Disclaimer: All characters and places by J. K. Rowling.
Galleon Girl
Hello there.
My name is Harry Potter.
You've probably heard of me. I'm the Boy Who Lived. The Saviour of the Wizarding World. The Chosen One.
I'm currently standing in the Room of Requirement. My mouth is open in awe. My eyes are dilated in shock. My brain is in denial.
My wand is over there, three meters away.
Now four.
Now five.
Now it's gracefully caught in the left hand of Ginny Weasley, a girl of fifteen and a half years old.
This was the one bet I was supposed to win for sure.
She already bested me in Wizard's Chess two weeks ago. I should have known that skill goes in the family. I have never been even close to winning Ron in chess, but I believed in my chances against his little sister. Her style though, was so different from Ron's. While Ron usually takes his time pondering his every move, and finally lures me into a perfectly laid trap, Ginny was a whirlwind. I had barely let go of my piece when she already moved hers without hesitation. And somehow, she got me into that frenzy of hers, and I didn't have my usual time to think of my moves. She attacked from every direction at the same time, taking as many hits as she was giving, and utilizing extraordinary moves which oddly just seemed to work, so that in the end, the vast majority of all chess pieces laid in rubble beside the board.
Oh, how wonderfully she laughed when she announced the checkmate, and her Bishop brutally beheaded my King. And I shook my head in bewilderment, and I laughed with her and with our friends who were watching. But it was she who challenged me, even though it began as a joke, and to be fair she offered me a chance to win back my galleon.
Perhaps I should mention that she didn't have a single galleon before the game, but I promised her a loan. And then, in less than twenty minutes, she apparently came to own one.
It was my turn to select the challenge. I took Quidditch. I think there's no doubt in anybody's mind that she's a better Chaser, but we've both played Seeker with success. So, on next Saturday, while everyone else was still asleep, a Snitch was released.
Did you know that catching a Snitch is almost as much luck as it's skill? I didn't until Hermione, of all people, explained it to me some time ago. What does she know about Quidditch, you may ask? I admit she was a bit agitated at the time, but I believe she may have been on to something, so listen up.
First, you must have luck to notice the Snitch before your opponent does. If both Seekers are equally keen-eyed, they each have a fifty percent chance. Second, you must have luck that once the Snitch appears, it appears closer to you. That's another fifty percent. Those two clauses lead to following conclusions. If your opponent is closer and sees the Snitch first, there's nothing you can do. There's a 25 percent probability to that. Another 25 percent is that you are closer and see it first, which would be excellent. That results to no more than a fifty percent range of probability where the Seekers can tweak their luck with their skill. This tweak is commonly called bluffing. And I won't go into details how to do it. It suffices to tell you that I saw the Snitch first, but Ginny was closer. It hovered still, about thirty meters behind her. There was no way she could see it unless I gave it away, and no way I could reach it first if I just flew to it at maximum speed. Therefore, I bluffed.
I bluffed, and I know my bluff was good, and I swear, had it been against Malfoy or Cho or anyone else, it would have worked. But she! Somehow, she saw through my bluff, turned her broom around, and caught the Snitch. Clever girl. I can't help but wonder how she did it.
She laughed at me – and with me – again, teased me a little, and almost knocked me off my broom when she playfully bumped into me. But she was never catty, her laughter was like sweet tingling in my ears, and I could not for a second be upset at her for her well-earned victory.
Which leads to how we ended up here, today, this moment. I needed a victory over the Two-Galleon-Girl. On a second thought, I wanted it more than needed. You must understand that I don't mind losing money to Ginny. Merlin knows she needs those galleons more than I. And I know she doesn't really care if she loses some of her winnings, so I guess fortune doesn't matter to either of us. Still, I like the idea of her having earned some extra gold that she can spend to anything she wants. That doesn't mean that I wouldn't want to win it all back. The loser sets the next challenge, and duelling was my choice.
I let her know of my decision yesterday at dinner, secretly slipping her a note under table.
"Tomorrow morning. 5:30. Room of Requirement. Disarming spell only."
When I arrived, she was already here, warming up. She looked beautiful. No, not just that. Sexy! When did she become sexy? Her black sweatpants hinted a tight, shapely bum when she stretched as I stepped in. Her long, red, almost shining hair hung freely over her Harpies T-shirt which I gave her at Christmas a year ago (or was it for her birthday on the summer before that?) The shirt was just a little too tight around her smallish and yet disturbingly prominent bosom, and it was barely long enough to cover her flat belly, and only emphasized her narrow waist.
She smiled at me, said the good mornings. I grinned back and tried to keep my gaze up on her eyes, only to get lost in them for a while. Then, I pulled my school robe over my head and tossed it in the same pile with hers, and got ready to face her, wearing loose, grey sweatpants and a Tornados T-shirt which, coincidentally, was her birthday present to me.
