Chapter Summary: Ginny runs into someone unexpected.
Note: What a challenge this chapter was! Truly thank you everyone, especially those who found me on Tumblr and continued to encourage me. Life has been truly awful, and I happy to find some time to write again. For those interested, I at times post some related goodies on tumblr (I am narukoibito), such as outtakes, a playlist, and responding to asks. I'd love to chat with all of you.
Special thank you to fightfortherightsofhouseelves and gryffindormischief, who were key to getting me unstuck!
"Ahh," Ginny cried out as Harry pressed her into the bed, his fingers sliding into her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her body was taut with need, her hands sliding around his back. She wanted to bring him closer, his familiar smell encompassing her with warmth and desire.
She could hardly remember the events that had led her back to him, as if the details were chased to the far corners of her mind. Instead, the feel of him, his lean and hard body pressed against hers, flooded her senses.
Would it make a difference? She had always been drawn to him, as if by a magnetic force.
Would it ever change?
"Ginny," he said against her hot skin. He left a trail of kisses down the side of her neck as his fingers continued to move in a way that left her writhing and squirming, craving more.
"Harry," she moaned.
He looked up from her collarbone. Without his glasses, his eyes were dark and possessive. "What do you want?"
She bit down on her lip hard as his thumb circled her clit. Her head fogged with need, making it hard to speak. "You know what I want."
"Tell me anyway," Harry said, his voice low and husky.
Ginny fisted the bed sheets when his fingers slowed, the pressure of his thumb easing to a maddening whisper. She growled and strained against his hand, but he only chuckled, a slow rumbling against her. Heat flooded her chest, constricting her throat. She pushed down on the overwhelming feelings, turning her head away.
As if taking this as a sign, with a quiet sigh, he began to pull away. A dizzying fear blinded her.
Don't go.
"You," she choked out, her hands releasing the sheets and reaching for him. "I want you."
Harry's eyes softened and shone in the low light. He moved close, pressing his forehead against hers, the comforting weight of him easing away the fear. "Was that so hard?"
He had no idea.
Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled his fingers away. She opened her mouth in protest, but it came out a gasp when she was suddenly filled with him. She wanted to hate how every time it felt too good to be true.
He groaned with her, his hand weaving through her hair. As he moved within her, he closed the gap between them and kissed her, deeply and intimately, making her mind go fuzzy. She let go of the sheets and wound her arms around him, letting herself melt into his embrace.
With each of his movements, her mind chanted, don't go, don't go…
"Ginny," he murmured against her lips, his voice like another gentle touch, "you have me —"
The loud rapping at the door jolted Ginny awake, though it was hard to distinguish over the painful thudding of her heart against her ribs and the unbearable aching between her legs. She tried to move but immediately met resistance. The bed sheets were twisted around her clammy legs. She gave a furious, futile kick.
Damn it, damn it, damn it all to hell!
Ginny let out of a strangled cry, pressing her flushed face into her pillow, drowning out the scream at the back of her throat.
What was she, fifteen once more?
Ginny had moved beyond her embarrassing crush. What an apt word: the way her feelings had broken her. Prevented her for so long from being herself. And she had promised never to let anything, even her own misguided feelings, stop her again. But apparently there would always be a weak part of her that couldn't deny this gravitational pull towards Harry. It had dimmed and dulled, and she had grown so used to it that it had faded into the background to the point where it was small and easily ignorable, practically nonexistent.
Over time, she had earned a spot as a real friend. Even if he never looked at her as anything more, she was okay with that. Even if it felt like there was a small part of her missing. Making him laugh, making him feel at ease seemed worth that small aching softness in her chest whenever she was near him.
But no, that idiotic night had undone everything. Now that repressed attraction had come roaring forth, burning through her with little regard to her carefully crafted logical barriers, no longer willing to be denied. And she was no better than a teenage girl with these humiliating flights of fancy.
"Stupid," Ginny muttered to herself, covering her face with her hands.
It didn't help that she was once again in London. She was only here for Harpies business, of course. She wasn't going to see Harry. Ginny had made a point to stay away this time.
Embarrassment surged forth when she thought of the Leaky Cauldron and the last time she saw him. She had spent weeks agonizing over their mistake of shagging one another in his kitchen. As good as it felt in the moment, it clearly had not been worth the storm of awkwardness that followed.
