A/N: We are now getting to the start of the 3 or so chapters that are probably the favorite thing of mine that I've ever written. Everything just did what I needed it to do in these chapters (although I do have a couple of changes planned later on, which I'll mention when we get there). Enjoy - and cringe when necessary. :)
Kingsley Shacklebolt was not even a little bit surprised to see his first visitor the morning after the Cloak and Dagger explosion. He probably would have predicted it even if he hadn't suspected that Harry Potter was shagging Ginny Weasley (and that stunt they had pulled under Harry's desk had certainly been something), except for the fact that the recent attacks had left him too busy to think about anything else.
Even knowing what Harry was going to ask, Kingsley decided not to make it too easy on him. After all, most Aurors would be risking their jobs if they got involved with someone they were supposed to be protecting. But of course, Harry was not most Aurors. He could get away with more because he was better than pretty much anyone else when it came to his job. Kingsley even included himself on that list sometimes.
And Harry actually improved when he was emotionally involved in his cases. It was quite unusual; Kingsley had had to take Aurors off cases when they began to hit too close to home. But Harry just always seemed to be in the right place doing exactly what needed to be done. Even in the early minutes after the Cloak and Dagger exploded, when no one had known if Ginny Weasley was there among the wreckage, Harry had been a machine – taking orders and giving them, walking through the ruined pub helping survivors, his eyes never stopping their scanning for evidence.
But he wasn't going to tell Harry all that; the man wouldn't believe him anyway. Harry's noble streak and self-deprecation were almost as legendary as his defeat of Voldemort at the age of seventeen. He looked over the young man – given his bleary eyes and dusty robes, Kingsley would have bet he hadn't slept – or even been home – all night.
"What can I do for you, Harry? You look like you've just come from the scene – I thought you were securing Miss Weasley's, I mean, the Harpies' flat."
Harry looked up sharply at the mention of Ginny. "I was," he said slowly. "But after I finished . . . checking the wards, and backup arrived, I returned to the pub."
Kingsley nodded, mentally noting the blush that was climbing Harry's cheeks, but not saying anything about it. "I'll need a report about the evidence collected at the scene by this afternoon, will that be a problem?"
Harry shook his head. "No sir, I can have it by then. And a detail of how this latest attack fits the profiles we've been observing as well."
Kingsley nodded, unsurprised that Harry would have so much work on the investigation finished so quickly. Harry was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and looking almost nervous – he obviously wanted to discuss something other than his gathering of evidence. Kingsley decided to put the young man out of his misery and get to the point.
"Is there something else you needed to talk about?"
"I'm going back to the Harpies, sir. I mean, I'm requesting reassignment back to the Harpies. I . . . I think my skills would be best put to use there. The Harpies are in at least as much danger as the Eagles, probably more, and now with the loss of Leandra they're likely to be scared. I know the players and their habits and I think they need me." The words almost exploded out of Harry's mouth, tumbling over each other as if by speaking quickly, he could better get Kingsley to agree.
This was exactly what the head Auror had been expecting and he didn't bother making Harry explain himself before agreeing to the switch. Harry's commitment to the Weasley family was known and understood, as was the fact that he'd work better if he was in a position to keep an eye on Ginny. It was a courtesy the Head Auror would have made for very few.
HPHPHPHPHP
Harry was in a crappy mood – there was no way else to say it. Even putting aside the fact that they'd lost two good Aurors (not to mention four others) in the Cloak and Dagger explosion, the investigation was now suggesting things more sinister than concerns about smuggled Firewhisky ingredients or agreements to throw Quidditch matches (two popular theories around the office). The wife of the owner of the Cloak and Dagger had finally been able to tell them that her husband had argued with several men the day before the explosion over his decision to stop accepting certain shipments of something at his bar. She had no idea what the shipments were and the Aurors were still awaiting final analysis of evidence pulled from the rubble to see if the liquids matched any of the ones they were currently tracing.
Harry testily pulled on his cloak over his second-best dress robes he'd worn now three days in a row because of all the memorial services. Today – Carey Daniels' – was the last, and Harry was more than relieved. Even with Kingsley pulling in every possible Auror for security, everyone was uptight, and Harry was not the only person who had voiced the opinion that another attack would come in the middle of one of the memorials – what with their concentrated groups of Quidditch players and Ministry personnel. Leandra's had been the worst. Harry had mentally catalogued every person within hexing distance of Ginny and then hadn't heard a word of the service, so busy was he gripping his wand in his pocket and keeping his eyes and ears focused on looking for anything suspicious.
