Without Twenty-Two Days
A/N: Is this an AU of my other fic? No, yes, yes, no.
For beamwrites, who I accidentally unfollowed on Tumblr.
I. The Missed Opportunity
(Harry)
"And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry-"
-almost kissed Ginny.
A split second of hesitation, and the opportunity was missed. Harry caught Ginny in his arms and hugged her tightly, the adrenaline that shot through him at the possibility of their lips meeting in the crowded common room vanishing on the spot, leaving him breathless and shaking. She fit so perfectly against him, and she smelled so good, like fresh air and sunshine. He could stay this way forever, just holding her.
But he was a certified, epic failure and stepped away to gaze down at Ginny with a smile that felt weak.
"We won," she said, beaming up at him. "We won."
There was a smudge of dirt right along her temple, and it was like an instant, out-of-body experience as he watched himself reach up and wipe at the spot, unable to control the urge even if he'd wanted. Ginny stilled, the room stilled. Someone giggled nervously in the background.
His heart clenched painfully as he fell back into himself, suppressed his feelings for Ginny into something small and tight and able to be hidden away.
If only he could convince himself to stop looking for it.
"Tell me everything."
II. Dazed In Sunlight
(Harry)
If he could describe himself in a single word, it would be pathetic.
Class had just let out and a flash of red caught his eyes. Harry did it before she could disappear down the corridor: waved his arms over his head like a buffoon, calling out for her.
Belatedly, he remembered the company he kept.
Ginny waited for Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall with one foot propped behind her, fiddling with the ends of her long hair. As they neared, Harry noticed that Ginny's lashes were darker than normal, and her lips were a glistening, bubblegum pink. He stumbled over his feet as they reached her.
"What's on your face?" said Ron without preamble.
Ginny glared at him. "Makeup, arsehole."
"What for?" demanded Ron.
Hermione hitched her bag higher on her shoulder, ready to tell Ron off by the look of her scrunched face.
Harry saved her the trouble and blurted, "She looks nice."
There was a beat of stunned silence as they whirled around to look at him. Harry would be more than okay with a premature demise if it meant divesting this unwelcome attention. If only the floor could crack open beneath him then and there… and yet, he'd miss the way Ginny's cheeks warmed and dimpled with a smug quirk of her mouth. The awkward moment was worth it, a thousand times over, to see her face light up like this.
"Thanks, Harry," she said.
Ever the defiant prisoner, his heart banged hard in his chest.
Thumpthumpthump, let me at her, please!
Hermione loudly cleared her throat from beside him, and Harry started.
"Did you need to tell Ginny something?" she prodded.
He'd been staring at Ginny, more than happy to stand there and drink in her beauty for as long as she allowed it. Panic descended swiftly upon him like a Lethifold and gripped him in an unrelenting vice; Harry had just wanted to be near Ginny, if only for a second, if only to ask her how her day was going. With Ron and Hermione there, however, such a simple question was off the table. He had to come up with something good, fast.
"Er," he said and began looking wildly around the emptying corridor for inspiration.
Beneath her breath, Hermione muttered darkly, "We're going to be late for Transfiguration at this rate."
Harry ignored this, his eyes skidding over then zeroing back in on a portrait of an empty field with rippling grass and swaying trees... Such a place would be excellent for a witch obsessed with Quidditch and flying and was the epitome of actual sunlight.
Yes.
"The pitch," said Harry in a rush. "We're going to the pitch."
Ginny kicked off the wall and bounced up on the balls of her feet. "What? When?"
Her excitement was contagious, and Harry's pulse thrummed pleasantly, for he had given her that feeling and no one else.
"Tonight. After dinner. Can you make it?"
"Yeah, of course! I'll let Demelza know."
Ron looked between the two of them, eyebrows knitting together in bafflement. "But Quidditch is over."
"So?" said Harry and Ginny together.
They grinned at each other, and all Harry could think was, you're perfect.
Still flummoxed, Ron said, "Is it the whole team going? What are we even—"
With a deflated look, Ginny cut across, "Not the whole team, I hope?"
"The original team," said Harry. It took him everything to add, "Unless you want…?"
The name went without saying.
"No," said Ginny firmly. "He can stuff it."
They parted a little while after that, Harry light on his feet and on the verge of laughter from sheer happiness. Mere minutes in Ginny's company had done this to him. It was as if he'd drunk a whole vat of Felix Felicis.
"When did you decide on meeting up for Quidditch? You never mentioned," Ron said in a whisper while yanking his Transfiguration things out from his bag. They'd walked into class with the bell ringing, McGonagall frowning at them from her desk.
