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Harry yawned loudly. He glanced at his essay and decided that it wouldn’t really matter if he added a whole paragraph on his thoughts about how to best deflect the Cruciatus Curse—Snape would just disagree with him on principle. He’d better off if he went to bed—class resumed the next morning—
“I’m fine, Dean,” cut a voice through the near silence of the Common Room. Harry’s head snapped as he looked around, meeting Ginny’s eyes for a moment; she flushed, looking quickly back at her boyfriend.
Boyfriend, Harry thought sullenly; he really should have gone to bed already.
“I just said I could check your numbers—Arithmancy is very important to a curse-breaker—”
“Dean,” she called, voice low. “That’s my brother’s job, I think I know what classes matter for a curse-breaker.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Dean sounded stressed; Harry wished that didn’t make him suddenly glad, but he couldn’t help himself. “I was just trying to help. I’ll leave you to it, I guess—” He waited, but there was no answer. “Good night.”
“Night,” Ginny answered. Harry thought she sounded only relieved that Dean was leaving, but then there was the pop sound of a smack that hit him like a particularly painful Crucio. If he’d had to stay there and hear them snogging like Ron and Lavender used to—
But the sound of footsteps warned him that Dean was walking to the stairs and he let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. He glanced at Ginny; she was leaning against the desk, alone now, looking concentrated as she scribbled notes on her parchment.
He should mind his own business; he should remember that she had a boyfriend who had just left her seconds ago and whom she had just shared a brief kiss with but, again, Harry was powerless. The fire was lit, reflecting on her hair, making it look more like a sunset than anything else; the fire cast nice shadows over her face, highlighted the warmth of her eyes.
He could have stayed there for a long time watching her, but the hopelessness of it all made him stand up. He fought back a longing sigh, gathering his things and trying to think only about sinking into his bed—though he knew his thoughts about her wouldn’t stop—
A last glance; Ginny had her quill up now, the feather brushing against her neck, and she was biting her lip, teeth sinking gently at her lower lip—Harry suddenly knew exactly how she would appear in his thoughts—and then she threw her hands up in the air.
“This is stupid!” Ginny declared, crumbling the parchment, and throwing it in the fireplace; the fire cracked loudly.
Harry glanced briefly at the stairs—that would be the most reasonable choice, it was not his business—then back at Ginny. She had raised, going to the table where the career pamphlets had been left out; her arms were crossed, everything in her posture betraying her annoyance, a sign that Ron had pointed out a few times to Harry during summer with a warning to let Ginny stay quiet.
And as Harry did in all those times during summer, he went to her.
“Hey,” he said carefully.
Her head snapped in his direction, but the moment their eyes met, her shoulders relaxed a bit.
“Hey. Sorry for the outburst. I thought I was alone here.”
“I don’t think you are the first person to throw your homework on the fire.”
Her lips trembled. “It was Arithmancy, I don’t think I’ll be the last one either.” Harry chuckled; Ginny’s eyes twinkled for a moment, but then she sighed and looked back to the pamphlets.
“Can I tell you something?” She asked in a small voice.
“Of course.”
“I’m the worst girlfriend. Dean was just trying to be helpful and—I keep snapping at him.”
Harry held his neck, unsure. “Ah—it’s the stress with the OWLs, everyone gets it.”
“You didn’t.”
“Well—last year I was snapping at people for other reasons, so I don’t think I’m the best reference here.” He tried to smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace; he couldn’t blame Ginny for not looking amused. “Er—I can call Dean back if you want to talk to him—”
“No,” Ginny said quickly. Her cheeks pinkened. “I mean, it’s late, I will talk to him tomorrow, after—” But Ginny shook her head, and looked away from the pamphlets. “Never mind, I’m sorry to keep you up. You were probably heading up for bed. Good rest, Harry.”
She gave him a feeble smile and went back to the desk.
Harry didn’t even glance at the stairs this time. “Ginny?” He asked quietly, joining her by the table.
Ginny looked at him for a full second before sighing. “I lied to Dean,” she admitted in a heavy voice. “I told him I wanted to be a curse-breaker, that’s why he’s been trying to cheer me up in Arithmancy despite the fact all I ever did was complain about this class for the last two years.”
“Ah.” Harry hesitated. “That’s not a huge lie.”
“That’s the worst part—I’m not telling the truth about something that seems so stupid and yet—yet tomorrow I’ll meet Professor McGonagall and I will also lie to her about it and if I somehow get good grades, I’ll sign up for Arithmancy next year, and—”
“Hey,” he called, alarmed. “But why are you telling people you want to be a curse-breaker?”