He hadn't had time for more than a quick word of condolence to Leandra's distraught parents and a squeeze of Ginny's arm at the end before he'd had to leave to make it to the memorial service for Auror Adam Mercury. The watery smile Ginny had given him in return was the only contact they'd had since Leandra had died; Ginny had been with her team almost non-stop and Harry had barely left the office.
Even though he was now officially reassigned back to Harpies' security, the renewed suspension of games had made his presence at the stadium less necessary. And when he had been there, he'd been very careful to give the players – including Ginny – their space to mourn in private. Trainee Gavin Sykes was not so tactful and for once, Harry was glad. The younger Auror kept Harry abreast of all of Ginny's comings and goings so that Harry didn't have to worry. Not all the time, at least.
It was too much like right before they'd broken up, almost exactly a year ago, and it made Harry uncomfortable to remember – what he could remember of that time. Two people too busy once again. The fact that he lacked the utter certainty of a year ago that they were doing the right thing made him uneasy, but he wasn't willing to risk using the vial again. It hadn't worked anyway.
Three hours later, a drained Harry prepared to Apparate into his flat. After the service he'd ended up sitting with three other Aurors in a small Muggle pub discussing theories and ideas about the case. Harry's concentration was trash; he had seen Tamara (her arm around a crying Bindi), at the cemetery, and any reminder of the Harpies still gave Harry a knot in his stomach, thinking how close Ginny had been to getting hurt. It didn't help that he suspected that Ginny was realizing it too, and probably realizing more and more that Harry's job was this dangerous all the time.
He sighed. The night Leandra died he thought they'd ended on a good note – and not just because of the sex. He'd apologized for flying off the handle and Ginny had said she was equally sorry for not checking in with someone after she had learned of the explosion. Something about Ginny's apology and explanation from that night still bothered Harry, but he couldn't figure out exactly what it was. It would come to him, he knew, if he didn't focus on it too closely on it.
And then, for various reasons, he and Ginny hadn't spoken since. He hoped – although had little confidence – that she wasn't avoiding him. Twice he'd gone to talk to Gwenog about security and although there had been other players around, Ginny hadn't been one of them. His moments of panic at her absence only eased when Gavin had pointed out a bright spot of red in the air and Gwenog had mentioned that Ginny was training harder than ever, that she wanted to be in top form whenever games began again.
Right now, however, his brain was too tired to think about anything. He turned on the spot, determined to go home and try to get some rest and put all thoughts of the investigation, memorials, and especially Ginny out of his mind for a couple of hours.
Except there she was. Sitting at the kitchen table, and wearing one of his own jumpers, no less. There was a pile of wedding magazines in front of her (and Ron and Hermione were there too, Harry realized belatedly).
He stuttered to a halt in the doorway. Surprise made him more blunt than he would have liked. "What are you doing here?"
Ginny looked up. "And hello to you too, Harry. I'm helping Hermione pick out bridesmaid dresses. It's a lot of fun." Harry could clearly hear the sarcasm beneath the words, but he was pretty sure Hermione couldn't.
He gave Ginny a sympathetic grimace and started to say something about the wedding, but one look at Ginny's face made him realize that giving Hermione another opening to start debating shades of blue was probably a bad idea. He couldn't think of another topic of discussion and so walked over to the refrigerator and rummaged around inside for something to do, finally grabbing a couple of bottles of butterbeer.
"Hey mate, you got some big package earlier. Took two owls. It's on the counter there." Ron spoke without looking up and Harry was impressed at his best friend's ability to focus on what had to be an activity only slightly less boring than writing a year's worth of dream journal entries for Divination.
Harry plunked a bottle of butterbeer on the table for Ron as he walked past, cuffing him lightly on the head. "Thanks." He grabbed the box warily and swept it with his wand before groaning and slitting it open. "It's just my dress robes. For that damn ball at the Ministry."
Hermione finally looked up from her magazines. "They're still having it? Even with everything that's been going on?"
Harry took a swig of butterbeer and nodded. "Yep. It's for an international delegation of wizards and has been in the works for months. They couldn't just cancel it. Kingsley's going spare trying to coordinate security - not only for the ball, but also for all the Quidditch teams and pubs and things that might be targets." Harry shot a quick glance at Ginny as he spoke. He knew she'd been called in for questioning about Alicia Spinnet-Wood, but he didn't know what else she knew about the investigation. A strong sense to change the subject or deny the danger rose up in him and he just as quickly stifled it. Ginny would hate to know he was worrying about her again.
