28 November 2001 - 29 November 2001
Over a week had passed since her dream and the almost surreal conversation she'd had with Harry, and the lingering affects of being forcibly reminded of Malfoy Manor had all but faded entirely away. Until the next time.
Ginny stood under the spray of the water, letting it run over her face. It was past nine o'clock in the evening and they'd stayed out flying in the cold. The warmth felt wonderful; she allowed her mind to drift and a haziness settled over her. She barely even heard the door open and her two dorm mates enter the bathroom.
"--can't believe you let him!" Emma Dobbs said, laughing.
Demelza Robins laughed nervously. "Well... it just sort of happened..."
Ginny's face heated up. She had a feeling she knew what they were talking about, and but for the fact that she would have to walk naked in front of them to reach her robes and her wand, she would've tried to escape. I don't want to hear about this, Ginny thought. Her suspicions were confirmed at Emma's next comment.
"How does a bloke's hand accidentally get up your shirt?" she asked sarcastically.
Demelza sighed a little. "It was in the moment, Emma, you wouldn't understand," she said. "We were snogging behind that tapestry on the third floor and he was stroking my back -- and then he moved around to the front like it was completely natural."
To her own surprise, Ginny suddenly found herself listening carefully. Kissing was all right. At least she wasn't about to hear a detailed account of Demelza's first experience with sex. And it would be very hypocritical of her to dislike hearing about kissing and maybe just a step further, because she'd had three dreams about Harry since term had started. Even though they made her feel nervous and jittery, it was a good sort of nervous and jittery.
Her flush deepened, despite the fact that no one could see her.
"Did he try to get you to play with his wand?" Emma asked slyly. Her voice was garbled; she was brushing her teeth.
"Of course not!" Demelza said, giggling nervously. "Jeremy isn't stupid. He knows we're nowhere near ready for that."
One of them turned on a shower. The phrase nowhere near ready for that echoed in Ginny's head, and her stomach cramped almost painfully. Demelza had been given a choice. The idea of it washed over her along with the spray of the water. And a very, very small voice inside her head said, I wasn't. She tried to push that thought out of her head and instead focus on her Arnold, who was innocent and who needed her, but she couldn't quite do it.
"Jeremy must be a good guy, then," said Emma.
"He really is," Demelza agreed, her voice was muffled over the sound of the water. "He asked if it was all right, you know, so I know he'd never try to push me." Then, wickedly, "I might even have to be the one to push him. Eventually."
That's how it's supposed to be, said the small voice. And then Emma got in the shower as well and Ginny was able to make her escape. She scurried over to her robes and her wand and dressed quickly. The dorm offered privacy and a place to structure her thoughts.
She fed Arnold and put more water into his bowl before she opened her trunk and dug for a nightgown. The house elves had raided the room and taken away their dirty laundry. Her fingers caught on something silkier than normal, and she tugged at it and the gown Fleur had given her flowed out of her trunk. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if she could possibly be comfortable in something so unlike anything else she ever wore.
Once she caught herself actually stroking it, she shoved it back under a pile of sweaters and searched for something more suitable. Yanking the covers back, she said firmly, "Let's go to bed, Arnold."
He scrambled up and plopped himself down on her pillow, giving a little squeak of contentment. Ginny closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, floating down into slumber. One moment she was awake, and the next she was nestled in warm darkness. Someone was holding her. She could feel his breath against her lips, and his hand stroked her back. Ginny surrendered herself to the sensation, and even when the hand on her back moved to her front and slid under her shirt, she didn't move. Harry murmured something and she nodded, and then his hand cupped her breast--
Arnold pounced on her, jolting her out of her dream. She stared at him groggily, blinking in the early morning sun. Couldn't he have waited a few more minutes? Then she felt a bit guilty at the thought. How many times had he known, instinctively, that she was having a nightmare and needed to wake up? He couldn't have known that I wanted to stay asleep. But then the grogginess cleared from her head and her face felt like it was on fire.
