Harry Apparates to the Burrow early the next afternoon. It's hardly the first Sunday dinner he's attended, but this one, of course, feels very different. He's rather stupidly nervous, and probably spent much longer trying to look presentable than he's willing to admit.
Walking into the garden, Arthur waves to him from around the side of the house where he is working on something that may have been a lawnmower at some point.
"Hi, Harry," he says, barely looking up from the machine.
"Hi, Mr. Weasley," Harry says, only to immediately wince when Arthur actually turns to look at him. Harry's been in the habit of calling him Arthur for ages.
Harry tries to give him a sheepish smile, but he's pretty sure he just looks guilty. He reminds himself that this would only be more awkward if anyone actually knew about him and Ginny.
But apparently Harry's weirdness is still far less interesting that the lawnmower, Arthur turning back to it and waving him distractedly towards the house. "You should go on through to the kitchen. Let Molly know I'll be right in."
"Sure," Harry says, and flees.
Of course, Molly's inside, which is even worse in a lot of ways, but this time he forces himself to be more normal. He gives her a smile when she greets him, and tries not to look like he's glancing around to see who else is here.
"Arthur says he'll be right in," he reports.
Molly shakes her head, like she'll believe that when she sees it. "Go on through, dear," she says. "Dinner will be ready soon."
He escapes the kitchen before he can do anything stupid, and he'll take that as a victory. He peers up the stairs as he passes, but doesn't see anyone.
George is the only one in the sitting room when he gets there. Harry tries not to look disappointed.
"Hey, Harry."
"Hey," he says, shrugging off his coat.
"Take a load off," George says, gesturing at the sofa.
Harry sits. They chat aimlessly for a while, mostly about the shop. He's gotten to know George better the last few weeks. He's still rather closed off, but in some ways the twins were always kind of insular, a world unto themselves.
"I'll drop by the shop," Harry agrees when George finishes describing a new idea he has. Harry has been doing his best to pay attention, his fingers drumming on the arm of the sofa.
"Just be sure to let the press know first," George says. "I could use the sales."
"Oh," Harry says, refocusing on him. "Okay."
George rolls his eyes. "I was teasing, numpty." He seems to reconsider. "Mostly."
Harry rolls his eyes.
"Hey," George says in mock umbrage. "As silent partner, you should have a care for our sales."
At George's insistence, Harry's seen the shop's books. He isn't in any way worried. If there is one thing in this world people will always need, it's a laugh.
"Hi, Harry."
He pops up to his feet, startled by Ginny's sudden appearance in the doorway. She's wearing a white sweater over a dress of pale peach that makes it a little hard to think.
When his eyes make it back up to her face, he can see that she's giving him a rather pointed look.
Right. Harry has to remind himself that he isn't supposed to have seen her or even spoken to her in weeks. That he certainly didn't just kiss her yesterday. Many times.
He almost gets derailed again.
"Hi, Ginny," he says, knowing he sounds stilted and stupid. He forces himself to sit down again. "Uh, having a nice year at school?"
Her grin widens. "Why, yes," she says, her own voice overly formal, and he knows she's taking the mickey. "Thank you so very much for asking."
George gives Ginny a look. "I swear you get weirder every year."
"Thank you, kind brother," she says, leaning over the back of the chair to give him a kiss on the cheek.
"Ginny!" Molly calls from the kitchen.
"Duty calls," she says, sweeping out of the room before Harry can muster another word.
George wipes off his cheek with a sound of disgust. "Ugh. She's been like that all day."
"Sorry?" Harry asks, tearing his eyes away from where Ginny disappeared.
"Cheerful," George says with distaste. "It's bloody annoying."
"She has?" Harry says, feeling a stupid grin on his own face.
"Ugh," George says. "Not you too."
He tones down his smile. "Must be the holidays."
Percy bustles in then, brushing his robes free of ash.
"Perce," George says. "Never thought I'd be so pleased to see that sour face of yours."
Percy frowns.
At dinner, Ginny feels terribly obvious, like she must have a giant sign above her head that says I am a complete and utter fool for Harry Potter.
She keeps thinking about that kiss. Well, many of the kisses. Not the first one, the scary, awkward, oh-god-maybe-it-actually-has-been-too-long-and-I-just-imagined-this kiss. No, she likes to forget that one all together.