She had set out intending for the get-together to restore the equilibrium in their friendship, prove that they were still friends after everything.
She wasn't going to lose him over this—over nothing. Over meaningless touches, misplaced desire, whims spurred by loneliness.
No, Harry meant too much.
But when he had been late, her nerves got the better of her. One drink had turned into two as she wondered and waited, getting more vexed with him, herself, and the situation with every passing moment. When he had finally shown up, his hair looking ridiculously tousled in the most endearing way, irritation gave way to the rush of desire.
Friends, she reminded herself of what he had said. Friends even though he seemed to enjoy shagging her as much as she did him. What was it he had said that time in his kitchen? That she was fit and it wasn't easy finding a good lay with all his fame. So the pub was probably just another fluke, a convenience.
The familiar twinge in her chest flared.
Why did everything always feel so one-sided when it came to Harry?
Ginny kicked off the bed sheets, the ache between her legs growing unbearable. No matter, she didn't need him. She slipped her hand past the waistband of her knickers, biting down on her lip. Her imagination would suffice…
"Weasley!" A loud voice boomed from behind the hotel door. "Are you up yet?"
Ginny barely held back the locker room swears.
"Yeah, I'll be out in a sec!"
She just needed a moment…five minutes, max. Already she could picture Harry kneeling between her legs. She whimpered slightly at the thought of his mussed hair brushing against her thighs, his slightly flushed face, and dangerously glinting eyes. Her fingers continued down their original journey.
"Ginny," he said, kissing her thighs.
She took in a sharp breath. Her heart began to race as he —
"WEASLEY! You better be getting your sorry arse ready!"
Ginny let out a strangled, furious hiss. "I got it! I'm UP!"
Tossing on a bathrobe, she headed towards the loo. A quick and cold shower would have to do.
Heat churned in Ginny's stomach, setting her on edge. The icy shower had only momentarily dampened the desire. It didn't help that on the way from the hotel to the photoshoot for new Holyhead Harpies posters, she had mistaken not one, but two people for a certain someone.
Mounting a broom had done her no favors. It would be different if this were a game, but posing and pretending to fly only increased her ire. Try as she might, she couldn't quite push the image of heated green eyes out of her mind.
At least, mercifully, the photographer hadn't seemed to mind. In fact, as she finally dismounted, she swore she heard him chattering about some sort of "blazing look" that would certainly sell well — whatever that meant. Thankfully it was over.
Now she just had to find some bloody form of relief.
"Weasley!"
"What?" Ginny snapped. Mary, one of the team's Beaters, simply raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
"No kidding," Mary said dryly, leaving no question that her mood had been more than apparent. "Listen, we're heading to the pub. We've got some time before we need to meet in the lobby to head back. You can come along, blow off some steam…"
Ginny forced a smile, not sure whom she was more annoyed with. "Thanks, but I'll pass."
"You sure? Really seems like you could use it." Mary gave her a meaningful look. Ginny flushed at the insinuation. "There were quite a few blokes last time who were more than willing."
"I'm good. I've got plans," Ginny lied. Going back to her room to take care of unfinished business counted, right?
"All right," Mary said, wiggling her eyebrows. "Just be sure to be back in time."
Ginny smiled and waved until Mary and the others were out of sight. She heaved a sigh as she made her way through Diagon Alley. On a weekend, the shopping area was packed, witches and wizards bustling by with their recently purchased goods. She began weaving her way through the crowd. She didn't have to go far to get back to the hotel, where she could finally deal with the relentless ache that had plagued her all day.
Or you could go visit someone…
Ginny nearly stumbled over a cobblestone. She was absolutely not visiting anyone — certainly not after she had brazenly thrown herself at Harry last time.
He wasn't complaining, that annoying voice pointed out.
Stubborn annoyance flashed through her. Even if Harry seemed to enjoy the arrangement, it wasn't as if he had sought her out. Over the past three days, she had already seen her parents, Hermione, Ron, George, and even Percy. Surely he would have heard she was in town, and yet — nothing.
Ginny kicked a rock hard, watching it skitter down the road. Clearly he wasn't thinking about her the way she was him. She should go back to her hotel and take care of her little problem by herself and be done with it.