She rolled over onto her side and pulled a pillow over her head, groaning. Thank God he has no clue that I dream about him, she thought. Kissing had seemed innocent, and before Malfoy Manor she'd had these sorts of dreams, so when they'd started up again Ginny had been both surprised and pleased. It had been like being reacquainted with an old friend. But his hand on her breast... that had never happened before in a dream.
"Damn Demelza and Emma for bringing it up," Ginny said out loud, grumpily, glad that they wouldn't be able to hear her. Thank you, privacy charms. "We're very lucky that he can't see into my dreams, aren't we, Arnold?"
The pygmy puff took a flying leap off the bed and landed next to his food bowl. Ginny took this as agreement, and burrowed back in her trunk for fresh knickers and a bra and a clean pair of robes. I'll just pretend like nothing ever happened, she thought to herself. There's no way he'll find out about the dream.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
29 November 2001
November was ending, and Harry was beginning to feel that he'd actually become a better teacher in the few short months he'd been at Hogwarts. He glanced around at the seventh years, pride suffusing him, the likes of which he hadn't felt since he'd led the Defense Association. Whether it was his teaching skills or not, they had improved significantly since the beginning of term.
He couldn't help but be especially proud of Ginny. While her true artistry and grace was shown on a broom, her skill with slinging spells and doing complex and subtle bits of magic alike were likewise impressive. Hagrid had also been deeply impressed when Harry had described Ginny's flawless execution of several new hexes Harry had taught them. They'd had tea all together, and while she'd blushed and protested and claimed that it hadn't been all that impressive, Harry knew she'd been pleased.
Furtive whispering caught Harry's attention. Ginny had just left the classroom, and the only two left were Dennis Creevey and Malcolm Bridge.
"How can you like her?" Bridge asked. "She doesn't even talk to anyone."
"She does," Creevey said defensively. Bridge snorted loudly. "All right, all right," Creevey held his hands up. "She's pretty quiet, but--"
"Look, mate," Bridge interrupted. "I know you've got it bad, but she doesn't even know you exist."
Harry hid his smile. Bridge and Creevey reminded Harry of Seamus and Dean, with their constant speculation about girls. Ron at least had been more circumspect; he'd never talked about Hermione because of his advanced paranoia and inability to see what had been right in front of him. He tapped his wand against the edge of his desk and watched his things fly haphazardly into their correct places. Or at least close enough to their correct places to satisfy Harry.
"--can't help it," Creevey was saying. He was not even attempting to pack up his things, but was staring at the door with a hopeful expression. "She's just beautiful."
"Yeah," Bridge agreed. "But she's got a giant 'Do Not Touch Me' sign hanging around her neck."
They're talking about Ginny. He should have known immediately; he'd seen Creevey's look of slavish adoration directed at her often enough, but hearing it put bluntly was another matter. He listened carefully.
"She's beautiful. She..." Creevey's voice trailed away.
"I know," Bridge said, sounding annoyed, as though he'd heard this several times. "Her hair is like fire," he said in a sappy voice. "Her skin is creamy and the freckles just make her even more perfect." He shook his head, disgusted. "Get a grip, mate. Stop it with the bad poetry."
"But she--"
Harry cleared his throat. While he could see why anyone would think her lovely, he couldn't help but feel that she'd be deeply uncomfortable with the conversation between these two students. He'd already noticed that she went out of the way to downplay her good looks, and he didn't like it that Creevey noticed it to the point of what seemed like obsession. It was his duty as her friend to discourage it.
There was a lot more to Ginny than just a pretty face, and even had Malfoy Manor never happened, Harry was certain he'd object to anyone thinking or implying otherwise. Creevey must have gotten the message, or some of Harry's disapproval had shown through, for he wasted no time in gathering his things and making a quick exit.