She much prefers remembering the look on Harry's face when his jaw tightened with determination and he stopped touching her like some fragile thing and just kissed her. Like he wasn't secretly terrified of her underneath everything.
She rarely remembers feeling that overwhelmed by anything, like for once that annoying voice at the back of her mind always whispering caution just shut the hell up. Like it was no match for Harry at close range.
This is what she thinks about at dinner, even as she's left to carry the majority of the conversation. George is generally rather quiet, and Harry is clearly feeling too worried about saying the wrong thing to speak freely. It's unfortunate that Bill and Fleur are in France for a few days. They could have been counted on to carry the conversation.
As it is, unless they want Percy or her dad to get going on some boring Ministry stuff, which no one in their right mind does, Ginny is forced to fill the meal with talk of Quidditch.
But still.
She tries, but her eyes never stray far from Harry, and the fact that no one seems to notice is baffling. But also a huge relief.
Harry glances at her, their eyes catching. It takes a lot of control not to pull her lip into her mouth.
She clears her throat. "Now that you're back," she says, voice carefully light, "you should come to a match."
"Oh," Harry says, his eyes darting around the table, clearly trying to think quickly. "Yeah. That would be fun."
He's really terrible at this, and she feels a prick of guilt for even making him try. But she still needs time. Time to process and adjust and get used to the idea.
Harry may be blissfully—or ignorantly, more aptly—unaware of his press, but Ginny is not. Barely a day goes by without some mention of Harry in the papers, some speculation or outright lie.
She wants this to work. She doesn't want the lens of the world falling on them while they are still trying to figure out how they fit together, how to talk to each other.
It's not like this is the first time they've tried to make this work. It's fallen apart spectacularly before it even began more times than she can count. In some ways it feels like they need to get to know each other all over again. And the last thing she needs is other people's scrutiny on top of that.
So instead, she looks down at her plate, and lets Percy bore all of them for a while.
As Harry gets ready to leave that evening, Ginny walks close enough to him to whisper, "Broom shed."
His eyes widen slightly as he turns to look at her.
She waves casually at him. "Night, Harry," she says, voice louder.
"Night," he says, just a moment too late.
Ginny sits down, flipping through her mum's Witch Weekly as Harry makes his rounds saying good night and thanking Molly for the meal.
She waits an excruciatingly long five minutes before excusing herself upstairs.
He's pacing behind the shed by the time she gets out there.
"Hi," she says.
He spins around. "Hi," he says. He looks flustered, dragging a hand through his hair.
"I'm sorry," she says, stepping closer to him. "I know this is really awkward and weird."
He shakes his head. "I'm not very good at this."
"No," she corrects, "you're terrible at this."
He scowls.
She steps up against him, looping her arms around his neck the way she's wanted to since she first saw him in the sitting room. "Luckily I know there is something you are much better at," she says, pulling his face down to hers.
Harry in no way seems to mind, all uncertainty dropping away as he crowds her back against the shed, kissing her intently like he's been thinking about it a lot as well, and Merlin, it's just as overwhelming of an experience as it was the day before.
Is it completely ridiculous to think she could stay here kissing him forever?
Fortunately he seems content with taking his time as well, the two of them tucked back there out of sight so long that Ginny forgets to even pay attention to anything else. Maybe some things are more important than not getting caught, and that should alarm her far more than it does.
The kiss slowly gentles and softens, until they are just quietly leaning against each other. Ginny turns her face into his neck, breathing in deep, and it's a heady, warm smell that leaves her a little dizzy.
She is being ridiculous, she thinks, giving off a soft huff of air.
Harry tenses. "What?"
She shakes her head, leaning back to look at him. "You'd be laughing at me too if you could hear inside my head right now, trust me."
His eyes travel over her face, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair.
"What?" she asks, wondering what he's looking for.
He shakes his head, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Nothing. It's just… George said you've seemed…"
She lifts an eyebrow at him. "Yes?"
"Happy," he finishes, a bit feebly.
She smiles. "I am."
"Good," he says, and she doesn't miss the way his shoulders seem to relax.
She considers that maybe he's been just as much of a bundle of nerves about this whole thing as she has. "Think I was going to change my mind?"
"No," he says quickly, arms tightening around her. "I just… I'm happy too."
Ginny feels something crawl up her throat.
