Chapter Twenty-Four

Ginny prepared for bed in silence. She took her hair out of its bun and put her pajamas on in the bathroom, looking for time alone to plan how to get out of whatever she'd gotten herself into. There was no way Harry could have confused that painting for anyone else. Why in hell had Oliver even shown it? He had to know…

Ginny's train of thought ground to a halt abruptly. She met her own eyes in the bathroom mirror; Oliver had never promised to fight fair. Was he the kind of person who would do something to deliberately ruin her relationship to get a chance? She had admired his honesty initially but now it just seemed to be ruining things.

Then she tried to pause her thoughts again. It could be that he was just so enthused about art in general that he'd wanted to show off his pupil's work, right? Ginny frowned at the mirror. That didn't seem likely, but that was probably because she was mad. She thought about everything that had happened over the past few weeks, the Quidditch game, all the weird painting classes, drinking, dinner… Would a person who had invested that much time in such a short period really want to mess with the status quo already?

Ginny sighed, winding floss around her finger and tearing it from the container. She wanted to ask Oliver about it, but she didn't want him to work it around into another excuse for them to meet up. Maybe a note? Ginny frowned again. She wouldn't necessarily feel like a note was apropos at this point in their friendship, but he'd already written her a memo about the Quidditch game. Could she write it while Harry was at work? Maybe while she was at work?

Ginny froze mid-gargle. She spat in the sink, feeling a cold squeeze in her stomach. Was something this stupid making her think about hiding things from her boyfriend? True, things with Harry hadn't been perfect lately, but she'd never expected - or wanted - a perfect relationship. Come to think of it, the real problem with Harry could have been that things were too close to perfect. Maybe a fight would stir things up.

Briefly, Ginny considered just sending the note openly, without trying to be subtle about it, to conjure up an argument with Harry. Then she remembered that she most likely had a real fight waiting for her outside the bathroom door. Heaving one more sigh, Ginny turned out the lights and went to the bedroom.

All the lights were out. Ginny could see Harry's form in the bed silhouetted against the light from the window, but she couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. She climbed into bed gingerly, trying not to disturb the sheets too much - or her boyfriend.

"So." Harry's voice broke through the silence of the bedroom, hitting Ginny almost physically. "Oliver was right. You're a really good painter."

Ginny lay on her back, frozen, barely able to breathe. Something had sounded off about the way Harry forced out the painting teacher's name, but that could just be the raw panic sweeping through Ginny. Why was she so scared? She hadn't done anything wrong; was she afraid of being caught? Was she afraid that Harry might think something was wrong between them?

Or was she afraid he might know?

"Thank you," she said stiffly, pushing the words through her lips. "I haven't had much practice, but Oliver's been helpful. And I've been looking at paintings online and stuff, so maybe that's helping."

Harry was quiet for another minute. Ginny thought about continuing to babble to fill the silence, but she thought better of it and instead concentrated on breathing steadily. Finally he spoke again.

"So what was the painting Oliver showed me?"

Five separate answers flew into Ginny's mind at once. Sorting through them, she opted to tell the truth. "Well, you know, one thing Oliver always told us was paint what's in front of you. He always talks about seeing art everywhere. So, you know, last week when it was just me at class-"

Ginny felt Harry tense, and she abruptly remembered that she hadn't told Harry that she'd been alone with Oliver in class. Damn it. She decided to continue, hoping he hadn't noticed the brief pause. "-he was really pushing me to go with it. He splattered some red on my canvas by accident and told me to work around it, to just go with things. So I tried to. Oliver was right in front of me, and so I guess I just painted him. I told you earlier, sometimes painting is just a natural, unconscious thing more than anything else."

There was a long pause. Ginny waited again; she could feel the skin on her feet prickling, as she hadn't moved them in minutes. Finally, Harry sighed and rolled over so he was facing her.

"Ginny, I trust you," he said, "but I don't trust Oliver. I wasn't totally honest with you at the hospital, in the sense that I didn't even tell you this had happened, but after we had gotten medical help for you, Oliver said something to me that I rather admired him for initially. Now I'm not so sure how I feel about it, but anyway, here it is: 'Harry,' he said, 'your girlfriend is far more like me than she is like you.'" Ginny almost chuckled from the sheer bluntness of the moment. It was so like Oliver, she was learning, to do something like that; and, he was right. They were alike. "'I've got a much better chance than you have in the long run,'" Harry, speaking as Oliver, continued, "'and I'm going to try to take it. I may not play fair, but if I step over a line that offends both of you, tell me and I'll step back.'"

He fell silent, and Ginny saw a window of opportunity open in her mind. Harry was basically at once permitting and encouraging her to confront Oliver about everything. "All right, babe," she said, adding the term of endearment as a last-minute gamble, "I'll talk to him about it when I see him again."

The bedroom was silent again, but under the sheets, Ginny felt a hand tentatively slide over and stroke hers until she fell asleep.

AN: I know things might seem slow, but to be honest that's how I planned this story! I dislike reading romance stories where there is a parallel action/suspense type storyline that seems tacked on, and I wasn't sure if I could combine the genres well so I decided to tell the kind of story that any of us could experience. I won't be hurt if you stop reading if this isn't what you're looking for. Thank you so much for reading and thanks for sticking with me thus far!-TheGoldenAge