"Yes, my dad was going on about it too – Mum's getting new dress robes," she said idly, rapidly flicking pages in the magazine. "I like the blue, what do you think?" she said, showing a page to Hermione.
Something in her voice made Harry pause. He feigned interest, leaning over the table. "Which one? Not the one with the stripes?"
Ginny looked up at Harry with something close to amusement on her face. "Don't tell me you're interested in what color Hermione's bridesmaids wear," she said.
Harry shrugged. "The dress you wore to Percy and Audrey's wedding was nice," he said, thinking of their first Christmas after the war, and the surprise engagement and wedding. And so was the fact that they'd finished half a bottle of firewhisky and done . . . something . . . afterwards. Harry couldn't exactly remember, which made him suspect that it had been especially nice.
Ginny got a strange look on her face. "I . . . well, yes. That dress was nice. And so was, the wedding. It was. Very . . . nice." Her eyes were far away. A minute later she seemed to come back to herself. "But that was the middle of winter. Navy velvet won't do for a summer wedding."
"I guess not," agreed Harry. Silence fell, and he wasn't sure if it was awkward or not. He stood silently for a second, not really wanting to sit down and get immersed in wedding talk. But just excusing himself to go back to his room seemed rude. The only thing he could think of to talk about was the ongoing Quidditch investigation, and that was pretty much the last thing he wanted to discuss with Ginny.
"So, Harry, who are you taking to the Ministry Ball?"
Except that.
HPHPHPHPHP
Ron had been relieved when Harry got home and was desperately trying to think of some excuse to get the two of them out of the flat and into a pub, preferably far away from witches and wedding talk. He supposed he should include Ginny in his escape plans, but really, he needed her to be a diversion. The strain of keeping an interested look on her face as Hermione droned on was starting to show in her increasingly loud sighs and the way she drummed her fingers on the table. Ron suspected his own face reflected his sister's.
But then she had to go and ask Harry about the Ministry Ball, another topic that could keep them all sitting in the kitchen discussing fashion or something equally mundane, for another hour. What was she thinking?
She hadn't been thinking, Ron decided. Because anyone who knew Harry knew that his answer would be . . .
"I'm not taking anyone," confirmed Harry. "I'll go for the speeches and dinner and then leave."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "That sounds really exciting," she said sarcastically. "Why don't you make it a real night and invite Professor McGonagall?"
"Why do I . . ." began Harry.
Ron interrupted. "Who cares who he's taking or not taking, Ginny. Let's get the rest of this bridesmaid stuff finished and then we can all go out for a drink." Including Hermione suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea – she could keep Ginny occupied and he and Harry could . . .
"Why do I need to take someone?" Harry spoke so quietly Ron almost missed the question. He groaned to himself. We're never getting out of here.
"Because it's a ball, Harry," Ginny said impatiently. "People dress up. Take a date. Dance." She waved her hand expansively. "You know, because it's fun." She closed the magazine in front of her. "You really need to ask someone. I'm sure you know any number of interesting women who'd want to go. Like, there must be some cute trainees."
Something in her voice made Ron look up. Just about all of Ginny's brothers – Ron very much included – had been on the receiving end of her relationship advice at least once. Her favorite line was to tell the target brother to "just fucking do it," when it came to asking out a witch he fancied, and if that didn't work, she had even been known to use her wand as a tool of persuasion. Most recently, when George had started dating Angelina, Ginny had tolerated Fred's lonely moping around their flat for three whole days before telling him that she was "dragging his sorry arse out to the pub to meet up with some of her friends. Now he was dating one of the Harpies' publicists and Ginny was predicting a double engagement.
But now she sounded different. He rubbed his head. Being with Hermione had made Ron somewhat more aware of matters related to relationships and things, but he usually ended up needing her to decipher exactly what was going on. By the knowing look on his fiancee's face, he knew that at least he was right to think this was more than Ginny playing matchmaker yet again. He looked back and forth between his best mate and his sister.
Ginny was looking at Harry expectantly, eyebrows raised. Harry looked . . . rather angry.
"Cute trainees?" he asked tightly.
To Ron's eyes, Ginny suddenly seemed nervous. "Well, yeah," she said. "You really need a date, you know."
