A/N: Ok, this is the
edited version. The Full version of
this can be found in the Gryffindor
Tower, and I'm sure the more readable version as well, since ff.net always
screws up the formatting here. Anyway,
the "towel limerick" is courtesy of Imogen, who is the Queen of writing dodgy
limericks. As always, I have to
dedicated this to everyone on the QoHG list, who have pounded me with
death-threats for not finishing this like I should have. Now they're all after me about the next
chapter of "The Scar." *sighs* A
Queen's job is never finished…
Chapter Eight: Tryouts and Towels
"Miss
Weasley!" Ginny's heart stopped at
the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice. Her feet stopped moving as well,
which caused Harry to plough into her as he was walking right behind her. The
Sorting Feast was over, and the couple, along with Ron and Hermione, were
making their way back to Gryffindor tower to get settled in for the evening.
"Yes,
Professor?" Ginny asked, hoping she sounded politely puzzled.
"I need to see you
in my office, if you please." Professor McGonagall turned abruptly and headed towards her office.
Ginny looked blankly at
Harry. "Wow, that's got to be a
record, Gin," he whispered just loud enough so that
she could hear him, with
a sort of half-smile on his face that Ginny always found boyishly
charming. "You've only been here
for two hours, and you've already got into trouble."
She stuck out her tongue
at him just before hurrying along the corridor to catch up with the
professor.
"In here, Miss
Weasley," said McGonagall, opening the door for her and waving her wand at
a very straightbacked chair that immediately came towards Ginny. Ginny took a seat, watching the Professor
conjure up a blazing fire in the fireplace. Something akin to dread wormed its way in her heart, although she knew
perfectly well that she hadn't done anything
wrong, (she had a policy
of waiting until after the first week of school before causing trouble), but
the tiredness of the long train ride, combined with all the excitement of the
previous evening, still made Ginny a bit nervous about whatever McGonagall had
to say. And Professor McGonagall wasn't
doing anything to alleviate her suspicions, as the woman merely stood behind
her desk and looked down at her from those square spectacles at her.
Then a thought occured to
her. "Uh, Professor? Is this about
what happened last term? I
already--"
"No, Miss Weasley,
this is not about that foolish prank you pulled last year," said
McGonagall sharply. "You've
already done your punishment for that, one of which I hope you will remember
when you and Mr. Potter think about playing a trick on the Slytherins."
Ginny swallowed. She did remember her punishment, made all
the worse by knowing that Harry had ended up losing his Prefect's badge over
it. It was a brilliant prank, her most
ingenious to date, but the guilt she felt afterwards about costing Harry his
prefect badge had quickly overridden any joy she felt. Harry, of course, had been very good-humored
about it, saying
that it was only a matter
of time before Snape found a good enough excuse to get him removed as prefect.
"At any rate,"
McGongagall continued briskly, "I merely wanted to congratulate you on
becoming Quidditch captain. You are
quite one of the best Chasers Gryffindor has seen in years, and despite your
penchant for causing trouble, I believe you will make an admirable
leader."
Ginny nearly fell out of
her chair. Praise from the strict Head
of Gryffindor house was a rare thing indeed, for any student.
"I've taken the
liberty of reserving the Quidditch pitch for Saturday morning for tryouts with
Madam Hooch, if that is acceptable. You do realise that you are the first
female captain the team has seen in over fifty years?"
Ginny shook her head.
"Well, I'm sure you
will do your best in attaining us the Cup again this year. After all, we do have a winning streak to
keep up, something that I confess I find great pleasure in mentioning to
Professor Snape as often as I can." If Ginny still wasn't in a state of
shock, she would have noticed the slight smile that broke through the stern
lines of McGonagall's face. "Well,
I'll let you go to bed. I'll see you
tomorrow in Transfiguration. Good
night, Miss Weasley."
Ginny sat there for a
minute longer, just before slowly raising herself up from the straight-backed
chair and heading for the door. "Oh, and Miss Weasley?"
"Yes,
Professor?"
