Before Harry knew it, it was Saturday 31st August: his last day as a Junior Auror.

His last week had been as frustrating as it had been uneventful, and he and Ozzy had gotten absolutely nowhere with their endless observations of Edward Fontaris. As such, they'd spent the morning finishing up the last of their paperwork and handing over a grand total of fuck all to the Senior Auror team. The only breakthrough that week had been Ozzy managing to swap that night's shift (with Dawlish of all people) so that he could attend his own leaving party.

Ozzy's hope that they would 'go out with bang' was completely laughable at this point; instead, it seemed they were going to go out buried under a mountain of unsolved paperwork.

Nevertheless, his last day felt rather… unsettling.

Not quite sure of how he was feeling, Harry started to pack up the contents of his cluttered cubicle. No one had asked him to vacate it but it felt odd, almost indulgent, to leave his stuff there; after all, it was only 3 days until the course started, and he probably wouldn't ever sit at this desk again. Sentimentality wasn't something he was familiar with, but he couldn't shift the slightly uncomfortable, 'sad but not quite' feeling he was getting as he mechanically and unceremoniously swept his stuff into a small box like it meant nothing to him.

He supposed it didn't, really… There weren't pictures of his loved ones, there weren't pot plants or cuddly toys or anything else that anyone else had on their desk. There was only a single, small piece of paper, crumpled and colourful, stuck to the wall of the cubicle, and the sight of it caused Harry's chest to tighten painfully.

A picture, drawn by a 2-year-old Teddy, of two scribbled stick men – one with black hair, and the other with red hair. The caption, written in exaggerated handwriting by Andromeda, read, 'Auror Harry and Auror Ron'. It didn't matter to him that Teddy didn't know what Aurors were, or that he wouldn't be able to understand the caption, or even that the stick people resembled a mess of scribbles more than actual people…

Teddy, his godson, had cared enough to draw him and that alone made it Harry's most treasured possession.

With an unwelcome air of finality, he plucked Teddy's picture from the wall and hastily made his exit from the Auror Office, taking himself and his box of memories back home.


Ron had just finished nights so Harry made as little noise as possible while he tidied the flat, preparing for the big night ahead. And it was destined to be a Big Night, as far as Ron had told him. Pretty much every young-ish member of the Auror Office was coming, and a fair few people from Hogwarts had replied to his letters too, apparently. Harry wasn't entirely sure how their small flat would be able to handle so many people, but he shrugged it off. That was a problem for Future Harry.

Just as he finished tidying the living room, Hermione appeared in the doorway looking flustered and cross. Her hair was wilder than usual, frizzy and sticking to her bright red face.

'Tell me again why you don't connect this place to the Floo?'

Harry rolled his eyes. This argument had come up several (hundred) times since they'd moved in.

'I've told you. Because Floos are stupid!'

Yes, he sounded like a petulant child. No, he didn't care. He was not having a Floo.

'They are not stupid. They get you from A to B without having to haul a million bags of shopping across London in 30 degree heat!'

'I'm not having a Floo – they're insecure, unreliable, messy…' he said. Again. 'Anyway, you'll hardly cool down by stepping into a fire.'

She flipped him off in the most un-Hermione-like way, eliciting a snort from him. Obviously he knew Floos didn't work like that, but it was fun to wind her up all the same.

By way of an apology, he cast a quick cooling charm over her as she flopped onto the sofa. She was not one for heat, poor Hermione.

'I'll go and put this lot in the fridge, shall I?' he said sarcastically, smirking as he picked up the bags that she had dropped straight onto the floor.

She shot him a look, but didn't protest.

Most of the contents of the bag was alcohol, Muggle and magical, he noted as he lined bottle after bottle up on the counter. Ron's voice echoed in his head, 'A promise of a good night.'

Harry really hoped so.

When he thought about it, he was actually quite exited for tonight's party. It had been so long since they'd had any sort of gathering at their flat, and it had been months since they'd seen Neville. Hermione had apparently invited Luna too, so hopefully she'd be able to make an appearance between searching for exotic animals in far flung places with her new boyfriend, Rolf.