At exactly 5:30 we took our duelling positions. She flicked her wand and her hair arranged itself into a neat bun-like contraption on the top of her head. We bowed at each other. Then I sent my Expelliarmus at her. And another one. And yet another one.
She dodged all three of them.
I just couldn't believe it when all of my disarming spells went wide or over her head or just somewhere where she was standing half a second ago. And then, she cast her first spell, and it was too quick, and I couldn't get away, and now my wand is in her possession.
The only comfort in my complete humiliation is that nobody witnesses our duel.
She laughs again, and just hearing it brings me happiness that is enough to lift me up from the deepness of my murky feelings.
"How did you become so good?" I ask as I fling another galleon at her direction. She catches it effortlessly and tucks it in her pocket.
"I practise," the Three-Galleon-Girl replies although I'm sure she understands that my question was purely rhetorical. "A lot."
"Where?" I ask. I've never seen her doing any extra practise outside classes or the DA meetings. "And when?"
"Oh, just about everywhere," she says and smirks. "Perhaps you're just not paying attention." I must look baffled as she momentarily closes her eyes as if searching for the correct approach. "I assume you know that I wish to play Quidditch professionally one day."
I nod affirmatively. I have noticed her flying laps at the Quidditch pitch at ungodly hours, of course.
"Well, there was an interview of Gwenog Jones in Quidditch Today magazine a year or two ago. There she said that Quidditch is not just talent, commitment, and a good broom. It's also hard work outside the pitch, and to do it professionally requires physical capabilities that wizards and witches usually overlook. That is agility, strength, and endurance, for Chasers and Beaters even more than others. Flying laps on a broom simply isn't enough. That encouraged me to train the Muggle way."
"Meaning what?" I ask.
"Running, mostly," she says. "Around Hogwarts and the Lake, and up the stairs, of course. I have a deal with Mr. Filch that I don't bother him, and he doesn't bother me, as long as I only limit my training to stairs of the Bell Towers which nobody uses, anyway. Oh, and since last summer I got into strength training, too. You know, push-ups and all that stuff."
To prove her point she lifts her sleeve and flexes her arm and my brains short circuit as I can't comprehend wherefrom that bulging bicep emerges. I blink and it's gone. I stare at her arm now unflexed, and while it's not quite as small as what many other girls have, there's really nothing there to imply what lies hidden beneath the skin.
"Yeah, yeah, that's…" I stutter. I haven't thought of myself as one who fancies female muscle, but now I feel how the little Harry in my pants is stirring. As much as I enjoy her company I must get out of here before something embarrassing happens. "I think we should go. Will you give me my wand, please?"
She steps closer holding my wand, stem first, in her hand in front of her. Just as I'm about to grasp it she pulls it back. "Why don't we make it another competition," she challenges. Her eyebrows are raised questioningly as she's waiting for my response, a hint of a smirk on her lips, and her eyes, oh those eyes, how they sparkle in playfulness.
I try to say something, but I only manage a little squeak. I clear my throat and have better success after that. "What do you have in mind?" But I think I have a hunch already, and it makes more of my blood flow into a single, wrong part of my body.
"Simple," she replies. "Just grab your wand back. I'll try to stop you, without magic. If you can do that, say, in two minutes, you win. If you can't, I win." She tosses her own wand on top of the pile of our robes to keep it out of the way and holds my wand in her left hand behind her back. "Your two minutes starts now."
So, I just go and grab my wand? That doesn't sound complicated. She's at least four inches shorter which gives me an advantage. And she's a girl, so I should be stronger if – and hopefully, when – it comes to wrestling. But I'm sure there's a catch. Or maybe there isn't. Whatever it is, I better move before she notices the growing bulge in my pants.
I lunge at her while my right hand lashes towards my wand, but her free arm stops me as her elbow meets my ribcage. I expect her to use her agility and move away, but she keeps her feet fixed instead. I push at her, but she pushes back with an equal force, and we remain in a stand still.
Despite her formidable resistance I manage to take hold of her left arm halfway between her wrist and elbow which is as far as I can reach. I try to pull her arm – and my wand with that – towards me, but she's stronger than I assumed, and in my current, disadvantageous position I can't move it an inch. I can feel how her muscles tense up before she yanks her arm free with alarming ease.
I change my tactics and bring my both arms around her upper body, or at least as far around as her defences let me. Then I twist and try to trip her down. She bends with me, and adjusts her footing, then twists her body the other way, and I don't know how but suddenly it's me who's lying on the floor on my back.