Ginny could have sworn
that McGonagall's eyes twinkled. "Good luck." She
nodded her thanks and left, closing the door behind her.
Out in the corridor,
Ginny leaned heavily up against the dark panelled wall, in between two suits of
armour which creaked as they turned their heads towards her.
"Something wrong, Miss
Weasley?" Ginny nearly jumped out of
her skin as the ghost of Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor tower
floated through the wall next to her.
"Oh, hi Nick," Ginny said
breathlessly.
"Didn't mean to startle
you so, but I just heard the news from Moaning Myrtle, who'd heard it from some
of the prefects in the prefect's bathroom that you'd been made Quidditch
Captain. Congratulations!" Nick touched her arm in a congratulatory
manner, making Ginny feel as though it had just been plunged into the lake
during the coldest of winter months.
"Thanks, Nick," said
Ginny, absently rubbing her arm to get the feeling back in it.
"I know you'll do an
admirable job with the team; we've got our winning streak to uphold, don't you
know," said Nick, adjusting the ruff around his neck a bit higher as they began
to walk (although in Nick's case, floating would be more of an appropriate
term) back to the common room.
Before Ginny could think
of what to say, another voice broke in. "Ginny! Hey Ginny!" Ginny looked up to see the figure of Colin Creevy, a
light-haired, round-faced boy in her
year, almost running towards him. Colin
wasn't a bad sort, just a bit irritating since he happened to idolize Harry and
also because he was always taking pictures of everyone (whether they wanted it
or not). Annoying though Colin might be
with his camera, he was about to benefit the whole of the Gryffindor house with
it. Ginny smiled at the boy as she
remembered the letter she had owled him earlier in the summer.
"Hi Colin!" Ginny said,
stopping in front of the Fat Lady.
"I got your owl!" Colin
nearly shouted in his excitement.
"Shhh!" hissed Ginny, looking around in the corridor. "Be quiet!" Both Nearly
Headless Nick and the Fat Lady were looking at them very curiously.
"I got your owl," said
Colin in a much quieter voice. "I did
what you asked." And Colin merrily
waved a piece of parchment in front of Ginny's face.
"Password?" said the Fat
Lady, raising one eyebrow as she stared down at the two in a haughty fashion,
as though in insult that they were whispering in front of her.
"Mellita Domi Adsum,"
said Ginny, silently thanking the fact that Ron had told her earlier.
Ginny walked inside the
circular common room to total silence. She paused, looking around at all the Gryffindors, old and new who were,
in turn, staring at her. Harry, who was
over by the fireplace in their usual spot, stood up and began….clapping?
As though on cue,
everyone else followed suit. The entire
room was filled with applause, cheers, and yells, making Ginny's ears pound
with the noise that surely could be heard in Hogsmeade. Colin joined in, and Ginny stared at the boy
in bewilderment.
"Speech! Speech! Speech!"
chanted a few third years. The rest of
the house joined in the chant. "Speech!
Speech!"
Ok, don't panic. Seems like we are expected to give a speech. Don't panic!
Panic! Are you kidding me? I didn't know we were supposed to do one!
We should have remembered that. Fred and George always gave a speech as captains the first day back. Don't worry, just think of something quick.
Uh..Friends,
Gryffindors, countrymen…
Try again.
I have a dream, that
one day…
Nope.
Ask not what
Gryffindor can do for you, but what you can do…
No good.
We shall fight on the
pitch, we shall fight in the air, we shall fight on our brooms; we shall never
surrender.
Hurry up!
I have nothing to
offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.
Can't you do better than that?
Give me victory or
give me death!
Too melodramatic! Everyone is waiting!