'Ginny came back from Holyhead last night,' came Hermione's voice from behind him. He tried hard to ignore the way his heart stuttered at her name.

Several questions immediately threatened to spill, but to avoid sounding eager or pathetic, he bit down them down, instead settling for, 'Oh?'

'Yeah. She says you invited her to the party tonight.'

'I did.' Harry turned to face Hermione, who was leaning casually against the kitchen door frame. Her face was unreadable, but lacked the teasing quality it had held the last time they spoke of Ginny, right here in this very kitchen a few weeks prior.

Sighing, he gave up trying to read her. 'She didn't seem too excited by going back to Holyhead, and I know she wasn't happy there before, so I wanted to give her an escape if she needed it, that's all.'

Hermione's eyes searched his hesitantly. 'Ginny's not been having an easy few months.' She chose her words carefully, tone guarded almost. Harry dared not interrupt. 'She's had a few really terrible dates and her mum is getting at her a lot. Holyhead has not helped with that.'

Harry considered this for a long moment. Although not exactly new information, the way it was so delicately delivered — and by Hermione no less, who didn't ever gossip — made him think there was much, much more to it. Much more to Ginny's life that he didn't know. Suddenly, the butterflies brought up at the mention of her name transformed into a stomach full of insects all wriggling uncomfortably in something akin to shame.

'Why are you telling me this?' he asked quietly.

Again, she paused, the indecision plain to see. 'I just—' she faltered. 'She needs a friend right now. Much more than she would ever admit, I think.'

Harry watched as she pushed herself off from the door frame and approached him. Her hand came up to touch his shoulder lightly before dropping back down, her eyes pleading. 'Just… don't do anything stupid tonight, alright?'

If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that tonight would not be a repeat of the Harpies' party. A drunken shag was the last thing he, or Ginny by the sounds of it, needed.

'I won't do anything stupid. Promise.' He hoped his sincere smile reassured her.

With one last unreadable look, her face effected a bright smile and she moved him out the way to rearrange the bottles he'd just put out.

'Okay. Let's get ready for this party then.'


It was 8.32 and the flat was completely packed.

There were approximately a million people in his living room, which was hot, loud and almost unbearably crowded. The turnout was much larger than he'd expected, though Harry couldn't decide whether this was a pleasant or unnerving surprise, a lingering sense of discomfort churning in the pit of his stomach.

Pushing the feeling down, Harry craned his neck to see over the heads of his many colleagues before his eyes settled on a small group in the corner of the living room. He made a beeline for them.

'Fancy seeing you lot here!' he announced across the clamour when he finally reached Ron, George, Neville and a lilac-haired woman whom Harry had never met. Neville greeted him enthusiastically with a hearty handshake and claps on the back.

'Neville, it's so great to see you! How are things?' Harry exclaimed.

'I'm great! All the better for seeing everyone again,' he replied enthusiastically. 'I can't believe Ron thought to invite me!'

'It's a wonder Ron actually invited anyone, Nev,' snarked George. 'Couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery, this one.' He slapped Ron on the back, firmly ignoring the middle finger Ron directed his way.

Neville turned to the small woman next to him, whose face was round and positively beaming, and put his arm around her shoulders. 'Harry, this is my girlfriend, Maeve.' Harry shook the woman's hand as they exchanged Nice to meet yous shouted over the roar of surrounding conversation. 'She's starting Healer training on Monday just like you!'

'No way! That's great!'

'I'm coming over from the Department of Mysteries so we'll be doing the course together I think,' she explained quickly. She was clearly nervous, but her whole demeanour was somehow refreshing, buzzing with a rare sort of energy.

'Brilliant!' Harry said. 'It will be nice to know someone on the course that isn't clueless like me and Ozzy.'

'Someone to take the heat off you two when you have no idea what you're doing, more like,' muttered Ron, who was trying to suppress a grin.

'Yes, well there is that.'