She releases her hold from the front of my shirt and steps back to give me space. Face glowing with excitement she straightens up, and with a suggestive wiggle of her fingers she beckons me to rise and give it another try.
I stand up and congratulate her of her skills in an attempt to hide my astonishment and embarrassment. I make a little fake lunge at her left side, and then I push against her again, deciding it's of no use to try and reach for my wand as long as she's standing.
But she's a wall.
No matter how hard I try, I can't push her back or trip her down. She's so strong, considering her size, that it's just unreal. Not to mention incredibly arousing.
Abruptly, she changes her footing again and jerks back a little and twists her body sideways just a little, and I lose my balance and my foot gets caught in her ankle, and then I'm lying on the floor again. Only this time I don't lose my grip of her, and my momentum brings her down with me. We tussle, both of us trying gain an upper hand, but it lasts only a short while before she's on top of me and pinning me down. Her hands hold my wrists upon my head, and I try to fight back but her grip is so damn strong, and suddenly I become aware of her breasts that are pressing on my chest so very lightly, and I can feel her hot breath on my face, and her lips are so close to mine, and her knee lays between my thighs, and her thigh is in my groins, and oh fuck, there's no way she can't feel my erection!
I twist and turn but she keeps me in her control and each of my movements only makes me grind more against her thigh, making the whole situation worse, and I just wish I will soon either die away or wake up from this nightmare in my comfortable bed.
"Giving it up already, Potter?" she taunts as I stop struggling. "You have almost thirty seconds left."
My breathing consists of little gasps and I hold my eyes tightly shut so that I don't see her face, hoping that I can keep myself from coming for a moment longer.
I don't know if she understands my embarrassment, or maybe she sees my agony, or the time's up. Whatever is the case, she lets go of my wrists, her weight leaves me, and I'm free to turn away and curl into a ball.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispers, "I shouldn't have… I didn't…" And I hear her quickly gather up her things and leave the Room in haste.
Almost immediately I spring up and dart into a tiny loo which the Room conveniently provides. Just in case she comes back, I lock the door with a trembling hand, and my other hand is already pulling my pants down. I pull out my cock which now feels like it's harder and larger than it has ever been and begin to stroke it. Soon, so soon that it can't have been more a few seconds, I erupt with a mighty moan, my manly juices squirting all the way to the opposite wall.
Utterly spent, I drop down to sit on a toilet seat and lean back. My cock is shrinking in my hand, having done its job, and my breathing gradually returns to normal.
What the hell just happened?
I can't tell how long I sit there, without thinking, without seeing, until I vigorously shake my head and stand up. The Room provides me a shower which I gladly take, and then it provides me a soft towel. After using a cleansing charm to my clothes, I put them back on, and then I leave the loo. I pick up my wand from the floor in the middle of the room where we wrestled, and I pull on my robe, before checking the time and deciding to head for breakfast before the Great Hall gets too crowded for my liking.
Conveniently, I don't see any of my friends at breakfast. After our class together, Ron and Hermione join me at lunch, but Ginny is nowhere to be seen. That's probably a good thing as I don't know if I'd be able to look at her. Or look away from her. Ron is talking about Quidditch, what else, but distracted with my daydreams I don't really participate the conversation, which irritates him. Also, I don't feel like eating, which makes Hermione give me funny looks. She's suspecting something and I'm not planning to explain anything of it. Maybe I'll be able to blame it all on Dumbledore's lessons. Finally, I find it better to leave them finish their meal, and head back to my dormitory.
On the way up to Gryffindor tower, I think of the morning's happening for the hundredth time. Still wondering how I could not out-wrestle a petite girl much smaller than me, I tell Fat Lady the password and step into the common room, just to come across the girl of my thoughts by coincidence. We both stop and watch each other wide-eyed in silence for a moment.
"Hi," she breaths.
"Hi," I say.
All of a sudden, she doesn't seem so petite. As she stands there, just a few steps from me, I no longer see her as a girl who is a year younger and four inches shorter than me. Nor do I see her as Ron's little sister, but an amazing young woman of her own right. And I notice that there's something else, too, something that her school robes can't quite hide anymore. I just can't seem to grasp it. As if she's…wide? She has Shoulders! The way she bears herself makes her appear taller than she is, and she radiates self-confidence. Frankly, she's a little intimidating.
"Are we okay?" she asks hesitantly.
"Yes, of course," I reply.
"I mean, in the morning…"
"No, that was…. fine. I mean, yes, I admit I'm a little overwhelmed that you beat me – twice, actually – but I get it that you've been training. We're good. I'm good."
I don't lie when I say that. Put aside the embarrassing fact that I practically humped against her thigh, what happened in the morning was really good, the best morning I've ever had. I'd suggest her a rematch if I had the courage; not that I believed for a second that she'd accept. I guess the goofy smile on my blushing face tells her something about my mental state, too, as she wanly smiles back and nods contentedly.
