Chapter Twenty-One
"Well, I have to admit I'm surprised," Ginny said once they were seated. "I had you pinned for a Leaky Cauldron man through and through."
"Lost my loyalty card," Oliver joked, smiling. "No, this place is nice. I've been here a time or two. There's only one waitress who knows me so far, though. I guess Scottish charm isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"I think you're pretty charming," Ginny said before she could stop herself. She thought of Harry, probably at home in bed, alone, and blushed. Unfortunately, Oliver didn't just shrug it off as he usually did.
"I wanted to talk to you about that," he said rather seriously, but just then, a middle-aged waitress approached their table. She took their orders - or rather, her Quick Quotes Quill did, which made Ginny rather anxious about what she would end up receiving for dinner - and walked away with as few words as possible, gum snapping all the while.
Ginny's irrational hopes that Oliver would have forgotten what he was going to say evaporated as he turned to her, eyes particularly dark and intense in the slightly dim restaurant lighting. "Ginny, I'm not the kind of person that likes to hide things," Oliver began. His words were measured, but he didn't seem to have any expectations. He was taking what he said seriously, but Ginny could tell he wasn't anticipating any response in particular. She waited. "I'm sure that personality quirk has helped to make it pretty clear that I'm seriously attracted to you. I've felt a connection to you on an artistic level, of course, but in addition to that - and I'm sure I'm not the only man to tell you this - you're really quite beautiful, Ginny. I'm half-inclined to take you on as a muse in addition to being a student." Ginny forced herself to chuckle lightly, hoping that this was somehow a joke, but when Oliver's expression didn't change but for a slight gentling of his features, her nervous laughter died in her throat.
The waitress returned during this pause with their drinks. Ginny anxiously sipped her water, put it down again, then reached to take another small sip, then set the cup back on the table. As she went for her fourth repetition, Oliver, who had been watching her during the entire conversational standstill, reached out and placed his hand over hers, stopping her jittery movements. Ginny froze. Like before, in the hospital, his hand was warm and solid and made her veins seem to press up against her skin, her blood heating its surface.
"Calm down, bairn." Oliver smiled gently. Somehow, being called a "bairn" seemed to Ginny more kind than rather creepy. "I just want you to know the facts. I'm not trying to get in the way of you and Harry, unless that's where you want me to be. I do find you…" He paused, as if looking for the right word. Ginny was uncomfortably, highly aware of his hand still resting naturally against hers. "Inspirational," he continued. "I'd like to be around you more if I can, but I promise, nothing untoward until you ask for it." He winked again, but his tone was still serious. "Normally, I'd just let these things fade, but I feel differently about you, Ginny. Drawn to you."
Ginny felt her heart sputter slightly as he said her name. It sounded like warm caramel dripping from his lips. It wasn't at all like when Harry said it. She tried to take a breath but her lungs felt crushed and obstructed, so she gave up. She somehow felt she'd survive without air for a little while longer.
"I think the red string of fate has been drawn between us in some way," Oliver added. "Myth used to say that the red string of fate would connect people who were fated to be important to each other, and, although fragile, it would never break. You've made me feel more creative than I have in a long time, and, although I want them to, I don't demand that things change between us. I'm leaving boundaries in our relationship up to you, Ginny."
Finally the air came rushing back into Ginny's lungs. She managed to smile. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she began, "I really can't, but thanks. Thanks for being honest and not just letting there be weird, ambiguous tension between us."
"I have to jump on what I can," he said, his words rushing out to cut her off. "I'm at a serious disadvantage here and all. 'Between us?'" He paused, unsure of how to go on. Ginny realized once again that his hand still rested on hers. That "red string" business had somewhat stalled her brain. "Look, I don't mean to rock the boat here, but I can tell you're at least attracted to me. And I don't expect anything to grow out of that or anything; attraction is natural and if you'd rather stick with your man, I'd understand and I wouldn't even be hurt. But maybe you could tell me right now: do I have any chance at all?"
Ginny thought for a moment. In that moment, the waitress returned, probably for the last time at the stellar standard of service she was adhering to, bringing their dinners with her. "Here," announced the waitress bluntly, setting down Ginny's Alfredo and Oliver's lasagna with a thump. "Enjoy."
"A woman of few words," Oliver remarked wryly. He finally removed his hand from hers and began to cut up his shepherd's pie. Ginny had begun to think she really had come to the Leaky Cauldron. She stirred her soup slowly. It was still her turn to speak, but for a moment she didn't know exactly what to say.
"I don't like long-term plans," she began finally. "When I want to do something with someone, I call them up a few days before. I don't schedule things weeks in advance. Sometimes I don't give them any warning at all. I just do what feels right, or like a good idea. I try to be a little spontaneous. I'm sure you knew that already, though." Oliver's lips quirked around another bite of his food. "So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you have as much of a chance as anyone. I'm with Harry right now, but who knows where I'll be tomorrow? I'm not silly enough to say that Harry and I will be together forever just because we've been together for a long time. As long as you don't blow your chance, I can't say you don't have one." Ginny smiled hesitantly, hoping somehow that things would be clear.
Oliver smiled back warmly. The atmosphere in the restaurant somehow seemed a lot less gloomy now. "Thanks, Ginny," he said. "I appreciate this. And like I said, from now on, I'll still be trying to win you over, but I'm not going to stomp on Harry's ground, and I'm not going to cause you problems. We're whatever you want us to be, as far as I'm concerned."
"And that's the end of it," Ginny said, suddenly feeling like an iron fist was tightening around her stomach as she remembered her painting, lonely and incriminating, in the studio. "So, what else is this place famous for?"