Harry found this very satisfying. He should have been praising her for her spellwork,he thought. He'd been a bit concerned for her today, though, despite her excellent work. While they hadn't had a conversation about Malfoy Manor or nightmares since the night in the kitchens, she generally stayed after class to either ask him when he was going to fly, or wait for him to ask her to join him.
Not to mention, she usually made eye contact. Today she hadn't. In fact, she'd gone out of her way to avoid his eyes, and he didn't think he was being irrational to be a bit worried. Had she had another nightmare? She had Charms next, he ought to seek her out and ask her if she wanted (needed) to go out earlier and not wait until dark as they usually did.
He lifted his arms over his head and stretched, looking out the window. It was crisp and clear, and if it held, it would be another good day to fly for hours and lose himself in the air.
An hour later, Harry hurried up the corridor toward her class; he'd loitered around waiting for fifty minutes, and still found himself almost late for a chance to rendezvous with her. I don't remember Charms being so far away, he thought darkly. His urgency was further compounded by the fact that just as he rounded the right corner, a group of second-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs spilled out of a classroom and slowed him down. Harry gritted his teeth and spun out of the way to avoid knocking over Stuart Method, and clipped him on the shoulder instead.
His bag fell and spilled out all its contents.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled. Method looked highly offended. Harry pulled out his wand and tidied everything up. "All better?" and not waiting for an answer, he hurried along.
He saw her vivid hair first, of course. She stood a little way out of the way, holding Arnold, and leaning up against the wall. His eyes narrowed when he saw who she was talking to. Pollux Sennet, a smarmy, fleshy-lipped Slytherin smirked at her; Harry did not like the look on his face. Why is Ginny talking to this arse?
"Ginny!" he called.
She started, as though the sound of his voice had shocked her. Sennet heaved a sigh, pushed himself off the wall, sending a smug look at Harry over his shoulder. You mustn't hex students because they look at you funny, he reminded himself.
"Hi, Professor Potter," she said. Her face was the color of a sunset. Her greeting pushed the unpleasant Slytherin boy out of his head.
"What'd I tell you about calling me that?" Harry asked her.
She glanced around. Some of the second years had stopped to watch. "Well... in front of everyone else?"
Harry shrugged. "Well, yeah," he said. "It's just really strange to hear you call me that when I've known you for a decade." He didn't particularly care what anyone else thought. Besides, McGonagall hadn't said anything to him when she'd called him by name at the Quidditch match.
She shifted her books in her arms. "All right," she said.
Harry was starting to realize that practically trampling her down was not the best idea. "Listen," he said uncomfortably. "I was... d'you want to go flying early? Before dinner?"
A flicker of relief that he didn't quite understand passed across her face. "I -- yes, I'd like that." Harry watched her closely. She didn't have that haunted, painful look that she'd had last week. She mostly just looked embarrassed. Way to go, Potter.
"Er, I guess I'll see you then," he said. "Around four?"
"Sounds good," said Ginny.
Harry met her just outside the doors to the Great Hall, not wanting to stay inside where the students milled. Sometimes he heard them whispering -- especially when he and Ginny walked together -- and speculating about what had happened three and a half years ago. Considering the fact that he bristled whenever he heard Malfoy Manor mentioned, he guessed it must be a thousand times worse for Ginny.
"Sorry I sort of hunted you down in the corridor earlier," Harry said sheepishly. "I hope I didn't embarrass you too much or -- or--"
She looked surprised. "You didn't embarrass me," she said quickly. Harry eyed her skeptically. She was blushing. A classic sign of embarrassment. Her lips twitched. "I was a little surprised -- Stuart Method was complaining that you knocked him over--"
"--just his bag," said Harry defensively. "And I cleaned it up."
"Regardless, I was a bit surprised that you'd be -- well, most professors wouldn't," she said. Harry got the feeling that she wasn't being entirely truthful, but he didn't want to push the issue.
"When have I ever acted like a normal professor?" he asked, winking at her.