"Oh, that reminds me," I say. I dig a galleon out of my pocket and place it in her hand, relishing the brief touch of her skin.
"Harry, you don't have to…" she begins, but I interrupt her.
"It's okay. I took your challenge and lost. You earned it," I tell her with my warmest smile.
She accepts the coin, nods once more, and then she leaves for her classes.
And I? What shall I do?
As my next class is not until late afternoon, I have plenty of time which I should spend on a Potions essay. Instead, I barricade myself into the boys' bathroom and dig out my already hardened cock once again. It has been demanding attention since the beginning of lunch, and now there's nothing stopping me from submitting to its call.
I let the shower run alone as I stroke my cock and fill my mind with images of Ginny; the memory of her drool-worthy bum when she stretched; what her breasts would look like without her shirt; what they would feel like in my touch; her wonderful, peaky bicep; and how she would dominate me over and over again while laughing that jubilant laughter of hers.
The build-up of pressure takes much longer, and in a way it's more pleasurable than earlier in the Room of Requirement, as this time I'm mostly in control and aware of my urges. However, the release in the end is equally satisfactory. Finally, I take off my clothes and step into the shower, leaning into a wall, and just letting the water flow over me.
At last I take a deep breath and turn the shower off. I step out and dry myself, then walk to a small mirror on the wall to look at myself. Yet another zit? I wash my face twice a day and still have zits. Someone should invent a spell to fight zits.
I sigh with resignation and tap twice with my wand on the top frame of the mirror, and it enlarges itself to full size. A pale, naked, scrawny guy is staring back at me. I haven't kind-of paid attention to it before, but I really am thin. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley is right when she tries to stuff me up with her cooking. At least I'm not famished kind of thin anymore which, I'm sure, I was when I first got out from the Dursleys. But still, I'm so skinny that I wouldn't be surprised if Ginny weighs nearly the same as I do. If that is true, at least it would explain something.
I flex my biceps so hard that they hurt and pay attention to how they look. Yes, I do have biceps, but they are narrow wires. Ginny's bicep was… I don't know. Bigger? Possibly. Stronger? Probably. I guess more defined is the most valid expression. And shaped like an egg instead of a wire.
My gaze then wanders downwards, passing my non-existent pecs and slightly protruding ribs to my abdomen. Even when tensed my abs are soft and easy to push inwards with my thumb. I had my arms around Ginny's body for a short while when we wrestled, and the little I remember of it, she was like a bar of iron. Not soft like this at least.
The bar between my legs isn't soft anymore, either, but I fight it down for now. In fact, that thing is the only part of by body I'm currently pleased about. Hell, its circumference nearly equals that of my wrist! Then again, my arms and my legs are mere twigs, so I don't know if that signifies anything.
I'm beginning to recognize my problem. I'm head over heels attracted to Ginny Weasley, but the girl is too good at everything she does. And I'm… me. The scrawny guy.
I shrink the mirror to its original size and slip into my clothes. It won't be long before my next class begins. I could at least try to get the essay started before that, but in the evening, I'll have lots of thinking to do.
-.-.-.-
After a restless night with lots of tossing and turning and wanking, I think I've finally come to a conclusion: my life is a mess. I've thoroughly analysed it and it seems I have four main problems.
Problem one is this school. It sucks. Not always, but at the moment it sucks. I'd like to study, spend time with my friends, and graduate with good grades but there's so much work, and some of the teachers are just plain awful. I believe without problems two to four it would be just bearable.
Problem two, the publicity. I can hardly go anywhere as people recognize me, or the press is in my back. Everyone wants something from me. One way or the other I'm always in the centre of attention. I just hate it.
Third one is this little nuisance called Lord Voldemort. He seems to have a grudge on me. Can't imagine why.
And finally, the most acute and troubling problem of all, Ginny Weasley. What should I think of her? What does she think of me? She's always amiable but maybe she secretly laughs at me. I'd so much like to ask her out but why would she say yes? There is absolutely no way she could ever be interested in me in a romantic manner if she's the stronger one in every way, winning every possible challenge.
Did I just use the word 'romantic'? Is that what I want?
I check the time. It's much too early for breakfast but I can't fall back to sleep, so I get up and dress instead, then get down to the common room. It's empty, as it should be. My legs take me towards the exit, down the staircases, and soon I'm standing outside of the castle, greedily inhaling fresh air.
On an impulse I take a stride towards Hagrid's place that is barely visible through morning mist. When I arrive at his door I can feel as much as I can hear his deep snores that are making his whole cabin shake. It makes me smile and I know I don't want to wake him up. I hesitate between returning to the castle and continuing with the path towards the Black Lake, and my legs take the decision again. A walk to the lake it is.