"Ok. Ok. Everyone,
please!" Ginny held up her hands for
silence, waiting as the cheers died down. "I'm not too sure what to say, everything has gone in such a whirl these
past few days. Let me just say that
we've got a long road ahead of us this year. I'm going to be needing everyone's support. Come Saturday morning, I'm going to be choosing the best of you
to become part of the greatest Quidditch team that Hogwarts has seen in
ages." With that last bit, the cheering
thankfully overrode anything else Ginny could think of to add. Someone had ignited Filibusters Fabulous
No-Heat Wet Start Fireworks and bottles of butterbeer were passed
around. In the melee, Ginny managed to
extract herself from a few overexcited first years, who all had copies of that
morning's Daily Prophet and were begging for autographs, and somehow was
able to fight her way to Harry, who was laughing along with Ron and Hermione at
the scene.
"Great speech!" said
Harry, chucking as he handed her a bottle of butterbeer.
"Ginny! You forgot this!"
cried Colin, brandishing the slip of parchment he still held in his hands.
"Knock it off, Colin!" Ron laughed, as Colin fought his way through the
crowd. "You borrow her potions notes
every week! You don't need her autograph!" Both Harry and Ron doubled over at this, making Hermione frown deeply as
she tried to restore order. Ginny
kicked both boys as she grabbed the parchement from Colin, who was now
blushing. Her eyes widened as she read
the contents.
Harry and Ron stopped
laughing immediately. "What? What've you there?" asked Harry. "What is it, Gin?"
"I owled Colin over the
summer and asked him to spy on the Slytherins on the Hogwarts Express to see if
they'd mention the lineup for their team."
"Brilliant!" said Harry,
beaming at her.
"Really cunning," said Ron. "What's it
say?"
"Well, we already knew
about Crabbe and Goyle as Beaters. And
of course, Malfoy's Seeker. He must
have got rid of that Welsh girl from last year, because now he's got somone by
the name of Bromley in as their new Chaser in addition to the two he had. And
Millicent Bulstrode is the Keeper."
"Milicent Bulstrode?"
asked Harry. "Why her?"
"HA! That's pretty
smart. She can just scare anyone that
comes near her with the Quaffle away with that ugly face of hers, right?" said
Ron, doubling over with laughter again.
"There's one more thing Ginny," said Colin. "Malfoy said he was going to reserve the
pitch every afternoon next week for practice. He said he had a special note from Snape."
"WHAT?" Ginny, Harry, and Ron almost shouted this, causing
Colin to step back in fright. "That
bastard!" Ginny shouted, making everyone jump.
"It's true! I heard them," Colin explained hesitantly. "But—I—uh…did something…." Colin blushed furiously. "I…uh…well…I ran as fast as I could to Madam
Hooch's office and forged your signature." Madam Hooch, the flying instructor and Quidditch referee, had an
enchanted notebook outside her door, which allowed the Quidditch captains to
reserved the pitch for practice during the week. "I signed up for Tuesday and Thursday."
Ginny could've kissed Colin. She did kiss Colin, on both of his cheecks, much to his great
embarassment. "You are brilliant,
Colin! Did you know that? So the
Slytherins are trying to one up us are they? I don't think so, not while I've
got breath in my body. That dirty scum,
thinking he's going to hog the pitch for a week while he tries to trot that
pitiful team of his around in the air. Oh, no he won't, not as long as I'm
here—" Ginny suddenly stopped mid-tirade, once she realised that she was pacing
around the hearth. She met the gazes of
Ron and Harry, who both looked a bit confused and amused. "Well," she ended. "Saturday can't come soon enough for me."
****
Saturday did come soon
enough. The week went by quickly, as
she'd been so loaded down with new work to do from classes that she'd barely
had time to even think of Quidditch. Saturday morning dawned bright and cheerful, and walking out to the
pitch with the other Gryffindors, Ginny was suddenly reminded of the first time
she'd marched out to tryout, a assortment of emotions ranging from acute nausea
to gritty determination to succeed. It
was funny how as she now walked out as not just Chaser, but Captain, that Ginny
realised that she still felt that way. She was nervous, a bit unsure about how to go about being captain, when
everyone seemed to have high expectations for her, but determined nonetheless
to meet those expectations. So with the
sun glinting down on the stands, causing everyone to use a Rayban charm
to protect their eyes from the glare, Ginny stood out on the pitch, looking at
the five Gryffindors who had signed up. Dennis Creevy, Colin's little brother, two burly second years that—while they were not related to each
other—could have been Hagrid's long lost sons, a fourth year girl who reminded
Ginny of former Chaser Katie Bell, and a tiny third year boy, who looked as
though he might pass out if Ginny so much as spoke to him. No one spoke as Ginny casually circled the
group, mentally noting size, height, and the maker of the broomsticks each
carried. Two Nimbus Two Thousands, one
Cleansweep Five-Fifty, a Comet Five Hundred, and a Twigger One Hundred. Ginny frowned slightly as she noted the last
broom. Twiggers were not known to be very
reliable brooms, Kennilworthy Whisp had once said that only people with more
money than sense bought Twiggers.
