This fic is inspired by, and takes its name from, the Switchfoot song "Dare You to Move". Yes, I used the title in the story, but it seemed to fit. Please don't sue me. This is the companion piece to "Breathe"; here's how Harry and Ginny figured out what was going on between them before Faery changed everything. It's not as long as I would have liked but...there it is.
Harry Potter was watching Ginny Weasley whilst trying to appear as if he weren't watching her at all. For someone who kept eluding the grasp of one of the most evil wizards ever born, Harry was not, Ron, his best mate and Ginny's brother, could have told him, very subtle. While it seemed to escape Ginny's attention that Harry was ogling her, Ron figured he'd have had to be a remiss brother indeed if he hadn't noticed how Harry's eyes lingered a little too long on the smooth expanse of skin Ginny was displaying in that ridiculous excuse for a bikini she was almost wearing.
Ron didn't blame his sister for her lack of attire really, for she had somehow convinced Hermione that it was just too hot for much clothing and, while his new girlfriend wasn't wearing a bikini, she was wearing an interestingly-cut one-piece that had his hands itching to explore what it concealed. The four were out at the pond behind the Burrow, trying to find some respite from the oppressive August heat. Ginny was lounging near the end of the dock, while Harry was standing listlessly in the shallow end. For his part, Ron had his back propped up against the trunk of an old willow tree, his long legs sprawled out in front of him and, unlike Harry, was ogling Hermione openly. That Hermione knew where his thoughts were heading was made obvious when she spread his legs apart and nestled her bottom into their cradle, her golden eyes both mischievous and wicked. Ron leaned down and nuzzled her bare shoulder with his mouth, lightly licking, as his arms slid loosely around her waist. "Harry needs to stop staring at my sister. She's going to notice eventually."
Hermione chuckled and shivered at the same time, her hands sliding along the insides of Ron's thighs, teasing him with a hint of nails. "Oh, she knows he's staring. She's just too afraid to do anything about it."
"Must be a Weasley failing, then." Ron's mouth moved up her neck, licking and biting, his big hands nearly circling her ribcage as they slid up to just under her breasts. He was gratified when she drew in a sharp breath and he observed over her shoulder the effect his touch was having on the front of her body.
"Mmmm, maybe, though you seemed to find the courage at the right moment. I think she just might, too, if we keep 'flaunting' ourselves in front of her." This time it was Ron who shivered as Hermione rocked her hips, pressing her bottom more firmly against him even as she drew little circles with her fingertips on the sensitive skin beneath his knee.
"Flaunting ourselves, are we? She's the one who told you to snog me senseless and be done with the whole mess. What did she expect would happen?"
Both Harry and Ginny turned at Ron's laugh and Hermione's exasperated, "Ron!" Harry smiled fondly and a little sadly at them, while Ginny knew she just looked wistful.
Regardless of what Ron, Hermione or even Harry thought, Ginny was aware of Harry's regard. She'd been aware of it ever since he had arrived at the Burrow a fortnight ago. It was hard to miss the sidelong glances, the 'accidental' brush of his hand to her skin, the way he just seemed to know when she walked into the room. It was both thrilling and disconcerting to find the object of one's desire returning your regard. It was also damn annoying when said object continued to brood and believe that his best course of action was to deny their attraction 'for your good'. Ginny had always hated that phrase; the youngest of seven children and the only girl, she'd heard it a lot.
"Ginny, don't ride Bill's broom, dear, you're much too small to control it. I'm only telling you for your own good."
"Ginny, don't go into Fred and George's room. You never know what they're doing in there. Staying out here with me is for your own good."
"Ginny, maybe you shouldn't be quite such good chums with Harry Potter. His life is very dangerous. It might be for your own good to stay away from him."
"Argh! It's my life, let me live it, dammit!" Ginny startled everyone with the outburst as she threw herself suddenly to her feet and proceeded to fling herself from the end of the pier into the pond. She made a tremendous splash that drenched a suddenly miserable looking Harry. Both Ron and Hermione valiantly choked back snickers as they rose as one to their feet.