"Really happy," he says, so horribly earnest.
"Good," she says, and kisses him again.
Harry's just finished a drawn out breakfast-the meal punctuated quite often with long moments of staring off into space as he relives cherished, favorite moments of the last 48 hours-when Ginny sends him a message.
Got any time for a visitor this afternoon?
Harry grins down at the message, pulling out his quill and ink.
Absolutely, he writes back, relieved that he isn't going to have to come up with some excuse to see her. I get back from watching Teddy at 2.
I'll come by at half past then?
Perfect, he says.
They chat idly for fifteen minutes or so before Ginny has to go help her mum. It's enough to make Harry feel more relaxed. He was still feeling a little anxious about how weird everything was at the Burrow the night before. Well, he amends, how weird he'd been. Ginny seemed calm and collected as always.
But happy, he reminds himself. Definitely happy.
He's glad to have Teddy to focus on that morning, because it's hard to be distracted when you've got a toddler to keep an eye on. Andromeda actually leaves them alone in the house together while she goes out to meet with someone for lunch. She doesn't look completely comfortable with it.
"I promise," Harry says. "I'll Floo Molly the second I have a problem."
She nods, and after hugging Teddy for the fifth time, finally leaves.
Harry doesn't end up needing to contact Molly, but he does make rather a muck of the kitchen. He still hasn't quite learned to anticipate when Teddy is done eating. Which he really needs to do one of these days, because Teddy's main way of communicating that is to dump whatever is left onto the floor.
Harry makes the further mistake of immediately leaning down to clear it up without making sure Teddy doesn't have anything left. Which is how he ends up with mashed carrots in his hair.
"Yuck," he complains, and Teddy laughs and laughs, and that may be worth the mess.
Harry manages to get everything wrangled back into some sort of order by the time Andromeda gets back. She looks equally relieved and surprised to come back to a nearly dozing Teddy tucked into Harry's side as he reads to him from Babbity Rabbity.
She scoops Teddy up and takes him up to his crib.
Harry clears up the last of the toys while she's gone.
"So how did it go?"
"Great," Harry says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says.
"You missed a spot," she tells him, pointing to a bit of carrot still smeared on his neck.
Harry laughs. "Should I come back on Wednesday?"
"Yeah," she says, smiling at him. "I'll see you then."
Harry skips down the steps, uplifted by his successful turn at caring for his godson, but also really excited at the prospect of seeing Ginny. He makes it back to Grimmauld just in time to scrub off the last of the carrot and change his clothes before there's a knock at the front door.
He scrambles out of his room, but Kreacher still manages to get there first.
"Miss Weasley," he hears Kreacher say from the landing.
"Hey, Kreacher," Ginny responds. "How are you?"
Kreacher is apparently flummoxed by the question, instead saying, "Is Sir expecting you?"
Harry thunders down the stairs, cursing himself for not waiting by the door. "Yes, he is." He smiles at Ginny as she turns to look at him. "Hi."
"Hi," she says, giving him a warm smile.
"Very well," Kreacher says, looking between them before turning and leaving the room, muttering something under his breath.
They both watch him leave, Ginny letting out a soft laugh as he disappears.
"I'm still his favorite person, I can see," she says, amusement in her voice.
Harry looks at her, still all bundled against the cold, cheeks slightly flushed. He wants to touch her, to hold her, and it's this instant, undeniable need, only his hands feel two sizes too big and his legs and arms spindly and awkward, and he just doesn't know what he's supposed to do. How this works, really.
But while his mind is mildly imploding over the conundrum, Ginny just steps into him and hugs him like it's the easiest thing in the world.
He concentrates on not squeezing her too hard, wondering how long he's going to be like this, awkward and stupid over how to say hello to her, even when they're alone and there's no one to see.
"Hey," she says, lifting up and pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he feels himself relax under her easy affection.
"Hey," he says, wondering if his expression is as dopey as it feels.
She's smiling at him fondly, and he decides it probably is but no longer particularly cares.
"How long do we have?" he asks, forcing himself to let go as she steps back away.
"Oh, at least two hours," she says, looking proud of herself as she pulls off her mittens.
"Good." That's even better than he hoped. Plenty of time for the nebulous plans he's been imagining all day. "What are your feelings on ice cream?"