Upon and around the lake the mist becomes thicker while the world becomes even more quiet. Girding the lake there's a path which I've walked many times; sometimes alone, often with friends. It takes about a half an hour to walk around the lake on a good pace. Currently, I'm not in a mood for good pacing. It's more like slouching what I'm doing. My hands are in my pockets, and only thin fabric of the pocket separates my palm from my cock which is not quite limp but not exactly hard, either. My mind is once again fixed on my newest obsession; the Four-Galleon-Girl. Ginny.
I daydream of her, replaying our little wrestling match in my mind once again, and thinking how she simply overpowered me with one hand behind her back most of the time. Still, while I've no doubt that she's strong, I'm becoming to see that her success didn't base on raw strength only. No, it was skill, too; skill that must come way back from her childhood. Growing up as the only girl and with six older brothers must not have been fun and easy all the time. But while her childhood taught her to stand up, voice her own opinions, and fight back when necessary, those things were never an option to me. What I learned at the Dursleys' was to stay quiet, run away – and endure the punishment. I do realise that I've come a long way from there, and I'm not making excuses for my defeat. I'm just trying to reason why she's better at it.
Suddenly, an odd sound disturbs my musings. It's faint at first, but soon I can distinguish a rhythm, specifically footsteps, steadily approaching. I draw my wand, and in no time a vague shape of a jogger appears from the mist. Before I can have a proper look, the jogger skids to a halt, obviously sensing my presence.
"Who's there?" I call to the mist.
"Harry?" answers a familiar voice.
"Ginny!" I yelp. "You scared the hell out of me." She walks closer, and I see the relief on her face as she tucks her wand into a special pocket inside a sleeve of her Gryffindor-orange sweatshirt. She must have been frightened, too.
"And I almost hexed you. I'm not used to seeing anyone else around this early," she says, now standing so close that I could take just one step and then reach out to touch her. "What are you doing here?"
I shrug. "Couldn't sleep."
"Bad dreams?" she asks, her voice filled with concern.
I say nothing for a few seconds, pondering my reply. "Kind of. I'd rather not talk about it. Nothing to worry about."
The quickest flash in her eyes tells me that she's not happy about my evasive answer, but what makes me glad is that she doesn't pry. She never does. "Okay," she says. "I want you to know that if you change your mind, I'm here for you."
"I know, Ginny. Thanks."
My gaze follows her ponytail disappearing into the mist as she continues with her morning run. Why does she have to be so nice, so compassionate, so adorable? She's so easy to talk with and at the same time, I can't talk with her about the things I want to. And I can't touch her the way I want to.
Bloody hell, I don't think I can touch her at all anymore!
I slouch on.
Twenty minutes later, I arrive at the cove where the boats of the first-years' take off, about as far away from the castle as possible, and I hear footsteps approaching again. Just in case, I draw my wand and stop to wait. Surely it can't be her, not this soon?
I shouldn't have doubted.
"Did you go all around the lake?" I ask as she slows down.
"Didn't swim across, for sure," she replies cheekily, then shrugs nonchalantly. "It's not a big lake."
"Nonetheless, you're a good runner," I say.
"Told you I've been training."
"Yes, I remember you did," I say. "You know, I've always thought I'm quite a runner myself. Feel like racing to that patch of forest?"
Uncharacteristically for her, she fidgets with reluctance. "I don't know, Harry. I feel uncomfortable for winning all your money. At this rate, the whole contents of your Gringotts vault belong to me before the term is over."
She's joking but there's no smile on her lips, no glint in her eyes. I wonder if her reluctance is just because she doesn't want my money, or if there's a more profound reason. "Don't be so sure you'll win," I say, trying to sound convincing. "I can easily outrun Ron and Hermione."
"Ron is clumsy and Hermione a bookworm," she retorts.
She does have a point. "I tell you what. Let's forget the money. Race me there, just for fun, and see who's faster. Unless you're afraid of losing…"
I know! Considering her competitive nature, that was cheap of me, like a blow under the belt.
"Fine then," she says, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Catch me if you can!" And before I know it, she springs into a sprint.
"Hey, no cheating!" I yell as I dart after her.
Cheat or not, it doesn't matter. With every step she draws more distance between us, making it loud and clear she's the faster one. Before we're half-way to the trees, I give in and jog the rest of the way.
Is there anything that this girl can't do better than I can?
"Next time! I so will catch you next time," I announce as I'm close enough to speak to her. Yet I'm shaking my head, giving an impression that I don't believe in my own words. "You really are quick with your feet."