The five of them chatted for several minutes about Neville and Maeve and their plans — he was moving away from the Ministry's research committee and taking up a role at Hogwarts as a Herbology teacher. It was so very… Neville. Naturally, Harry was chuffed for him.

A little later Harry excused himself to get a drink, and he headed over to the kitchen where there was a huge bowl of some magical cocktail that Ron had invented. The pearlescent liquid shimmered as Harry filled his glass for only the second time that evening.

Crikey, had he really only had two drinks?

After all, he needed to be much drunker than this to survive the night. Not only was it his leaving party, which was bringing up all kinds of conflicting feelings, but it was in his home, his personal space, which felt entirely too exposing. He could count on one hand the number of people that knew where he lived, let alone been inside, and he rather liked it that way — there would be no fear of the Daily Prophet getting pictures of his bedroom, or one of his eager (and frighteningly persistent) fans managing to ambush him on his own doorstep.

He downed his drink, trying to swallow down the anxiety with it; it was just paranoia, and that had no place here. (Although naturally, he'd locked his bedroom with every security enchantment he knew of — whether that would stop a room full of drunken Aurors from playing a prank, he dared not imagine).

'Hi Harry!'

The tinkling voice drew his attention and he turned to see two women, neither of whom he recognised. Immediately, his guard went up.

They were probably a little younger than him, and were strikingly similar in appearance; both blonde, wearing a lot of makeup, and entirely overdressed for a house party. Nevertheless, they were smiling warm smiles and clearly engaging with the party — their hands clutching glasses full of the shimmering cocktail — and really, what more could Harry want from his guests?

'Hi,' he offered with a touch of forced cheer. 'You ladies okay?'

'Having a lovely time, thank you,' gushed the one on the left as she flicked her hair over her shoulder. Her friend giggled.

Not quite what he asked, but there we go.

'Are you having a nice time, Harry?' the shorter one asked.

'Yes, thanks. Just trying to make sure no one breaks the china,' he joked weakly, though only to try and ease some of the awkward tension he was feeling. The paranoia was creeping back with every second.

Their answering laughs, which were sickeningly sweet and way too loud, rose his suspicions even further.

He'd had what felt like 100 identical conversations with 100 identical girls ever since Witch Weekly had made him out to be a war-hero-cum-eligible-bachelor. It would be half flattering if it wasn't so damn irritating. The girls were almost always the same: giggly, perfected and, in his experience, duller than dishwater.

Once again, the image of miserable old Robards blasted to the front of his mind; old, bitter… alone. Harry was being unfair, they were probably perfectly lovely girls.

Just as he vowed to make more of an effort, the first girl blurted out, 'Thank you so much for inviting us.'

He 100% didn't invite them – he had literally no idea who these girls were – but hey ho.

'You're, err–, you're welcome.'

'I saw you were at the Harpies game last month. Do you go often?'

Phew. Quidditch was fine. He could talk about Quidditch.

'Not as much as I'd like to, what with work, but they're great games. Are you Harpies fans yourselves?'

'Oh yeah, it must be so tough being an Auror,' she cooed, her face displaying an unreasonable, almost comical, amount of concern. Her friend nodded solemnly and gripped onto his forearm in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture.

Inwardly he groaned. It was his own stupid fault for mentioning work.

'You must see so much doom and gloom and death,' she continued, still stroking his arm.

Every instinct was telling him to jerk his arm out of her grip and walk away without another word, but there was no way in hell he'd manage to pull it off without looking like a complete and utter tool.

So he suffered on through. For 15… Fucking… Minutes.

'Harry, what's the most gruesome thing you've ever seen?' … 'Harry, you're so brave to catch those criminals. I don't know what we'd do without you.' … 'Harry, do you have to work out every day as an Auror?' … ' Harry, is it true you're going out with a Muggle?'

Just when he thought he couldn't take a single second more–

'Harry, is it true you only ever snog girls at parties that don't ask you deeply inappropriate questions about your personal life?'

The two girls turned to Ginny with identical expressions of shock.

