13 January 2002 – 26 January 2002
Maintaining a relationship with a student was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. On the one hand, it was almost impossible to stand near Ginny and not want to hold her hand or kiss her or just stand a bit too close and stare too intensely. It made morning classes interesting. Three times already, Harry had had to pull her into his office directly after class and then snog her senseless. On the other hand, it made him hyper aware of what he was doing.
"You've become a better teacher," Ginny observed one evening when they were finally alone.
"It's because I've been forcing myself not to let everyone in on our secret," Harry admitted. "I think I've gone a bit overboard with pretending to be just your professor."
She laughed – thirty two - and grabbed a broom polishing kit. Harry threw himself down on the sofa; Calliope immediately popped up and escaped into the collar of his robes. "Sorry, mate," he told Arnold regretfully. The little purple pygmy puff sighed dejectedly, looking toward Calliope's lump with a heartbroken look in his big eyes. "Maybe she'll give you a chance."
"It's too bad Hermione isn't here," said Ginny. Her Nimbus 2121 was in her lap, and she diligently brushed the twigs and plucking stray bent pieces. I should take better care of my Firebolt, Harry thought as he watched. But he was feeling pretty lazy – he'd been cornered by Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett which had taken up a lot of his energy – and going into the other room to retrieve his broom and kit was too much like work.
"Why is that?" he asked belatedly.
"I'm sure she'd have all sorts of advice for him," she said. She continued to make slow, even strokes with the brush. Harry's eyes fell halfway closed. "She helped George finally connect with Angelina, you know." Ginny grabbed a cloth out of her kit and rubbed the handle. "Sat him down, gave him a stern talking to. He marched right out and got her. And she set Percy up with Audrey."
"That's good," Harry said. He couldn't take his eyes off her hands, and he didn't even feel that familiar mixture of grief and guilt whenever Hermione or Ron was mentioned. It did strike him as funny that Hermione's rather large intellect was being put to use to finding girlfriends for the Weasley brothers, though. But somehow fitting. "She always did know how to translate girls," he admitted.
"Maybe Arnold should have a little chat with her," said Ginny. She was very distracted by her task.
Harry shifted a little on the sofa, glad that he was wearing robes and not something that would reveal the fact that watching her polish her broom was extremely erotic. But how could it not be? he mused. Her hand rounded the head again and again. She was biting her lip in concentration, and every once in a while her tongue would dart out and lick her lips.
He had to admit that it was becoming increasingly difficult not to hope for more. His showers and morning routine (and evening routine, on a particularly "bad" day) were increasingly lonely, but a sexual relationship seemed like almost too much to hope for. It was already a miracle enough that she fancied him and let him kiss her. If they were to go any further, it really would seem like something out of someone else's life.
Still. He couldn't help but notice how firmly she gripped the handle, and how certain her movements were. Her arm didn't tire. Back and forth. It was both painful and exhilarating to watch.
There were several of these moments over the next two weeks, and Harry both anticipated and dreaded these occasions. Anticipated because a thrill coursed through him whenever she bent over and her bum was outlined clearly, or when she stretched and her breasts bounced a tiny bit, or any number of things. And he dreaded it because it was taking almost all of his self-control to not do anything to frighten her.
That self-control was rapidly deteriorating. He could feel it slipping away with every kiss and every time she did something like polish her broom in front of him. Or stare off into space, fingering her wand. Sometimes she even breathed in such a way that turned him on. Slow, deep, and even breaths that somehow stole the oxygen out of the room, though Harry could not figure out why…
At least I have a distraction, Harry thought toward the end of January. Remus' owl Orion had just arrived with another letter from Ron. It was the third. Granted, the correspondence had so far consisted of less than twenty sentences, but other than his talks with Ginny, it was the most significant conversation he'd had in years.
