09 December 2001
Harry had expected that he would have a hard time teaching the Slytherin students. After all, he'd generally disliked them while he'd been a student in Gryffindor. Therefore, he'd been quite surprised that not only did he not have any trouble not taking points away from them (indeed, he had to exercise self-control around Dennis Creevey, who continued to be annoyingly persistent with Ginny), but there was a group of fourth year Slytherin boys who made Harry laugh with their caustic senses of humor.
While he didn't care beyond the mild surprise, he was a bit proud of himself; he'd obviously matured if he didn't consider them all to be evil.
There were a few, however, who made Harry's hackles rise, though he could not pinpoint the exact feeling. For example, Hamish Logan had a cruel mouth, and Harry had caught him taunting first year students that went beyond the usual teasing. And Persephone Whitehart had a gang of girls of all houses firmly under her heel; she was merciless to those she deemed too fat, too thin, or too something to spend time with. As a professor, Harry was all too often confronted with the seedy underbelly of students at Hogwarts; evil he may have seen, yes, but he'd been happily oblivious to much of the meanness and pettiness that some of his students were capable of.
And the worst of the lot was Pollux Sennet, who had gradually been drawing Harry's notice more and more, ever since he'd seen him standing much too close to Ginny. He'd also noticed that the Slytherin seventh year watched Ginny at mealtimes and in the halls. Something lurked in his eyes during those moments, and his fleshy lips twisted into a smirk that irritated Harry a great deal.
I can't take away points from him just because I don't like his looks, Harry reminded himself one afternoon several days after he had realized his own stupidity and sought out Ginny on the Quidditch Pitch. It was before class, and Sennet lounged in his chair, lazily flicking his wand and changing the color of his neighbor's scarf with ever motion. Red, blue, purple, orange.
"Stop that," Harry said sharply.
Sennet gave him an insolent look. "Yes, sir," he said, putting his wand away. Harry wished that he'd argued or snapped back it him, just so he could take points away. Though the Hufflepuff girl beside him looked uncomfortable and avoided even looking at Sennet, and Harry got the impression that she wished that Sennet had sat somewhere else, there was nothing he could really do that would be fair. Technically, the students were allowed to practice harmless magic like that on each other.
Still. Harry kept an eye on him during the lesson. It distracted him from thinking about Ginny, which he wasn't sure was a good thing or a bad thing. She hadn't flown with him the night before, citing illness; when he'd seen her in class, she'd looked pale, and he hoped she wasn't feeling too poorly.
Two hours later, he and Ginny walked together out the doors, brooms slung over shoulders, and all thoughts of Pollux Sennet had been driven out of his head. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he said happily. A blast of cold wind hit them and Harry hunched his shoulders. Flying is going to be pretty wild tonight, he observed. He might not have even bothered under normal circumstances, but he didn't want Ginny to think he'd changed his mind again about flying with her.
She shivered a little and pulled her cloak closer. "I am too," she said in a muffled voice. A few snowflakes began to fall. Harry watched them swirl around her head; they were easy to see against her bright hair.
"What was wrong?" Harry asked.
"Oh," she said. She hesitated for a long moment. "I just had a stomachache."
"Those are the worst," Harry agreed.
For some inexplicable reason, she snorted. Does that count as a laugh?Harry asked himself. If it does, that's number nine... He was distracted enough by his count that he failed to realize that he didn't get the joke until the moment had passed, and asking now would just be absurd.
By the time they reached the Quidditch pitch, it was fully dark and the snow was falling in earnest. It had gathered on her shoulders, even, and Harry felt a pang of regret when it hit him that it just wouldn't be smart to fly in this weather. "I don't think--" he began regretfully.
"We really shouldn't--" she said at the same time.
He grimaced. "It could get pretty wild..."
