim to them all.
"You know what?" she said finally, her voice steady and determined. "You're right. Maybe this isn't gonna work out."
A lot of things happened then at once–she stood up and walked away from him (again), his heart felt like it dived out his body and off the couch, his feet moved before his brain did, scrambling to get in front of her, his hands shot out and curled around her shoulders, needing her to stop moving.
"Ginny, wait," he asked desperately, deciding he'd do anything for this not to be it. It felt too easy, too soon.
"What, Harry?" For the first time she didn't sound sure. She sounded scared almost, shaky and resigned, and that gripped him as tightly as everything else.
Words, Potter, words, he thought to himself as she stared at him expectantly.
"I–why? If you weren't going to end things, then why–why wouldn't it work out?"
With a deep, resolving breath she curled her own hands around his wrists and moved them off of her, placing them back at his sides. Then she stepped away, and Harry thought his heart rate was increasing so fast it almost certainly couldn't be healthy. Because she was really doing this, this was really happening. He should have just stayed upstairs, at least delaying the inevitable. He should have prepared himself for this more. He should have known better than to think it would last at all. He should have–
"Harry." Then she took another unsettled breath, pushed her hair behind her ear. He wanted to close his eyes, thinking maybe it would hurt less if he didn't have to watch her do it, but looking away from her felt impossible. "I know…I know you…like me, or whatever, but–but I really like you, Harry. I mean, really, it's kind of embarrassing."
"I like you too, Ginny," he insisted, not understanding how they'd taken this turn, but feeling too relieved to ask. He took a small, tentative step forward. "I really, really like you."
But she was shaking her head. "It's not the same. You can't possibly like me the way I like you if all it takes is one fight for you to jump to a break up."
"I just thought–I was being a prat and an arsehole, and I thought you would come to your senses and realise that…" he trailed off, running out of words, not knowing how to finish his thought when it mattered most.
"We got into a fight, Harry!" she nearly yelled. "A stupid, solvable fight! That's what people do when they care about each other!"
"I wouldn't know!" he exclaimed, fighting to keep his voice from rising to a shouting-level. "I just–I suppose–I've never done this, had this before. And I–I wouldn't know."
Something shifted in her eyes, and he conflictingly felt both comforted and revolted by it. Comforted by the understanding and acceptance she seemed to convey, but revolted by the fact that it confirmed the pitiful fact that, in his entire life, he'd never had anyone to model what a healthy relationship would look like.
"Harry," she said again, softly this time, and it was truly pathetic the effect the sound of his name on her lips had on him. She tapered the distance between them, reaching out and twisting her fingers in his. He found he could breathe a little better after that.
Of its own accord, his head leaned down until his forehead was touching hers, and he felt her hand slip its way into his hair, tugging slightly. He kissed her, pulling her flush against him, afraid to loosen his touch, afraid to come close to losing her again.
She sighed into his mouth, pressing up to meet him, allowing him to deepen the kiss as her words rang through his mind over and over. I really like you, Harry. And he kissed her harder, until she made a small sound from the back of her throat that felt all too good and all too dangerous.
"Ginny," he whispered again as he broke the kiss, pulling her closer still, and burrowing his face into her neck.
Her fingers tightened against his hair, and he heard her mumble something about boys being stupid, and of course she had to pick the stupidest of them all.
Reluctantly, he pulled himself out of the hug so he could look at her to say, "I'm sorry for upsetting you earlier, Gin, I really am."
"No, Harry, it's okay, I probably overreacted."
"No," he protested, "I would have felt just as bad, if I'd gone up to you and you'd acted like–like an obnoxious prat and made it feel like you can't trust me."
"Do you?" she asked, ripping her gaze away. "Trust me."
"Yes," he answered with desperate fierceness. "Of course I do. It was just–I've been having these meetings with–"
Ginny, a sudden look flashing across her face, hurriedly slapped a hand over his mouth. "Don't. You don't have to tell me everything, Harry. We're both allowed to have our secrets. Merlin knows you especially, what with being the Chosen One and all that."
He hated how close she was to the truth. Hated that he had to keep this from her, hated that part of him wanted to keep it from her. He hated that he'd made it seem like he didn't trust her enough. He hated having her angry at him and hearing the hurt in her voice and hated that now she was letting him–letting him have his secrets that he needed to keep for the literal sake of the wizarding world.
"Gin–"
"Really you don't," she promised. "I just…I just felt a bit stupid because I hadn't seen you all day, so I was excited to come over and hang about with you lot, and when you just…acted all flustered and panicked and made it quite obvious that you didn't want me to know what you were talking about, I–well, I felt like a complete git because we hadn't had plans to hang out and maybe you just didn't miss me as much as I missed you. Or at least weren't very happy to see me. So I went mental and bit your head off and you didn't deserve all that."