She looked up, realizing she was near Flourish and Blotts, which was in the opposite direction of her hotel. With a scowl, she whipped around with a determined stride.
Of course, given how her day had been going, it was just her luck to walk straight into someone, getting an uncomfortable face full of robes.
"Sorry!" Hands came up to steady her.
"No, I—" Ginny stopped, slowly looking up in surprise. A familiar, equally surprised face stared back at her.
"Ginny," Dean said, several emotions seeming to run over his face at the same time. "You're in town."
Ginny bit back a dry remark about his keen observation skills. "Yes, I am."
He quickly let go of her and took a step back. "Sorry about that."
"No, I'm sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going," she said, feeling discomfort rise in her. The last time they had seen each other was through their agreed breakup over the Floo. Those last few weeks, months really before they ended things had been tense.
Dean seemed to be thinking of something else to say. "What are you here for?"
"Work," she said.
"A game?" He looked confused. "I didn't realize the season started yet."
She shook her head. "No, it hasn't yet."
When she didn't offer anything else on the topic, Dean shuffled his weight from foot to foot. "I, ah, heard you were here a few weeks ago. For Ron and Hermione's party. I wasn't able to make it."
"I know." Obviously. Because she had been there, as he had pointed out.
She couldn't help but glance wistfully over his shoulder – a minute sooner and she could have been on her way back to the hotel to deal with the niggling problem.
"Right." Dean sighed and shook his head, offering a small smile that seemed to break through some of the awkwardness. "Look, do you…" he began, giving her a strange look.
"Yes?"
"Do you want to grab a coffee?" Dean quirked his head toward a nearby coffee shop. "Catch up?"
"Oh." She looked dumbly at the shop. Her body strummed with frustrated desire.
It's not like you had wanted to run into anyone else, right? a wicked voice taunted her.
"If you have the time," Dean said when she hesitated.
An excuse was on the tip of her tongue, but there was something in the way he was holding himself, the determination in his face.
"Yeah, that'd be nice," she heard herself say.
After all those years together, she could at least hear him out.
They walked towards the shop together. Ginny reached the door handle first and pulled it open for him, but Dean, in his typical Dean way, simply reached up and held the door open for her first. She had to stifle the overly familiar annoyance at his gesture (as if she couldn't open a bloody door by herself) and walked in.
She nearly tripped over her own feet when she saw a gleam off of familiar glasses. But no, at a closer look, it was a bloke with brunette hair, rectangular frames, and a long nose, chatting with some burly fellow. She pressed her hand to her chest, willing her heart to calm down.
Dean caught her arm as if to steady her again.
Ginny shrugged him off, not sure if she was more irritated with herself or him. "I'm fine."
So stupid, she thought, her cheeks heating up miserably.
He frowned and shoved his hand in his pocket before glancing around to see what had made her falter. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she said automatically, forcing a smile through her embarrassment.
He eyed her skeptically but seemed to swallow something back, choosing instead to shake his head and staring hard at the menu.
A familiar feeling crept up in her, but she pushed it down and also focused on the menu, fuming to herself. Great, her sexual frustration was making her see things. Not every bespectacled git was Harry. Not that she was thinking of him. Clearly.
They ordered a cup of tea and settled at a table. As she sipped hers, she met his pensive gaze.
"You look good," Dean said after a beat.
Ginny shrugged. It was probably the leftover Glamours from the shoot.
"You do too." To her surprise, she really meant it.
Dean had always been good-looking. She had been pleased during those D.A. meetings her fourth year when he began to notice her. Over the last few months (perhaps years if she were being completely honest) leading up to their break-up, when they hardly saw one another, things had been strained. Her building annoyance and detachment had colored every time he showed up, whether in person or via Floo.
But now, looking at him, Ginny realized that Dean did look happy. Much happier than she had seen him in a long time. She had become so used to his strained expressions, she had forgotten what he looked like, unburdened.
He took a long drag of his tea, the warm steam curling around his face as he seemed to mull over something. When he set his cup down, he met her gaze, cautious but determined.
"I'm with Seamus now."
With? As in…
Ginny blinked. She thought back to when the three of them would spend time together, especially after the war. The way Seamus had worried himself sick during that year when no one knew where Dean was. The way Dean would sometimes look at Seamus when he thought no one else noticed.
Oh.