"Thank you, Harry," she says, unleashing her bubbly laughter that I've learned to love so much. However, this time her laughter is short-lived, hardly more than a chuckle. "Listen, I've been thinking about suggesting you something."
"Okay, I'm listening" I say.
"I don't know all the details, but I know enough and I'm usually good at guessing the rest. You've already had so many encounters with Voldemort that I must assume you expect to meet him again. It's got something to do with that prophecy we found last year. You know what it says, don't you? Am I correct?"
I don't know what I can reveal to her, so I remain silent, but I can't avoid squirming slightly under her gaze. While she talks her eyes are thin lines as she reads my mind through my subliminal expressions.
"Yes, thought so," she finally sighs. "I want to help you."
"No! You can't," I blurt. I want to tell her that it's too dangerous, that if I could I'd rather to send her to another continent just to be safe. But I realize I have no say in that matter.
"Listen to me!" she almost shouts. "You'll need all your skills and power to survive Voldemort and his followers. And I believe there is a way to increase your magical power and combat skills. You should start physical training, just like I did!"
She draws breath and then continues more calmly. "When I started my training, I did it with only Quidditch in my mind. What came as a surprise was the effect of my improved physical fitness to my magic. Not only has my magical power increased, but now I can throw spells a bit faster, and I can withstand some spell effects better. And since I've become quicker, I can dodge spells better. That is the reason I was able to beat you in our duel. That is what I want to help you with."
I let her words sink in, and I see her reasoning. Everything she says makes sense. "So… jogging?" I ask.
"To start with, yes," she replies. "Three times a week at first. Later, every day."
"That's what you do?"
"That's what I do, Harry," she says, and turns around. "Walk with me. I want to show you something."
She leads me into an opening in the middle of that little patch of forest. At the edge of it, not many steps from the path, there lies an inconspicuous pile of boulders of different sizes, near which grass is stomped flat.
"This is where I do my weight training," she explains. "You know, push-ups, crunches, and stuff like that I can do anywhere. To train with weights I needed a special place. For the first couple of times I used the Room of Requirement, but then suddenly it didn't let me in for a week at least. I learned to improvise, and to tell you the truth, training outside in the wilds in fresh air suits me better."
I can guess what happened with the Room. Bloody Malfoy. Just one more reason to deal with him. "How do you train?" I ask.
She smirks and walks to the pile of boulders. "With these. The stones are of different weights and I have a perfect stone for each kind of action. For example, I have one stone for rotational movements training, and another one for overhead lifts. Like this."
I watch her in increasing interest as she picks up one of the larger stones, lifts it up to her waist level, and then with one mighty jerk presses it up upon her head. Then, she fights against gravity as she slowly and carefully lowers it down, first to her shoulder level, then to waist level, and at last back to ground, with only the smallest thud.
"Repeat that a few times, and then move on to something else. If you want, I promise I'll show you all I know about this one day."
"But not today?" I say, disappointed. I wouldn't mind watching her when she works with her body.
"Not today," she confirms. "I have just enough time for one more lap and a quick shower. You should head back to the school, too, if you don't want to be late for breakfast."
"Okay, some other time, then," I say. "And I already know it would be a good idea to start training. So yes, maybe you'll get a training partner from me."
"Great!" she says with a radiant smile as she turns and jogs away. "See you at breakfast!" are her last words.
Yes, Ginny is right. Training is a good idea if it brings me even a little bit closer to Voldemort's level. I doubt I'll ever be his equal no matter what I do, but one can always hope something of a miracle happens that will even up the odds.
I stare at the boulder that Ginny lifted. I wonder. How hard can it be? How much work do I have to do to be on her level?
I place my feet on either side of the boulder and take a good grip. Bloody hell it's heavy! I can barely lift it up the ground and heave it up to my pelvis level. How did she do it? I realize lifting is as much technique as strength, and I lack both. However, even with perfect lifting technique I couldn't hope to pull this stone up over my head, that's for sure.
I begin to doubt that I'll ever have the balls to train with Ginny. Once she finds out how weak I am, she'll laugh at me, pity me for certain. No, I think I'll have to do it alone at first.
Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, that decision is taken from me. The following day I confront Malfoy, and I do something terrible to him, something that I'll regret forever, and Snape gives me a mass of detentions for the rest of the term. That among other things effectively puts any budding plans I had of physical training on hold. Then, not much later, Dumbledore gets killed. More terrible things follow one after another, and while the finishing battle of the War is finally fought and won, with me as the greatest hero, I still cannot muster my courage to repair my constrained relationship with Ginny.