Her lips twitched as she stared back at him, eyes fierce and mischievous.

'You know…' he said thoughtfully, eyes not leaving hers, not backing down from the obvious challenge in her eyes. 'I think that actually is true.'

At his words, the small smirk transformed into a smile so wide, so bright, he almost couldn't look at it.

'Excuse me, ladies. I hope you don't mind, I'm going to get another drink,' he said cheerfully, suddenly feeling more upbeat about this party than he had all night. Uttering a brisk 'Have a nice night' over his shoulder, he left, striding once again towards the drinks table. Ginny followed close behind.

'Watching you trying not to be mean is hilarious' chirped Ginny with a look of barely suppressed glee.

'Whereas watching you be mean is a masterclass.' At this she laughed outright, not phased in the slightest by what could be considered a barb. They both knew it wasn't one.

She raised her newly filled glass to her lips before muttering, 'Girls like that make me want to punch something.'

'That's because you're… wait, what was it Witch Weekly called you that time you shouted at that journalist?'

'Sassy and unhinged?' she offered lightly.

'Yes, exactly.' They smirked at each other as they clinked their glasses together.

'Who are you talking about?' came Ozzy's smooth voice from behind him before he swung an arm around Harry's shoulders. 'Give me the gossip.'

'That would be me,' Ginny replied in a sing-song voice, extending her hand towards Ozzy. 'Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley. Sassy and unhinged.'

Ozzy's face lit up into something devilish as he took her hand and shook it lightly. 'Ozymandias Whittard. Handsome and ridiculous.'

Ginny giggled at Ozzy's greeting and Harry firmly ignored the involuntary pang of something… jealousy-adjacent. He needed to get a fucking grip.

Rolling his eyes, Harry introduced Ozzy properly. 'Ginny, this is Ozzy. He's going to be on the course with me.'

'It's nice to meet you, Ozzy. And congratulations on the course. I'm sure 'handsome and ridiculous' was just what St Mungo's were looking for in their new Healers.'

A spark of mischief danced in Ozzy's eyes at her statement, but he rose to the banter just as Harry knew he would. 'Exactly. That's why they picked us two sexy bastards.' He winked at her.

Once again Harry took a sip of his drink to quell the weirdness he was feeling.

'So why would a famous Quidditch star attend a leaving party for three washed-up Aurors, eh? Fabulous as it is to have you here,' Ozzy asked.

'Ahh, you know, something to pass the time,' she joked back, although Harry noticed a tinge of evasiveness in her answer. If Ozzy picked up on it, and Harry was fairly sure he did, he didn't acknowledge it.

Instead, he affected a calmer tone, something more conversational than teasing. 'I read that you'd made the main team. How are things going?'

As the pair of them chatted, Harry was struck once again by Ozzy's ability to get anyone to talk. It really was a skill to read and adapt to someone so intently and so instantly, especially someone like Ginny, who often hid behind jokes and sass. Though she was responding entirely normally to Ozzy, her tone lacked the passion Harry was used to hearing from her. Yes, she was laughing at all the right places and interacting with all her usual attention and charm, but her answers seemed almost rehearsed.

And he knew Ozzy could tell. The ease at which he'd changed their dynamic from openly bantering, flirtatious even, to light-hearted and friendly left Harry feeling like he was stood on the sidelines not quite knowing what the hell he'd just witnessed.

'So when are you working again?' Ozzy's question broke through his reverie.

'I'm training tomorrow again early.'

'Oh shit. How early is early?'

'Half 6,' Ginny groaned.

Ozzy's face scrunched up in disgust. 'Ugh, that is inhumane.'

Ginny's laugh hit Harry straight in the stomach. 'I know! It's okay though,' she said sweetly, though her eyes danced with something Harry couldn't interpret as they met his, 'I won't get too drunk this time. I don't want to ruin anything.'

Her eyes lingered a little on his, but she turned away to take a sip of her drink. What was that supposed to mean?