"Oh," she says, giving him an arch look, "are we in the oh-so-important learn everything about each other's weird tastes phase?"
"Is that a thing?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "Honestly, I have no idea."
"Well, I was thinking more of taking you out and, you know, buying you some."
She gives him a dubious look. "It's eight degrees outside."
He shrugs. "Never too cold for ice cream."
"True," she concedes. Considering him for a moment, her head tilts to the side. "Is this a date?"
"Well," he says, shuffling his feet. "We did sort of skip that part."
She steps back up to him, hands resting on his arms. "As fun as that sounds, I think we'd draw a crowd at Florean's."
He touches her waist, his brain struggling with her so close, especially when she steps even closer. "Um, there's a Muggle place a few blocks away. I was thinking of going there."
Her expression brightens. "Perfect."
He can't help himself, she's just right there, so he leans down and kisses her. She relaxes into him, and he wonders if she's been waiting for that, but he's enjoying kissing her way too much to think about that right now.
"You mentioned something about ice cream?" she says when she gets the chance.
"Right," he says, trying to focus. "Ice cream."
Letting go of her, he reaches for his coat, shrugging it on. Pulling the multicolored knit hat out of his pocket, he tugs it on his head.
Ginny's eyes widen when she sees it but she doesn't say anything, a soft pink flush spreading over her cheeks.
Out on the stoop he pauses, peering intently at the park across the street. He hasn't seen the Aurors again, but he knows that doesn't mean they aren't there. But Kingsley did promise to have them removed.
"What is it?" Ginny asks, stepping up next to him.
"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "Just making sure, I guess."
She peers out across the park, eyes sharp as she studies the few people in the square.
"I think it's fine," Harry says.
"Yeah," she agrees, following him down the steps and out of the protection of the wards.
Harry gestures in the direction they need to go, and they start down the sidewalk together.
"You should rig up a secondary exit," Ginny says. "With so many people aware of this place, it would be much safer."
"Yeah?" Harry asks.
She nods. "It could be some closet you don't use. Charm it to dump you out a few blocks over or something."
Harry considers that. "That could be useful."
Ginny shrugs, looking up at him. "Even if just to use in case of emergencies."
"Sure," he says, not really expecting safety and escape routes to be the main topic on their first date.
She winces, clearly reading something of it in his expression. "Sorry," she says. "It's an old habit."
He shakes his head. "I've thought about re-doing the Fidelius," he admits. He's still torn between the impulse to always prepare for the worst, and not wanting to live his life like they're still in the middle of a war. Because they aren't. It's over.
She nods. "Who would be the secret keeper?"
"Me, I guess." He has no intention of putting anyone in danger just to protect himself. "I can do that, can't I?"
"I'm not sure. You'll have to ask Luna. She can do the spell for you too. She did it for the Room of Requirement." Her brow furrows.
"What?"
She gives him a fleeting smile. "Oh. It's just weird being able to talk about it. But I suppose that's how we know it's really gone, the charm being broken."
She looks down at her toes, and it feels like the sun moving behind a cloud.
They walk on in silence. Harry eyes her hand swinging by her side. He spends the next block trying to figure out the logistics of holding her hand. Just do it, he tells himself. Just reach out and do it.
In the end, he just kind of bumps his hand clumsily up against hers, making a total muck of it, but her fingers immediately catch his, righting the angle until her palm is warm and firm against his.
She smiles up at him, wrapping her free hand around his elbow so she's sort of tucked into his side. Even better than he hoped.
"Okay," he says, feeling buoyed by his success. "I'm ready to learn all about your weird ice cream preferences."
She laughs, turning her face into his shoulder, and warmth seems to radiate up his side.
The spent the rest of the short walk comfortably mocking each other.
"Vanilla?" Harry asks. "Are you kidding me?"
She gives him a sharp look. "What's wrong with that?"
"Well, it's just…"
Her eyes narrow. "If you say boring, I'm going to kick you."
"Well, in that case," he says, taking a step away from her even as he holds tight to her hardwon hand. "I definitely wasn't going to say that."
"Prat," she says, pulling him back against her. "What about you then? Wow me with your favorite."
"Oh, that's easy. Chocolate. All of the chocolate."
She laughs. "You are such a cliché."
