You know the drill - these characters belong to J.K. Rowling and Scholastic, copyrighted from about 1991-forever, I'm guessing. I only take credit for thinking up the lovely events you're about to read about.
And the story goes...
Ginny twisted a strand of her flaming red hair around her index finger. Harry James Potter was sitting beside her in a stiff-yet-comfortable theatre chair, the one with gum under the armrest, and they were on a date. The thought that she was dating Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, still gave Ginny an anxious jolt in her stomach that she took to be excitement and pride. After all, Harry could have any girl at Hogwarts, probably even Pansy Parkinson ("SLUT!" she though and smiled), and he had chose her...
"What are you smiling about, Gin?" Ginny smiled bigger and shrugged, though the smallest voice in her head scoffed, "Isn't 'gin' a kind of liquor or whiskey or something?"
"Guess I'm just glad to be here." Ginny gave the scornful voice a body in her head and watched herself kill it.
The movie started and Harry put his arm around Ginny's shoulders. Ginny lightly rested her head on Harry's shoulder and half-closed her eyes. She was used to going to the muggle-movies with Harry and she knew she wasn't going to like the choppy, bad graphics and lame plots. The only reason she had let herself be dragged to the movies with him practically every weekend this summer was that she knew what Harry would do the moment the end-credits came on.
"Help!" shreiked a voice on screen. Ginny opened her eyes and looked up. A building was, supposedly, "on fire" and someone was sticking their head out a second-story window. Ginny smiled slightly at how dumb this movie was, then went back to her mildly dirty thoughts.
She could remember the feel of Harry's warm hand on her breast, she could remember the sensation of his tongue on the roof of her mouth, and the feel of her hands running through his hair, one of his hands on her upper thigh as it edged it's way toward the hem of her short pleated skirt... Ginny sighed slightly and lifted her head enough that she could look into Harry's vivid green eyes.
He winked at her. The movie was almost over.
Ginny's amused smile became fixed and she put her head back on the comfortable place it had been resting for the last forty minutes or so. She didn't want Harry ot just wink at her! No, no, NO!
She wanted him to whisper her name, "Ginny?", like he was asking permission. She would say "Yes," though not like she was asking what he wanted, but like she was saying "Yes, yes, go ahead." Then his hands would go to where they were so comfortable, where they had been many times before - under Ginny's clothes. They would kiss as his hands explored, and the theatre would be miraculously empty, and nothing would stop them from -
Ginny opened her eyes wide and brought her breathing back to normal, hoping Harry had noticed nothing. She could feel that she was getting a little wet, and she wondered what on earth she was doing. She wasn't watching the movie, and come to think of it, Harry could always come back if he wanted to catch the ending of this one.
Ginny slowly moved her hand towards one of Harry's. She watched the screen as she did so. Almost ironically, the two people on screen (presumably the main characters) were just starting to really get into their kiss. Finally, after an agonizing eternity, Ginny felt her hand meet one of Harry's ruggedly strong ones. Smirking triumphantly, and acting before Harry could react, she placed his hand firmly on one of her medium-sized breasts.
"Ginny!" Harry said in surprise. He wasn't reprimanding her in any way... in fact it seemed like this was exactly what he had wanted her to do.
Years later, Ginny couldn't recall exactly how this happened, but next minute she was straddling Harry in his seat, and no one around them seemed to really care. Her skirt was quite up from the movement so she was glad that the theatre was dimly lit. She didn't think the innocent bystanders needed to see her thong. Ginny could feel her left knee was touching the gum under Harry's armrest. An odd detail to remember, when she wasn't even sure how she had gotten to be where she was.
Harry Potter was a very good kisser at the age of seventeen. And even though she was a year younger than him, Ginny had plenty of experience to compare him to. She moaned faintly into him as his tongue grazed the roof of her mouth.
One of his hands was running down her back - over her firm, Quidditch-toned butt - down her leg, tickling her and giving her shivers - then back up, up, up, there! Harry was touching Ginny. Like, touching her... and ooh, did she ever like it!
"We're gonna do it!" thought Ginny excitedly. "Here, in the theatre, with all these people around! Oh this is cool, this is cool, this is - oh GOD what is he doing!"
Ginny bucked a little as Harry's fingers found her clit. It felt so good to her, she just wanted to scream, she had never felt anything like this!
Then, to her horror, a hand grabbed her shoulder. "That is inappropriate!" exclaimed the usher in his dumb usher-outfit-thing. Ginny smirked at him as she climbed reluctantly off of her boyfriend. "Only 'cause you can't get any."
As Harry and Ginny left the thatre hand in hand, Ginny turned to him and said, innocently, "Oh, Harry... tonight, maybe, after everyone is in bed... would you like to have a little sleepover?"