"My parents bought it,"
said the fourth year girl, who owned the broom. "I know it's not the best, but beggars can't be choosers can
they?" She twiddled the handle
slightly, and Ginny could see how white her knuckles were.
Ginny couldn't help but
smile. "Ok, lets see what you
have. I'm guessing you're here to be a
Chaser, right?" The girl nodded. "And
you?" Ginny asked the small boy next to her.
"Chaser," he almost
whispered.
"Hey Dennis," Ginny said
to Dennis Creevy. Colin had mentioned
repeatedly to Ginny that Dennis was going after Chaser. Dennis was different from his older brother,
he wasn't as talktative—definitely not as annoying—and whom Ginny knew for a
fact was quite good on a broomstick. Ginny turned two the last two boys…
"Please tell me you two
are here as my Beaters." The two
mini-Hagrids nodded eagerly. "What are
your names?"
"John," said the one on
the right, wearing a very shaggy hair cut that made Ginny think of one of those
mid-eastern gurus she'd learned about in school.
"Paul," said the other
one, who had a very winning smile, despite his size. Both boys had very disguinshed accents; and Ginny had to repress
a giggle for some strange reason.
"Excellent. Harry, would you give them the clubs
please?" Harry, who was in charge of
the equipment, handed the two their Beaters clubs.
"Ok, Dennis, you and and
you—" she pointed to the third year boy, "—and you," she pointed to the girl
with the Twigger. "Up. Ron?" Ginny
turned to see where Ron was.
"He's already up there,"
said Harry smiling, as he handed the Quaffle to Dennis. Ginny looked up to see that Ron had indeed
taken off and was merrily circling the goal posts.
"Impatient prat," Ginny
murmurred. "John, Paul? You two get up there. Harry, let the Bludgers loose."
Ginny and Harry both
remained grounded as they watched the sky above them. Dennis Creevy managed to score a goal, causing cheers from the
rest of the house seated in the stands, and causing Ron to let out a shrill
curse. Harry and Ginny both grinned.
"That third-year is
fast," said Harry, watching him zoom between the two Bludgers and rocket past
the other two Chasers.
"Yes, he is. But he's not working with the rest of them,
see? Look at how he's just out there.
He's got the build for an excellent Seeker though, see how he just pulled
through those Bludgers."
"What, you're not
thinking of replacing me, are you?" Harry teased.
Ginny smiled and gave his
hand a squeeze. "Of course not, but,
this is your last year. He'd make an
excellent reserve Seeker. He's only in
third year at that. Definitely has some
potential. Think you could teach him a
thing or two?"
Harry nodded, never
taking his eyes from the scene overhead. "I think you're right. I could
do it."
"Excellent!" said
Ginny. "Now about that broom the fourth
year is on—"
"It's not as bad as I've seen," said Harry. "Not for a Twigger. It looks pretty new, although those brooms
do tend to warp under high speeds."
"She's handling it well,"
said Ginny. "And she and Dennis seem to
work together well." Ginny bit her lip in thought.
"Well, Captain?" Harry
said. "Do we have a team or what?"
"Yes, Seeker. I believe that we do."