She laughed for the third time. Not a full laugh, or a nervous laugh, or a relived laugh, but a nice little chuckle that made the cold day just a little bit warmer. "I suppose that's true," she said. "But you're getting better, I think."
"The younger students have stopped trying to mutiny," said Harry. "Though I'm complete rubbish with the first and second years. They're just... really twitchy." He grinned, remembering that Ron had said that about the first years when he'd rounded them up for prefect duties, and Hermione had been aghast. "And I think I've scared them a bit by telling them about my first years at Hogwarts."
"You should tell them about the troll," Ginny said, still giggling a little. He didn't want it to end. "And let me watch."
Harry gave her a thoughtful look. "Not a bad idea," he said, pretending to consider it. The Quidditch pitch came into view, and he was strangely disappointed to see it. They didn't do much talking in the air. "Though maybe I should just bring in a real troll. It can be their end-of-term project."
She stopped and gaped at him. "Tell me you're kidding."
He feigned surprise. "Why would I joke? Ron and I managed it just fine in our first year." He waited a few moments, watching as horror and laughter and uncertainty flickered across her face. "C'mon, Gin, you don't really think I'd do that, do you?"
She slanted him a smug look. "Maybe if you were goaded into it by Ron." Harry realized they were standing in the middle of the pitch and had come to a halt. Time to fly. Ginny put her gloves on and then passed her broom from hand to hand. "Well... shall we?"
Harry lingered for just a little longer, but the easy conversation seemed to have died, and he mounted his broom. "You lead," he said.
"I always lead," she said, but didn't argue.
They always started at the pitch, but generally they ventured out over the forest or the lake, and sometimes circled the castle itself, dodging gargoyles and battlements and towers. At first, they'd done their own thing, but now Harry kept up with her, allowing her to choose their direction. He was perfectly content to fly behind her, and adjust to her speed and direction, and tonight she seemed to want to fly low to the ground right near the trees.
He watched her as she bent low over her broom and went into a steep dive, robes billowing up, and--
Crack!
A tree came out of nowhere and Harry slammed into it and banged his limbs and head on every branch on the way down. He hit the ground and immediately felt pain burn through his foot. It snapped and Harry felt slightly ill looking down at his obviously broken ankle, but it wasn't until his Firebolt crashed down on his head that he gave up and lay back, knowing that Ginny would be along soon enough.
Hard for her to miss that smooth move, he thought darkly.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
29 November 2001
One moment Harry was flying behind her as always, and the next he was gone. Ginny had just gone into a dive, and so didn't see it happen, but she heard him hit the tree with a sickening crunch. Her heart lurched as she heard the sound of his body hitting branches on his way down. No, no, no.
She jerked her broom in the direction of where he'd fallen, and had to do an unplanned loop to keep herself in the air. "HARRY!" she yelled.
"I'm here." His voice was faint. She spotted him immediately. He was on his back, and his foot was bent in such an awkward angle that she knew it was broken. Her broom hadn't even stopped when she jumped off of it.
"Are you -- is your ankle broken?" she'd been about to ask him if he was all right before she bit her tongue. Reaching out, she lifted the hem of his trousers. What are you even trying to do? she asked herself. You know nothing about healing!
"Were you about to ask me if I'm all right?"
Ginny gaped at him. He was smirking at her. He was pale and starting to sweat already from the pain, but he was smirking. "No," she lied. "Your ankle is broken," she pointed out. Worry was making her irritable. He could've been killed, and it would've been completely her fault because she was the one who'd been leading the way.
"I think so," Harry agreed.
Ginny clenched her hands to hide her trembling fingers. How was she going to manage this? "I wish I knew how to heal this," she said. "But I think you need Skele-Knit--"
"If that's anything like Skele-Gro, then I don't want any," Harry said darkly.
"Want to walk on a deformed foot for the rest of your life?" Ginny shot back. A part of her felt bad for being a little mean to him while he must be in so much pain, but it was either that or stick her head in the mud.