And then she grinned at him slyly, and he braced himself for a joke at his own expense. He knew what that look signaled, he remembered it clearly from the time before Malfoy Manor, though he'd generally seen it aimed at someone else. "And we don't want you to get into another accident... you're still learning to fly, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Harry said dryly. He hefted his Firebolt. "I really shouldn't be riding on this thing, you know--"
"--I was going to suggest a training broom," Ginny said kindly. Her brown eyes sparkled with laughter, and Harry didn't mind that she was laughing at him. Though she might not find the real reason why he'd fallen off his broom (he'd been distracted by the sight of her little bum) quite so funny.
Harry reached out and brushed the snow off her shoulders, not even bothering to question why he'd wanted to touch her. It was a futile gesture, after all. The snow still came down thick enough that it was sort of pointless. But he brushed both shoulders off and let his hands linger. It was the first time he'd initiated physical contact between them; she didn't shy away, nor did she stop smiling, though he thought the quality of it might have changed.
"What do you want to do instead?" he heard himself ask, after he had removed his hands from her shoulders.
"What do you mean?"
"Instead of flying," he said as they began to walk back up the hill. "I mean... do you want to play some Exploding Snap or something?"
"Of course," she said immediately. To his delight, the teasing note was back in her voice. "Though I think you might've forgotten how good I am. Are you going to be upset when I beat you?"
"Only if you don't cry when I beat you," Harry told her, even though he wasn't particularly skilled at the game.
"I'll try to restrain myself," she replied. Her arm brushed against his. "I know how much you hate crying girls."
"What?" Harry said blankly. Where did that--?
"Cho Chang?" she said. "Have you forgotten already? You complained often enough to Ron and Hermione that she was a human watering pot. That seemed to really put you off her."
Harry laughed, though more at the smug expression on her face than anything. "I forgot about that," he admitted. He hadn't thought about Cho Chang in years, and it struck him as funny that Ginny would mention her. "What an ill-advised relationship."
"Yeah, well, no one wanted to be the one to tell you that," said Ginny. "Ron hated her, and you don't even want to know what the twins thought."
Despite the cold and wind, Harry found that he was suddenly very warm. It was so nice to remember that he had more history with her than just Malfoy Manor. So much was colored by it, but this little memory of Cho Chang and the fact that Ginny knew about it loosened his shoulders.
They'd just reached the doors when a thought struck him. "I don't have any cards... do you?" Harry asked sheepishly.
"Oh," she said, disappointed. "I don't either."
He thought quickly. "No matter," he said firmly. "I'll get Kreacher to go get some, don't worry. You go get Arnold while I go get Kreacher some money -- wait, where are we going to play?"
Ginny looked around, as though expecting an answer to drop out of the sky. "How about the Great Hall?" she said. "Dinner is over, it won't be crowded."
"All right," Harry nodded, already turning to head back to his quarters. "Meet you there in ten minutes?"
She was already waiting for him at the far end of the nearly empty Gryffindor table when he arrived out of breath. He threw himself down into the seat across from her and threw the brand new cards down on the table in front of her. "Sorry," he said. "Kreacher was acting like my mum again, wanting to know why I needed them, and who I was playing with." Harry rolled his eyes, and Ginny laughed for the tenth time since Malfoy Manor.
Later that night, Harry decided that it had been a long while since he'd had that good a time. Ginny had ended up beating him after all. She'd won five games while he'd only beat her twice, and she'd laughed three more times. The shadow of Malfoy Manor, though still present (it always was, how could it not be?), was less intrusive than normal.
Not to mention that the guilt over thinking about her in intimate situations (he'd thought of her twice more while in the shower) had all but disappeared. He'd found a happy medium. He hadn't liked just replacing her with the random girl parts, it had seemed disrespectful. But he'd found a solution, and the tension he'd felt around her had found an outlet that not only made it easier to be around her without embarrassing himself, but made things much more enjoyable, especially as he enjoyed envisioning new scenarios.
Harry found himself hoping, as he slipped into sleep, that it would be storming again tomorrow.
HPHPHPHPHPHP
10 December 2001
Minerva McGonagall was quite irritated with two of her fellow staff. I ought to have known where this was going when he never showed up to the all staff meeting, she thought.