****
"Harry?" Ginny called, walking down the small corridor leading to the Gryffindor locker room. "Harry, are you in here? Everyone's up in the common room having a party for the new team!" They had praticed for two more hours, before Ginny had finally called things to a halt. Besides, Dennis Creevy, John Pepper, and Paul Wellington, the other new team member was Sue Maxwell, who—once she got over her shyness—became quite outspoken about the game and Ginny knew she'd found someone to connect with on the team. The tiny third year, Howard Carter, was delighted at being chosen as a reserve Seeker and Ginny found herself quite pleased with the way things had turned out on her first major decision as captain.
Scarlet and gold tile, followed by the clean smell of shampoo and soap, and the sound a tap being turned off greeted her as she walked into the locker room. "Where can he be?" she muttered under her breath, looking around the abandoned room. There was no sign of Harry. Catching a small movement out of the corner of her eye, Ginny turned around. It was most unfortunate, or fortunate, depending on the point of view, that the mirror located inside the locker room bathroom was placed strategically where one could view….
Oh. My. God.
Yeah.
Ginny froze. The image of Harry Potter, dripping wet, in the midsts of wrapping a fluffy white cotton towel around his waist appeared in the mirror, giving Ginny a perfectly clear view of his…
Bet you wish you had a quarter now, eh?
God help me.
Ginny was frozen to the spot. All she could do was stare into that mirror, watching jealously as a drop of moisture trailed down the center of his back, leaving a glistening trail in its wake, and disappeared where cotton towel met warm, smooth skin. He tucked in the corner. Ginny bit her lip and tried desperately to make her legs move.
Ok, we have to move. We have to move. He's going to see us standing here. Do you hear me?
hmmm.
DO YOU HEAR ME? We have to move.
ARE YOU CRAZY!?!
Ginny stared helplessly as Harry pushed his wet black hair back off his forehead and walked over to the sink and reached for his glasses. The towel slipped a bit as he reached down to grab his razor and can of McKormack's No Cut Shaving Cream.
Come on, Ginny! We've got to move! What's he going to think when he turns around and sees us standing here gaping open-mouthed at him? Do the words "scarlet woman" mean anything to you?
Not that! I'm serious! What to do in an emergency such as this….
Dear God, I know I'm a witch and all, but despite that, could you do me one favor and put some clothes on Harry Potter? Amen.
Um…Quidditch…Quidditch….rule number 1: A player must not
stray over the boundary lines of the pitch. Rule number 2: The captain may call for "time out" by signaling to the
referee. Rule number three: The referee
may award penalties against a team.
See how this is
working? Now move!
Ginny somehow made her
legs move far enough to where she could lean up against the wall for
support. Her entire body had ceased to
exist, except for her eyes, which now had a perfect view of the sink, where
Harry lathered up his face and had begun to shave.
HAVE YOU LOST YOUR
MIND?!? Not here! Now all he has to do is turn around.
Rules of Quidditch, rules of Quidditch. Rule number 4: Under no circumstances must one player seize hold of any part of
another player's ana—anatomy…anatomy. Dear
God.
Harry leaned over further
over the sink, as he stretched his neck upwards and ran the razor up across his
chin. Ginny could feel beads of sweat
form on her nose.
Damn Kennilworthy
Whisp! He stuck that bit in there on
purpose! Bad idea, think of something
boring…I have it! Muggle studies! The
next assignment is to write a poem. You
hate poetry!
A poem…a poem…
My thoughts have turned very blue…
Yes, good job!
I'm tempted the towel to undo,
NO NO NO!
Let it drop to the floor,
And ravish him more
This moment I quite well could rue.
Get control of yourse—hey, that really wasn't bad though. Nice limerick.
Ginny's breath caught in her throat as once again, the offending towel slipped down an inch, revealing a wide expanse of bare skin.
Wouldn't this be the perfect time to practice a summoning charm?
That's uh….actually…a good idea. Oh, what am I saying! You
have to get out of here! He's going to
turn around any moment now…
And who's fault is
that? Honestly, anyone could just pop in here and see him in
that! Has he no shame? And what happened to the whole "it's your
God-given right as his girlfriend" bit, anyway?
