Author's Note: Harry Potter is property of one J.K. Rowling. I'm just a poor student at university writing a fluffy little drabble to cheer myself up. Ice Cream is owned by Sarah McLachlan. Harry/Ginny, set sometime in the summer after Order of the Phoenix.

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Ice Cream
by drama-princess

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Oh, this is absolutely useless, Harry says, pushing Transfiguration Today away from him and running his hands roughly through his hair. Where's Numerology and Grammatica when you need it? I'd fall asleep in a minute.

The empty silence of the kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place answers him. He sighs and prods the book towards the end of the table. He can't sleep, and he can't even blame it on nightmares tonight. Harry gives another sigh and slides his spectacles off. He was okay, he tells everyone. I'm okay with Sirius's death. The words sound wrong even in his head.

Maybe he'll have some ice cream. Mrs. Weasley is always saying it s a cure-all. He laughs weakly.

Harry is pretty sure that Lupin doesn't believe him, and is certain that Mrs. Weasley knows he's lying. Everyone else has taken him more or less at his word, even if Hermione sends him piercing looks and Ron occasionally gives him a peculiar glance, asking all right there, mate? and Ginny. . .

Is walking into the kitchen. Harry dives back for the shadows. She clearly doesn't notice him as he holds his breath. She walks quickly, her arms wrapped around her waist as she marched into the pantry. She's muttering angrily as she takes out a tin of biscuits.

Harry freezes Ginny's clanging the plates as she takes out a cup and saucer. Her lip works furiously, and he sees now that she's definitely close to tears. And it's just simply a fact that Harry doesn't do well with crying girls. With a last, slightly worried look, Harry pulls his spectacles back on and turns to leave.

Unfortunately, hes reckoned without the book, which clatters noisily to the floor. Ginny whirls, her teaspoon brandished high as if holding her wand to defence. Harry winces.

he says meekly.

Ginny drops the spoon to her side. Harry notices that her ears seem to have gone a faint shade of pink.

she mutters. It's all those defence lessons. Makes me jumpy.

Know the feeling, Harry assures her.

Ginny says, storing the tin back into the cupboard. Her tears seem to have vanished, and Harry wonders if he's imagined the entire thing. What's your poison?

Ice cream, but--

Give me your dish, Ginny says briskly, holding out her hands for the chipped ice cream dish that Harry's cradling in his hands. I'll make you a Ginny sundae.

Harry leans back against the counter, feeling the hard stone press into his back. He's eaten a lot of strange things in the middle of the night, leftover sponge cake and brandy-flavored biscuits, but he's never had anyone stop him to make something. Once Dudley came down and nearly sobbed at the sight of Harry's sweet rolls, though.

What's that? he asks, his eyes settling on Ginny's fingers. She's scooping the ice cream with an enormous silver spoon, pouring in the glimmering chocolate spheres, heating the sauce with a poke of her wand. No one's going to care, she said in response to his pointed look. Not after the mice Dung conjured this morning, and wasn't that fun?

Harry laughs, a little, and his shoulders ease back down.

Don't ask, Ginny says, and shoves the dish back to Harry. It tastes better if you don't know what it is.

Harry takes a bite, and his mouth explodes with chocolate and raspberry, chopped nuts and swirled caramel. Ginny looks smug, her thin white shoulders visible beneath beneath the thin white cotton bathrobe. She looks vivid in the furtive light, like somebody's painted her hair and lips too brightly.

I love it, he says and gives her a small grin.

No problem, Ginny says, and watches him eat. Some other time, he might have thought it strange. He doesn't bother to wonder about it now. Harry puts the dish in water, and the silver spoon next, and he still has a small patch of chocolate on his left hand.

Well, goodnight, he says uncertainly. His eyes meet her brown ones. What does that mean? Kisses and hand-holding Harry understands, but things like this never make any sense. Thanks again.

You're welcome, Ginny says. Harry thinks about a Muggle song he heard on the radio earlier.

Your love is better than ice cream.

He shakes his head and follows Ginny up the stairs. At least he isn't thinking about death.