"We're going to go fool around in the house. See ya, mate, sis."
Harry glared at the quickly retreating forms of his two best friends and considered the wisdom of abandoning the scene himself. He was not prepared in any way, shape or form to handle a wet and justifiably irritated Ginny Weasley. He knew her parents had cautioned her to stay away from him not long after the events at the Ministry. That she had not only disregarded their advice but pursued a burgeoning friendship with him had left her parents justifiably worried. While he didn't want her to get hurt, he enjoyed her company and hadn't thought too much about her safety.
That is, until he began waking every morning of the summer from wicked, hot, vivid dreams that starred a very naked, very beautiful Ginevra Weasley. At first he'd been appalled. She was barely skimming sixteen, for Merlin's sake, she was the little sister of his best friend and the only daughter of a family Harry wished to call his own; he should not be having such thoughts about her, teenage boy with raging hormones or not. Then, the Death Eaters had come to Privet Drive and something...something had happened.
Harry couldn't explain it, because he knew wandless magic didn't exist, not really, but somehow, someway, frightened and angry and worried for the defenseless Muggles, Harry had called water. A rushing, raging torrent had swept through the quiet neighborhood, sweeping away the Death Eaters and quickly becoming much more than Harry could control. It had been Ginny's face, her voice, that had calmed him, that had caused the water to recede and his own fury to fade.
He was scared shitless that he was in love with Ginny Weasley, with no idea of when or why or how it had happened. That she might possibly return his feelings was enough to have Harry's stomach twisting itself into knots. When she came up from the depths of the pond, her long red hair plastered to her delicate skull, her brown eyes dark and haunted, Harry scrubbed his hands over his face and said, softly, "Ginny."
For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then, she strode closer, shoving her wet face into his, making him very aware of how closely aligned they were in height. When had she gotten so tall, so slender, so beautiful? She reminded him of a pixie, with her long, lean limbs, slender body and sharply angled face, softened only by the smattering of freckles across her nose. Now, however, as she nearly spat into his face, Harry was reminded that Ginny had a Weasley temper to match all of her Weasley-red hair.
"Shut it, Harry. I don't want to hear the same old speech, the same tired line about how you only want what's best for me. I don't have the stomach to hear it one more time. I don't have the heart for you to stand there and tell me that whatever is going on between us isn't going to work. What I want, Harry, is for you to kiss me. Really kiss me and tell me once and for all what's going on here."
Both of them were completely surprised when, rather than replying or retreating, as Harry so often did when it came to emotions, he crushed her slight frame to his, his hands bruisingly tight on her slender hips. Watching her wide, surprised eyes, feeling his own body warm in response to the rosy blush crawling up her slightly sunburnt neck, he warned hoarsely, "Ginny. If I do this, if I kiss you, things will never be the same. There will never be any going back, for either of us."
His eyes had gone incandescent green and Ginny felt a giddy little thrill dart up her spine at the way his long, lean body felt pressed to hers. She trembled, sliding her arms around his neck and rocking her hips, oh-so-lightly, against his, watching his eyes narrow. "You'll always be the boy-who-lived, Harry. Just this once, be the boy-who-dared-to-kiss-the-girl." She let her voice remain light, teasing, even as her hands fisted in the short hair at the back of his neck, urging his mouth closer to her own.
Harry took a deep, unsteady breath, his hands opening and closing reflexively on Ginny's hips as his eyes dropped to her mouth. It was wide and unpainted, quick to smile, quick to taunt, quick to curse, and quite suddenly, Harry hungered to taste her more than he hungered for air to breathe. Before either of them could think better of it, before that 'dare you to hell' look escaped from her eyes, Harry kissed her.