Spying is not included in that! Oh…..God!
If, at that exact moment,
a Hungarian Horntail had walked into the room, tap danced to the school song
wearing a kimono, Ginny wouldn't have so much as blinked in that direction
because at that moment, the towel slipped again, and this time…
Ginny let out a small
squeak which echoed in the tiled room. Thankfully at the same time, Harry said "Whoops!" and draped the towel
back around his hips.
Spot on impersonation of Scabbers there.
What is he trying to
do to me?
Ok, you've had your fun. You've seen quite enough of
Harry, I'd say. A bit more than I'm
sure he wanted you to see at this stage of your relationship. NOW…GET…OUT…OF…HERE!!
It would have been the
perfect escape. Harry was still blind
to the fact that he had an admirer and Ginny could have left the room with no
one the wiser. Would have, if it wasn't
for the bench that seemingly sprung out from nowhere.
"ACK!" Ginny screamed as she fell backwards. Her teeth gnashed together as her head hit
another bench and the breath was knocked from her.
"Is someone there?" came
the call from inside the bathroom. Footsteps echoed closer. The
telltale blush exploded onto Ginny's face and neck, and surely she was now so
red that Harry would need sunglasses to look at her.
Oh, this should be fun. Couldn't we have managed to fall
with a bit more grace?
"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed,
obviously surprised to find her massaging her head as she slowly raised herself
from the floor with as much dignity as she could muster. "What happened? Are you ok?" Apparently
Harry had forgotten that he was clothed in nothing but a towel. His hair was still slightly damp from the
shower, and stuck out in all directions in half-dried wisps. Drops of water still clung to his chest and
there was a small streak of shaving cream on his cheek.
"I'm fine, Harry," she
replied shakily, staring determinedly into his eyes, and not even allowing her
self to look below his neck. "There's….um…there's
a…" Ginny lost her train of thought as the scent of shampoo and shaving cream
washed over her.
God, he smells good.
"A party!" she exclaimed
rather loudly, making both of them jump. "Everyone's having a party for the new towel…I mean there's going to be
a new towel for the party!" Mentally
cursing her wayward tongue, Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "There's a party for the new team," she
finally got out, enunciating the words very slowly. "I came to find you."
Those green eyes which
Ginny had so often adored, started to sparkle in the candle light from the
torches lit on the wall behind
her. A slow grin spread across Harry's
face. This was the one Ginny referred
to as the "lethal Harry" grin, a grin that never failed to do crazy things to
her when Harry smiled in a certain way; a way that lifted up one corner of his mouth and showed a slight dimple in his
cheek. She swallowed nervously as her
insides began to somersault. Suddenly,
she realized that he'd been advancing on her slowly, and she let out a small
gasp as her back hit the scarlet tiled wall.
Harry stopped just inches
before her, his hands flat against the wall on either side of her head. She was trapped. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage," said Harry, his voice
now much deeper than it was minutes before.
"How so?" Ginny squeaked, gazing longingly at the pair
of lips that hovered over hers.
"Well, you're fully
clothed and here I stand wearing nothing but a towel," said Harry, gesturing
with one hand at his attire. Ginny
didn't dare let her gaze follow his hand.
"I….I….I didn't notice,"
she said, noticing how her own voice had deepened.
"Really?" he said, as he
leaned forward to press a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. "You didn't notice? Not at all?" His words were punctuated with teasing kisses to either side of
her mouth.
"No, I didn't," Ginny
breathed, tilting her face up towards Harry for a deep kiss.
"I'm impressed," said
Harry, chuckling deeply as he ignored her silent plea and trailed a path of
kisses down her throat. "I know if you
were wearing nothing but a towel, I'd certainly notice." Warm lips traced a path up to her ear, where
Ginny felt strong teeth gently graze the soft skin of her earlobe. "In fact," he continued in between nibbles
that set her heart racing as though it were a Firebolt, "just the thought of
you in a towel…" and to prove his point, Harry pressed himself fully against
her, showing her exactly how he was affected by the thought.
