Chapter Twenty-Two

"Ginny," Harry called a few days later. It was a very lazy Saturday morning, and Ginny had selfishly stayed in bed and allowed her boyfriend to make breakfast and coffee. However, at the sound of his voice, she sighed, grabbed her bathrobe, and headed downstairs.

There he was, at the stove, wearing boxers and an apron, cooking eggs. Ginny's mouth watered at the smell wafting through the kitchen - and, if she were honest with herself, probably in part because of the inviting image presented by her boyfriend. She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist, kissing his neck. "Those smell good," she murmured, her throat still fogged by sleep.

"Mmm." The sound came from deep in Harry's throat. "You smell good."

Ginny laughed. "You're being nice," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and moving away to the cabinet. "Want any coffee, dear?"

"As always," Harry replied, setting down the spatula dejectedly and pulling out his wand to turn the eggs. "Why do we even own kitchen implements?"

"If I remember correctly," Ginny said as she filled the urn with water, "it was because you wanted to feel 'at home' here in Grimmauld, which apparently meant making the house as much like your horrid aunt and uncle's place as you could."

"I just wanted more Muggle things," Harry protested. "I hated the Dursley's house, but I did grow up there. I feel more aware of things if there's at least Muggle stuff around, you know?"

Ginny quirked her lips doubtfully, but let the matter rest. She used a spell to quickly heat the coffee urn and it started brewing within seconds.

"So." Harry's voice broke through her morning daze, bringing her back with somewhat of a start from the idly drifting path her brain had been following. "I meant to ask you yesterday but I couldn't seem to find the time…" He paused. Ginny waited, keeping her eyes on the slowly-dripping coffee; she had the feeling Harry was just working up the courage to continue, or fumbling for words. "I wanted to know if you'd be okay with me tagging along to your painting class on Monday."

Ice ran through Ginny's veins. Panicked thoughts swirled around her head; did Harry know somehow about Oliver? He hadn't even been home from work when she got back from dinner, and she hadn't even had a chance to talk to Hermione yet. Ginny tried to subtly take a few deep breaths while simultaneously attempting to look like she was considering the question. "Why would you want to come to some silly class?"

"It's not silly if you like it," Harry replied. His voice seemed light, but Ginny still felt irrationally afraid. "Come on, babe, just let me go with you. I only want to come to one class. I'll just admire your paintings; Oliver says you're really talented. Then I'll leave! I just want to know how you do what you do." Harry smiled at her, and Ginny began to relax slightly. However, his next sentence, spoken somewhat shyly, brought her blood back down to freezing. "Have … have you ever painted a picture of me?"

Ginny laughed nervously, pulling mugs from a cabinet and pouring the coffee, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "Sometimes it's hard to tell what I'm painting," she said. "It just kind of carries you away, you know?"

Harry turned fully around, pausing as he scooped the eggs out of the pan. "You're so beautiful," he said, staring unblinkingly at Ginny. She almost dropped the coffee pot in surprise.

"What?"

"Seriously," Harry said, setting down the eggs and spatula on the counter. "That was, like, one sentence of description and I think you gave me an artistic boner. And you know how little I care about art," he added as Ginny frowned slightly. "Please, babe, let me go to class with you. You can put up with me for a measly hour and a half. Maybe," he added suddenly, "maybe Oliver will still want to go out for dinner, we can get some before class."

Ginny's frown deepened. "Poor guy, playing third wheel to his dating friends," she remarked. She put the coffee urn back on the hot plate and took a sip from her mug. "It can't be fun to be the single guy inviting all his romantically involved friends out on dates."

Harry grinned. "You're making an awful lot of assumptions about all of your painting teacher's other friends," he said. "And you're also avoiding my question."

Ginny sighed. She knew Harry wouldn't forget about anything; he was so annoyingly retentive sometimes. "I'm not avoiding it," she said, taking another swallow of her coffee.

"If you don't want me to come, just tell me," Harry said, his brow furrowing as he finished dishing out the eggs. The two sat down at the table, but neither of them started eating.

"You know that's not true," Ginny said. "I like going places with you. You know what, Harry, if you want to go, then you can go. I just don't want it to be boring for you or anything, it's a ninety-minute class and all."

"Well, if you're going to be annoyed about it, then maybe I just shouldn't go," Harry said, taking a bite of eggs. "I don't want to bother you."

"Babe, don't be like that," Ginny pleaded. "I want you to go. Like I said, I love going places with you."

"You said you 'liked' it," Harry said. "Look, I know that might seem like splitting hairs, but I don't want you to just be kind of happy about being with me, you know? I want things to be as good as they can be between us. I want to make you really happy."

Ginny sat silently, watching Harry watching her. It seemed like the millionth time she had felt like this; frustrated, stuck and, in a way, alone. "I am happy, Harry," she said quietly. "And honestly, don't push your luck, because lately I've been feeling like I could be a whole lot happier."

A terrible quiet and chill fell over the table. Harry stopped eating, stopped moving, possibly stopped breathing. Ginny, on the other hand, was almost panting, as if she had just finished a sprint. She tried to calm down; it was true she had felt that way, but she didn't need to say it so brusquely.

Finally, Harry spoke. "Ginny, you might think I don't pick up on these things, but I know you've been upset lately. I know that I've been working a lot even though I don't have to, I know that I probably haven't been very exciting lately, since I've been busy. And I know that I haven't been making enough effort. That's why I wanted to go to the painting class with you. I want to really know you, Ginny. I want to know what makes you happy, what makes you smile, what makes your eyes light up the way they do sometimes. I love you so much, Ginny, and I want you to be happy with me."

Ginny felt her eyes watering, but she felt more exhausted than sad. She didn't know what to do; all the recent events with Oliver had thrown her into a whirlwind of confusion, and Harry was right; things hadn't been that great lately. But at the same time, Ginny didn't feel like it was worth breaking up over. Exhaling heavily, she reached out and rubbed her fingers over the back of Harry's hand. "I'm sorry, babe," she said. "I know that that's what you're trying to do, I guess I'm just having a tough time lately, what with everything being so quiet for me. You know," she added, slightly less confident than before, "I think it would be a great idea for you to come to painting class with me. Who knows?" Ginny said brightly, lifting a spoonful of eggs, trying to instill some courage in herself. "Maybe you'll turn out to be a better artist than I am."