Internally he groaned. This evening was turning so weird and it wasn't even 10 o'clock. Who were those blonde girls and why were they in his house? Was Ozzy flirting with Ginny? And was Ginny flirting back? Was he just being rattled by his jealousy-adjacentness and reading into things where he shouldn't?

In summary: what was wrong with him?

The next second, Ron and Hermione appeared and Ron drunkenly introduced Hermione to Ozzy, the conversation turning loud and filled with laughter. Among it all, Harry briefly shut his eyes against the rapidly forming headache and sighed a deep breath.

It was just the party putting him on edge. Right?

His eyes opened and immediately met Ginny's. Concern was the main emotion on her face but there was something else, again infuriatingly unreadable, as she tipped her head towards the kitchen.

'Drink?' she mouthed from across their small group.

Yes, perhaps he just needed a drink.

He forced his lips into a small smile and nodded.


Several hours later, as the sky started to turn truly inky, many of the revellers had made their way to the roof terrace. Hermione had decorated it earlier that day so there were chairs and fancy houseplants arranged around a self-serve bar area. Floating above their heads were strings of warm fairy lights, which gave the whole space a very relaxed 'beach party' kind of vibe.

There was music of course and, although there were considerably fewer people than there were downstairs, the party was still very much in full swing. Aided of course by the copious amounts of alcohol.

Harry himself had managed to have a fair amount to drink. Nothing spectacular or downright stupid (like at the Harpies' party), but enough that he'd mostly overcome the paranoia and had a pleasant buzz. It was difficult to get properly drunk when there were so many people in your house, he supposed.

Nevertheless, he took a break from laughing with Seamus, Neville and George and went over to fetch himself another bottle. He was on the beer now — it probably wasn't wise to drink any more of the mysterious cocktail; it had made everyone very drunk very quickly. But then again, that was probably what Ron was after.

It was then that he spotted Ginny, over in the darkest corner of the terrace, away from the main group, leaning over the edge of the wall and looking out over the twinkling lights of the city.

Call it pathetic, or drunk, or stupid, or a combination of all three, but he put his beer down and walked over to her, his feet moving completely of their own accord. It was mad how he was just drawn to her, in a way he couldn't begin to explain.

Quietly, he mirrored her position and looked out over the city, buildings hardly visible in the half-moon's light. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head turn towards him, but she said nothing.

'Do you want me to leave you alone?' he asked softly, words spoken into the darkness.

She laughed quietly, the sound light with a touch of surprise. 'No, of course not. Why would I want that?'

Harry shrugged as he looked over at her, studying her face for any sign of… well, anything. 'Dunno. You just looked a bit sad.'

A wan smile crossed her lips as she looked down. Harry watched mesmerised as a lock of her hair escaped from behind her ear and she pushed it back absently. 'Nah, I'm alright. Just glad to be back.'

'Dare I ask how Holyhead was?'

A disgusted sound left her lips as she looked back out. 'Holyhead was… full of morons like it normally is.'

Of all the things Harry expected her to say, that wasn't it. 'What do you mean?'

She sighed and turned to face him with an air of irritation. 'I don't know how much Hermione may or may not have told you about this, so I'm sorry if—' she waved her arm dismissively, 'I dunno, if I'm boring you or whatever.' She trailed off and huffed.

'Firstly, you'll never bore me—' At this, her lips twitched, '— and secondly, Hermione hasn't told me anything other than you were having a hard time.'

She closed her eyes and sighed a long sigh and for a panicked moment he thought she might not have believed him. 'Okay. So Holyhead is quite a small place, and there aren't many magical people there. The ones that are there are usually connected to the Harpies in some way.' He nodded. 'Basically, there are a lot of… young guys who only 'fish from the Harpies pool' so to speak.'

Harry's face mirrored her displeasure. 'Right,' he said, not sure he was going to like where this was going.

'They're very persistent and, well, only in it for the sex, basically.' Harry swallowed but said nothing. 'Well, I went out on a few dates with these arseholes and when I said I didn't want to have sex with them, they turned into complete dickheads. Like they'd call me a prude or they'd say I wasn't worth the effort, or spread round that I shagged them anyway.'

