Chapter Twenty-Five

"Hermione, I need a favor." Ginny could hear her friend laughing over the phone as she cradled her mobile between her jaw and shoulder, and she silently begged any powers-that-be that might have been listening that Hermione was just in a good mood rather than a dismissive one.

"Well, I should say you do," Hermione said finally, coughing slightly. Ginny felt that this was a rather overdramatic touch, but she let it slide in the interests of getting what she needed. "Harry told me about the Oliver fiasco - something you didn't do, by the way."

"I'm sorry," Ginny pleaded, trying to juggle her phone and her lunch without dropping either. "I just didn't know whether Harry would want me discussing stuff that we hadn't worked out personally yet."

"Mmhmm," Hermione said, and her voice was laden with skepticism. "While that's never stopped you before, I'll ignore it and pretend that you've suddenly grown several considerate bones in your small and occasionally thoughtless body."

Ginny sighed loudly enough for Hermione to hear her, but otherwise chose not to respond. Her friend did have a point, even if she did put it a little harshly.

"So, what's your favor?" Hermione asked when the moment of silence was over. "I hope it's something to do with the intrigue that has enveloped you ever since I dragged you to that art class. Which, by the way, I'm considering dropping out of, as I don't want to be forced to choose a side between Harry and you based on incriminating evidence I may or may not witness in the future."

"I now need two favors," Ginny said. "First is don't quit, but the second one is more involved. I need you to find out where Oliver is right now. It's probably work, so I guess find where he works during the day. Does he have a studio or what?"

"You think I can just do this sort of thing?" Hermione asked, and although her voice was somewhat muffled by the ambient static of the mobile, Ginny could still hear her exasperation.

"I was hoping, since you're in the legal department and also you're incredible, that maybe you could whip some kind of information out of nowhere," Ginny wheedled, trying to sound more like an admiring fan than a friend who was asking for a huge favor.

It worked. Hermione was silent for a moment, although the sound of shuffling crackled over the wires, but when she spoke again it was in a more mollified tone. "You're the luckiest girl alive to have a friend like me," she said. "His studio is registered for a permit to practice magic, despite being in a Muggle area, and the address is right here. Do you need a piece of paper to take it down?" she added snarkily.

"Oh, no," Ginny said, hastily swallowing the last of her lunch and dumping her napkins in a nearby bin, "I'll just Apparate."

When Ginny arrived at the door of the third-floor studio apartment Hermione's information had led her to, she had planned on barging in and directly confronting Oliver, but when she burst through the door, he didn't even turn around. There was an enormous canvas stretched in front of him, and dozens of colorful orbs floated through the air. It was painfully obvious that Oliver was painting with magic, and Ginny couldn't bear to interrupt and leave her curiosity unsatisfied.

Oliver was using wandless magic as far as Ginny could tell, and he directed the orbs around his canvas, allowing them to touch it periodically, leaving their colors swathed across the surface. It looked unplanned, but Ginny knew better than to doubt Oliver's talent. She was lost in observation for an indeterminate amount of time before she pulled herself together with a small shake and finally spoke up.

"What the hell were you thinking?" It didn't come out as madly as she'd intended, but it still should have been surprising.

But Oliver didn't even flinch. "I was wondering when you were going to get here," he said, still with his back turned to her. He manipulated the paint spheres until they were deposited into what were presumably the cans they had come from, then turned to face her. "I told you, Ginny, I want what Harry has. I'm not afraid of doing everything until you tell me I crossed a line."

"Harry told me what you said at the hospital," Ginny said, voice slightly clipped. "I just think you need to be more respectful, you know? Harry really laid into me over that painting." Okay, so he hadn't really, but Ginny was hoping this might incite some guilt in Oliver's heart of hearts.