"I did bloody well deserve it," he corrected before he barrelled on. "But, Gin, I want you to know that I really do trust you. It was just…Before you, I only ever had Ron and Hermione to talk to, and I suppose I'm still getting used to not having to shut up whenever someone comes by, or worry that we might be overheard. And when I saw it was you I behaved like the world's biggest arse because I didn't want you to think I don't trust you which only made it seem like I did.
"And, honestly," he went on, well aware they were both rambling, "what I was telling them, it's about this…theory that Dumbledore and I have been putting together, but we still don't much and he asked me specifically not to tell anyone else. And it's…"
"Harry," she interrupted, leaning up to press a kiss on his cheek. "It's okay. I knew what I was getting into, doing this with you."
"That's not fai-"
"What's not fair is you having the weight of the world on your shoulders."
"You deserve someone who-"
"Be very careful how you finish that sentence."
He sighed her name and closed his eyes. He didn't know how to form his thoughts into words. It was all a jumble of strong feelings overpowering one another. He wished he could just kiss her into understanding him, but the importance of having this conversation wasn't lost on him.
"I want to deserve you," he tried instead, switching course. "I shouldn't have acted like such a nutter earlier."
"You didn't act like a nutter, Harry." He raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe a little bit, but not nearly as much as I did, pretending to lose my temper over one thing when my feelings were hurt over another. My entire family's involved in the Order, if you haven't noticed. I understand the importance of the mission, and what you mean to it. And I understand the importance of Ron and Hermione to you too. Don't go on feeling guilty for doing what you have to do."
"I would tell you if I could. You know that right?"
The look she gave him was the most honest look he'd ever received–openly thoughtful and searching, and she was so, so pretty. "I'm beginning to see that, yeah."
"Good," he said, finally feeling like he could breathe again. "Good."
"Yes, good," agreed Ginny. "So long as you don't go on trying to dictate what I deserve or telling me what I can or can't do."
"Not even I would be so reckless as trying to control you."
"Has the Great Harry Potter met his match?"
"I never stood a chance."
Then she smiled. Harry felt it in his toes and behind his ears and everywhere else, lighting him up, filling him with warmth.
She stood high on her tiptoes and held his cheeks in her hand, bringing her face close enough that their noses were touching. "How could you ever think you don't deserve me?" she mumbled. Then they were back to kissing, and Harry felt so light he could have imagined he was floating.
Her tongue tumbled into his mouth with surprising urgency that he was all too eager to return, kissing her in place until he heard that sound again. Then walking her backwards until they fell back on the couch, and they were both on their sides, her legs twining around his, and he felt his affection for her grow into something real, something tangible building inside him. His hands roamed her body as far as they could go, squeezing her tightly, urging her closer until he had to stop.
He said her name again as he gasped for air, and her hands moved around his neck, her face buried in his chest.
"Harry," she said after a couple minutes.
Her head lifted, their eyes met.
"We're going to fight. If we're in this. We will piss each other off."
"Okay," he nodded, finding her hand and squeezing. "I'm in this."
"Good. Me too."
"Thank Merlin."
She smiled softly and brought their joined hands to her face, letting her lips run over his knuckles. His thumb ran absentminded circles around her skin.
"I can't believe your best mates are Ron and Hermione and you thought one fight would do us in," she said finally.
His cheeks flushed, and he smiled back, slightly embarrassed. "That's different."
Ginny gave him a raised eyebrow and a knowing look.
"Okay, I suppose not that different."
She smiled, giving each of his fingers individual kisses now, and he suddenly felt the largest desire to pour his entire heart out to her, to tell her every thought he'd ever had.
He settled for: "But still different, you know? They know each other better than they know themselves. Most of the time I swear they just do it for fun, because they know it won't last very long, that neither of them are going anywhere. And it's mostly just small things they bicker over. Except for the Lavender debacle, but they've both figured that one out by now, it's only a matter of time at this point. And–my point is, you and I, we're still learning, aren't we?"
"Yes," she replied, eyes shining. "I suppose we are. But you should know, Harry, growing up with six brothers, I have a very high tolerance for bullshit."
He gave her a shining smile back. "Good to know. And I do. Miss you, I mean. You should know that too. What you said earlier, about seeming like I didn't miss you. Ginny, I think if you knew how much time I spent missing you, you'd call the mental hospital on me. It's ridiculous, really, how…happy I am to be with you. All the bloody time."
Her smile was so real and bright that Harry would have kept scrambling for words all night to keep it on her face. But she shut him up with a kiss and informed him, "I've already forgiven you, Harry. Save it for the next argument."