Sure, Ginny's words said she was pushing Harry to invite a witch to the Ministry Ball, but Ron didn't need Hermione to know that this time Ginny didn't exactly mean it. He would have bet all his Galleons on it, even.
"Let me get this straight," said Harry slowly. "You think I need to take a date to the ball, and . . . you think that this date should be one of my 'cute trainees'. Is that right?"
Ginny opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She glanced at Hermione, who was still wearing the knowing look. It annoyed Ron when it was directed at him, but now was sort of comforting. He'd get the entire story from her, later. "I just thought . . ." began Ginny.
"Do you actually want me to take some other witch?" asked Harry incredulously. "After everything we . . ." he broke off, as if suddenly aware that he had an audience, and the last piece of the puzzle clicked in Ron's brain.
"Ginny wants you to ask her!" he announced, proud of himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione smirk and give him a slight nod. Her support made Ron even more bold. He tapped his head, trying to remember everything Hermione had ever lectured him about blokes and women in general and Harry and Ginny in particular. He snapped his fingers. "And . . . yes! I know! Even though you guys broke up, you're still friends, and Ginny doesn't really want to hear that Harry's dating some other witch, but she wants to know if he is. Am I right?" He looked over at Hermione for confirmation. She'd stopped trying to hide her face and now was laughing outright. Encouraged, Ron continued.
"Plus, Harry really wanted to ask Ginny to the ball, as a friend, but . . . er . . . what is Hermione's explanation for most bloke's behavior? Oh yeah - he was afraid! Yeah, that's right. He was afraid!"
"Don't forget idiotic and clueless," choked Hermione through her giggles. Ron grinned at her. This was fun.
"I was not afraid" said Harry hotly. "Or idiotic. I just didn't think Ginny would be interested in going after . . . everything. I figured she'd want to be with her team."
"Well you could have asked me, instead of making assumptions," said Ginny.
"Why did you tell me to invite some cute Auror trainee then?" Harry countered.
"Because . . . because . . ." Ginny blustered.
"Because you're idiotic and clueless too?" supplied Ron.
"No Ron," snapped Ginny. "Because I knew he didn't want to take anyone – he's too busy being a big, important Auror. I didn't want to interfere with his work."
"Since when have you ever interfered with Harry's work, Ginny? It's not like you're dating him anymore."
Neither Harry nor Ginny would look at him, but Ron caught a blush creeping up Ginny's neck. He paused, confused. He knew that Harry and Ginny's busy lives had been a major cause of their original breakup, but wasn't that all in the past?
"Or are you?" asked Hermione suddenly. "Dating each other, I mean."
"No." Harry and Ginny spoke almost as one. "We're just friends," said Ginny firmly.
"And I suppose we should go to the ball together. As friends," added Harry.
HPHPHPHPHP
They never made it to the pub that night. After the awkward exchange where Harry had – reluctantly – asked her to the ball, Ginny had feigned a headache and Apparated home. Now she was sitting on her sofa flicking through the bridal magazine Hermione had insisted she take with her, not seeing any of the pictures.
Harry obviously hadn't wanted to take her to the ball. Guess that whole "friends with benefits" thing only goes so far – and that does not include public displays.
Ginny pushed herself restlessly off the sofa, and, tossing the magazine none too gently aside, wandered into the kitchen. Sighing, she picked up yet another letter from her mother – the third since the attack on the pub – and turned it over to open. Her parents had been flooing at least twice daily "to see how she was holding up" (although Ginny secretly suspected it was also to make sure she wasn't off getting blown up somewhere), and in between she got these letters - full of safety warnings and advice - from her mum.
It was odd, they usually weren't this over-protective. True, the most recent attack had left everyone more skittish than usual, but still, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. But if a few extra letters and calls were all it took to keep her parents happy, she was more than willing to put up with them for a while. It wasn't like they were insisting she move home, like Kennedy's parents were.
She ripped open the letter, scanning it quickly for her mother's usual patter. Halfway down the page, Harry's name jumped out at her. We're so relieved to hear that Harry has gone back to protecting the Harpies – What?
Ginny stopped and read the sentence again. When did Harry come back to the Harpies? True, with the renewed suspension in games during the memorial services and things, Ginny hadn't been to the stadium as much, but there had been a team meeting the day before and a workout that morning, not to mention Ginny's own independent training sessions that gave her time to clear her head and get away from the melancholy of the team. She had even run into Gavin walking the perimeter of their practice field; he'd smiled and said hello – and not mentioned Harry at all.
