She had awoken far too early in the morning for it to have been entirely of her own accord. But still, there was something intoxicating about being awake while the rest of her immediate world slept. Uneasiness, knowing she alone was awake. The steadily climbing exhilaration from knowing she could do anything, while neither disturbing anyone else nor warranting a punishment for whatever crime she may have chosen to commit. She couldn't be punished if no one knew she had done something wrong.
Wild brown locks framing her face, she gazed up at the ceiling. Shifting in the corner of the room caught her attention, and she glanced over, her eyes finding a flash of red hair near the top of the bed. She smiled softly, then thought better of it. And shivered. It was strange how she had felt so much only hours ago, and now there was a strange numbness that flooded through her body. Neither coming nor going. The unfamiliar feeling of not knowing what to do, not having the answers, frightened her, to say the least. Clearly, she was not cut out for this sort of thing.
---
It had started innocently.
A raised eyebrow. A wink. They had been forced into conversation, with both Harry and Ginny falling asleep within an hour. There had been no one else to talk to. How could she not have noticed before, how well he held conversation? With every sentence, he was carefully examining her expression – her eyes – for a reaction.
---
Almost politely.
He casually reached up to ruffle his already ruffled hair, and she reached over to tickle him gently. Almost politely. He had guffawed accordingly before returning his hand to his orange-tinted hair. In the near darkness, the red locks almost looked light brown. Strange that she noticed that. But she didn't question it. Really, she had an idea this would happen.
His hand remained resting on the back of his head, and she had reached over to tickle him again, this time with more force. His good-natured but polite reaction disappeared, a high-pitched squeal taking its place. Suddenly there was more tickling. She was reaching over, gently gliding her fingers across his arms, hoping for another dramatic reaction. She wasn't disappointed.
He writhed and fought her back with fervour, holding her wrists together in one hand and tickling her playfully with the other. It continued, on and off, for almost an hour, before he had surrendered. But she knew he couldn't win against her. He could never have won.
---
SystematicYour hands are cold, he had told her, reaching over to warm them with his own. She had smiled but said nothing. He held her hands close to his heart, encasing them in his own. Despite the warmth that was spreading to her fingers, she shivered.
---
New territory.
My heart is going a million miles a minute, she'd told him quietly. He'd looked up at her face, interested, trying to read her eyes. He replied with something unintelligible, and when asked to repeat what he'd said, he'd shrugged and said, never mind.
---
Shield.
She said something, in all flippancy, about dying. Suddenly he was holding her gaze, telling her that he didn't want her to die. Unsure, she smiled again, a dignified smile. A smile that she'd hoped would shield her insecurities. Though, she knew, it was pointless – he had already seen through it anyway.
---
Games(?)
They lay side by side on the floor, and despite the fact that both were fully clothed, there was a blanket wrapped around them. She reached up to prod the end of his nose, and he opened his mouth to bite her finger. But suddenly, the bite became a kiss. She pulled her hand away, feeling uncertain, and he kissed her finger again. There was a wink, and suddenly she understood. It was a game.
Sure. A game.
She replied with a gentle kiss on his hand, and he grabbed her hand, pulling it close to his lips again.
---
Beaten.
You can't beat me, she said, knowing that he'd keep going until she admitted to being beaten. He smirked – though it wasn't a nasty smirk, as the connotations of the word so often implied – and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, her cheek, her jaw line. When she'd imagined herself in such a situation before, she thought she'd gasp. Or moan. But she didn't. It occurred to her later that the reason was because it wasn't a shock. Him kissing her face felt as natural and comfortable as anything.
But she knew he couldn't win against her. He could never have won.
---
Casually.
She had wanted to know what this meant for them. He had replied in his usual casual way (I dunno) and then paused, taking a moment to think before inviting her to dinner. She had really liked that.
The casualness continued on through the rest of the day. Ginny and Harry couldn't have been completely oblivious to the sideways glances he was sending her, but they didn't say anything. She was grateful for that.
He may have (temporarily?) stolen her heart.
But she knew he couldn't win against her. He could never have won.
----
She could swear that even hours after he had kissed her, she could still feel the shadow of his lips on her – as though if she were able to pull her surroundings in closer towards her the shadow would become something real.
---
Aftermath, (because she felt it deserved its own capital 'A'), was something they'd have to deal with later.
He would have said that right now, they were Before-math.