After he'd expressed his gratitude to Ron, Ron had written: Don't be stupid. I've got less of a tolerance for it after spending so much time with Hermione. And because he didn't want to just not reply (and looked forward to seeing Remus' owl a great deal), he'd done what Ron meant him to do. Tell Hermione I said hello. He'd half feared that he would receive a reply that took up several rolls of parchment filled with questions he wasn't prepared to answer.
Hermione says hello, and to tell you to come home. Oh, and it's really funny that you're actually contacting us again (a good thing) when some weird kid at Hogwarts wrote us a letter asking us all sorts of things about the "Real Harry Potter". Not that we haven't gotten those kinds of letters before, but usually from some journalist. I think you might just be in the curriculum now. Still famous.
As soon as he read the first sentence, Harry felt a pang of homesickness so strong that he wanted to march right out of the Great Hall where he sat eating his breakfast and Apparate to them. It made it worse that he was actually sitting at Hogwarts, and Gryffindor table was visible, and crowded with students. His eyes unfocused and he could see himself sitting beside them. And Neville Longbottom would be there; he heard the echo of Luna Lovegood's Gryffindor lion hat.
"Are you all right?" McGonagall asked.
Harry was jerked out of his thoughts. "I'm fine," he said automatically, feeling a twinge of annoyance. People still insisted on asking him that.
"He's just fine," Hagrid added, huge hand grabbing at a full platter of bacon. McGonagall gave the half giant a reproving look. "Been meaning to ask ye if ye wanted to come down tonight an'—"
"Can we come after dinner?" Harry interrupted, not wanting to decline the invitation, but also didn't want to eat Hagrid's cooking. He knew from experience that a Friday night at Hagrid's was a lot better when food was not involved.
Luckily, Hagrid did not find this insulting. "Of course," he said. "Ye can always come a bit later. Ain't nothing to worry about after dark," he gave Harry a pointed look, which he ignored.
Harry was just about to suggest that he get Kreacher to prepare them dinner, when he caught sight of Sybill Trelawney meandering up the center aisle. He'd only caught small glimpses of her apart from the time she spoke to him and he'd practically run her down to get away from her. This time, he didn't feel like running away, but grief and rage bubbled in his stomach. Perhaps it was unfair, but everything about her reminded him of why he couldn't possibly talk to Ron and Hermione, and why he kept waiting for Ginny to come to her senses.
Maybe I do feel like running, he thought, rising to his feet. "I'll see you later, Hagrid," he murmured. "We'll be down around seven."
He simply couldn't put the damned prophecy out of his mind whenever he saw Trelawney. And angry thoughts followed him all the way from the Great Hall and stayed with him through his classes (for once, he wasn't distracted by just Ginny, but being in love with her made his darker thoughts even worse).
It was your fault. She was tortured to be a weapon against you.
Everything comes back to the prophecy. It was fulfilled because of her, and what was done to her.
He blamed Trelawney. He knew that she hadn't been able to help herself, not really, but had she not spoken the prophecy, he couldn't help but think that it wouldn't have played out the way it had.
Blame and guilt and anger chased each other until by the time Ginny finished with Quidditch practice and met him in his rooms, Harry was almost too exhausted to want to go. But the sight of her brightened his day in that inexplicable way she had. I have really got it bad, Harry thought, when he found himself smiling. Not all the shadows had been dispelled, of course. He was always aware of how tenuous their relationship was, but it was easier to ignore when she was there.
"Hi," he said, after she gave him a lingering kiss.
"Did you still want to go to Hagrid's?" she asked. Harry was momentarily distracted when Arnold took a flying leap from Ginny's arms onto the bottom of his shirt and clinging to it with his sharp claws. "Whoa," he said. "Hi, Arnold." He couldn't help but feel that Calliope was lucky she'd decided to take an evening nap in the center of his bed.
Ginny shook her head, grinning a little. "He needs Hermione."
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he'd heard from her today by way of a letter from Ron, but then he remembered that he hadn't actually told her yet that he'd started up a correspondence with him again. Harry didn't quite know why he hadn't told her, except that he was afraid it would open up the topic they had skirted but not mentioned fully.