He must not want me to know. That much was obvious. It was all starting to make sense to Ginny now: Harry's failure to tell her he was back with the Harpies, his reluctance to ask her to the ball, his general avoidance of her altogether, they all added up.
It was the same as it had been a year ago. Harry was busy with work. And she was in the way.
Ginny looked down at the letter again. Her mum's words screamed back at her – Harry has gone back to the Harpies – of course he had – he'd promised her father he'd look after Ginny. And then he'd obviously reported to her family that they didn't have to worry anymore – he was there, turning his back on his other responsibilities to keep an eye on her. Maybe he'd even had to argue with Kingsley about being reassigned – to convince him someone else could take care of the Eagles. She could almost see it in her head – Harry going to the Head Auror's office and explaining that he'd promised Arthur Weasley that he would watch out for Ginny, so it was imperative he go back to the Harpies, despite the fact that there were probably a dozen places he was needed more.
Dimly, she heard a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione's telling her she was being ridiculous, that of course Harry would want to look out for her, and even more, that the Harpies needed him as much as the Eagles or any of the other places he might be assigned. But right now, she was happy to let her imagination run away with her, and it was easy to ignore that voice as she contemplated Harry trudging reluctantly back to the Harpies to babysit.
And now she'd practically bullied him into taking her to the stupid Ministry ball. Well, actually, Ron had bullied him, but only because Ginny had made those inane comments about Harry asking a trainee. She'd really just wanted to hear why he wasn't taking a date. Really, that was all. And somehow, it had escalated. But one thing was clear. Harry had not had any intention of asking her.
Not that he should have; they'd agreed as soon as they'd made the rules that outside dates were not required or necessary. But still, would it have been so wrong for him to have asked her as a friend? They were friends, after all.
Ginny walked out of the kitchen and back to her room, thankful that her remaining flat mates were not around. In truth, although she'd spent enough time with the team to avoid looking cold and callous, the constant crying of some of her teammates – and the fear and terror of almost all of them – was getting a bit wearing. She had never before considered that her experiences in the D.A. and then the War had made her any different from her teammates, but the truth was, nothing about all the danger particularly unnerved her. Instead, it made her want to fly and train and keep her eyes open for anything suspicious – anything that might help Harry – the Aurors – figure out what was going on. Although Harry apparently lumped her in with all the other Harpies now; his words of praise to Bindi the night of the attack had probably been nothing more than a way to get her up on the roof for a quick shag.
Once again, Ginny ignored the voice that was now yelling at her about being melodramatic and unfair. Instead, she pulled off her clothes and got into bed, hoping sleep would come quickly. She supposed that tomorrow she'd have to go shopping for some new dress robes. And probably try on a couple of those damn bridesmaid dresses at the same time.
At least that would make Hermione happy.
Harry attacked his tie with more force than necessary, resisting the urge to just grab his wand and fix it that way. There was something rather satisfying about tying it the Muggle way when he was irritated– at least it gave him an excuse to swear a lot and take his annoyance out on something that couldn't yell back.
Because that was what he felt like doing. Yelling in frustration. At what, he wasn't quite sure. There was a list, actually, and somewhere on it (although not in the top spot, at least), was Ginny.
His tie would absolutely not lay flat. Harry pulled it out from around his neck with enough force that it burned and started over, mumbling to himself under his breath.
I thought about asking her, I did. It just felt wrong, after Leandra . . . she should have known that. Harry's first knot was so tight he could barely breathe. Loosening it, he started over again.
And the rules . . . the rules . . . what the hell was I supposed to do? According to Ginny, I was supposed to just ask some "cute trainee." Where the fuck do her precious rules say anything about asking out other witches? They don't. Anyone knows that. And Ron . . .
Here, Harry stopped. There was no way he was going to think about any of Ron's opinions. He knew less about these things than Harry, that was a given. I practically had to get down on one knee and propose to Hermione myself because he was being such a wimp. There's no way . . .
Finally the tie was finished. This was rather unfortunate because now Harry had to find some other part of his clothing – or anatomy – to abuse. Glancing down, he considered wanking for about a half second before realizing that that was probably a bad idea. He had to be at Ginny's flat, picking her up in less than ten minutes and even though he could probably manage to get off in that time, his tie would never survive.
Instead, he stared in the mirror and tried to figure out some way to fix his hair. This project was suited for Harry's current mood because if there was one thing that almost 20 years of life had taught him it was that trying to "fix" his hair was useless. He poked angrily at it anyway, first with his hands and then his wand, all the while continuing his internal monologue.