Not so. In fact, positively the opposite. Oliver looked down at Ginny for a moment, his eyes inscrutable, before speaking. "Why did you paint it then?" he asked. "If you knew he was going to have a problem with it, why bother painting it?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Really? You tell me to find art in everything, and then ask me why I painted my art teacher?" As she was talking, she realized she was starting to lose her words as they slipped out, and although she tried, she couldn't stop the next bit that came out of her mouth. "You're beautiful. I've imagined what you look like under everything, and I like it. Artistically, aesthetically, you're perfect for painting. Getting you on that canvas felt good. You're my teacher, I wanted to follow what you said. Harry just wouldn't understand that, you know, he's not artistic… Honestly, neither am I, or neither was I, but you brought it out. I had to honor that. I honored it with a painting. I wasn't thinking about Harry, I wasn't thinking about you, I was just…"

Ginny trailed off, finally catching up to her words and biting them off when she regained control of her mouth and brain, but it seemed that she'd already struck something in Oliver. He looked down at her silently, really looking at her, almost making her feel uncomfortable, but she met his eyes as bravely as she could.

Oliver lifted his hand slowly, as if Ginny was an animal that he could frighten by making a sudden movement, and, truth be told, Ginny felt herself like that's what she was. He placed his fingers against her cheek, and she felt paint smear over her skin, creating a thin barrier between Oliver's fingertips and the planes of her face. The paint was wet and cold, but the heat of his skin seeped through, leaving what felt like tangible marks on her face. She thought about pulling away, she thought about Harry at home, but her thoughts seemed somehow faded and blurred around the edges. She parted her lips, trying desperately to suck more air into her suddenly solidified lungs, but none seemed to come. When she didn't pull back, Oliver's fingers pressed a little more firmly against her face, sliding over her cheekbones and twining into the hair over her ears. He pulled her forward almost imperceptibly, leaning down slowly, his questioning eyes darting between her eyes and her lips, waiting for her to pull back, to spurn him.

Ginny didn't. She didn't know why she didn't, but she felt frozen, shocked into stillness and somehow curious for what would happen next. She could feel Oliver's breath hitting her lips, drifting into her still-slightly open mouth; he was a whisper away. She still hadn't moved, but she felt a jolt of energy hit her suddenly. She expected herself to pull back, to walk right out the door and go home and endlessly spin out "what could have been"s with Hermione, but instead she leaned forward. It was a tiny movement, but it was all it took to bring her lips and Oliver's together.

There was a moment where neither of them moved, or even breathed. Oliver's lips were warm and open against Ginny's, and his hand still rested against the side of her head. If there was any sound in the room, or in the world, Ginny couldn't hear it.

And then suddenly, everything was moving very quickly. Oliver's lips moved against hers, not softly like Harry's, but more firmly and quickly. His hand tightened in her hair and his other one snaked around to press low on her back. As if she'd woken up from a dream in a strange position, Ginny suddenly found that her arms were around Oliver's neck, one hand gently tightening around the hairs at the nape of his neck, the other resting against his shoulder blade. The kiss heightened, but did not deepen, and the room seemed to be getting hotter and hotter, so hot that Ginny could barely stand it…

And then suddenly, she pulled back. It was too much, the air was too hot and dry. She felt his hand tug at her hair when, surprised, he didn't let go in time. His other arm slid easily from her waist, however, and he stepped back, confusion in his eyes. Ginny panted for a moment, her breath seeming to enter and leave her body without filling her lungs.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Oliver, his own breathing seeming far louder than usual.

Ginny was speechless for a moment, trying to get her breathing under control, trying to make sense of her crazed emotions and trying desperately, more than anything else, to pull together an answer to Oliver's question.

However, when she spoke a moment later, all she could muster was, "I have no idea."

AN: I'm sure I'm saying what we're all thinking here: FINALLY, right? :) I hope you all enjoyed this chapter- I certainly loved writing it, and I'm posting it early because I'm just so excited! Thanks for sticking with me, and hopefully there will be a few more steamy scenes between Oliver and Ginny in the future. ;)-TheGoldenAge