"No," Harry said meekly after a long pause.
She sat back on her heels, thinking very hard. Trying to get him up to the castle might be a bit of a problem. He couldn't go back up on his broom, and she didn't want to risk a Levitation Charm. Her nerves weren't at their finest, and if she dropped him, she would just put him in even more pain. There really was only one choice.
Finally, heart fluttering, she held out her hand. "C'mon," she said, and she was immensely grateful that her voice was steady. "I'll help you up to the hospital wing."
He paused for a brief moment, perplexed. I know, I know, she wanted to tell him. I'm going to touch you, but please don't make it into a big deal. I can do this. But none of those words were needed, for he grabbed her hand, pulled himself up, and slid his arm over her shoulders without saying a word. She steeled herself to feel her skin grow too tight and hurt at the contact, but--
Nothing. Well... her skin tingled, but it was a pleasurable sensation, rather than something that set her teeth on edge.
It was a very long walk. Ginny was grateful that she'd left Arnold in her dorm, not knowing if Harry had wanted to fly until midnight. But thoughts of her pygmy puff drifted away from her and she was acutely aware of every place their bodies touched.Why did this have to happen right after I had that stupid dream? she asked herself. But just as she'd had a hard time pushing it out of her mind during class (and therefore being completely incapable of meeting his eyes), she couldn't stop thinking about it now.
He stumbled a little, and Ginny reached out for his waist to steady him.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"Don't be," she said. I'm the one who should be sorry. She enjoyed the warmth of his body next to hers even though he was obviously in pain.
She was both relieved and disappointed when they reached the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey immediately bustled over and started fussing over him. She hung out a bit in the background, but started edging toward the door when she forced the nasty potion down his throat. Fighting the urge to stay, she left.
Ginny was turning the corner away from the hospital wing when she heard Harry's name spoken in a manner that made her suspicious. Had the three second year Gryffindor's not been speaking in hushed, sneaky voices, she wouldn't have slowed down and halted before they saw her. She drifted closer, as silently as she could, and edged over to the shadows. So intent were they on their discussion that Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett did not even notice her.
"--but we still don't know," Elizabeth Barnett said stubbornly.
"How much more do you need?" Stuart Method hissed with a tone of great disgust.
"Professor Potter shouldn't have crashed," Aisling said thoughtfully. Ginny's brow furrowed in confusion, and she felt a little throb of concern. "You have to admit that it was weird -- it just happened out of the blue--"
"--and he's supposed to be a great Quidditch player," Stuart whispered triumphantly.
Ginny's eyes widened and she stepped forward. "Do you think someone tampered with his broom?" she asked. All three of them jumped and turned fearful faces to her. Her stomach dropped sickeningly. What if it wasn't really over? What if someone was after him again? A Death Eater, perhaps, who had not been thrown into Azkaban. But why tamper with his broom? And what did--
"No," they chorused together. She rocked back on her heels, even more confused. They stared at her. She stared at them.
"You're certain?" she asked sharply. "I saw the three of you there -- you didn't see anything unusual?" But even as she asked, she realized it was highly improbable. One of them would have noticed had it been hit with a spell. And Harry kept his broom in his quarters; the odds of someone getting in there were slim to none. Her heartbeat slowed.
"Yeah, we saw it," Powell said.
"He just crashed right into the tree," Barnett offered. "He didn't even try to turn. It was like he didn't even see it."
"Don't you think it's a little unusual that he crashed his broom?" Method asked boldly.
Ginny thought about it. It was a bit unusual that he'd crashed; she'd never known him to do that before. He was very skilled in the air, a real natural at it. But she was good too, and she'd crashed loads of times. "Not really," she said honestly. Method and Powell exchanged dubious glances, and Ginny suddenly felt very annoyed. "Listen, Quidditch mishaps happen to the best of us," she said. What did they know of it? She doubted any of them knew what to do on a broom. "If you flew, you'd know that."