'What the fuck?' he looked at her incredulously.

'Yeah. So err—' she laughed without a drop of humour. 'I was so excited to leave that fucking place and not have to deal with the bullshit rumours that made it impossible to date anyone.'

She looked down at her feet in a rare display of vulnerability. 'I don't know. Maybe it knocked my confidence a bit, going back there.'

If he knew anything about Ginny Weasley it was that she was rarely underconfident. The fact that these men — boys — had made her feel that way made him want to throw something.

'They sound like prize dickheads,' he stated, though it was desperately short of what he wanted to say.

She snorted humourlessly.

A long moment passed as they both stared out into the blackness beyond the wall, the music behind them seeming miles away.

'For the record, I think you're worth it,' he murmured quietly. 'The effort, that is.'

The stretch of silence that followed had his heart beating a million miles an hour but he couldn't bring himself to look at her, too scared of what he'd find on her face.

Finally, she broke the silence. 'Can I ask you something?' The question was quiet, tone thoughtful.

He looked over at her again, this time mesmerised by the way her hair shone in the moonlight, just as it had that evening at Bill and Fleur's all those weeks ago.

'Sure.'

'Why did we never get back together? After the war?'

The thing that surprised him the most wasn't the direction of her thoughts — though the left-field nature of the question did startle him. No, what surprised him the most was that this was the first time since breaking up over 4 years ago, that they'd acknowledged that they were ever together.

And for reasons unknown to him, it hit Harry square in the chest.

He looked up at the moon, hoping that it could give clarity to the swirling fog of forgotten emotions that accompanied thoughts of the months after the war. Absently, and not for the first time, his thoughts returned to how beautiful the moon was, still so far away, so intangible.

Somewhat like their relationship.

'It just never felt like the right time.' The statement was a true as it was simple, but as soon as he said it, he knew it wouldn't be enough.

'How so?' she said, even quieter still, almost a breath lost into the background noise behind them.

He let out a slow, deep breath, trying to bring all the feelings he'd laid to rest back up to the surface in the hope of being able to explain just a fraction of how he'd felt back then. How much he'd hurt.

'I thought about you endlessly, Gin. But I—' it was getting harder to speak with his throat closing, but he cleared it forcefully and powered on regardless. After all, if anyone deserved an explanation, it was her. 'I didn't know how to be myself. Christ, I didn't even know what 'myself' actually meant, who Harry even was anymore.'

She was silent, and for once he was grateful.

'If I couldn't be me, then how would there ever be—' he met her eyes, blazing and intense even in the dim light. 'How could there ever be an us?'

The silence was overpowering. It surprised him not one bit to find her reply written all over her face. Her eyes — the way they searched his own, or the way her half-smile never quite reached them — said it all.

Sad acceptance.

'You're too selfless for your own good, you know that?' she said softly, her smile turning gentle, fond almost. With a small sigh, she dropped her eyes to follow the path of her hand, which rose to ghost the front of his shirt, small fingers tapping lightly on his chest.

Harry couldn't begin to dissect the meaning behind her words or her touch, for they were standing very close. Closer, in fact, than Harry could remember them being for several years. At this distance he could watch every single minuscule emotion play across her face as her hand continued to dance small, tender patterns on his chest.

When her eyes met his again they were fierce, brazen, and it set his whole body alight, the hand still on his chest seemingly sucking the air right out of his lungs.

For several long moments they just stared at each other, almost daring each other to make the first move, to cross the years-old barrier they had built between them. As if she read his mind, her eyes, molten and electric in the dim light, sank slowly, deliberately, to his lips.

It felt like the world was going in slow motion as he watched her tongue dart out to wet her bottom lip, and it was only belatedly he realised his hands had made their way to her waist, pulling her even closer still.

Their faces were so close he could feel her breath as she whispered, 'And now?'

'Now what?' he breathed.

'Does it feel right now?'

Yes. Everything in his mind screamed yes, but his ability to speak was lost as their foreheads touched and noses brushed, the gesture almost unbearably intimate. Instead, he closed the gap.

