Impromptu Kiss
By soul release
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Belongs to J K Rowling if you haven't figured that out yet.
Author's note: Yes, go drabbles. This is what happens when your brain becomes all clogged up and you can't think of anything good to write. Oh, how I love writing Ginny. And go Tom, you sexy bastard. Just kidding. Result of extreme fatigue.
She brushes her lips against his.
It's funny, she supposes, to admit it so openly when she's been hiding it so carefully for so long.
He tastes soft, like cozy nights and home. She thinks of home and Mum and her baked scones and strawberry jelly and hot chocolate with marshmallows which she always chose to save for last, and singing carols even if it weren't Christmas and Bat-Bogeying the twins when they threatened to put Harry under a Love Potion so that they can "smooch" for all eternity. She misses home.
He pulls back a bit, but he doesn't protest, or escapes entirely. He's a hero, and he's faced behemoths and dragons and seen so many die and yet he doesn't know quite know these things.
She steps back slowly and carefully looks at him. His expression is startled, confused, if not a bit dazed. But she doesn't really fear hurt or a little heartbreak. Somehow, rejection is slightly beyond her now. Maybe it's Tom. Maybe it's just growing up.
Some things, you just can't regret.
Tomorrow, she knows she won't have this liberty again. Dread as it asphyxiates and haunts the air – she can't run away from it forever. It's coming, and she knows.
Because.
Because.
He's watching. He'll be watching. And he'll come back for her because he always does with his poisonous allure and cat-like smirk and his demon soul and his gray, gray eyes.
Tom.
Tomorrow, she can't stray again.