He eyed her closely, as if not sure how to gauge her reaction or lack thereof.
"Okay," she said finally.
He frowned. "You're not mad?"
"Mad?" It wasn't as if this was about her, was it? Or about their time together. "Why would I be? Did you get together before we broke it off?"
He let out a breath. "Of course not."
"And even if you did, I…" She trailed off, her mind drifting to those last distant, strained months before they broke up, over Floo no less. She lifted her shoulder. "I wouldn't hold it against you. We weren't all that together near the end."
Dean's smile was both sad and grim. "Yeah."
"You've always been close. How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?"
To her amusement, his cheeks warmed.
"I hadn't been feeling super great after things started to…you know."
Ginny winced.
"He was there for me, you know? I guess he always had been, and I…" The smile on his face was brimming with such affection. "It kind of just happened. It's been great."
She swallowed hard at the sharp pang of loneliness in her chest. Which was ridiculous — because the person she wished would smile at her like that wasn't Dean.
He cleared his throat as if catching himself.
"If you're happy, which you clearly seem to be, I'm glad."
His eyes searched hers again before his smile relaxed into a real one. "Yeah, thanks. I'm happy for you too."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you got what you always wanted right? You're a professional Quidditch player." His face remained neutral, but there was a slight undercurrent in his voice.
As they fell silent, the heaviness of their past hung heavily between them.
During her last year at Hogwarts, Dean had written countless letters to her, recounting every detail from the past year. It had gotten to the point where the arrival of a new letter made her feel physically ill.
They had been an invitation. To confide, to be a confidant, to comfort, to heal.
Ginny had resented his pressing, as if the more he divulged, the likelier she would crack herself open for him.
In response, she had written letter after letter about Quidditch, the plays, the tryouts.
It had been easier when they were together, physically. She'd let their bodies do the talking. After all, she'd had nothing to say about the year with Carrows, no matter how much Dean had urged, no matter how much hurt had reflected in his eyes when she turned away. Over time, it had become harder to distract him from asking, pleading, wanting.
She'd started begging off visiting — Portkeys were expensive, she was on the reserve team and didn't have the money, she had to be up early, she was exhausted from practice. She wanted to practice more. She wanted to bond with the other girls. He would offer to visit instead, not that he had much expendable cash, even with the commissions coming in, and even then she would argue with him. She had flatmates, after all.
Ginny could still taste the relief in her mouth when they had ended things.
"We didn't work out. That's okay," Dean said, though there was something in his voice that made her wonder if it really was. Not that he still had feelings for her, but his face scrunched up in that way it used to when he grappled with whether he wanted to say something. "I just — it felt like…something was holding you back. Like a part of you wasn't always there."
Ginny felt the familiar iciness trickle into her chest.
He smiled sadly, shrugging. "It made me angry for a long time, but I reckon I was equally to blame, wanting something you couldn't give."
"Dean…"
Somehow the words left a ringing hollowness inside her.
"Don't make that face," he said. He took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Maybe it was the distance. Maybe it was just too hard to connect when we were living such different lives."
He was giving her an out, even now.
"And you have that, with Seamus?"
The probing look in his eye made her want to pull her hand away, but she forced it to stay.
"Yeah," he said, the unfiltered affection in his voice, the openness in his face nearly making her cringe.
She could see them together, opening up to one another, their words and feelings pouring out. The image made her dizzy and petrified, as if their emotions were cascading her way, seething around her like water, like ink.
Ginny felt her body stiffen, a wave of terror nearly blinding her.
"Anyway," Dean said, his voice sounding distant, "thanks for talking. I wanted to let you know about—you know, from me." Dean rose from his seat. He hesitated a moment but leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek. "Good luck, Ginny. See you around."
"See you, Dean." She gave him a weak smile, and then he was gone.
She stared vacantly at his empty seat, which seemed to stare back at her, the buzzing in her ears growing slowly stronger.
Would it have been different, if she'd seen him more in-person? Would she have let him in then?
No. He wouldn't, couldn't understand.
Hello, Ginny. My name is Tom.
A shudder ran down her spine.
It was as if her body had been filled with ice. Her fingers had turned white, curled around her cup. She closed her eyes, blocking out the handsome, pale face of a ghost with gleaming eyes, trying to ignore the yawning void that threatened to consume her.