- Four years later –
I step into my new gym, greet the receptionist, and walk into men's locker room. It's not one of those fancy, modern Muggle gyms where the posh people train to make appearances. This is a private gym for professionals only. That's why getting a membership was so difficult up to the point when my fringe 'accidentally' shifted and revealed my scar, and they recognized their Saviour of the Wizarding World. After that I almost had to beg them to accept my money and not give it all to me for free. That happened last week, and this is my third visit here.
I change into my training gear faster than usually, fumbling with my shoelaces more than usually, and humming a little melody to soothe my nerves. Then I step at a large mirror to check my appearance. My skin is finally free from acne, and my jaw is smooth as I just shaved before I left home. Also, gone is the scrawny guy; I really like my muscles the Auror training has given me. If I tense my abdomen, I can even produce a visible six-pack. The hair? Well, there's little that can be done to help with that. Then, out of the locker room, and to warm up on a treadmill.
That's when I see Her.
She looks just like I remember, if not better. The sight of her beautiful face and incredible figure doubles my pulse and makes me hard in an instant. Since the summer filled with sorrow and mourning after the War, she returned to Hogwarts and I was to become an Auror, and we only occasionally saw each other. But she's here now.
She's finishing with her own warm up routine and after that, disappears from my sight to use other equipment. I concentrate on my pace, and on Neville Longbottom's Boggart. I should have plenty of time to set my plan into motion.
You do know Neville's Boggart, don't you? Snape in an old woman's dress? That's the image I'm using to reduce my arousal. Don't worry, I'll be fine in a moment. She just caught me by surprise.
Twenty minutes later, she reappears when she moves onto a nearby squatting station. She loads up the weights, and I slow down my treadmill, eventually switching it off. I watch her as she makes a series of lifts, takes a short break, and then makes another series. She struggles with the last lift, but eventually fights it up with bare power of will.
That's my que.
"Ginny?" I say while trying to look surprised.
She lifts her gaze at me, and her eyes light up. "Harry!" She springs to greet me, and we end up into a warm and friendly hug. "What are you doing here?"
"Gym training, apparently. I wasn't expecting to see you here," I say.
She easily sees through my lie as if it was written into my forehead in neon letters. "And the Holyhead Harpies banner at the front desk didn't raise any suspicions on you, then?" she says with an amused glint in her eye.
"Busted," I admit, blushing slightly, but with a happy grin on my face. Then I gesture towards the squatting station. "Do you mind?"
"Go ahead, I'm done for today," she says.
I step at the squatting station and assess the weights she has loaded. It's more than I expected. "Impressive," I say. Then I boldly add ten more kilos and take the bar up on my shoulders.
Maybe it's because of her, but steel doesn't feel heavy today. On my first squat I break wind, but it doesn't matter; it happens to all of us, and I'm sure Harpies aren't an exception. She doesn't make a sound, and if she even smiles, I don't see it as I only concentrate on holding my form and getting the weight up.
I squat, and lift, squat, and lift, a few times, and when it looks like I can't make one more lift, she spurs me, "Come on, Harry! You can do it!" and her voice enforces my gaze to snap at her. I see her beaming at me, I draw energy from her, and twice more the bar comes up. My new personal record, because of Her.
In the end, I manage to get the heavier bar lifted more times than she did. Not that it matters the slightest.
"I see your Auror training has paid off," she says approvingly as I return the bar to the stands.
"As is your Harpies training," I reply. "You look stunning."
"Likewise, Harry, likewise," she says and winks at me.
"So, what's up in your life?" I ask, changing the subject. "Seeing anyone?"
"No, not really. Too busy with Quidditch," she says. I already knew that, of course. I've done my homework. "How about you?" she asks in return.
"No, not at the moment. Too busy with Auror business."
She nods and we smile at each other.
The gym is beginning to fill up with people, and we get a few angry glares for hogging popular equipment. This is not the place to continue our conversation.
"I should probably get going," Ginny says. "Care to join me for coffee afterwards?"
"Gladly," I say with an apologetic smile. "But today I can't. I'd like to finish my training session and I'm afraid I'm busy with work after that."
She looks disappointed, which encourages me to make my next move. "Hey, do you still go jogging?"
"Of course," she replies with a surprised smile.
"Would you like some company?"
Her face lights up again, and my heart almost bursts for happiness. She tells me about her favourite running track, and we set to meet there early tomorrow.
"Maybe I'll even catch you this time," I say as she turns her back at me to leave the gym.
She starts, and quickly glances at me over her shoulder, meeting my sly grin with one of her own. And then she is gone. I try to finish my session but can't really concentrate anymore, so I just decide to go and have a long, cold shower before heading to the office.
The rest of the day passes slowly. After work, I dodge all requests from my workmates for an evening in a pub. Instead, I return straight to home and go to bed early. I have trouble falling asleep, with my mind circling around my expectations concerning the following day, and at the same time I'm haunted by images of Ginny in various states of undressing.
