Chapter Thirty-Six

"I don't understand why you were so keen for us to stop in Germany on the way home," Ginny said, wrapping her hair in a turban and sliding into her underwear. She and Oliver were at the final hotel stop of their year-long trip, although she had finished and sent off her last article already. Oliver had insisted they go to Germany, although he had been awfully cagey about why he wanted to go. He just kept saying things like "It'll make sense when we get there," which was exactly what he said now.

"It'll make sense when we get there," he said.

"Oliver," Ginny said slowly, pausing as she buttoned her shirt to meet his eyes in the mirror she sat in front of, "we are here."

"Well, we're in Cologne, yes," he agreed patiently, "but we're not there yet. I'll tell you when we are."

"All right then," Ginny huffed. She was a little tired and, truth be told, she was getting nervous. They'd been having a great time on this trip, holding hands in art museums, lying on beaches, bundling up against the cold in Russia, practicing linguistic charms on each other in every country, having sex in ways and places Ginny could never have imagined… But what was going to happen when they went home in a few days? She had to find a place to live, she had to see Harry again, with whom she had started a strong and even sometimes lively correspondence, she had to explain herself to Hermione and George… Would Oliver still want to be involved? She had a feeling he was the kind of guy who wouldn't be averse to a sort of summer romance type situation. Maybe she was that kind of person too; this time, however, she didn't want things to end. She'd felt more alive the past year than she had in a long time, and she felt she mostly had Oliver to thank for that. True, she'd been looking at beautiful art, and writing again had made her very happy, but it was all kind of thanks to Oliver. He had brought her into the world of art for the first time, and being in his painting class with Hermione had been what led to the whole assignment heading her way. So really, she could chuck everything positive about the year up to Oliver. She wanted that happiness to stay.

"If you're ready," he said, bringing her out of her reverie, "we could even leave now. I've got two things I want to show you today, if you haven't got anything else to do."

"Well," Ginny said, deciding to forgo earrings, "seeing as I hadn't even planned on coming here at all, your plans are the only ones we have."

"Perfect," Oliver said, smiling and grabbing their jackets. "Then off we go."

"Ludwig Köln," read Ginny. Oliver had found a quiet corner of their little bed and breakfast to Apparate from, and they had appeared in an alley near the building they now stood in front of. It was quietly imposing, as were most of the big museums they had been to, and Ginny was curious about what might make this one different than others Oliver could have taken her to. "What's so important here?"

"You'll see," he said. "First let's look at some Dali."

They did. They wandered through Modernist, Surrealist, Impressionist, and Dada paintings slowly, offering commentary on some, standing respectful and silent before others. Ginny desperately wished she had brought her notebook with her so she could jot down some of her thoughts, but at the same time, the experience of the museum without a concern for future articles was wonderful as well. In any case, at least one of her hands was always occupied; Oliver hadn't let hers go from the moment he'd clasped it to Apparate with her.

He seemed less playful than usual today. Usually he was much more… well, trouble, if she were honest, laughing constantly, distracting her with kisses and other flirtations, worrying more about his own paintings than those of the masters they had seen, but not in Cologne. He seemed introspective, almost somber in comparison with their other experiences together. It was almost enough to worry Ginny, but she had a little less attention than usual to spare for Oliver. The collection of paintings in the Ludwig Köln was probably the most varied and breathtaking she had seen so far. Thinking on it, maybe that was why Oliver had seemed so quiet.

"All right," he said, as they made their way to the end of the Cubism gallery, "up ahead is what I wanted you to see. Somehow we've managed to avoid him so far, but I found this one out."

The Aesthetic of Consumerism and the Media: Pop Art, read the placard above the open doorway into the next corridor of art. Ginny frowned. She had no idea what, or whom, Oliver was talking about. "Well, lead on, then," she said. "I'd thought we'd seen everyone already, so this should be…"

She stopped. There, on the center of the pale wall, was a rather small painting that popped with larger-than-life color. The paint, or whatever material it was, seemed to jump right off the canvas at her. The background was bright orange, providing a contrasting surface for the flag painted there to almost frighten the viewer with its intensity. It was red and white stripes and white stars on a blue background; she recognized it as American thanks to her time in Utah.

Oliver's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling the hand he still held behind her back. "It's called Flag on Orange Field," he murmured, continuing to read off the card beneath the painting. "1957, encaustic on canvas." She could feel his lips quirk in the space right next to her ear. "Guess who painted it? I don't know if you'll get it since I'm guessing you never really did that homework assignment from all that time ago."

Ginny breathed in. "Jasper Johns," she said, laughing quietly. Oliver joined her. "You're right, I never really did. I'm sorry, I know I was probably a terrible student."

"You're the best student I've ever had," Oliver said, and his voice was surprisingly sincere for a moment. However, his levity returned with his next sentence: "And I'm not just saying that because none of the others wanted to sleep with me."

"Oh, so that's all I am, hmm?" Ginny asked, trying to sound like she was joking. She wasn't sure if she pulled it off, but Oliver seemed to think it was funny, because he chuckled and kissed her cheek. He kept his chin pressed against her shoulder as they looked at the painting together. "What do you think it means?"

