22 December, 6th Year
Harry dodged the bright purple stream of light that hit dangerously close to his leg. He had maybe a second to dive again before the cackling witch sending hexes caught her breath to shoot another spell. Ginny ran to the top of the stairs and swung around the banister with one arm, her wand hand free and fluidly casting a flash of orange. Harry knew she liked dramatic spells best, their colours stalking him around the Burrow (more fun than his own botched hexes). He'd been laughing too hard to do any damage during that round of Hex Tag ("Hex Tig," Ginny had said adamantly), and the youngest Weasley was looking like the clear victor.
"Okay, you win! I think my shin is growing something green and fuzzy," said Harry.
Ginny smiled with her nose in the air and slid her cherry wand back in her pocket.
"Yeah, Fred taught me that one. It might, erm, take a few days to clear up," she said apologetically.
"Maybe we should name it, then," said Harry. "Any suggestions?"
"Hmm... I'll have to see my work first. Roll up your trouser leg," said Ginny.
Harry laughed and leaned over to show her. They'd come up with the tag game one rainy afternoon in summer when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were out. Ron and Hermione had been lazing happily on opposite sides of Ron's room with Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks, and the rest of the family appeared too bored or sleepy to move from their arrangements. It was only Harry and Ginny, both annoyingly energetic, left to figure out their afternoon plans. Ginny had once continued tag onto Hogwarts after a great Quidditch practise, both of them messy-haired and bruised and not caring about a few more. His friendship with Ginny meant the most to him in those moments - a happy distraction from Dumbledore, Malfoy, and the concerned stares of his best friends. Harry felt smothered by other people's expectations and overbearing worry, but not when he was with her.
It was several days before Christmas in the Weasley home, which meant Mrs. Weasley had turned the Burrow inside out with Christmas decorations, something that delighted Harry every year. Deep green wreaths hung fragrantly on every door, with delicate ornaments of red, silver, and gold nestled in the pine. While Hogwarts also had roaring common room fires, the wood burned at the Burrow smelled different (better) and made Harry feel instantly at ease. He liked quietly eavesdropping on conversations around him: Fred and George in mock argument, Hermione and Ron in real argument, Percy's enormous sighs while trying to read (absent this year), and the sugary smell of Ginny levitating marshmallows over flames. He always tried to look away when she stuffed them sweet and gooey in her mouth, it seemed polite, but she'd put several in at once and pull a face to make him laugh. Add Percy's follow-up eye roll and groan and it'd be like any Christmas he'd had there. Almost. Mostly. Not at all.
Ginny looked as restless as she did before their game. She tugged the sleeves of her jumper down repeatedly, waiting for him to choose the next activity. Once again the rest of the household had taken a pass.
"Sorry," she said, putting her hands behind her back, "The potion for my... issue hasn't been working."
She circled her hand over her head.
"I think the healer changed an ingredient," said Ginny, giving the side eye to no one in particular.
"What does it feel like, having Bipolar?" said Harry. "I apologise if that's rude, I just realised I've never asked you how you cope with it. And school, and friends, and Quidditch, and... Dean."
Ginny cracked a small smile.
"Sometimes I feel like I can do anything and be anything. We also win a lot more Quidditch matches then, which I'd like to think is thanks to yours truly," she said. "Other times my brain feels like it's going to explode with too much... everything. Or worse, when I have to force myself out of bed."
"How does the potion help?" said Harry.
"It makes it feel less. I don't stay up for days at a time, I don't do overly impulsive things," she smiled. "I can have as normal a life that's possible being part of my nutter family."
"I wouldn't mind being part of your nutter family," shrugged Harry.
"Wow. I knew you and Ron were serious, but not that serious," laughed Ginny.
Harry blushed and thought to where they could go next. The Burrow was a tight fit with everyone home, but there were always unexplored corners in the house. He wasn't ready to see the others yet. He just wanted to laugh a while longer.
"Have I ever showed you my Great-Uncle Balager's Muggle spoon collection? He was hilarious, and mad! I see where dad gets it. And me, I guess," said Ginny.
They started climbing the narrow stairs to the attic, Ginny leading the way. He tried not to look at the back of her jeans.
"I don't think you're mad," said Harry.
"Then you're right," said Ginny. "You don't know what Bipolar feels like."
Ginny lifted a heavy polished box from the floor, the box looking like Aunt Petunia's silver chests. Her Great-Uncle Balager collected small teaspoons from around the Western Muggle world, the enamel flags of countries or cities worked into the top of the handles. Harry decided not to tell Ginny that they reminded him of spoons displayed on the wall by his Aunt Marge, and he pushed horrible memories of her house in Suffolk to the back of his mind.
"My favourite is the one from Mevagissey. I know it's just Cornwall, but it's got this gorgeous seascape in my favourite shade of blue," said Ginny, putting the handle in front of Harry's glasses.