Though, to be fair, had it been a more usual situation, Minerva would have agreed that the friendship developing between Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley was bordering on inappropriate. And Professor Vector and Professor Delaunay (who had replaced poor Charity Burbage as the Muggle Studies professor) were merely expressing concerns rather than condemning them. They had, however, noticed the games of Exploding Snap in the Great Hall, and considering the fact that neither one of them generally spent time with other people, seeing them together and having a good time had stuck out.
"I told ye," Hagrid said for the fifth time. "They're not doin' anythin' wrong."
"It's inappropriate," Professor Delaunay said stubbornly, squaring his jaw firmly. "It's against the rules--"
"Actually," said Minerva, "no rule exists that restricts how much time a professor and student spends together. Otherwise we'd never be able to give them detention."
"He has her in detention, then?" Delaunay said dryly. "Was that what that was?"
"Of course not," Minerva replied.
"There is an unspoken rule--"
"We can't hold them to an unspoken rule," Filius murmured. He'd been remarkably silent through the discussion, and Minerva didn't know what he thought of the situation. They lapsed into silence, until--
"If I might add something?"
All of the professors looked around as though Albus Dumbledore had returned to life and was ready to offer his quiet, authoritative counsel once more. Minerva in particular had difficulty in accepting that the voice came from a portrait rather than a living, breathing person. A person who had been the greatest wizard in the last one hundred years; she would never admit it to Filius, of course, but she had trouble remembering that Albus had fallen from the Astronomy Tower at the hands of a supposed traitor.
Not, she told herself firmly, that my mental faculties are flagging. It was simply due to the fact that he had been headmaster for so many years, and such a stellar example of humble leadership.
"By all means," Filius said in his small voice.
The portrait was silent for a time, obviously marshaling his thoughts. As much as a portrait could have thoughts, anyway, though Minerva suspected that even an oil and canvas version of Dumbledore was smarter than most flesh and blood people. And it's not as though we don't all agree, she reminded herself. But she couldn't help but notice that Professor Delaunay and Professor Vector -- who had never had Harry in a classroom, and therefore knew him the least -- were more mindful of the proprieties.
"I believe that whatever led to the downfall of Lord Voldemort came at a very high price," the portrait said softly.
"And none of us believe otherwise," Professor Delaunay said immediately. "But he's a professor and--"
Minerva cut her off. "They've known each other for years," she said firmly. "There's a reason why we don't usually hire those less than seven years outside of school. It's unfair to assume that he be completely formal with everyone he knew when he was a student here."
Filius glanced at the portrait. "You wished to say something, Albus?" he asked cordially.
"I believe Harry has shown extraordinary bravery and fortitude," Dumbledore said delicately.
"No one is saying he hasn't," Delaunay said earnestly.
"We just feel it might be viewed as inappropriate for a professor to spend so much time with a female student," Vector pointed out. "The past doesn't--"
Minerva scoffed. "She was there the night Voldemort was defeated; I imagine the past is extremely relevant in this case." Honestly, Vector is an intelligent woman, but she should stick to Arithmancy and not matters that did not involve turning the universe into something quantifiable.
"I agree with Minerva," the portrait said. The figure steepled his hands together and pierced them with its blue gaze. "It is my theory -- due to the fact that Harry never spoke to Severus Snape"--Minerva exchanged a dubious glance with Hagrid at the mention of the former potions master. It still amazed her that he'd been an ally--"before Voldemort fell -- that what happened that night was terrible indeed."
Minerva froze as a wave of curiosity broke over her. All of them knew that the portrait knew more about the how of Voldemort's defeat. Indeed, it was not a secret that tears had slid down the oil and canvas face when it had heard the news. But it had remained just as tight-lipped as Harry and Ginny, and after these several years, no one knew exactly what had happened.
It drove the press wild.
All of the living, breathing professors exchanged glances and no one spoke. Anticipation of having questions answered crackled, and Minerva continued to remain as still as she could, as if the portrait would not continue if she so much as moved her foot.