Unexpectedly, an alarm chime wakes me up. Guess I did manage to get some sleep after all. I pull on my sweat suit and apparate to the address that Ginny gave me. I'm ten minutes early, but a soft pop announces her arrival no more than a few seconds later.
It takes us a couple of minutes to reach a set of outdoor pull-up bars at the beginning of a running track that runs in and about a local park. The trees are tall, wide, and old, extremely old. The air is fresh from a nightly rain, and a light mist lingers and just waits for the morning sun to dry it away. We fall into a comfortable pace, with neither of us having an urge to jog faster. There is no need to talk; it's quite enough to glance at her every now and then, jogging there by my side, and smiling back as our eyes meet. I could get used to this.
After forty-five minutes, she's as red-faced as I am, she pants as much as I do, and her forehead is as sweaty as mine. It's a little wonder neither of us has turned this into a competition.
Yet.
"I bet you a galleon that I'm before you at the pull-up bars," she yells and accelerates to her full speed. Not surprised by her move I do the same, but as a professional athlete she's so much faster that I don't have a chance. She reaches the bars in a good five meters lead.
"Still can't catch me!" she yells triumphantly, and there's that same, bubbly laugh again like so many years ago, still without a hint of malice.
I slowly walk the last few steps to her. Her laughter dies down, and suddenly I'm not sure about this anymore. Am I too bold? Maybe she's not ready. Maybe I misinterpreted her signs when I inspected my memories about her in the pensieve. Maybe I got it all wrong. Merlin, I am going to mess this up!
She takes a step to me. Our eyes draw us closer. Her tongue peeks out to moisturise her lips, and all my doubts are instantly forgotten.
"Funny," I say as I slowly bring my arms around her waist. She follows my lead and brings her hands on my shoulders.
"I think…" I say as I lean down. She tilts her head up, and slightly sideways.
"…I just…" I say as our lips meet. She closes her eyes while I do the same as a sweet delirium floods over my brains.
"…did catch you," I say as I pull away in need to see her reaction.
She's not satisfied, though. Her hand goes into my hair, pulling me back to her lips.
And then we kiss again.
"Yes, you finally did," she says dreamily.
A kiss.
"The question is, what will you do with me now?" she asks with a voice almost too silent to hear.
A kiss.
"Now, I set you free," I say.
A kiss.
"I want you to be free."
A kiss.
"Free to choose yourself whether you want to spend the rest of your life with me."
She abruptly pulls back and blinks. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" she asks.
"I'm saying that perhaps we should start with that cup of coffee you suggested and see where it leads us," I reply with a shrug.
She reads me through my gaze again, and I'm happily lost in her most beautiful eyes in the meantime. I let her tear down every wall and every shield that I had put up to protect my deepest feelings towards her from showing. I can almost feel it physically when she seeks through me for any signs of dishonesty and doubt and hesitation. Then a smile so wide that it splits her face in two appears. She jumps on my neck, wraps her legs around my waist, and giggles. "Yes. Yes! I would really, really like that coffee."
Forget the words she says, it's the underlying emotion that counts. I spin us around and there's an unspeakable happiness in me and I just want to never let go of her. I was sure she used to have some kind of feelings for me, and I knew we still had the spark, but I never dared to hope it would burst into magnificent flames quite this way, quite this quickly.
Finally, I set her to her feet as we both calm down a little. We kiss one more time, with passion. Then she takes my hand, and we leisurely begin to walk back to the apparition point.
"You do know that you didn't have to become stronger than me to get me," she says. "I could have been yours that day in the Room of Requirement if you had wanted to."
"I know it now," I sigh. I'll have to ask her someday to confirm my suspicion, but if I got it correctly from the pensieve, she was there that morning for the final act of her grand plan to seduce me. And boy, did she seduce me! Too bad her plan backfired. "It took me years to figure it out. It never was about who's stronger, or faster, or better in chess. But back then, I needed to be better at something."
"It's a matter of self-confidence," she states.
"Exactly. I thought I had to prove myself worthy of you."
She pulls my hand to stop me, then takes me into a fierce embrace, her head resting on my collar bone. "You were always worthy of me," she says sternly. "Not because how fast or strong you were, but what you have in here," she says as she takes her palm to the side of my head, "and in here," she says as she takes her other palm onto my chest upon my heart.
"Yes," I say, with tears of emotion in my eyes, "I told you I finally figured it out."
"And about time it was that you did," she says.
We apparate together to my place. I lend her a towel so that she can take her shower first. I'm planning on giving her every reason to stay, never leave my side, and always come back if she does.
I think I'll start with making that promised coffee to the Galleon Girl.
My Galleon Girl.