Obviously, she didn't really want to go with me, else she wouldn't have pushed me to take someone else . . . who the hell did she want me to take, anyway?
Harry stopped. The rational part of him thought that maybe Ginny was being sensitive to Leandra and wanting to spend time with her team when she suggested he invite someone else to the ball. The rest of him – (the part that was currently tying small knots in his hair) – was certain that she simply did not wish to go with him. It was a Ministry function – probably stuffy and full of long-winded speeches – and there would be precious little chance of any benefits at all.
Yes, that was it. She didn't want to go with him unless sex was involved. In fact, she'd probably be flooing him any minute to say . . .
"Harry?"
Harry jerked so hard he pulled a couple of hairs out of his head. Ginny's voice, coming from the floo. He grabbed his wand and hastily rearranged his hair back into its normal messy state and ran into the living room fireplace.
Dancing green flames filled the space, but no one was there. Harry walked closer. "Ginny?"
"I'm here, Harry." Her voice sounded muffled from behind the flames. "I'm not putting my entire head in because I don't want to get covered in soot."
"Is something wrong? I was about to pick you up. Do you need more time?" If he kept talking, maybe she wouldn't be able to cancel.
"No, everything's fine Harry. But is it okay if I come to your flat and we leave from there?" Ginny's already dim voice got even quieter and Harry had to move quite close to hear her. "Leandra's parents are here, packing, and . . . well, I think it might be better if I come to you."
"Sure, Ginny. I'll fix the wards. You can Apparate to my front door."
The flames died down and Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Maybe he'd been right the first time; Ginny was just trying to be sensitive to Leandra's family, that's was the only reason she hadn't wanted to go with him. He stood up and flattened his hair again. All the other Harpies were probably there, in her flat right now, he thought to himself. Ginny doesn't want to stress the fact that she was leaving for a night of dinner and dancing at a ball.
She probably feels guilty about leaving her team, Harry's thoughts continued unchecked. But she's coming with me anyway. Annoyance flashed through him again. Because I'm supposed to keep her safe and she promised her parents she'd listen to me. She didn't really want to come.
It was no use - no matter how he tried to distract himself, it always came back to that.
A faint popping sound outside his door pulled him out of his rant. Harry opened the door, his mind still half on why's she even coming anyway, and froze, all coherent thought flying out of his head.
Ginny looked . . . spectacular. There was no way else to put it and Harry could only stand in the doorway and gawk as she stood on his welcome mat. The dress she wore was not one he remembered seeing before – he was quite certain there was not a charm in the world strong enough to make him forget something like the way the smooth black fabric hugged her curves and then flared lightly around her legs before ending above her knees. It had a slim belt that accentuated her waist and matched the combs holding back her hair in a perfect soft bun, a lone curl trailing down the side of her face.
Sweet Merlin, Harry thought to himself.
"Uhh, Harry?" He forced himself out of his fog and looked at Ginny, still standing in the doorway and now looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Can I come in?"
Feeling like an idiot, Harry stood back and let her pass. She dropped a black cloak on the back of Harry's sofa before turning to him.
"It's gotten much warmer out, I don't think we'll need cloaks."
"Yes," Harry croaked. "Warm." His mouth was still not working right. He decided to blame Ginny's shoulders, and the way they curved, creamy and smooth, up towards her neck. He stayed behind her, out of her line of sight as he waited for the inevitable tightening in his crotch he was sure was coming. But then Ginny turned and smiled at him, and even though it didn't quite reach her eyes, Harry felt a weird – although distantly familiar - swoop in his stomach instead..
Ginny cocked her head, looking concerned. "Are you okay, Harry?" She bit her lip. "I mean, if you don't want to go . . ." her voice trailed off uncertainly.
"No," said Harry, throwing his own cloak down next to Ginny's. "I want to go. You need to go . . . with me. Let's go." He felt more awkward around her than he had since those first weeks after their breakup. Silently, he picked up his wand and gestured back towards the door she had just come through. Just as silently, she turned around and walked back out into the hallway of his flat.
"You know where the Apparition arrival point is at the Ministry?" he asked after locking his front door.
Ginny backed away from him and Harry belatedly realized that she'd been planning on him taking her side-along. "Yes," she replied tersely, and turned on the spot and disappeared.
Damn, Harry thought, following her.