"Yeah, they're cool," said Harry with a polite smile.
Ginny dropped the spoon and narrowed her glance at Harry.
"You're bored, aren't you?" she said.
Harry shook his head, lying only about the spoons.
"I'm not, I promise," he said.
Ginny took a deep breath and looked around the four corners of the room, searching for something. Harry followed her eyes and turned around to look at a broken three-legged chair holding up a box that said "WWW - DO NOT BIN" in either twin's bold handwriting. She hopped across the dusty attic floor and started rifling through the box, throwing failed humorous experiments on the floor. A rubber chicken that was supposed to breathe fire, a mirror that aged you only five years instead of 50, an XXXXL beard-growing potion that was tested on Percy while Fred and George cried laughing (Mrs. Weasley had confiscated the potion recipe for that one). Harry's heart felt light and happy with every object Ginny tossed beside her, memories of a full summer at the Burrow flooding back.
Harry was about to reach for a moving furry ball when Ginny found the thing she'd apparently been hunting. She pulled out a black plastic sphere no different from the Magic 8-Balls sold in Muggle joke shops.
"I never got to try it out before Fred and George nixed it as a product," said Ginny.
She tossed it at him, Harry immediately snatching it from the air. He shook it and words appeared instantly - ones that made him drop it on the floor.
TELL GINNY HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT HER
"What is that thing, exactly?" said Harry, picking it up nervously.
"Basically a game of Truth, personalised to the user. It tells you what you really want to say to another person, and eggs you on to boldly do it. Look at it again and you'll get some nasty comments, apparently," said Ginny.
Harry looked down.
I'VE SEEN YOU GET MORE FRIENDLY WITH A BROOM THAN A HUMAN FEMALE
He made a face, mildly offended.
"Do you want it back?" said Harry, checking the words were gone before handing it over.
Ginny stared at the black 8-Ball, her smile gone. She sighed with a shrug, as if the disappointment were familiar.
"For the twins' sense of humour, this thing is pretty dark," said Ginny. "Maybe that's why they put it up here."
"Are you okay?" said Harry.
He resisted the urge to ask her what it said, but when she nodded sadly Harry took a few steps to gently rest his hand on hers. A gesture of friendly comfort, he hoped it'd come off as. Secretly, his face felt warm.
"It says, 'Tell Dean you're too ill to love him or anyone else,'" said Ginny.
Harry's stomach dropped at the mention of Dean, but more than that he felt sad for her. She was the strongest person he knew, and yet he wanted to hold her then and tell her how much he would always love her. How he wanted them to be together, despite the family and friends who'd probably form a human chain to stop him and Ginny from ruining things for everyone else. How Harry liked and accepted the eccentricities of her Bipolar Disorder, not looked past them. It was the most selfish thing he could ever say, but the bloody 8-Ball was right.
Harry's head was so overwhelmed that he pulled her into a hug without thinking.
Ginny wrapped her arms around his back and buried her head into his shoulder, not crying, but breathing heavily. She lifted her head from his hoodie and looked up at him, their faces inches apart. Ginny stretched her body again and her lips brushed the edge of his jawline, her mouth slightly open as her bottom lip subtly dragged on his skin. Harry tilted his face down, afraid and alert and excited that they were standing wrapped around each other. He smelled the flowery perfume she dabbed on her neck every day, and he wanted to take in all of her. Every bit of his skin felt like blood rushing back to a sleeping limb.
Harry took a hand away from her back and stroked the edge of her chin with his thumb, once, lightly. Ginny's lips were together again and resting near the edge of his mouth, ready for him to shift in the slightest to taste her like he'd dreamt of for months. Ginny wrapped her arms tighter, all of their bodies against each other now.
And then the attic door flung open, revealing a very stunned Hermione.
Harry and Ginny separated at once and stepped a yard apart. Hermione spoke to the floor.
"Tea is ready," said Hermione, her voice struggling to fake normalcy.
Harry walked briskly past Ginny and Hermione, not feeling his body as he descended the stairs away from them. Merlin, he didn't walk from that room. He flew.
24 December
Ginny jiggled her knee impatiently, seated on the Burrow's living room sofa between Hermione and Ron. Her fingers tapped in another pattern on her leg, and she breathed quickly, causing both her close friend and her brother to stare. She'd already debriefed the attic situation with Hermione, both of them fully honest in their reactions (and the promise it would never be told to Ron). It was Harry she needed to speak with now, Harry who'd spent the past two days avoiding eye contact with her and Hermione for his own embarrassed reasons. Others were so busy with pre-Christmas buzz that they'd failed to notice the awkward dynamic of the three of them never being in one space. Of course, the Burrow wasn't large or empty enough to keep this up forever, and Ginny had questions that needed immediate answers. Her newly brewed potion wasn't working (not brilliant) and she was never very good at waiting. She nipped at the pad of one of her fingers and sprang from the sofa. Going to find Harry. Going to tell Harry exactly what she thought of him. Ginny tied her hair into a ponytail, meaning business, and marched her way to his shared room with Ron.
