An hour later Ginny finally felt human enough to think about going back to her flat. The several sips of hangover potion hadn't been a full dose, but it had settled her stomach a bit and lessened the headache so that it was merely irritating, and not blinding. With a flash of guilt, she realized that Harry must not have taken his own full share in order to leave some for her, and she made a mental note to find a way to thank him.
Well, I know one way to thank him that he'd probably enjoy.
She thought about that as she began trying to transfigure the skirt and jumper she'd slept (and vomited) in back into her original trousers and a less wrinkled shirt. Her hangover was still lingering in the form of random bouts of dizziness and she quickly decided that the jeans and t-shirt she transfigured were fine, if a bit baggy and faded. Kind of like she felt at the moment.
But. Back to the previous evening. The teasing and banter and sex she and Harry had shared had been fun – as always. There was no denying their physical connection – and Ginny cringed to think just how obvious they had been to the rest of her family. It was yet another reason not to drink at the Burrow; there were too many opportunities to get caught in a compromising position that her brothers were not likely to let her forget. Ever.
Let's just hope they were as focused on Ron as they seemed to be last night, she thought to herself. Because she was really not in any shape to respond to her family's prying, whether in the form of innuendo (the twins) or point blank questioning (her mum and Hermione). There was nothing to say that would please anyone anyway. Ginny could just imagine the conversation:
"Oh yes, Harry and I just shagged in the garden. That was after I flashed him in front of Ron and the twins and he banished my knickers. It was all in good fun, though, no need to start planning another wedding." Yes, that would be a really fun conversation to have.
The problem was that her family just didn't understand Harry the way she did. It had been especially hard when things had gotten really busy for him after the War. Ginny had been living in the Harpies' training dorms, as all new players were required to do for six months, and they had struggled to figure out how and when they could be together. It had led to a lot of stress for Harry, Ginny knew. He had needed to be working as hard as possible; the Auror department was in a shambles, and he was just . . . better than anyone else at getting things done. She wanted so much for him to be happy, and watching him try to divide his time had gotten to be too much.
Her family had ignored all that. Ron saw him at Auror training, of course, and Hermione had been content to see him only every couple of weeks. Her mum had planned more and more family dinners and Harry had dutifully attended every one, probably ignoring hours of work in the process. Ginny had finally told her mother that her own rigorous practice schedule made weekly dinners just impossible, and neither she nor Harry had attended another until after they had broken up.
And it's not like they've been denied his company, he's here as often as I am these days, she thought, jerking on her shoes and attempting to straighten the snarls out of her hair with a futile wave of her wand. Hmph. I need a proper shower. But the door to the bathroom was shut and Ginny could hear Ron's miserable groaning from inside; clearly she wouldn't be getting in there any time soon.
Mentally thanking Merlin that the loo had not been occupied an hour earlier, she walked back into her room. The bottle of hangover potion was still laying on her bed and Ginny picked it up idly, thinking that if there was a drop or two left she could somehow multiply it into enough to give Ron some relief.
Love, Harry. The words, which she had mostly ignored earlier in her haste to get the potion into her stomach, now jumped out at her. Ginny sighed. She couldn't really remember the last time she'd thought of Harry loving her, or saying the word to her. But it was nice to see it again, just the same. At fifteen or sixteen she might have analyzed the note with her girlfriends for hours, trying to find some hidden meaning in the letters, the flow of the ink, the curl at the end of his "y". Now she knew better. She could even admit that she loved Harry too, after all, she would never, could never, have sex with someone she didn't care about.
Ginny straightened the blanket on her bed. Best to put any other thoughts out of her mind. She was proud of herself, actually. Proud of both of them. They were making this work the right way, this time. It was all good.
Ginny managed to escape the Burrow with a minimum of fuss soon afterwards. Her mother had given her a scrutinizing look, as if she suspected that Ginny looked far too well for someone who had spent the evening drinking with her brothers, but thankfully, she confined her comments to a quick inquiry about how Harry was feeling. Ginny feigned complete ignorance and suggested that her mother floo the Apothecary and warn them that Ron might be on his way before she set out to Apparate back to her flat.
Didn't Harry always say that Apparating with a hangover was almost as dangerous as doing it drunk? The potion she had consumed was not enough to keep Ginny from rocking dizzily when she arrived outside her flat, but she managed to get control of her balance without too much difficulty before crossing the wards and going inside.
It was still early and a team day off, so all of Ginny's four flat-mates were home. Evie and Kennedy were making breakfast for themselves, the door to Katrina's room was shut, and Leandra was lounging on the sofa, reading a playbook. She looked up with interest when Ginny came in the door.
