Chapter 2: Mirrors, Sweets, and a Snog

"Coming to breakfast?"

"Nah, I'm going to do this first." Harry nodded at his trunk. "You go ahead."

"Hurry up if you want more than toast," Ron said.

Harry released the charms on his trunk, removed a small Scrivenshaft's bag, and stepped onto the landing, listening for running water. He'd decided now, with Ginny in the shower, was his best chance of returning her items undetected.

Dutifully averting his eyes from the bathroom door, Harry entered Ginny's room. It looked like her: bright, cheerful, and a little chaotic, except for a pristinely-made bed and squarely-aligned trunk that had to be Hermione's. Harry frowned. Miss Know-It-All didn't need more evidence of her suspicions; where could he leave them that Hermione wouldn't find, but Ginny wouldn't have to look? The two girls shared nearly everything, except . . . .

He was halfway to her bed before he saw that Ginny laid out her clothes. Faded jeans, a Gryffindor t-shirt, a wad of orange, and a lurid orange and green plaid bra. The bra looked funny (besides the colors), almost like it was—stuffed? Harry moved closer to poke it cautiously. It didn't collapse. Weird. He'd never pictured a bra that showed a girl's shape when it was just lying there. He tilted his head, studying it. It looked kind of small, actually—not the curve (Ginny was short and slim but she wasn't flat-chested), more like—Harry's neck heated—like if he cupped her in his hand, his thumb and forefinger would touch bare skin.

Shirt, trousers, bra . . . . He glanced over his shoulder but neither saw nor heard anyone, and the shower was still running. He dropped the Scrivenshaft bag and picked up her knickers. She'd been wearing plain yellow under her nightdress, and snug black bikinis under Charlie's pajamas, but these were tiny, just a string of elastic on each side. Her legs would look fantastic . . . .

Harry jumped at a noise across the hall. He'd be Bat-Bogey fodder if Ginny found him fingering her underwear. He hastily stuffed the Scrivenshaft bag under her pillow, only to have his hand catch on something lacy. Bloody hell. That damned nightdress.


Harry leaned against the back wall of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions and wondered why he'd let Ron talk him into this. Well, not talk exactly; Ron had given him a series of pleading looks, sharp elbows, and insinuating head jerks towards Hermione until Harry offered to come along for the final fittings. Ginny had twirled once before Fleur declared her bridesmaid's robes Parfait!, Gabrielle had passed inspection immediately, and then Bill and Charlie twisted and turned until Fleur, Madame Malkin, Mrs. Weasley, and Madame Delacour were all satisfied. Bill and Mr. Delacour left to explore Diagon Alley, and now Fleur was holding court in front of a three-way mirror.

Charlie joined him, back in Muggle clothes. "How did you get stuck here, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It left Ron and Hermione home alone."

Charlie's face lit with an expression alarmingly similar to Fred and George. "The lucky bastard. Ronniekins finally made his move, eh?"

"He'd better be."

"I trust you're not returning a favor regarding my sister?"

"Of course not. Besides, I'm not sure it's a favor; Hermione's been pretty hacked off."

"Yeah, how did Ginny put it? 'The great git's in a load of—Brown.' "

Harry laughed.

"I haven't seen Fred and George's shop, I told Bill we'd meet there. Want to come?"

"About last night, I didn't mean to imply—"

"Forget it." Charlie sounded casual, but the tightness around his mouth made Harry think his comment had hit a nerve. "I'll see you later."

Harry nodded, looking round for something to distract him from the temptation of watching Ginny. He hadn't told Ron, but his reluctance to join this expedition was because Ginny was going, and how was he supposed to avoid thinking about her when she was changing clothes right next to him? He hadn't even been watching her, had deliberately turned the other way when she carried her robes into a cubicle, but the mirror across from her reflected a red t-shirt dropping onto the floor, followed by a pair of jeans kicked into a corner by bare feet, and then the stuffed bra. Harry had closed his eyes, but that hadn't stopped his imagination.

He sighed. The only thing in this room now other than Ginny was the crowd of witches at the opposite end. Fleur was certainly distracting enough, but he didn't think Bill would appreciate him eyeing his fiancée any more than his sister. What was he supposed to do, browse through the main shop like a girl? He supposed he could have gone with Charlie if he'd kept his mouth shut, but . . . .