The feel of her lips was so new yet so achingly familiar that it took everything Harry had in him not to sigh into her mouth with sheer relief. The kiss was slow and tentative, the emotion coursing between them something far more visceral than he'd ever experienced.

Their lips parted only to be drawn back together like two magnets, this time infused with a fierce energy that he could almost feel buzzing in the tips of his fingers pressed hard into her hips. The way her hands rose to grip tightly onto the hair at the nape of his neck set a burning hot fire deep within his chest, the months of built up tension spilling over every bit of his skin.

She pulled away, breathing hard, eyes closed.

'We sh—,' she started breathlessly and he watched as her face, still just inches from his, twisted into agonising confusion. 'We shouldn't do this.'

For a moment, the weight of time felt like it was suspended from a undersized thread. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, bracing himself for the words he would inevitably hear from her. Words that would break him.

With a sharp exhale, her lips were on his again, this time filled with a frantic desperation. Her hips slammed to his and it was like time had fallen from its thread and was free-falling, fast and uncontrollable.

With it came want. Every part of him wanted her, to touch her, to kiss every inch of her, to do things to her that he'd never—

It felt like a bucket of cold water over his head when he heard Ozzy's voice, close and urgent. 'Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but Ron's coming over.' With a meaningful look at Harry, Ozzy backed away.

Harry's head was spinning confusedly, though he was unsure whether the was the alcohol, the lust, the emotional whiplash or a dizzying mixture of all three. He looked back over at Ginny while he tried desperately to calm his heart rate, but it was no mean feat, especially when she still so tantalisingly close. She ran her hands over her hair and adjusted her dress, but otherwise looked unaffected save for the slight heaving of her chest.

After a moment, she met his eyes, and her expression was scarily unreadable.

'Ginny, I—'

The way her eyes darkened stopped him in his tracks as they stared at each other. Whatever she saw written in his own face made her return her hand to his chest, though this time the touch of her palm was brief.

'There you are, Gin!' shouted a very drunk Ron from behind Ginny. At her brother's voice, her blank face dropped and her hand fell from his chest leaving an invisible scorch mark. 'There's someone I want you to meet.'

Thankfully, Ron was too drunk to notice the gravity of the situation in front of him, but from the surprised, almost wary way Hermione's eyes darted between him and Ginny, it was clear she'd picked up on it.

'Ron, maybe we should—'

With a strength Harry himself didn't possess, Ginny turned to Ron and plastered a smile on her face. 'No, that's okay,' she said lightly. 'I'm actually not really feeling that well, Ron. I think I'm just going to call it a night.'

Ron's face fell slightly. 'Oh, alright then.'

Harry turned and looked out once again into the blackness over the wall, trying desperately to reign himself in. He couldn't bear to look at his friend in that moment, the wretched deja vu of an interrupting Ron leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He could hear Ron fussing over Ginny, and Hermione's motherly voice asking, 'Do you want me to go with you?'

It was all too much. Too much for his emotionally drained, tipsy brain to handle. Through the fog, he heard Ginny's voice, closer this time.

He looked back to find her entirely in his vision, her proximity once again making his stomach clench. The way her lips briefly brushed his cheek, a short distance from where they had been only minutes ago, set off that smouldering fire that had been extinguished just moments before. His breath hitched and he knew she heard it, for the edge of her mouth curled upwards infinitesimally.

'Bye Harry,' she whispered, meeting his gaze with a dark, almost dangerous glint that instantly made his mouth dry.

Then all of a sudden she walked away, leaving him staring after her feeling equal parts confused, bewildered and aroused.

After several long moments and several long breaths, Ozzy joined him and clapped him consolingly on the shoulder. His face was amused but kind as he patiently thrust a drink into Harry's hand.

'Come on, mate. Let's get back to the party.'


A/N: Thanks for reading and sorry for the delay - I've had a few family issues that have taken over my life, but I hope to keep trucking on through with the next few chapters in the next couple of weeks.
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