But it ignored their unspoken plea for more information. It did not elucidate what Severus Snape had known and why it mattered that he had not passed on this knowledge to Harry before he had rid the world of the greatest evil in a hundred years. "I think that denying Harry -- and Miss Weasley -- whatever solace they can find is something the Ministry of Magic under the guidance of Cornelius Fudge would do."
"I think we ought to show a little gratitude," Minerva said immediately. The portrait had backed up her point. Perhaps she was betraying her soft spot for both of them, but they both seemed so much happier that it would be cruel to try to halt the renewing of their friendship.
Delaunay and Vector, who had never been close to either Harry or Ginny, or even had them in a class, looked thoughtful and slightly repentant. As they should, Minerva thought. Harry had always had too much placed on his shoulders. And Ginny... they both deserved a break.
She glanced over at Dumbledore's portrait. It was looking back at her, and Minerva wished it was flesh and blood. This conversation brought her back years to another conversation about the same young man, who had taken it upon himself (though Hermione and Ron had somewhat to do with it, she assumed) to lead a subversive group. Dumbledore -- the real one -- had privately been quite proud of him, despite the fact he was breaking the rules. And on one occasion, after Umbridge had attempted to kick Sybill Trelawney out of the castle, he'd even expressed the desire to join it himself.
Some things were more important than rules.
"I agree with Minerva and Dumbledore -- and Hagrid," Filius said suddenly. "I'm going to allow it. No harm is being done, only good. Besides, she's an entire year older than most normal seventh years. And... I must admit to some surprise at them striking up a friendship. But I see this as a positive, not a negative."
Hagrid surreptitiously gave her the thumbs-up sign, and the portrait winked. Minerva smiled, satisfied.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
14 December - 18 December
The storm cleared after another few days, and Ginny found herself actually disappointed that flying was an option again. Playing Exploding Snap with Harry had been fun, and talking to him -- despite the fact that her throat had closed up several times when they skirted the topic of Malfoy Manor -- had come so much easier than with other people that Ginny wanted to just keep talking.
Though as she washed and dressed three years, six months, and one day after Malfoy Manor, she was fervently grateful that he couldn't read her mind. She'd woken up thinking about him, and she'd let her mind recreate the moment when he'd brushed the snow off her shoulders. He had perfect hands, and it had made her skin tingle when he'd touched her.
But in her half-waking fantasies, he let his touch linger just a little longer, staring into her eyes, and then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Whenever that image ran through her head, her stomach swooped, making her want to think it through again. She even tried out several different locations for this kiss to happen: his classroom (after class, of course), his office, and even behind that popular tapestry on the sixth floor.
She thought about how lucky she was that what went on in her head was not displayed for the world to see (Harry in particular) in flashing lights like the signs in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ginny carried these thoughts with her (certain that she was both blushing and smiling for no apparent reason) to breakfast along with Arnold and her book bag. Just stop thinking about it, she ordered herself.
Upon entering the Great Hall, she immediately scanned the head table for Harry. He wasn't there, though he rarely made his way to breakfast. He liked to have a lie-in...
A vivid image of him rose up in her mind. His face was in repose and body was just as relaxed as it had been when she'd come across him sleeping. Except he was in a bed--
"Are you all right?" Emma Dobbs asked, concerned.
"I'm fine," Ginny said. For once, she was too distracted to get angry at the question. Snap out of it, Ginny!
Emma looked uncertain. "Well," she said. "There's an owl waiting for you."
Ginny looked around. Sure enough, a small owl carrying a roll of parchment nearly as large as he was hopped excitedly from foot to foot. She smiled fondly at it. "Hi, Pigwidgeon," she said. He fluttered his wings excited and hooted while Arnold skittered down from Ginny's shoulder to the table so they could give each other a proper greeting. Fully puffed, Arnold was larger than the tiny owl.
She recognized Hermione's writing at once.