"But he's supposedly legendary," Powell said.
Ginny bristled at the snide tone, and an image of Harry laying on the ground with a dazed look on his face and a broken foot flashed before her eyes. He was only human. He crashed his broom and had had a rough start as a professor and had nightmares. What did these children expect from him?
The arrival of McGonagall saved her from having to go off on him. The professor stopped short when she saw Ginny and the trio of Gryffindors. "Are they bothering you?" she asked sharply. And not waiting for a reply, she wagged her finger at them. "What have I told you three? Enough is enough! Go back to your common room," she shooed them away. They looked mutinous, but they obeyed.
"What is going on with them?" Ginny asked.
McGonagall shook her head. "Nothing that I haven't dealt with before," she said. For some inexplicable reason, she was smiling a little. After a moment, however, her face fell into more serious lines. "I saw you on the grounds. What happened?"
Ginny briefly described the flying accident. "He's fine, I think. Madam Pomfrey is patching him up right now."
The professor looked relieved and also a little sheepish. "That is good to hear," she said.
"It could have been a lot worse than it was," said Ginny, stomach knotting a little at the thought. Now that the moment had passed and he was all right, she kept remembering snatches of her dreams; Harry had fallen on top of her after he'd been hit by the Killing Curse, and she'd screamed at him and shook him, not even caring about Voldemort. Seeing Harry hurt had just dragged that (impossible) memory-like dream up to the surface.
McGonagall pursed her lips and surveyed her. "You've been spending quite a lot of time flying with him," she said pointedly. Ginny didn't know if she was supposed to respond to this or not. "And I think it's a very good thing for both of you, but you must know there might be... talk," she continued delicately.
Ginny flushed and looked away. "But -- there isn't -- and--"
"I know, Miss Weasley," McGonagall said, holding up a hand. "I only mention it so you can prepare yourself, just in case." She eyed her thoughtfully. "We normally don't hire professors who are so soon out of Hogwarts, you know. We generally wait ten years, or at least until there is little chance of familiarity between the new professor and the older students."
Wondering where she was going with this, Ginny kept silent.
"This is an especially unique case given his... prior friendship with your family," she added carefully. The professor was silent for a long moment, and Ginny could practically feel the subject of Malfoy Manor approaching. Don't mention it. "The other professors and I do not see anything inappropriate," she said, to Ginny's relief. "The both of you seem better for it."
"He's easy to be with," Ginny admitted.
"I can see that," said McGonagall. "But there may be students who say cruel things--"
"I know," Ginny said quickly, thinking of Pollux Sennet, and already wondering when she'd hear about it from him. But it was worth it. There was just something about Harry that helped soothe the jagged edges. "But..." she gestured helplessly.
McGonagall seemed to interpret her gesture correctly, for she nodded, and gave Ginny a rare, full-fledged smile. "I'm glad we've come to this understanding."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
30 November 2001
It was the sunlight that woke him up. How many times have I woken up in the hospital wing? he thought wryly. He remembered the last time; Ron had been lying on the next bed, recovering from a poisoning. Nice of you to drop in, he'd said. He felt a sudden desire to somehow go back in time and relive his years at Hogwarts, before he had fulfilled his destiny, when he could still look his best mate in the eye--
I'm feeling pretty maudlin if I'm aching to go back to the simpler times when Draco Malfoy was only setting about trying to kill Dumbledore, and not rape and torture--
In a burst of motion, trying to evade his own thoughts, he flung himself off the bed. And immediately took in a deep, shuddering breath at the pain in his broken ankle. "Shit!" he swore viciously.
"Professor Potter!" Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. She was a short and stout witch, but the look she gave him was just as intimidating as ever. "You're not to put pressure on that foot for at least another half hour! Do you want to undo everything I spent the night doing?"