A hand bumped into her, breaking her from her trance.
"You look – are you okay?"
She aimed a sharp glare towards the unwelcome stranger.
"Get lost," she snapped, causing him to flinch back. She had several other choice words to say, but they died in her mouth when she found herself looking at the brunette bloke who had originally caught her attention. But what made her stop was the strangely familiar look in his eye — one of nerve-wracking recklessness, the flash of hurt at words. And the way he clenched his jaw and seemed to be bracing for impact.
"Sorry," he muttered gruffly.
As he started to turn away, something like a realization struck her. Without thinking, Ginny reached out, her fingers catching the end of his robe with the same swiftness she'd used to snatch the Snitch from under Cho's nose.
"Harry?"
Now he really did look like a floundering fish, which of course only confirmed her intuition.
"How?" His hand went up to his face as if to check his appearance.
A small laugh escaped her lips as she leaned back into her chair, her body suddenly flooded with relief. Only then did she realize she had half stood to grab hold of him. "It is you. What are you doing?"
Much of the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders as he too cracked a smile and fell into the seat beside her. "Er, Auror work. Occasionally we use disguises. Helps when I don't have a scar on my face. What gave it away?"
"You had a pretty distinctive Harry-like expression."
Harry frowned, the corners of his mouth turning in a sullen way that she almost laughed again.
"Oh Merlin," she gasped, trying to stifle her giggles. "There it is again. This is giving me flashbacks."
"Yeah?" He shot her a befuddled look, and it really was ridiculous how adorable it made him — even if it wasn't exactly his face.
"Oh yes, cousin Barny," Ginny said with a sly grin.
"Oh God," he groaned, but he smiled reluctantly at her teasing.
"The red hair and splotchy skin still couldn't hide your trademark scowl. Had it on even when Viktor Krum was talking to you. Oh — yes, that's it, exactly!"
He batted away her finger in a very Harry-like manner, though she could tell he wasn't really upset. But instead of simply pushing her away, his fingers curled over hers.
"And then we danced," Harry said. There was something in the way his strangely blue eyes burned that made her breath catch in her throat.
"We did," she said, hoping her voice sounded light. After a vexed-looking Krum had left, Ginny had taken pity on Cousin Barny, or so she had told herself. And she hadn't been secretly amused in the least when he had stared a little longer than necessary at the low cut of her dress.
"Your mum was doing whatever she could to stop us," Harry said softly. "But I knew you understood. You didn't tell me not to do it or to be careful."
"I knew you wouldn't be happy if you weren't hunting Voldemort." She met his gaze head-on, holding back that's probably why I like you so much.
Staring at Harry's Glamoured face made her remember how the Polyjuice Potion had made him look strange when they were dancing, the warm light bathing over his foreign face. He had been closer, closer than she had ever remembered.
"Ginny," he had murmured in a stranger's voice with unrecognizable emotion.
For a ridiculous moment, Ginny had thought he would kiss her.
Of course, he hadn't. Her passing fancy had been broken when Kingsley's Patronus had burst into the tent, and all hell had broken loose. Someone had knocked them apart. She thought she had heard him call her name, but she had never been sure. When she'd looked back, he had been lost to the chaos.
She hadn't known if she would see him again.
"Are you…?"
"What?" Ginny blinked back the memories, only catching a few of his words.
A fleeting look crossed Harry's Glamoured face before he looked away, his cheeks heating. "Sorry, it's none of my business. I just…"
"It was a long time ago," she said, feeling embarrassed herself. That memory probably hadn't meant much to him, even if it had been a source of comfort during that awful year. "I should be over it."
"You don't always have control over those things," Harry said quietly, staring resolutely at the empty mug in front of him.
She tried to retrace the conversation. "Harry, what…?"
He seemed to be struggling with something before he glanced back, tentative and unsure. "When I saw you both, I was just going to go, especially since you two have—" he faltered "—gotten back together?"
It suddenly dawned on her that Harry must have seen her and Dean. Ginny tried to imagine how she and Dean might have appeared.
Harry's eyes shone brightly. "I was going to go and make it easy for you since you and I—we're not—"
Her heart squeezed painfully.
He rushed on, his brows knit in concern. "But then you looked—off, and so I wanted to make sure you were okay. You know, as a friend," he finished lamely as if he felt guilty for the non-friend activities of late.
