July had begun with a promise of warm, restless nights and even hotter days. The windows of the Burrow had been left open in hopes of cool breezes. It seemed as though the weather was slowing time; no new activity worth worry had been reported by the Order – even Voldermort seemed to be looking for an escape from the humid slickness surrounding the summer months.
Or perhaps, as Hermione hypothesized on occasion, he was waiting. When Ron began to turn away with disinterest and Harry donned an expression of anxious despair, she would simply purse her lips and shake her head slowly, muttering, "Evil doesn't take vacations." And, although the boys were inclined to agree, they too wanted to enjoy their vacation without vicious Death Eaters, attacks on muggles, surprise portkeys, and life-threatening battles.
On this particular day, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had left the trio to their own devices, off to Diagon Alley for daily necessities and other odds and ends. They were sitting in the kitchen, Ron and Harry occupied with a dull game of Wizards Chess, Hermione leafing through "Poisonous Flowers and How to Avoid Them." Their heads snapped up as the stairs whined under new weight, the floorboards creaking with an old familiarity. Ginny smiled at them as she entered.
"Aren't you supposed to be with mum and dad?" Ron asked her, and Ginny turned at his accusatory tone.
"Shop's busy," she told him, frowning. "The twins said it might be better if I stayed behind this time."
Rather than taking an extra chair with them, she walked to the cupboard, rummaging for a snack.
Harry watched as she bend forward, her long, red hair sliding down her shoulders, almost touching the floor. As she reached farther in, the hem of her skirt inched slowly up her calve, exposing the back of her lower thigh. Harry tilted his head to the left to watch her better over Ron, as he leaned to concentrate on the board for his next move.
He smiled slowly as she straightened and turned, her white top almost lost against her pale skin. A smattering of freckles trailed down her neck to her chest, hidden by a lace pattern above the swell of her curves.
"Harry?" She frowned hard. His eyes snapped up to hers and quickly over to Ron and Hermione, who were wearing similar expressions of concern.
The front legs of his chair hit the floor with a hard thud, and Harry was similarly aware that he'd been leaning back for his admiration of Ginny in a better attempt for a full view.
"I, uh," he stuttered lamely, eyes back on Ginny; as a flush spread across the bridge of her nose, he felt heat on his own face.
"Well?" Ron sputtered. "Just what were you looking at?" He leaned in close to Harry's face, pushing a hand between a rook and bishop on the board, knocking his own king askew. Harry looked at his accusatory glare innocently.
"Nothing! I wasn't looking at anything," and behind Ron, he could see Ginny's face fall just a bit before she looked down at her feet. He could have sworn he heard Hermione suck her teeth at him. As Ron settled back in his chair, confidently, Ginny slipped out the back door and into the stark sunlight.
"Well," Harry said, beginning to smirk. "Looks like I've won the game then."
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned and parted ways, Mr. Weasely heading to his workroom as Mrs. Weasley began preparing supper. Harry, Ron, and Hermione lounged on the couches in the sitting room.
Mrs. Weasley bustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her blue, frilly apron and smiled sweetly at them.
"Ronald, Hermione, come and set the table, hmm? Harry, be a dear and bring Ginny in from the garden."
Ron groaned, but offered his hand to Hermione, the tips of his ears pinking as her hand gingerly grasped his.
With a quick glace at Ron, Harry called out to Mrs. Weasley's retreating back, "Are you sure that you don't need more help in the kitchen?"
Ron seconded him, but as they went to help, Mrs. Weasley all but pushed him out the door.
He stumbled onto the grass, and glanced around the garden, spying Ginny sitting out a ways on a patch of wildflowers, the pinks and purples surrounding her. The colors of the setting sun bathed her in a surreal light, picking up the different tones of red in her hair.
Harry approached her slowly and awkwardly, finally settling beside her. His stomach tightened as she leaned her weight towards him, her bare calve touching his. As if she wasn't aware of the heat her contact brought him, she smiled, "Mum send you out to fetch me?"
He nodded to her wordlessly, watching her nimble fingers twist the flower vines together. Carefully, she faced him, lifting the completed wreath to rest upon his messy hair.
He all but gasped at how close she was, taking in her sweet scent mixing with the fragrance of the garden. He had spent so long scoffing at the odd ways Hermione and Ron had shown their affections to one another. In truth, he didn't understand it. No one in his life had shown him the awkward, tender nature of love.
Although Ginny looked as though she had enjoyed his company, fancying him above the bonds of friendship, he had always taken it as puppy love, considering her strange behavior and excessive shyness.
But, she had aged and matured. Her demeanor had grown from childish affections to adult curiosity, and he had taken notice. Her reserve had blossomed, and although she smiled, giggled, and gossiped, and although she joked, was sarcastic, and sometimes quick to anger, she was now a developing, young woman.
God, he had noticed. He willed away boyish dreaming and fantasies and thoughts that would surely turn her away. It was painfully obvious that although she had developed emotionally and mentally, he noticed her physical development more so.
A fire swelled in him, his blood pounding in his ears. He glanced down at her full, pale lips, and up to her curious eyes, her long, light lashes blinking innocently. Strained, he moved to turn from her, but she gently turned his head back, looking into his eyes. Leaning slowly, she brushed her lips softly against his. Harry jerked his head back in surprise.
"I'm sorry," he told her quickly, though he wasn't sure why.
She blinked hard, studying him.
"Harry," she whispered. "I like you." Kissing his cheek, she pulled away to stand. "Come on," she offered him her hand. He swallowed thickly and accepted.
Ron looked up at them from setting the silverware and laughed, "Cute flowers, Harry."
Harry frowned, but swore he saw Mrs. Weasely give him a knowing look.
"I can make one for you too, Ron," Ginny scolded him. "The pink ones will match the color your ears turned the other day when Hermione –"
"Ginny!" he cut her off. "I was kidding, jeez; you and Harry are like brother and sister almost."
Ginny and Harry glanced at one another.
Almost.