"Let's go," he said suddenly.
Ron's letter seemed to burn a hole in his pocket all the way down to Hagrid's. Come home. He wanted to tell Ginny about Ron and wanting to do as Hermione asked. And I will tell her, he thought. But it seemed exceedingly public on the walk down. It was dark, yes, but they were outside. And exposed. And he was afraid that if he opened his mouth and told her about Ron, everything would come spilling out.
"You seem quiet tonight," Ginny observed. Her cloak trailed in the snow that had not yet been cleared from the path, making a swishing sound as it was dragged through.
Harry pointed the Elder Wand and cleared the next ten feet for her. "It's been a long week," he said carefully. Every few feet, he repeated the spell, until she was in little danger of getting her cloak dirty or wet.
"We don't have to stay," she pointed out.
He shrugged. "It's fine. It's been a while since we've spent a lot of time with him." And Harry had a feeling that he would feel tense and anxious no matter where he was. Besides, Hagrid might be a distraction.
His hopes died a quick death.
It was like the correspondence with Ron had blasted away a section of a dam, and memories like water were flowing over him with painful clarity. He could pinpoint the exact spot where Ron had been sitting when he'd belched slugs. And he remembered vividly hiding beneath his cloak with the two of them, while Umbridge searched the hut for anything suspicious. Ron and Hermione were such clear images in his thoughts that he kept expecting one of them to speak.
That wasn't to say that he didn't want to be there with Ginny. Not at all. He just wanted them there, too. But not after the fucking prophecy. Before. A mixture of the way it used to be and the way it was now.
"Ye want some mead, Harry?" Hagrid broke into his thoughts. His beady black eyes seemed to tell Harry that he understood. He glanced at Ginny out the corner of his eye.
"Yeah," he said. Why not drink? "I'd like that. Thanks, Hagrid."
"I'd like some too," Ginny said.
Harry was both surprised and not surprised that the alcohol served to warm his stomach and force some of the anxiety away. His first experience with firewhiskey after Mad-Eye Moody's death had taught him that it could have a numbing effect. So when Hagrid offered another glass, and then a third, Harry didn't refuse.
The more he drank, the more his eyes strayed to Ginny. The firelight flickered over her hair, making the color even more vivid. Harry watched her smile and talk, and it made him happier, until he was fully in the moment. Ron and Hermione faded away into the shadows of his mind.
The hours seemed to fly by, and it was with no small amount of surprise that Harry realized it was after eleven. "We really should go," he said reluctantly.
Hagrid waved a large hand. He had had quite a lot to drink, Harry noted with amusement. "Ye should stay. Just a little while longer."
"It's after eleven," Harry told him.
His eyes popped open. "Blimey! It still feels like eight."
Ginny giggled - thirty six - and stood up. "We'll come back soon, though," she promised.
"Ye better," said Hagrid.
Harry said his goodbye and left the hut, breathing deeply. It was cold, but not too cold. It even felt good after the warmth of inside. He tipped his head back and glanced up at the stars. The loneliness and anxiety he'd felt throughout the day had been muted by evening.
"Feeling better?" Ginny asked.
He nodded and looked down at her. "Yeah, I had a good time."
"I did too," she replied. "The mead helped."
"We should definitely do this again," said Harry.
He couldn't help but notice that Ginny looked particularly beautiful as they made their way up the hill toward the castle. Be careful, a small voice warned. You are out where people might be able to see. He ignored it and grabbed her hand. It was very dark, and even if someone came upon them, the shadows would make it difficult to tell that they were holding hands.
"I asked Hermione for advice about you," she said suddenly. "It was over Christmas. Relationship advice."
"You did?" Harry asked, surprised and pleased. Her smile was both shy and sly all at once. A bolt of heat went straight to his groin. It was pretty obvious that he was going to have to kiss her. It's dark, he told himself. And no one is around. For some inexplicable reason, the path from Hagrid's hut back to Hogwarts suddenly seemed very private. Secluded, even.