Dear Ginny,
Hi, how are you? I can't believe how swiftly these last few months have gone by. Not that we haven't missed you, of course, but I've been keeping very busy with work. Things on the house-elf front look good; I've managed to convince several members of the Wizengamot that forcing elves to work for free is indeed slave labor. We've formed a small committee and I'm preparing a speech that I'm hoping will help sway others to realize just how wrong enslaving an entire species truly is. You might be interested to know that I've found inspiration from Muggle speeches, particularly those written in the early 1800s, when humans were enslaved based on color of skin.
Ginny chuckled a little. Only Hermione would--
"Ginny, you laughed!" Demelza Robins leaned across Jeremy Finch, eyes round with shock. "What's so funny? Was it the letter?"
"I haven't heard you laugh since you -- you left," Emma Dobbs stammered.
All of the good feeling disappeared as swiftly as though it had been sucked out of the room. They were all smiling at her as though she was Pigwidgeon or Arnold and had done a particularly clever trick. Discomfort pressed down on her, and irritation was a physical sensation undulating across her skin.
"It wasn't anything," she said coldly. And even though she'd only had two bites of her eggs, she got up and left, Arnold protesting leaving his best friend loudly. As she left, the back of her neck prickle and she was certain that weighing, considering, judging eyes were staring at her.
It took almost fifteen minutes in the girls' loo (and brushing out a fully puffed Arnold's fur) for her to convince herself that not everyone had been staring at her. Just because Malfoy Manor had risen so swiftly in her thoughts until it was a tangible presence pressing on her didn't mean that everyone else had felt the same. But Emma knew. She mentioned it. They all think it's special that you laughed because they've got a guess about what happened there, and they were thinking about it.
Ginny pushed these thoughts away as best she could, but she felt stupid and shaky still by the time she arrived at Harry's class.
It wasn't until the next day that she remembered Hermione's letter and that she'd never finished reading it.
Ginny sat in the library before dinner. Ostensibly, she was working on her Charms essay due at the end of fall term. But the words had run dry, and she was watching a sixth year Hufflepuff girl make a complete cake of herself in front of a rowdy bunch of Ravenclaw boys. She was flirting outrageously with all of them, and giving them all stupid, simmering looks.
If I ever act that stupid around Harry, I'm going to exile myself from Britain,she promised herself darkly. And give up magic.
For some reason this sparked her memory -- Hermione had mentioned Muggles and how it helped her with her speech preparations -- and she grimaced. Digging through her book bag, she pulled out the parchment.
The first thing that tipped her off to the fact that she may not like the rest of what Hermione had written was the handwriting. The disparity between the the handwriting in the first paragraph as opposed to the later was obvious even at a glance. When Hermione wrote quickly and without much thought, it was loopy and even. But when she had to carefully consider her words, blotches of ink and crossings-out dotted the page.
Ginny glanced around, making sure she didn't have an audience ready to applaud or offer condolences at her reaction, and bent her head to read.
Ten minutes later, she was pounding on the door to Harry's office. He'd better be here. Be here, Harry, be here.
The door swung open and she marched in, so angry that it barely registered that Harry's office was such a mess that it looked as though a hurricane had ripped through it. "They're writing a book," she hissed.
"What?" he said blankly. He stood next to the door, just staring at her.
"They're writing a book," she repeated. About Malfoy Manor and everything else about you and Voldemort... and me, she wanted to clarify. But her throat had closed up before she could get the words out. This infuriated her even more, and she thrust Hermione's letter at him. He took it, still looking confused.
A flicker of a smile crossed his face at her initial words, and Ginny watched carefully as any amusement vanished and his expression grew darker and darker until he looked exactly how she felt. Furious and a little bit scared. He looked up and their eyes met, and Ginny felt herself relax just a little once she realized he understood how she felt without her having to say it.
He didn't say a word, but dropped his eyes down to the letter and read it again. "Dobby?" he said, as though he couldn't quite believe it.
Ginny nodded, even though he wasn't looking at her. Apparently, Dobby, who had worshiped Harry for years, had decided to tell everything, though Hermione had mentioned she and Ron were going to investigate how the hell this had happened. Ginny couldn't imagine the house-elf betraying Harry like that, but the part of her that was unable to believe the best told her it had happened.