This was an ideal room to watch someone unobtrusively. Dressing rooms lined both walls, each with a mirror hung outside the door, and three-way mirrors stood at each end. By moving a little to his left, Harry was rewarded with seven copies of Ginny as she posed in front of one of the stalls. She had several pairs of earrings and was holding them next to her face one at a time, turning her head this way and that, flipping her hair—

It was the same move from last night, but he couldn't see anything. Of course, she wasn't wearing a bra then, which was why he'd had such a great view. Not that he didn't now, he admitted as Ginny switched earrings. She was using one hand to hold up her hair, and with both arms raised her curves were clearly visible. Despite its close fit, the scarlet tee gave no hint of the bright bra beneath, although the lion's tail curled rather suggestively around the smooth tip of her left breast—or was that the right? Harry dismissed this pesky detail and frowned. Ordinary bras weren't that concealing. He remembered how this one held its shape and understood why Ginny chose it today.

Gabrielle was chatting merrily with her, giving her opinion on whether each pair looked better with Ginny's hair up or down. Ginny played along, striking one ridiculous pose after another, and Harry's mind wandered.

If he slid his hands under that shirt, up over her breasts, would his fingers brush bare skin? He'd seen freckles on her shoulders and chest last night, were there freckles there? Now she was prancing in Fleur's discarded heels—Merlin, those were great jeans. He'd thought he was going to explode when she'd wiggled that delicious arse under his nose, brothers be damned, and he'd clenched his hands to keep them off her. Her reflection was strolling towards him; how could such a short girl have such long legs? She turned with a flourish, hip cocked, and a perfect image flooded his brain: long hair spilling down her back, long legs in strappy silver heels, and in between, nothing but a scrap of orange.

Harry blinked. Ginny was gone. Following the women into the main shop, he ignored the voice warning him if he kept picturing her in her underwear, he'd soon be snogging her, which he was not supposed to be doing, or thinking about doing, or even remembering doing.

Bill, Charlie, and Monsieur Delacour returned and joined the women at the counter. Ginny tossed a pack of hair bands and a pair of earrings on the counter. Bill pushed them towards the saleswitch. Harry smirked. He'd known she'd convince Bill or Charlie to buy her something, but to do it without speech or even eye contact was impressive.

Gods, she was brilliant. He missed her already, and he was still seeing her every day. He envied Ron. He really did.


Harry ignored his growling stomach and flipped another page in Quidditch Illustrated. He'd spent dinner trying not to picture Ginny's breasts or be squashed by Hermione's efforts to avoid Ron, followed by a long walk with Hermione and a conversation with Ron about both Hermione and Lavender. Overall, he thought he deserved a sweet. Or four, or five . . . .

But the last time he made an innocent, solitary trip to the kitchen, it ended neither solitary nor innocent. Away from her, the voice insisting Ginny Weasley wasn't safe with him was considerably louder. But he was hungry, and the Burrow was packed. How bad could it be?

Harry entered the sitting room, pleased to see people everywhere. Ginny was curled up with Crookshanks, Teen Witch, and that damn lion. He caught Charlie's attention.

"Where—"

"Ron dragged Hermione outside—oh, going on forty-five minutes now."

Maybe they were taking his advice. Finally!

"Any sweets I can nick?"

"Look with the dish towels. Mum keeps some behind a Disillusionment Charm."

"Cheers."

Harry was sorting chocolates when he heard his name. Ginny was in the pantry.

"Harry, can you help me, please?"


Hermione and Ron walked hand-in-hand through the garden. Ron paused at the back door.

"Ready?"

Once inside, this delightful interlude was over. They would be back to best friends, back to Harry-Ron-Hermione. She squeezed his hand and nodded.

The kitchen was empty, but the cupboard was not. Hermione recognized those sounds from prefect rounds.

"Bloody hell." Ron strode towards the half-open door.

"Wait, what if it's—"

"OI! GET OFF MY SISTER!"

So, not Bill and Fleur then.

"Sod off, Ron!"

"Really, Ron, we can give them a few minutes—" Hermione couldn't see around him, but his fist was drawn back. "Ron, it's Harry. You can't hit your best friend!"

"Watch me!"

But his fist lowered, only to be replaced with scuffling. Hermione craned her neck but still couldn't see. What on earth—?

"Accio shirt," Ginny whispered.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. But they weren't together anymore—were they? Oh, Ron was going to kill Harry!

Before she could think what to do, the kitchen door opened.

"Harry, any luck—" Charlie's legs stopped with his voice. Fred and George stumbled into him.

Ron heaved a distinctly disheveled Harry into the room. "He was shagging our baby sister!"

"I was not!"

Hermione ducked into the cupboard. Ginny's back was to her.

"Shut it."

"I didn't say anything."

"Then don't."

Hermione heard the rustle of clothing and caught a glint of gold. "Backwards."

"Dammit!" Ginny sounded near tears.

Hermione bit her lip. Ginny was crying, the boys were yelling; this felt an awful lot like None Of Her Business.