"So, where were you all night, missy?" she asked in a suggestive voice that made Ginny's head swim.
"At my parents' house," said Ginny shortly. Despite Leandra's constant prying and innuendo, Ginny usually got along fairly well with her because she was able to laugh off her behavior; it was so unlike her own. But she really didn't have the energy right now. The smell of toast coming from the kitchen was exactly what her stomach needed at the moment and she was headed that way when Leandra spoke again.
"That's what you wear home for a visit with your mum and dad? It looks like you've been wrestling with a hippogriff."
Ginny stopped and looked down at the shirt she had transfigured. It really was rather awful. Better add "don't transfigure" to the list of things not to do when drunk or hungover. She shrugged. "Well, umm, my jumper got kind of . . . messed up. So I transfigured this instead." That might have been enough to get her off the hook, but of course, she had to blush, which gave everything away.
"Messed up? How?" Leandra wouldn't let up; Ginny suspected she would rather interrogate Ginny all day than read the Harpies' playbook.
"I got drunk. With my family," said Ginny, emphasizing the last word. "To celebrate my brother's engagement."
"Do you want me to try to fix it? I'm good at transfiguration." Leandra was looking at Ginny sincerely. It was true, Leandra did seem to have a gift with clothing; she always managed to transform her rather ordinary outfits into more exciting (and tighter) garments when the team went out to pubs.
Ginny hesitated only a second. And then I can go get some toast. Without another thought, she pulled the misshapen shirt over her head and tossed it to Leandra; given the amount of time the team spent in common changing rooms and showers, being seen in the flat in only her bra did not bother Ginny in the least. She started to turn away.
"Woohooo! Which one of your brothers gave you that?" Leandra had sat up straight and was pointing at Ginny's chest with a grin. Her voice was loud enough that Evie and Kennedy came out of the kitchen, so all three of them were there to see what Ginny had somehow failed to notice before; a lovely red and purple love-bite peeking out from the edge of her bra. She turned an even brighter shade of pink.
"Well, Harry was there too," she said with a forced casualness. "He and my brother Ron are best mates." Ginny shrugged, as if to convey that the fact that Harry had been sucking on her chest was no more interesting than any of the (probably) dozens of men from whom Leandra and the others had collected their own hickeys.
"Magic lips, that boy has, huh?" said Leandra. "You did tell me he's a good kisser, right?"
Something clicked with Leandra's question, a thought that had been teasing along in Ginny's head ever since the other Chaser had last questioned her about Harry. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything to be alone.
"Right," Ginny managed to choke out. "But if you'll excuse me, I'm still not feeling great. I'm going back to bed until the hangover potion kicks in." She practically ran back to her room, not bothering to see whether anyone was looking at her or not.
Once in her room, Ginny fell heavily onto her bed. Leandra had asked her once before, whether Harry was a good kisser, but the question hadn't registered. Ginny had answered yes, but something had been bugging her ever since. And now she knew what it was.
Harry hasn't kissed me at all. Not this time.
It bothered her more that she felt she had the right to be. So what? We haven't kissed? It's not like we're in a relationship, right? This is how it's supposed to be.
But she couldn't hide from the fact that she'd thought Harry had been about to kiss her earlier that morning, and if she really admitted it to herself, she would not have minded it. Kissing Harry – when they had been truly together – had been lovely. At least, Ginny was pretty sure it had been lovely. Involuntarily, her eyes moved to her shelf, and the carefully protected crystal phial.
Before she could even think about what she was doing, Ginny was on her feet, grabbing it off the shelf, her hand on the stopper.
It couldn't hurt to put them back for just a little while. As a nice treat. And then I'll take them back out again.
But before she could even wave her wand over the bottle, the image of Harry, intently listening to Kingsley's Patronus, rose in her mind. Even hungover as he had been, Harry had still been completely professional. He'd wanted to go handle the investigation, his investigation, no matter how he felt.
But I had asked him to stay. She flushed to think about how needy she must have seemed to him. And he almost didn't go, because of me. Ginny was sure of it.
She was sure of something else, too. If she'd been right, earlier, if Harry had thought about kissing her – if they had actually kissed – she would have wanted him to keep kissing her. She wouldn't have wanted him to leave, and she probably would have made things uncomfortable for him. Exactly the things she had promised herself, almost a year ago, that she wouldn't do.
It's better that I don't think about it anymore. Don't even start down that path.
"We are Friends with Benefits, Ginevra," she counseled herself out loud. "No pressure, remember?"
With a sigh, she pushed the stopper firmly down on the bottle and put it back on her shelf. With a wave of her wand, the safety spells went back on too. She was determined to keep it fun and light between Harry and herself. No matter what.