"I did mention it," lied Harry, pretending to struggle with the stopper of his ink pot to save himself from facing Ron directly. "Last night, before bed."
"Hmm. Must have fallen asleep already."
"Yeah, probably."
III. Some Torture for Your Troubles
(Harry)
This was his idea, and so this torture was, too.
Harry wouldn't have been able to keep his eyes off of Ginny even if she'd chosen to don a nonseasonal poloneck, so this getup she wore to the pitch, all thin straps and low-cut neckline, had his mind blown. If he'd been playing seeker, he could have climbed high on his broomstick and stuck his head in a cloud to clear his foggy brain from wicked thoughts that involved him and her and an empty changing room. With two-a-side Quidditch, and on opposing sides no less, there was no other option than to touch her whilst wrestling for the quaffle, race beside her, her face flushed and euphoric and hair brilliantly wild, to watch her streak around the pitch, bent flat over her broomstick, to look straight down her top...
The curtains on his four-poster bed were going to remain closed for the rest of the year.
They were out for so long that the sun was flirting with the horizon. Curfew was looming, and the split team had been tied for what felt like an eternity. Without so much as a word, it was agreed upon that the next goal would be the end.
Harry was dodging a well-aimed bludger from Coote, the quaffle tucked firmly into the crook of his elbow, when an ear-piercing scream ripped through the air. He whipped around, his stomach launching itself into his throat as he spotted Ginny hanging from her broom with one arm, her legs kicking desperately as she began to plummet. He was not going to be quick enough, felt like he was moving in slow motion as he shot off towards her, the quaffle forgotten as he willed his broom faster.
"Hold on, Ginny!"
Harry could hear Ron yelling at him from a distance, but he could not make out the words, not with blood pounding in his ears. He barely noticed Demelza flying in the opposite direction.
Just before he could reach her, Ginny miraculously managed to bring her other arm up and stabilize her broom. It almost looked as if she was walking on air. She shook her hair out of her face, skewed with not terror, but laughter, and the hair tie that had been holding on for dear life finally plunged to the field below.
He stopped beside her hanging form, his jaw dropping with the realization that he had been utterly deceived.
"You cheat!" said Harry.
"Oh, bugger off," said Ginny through gasps of laughter. "You're such a Gryffindor." She swung once, twice, then launched a leg up and over her broomstick. "And such a boy."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Ginny smirked at him as she pulled herself up, then adjusted an exposed bra strap with a quick, knowing snap. Harry's face went tomato red; he'd been caught.
"The oldest trick in the book!" shouted Ron as he flew down towards them. Harry had the presence of mind to wipe the sweat off his brow with the collar of his shirt and hide his flaming face for a moment of respite. "The oldest trick in the bloody book!"
Demelza and Jimmy Peakes circled overhead, cheering. Katie, who'd been the other chaser on Harry's team, laughed as she approached.
"Might as well put our womanly wiles to good use," said Katie, throwing an arm over Ginny's shoulders and winking at Ron.
Groaning and grumbling about "deception" and "barmy birds," Ron took off towards the changing room, the rest of the team lazily following, save for Ginny. She remained at Harry's side.
They touched down on the field simultaneously. A very small part of him wished she would give him a few minutes to collect himself; he felt out of sorts, his heart only just returning to normal speed from her death-defying ruse, and the guilt of his wandering eyes was still lingering.
Matching his long strides towards the edge of the pitch, Ginny said carefully, "You're not upset, are you?"
"No," he answered. He slowly took off his gloves, switching his broom from one hand to the other as he tried not to look at her. "Should I be?"
"You've gone really quiet, is all."
"I'm trying to figure out if I should apologize to you."
It was a wonder he could get the words out; not only was he wary of being on the receiving end of Ginny' wand for his blatant gawking, Harry was skating so dangerously close to revealing how much he wanted her that holding back was starting to get harder by the minute.
She's Ron's sister, his brain feebly reminded him. Harry easily brushed the warning aside.
Ginny huffed beside him. "Oh, please."
Harry chanced a glance at her. Her eyes were sparkling brightly in the light of the setting sun.
"You can't help being a simple-minded boy."
Harry burst with relieved laughter. "Well spotted."
"Besides," she said cheerfully, pushing the changing room door open with her shoulder as they came upon it, "that kind of attention from you is always welcome."
Heat blazed through his body and ignited Harry's cheeks blood red, and he stopped so suddenly in the threshold that the door almost swung back onto his face.