He shrugs. "If it's cliché to be right, well…"
They've reached the shop by now, so Ginny's retaliation is lost as she stares into it. He can almost see her sort of mentally preparing to go into foreign territory, like she's reminding herself of all the things she can't do in a Muggle space.
"Come on," he says, pulling the door open for her.
It's fairly empty inside. Apparently some people are not as dedicated to ice cream as they are. But that's probably for the best.
Ginny is trying to be cool, he can tell, but her eyes are wide as she tries to take in everything at once. They approach the counter, and her hand touches the smeared plexiglass.
"A machine?" she murmurs, probably trying to figure out how Muggles keep the ice cream from melting.
Harry nods, glad she doesn't ask him how it works. That part of his Muggle education is sorely lacking.
The shop is one of those trendy new places, the ones where they scoop out the ice cream onto a cold slab and then sort of cut the toppings into it with metal paddles.
Ginny's smile is uncommonly wide as she watches the bored teenager cut chocolate cookie crumbles and strawberries into the vanilla ice cream for her. She keeps shooting Harry looks like, Can you believe this?
He grins back at her, and places his own order. Ginny waits patiently to one side as he pays, but not so patiently that she isn't already trying some of hers.
"Less pyrotechnic than our ice cream," she observes, "but it's still damn good."
They sit down at one of the tiny metal tables. There is no way to sit at it without their legs bumping, but he doesn't mind, and Ginny doesn't seem to either.
The place is kind of dingy, the lights above flickering, the metal seats far from comfortable, but Harry still thinks this is by far the best place he's ever been on a date. Though it's possible that even Madam Puddifoot's could be rendered palatable if he was with Ginny.
He doesn't feel like he has to come up with anything to say, perfectly content to feel her leg pressing up against his and watch her take great joy in her ice cream. Hell, he's taking great pleasure in just being on the same continent as her.
After a while, Ginny pauses in her focused eating to glance about the space. As she returns her attention to the table, her eyes fall on the coat Harry has draped across the back of his chair. The hat is poking out of his pocket, and she reaches out and touches it, her fingers pressing into the multi-colored wool.
"I can't believe you still have that," she says.
He shrugs. "I'm rather fond of it."
She smiles, leaning her elbow on the table and propping her chin on her hand. "I'll make you a matching scarf. Only more hideous."
"And mittens too, I hope," he says.
She laughs. "That should keep all the witches off of you."
He snorts. "Oh, now I see. That was your plan all along, was it?"
"To have you all to myself?" she asks. "Yes. Definitely."
After giving him a warm smile, she returns her attention to her bowl, picking it up and carefully scraping up every last bit with total concentration. He turns back to own melting ice cream.
Inexplicably, something heavy seems to have settled in his stomach. Guilt, he identifies.
That should keep all the witches off of you.
Harry darts a glance up at Ginny.
"Harry?" she asks, clearly not missing it.
He tells himself to just leave it alone, not to ruin everything by bringing it up, but it's gnawing in his stomach and it just feels dishonest not to say something.
"Um," he says, dragging his spoon through his ice cream. "George mentioned I was in the papers here while I was away."
"Yes," she says. "That hasn't changed."
He's watching her expression closely, but he can't tell if she gets what he's saying. "Back in January, maybe?"
Her entire body seems to still. "Oh," she says, nose wrinkling. "That."
"Yeah, that," he says, telling himself it was too much to hope that she might not have seen it.
Her expression clears, posture straightening. "It's fine," she declares.
It doesn't feel fine at all. It feels awful.
"I assumed you dated, Harry. I practically made you promise to." She pulls a face. "Not that I particularly liked seeing it."
He groans, covering his face. "I don't suppose if I told you it was nothing you would believe me," he mumbles through his hands.
"Was it?" she asks.
He can't help but wince. "Almost nothing."
Ginny looks down at her bowl, spoon tapping against the edge. She seems to come to some sort of decision. "Do you know why I stopped writing as much last fall?"
He has a horrible feeling where this may be going, bracing himself to hear about all the people Ginny dated. It's only fair that he should have to, he supposes. At least there won't be pictures. Just his own vivid imagination.
"I assumed you were…busy," he says, wishing he had never been stupid enough to bring this up.
She shakes her head. "Going back to Hogwarts was…harder than I thought it would be. Everything was a reminder. Every class, every hallway, every meal. I honestly don't remember most of the welcoming feast. I think Tobias had to drag me from place to place."