"I can't believe she didn't say who is writing it," Harry murmured. "She would've said if it was Rita Skeeter, right?"
"I think so," Ginny said.
Harry set the parchment aside and cleared a space in a pile of papers and sat down on the edge of his desk. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, looking quite old all of a sudden. The safe topic -- that of the author of the future book -- had been exhausted, and anything else would bring them back three years, six months, and two days.
"It's supposed to be published in May," said Harry. "That's a long time from now. Ginny... I'm not going to let this get out." He looked her straight in the eye for long moments. Ginny didn't look away even though she was quivering on the inside. Thoughts of Malfoy Manor hung in the air between them like a noxious cloud.
"I really, really don't want anything about that place to be published, I don't want anyone to know. And Dobby was there, he knows a lot--"
"I know, Gin," Harry said earnestly. "Trust me, I don't want -- I'd rather it stay the way it is. And I'm going to--"
"I'm sorry," she blurted out, interrupting him. "But I don't -- I want to"--to her annoyance her voice suddenly stopped working, and she huffed in frustration. Harry waited patiently, despite the fact that she'd interrupted him, and she relaxed a little. "I want to help you stop it."
"All right," he said immediately, shrugging as if it were no big deal. Relief swept over her. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet. Probably just threaten... maybe a few memory charms," he looked thoughtful while plotting the downfall of the mysterious author.
"I'll -- I'll find out who it is from Hermione," Ginny told him, despite the fact that she'd rather stick large needles in her eyes rather than mention the book. But she had a feeling that Harry would end up doing things the hard way to avoid communication with her, and she was in the position to do so. A part of her was amazed that he'd accepted her request so readily, though another part was glad he'd treated her like an equal.
His brow furrowed and he looked down at the parchment again. "I wish people would just... let things alone," he admitted. "It's been almost three and a half years--"
"It's been over three and a half years," Ginny corrected him automatically. "It's been three years, six months, and two days." She wished immediately that she could take the words back. He gave her a stricken look, and she was reminded of the time her mother found out she'd kept a count of how long it had been. At that point, she'd still counted in days. This quirk of hers was particularly painful for others to hear, she knew, and Harry was no exception.
After a moment, however, he rallied strongly. "Right," he said. "Three years, six months, and two days later, and people still haven't got a fucking clue."
Ginny watched Arnold for a moment. It was hard to tell as he looked like a ball of fluff that snored at the moment, but she thought he might be lying with his little feet up over his head. "I cursed a reporter once," she admitted, still watching Arnold. His fur rippled with every breath. "It had only been about six months after -- and I was so sick and tired of those arses trying to get to me to answer their questions that I pulled out my wand -- I was in the air, flying -- and cursed him."
"What kind of curse?"
She gave him a fleeting glance. "It made his bowels loosen. A lot, because I was so angry, and he actually had to spend a week in St. Mungo's."
He looked deeply impressed, but then a little confused. "How come I never heard about that? Wouldn't it have been reported in the paper?"
"Hermione helped with that," Ginny told him. "I went and got her once I realized he couldn't get up and walk on his own. She and Ron leveled a memory charm on him and then Hermione confounded him, making him think that it was a good idea to just stay away from me."
"Good for her," Harry murmured.
"Ron reckons that he shits himself whenever he thinks of me," Ginny confessed, though she held back the part that confirmed it. The twins had come across him last year and had tested the theory. As soon as they mentioned her name, he ran for the loo. But she didn't want to sound like a braggart.
"I should hire you as my bodyguard," he said. "Or get you to teach me curses like that. An entire week?"
Ginny nodded. "The Daily Prophet suspected something had happened -- I'm sure they knew where he was and what he was trying to do -- but they could never prove it. But ever since then, they've been a lot less intrusive."
"Until now," Harry muttered.
"Maybe I should've tried for two weeks," she said. They lapsed into silence, and Ginny wondered how he'd managed to avoid being in the press. Other than a very few articles over the years when he actually went out in public, the press on him was largely speculative.
"Do you want to go fly?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes," she said fervently.