"Mm hmm," she said, looking down at their joined hands and stroking his palm. "I was – well, I was hoping that you might fancy me. I didn't tell her it was you, of course," she hurried to add. "But she told me there were ways to check—"
"Ways to check?" Harry said faintly.
"Well," Ginny said. He suspected she was blushing, though he couldn't tell. "You know."
Harry didn't have a clue. His mind zoomed into overdrive. What exactly were these ways? Were they sexual in nature? And why didn't it surprise him that Hermione could offer advice on how to torture blokes? She seemed like the type to know.Poor Ron. Was Ginny still checking to make sure he fancied her? Was that what the broom polishing was about? And did she know what happened when he caught sight of her bum? Did she—
"But then I didn't really need it," she said, smiling up at him. "I just sort of kissed you, and that – well, it took the question away."
Visions of Ginny deliberately torturing him imploded in his mind, leaving him vaguely disappointed and yet a bit relieved.Mostly disappointed, Harry admitted to himself. The relief stemmed from the fact that had she been doing it on purpose, he might have exploded, and wouldn't that have led to awkward questions?
"I hope you don't mind," she said, perhaps misinterpreting his silence.
"I don't," he told her honestly. "Not at all. I – well, I like it, actually." It was the truth. He liked that her kissing him hadn't been a spur of the moment thing brought on by seeing him in the Mirror of Erised. Not that that was a bad thing. But he was glad that he wasn't alone in his feelings.
"Good," she said.
Harry threw caution to the wind and tugged her toward him. "I like that you wanted me to fancy you," he told her. "I wanted you to fancy me." Though he'd been certain to keep his groin from making physical contact, it was quite enough that he could feel the swell of her breasts against him. This might be the night she kills me, Harry thought blissfully. And then he kissed her.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
26 January 2002 – 27 January 2002
It must have been the small amount of mead Hagrid had given them, but Harry's mouth on hers drove away the January chill and seemed far more intense than usual. His hand lingered on the small of her back, just above the swell of her bum. Fingers brushed lightly back and forth in a casually insistent way that distracted Ginny from his kiss. He drew back slightly until their lips just barely brushed. And then, after a quivering moment, he shifted his focus and trailed kisses from the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, and finally located the sensitive spot just below her ear, and at the same time trailed his hand up her spine.
It was as though he lit her on fire.
Ginny's eyes popped wide open, her back arched, and her blood thundered through her veins. Harry shifted his body just a bit, and the movement against the tips of her breasts made Ginny realize her nipples were hard. It was just like the dreams she'd been having, but the sensation of arousal was heightened, and every point at which their bodies touched tingled. She closed her eyes again and imitated his touch, brushing her fingertips along the curve of his back.
"Ginny," he whispered. His mouth found its way back to hers, and he kissed her until she was weak in the knees. And then he began to pull back, the intensity faded a bit, and clarity began to return.
Still. Several minutes after he eased away, and Ginny was still trembling a little and pretty dizzy. She realized that this wasn't the first time that he'd aroused her. It had happened before they'd even kissed, when the air around them had been thick with the desire to take things beyond friendship. But this was different, somehow. Up until then, she'd been more than satisfied with snogging, but tonight her body had wanted him to touch her breasts and maybe even ease the pressure between her thighs.
Wow, she thought dazedly.
"We'd better go back to the castle," Harry said. He had his back to her and appeared to have some difficulty speaking. Ginny forced herself to focus on something other than the desire flowing through her body.
"Right," she said, proud that her voice was steady. "Yes. We should get back to the castle." They were already playing with fire by staying out so late with Hagrid, drinking a bit with him, and then kissing fiercely where it was possible they might be seen. "Definitely. Let's go back."
He gave her an odd, distracted look but didn't point out that she was acting strange, for which she was very grateful. And they walked in silence, for the most part, and gradually Ginny went back to normal. Though it seemed like he could bring desire blazing back if he exerted the smallest effort.