She pushes her bowl out of the way, her hands clasping together on the table in front of her.
"There was only one thing that seemed doable. And that was writing to you. And so I did. A lot. Too much." She shakes her head. "I stopped writing as much because I realized it wasn't fair, telling you to live your life and then leaning on you like that."
"I didn't mind," he says, because he really didn't. Even if maybe he should have.
She stretches her hand out towards him, fingers finding his. "It wasn't fair to me either. I had to find a way to…be at Hogwarts."
He can't even imagine. He wasn't brave enough to even try.
She sits up. "Look, the situation being what it was…moving on was the only logical thing to do."
"Was it?" he asks.
"Yes," she says, sounding certain and not a little mercenary.
He looks down at their hands where her fingers are twined through his. "And yet, here we are," he says, almost as if to remind himself.
"Here we are," she says, expression softening into a smile. "Your fault of course." She leans forward, spoon dipping into his bowl to steal a bite of ice cream.
He laughs, defending his bowl. "Is it?"
She nods, eyes on his hands like she's working up a strategy to get at his ice cream. "You've always made me a little irrational."
He honestly isn't quite sure if he should be offended or not. "Have I?"
She darts a glance up at him, and he can tell she's not quite as calm and collected as she's pretending, something a little uncertain in her eyes.
"That's funny," he says.
"Is it?" she says, shoulders tensing just the slightest bit.
He nods, squeezing her fingers. "Because you always make me feel…" He casts about for the right word to describe it. "Steady."
She finally looks away from his ice cream. "Yeah?" she asks, voice soft.
"Yes," he says, tugging her fingers, just wanting her closer, and the two of them are leaning so close now that their faces are almost touching.
Gnawing on her lip, she looks up at him, something in her expression making his stomach flip pleasantly.
He's never understood people snogging in public, but he's beginning to.
"Any chance you're done?" she asks.
"Do you want to go back to Grimmauld?" he asks, definitely not opposed to being somewhere else. Somewhere more private. "Or are you just angling to eat my ice cream for me?"
"Hmmm," she says as if she's trying to decide between the two. "Yes to both?"
He laughs, dropping his defenses long enough to let her steal another bite. "Chocolate's not so bad after all, huh?"
"No," she says, her knee pressing into his. "I guess not. But I'd better have another taste just to be sure."
He can definitely live with that.
Despite that nearly disastrous first dinner at the Burrow, Harry turns out to be better at subterfuge than Ginny ever expected. He somehow manages to get himself invited over to dinner almost every night that week, and every time it ends up looking like her mum had to strong-arm him into it, like he is doing her a favor and not the other way around.
It's almost as impressive as it is frightening.
Then again, she pretty much threw the gauntlet down when she said he was terrible at this, and it's not like any part of Harry's body is less than blindingly competitive. It becomes a game almost, one-upping each other in terms of schemes and plans. Which considering this means they get to spend time together, neither of them at all mind.
Not that either of them is willing to admit defeat either.
For her part, Ginny finds reasons to go into London, spending time with George in the shop or just visiting friends. On her way in and out of town, she manages to carve out at least an hour or so a day to sneak over to Grimmauld Place. And while kissing Harry has easily become one of her favorite things, they also go out into Muggle London on what Harry likes to call 'dates.' Which, if they want to keep a low profile, will certainly be as close as they will get.
It's fascinating, really. It's one thing to read about Muggles, but another thing entirely to walk around as if you're one of them. She knows she's glancing about like she's on some amazing safari, but Harry doesn't seem to mind.
Near the end of the week, he takes her out to Hyde Park to enjoy an unseasonably sunny day. They stroll down the long paths, watching the strange swath of humanity populating the park. Muggles seem to come in all types, more than she could have imagined.
Seeing someone coming towards them on a really strange contraption, she touches Harry's arm, an unconscious gesture, just a press of her fingers to his forearm. She feels it though, the way he tenses under the touch as if stopping himself from pulling away.
She's been noticing this particular reaction all week, turning it over like a puzzle piece in her mind. She's never considered herself an overly tactile person, but she finds herself touching Harry whenever he's near. Sometimes to get his attention, to point something out. Other times for no other reason than her fingers itch for it.
But now that she thinks on it, Harry rarely does.