The door was closed when she got there, with Harry inside either sleeping or too moody for company. The wave of adrenaline that had brought her upstairs was gone, replaced with the mild terror of complete anxiety. She paused her breath and listened closely for any signs of life behind the door, but there was nothing but silence. She decided to leave. Her heart hurt from being there and her body betrayed her, a rising mania she couldn't control... and sometimes didn't want to.
Ginny loved the highest highs when they worked in her favour. A blur of scoring goals and zooming pass bludgers at practices at matches, the cold air making sweat feel good and winning feel even better. Every inch of her body was on high alert when Harry was in view, and her heart thumped out of her chest when he pulled off his red and gold jersey to reveal a soaked t-shirt three times per week. Each Gryffindor teammate was messy, sore, and streaked with dirt from harsh landings at the end of practice, but seeing Harry made him seem no less perfect than her First Year crush. It was only when Dean walked out of the stands, waving happily at Ginny, that the highs became an unbearable repetition of guilty thoughts. Liar. Whore. Want. Want. Want. Whore. Bitch. Die. Undeserving.
Her parents were devastated when a healer had first told them at St. Mungo's. It was a little over a year ago, poorly timed in the middle of Order chaos and the beginning of Dumbledore's Army. Ginny's roommate, Abbi, had arrived one afternoon with Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey behind her, their voices all an octave higher than normal as they spoke in a chorus of calm concern and took her to Dumbledore's office. She'd stayed up for nights in a row, writing idea after idea in journals until they overflowed with scribbles. Ginny didn't remember a lot after that, only waking up in hospital after 16 hours of sleep to the worried faces of her mum and dad, and a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder a week later. Strangely, the hospital's namesake was a big believer in Muggle psychiatry, and small vials of Bilseed Potion were given to her to take on the daily. A mind-numbing amount of galleons that her parents had to spend on her horribly broken brain. Every fortnight more vials came by owl. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
Ginny took her time climbing the steep attic steps, swinging loosely around corners and feeling out of her body. She jumped certain steps, and eventually opened the door to the Burrow's nostalgia-stuffed attic. Expecting to be alone and instead seeing Harry Potter was a situation she was still not comfortable with. Harry looked as surprised to see her, his mouth gaping slightly as if to say something first. He was holding the twins' Truth Ball again, but set it back in the box as Ginny walked towards him. She couldn't stop the thought that he looked like a coward.
"Do you fancy me?" said Ginny.
Harry looked taken aback.
"You really like to skip pages, don't you?" said Harry, eyebrows raised.
"Just answer the question," said Ginny.
Harry stared at her. No embarrassment anymore, no avoided eye contact.
"I'd ruin your Christmas if I said quite frankly anything that's running through my mind," said Harry. "You don't want to hear any of it, Ginny."
"I was right, you are spineless. Just another spineless boy who stares at me when you think I'm not paying attention at Quidditch, or eating in the Great Hall, or living under the same damn roof for an entire summer. You want me, admit it! You do, and you're too much of a coward to pipe up and say something that might force you to hear an answer back. You're afraid of me, you're afraid of Ron, and most annoyingly you're afraid of Dean!" she was practically shouting.
"Yes! Is that what you're looking to hear?" said Harry. "Yes, I am afraid of you, and yes bloody yes I fancy you. Pleased now?"
"I know you're Mr. Sarcasm, but I need a straight answer here," she said, starting to smile.
Harry's grin came as suddenly as hers, then disappeared.
"I wasn't being sarcastic, but you made a valid point about Dean. You have a boyfriend already," said Harry. "We almost kissed and you have a boyfriend. Who sleeps in my dormitory and calls me a mate."
"You're right, that was wrong of us," said Ginny, quietly.
She thought of Dean and meant it, and thought of Harry and also didn't.
Ginny walked over to Harry and put a hand on his chest, dangerously close again. She heard him breathe deeply.
"I think this is called a 'mixed signal,'" said Harry with a reluctant smile.
Ginny put both of her palms flat against his chest, the small space between them electric with want. It was Christmas Eve, still and dark and perfect in his arms. She had admitted to herself that she was willing to hurt other people to have him. His hands felt so good on her back.
"Can we have five minutes where we aren't accountable to anyone?" said Ginny.
Harry paused before answering, then nodded his 'Okay.'
She leaned in and kissed his cheek gently, fluttering slow kisses towards his mouth. Harry pulled her in and she stopped being gentle. Ginny started kissing hungrily, years worth of daydreams crashing into one chance and the electricity between them now heightened and throbbing. Harry was just as greedy, and cupped her face to almost moan her name between their lips.
Ginny didn't want it to end, the kiss that felt like fire, but real life has a way. It always has a way.