And quite simply forgot how to breathe. She tasted vaguely of mint, of earth and damp, secret places, of hidden treasure and naughty words whispered in the dark, and Harry found himself sinking fast. His hands slid around her waist, anchoring her more securely against him as his tongue teased, tempted, and finally begged for entrance. She gave it with something like a little purr, her short, slightly ragged nails scraping deliciously across his scalp, sending shivers down his spine.
Closer. She needed to get closer, needed to feel more of his skin, taste more of his lips, hear more of the wild thumping of his heart as he ate at her mouth like a man denied water for forty days and forty nights. Ginny was sure that if given half the chance, she would have crawled right inside Harry's skin. The tentative, half-wary glide of his tongue against hers, the way his sensitive, long-fingered hands began to slide up her back, his thumbs stroking her spine, the way she felt his desire for her, for her, Ginevra Weasley, pressing insistently against her the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, was enough to have Ginny dizzy with pleasure and shock and delight. Tilting her head, she sucked ever so lightly at the tip of his tongue, reveling in the little gasp he made, in the way his hands suddenly fisted in the long fall of her wild, tangled wet hair. She moaned disconsolately when he jerked suddenly, tilting her head back and away from his mouth, his breath coming in hard, rough pants, his eyes wild, unfocused, haunted.
"I can't...we can't....Ginny, make me stop. Please, you have to..." His voice was pleading, desperate, and for a moment, Ginny thought he really meant it, that he really wanted to not be kissing her, and her heart stuttered. Then his eyes fell once more to her mouth and his hips jerked against her own, and Ginny knew he didn't want to stop, that he felt it, too, not just the mad onrush of desire and heat but the swift kick of love, the hot need for oneness, for completion, to be together. What rode Harry though, what had him begging her to stop him, was not about lack of feeling but rather the surfeit.
"Make me believe it, Harry. Push me away. Make me really, finally believe that this, us, isn't what you want." When he shuddered, when his hands tightened in her hair, a swift rush of triumph, of love, of understanding, had Ginny's hands soothing across his shoulders. "Harry. You said yourself that if you kissed me, it would change everything. It does, it has to, but it doesn't have to be bad." When he groaned and pressed his forehead to hers, she sighed and stroked his hair. "You can't escape from this, Harry. This is fate, right here, right now."
"Ginny. You're fifteen. You're Ron's sister. I have to...there's a very bad man who's sure the only thing between him and complete world domination is the bumbling seventeen year old boy who just kissed you like you taste like forever. This can't be happening. I can't let this happen!"
"Are you always going to fight this, then?" She sounded so sad, so lost, that Harry leaned back and cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs smoothing away the tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.
"Please, don't cry. I can't stand it." When she only sniffled and glared, looking much like a drowned, spitting kitten, Harry smothered a smile he was sure would be unwelcome. "No. No, I'm not always going to fight this. I could certainly wish it were a better time, though."
"People would never get anything accomplished if they waited until the time was perfect, Harry." Her hands came up to cover his, her milk-white skin a stark contrast to his darker, duskier hue, her eyes soft and much too wise for her years, her delectable lips curving up with her irrepressible grin, her temper dissipating as quickly as it had fired. "I dare you to move, Harry. I dare you to pretend this never happened, that you never kissed me, that you don't love me, that we can't make this work."
For a suspended, breathless moment, Ginny was sure she had pushed him too far, too fast. His eyes had gone narrow, his body very, very still, and Ginny held her breath, her heart beating a wild, worried tattoo in her chest. Then, then, he smiled, a wide, un-Harry-like smile, and bumped her nose with his. "All right, Ginny. All right."
When his mouth covered hers once more, when they fell onto the soft grass and he murmured something about 'stubborn pixies' and 'best friends being bad influences with all their snogging', Ginny held on tight and thought, 'This. This is for my own good. Mine and Harry's.'
Harry heard her soft laughter in his ear, felt her silky skin under his hands and let himself fall. After all, what was love, what was life, without a little risk?
Fate sighed in contentment and turned her eyes elsewhere. Her work here, at least for now, was done. Soon enough she would return to visit Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione. Soon enough.