But Ginny was dry-eyed when she pushed past her and gave a piercing whistle. Harry winced and wiggled his ear; she was standing right beside him.

"We were not shagging," Ginny said firmly into the silence. "Not that it's any of your business—"

Instantaneous uproar from every male in the room. Oh, gods. Even Harry was protesting.

The door opened again.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Bill demanded. "Fleur's parents just went to bed—" He looked from Ron's livid face, to Harry's guilty one, to Ginny's mutinous one, and turned back to the door. Hermione's hopes raised—one less brother!—but he was speaking.

"Silencio. Colloportus." There was the familiar squelching sound. "Now, what the hell is going on?"

"Harry's shagging our baby sister in our mother's cupboard," Ron accused.

Harry shot him the dirty look usually reserved for Malfoy. "Ron, I'm starting to wonder if you even know what that means."

Hermione cringed, but Ginny jumped between them. Tiny Ginny, who barely came to Harry's shoulder. Ron could knock Harry's face off without touching her. Harry was wrestling her behind him when seven wands sailed towards Bill, who caught them deftly. The tension thickened.

"We'd be a lot more likely to believe you, Harry, if your fly wasn't undone," George said.

Every eye dropped to Harry's crotch. He went bright red and turned his back. Hermione had never heard a louder zipper in her life.

"I think the girls should leave," Harry said.

That was rather brave. Then again, maybe that was his intention. Hermione edged towards the door.

"Go to bed, Ginny."

"We'd love to!"

Hermione hid her smile. Ron walked into that one.

"Get out, Ginevra."

Well, that was harsh; Ginny adored her oldest brother. Hermione frowned at him but he ignored her. Bill unsealed the door and gave Ginny an "or else" look. Hermione reached back for Ginny's hand, took their wands from Bill, and they left the kitchen.


"So you decided to take her up on it?" Charlie advanced on Harry.

Bill saw Harry's right hand twitch, but his wand remained hidden.

"What?"

"Last night was one of the clearest invitations I've ever seen. You accepted?"

"Yeah, I did, because there's so many great places to shag in this house. Ginny's room, of course, except Hermione sleeps there, too, so we'd just go up to my room, but wait—it's actually Ron's, so we thought we'd try the bathroom, because nobody ever wants in there. I'd take her for a fly and get the hell away from you lot, but Voldemort destroyed my Firebolt!

"FOR GODRIC'S SAKE!" Harry bellowed, and Bill was glad he'd only released the Colloportus. "I've been trying to do the right thing by your sister, but she's been bloody uncooperative." He glared at each of them in turn. "If I were going to—to sleep with her, I'd have worn the Invisibility Cloak to her room, given it to Hermione, and sent her upstairs to distract Ron, not gone at it in an open cupboard with a dozen relatives next door!"

Ron turned six shades of red. Harry swore and shoved a chair, knocking it and the one next to it over.

"That's a damn good plan," Fred said.

"That's a damn lot of unresolved tension," Charlie murmured.

Bill hummed in agreement. He believed Harry, but a bloke's fly didn't open by itself, and there was more to sex than shagging.

"Ron's rather worked up, too," he said, noting the clenched fists and tense posture.

Charlie smirked. "Ronniekins and Hermione were alone all afternoon, then Ron came for her after she and Harry got back. They'd just come in when they found Harry and Ginny."

Really? He'd been with Fleur in his and Charlie's room, so he knew how much time they'd had.

"Thanks for disappearing."

"No problem. I reckoned a woman like that, you wouldn't let a few parents interfere."

Bill elbowed him half-heartedly. Ron and Harry were arguing, something about prophecy and love.

"At least one of us got lucky," Charlie said.

"You're not counting Ron?"

"He look like he just got off to you?"

Right. He'd been distracted by thinking about Fleur. "He has to have something to be worked up about. Goal, but no Snitch?"

"Definitely no Snitch."

Fred and George were pointing to Mum's clock; Harry said something about Hermione. Ron's fist shot out, and the four younger wizards tangled at the other end of the kitchen.

Bill sighed. The girls should be settled upstairs. He hoped Hermione was sensitive enough to have gone on to Ron's room.

"I'd better apologize to Ginny. Keep Harry in one piece, yeah?"


a/n: You can make goals and Snitches anything you like ;)

Thanks to the Wal-Mart—uh, intimates department for the inspiration for Ginny's bra (I just can't bring myself to use "Wal-Mart" and "lingerie" in the same sentence).

I will be at LeakyCon next week (woo-hoo!) and may or may not be able to post chapter three over the weekend. If not, I promise to update as soon as I get back on the 18th.

keeptheotherone