A small part of her was frustrated and cranky that he stopped, but the rest of her was a little confused and wary. How far would they have gone? What was the next step? Did Harry even want to go further? She skimmed the surface of her thoughts, sensing darkness, and focused only on how this might change their relationship, and not on anything else.
And what if things do progress? Images flashed through Ginny's mind with Harry above her, slamming into her, it wouldhurt, and—
Arnold and Calliope, she told herself. Think about them. And she did until the panicked feeling receded. They really are cute, she thought. She was secretly rooting for Arnold to win Calliope over, as it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to live with a lovesick pygmy puff. Not that she didn't love him anyway, but she knew he'd be happier and back to his old self if Calliope would just give him a chance.
"I think I'd better let you go here," he said quietly, regretfully. Ginny realized with a jolt that they'd managed to get from almost Hagrid's hut to the bottom of the stairs inside the Entrance Hall without her even noticing. Hopefully he would attribute her reaction to the fact that a Slytherin girl and a Ravenclaw boy were talking quietly in the shadows. They weren't alone, after all.
"That's all right," she murmured.
They parted ways with nothing more than a tender glance, and Ginny climbed up to Gryffindor Tower with thoughts of Arnold and Hagrid and everything safe buzzing through her head. Her evening routine was done automatically, and the warm feeling in her stomach that the alcohol had given her lulled her quickly to sleep.
Voices woke her the next morning, and Ginny blinked her eyes open. How come I can hear Demelza and Emma? she asked herself, disoriented. She never forgot the privacy charms around her partitioned section of the dorm.
"—were out late last night," Emma Dobbs said. Her voice sounded a bit wicked. "With Jeremy?" she asked in a sing-song voice.
"So what if I was?" Demelza asked.
It disturbed Ginny to realize that she had not – for the first time since she'd come back to Hogwarts – placed privacy charms around at least her bed. She was always afraid that she'd cry out in the middle of a nightmare (And maybe even a dream about Harry, Ginny had to admit), and the fact that if she could hear them, they could hear her made her feel very exposed.
"I'll bet you were," Emma said dryly, replying to a comment of Demelza's that Ginny had missed.
Ginny couldn't help but remember that just a few months ago, she'd also been listening to Emma and Demelza talking about things of a sexual nature. Here I am again, she thought. But it was entirely different, especially given that just the previous night, she'd been thinking about it in ways she never had before. Well, maybe before Malfoy Manor, but the memories were hazy, and she doubted she'd gotten very explicit in her fantasies about Harry. Nor did she think that she'd ever been that excited.
"We haven't done it, yet," Demelza giggled nervously. "But…"
"But you've played with his wand?" Emma prompted. "Caused it to shoot off sparks?"
"Emma!" Demelza choked out. But then she chuckled. "It didn't shoot off sparks…"
Ginny decided that she'd learned enough about their sex life, grabbed her wand from the nightstand (jostling poor Arnold, who let out a pitiful squeak), and erected the privacy charms once more.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
29 January 2002 – 31 January 2002
By the time Ginny was done with Quidditch practice the following Monday night, Harry had already written seventeen different versions of a note to Ron. And I still don't know what the hell to say, he thought glumly. A soft knock on the door was a very welcome distraction.
"Come in," he said, banishing the evidence of his correspondence, and waving the Elder Wand to unlock the door.
Ginny stumped in looking very irritable. "Finch is a moron," she announced. It came out as a snarl.
"Before you tell me why, let me teach you how to unlock my rooms," Harry said, unfolding himself and standing up. It really wasn't a hardship for him to unlock the door for her, but it seemed like something she should be able to do for herself.
"Unlock your rooms?" she halted, looking uncertain.
"Yeah," he said. "So you can get in here when you need to. It's pretty simple…"
It took Ginny only three tries to get the movement right, and by the time she did, some of the tightness in her expression disappeared. Not completely. Now that he looked at her more closely, he noticed that she was pale, as though she might not be feeling well.