Ginny's mind went completely
blank as her hands somehow wound their way into the slightly damp hair at the
nape of his neck, bringing that incredible mouth of his back to hers. If it wasn't for the very solid wall behind
her, and Harry's body holding hers in place, she'd would have collapsed at his
feet the moment his lips touched hers. She was on fire, a raging inferno of
sensation that began and ended with the feel of Harry's lips upon hers. She was
aware of everything and of nothing at all. Through the pleasure induced haze in her head she could feel Harry's
hands, no longer pressed against the wall, but now discovering all her most
sensitive places. Her hands were just
as busy, memorizing the texture of his skin, the way the muscles leaped and quivered under her fingertips, leisurely
wandering down his chest and around to his back, and then down further.
The towel easily slipped
away, trapped between their bodies.
She could feel Harry
tense against her, just before he pulled his mouth from hers, leaving her
feeling empty and gasping for breath. He pulled back a bit farther, his eyes wide, the pupils dilated so that
only a thin band of green remained. They gazed at each other, panting as though they had both had been
running for their lives. The passion
induced haze gradually faded from Ginny's mind, and she froze, not knowing what
to say or do at that moment. Her hands
fell back down to her sides, and clenched into fists.
Harry stepped back a bit
farther, remembering just in time to secure the towel once again around his
waist, never taking his eyes from her.
"Oh God!" Harry finally gasped, his voice
breaking. "That…that…," he swallowed,
his adams apple bobbing with the effort. "That got out of control there. Way out of control."
All Ginny could do was
nod as she fought the instinct to scream in frustration.
"Yes, well. We…uh…we'll have to finish this later. If…if you want, that is." Harry's hand shook as he nervously adjusted
his glasses, which were fogged up. "You, uh…do want…er…would you like to…I mean…we can finish this
later can't we? I don't mean like
later, later…but you know…later…"
All Ginny could do was
nod, despite the fact that she wasn't too sure what she was agreeing to.
"Yes, well. Yes." Harry closed his eyes, as though he too was
trying to get his wits about him. Ginny
could certainly sympathize, her wits had long since left her, the moment she
saw him in a towel. She had no voice,
and it was a sheer defiance of gravity that she was able to stand
straight. She felt air, cooling against
her overheated skin, and absently noted that Harry had somehow worked open the
clasps of her Quidditch robes and the top row of buttons on her Quidditch
sweater without her realizing it.
"Yes," he said again,
opening his eyes, blinking. His face was flushed, just as Ginny knew hers
was. He was still breathing hard, just
as Ginny was. "Yes. Well, we should be
going, shouldn't we? There's a towel
for the party isn't there? I mean a
party for the towel." Harry squeezed
his eyes shut. "You know what I mean."
He held out a hand, and Ginny saw how it trembled. "I guess we should be going, huh?"
It was Ginny turn to
swallow hard, just before she squeaked, "Uh…Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"Um….don't you think you should…uh…get dressed?" Ginny vaguely gestured towards his current
attire, the fluffy white cotton once again trying to slip from its position.
Harry looked down at
himself, seeming both shocked and puzzled at finding himself in a towel. "Oh yeah. Ha, ha. I'm in a towel, aren't
I? I can't go like this."
Ginny nodded absently,
wanting to laugh hysterically, but the lack of air in her lungs wouldn't allow
it.
"Yes, I'll go and
change," said Harry, not moving an inch. "Will you wait for me?"
"Yes."
Harry turned to leave,
clutching the edge of the towel firmly in his hands as he began to walk
towards…
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"I think the bathroom is
that way." Ginny raised a shaking finger and pointed in the opposite direction
Harry was taking. Color flooded his
cheeks as he realized his mistake.
"Oh, yeah. I knew..I knew
that."
A/N: Ginny's "speeches" are actually edited versions of
well known ones. They appear in order
from: Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar"; Martin Luther King; John F. Kennedy;
Winston Churchill; Winston Churchill; and Patrick Henry.