Oliver was silent for a moment. "Well," he said, "I know what it meant to Johns. But what it means to me right now is that no one country can represent how much I've enjoyed this time with you." Ginny tried not to gasp. Oliver had been noticeably close-mouthed as far as "end of trip" speeches, although she'd been trying to coax something out of him; it seemed like she'd just needed to wait for the right moment. However, she was somewhat disappointed when that was the end of it. He fell silent again, and when Ginny turned her head to see what he was doing, his eyes were fixed on the painting. Ginny turned to face it again.

"Every time I think about Jasper Johns now I think of you," Oliver said.

When they returned to the bed and breakfast after they'd eaten dinner, Ginny suddenly remembered what he had said to her that morning. "So," she said, trying to sound as casual as she could, "what was the other thing you wanted to show me?"

Oliver grinned at her, tossing his jacket onto the bureau. "Well," he said, "I thought maybe we'd have a little gallery showing in here on our own. I got some wine and everything," he added, reaching into the fridge. "Sorry it isn't awfully fancy or anything, I was a little rushed."

"That's all right," Ginny said, still a little confused. "Where's the art going to come from?"

Oliver's grin softened a little. It looked almost nervous. "Well…" he said, uncorking the bottle with his wand and pouring the wine into the glasses he'd probably set out for the occasion, "I'll provide it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Really?" she asked. "Did you steal something from the museum and I just didn't notice?"

"Ha, ha," Oliver said, handing her a glass. Then he reached into his suitcase. "I had to do a fair bit of magic to scale down the copies I made so they'd all fit in here," he explained, "but here. I wanted to show you this… And, well, I wanted to give it to you. Consider it thanks, I suppose, for giving me this opportunity."

As he spoke, he handed Ginny what looked like a sort of scrapbook; however, her mum had been into magical scrapbooking for a while and the books she used typically weren't this … large. She looked at the cover, bound in smooth, dark leather. Embossed in silvery letters was her first name. She glanced up at Oliver, who had sat next to her on the bed, his arm passing behind her and his hand resting on the bed. His chin was on her shoulder, much as it had been in the museum earlier. "I thought I would name it after you," he explained, his cheek heating up slightly. Ginny found it kind of adorable that he was nervous. "I wanted to be clever and call it something that just kind of represented you, but after a while I just thought, 'Well, why bother trying to come up with something better than her own name?'" He kissed her temple briefly. "So go on, open it up."

Smiling and putting her glass on the bedside table, Ginny obliged. On the first page was printed, "Art isn't usually a person." Furrowing her brow, she looked up at Oliver, but he only gestured that she should turn the page. She did, and there, spread across the page, was the first painting of her that Oliver had ever done, the one from the classroom. She smiled again, remembering, and Oliver buried his face in her neck. "This sounds silly," he murmured, lips moving against her hair, "but I'm a bit nervous about this. I just really want you to like it."

"Oliver…" Ginny began, but as she began to turn the pages again, she found her voice cut off. Picture after drawing after sketch after painting of her followed each other; it was easy to follow the progression of their relationship through the paintings, as Ginny's attitudes and expressions became more and more like her, as Oliver grew more and more familiar with the ways she moved and looked. Some of them were almost unbearable for her to look at, as he'd captured her in vulnerable moments. Others frightened her a little, capturing her in a moment of anger or ugly frustration. Still others seemed to almost glow with the feelings Oliver and Ginny had been exploring lately. Page followed page, portrait followed portrait as Ginny continued to flip slowly through the book. At some point, although she wasn't sure when it started, she found that tears were leaking down her face. Pausing before she turned the last page, she wiped her eyes hastily, anxious not to get any water on the book.

"Now, the last one is a bit different," Oliver explained, and his voice was strangely cautious. "The other ones I'm planning on compiling into a sort of gallery so I can get back into exhibiting again, if you don't mind, but this one is just for you. I painted it after that time in the shower in Utah… It's one of my favorites that I've ever done."

Ginny smiled reassuringly, eyes a little watery still, and turned the final page. She gasped. There, laid out in vibrant colors and natural stillness, was a painting of Oliver and Ginny. They were nude, but not shocking, and they were lying on a bedspread together. Their bodies were perfectly fit together, legs tangling, one of her arms resting on top of his, noses pressed up against one another. The solid-colored areas looked like homages to Van Gogh, with different shades of blue, green, red, and beige blending and swirling, adding visual interest to the otherwise very quiet painting. Their skin was rendered masterfully; it almost seemed to glow, the way she noticed that his skin sometimes did in the morning sunshine if he slept longer than she did.

"It's…" Ginny began, voice slightly choked on the emotion that suddenly welled up inside her, "it's beautiful. Oliver, it's so beautiful. I absolutely love it."