"No," Harry said meekly. He glanced around the room through his fringe, half-expecting to see Ginny. But no small red-head waited for him. Why would she? he asked himself, surprised that he'd even think she would be there. His hand shook a little as he raised it to his head.
"I had to give you a Floating Draught," she said. She seemed awfully busy again and wouldn't meet Harry's eyes. "You became a bit agitated while you were sleeping." Harry grimaced and slid back onto the bed. He took this to mean that he'd had a nightmare. At least I don't remember it. "Your head might be feeling a little vulnerable," she continued. She leaned over him and peeled back his eyelids. "And possibly you're feeling a bit unsettled."
"I'm fine," said Harry.
She gave him a dubious look but mercifully decided not to say anything. "You'll be free to go once the Skele-Knit is done. It's only seven. You've plenty of time to get to your classes."
Harry pressed his hands over his eyes and willed the time to go faster. His skin felt itchy and dirty and he wanted to wash. Floating Draught indeed, he thought. His head felt stuffed full of cotton (as did his mouth, and he resisted the urge to beg for aScourgify to clean it out) and his limbs felt both numb and shaky; he'd never felt less like he was floating in his life.
"You can go now," Madam Pomfrey said, cutting into his grim thoughts. "I don't want to see you in here again for at least two months, Professor," she admonished him.
Harry allowed a smile. "You haven't still got the bed with my name on it?" he asked, already out of bed and headed to the door.
"Not anymore," she said. "We didn't think you'd be back here and doing dangerous things again."
Riding my broom is not dangerous, he thought, vexed all over again at his stupid accident. Usually his Quidditch injuries involved someone trying to kill him, rogue dementors, or overly-confident arses. And he'd crashed in front of Ginny, of all people. He fumed all the way down to his quarters and into his private bathroom.
Harry stripped off and stepped into the shower, wincing at the shot of pain in his ankle. Madam Pomfrey had knit the bone back together easily enough, but magic could only go so far, and he was still tender from the break. And still completely disoriented by the fact that Ginny had let him lean on her. After he'd fallen -- how did that even happen? -- she'd thrown his arm over her shoulder and led him up to the hospital wing.
Tapping his wand to adjust the temperature of the water, he continued to run his mind over the events of yesterday. He'd completely misjudged a turn and run into a tree of all things, breaking his foot. Then Ginny had landed next to him and -- instead of levitating him or even just helping him back up onto his broom, she had helped him up without hesitation. But he knew that she had an aversion to touching or being touched. He'd seen the way she flinched away from even casual brushes.
Maybe it's like the thing with Arnold, Harry told himself. She'd trusted him with the most precious thing in the world to her for inexplicable reasons, and this was similar. He ducked his head under the spray, resolving to just let the matter go. If Ginny was fine with it, then he didn't want to bring attention to it and possibly frighten her. But what if she was only pretending to be all right with it for his sake? What if she'd pushed herself too far and it had caused her to have another nightmare?
Harry, of all people, knew that even the most innocuous of things could spark a memory that caused a sleeping mind to conjure memories best left in dark recesses.
I'll just watch her and make sure she's all right today in class, Harry resolved. And he pushed all thoughts of Ginny out of his head as he soaped himself up.
So used to his morning routine was he that by the time he finished washing, he was already hard. Mustn't forgo the morning ritual, Harry thought wryly. Not even broken bones and confusion can keep it down for long. He closed his eyes, already picturing the host of random girl parts that offered relief. They marched past his mind's eye, doing the job the way they always did, and then, just at the crucial moment--
A vivid image of Ginny, the way she'd looked just before he'd hit that damn tree, rose up behind his eyelids, blocking out all other images. Her long hair streamed out behind her as she pressed forward on the broom, the wind lifting her robes to reveal her little bum, curves outlined through her trousers--
He released and fell hard against the tile, heart thumping wildly in the aftermath of shock and excitement, and feeling as though he'd just been run over by the Hogwarts Express. What the hell?