Chapter Twenty-Six

Frustrated, Ginny ran her hands through her hair yet again. She was starting to feel as though it would start pulling from her scalp at any time now; the levels of stress she'd reached in the last five minutes were ones she'd thought impossible before. Oliver sat staring at the same spot on the wall that he'd been looking at for the past three minutes.

"Help me!" Ginny practically shouted, another wave of frustration spiking through her. "What have we done? What does it mean? What do we do now?"

Oliver turned to face her, finally. "We could do it again," he said, his eyes twinkling slightly but his tone serious. "Really, Ginny, I don't know what you want me to say. That definitely didn't lessen whatever it is that I'm feeling about you."

Ginny frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, what is it you're feeling?" she asked. "If you don't even know then maybe you should just leave me alone."

"No," Oliver said simply. "I don't need to know what exactly it is I feel. I don't need to put a label on it. I just know I want to spend more time with you, and, if it ever becomes okay, I want to keep kissing you. I already told you I'm after you, Ginny. I'm not a quitter."

"Well, I'm a labels kind of girl," Ginny huffed. "Harry's my boyfriend, I'm in love with him, and you're my pushy painting teacher, and, while I think you're charming and, yes, attractive, I barely even like you at this point."

Oliver stood up. "I don't think you really are the kind of person who likes labels," he said. "But, even if you are, by the end of this painting class, you won't be. Art can't be labeled. All my work is untitled. And," he added, "although I know it's pretty cocky of me to say this, I really do think it'll help with the way you look at relationships, too. It helped me."

"Sorry, but I'm not really interested in relationship advice from someone who seems hell-bent on ruining my relationship," Ginny snapped. "Honestly, I don't feel like taking painting advice from you anymore. It'll be a miracle if I stay in your goddamn class."

Oliver dropped her gaze again, looking back at his unfinished canvas. "I understand that," he said slowly, "but I wouldn't do that if I were you. In fact, I'm asking you not to. Please don't let something I did ruin your chance. You're talented, Ginny," he continued. "I know it, you know it, and I guess you could find another teacher, but I think all the tension between us will help you."

"You're pulling things out of your arse now," Ginny interrupted, pointing at him as if that would emphasize her point. "That's just horse shit to make me stay in your class, this 'tension' crap is unbelievable."

"I'm not joking," Oliver said. "You probably know by now I'm not a liar. I don't hide things. I'd be willing to step back if you wanted if you'd let me keep helping you manage your talent."

"Fuck off," Ginny said, a mirthless chuckle escaping her throat. "You said that before, and guess what happened? We kissed! That's not stepping back. That's home-wrecking, or it will be when I tell my boyfriend."

Oliver stayed silent.

"Nothing?" Ginny said, voice edgy. She didn't need or want any more complications in her life, and Oliver seemed like nothing more than one large complication. "Fine. It's been nice having you trying to ruin my life a few weeks after you stormed back into it, but I'm out of here. I'm going home to my boyfriend, and we're going to have mind-blowing sex, and I'm going to forget about you."

Okay, so maybe the mind-blowing sex bit had been a little too much information, but in the wake of her impassioned declaration, Ginny was still too self-satisfied to be embarrassed. She straightened her coat and turned for the door, ready to sweep out dramatically, when suddenly, she paused. She thought about how much she'd enjoyed exploring painting, how beautiful the painting had been for her … And, begrudgingly, she thought about how interesting things had been since Oliver had entered her life. She thought about how warm his hands felt and how firm his lips had felt, so briefly, on hers…

Jerking her mind from this dangerous direction of thought, she returned to the safety of art. Could she really abandon her newfound passion for painting just because someone had kissed her? And she had enjoyed it? added an annoying whisper in the back of her mind. Maybe that was really the problem; Ginny had enjoyed the kiss. She had wanted to experiment, to take things deeper. Oliver represented to her everything Harry was not, and she wanted to experience new things. Painting had opened her eyes, it had expanded her magic…

"Stay here."

Oliver's voice broke through Ginny's musings. He had obviously heard that she hadn't left yet, but somehow he knew exactly when to interrupt. Half-unwillingly, still wanting that dramatic exit, Ginny turned back to face her painting teacher, a look of disbelief on her face. "What?"

"Stay here for a while," Oliver repeated. "I'm doing a painting with magic, and I want you to see what you'll be missing if you leave. After I'm finished, I'll feel like you're really making an informed decision, but I don't want to let you walk away without knowing exactly what I'm going to teach you."

Ginny considered for a moment. She had just been thinking about her painting and her magic, as they'd already started to work together, and it did seem reasonable to figure out whether it was worth it to stay in the class and learn more. She sighed quietly; if only her resolve could be as strong as her curiosity. Or maybe if only her resolve to be curious wasn't so strong. "Fine," she said, undoing her coat, "I'll stay and watch."

"You'll stay in the class, too," Oliver said, and his voice was closer to its usual lightness as he began to pull the orbs from the paint cans again.

Ginny sat on a chair that seemed thrown behind the canvas. "You should be so lucky," she said, chuckling reluctantly. Oliver began the process again, the orbs swirling around his head, splattering the canvas periodically. Once in a while, the orbs whirled a little too close to Ginny's head for her comfort and, as she flinched out of the way, she thought she saw Oliver's lips twist briefly into a grin. However, as he began to get further into the painting, his concentration began to deepen. The orbs spun faster and faster in circles that grew tighter and tighter, striking the canvas one after the other in a blur that Ginny could barely follow. She was transfixed by the process, and when she finally blinked and looked at her watch, almost an hour had gone by. Just as she was about to remark on how she'd better be getting home, Oliver almost shouted, "There!" He stepped back from the painting, and instantly, almost all that was left of the orbs dropped unceremoniously to the ground, splashing all over Oliver - and his floor.

The room was silent for a minute. Ginny stared at the mess, open-mouthed, while Oliver looked at her, momentarily just as surprised. Without warning, they both broke out laughing; Ginny practically fell of her chair when she caught sight of the faces Oliver evolved through in his reaction to the mess.

"You were right," she said a few minutes later after she'd done some courtesy Scourgify-ing, "I'm staying in the class."

"I knew you would," Oliver said, smiling and revealing one paint-spattered tooth. Ginny lifted her wand to it and quickly undid the damage. "Thanks," he added. "Thanks for sitting with me too; it isn't often I have company in the studio. It's even less often that I want it."

"Flattered," Ginny said, grinning back at him. "Honestly, it was a treat. I liked how it turned out; your color work is amazing."

"I'm getting quite good in my old age," Oliver replied, winking. "I hope you're not mad anymore," he added, "because I'm going to hug you goodbye now."

And with that brief warning, he did. His arms felt warm and strong, as ever, wrapped around Ginny's waist. She tried to balance her reciprocation between politeness and decorum, but she found herself drawn into his embrace and very comfortably rested her head against the plane created right below his shoulder. "See you later, Ginny," he said, and she clung briefly to the rumble in his chest before stepping back and cinching her scarf a little tighter.

"Bye, Oliver," she said, and, still dying for her dramatic exit, added just before Apparating, "You're still on probation."