Oliver lifted his chin from her shoulder to kiss her cheek. He pressed his lips to her skin for a long moment, then broke away to speak. "I should be thanking you, Ginny," he said. "You've given me the opportunity to travel around and see more art than any artist has a right to see. You've been patient while I tried out a million different methods and, probably most importantly, you've given me the inspiration for one of the most powerful series of sketches I've ever done." Ginny still stared down at his painting of the two of them. Every moment they had spent together over the year flashed through her mind; each still image seemed to superimpose itself over the painting in her lap. Again, she thought about the next few days: their upcoming return to England, the apartment hunt she was putting off, the reunion with Harry, Ron, Hermione, George… She wanted to be on very solid and easily understood territory when they met again. Again, she looked at the painting.

"Ginny," Oliver said, speaking more slowly and leaning his head once more against her temple, "I have a question for you."

"Oh?" she responded, too wrapped up in the art on her lap to really respond. However, when he remained silent for a moment, she tore her attention from the book and moved her face away from his to meet his eyes. He responded by pressing his forehead to hers; clearly he wanted to look at her, but also to be in physical contact with her.

"Ginny," he said again, "I was thinking… You probably need to find a place to live when we finally get home, yeah?" Ginny nodded. It was a little odd that Oliver had brought this up right as she'd been thinking about it. Maybe there was something about his painting of them that brought up thoughts of home and living arrangements. Ginny could certainly say so. They looked so happy, so peaceful, so well-fitting… Ginny forced herself not to go down that thought pathway. She wasn't likely to come back, and Oliver looked like he was trying to work up his next sentence. "I was thinking," he repeated, "and, I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, but I just wanted to bring it up…"

"You're never this nervous," Ginny teased gently, pressing her lips against his lightly, then again with a little more passion. Before she really had a chance to figure out what was happening, Oliver was lying on top of her, kissing her hungrily, nipping at her collarbones until she was moaning. Grabbing his wand off the side table and dispensing with the usual buildup, Oliver vanished their clothes and reached down to rub her clit as his lips locked around her nipple. Ginny's moans filled the air, and as he rubbed up and down her slit slowly, Oliver could no doubt tell she was ready. Smirking at her, he brought his fingers from her base to her mouth, probing inside gently, letting her suck her own fluids from him.

Then, after a moment of rubbing the head of his cock at her entrance, Oliver thrust inside her. This was nothing like the painting he had done of them. They moved fast, Ginny's moaning and Oliver's panting increasing in speed and volume and he pumped in and out of her, more and more quickly, over and over. Ginny loved when he came onto her like this, fast and animalistic, wordlessly acknowledging that there was something to be said for these bumps in the night, that transient sex could be just as good as sex as production.

After a few moments of jerky thrusting, Ginny, who had gotten turned on unusually quickly, shuddered around Oliver's cock, leading him to a climax which quickly followed hers. Panting, they both collapsed onto the bed, not even taking the time to crawl under the covers. Now, she thought, now they looked like the painting again.

Trying to fight the post-sex fog, Ginny asked, "What were you going to ask me earlier?"

Oliver grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. "You're going to think I set you up for it now," he said. "I hadn't exactly planned on things going this way, but I guess it works out better for me." He paused. "Ginny," he said slowly, pulling her closer against him as he spoke, "I think we've both gotten fairly attached on this trip. I know at least I like being around you and, honestly, I'm not really excited about that coming to an end." He stopped again, kissing her nose repeatedly, almost robotically, over and over again. "Ginny… What do you say we make living at my place a permanent thing? Or," he added, seeing her jaw drop, "you know, semi-permanent. Just, you know… I'm asking you to move in with me."

"I… wow, I don't know what to say, Oliver," Ginny replied. She spoke slowly too. "You're right, though, you did set me up a little. Not that I mind." She paused. She thought about how living with Harry had ruined things. She thought about how living with Oliver had been what started them. She thought of the first time they hadn't bothered with the front of reserving two hotel rooms. She thought about that immortal memory in the Salt Lake City shower. She thought about drinking wine peacefully in Italy, nothing troubling them, no arguments, no routine.

"Just think about it, I-" Oliver began, but Ginny cut him off with one finger against his lips.

"Oliver," she said, "if I'm totally honest with you, I've been thinking about it for a while. I knew you weren't really the kind of person for permanency, and that you could survive without stability, so I never expected… I guess I never anticipated anything coming out of this. And I surprised myself by being okay with it. Whether anything ever happened or not, being with you was fun. I didn't expect I'd come back to England with a lot of regrets from the year I'd spent with you." She paused again. "Having said that, I didn't want it to end. I'm glad you took the time to stretch out this trip, because I was planning to dawdle as much as I could. At first I thought it was about the art and all the other work I've yet to see; now I think it's because of you." Ginny took a deep breath. "I'm going to say something scary now. I love you, Oliver. Whatever that means, whatever time we have together, whatever the nature of our relationship and our lives separate or not, I know I love you now. And," she finished, smiling a little, "I guess this was all to say that I'd love to live with you, and that you did an excellent job of reminding me what I would be missing if I said no."

Oliver's smile could have lit the room.

A/N: We've reached the end! I know, I feel like it was a little fast too, and someday I may rework and simplify it, but I wanted to give you all something to end on before I leave for Europe. I hope you could enjoy it anyway!-TheGoldenAge