DISCLAIMER: No matter how much I wish...I don't own the wondrous world of Harry Potter. Enjoy my distorted view of it! ;)
A/N: Just to be clear, this is set during seventh year, after the war, before the Epilogue (obviously). Everyone goes back to complete their education. So, Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all together in seventh year.
I pressed my forehead to the foggy window, wiping condensation from it with the heel of my palm.
The balmy summer days were finally giving way to a cool autumn, and some of the trees had even begun to turn beautiful shades of red, orange, and gold that reminded me of my own vivid hair. Autumn had always been my favorite season.
The windows of the girl's dormitory had a spectacular view of the Quidditch pitch, which was where my gaze was currently focused.
A lone figure on what was unmistakably a Firebolt (at least, to the trained eye of a Quidditch player and enthusiast) was speeding around the goal posts, ebony hair windswept and more wild than usual, bent forward over the handle to push the broom to its full extent.
My hands gripped the windowsill, the wood digging into my skin uncomfortably.
Finally making up my mind, I stepped carefully towards my bed, and grabbed a blue knit sweater that was draped over one of the posts.
The common room was packed full with students fishing for reasons to postpone schoolwork.
"Ginny, where are you going? You still have homework!" Hermione called after me.
"Library," I said bracingly. I hate to lie to her, but I really wanted to talk to Harry. We hadn't been able to be alone in such a long time...we hadn't really been alone since...since...since summer. Surrounded on all sides by friends, teachers, and the recently-resurrected Harry Potter Fan Club, our time together had be restricted to mealtimes, studying in the evenings with our friends, and quick kisses goodnight.
Ron raised his eyebrows: He'd lived with me for all my life, and knew every facial expression, every trick in the book of Ginny. He seemed to understand and nodded, if only grudgingly.
The Fat Lady called something about homework and seventh year responsibilities after my back, then turned to her friend Violet and said, "Love sick," in an eternally long-suffering and wise tone of voice.
Filch was prowling around in the Entrance Hall, mopping up muddy footprints and muttering under his breath about "snotty, disrespectful, insolent brats befouling the castle". I snorted, not even bothering to cover it when he glared at me with malevolence to rival Umbridge.
I skipped out onto the grounds, my long, layered sheet of red hair whipping around me in the light fall breeze that twirled the the leaves in a dance, flirting with them.
I shivered lightly, not really cold in my white jeans and sweater, more from a chill of happiness and anticipation.
I kicked up leaves and the colors swirled around me, chasing each other in carefree circles.
The Quidditch pitch was, of course, deserted on this particular Saturday afternoon, and I reveled in the notion of Harry and me alone together for once.
Harry had spotted me by the time I'd gotten to the edge of the pitch, his concentration now...not broken, but shifted.
He sped towards me at breakneck speed, but I didn't flinch when he came within inches of bowling me over.
Pulling up short and hovering, he said, "Hey."
"Hi there," I whispered, smiling and blushing, suddenly a shy eleven-year-old with her elbow in the butter dish.
"Your blush is lovely given the season," he teased, dismounting and shouldering the Firebolt.
I hugged him around the waist, and buried my face in his shoulder, breathing his intoxicating scent in. "Hush."
He chuckled and leaned his chin on my head for a moment before pulling back and saying, "Don't you have homework or something?"
"Don't you?"
"Well...yes, but it's just Defense. You, on the other hand, have History of Magic left."
"Your point?"
"Well...I'm not complaining, he conceded finally.
I grinned impishly.
He rolled his shoulders to get his broom in a better position, his arms draped over it on either side. My arms were draped loosely around his hips, and though the position was mildly comfortable, Harry moved out of it and propped his broom against the stands.
Suddenly, Harry's eyes lit up brilliantly, the sun pulling bits of gold and brown and throwing them into sharp prominence against the green orbs.
"We're alone," he stated, and though it was an obvious remark, I felt no need to point out his obliviousness.
"Yes," I said simply.
"Do you want to have a go on my Firebolt?"
I squealed in delight, but waves of scarlet hair bobbing on my shoulders as I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet.
Harry chuckled deeply at my antics and released me from his arms.
Taking off in flight is amazing: Feeling all the oxygen leave your lungs for a split, magical second as you kick off from the ground, the wind stirring around you, pressing it's silvery, feather-light fingertips against your face, making it flush a startling pink, running those fingers through your hair in a way that makes it feel both pleasantly windswept and messy, and as though every strand is being set in place, woven expertly into a beautiful wreath that frames your face in a frenzy of ordered chaos.
The Firebolt seemed to read my thoughts, and the slightest touch had me rocketing towards the goal posts, and then looping in and out of them so fast that the gray columns blurred. At my smallest whim, I was sent spiraling downward towards the tidy grass, the toes of my ballet flats skimming the green carpet below me.
When I finally landed again, I tumbled off the broom into Harry's arms, happily out of breath.
"That was lovely!" I exclaimed.
Harry, however, was looking at me with an absent, dreamy expression reminiscent of Luna.
"You're lovely," he whispered. "Lovely in autumn."
A/N: Right, then, now that that little…what do I always hear these called? Plot bunnies? Well, anyway, now that that little "plot bunny" has stopped chasing me around, nipping at my heals, review and tell me I didn't waste my time!
~PhoenixFlameGinny67