It helped clear her head, as it always did, though some of the darkness brought to the surface by the threat of a book that would likely ruin the fragile peace that had been years in the making, as that night she had another nightmare. It was doubly worse because it started out as one of her kissing dreams. Harry's mouth had been on her neck, and his hand cupped her breast through her bra, when there was a flash of green light and they both toppled over, his dead body lying over hers, while her naked father watched in the background.
The next day, Harry flew with her again for hours. Why do I keep dreaming that you've been hit by the Killing Curse and you're dead? she wanted to ask him, though whenever she seriously considered doing so, she was hit with a wave of panic. She knew why images of her father haunted her -- Lucius Malfoy had seen to that with his masquerade. It's impossible, though, she reminded herself. He couldn't have. But even though her memories of that night were jumbled, she couldn't help but think maybe it had happened after all.
Three years, six months, and four days after Malfoy Manor, Harry approached her after class, looking a mixture of sheepish, annoyed, and disappointed. "I can't go today," he told her. Now that they were closer together instead of on opposite sides of the classroom, she could tell he looked quite haggard.
"Are you ill?" she asked, concerned. Arnold warbled in a way that sounded concerned to her. Harry reached out and stroked him, much to the pygmy puff's delight.
"No," he replied, raking his other hand through his hair and glancing around at Dennis Creevey, who had taken up the irritating habit of attempting to walk with her. "I'm swamped with work, actually," he admitted in a low voice. "I've left everything until the last minute, and everything is a mess... I can't even see my desk."
"Why not use a Filing Charm?" Ginny asked, curious. He made it sound as though he was being forced to do everything by hand. Arnold escaped his bag and sprinted on his little legs toward Harry. "No, Arnold," she told him. "You're not to do that." As soon as she got him back in his bag, he ran for it again. And then a third time.
"Filing Charm?" Harry repeated, eyes widening. "There's actually a Filing Charm?"
Ginny laughed. A small part of her felt slightly guilty, but there was something in his eyes that reminded her of the time when she'd first completely untangled Arnold's fur and the pygmy puff had looked at her with shock mixed with gratitude. And a lot of the lingering tension in her shoulders from her nightmare faded. "Yes, there's a charm for that," she told him. "Harry, didn't you prepare at all for this position?"
"No," he said guiltily, though he still looked as though she'd handed him a rather large gift -- a new broom, or perhaps a house. "Do you think you could show me? Right now? I mean... you might be a little late, but I can write you a note and--"
"All right," said Ginny. Arnold chose that moment to make another attempt to get to Harry and she gave up. "Will you hold him?" she asked, exasperated. "I don't think he's going to give up."
Harry picked up Arnold immediately. "We'd better go, then, I don't want you to be too late for your next class." He held open the door for her, and then asked, "Where'd you learn this charm, anyway?"
"From Ron, actually," Ginny told him. "I know, surprising, right? And Hermione didn't even teach him."
"Do people like Hermione even need to file? Or does stuff like that happen naturally for them?" Harry asked. He'd attempted to make his voice cheerful, she knew, but she could tell that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He must miss them as much as they miss him, Ginny thought. She wished she could invite him to the Burrow for Christmas, but knew he wouldn't accept, and the question would just annoy him. She didn't want that.
His office looked, if anything, even untidier than the last time she had seen it. Several small piles sat on the floor and the extra chair and the window sill where he had attempted to organize some of it. No wonder why he looked so hopeless, Ginny thought, hands on her hips. "The charm is a bit tricky," she told him. "Do you want me to do it for you?"
Harry looked around and stared dubiously at a pile of paper airplanes. "I really should learn how to do it myself," he said finally, as if the words caused him some pain. Ginny hid a grin.
She drew her wand, and he followed suit, pulling the Elder Wand out of his pocket. "It's the wand motion that's tough," she informed him. "It's sort of a corkscrew flick with a chop at the end."
He stared at her blankly. "I'm not sure I can even visualize that," he said finally.
"Okay," she said. "I'll show you a few times, but I won't say the spell..."