Or had a nightmare.
"Do you—"
She interrupted him with a kiss, and all thoughts of going flying simply melted out of his head. It was an intense kiss, much like the one they had shared after Hagrid's and the mead. Her tongue was in his mouth and their teeth clicked together before he could really process what was happening. But he certainly wasn't going to stop her.
Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, and automatically positioned himself so that he wouldn't give anything away. And then he responded with all the passion that she gave him. Ginny's hands were restless and fisted in his robes, gripped his shoulders, and traveled up to stroke his hair. This is strange, he thought vaguely. But he ignored it in favor of continuing to kiss her.
Before he was even aware of it, one hand had traveled up to muss her hair, and the other was at the small of her back. And suddenly he was more focused on the her bum being less than an inch away from his fingertips than what her lips and tongue were doing to his. He dipped it just a little further until he could feel the swell—
In a move that could only be described as purposeful, Ginny went to her tiptoes and arched up until, with the combined efforts of the two of them, his hand firmly cupped her bum. Harry pulled away a little, and rested his forehead against hers. Ginny was breathing as heavily as he was, and holding him quite tightly.
"This is all right?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she answered shakily, and pressed her lips to his again.
Harry rapidly got used to focusing on several different things at once. His lips on hers. Her firm bum beneath his hand. He stroked it lightly and she arched her back again, and her breasts pressed against his chest in such a way that his lungs felt tight.
Stop.
Harry obeyed the impulse, knowing that if he didn't stop, it would eventually lead to him exploding from the pressure of holding back. And he had to hold back. She'd let him touch her bum, yes, but there was a large distance between that and anything further.
His body was very angry with him. Would she notice if I escaped to the loo? Harry thought dazedly. Of course she'd notice… but she wouldn't know why… Slowly – very slowly – he began to calm down. His breathing was less harsh, and his heart no longer threatened to leap out of his chest.
By the time he looked at her again, she was sitting cross-legged on the ground, trying to get Calliope to come out from under the sofa. Arnold peeked around her leg, looking hopeful and resigned all at once. The rest of the evening was spent quietly and ended earlier than normal.
She must be tired from the practice, Harry thought. She'd spent a good amount of time after the kiss explaining to him how moronic the Quidditch captain was. But even though she had helped initiate the bum touching, Harry couldn't help but think that it had disturbed her in some way. Not in any overt way, but…
The unsettled, wary feeling persisted into the next morning and grew into outright worry when she wasn't in class. She might just be sick, he told himself periodically throughout the day. You're just being paranoid. But no matter what bracing words his mind came up with, Harry's stomach felt like it was perpetually sinking. Stop. Everything is perfectly fine.
But that was a lie, and he knew it, though he didn't know why.
Alarm bells began going off in his head when he saw her the next day. The skin under her eyes looked bruised, and he saw that her fingers trembled when she held her wand. And not once did she meet his eyes. It was difficult to be around her in class, but not in that pleasant way, but because he wanted to make sure she was all right, and knew he couldn't in front of the other students.
He couldn't quite believe that she packed up her bag and made to leave when all the other students did. Irritation slashed through him, and without thinking, he used magic to split her bag open. Again. She'd told him that he didn't have to do that if he wanted to talk to her, but she hadn't even given him a chance to try.
Everyone filed out, and she hurried to put everything back in, not even bothering to be careful. Or to hide the fact that she was trying to escape him. Her hands still shook, and Harry didn't want to push her, but he couldn't think of what else to do.
He reached out to touch her elbow. "Ginny—"
She recoiled, and it was like a blow to the kidneys. "Don't!" she hissed.
Harry rocked back on his heels with shock. No, please don't. But his mind hadn't manufactured her flinch, nor had he conjured up the look of disgust that followed. And he didn't even know how to react, and he let her turn her back on him and walk right out of the room.