She considers that's part of the reason it's been so easy to keep this a secret, the way he never reaches for her at all. Not that he doesn't enjoy kissing her—he certainly seems to—but almost as if it never occurs to him to touch her or hug her.
At first she thought that was just him playing his part very well, or maybe some strange hang on from being hunted for so long, but as the week goes on, she's beginning to suspect otherwise.
"Harry?" she asks.
"Yeah?" he says, glancing back at her. He's still got that look like he's amazed when he turns around and she's actually here. She almost lets it derail her, feeling the urge to touch him again, but forces herself to stay on topic.
"Do you…not like it when I touch you?"
"What?" he asks, turning all the way around to face her. "No. Of course not."
She gnaws the inside of her lip, trying to decide how much she wants to push. Things are still so new, yet she doesn't really want to ignore this. "If it makes you uncomfortable," she says, "you know you can tell me, right? It won't upset me."
"It doesn't," he insists, but she knows she isn't imagining this, and the way he's reacting is only confirming it.
Still, he clearly doesn't want to talk about this, so she smiles at him and says, "Okay."
They start back down the path, but as they walk, Harry seems to quietly fold in on himself, his shoulders hunching and his chin pulling in towards his neck. Ginny wishes she never brought it up in the first place. What the hell was she thinking? She really needs to work on not just saying whatever pops into her head when she's around him.
He eventually lets out a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I guess… I'm just not used to it," he mumbles into his coat lapel.
He didn't say he isn't used to her, she notices, and that is far too telling. "To being touched?"
He shrugs like it isn't a big deal, but the look on his face makes her want to hex something.
Growing up in the Burrow was basically constant contact. Bumping shoulders on the stairs, fighting over the bathroom. Hugs and noogies and tackles and kisses, both affectionate and mocking. Hands on shoulders and flicking fingers. She doesn't think she went a single day as a child without a hug from one or both of her parents.
She's noticed it before, the way Harry looks so uncomfortable when her mum hugs him, like he has no idea what to do. She just never fully considered what that might mean.
She doesn't have to ask to know that the Dursleys probably never showed him any sort of affection at all. Doesn't have the heart to ask if it was ever worse than that. That maybe when he was touched it was only in anger. That when she unexpectedly touches him, he isn't so much pulling away so much as bracing himself.
Even at Hogwarts he's always had a bubble of sorts around him, being a myth and legend to be held in awe. At a distance. She tries to imagine Dumbledore, McGonagall or Lupin touching him that way and it doesn't fit. He's had Ron's friendly punches and shoves and blustering, at least. But that isn't the same.
It isn't the same at all.
"I can stop," she offers, never wanting to make him uncomfortable, especially for something that isn't his fault.
"Don't," he says, abruptly turning to her, eyes wide.
"Harry," she says, thrown by his expression, the way he looks like she's just threatened to take something important away from him.
"I'll do better," he insists.
It occurs to her that he looks scared, like he's terrified he's messing everything up, like he's failing her. Something like rage and sadness and fierce protectiveness rushes up Ginny's throat, making it hard to actually speak.
"No. That's not—You don't have to do better, Harry." She reaches her hands out, wanting to throw her arms around him and hug him tight, anything to make him stop bloody looking like that, but forces herself to stop, to fold her arms back in around her waist. "I don't want you to do better. I just want you to be comfortable. That's all. I just want to only do what feels right to you. That's all I'm saying. Okay?"
Harry doesn't answer, looking like he's struggling with something, maybe with finding the right words, or a way to explain something to her. She just waits, biting her tongue against the avalanche of words she wants to say, to apologize for making such a muck of this.
Eventually something in Harry's posture seems to break, and then he's reaching for her and kissing her, right there in the middle of the park.
It's a short, perfunctory kiss that ends almost as abruptly as it begins, clumsy in its intensity. Harry doesn't let go of her or move away after though. "This feels right," he says, voice rough. "You feel right."
There's an intensity to his gaze that makes her feel a little winded. Pressing her fingers into his arms, all she can manage to do is nod. Yes. Yes. It always has.
She wraps her arms around him and he lets her, despite the way he never completely relaxes into the hug.
"Okay," she says, squeezing him tight. "Okay."
She promises herself she'll do whatever she can to make up for eighteen years of absent affection.