Ginny had to admit that even though Harry made an honest effort, the first five times he tried the charm, the papers only moved about feebly. "Here," she said. And she moved to stand very close to him and placed her hand over his. "Like this," she said, letting his wand arm get a feel for the correct motion. She did it several times. "See?" she said, looking up.
Harry was staring at her with quite an intense look on his face, and the air around Ginny immediately heated and thickened. Her heart pumped faster and she felt a throb in her lower belly. It was as if one of her dreams had come into reality--
Stop it, Ginny! a voice in her head screamed. Her face felt like it was on fire, and she turned away quickly to stare at the Elder Wand. The feeling of not being able to breathe persisted, and she focused all her attention on taking slow, even breaths. It didn't help that he shifted a bit closer to her and the warmth of his body radiated against her left side. They were almost touching.
Ginny dropped his hand. "You try it," she forced herself to say. "It isn't that hard, I promise. You've got the Elder Wand!" she added bracingly.
"It doesn't matter what kind of wand you have if you don't know how to use it," he told her after a brief hesitation.
She sucked in a breath at the double entendre -- though she was certain he had no idea what he'd actually said. He had the Elder Wand, it made perfect sense for him to say something like that. It fit the situation perfectly, while him making an innuendo did not; her mind was just conjuring tricks while she was fully alert rather than half asleep or dreaming. But she had six brothers and she knew all about how boys enjoyed the word play when they said "wand" but really meant "penis."
For the first time since it had hit her (in the Great Hall while they played Exploding Snap) that she wasn't going to see him for almost three full weeks, she was glad she was going home for Christmas. It might help her cool off a little. It was unfair to Harry that she was reading into his words, looking for something that just wasn't there.
HPHPHPHPHPHP
The moment Ginny took hold of his hand to demonstrate the Filing Charm for him, all thoughts flew out of Harry's head and he could no longer even pretend to pay attention.
He'd already been having little thoughts like we are alone in this room,and I wish she would lift her robes so I could see her bum, then, catching himself even in the privacy of his own thoughts, added hastily, through her trousers. These were normal thoughts, however, and he'd already gotten used to them. But whenever she touched him... the sensation was heightened by the fact that she did it so rarely. And he was the only person she didn't mind being so close to. He couldn't help the fact that his body responded.
But his reaction was extreme even for him, and it was extra torture when her breast brushed up against his arm. She moved his arm around and then did it again, and every time she made him flick his wrist, he felt it again.
She said something to him, and he replied, though he wasn't completely aware of what he was saying. He shuffled closer to her, hoping for more contact. She'd let go of his hand.
"I have to go to class," she said softly after a few minutes.
He cleared his throat. "Do you need a note?" He forced himself not to ask her to demonstrate for him one more time.
He watched her leave and, in a daze, shut the door and locked it before walking around his desk to sit in his chair. Harry didn't even bother to pull his trousers all the way off his hips, but undid them enough so he could get the job done. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and found his favorite fantasy of her. She was straddling his legs and her face was close enough to his that her hair was like a curtain and all he could see was her face. He had both hands on her bum, rocking her, and she was smiling at him the way she had when he'd brushed the snow off her shoulders...
It took remarkably little effort to finish. In the dazed aftermath when he was still recovering and messy, he kept his eyes closed. I really need to make sure I take care of things before I spend time alone and in close quarters with Ginny, he thought.
Reliving the scene as he usually liked to do, it suddenly struck him what he'd said to her. She'd been helping him and he'd thanked her by making an adolescent sexual innuendo. He stared down at himself, suddenly not so pleased. And more than a little embarrassed that he'd been so turned on that he hadn't even thought twice about wanking in his office in the middle of the day.
He narrowed his eyes at it. You're going to get me into trouble, he thought. Using the Elder Wand, he cleaned himself off and readjusted his clothes, all the while trying to convince himself that she might not have taken his comment sexually. She hadn't panicked or anything. She'd left for class, but maybe that was because she really hadn't been late.
Hope for the best, he told himself bracingly. And don't let it happen again.