“Honestly, because it was the first thing that popped into my mind when we were discussing careers and I just wanted people to let it go; most did, but Dean got excited because he also considered being a curse-breaker, and he kept talking about traveling the world together in search of lost artifacts… Can you imagine it?”
For a moment, Harry did, picturing clearly Ginny wearing an archaeologist outfit as he had once seen in the poster for a movie: brown leather jacket over a white shirt, a fedora shadowing her face, a bullwhip attached to her hip, looking ready for an adventure. He almost smiled, but then he remembered that Dean had pictured himself with Ginny in this scenario.
“No,” he said forcefully; Ginny blinked, surprised by his reaction. “I mean—you would never want to be a curse-breaker, it’s obvious.”
She watched him closely. “Is it?”
Harry nodded, more confident now. “It’s what Bill does,” he said. “You would never repeat what any of your brothers did. You want to be your own person.”
Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Ginny was looking intently at him, but with them so close, the fire still reflecting on her eyes — they seemed to be ablaze now —, Harry had to look down to stop himself from doing something that he would not exactly regret, but that would probably be a mistake.
“I want to be a professional Quidditch player,” she whispered.
Harry stared at her. Ginny’s face was shining with resolution, but there was a bit of nervousness in the way she was fidgeting with her hands.
He didn’t understand why. “That’s brilliant!”
Her face broke into a grin. “You think so?”
“Of course! You are bloody amazing, if anyone could be in a Quidditch team, it would be you!”
“I don’t know, I heard you are amazing yourself,” she said, lighter now.
Harry smiled for a moment, then shook his head. “I love Quidditch—”
“As any sane person should—”
He snorted. “But I lack the discipline. You live and breathe Quidditch, you are actually studying movements and how to improve your technique, and—you taught yourself how to fly when you were seven!”
“Six,” she corrected, laughing for a moment; her gaze moved over his face, her expression more tender than he had seen that night. Harry thought she would say something—he could swear her hand twitched in his direction—, but then Ginny rummaged through her backpack, searching until she took out half an Easter egg. “Do you want to share?”
“Who would refuse chocolate?”
She smiled, helping herself to a piece of the chocolate. Harry’s gaze followed the movement—her lips would taste like chocolate now, wouldn’t they?—before he rushed to serve himself.
Dark chocolate. His favourite.
“I had never told anyone about this,” Ginny said quietly. “I don’t think Mum would approve, my brothers would just laugh—”
“I doubt it, they know your talent.” Harry smiled encouragingly. “Professor McGonagall gets to be the second person to hear, then. She’s going to be really excited about it.”
She snorted. “I have yet to see Professor McGonagall excited, but I’ll let you know.”
“You joke, but I will tell you: Professor McGonagall is more obsessed with Quidditch than Ron.” He lowered his voice, conspiratorially. “The only time I saw her crying was after we won the Quidditch Cup three years ago.”
Ginny laughed. “Last year we had one week without any homework so I could practice.” She shook her head, then sighed. “There is this voice in my head that keeps telling me I am dreaming too high. There are other people, far more talented or—”
“Well, there’s only one thing you can tell to shut up that voice.” He grinned broadly. “Anything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve.”
Ginny’s eyes glinted then, filled with sudden optimism; Harry was reminded of a sunrise, the blinding first sight of the sun.
“How can I discuss such wisdom?” She teased. Her face softened. “Thanks, Harry.”
“Your words, Ginny, not mine.”
She chuckled lowly, then just kept looking at him, only silence around them. Her hand was on the table; Harry’s fingers seemed to move on their own, closer to hers—
And then Ginny stood up.
“I should get some sleep,” she said, voice trembling just a little. “Look my best to impress McGonagall tomorrow.”
“Make sure we win this year’s Cup, and you will.”
“Aye, Captain.” She winked at him. “Maybe next year I will steal that Captain badge.”
He imagined Ginny close to him, her body pressed against him as she unpinned the badge from his uniform. It was not a bad idea—
He looked away quickly, hoping she wouldn’t notice where his thoughts had gone. “Don’t forget your egg.”
“Oh, finish it.” Another wink. “It’s only fair after I nicked pieces of your chocolate egg last time.”
He smiled despite himself. “At least no one is expelling us from the library this year.”
Ginny looked far away for a moment, and Harry wondered if she was also remembering how they ran out of the library, only stopping two halls away, breathless—and how they started laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
He wondered how it would have been if he had feelings for her back then—if maybe this time the laugh would end with them holding each other for support, too close, and with adrenaline still running high, they would end up kissing—her lips would taste like the chocolate they had just shared—
“We could start a tradition,” Ginny suggested. “Of sharing chocolate eggs.”
His heart skipped a beat. “We will need to find a new spot next year.”
Ginny grinned. “We will. Night, Harry. Good dreams.”
He knew exactly what he would dream about.