Ginny ran at Harry, a fierce, blazing look in her eyes. And without thinking, without knowing what he was doing, Harry kissed her.

She wrenched herself away, looking horrified. "What are you doing!" She cried.

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean staring at them with a mixture of shock and triumph in his eyes. Harry wanted to pummel him.

"I—I'm sorry—I just really like you and I thought maybe—" he stammered numbly.

Ginny glanced around at the dozens of Gryffindors staring at them. Blushing furiously, she dragged Harry out of the portrait hole into the deserted corridor.

"What do you think you're playing at!" She snapped in a hushed whisper, tossing her hair angrily.

Harry had never felt more embarrassed in his life. What had he been thinking? How could he have done that, kissed her with all those people watching? "I'm sorry," he stammered weakly. Ginny didn't lower her fierce gaze.

Harry took a breath, praying that he would sink through the floor and never be seen again. "Look, Ginny. . . I really like you. Ever since I saw you kissing Dean I wanted to ask you out . . . I couldn't stop thinking about you. I saw you running at me and I just didn't think about it . . . I just kissed you . . ."

"Ooooh!" The Fat Lady crooned. "I just love teenage love affairs…"

Ignoring her, Ginny softened her gaze slightly. "Harry . . . aarghh," she groaned, releasing her frustration by stamping her boot on the floor. "You are so tactless!"

Harry felt that, given the situation, his lack of tact was quite obvious. He had no desire to stand there and hear a speech about his stupidity from his crush. "Okay, okay," he sighed. "Can you spare me the lec—"

But Ginny had no intention of sparing him anything. "First of all, you don't even have the courage to ask me out—"

Harry, however, felt that courage was one thing he was not deficient in. "Hold on!" he cried. "I kissed you, didn't I? That was pretty courageous!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. Harry was beginning to regret not consulting Hermione about asking Ginny out. Having Hermione lecture him on the ways of girls for an hour was much preferable to this mortifying situation.

"Harry," Ginny said with the air of a mother teaching a child the alphabet, "if a girl who you had no idea liked you walked up to you and kissed you, would you be touched by her courage and tact? Or would you want to rip her off your lips and demand to know what the hell she is doing?"

Harry, his mouth agape, could not seem to find words to reply.

"What you should have done," she went on in an air shockingly like Hermione's, "was approach me sometime after Quidditch practice and explain to me that you've liked me for a very long time, and you couldn't stop thinking about me, and how every time you saw me with Dean you wanted to rip him limb from limb, and that even though I am your best mate's sister you feel that you cannot possibly restrain yourself any longer and you simply have to give in to your undying love for me . . . and would I please do you the honor of being your girlfriend?"

The Fat Lady applauded at Ginny's breathless tirade. "Oh, well said, well said!" she chuckled merrily from her frame.

Ginny's gaze softened and she hugged Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said sincerely. "It just . . . wasn't meant to be." With a regretful smile, she clambered back through the portrait hole.

Harry looked after her, a lump gathering in his throat. He wanted to grab her and kiss her and never let her go.

But it was not to be.