Of course. That's what he had been saying from the start. Friends.
"Harry, Dean and I aren't back together," she said, grateful for the steadiness in her voice.
"No?" Harry straightened, his eyes intent.
"Definitely not." Ginny gave him a wry smile. "In fact, he's with someone else now."
"Then he's an idiot," he immediately bristled.
Despite everything, a small part of her warmed.
"No, it's better this way. I wasn't really…I'm not very good girlfriend material," she said, waving her hand.
His eyes narrowed as his scowl returned. "I highly doubt that."
She gave Harry a small smile. Even if he didn't want them to be more, that didn't seem to stop him from being prepared to defend her.
"He's happier," Ginny admitted. "I couldn't be what he needed."
"You're Ginny Weasley," Harry said, leaning forward in his earnestness. He gazed intently into her eyes, as if willing her to understand the immensity of his statement. "You don't have to be anything other than who you are."
The back of her throat narrowed at his words.
Up close, she could smell the clean, woodsy smell that always flooded her chest with heat. Her hands yearned to reach out and touch him. It was never like this with Dean.
And that was the problem.
Harry wanted to be friends. But maybe until she got rid of this prickling tenderness whenever she was around him, maybe only then could she let these feelings finally go.
Harry, the skinny, kind boy in hand-me-down clothes, with his perpetually messy hair, his biting wit, who always seemed surprised to be included, who didn't seem to know what to do when her mum held him. Harry, who deserved more than anyone to be happy, to feel loved.
A slow chill crept into her heart.
She wasn't what he needed.
"Harry," she breathed, overwhelmed by the sudden swell of emotions.
Ginny had always been so careful, making sure there was that distance between them. Not that Harry had ever really seemed to close that gap, aside from those moments at the Burrow when she'd get him laughing so hard that he clutched his sides and he'd lean into her for support. Not that she ever thought about those times.
But now, almost without realizing, they were close enough that Ginny could see the specks of green behind the Glamoured blue... A familiar heat stirred within her.
She watched as those eyes trailed down to her lips when she bit down.
Harry jolted, seeming to realize their proximity, his face flooding with color. He began to lean back when sharp words rang in her head.
Don't go.
Ginny's hand reached out and held his.
She was being selfish, but she couldn't bear the thought of him pulling away.
"I'm not back together with Dean, so… Do you want to get out of here?" Her thumb slowly dragged across his knuckle in a way that he could not mistake her meaning.
His eyes widened. She saw a flicker of hunger before it was clouded over with conflict and sadness. He tried to draw his hand away. "Ginny, I don't – if you're upset about Dean–"
"That's not it," she cut him off, her grip tightening. "This is…" She took a deep breath, forcing her fingers to let go. "This isn't about Dean. But if you don't want to, we don't have to. It's just – all day, I've needed some…relief."
Something flashed in his eyes, even as Harry seemed to struggle with whether or not he believed her.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked finally, his voice rough.
"I have some time before I need to meet the rest of the team. I still have to get my things together, back at the hotel. It might be nice to look at you when you look more like yourself." Despite her calm voice, she could hear the beating of her heart in her ears. "Like we said before, this is just friends helping each other out."
His eyes intently watched as her tongue flickered over her lips. "Yes. If that's what you want."
Together, they rose, not letting go of each other's hands, barely breaking eye contact. She was afraid, almost, that if she looked away, the spell would break, and Harry would change his mind.
Stepping out into the cold, Harry suddenly turned to her. "Ginny, when I saw you, this isn't what I—"
She pressed her finger against his lips, not wanting to hear the rest. "Just hold me, Harry. I'll Apparate us there."
He opened his mouth to protest but shut it and nodded. Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and surrounding her in his heady scent that made everything soften and smolder. He rested his chin on the top of her head in a way that made her ache. Unable to help herself, she pressed closer, hoping he didn't realize how her hands gripped his robes.
She felt the familiar tug at her navel as she turned her heel, watching as the scenery and Harry swirled into darkness.
Ginny wasn't naive. This dream would fade away, and she'd wake up again, cold and alone. Staying too long was dangerous, a fine edge where she needed to pull back enough so that she'd be able to put herself back together after.
But with the feel of Harry in her arms, she couldn't resist dreaming a little longer.
