Chapter 1 - The Couple to watch for

Coming to this party had been a huge mistake, but the only thing keeping Ginny from leaving was the smirk that appeared on Colin Harper's face whenever her gaze drifted to the side doors. The git would love to see her leaving early.

She smacked her lips and stayed. She deserved to be in this party just as anyone else, after all; the first three months of the season had gone great for her, she had played the last match from the beginning, her stats were very good, and if the stupid Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet hadn't noticed it, they probably needed better editors—

"You know," said an amused voice, and she turned to see that Harry had joined her by the table, bringing with him a whiff of his nice cologne; the good scent was almost enough to distract her. "I've seen players hit by bludgers who looked happier than you."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'd rather be out there dodging bludgers."

"Spoke like a true first-season player."

"Prat," she called without any malice. "You are only on your second season."

"It still makes me more experienced." He offered her a glass. "And as the voice of experience at this table, I say the alcohol is the best part of any Daily Prophet event."

Ginny had to smile; she toasted with him, then drowned the firewhiskey in one long gulp. Her throat burned, but it was by far better than the bittersweet taste that had soiled her mouth ever since Harper had been announced as the Daily Prophet's Player to watch for.

That subdued her mood.

"Oh." Harry leaned closer. "Let's go find a rogue bludger. You look like you want to hit something."

"I'm fine." Harry just watched her; they had known each other for a long time now, and Ginny had a feeling he could see right through her. "Fine, I'm pissed, is that what you want to hear?"

"I'd rather hear you were just enjoying the night," he said honestly. Ginny's heartbeat, already accelerated after the firewhiskey, gave a leap; sometimes Harry was so nice, so chivalrous, that her long-forgotten crush on him decided to make an apparition—usually when she least expected it. "What's troubling you?"

If she hadn't a weak spot for Harry, she'd think of something better to say, but as it was, she could only be truthful.

"Stupid Harper," she admitted.

Harry's gaze moved to the place in the middle of the room, where Harper was making a grand show of showing everyone the plaque he'd received. Harry's eyes darkened, unimpressed.

"He is a git," he declared. "Nearly threw Binns out of his broomstick in the last match against the Falcons, and it's hard to see someone making a foul on a Falcon…"

"Yeah," she agreed, only half-heartedly. Harry was right, but his comment didn't make her any better; it just added salt to a wound that she wasn't proud of having been opened in the first place.

Again, Harry seemed to understand her. "Nobody cares for that plaque," he said quietly. "It's not really an award."

"You were appointed the Player to watch for last season", noted Ginny. "And you were appointed the Best Revelation Player later."

He grabbed his hair nervously, face flushing. That made Ginny smile, quite unexpectedly; for all his talent and success in the Quidditch field, Harry was still that humble boy she'd first met years ago.

"It doesn't mean anything," insisted Harry loyally; he gestured to a waiter to get them another drink. "For all we know, he is the Player to watch for because he is more likely to break the records of fouls in his first season or fall more from his broomstick—"

She spluttered on her drink, laughing at the way Harry sounded. He was very laid back most of the time, but sometimes there was a touch of malice in him that amused her very much.

"And if it helps," Harry added, sipping his drink now, "Harper cannot keep his gaze off you ever since I joined you on the table."

"That is not helpful at all," Ginny noted. For someone who once called her a blood traitor on a daily basis, Harper paid too much attention to her sometimes.

"It would if I asked you for a dance." Harry glanced meaningfully at the floor dance, where some couples were dancing to the band's live music.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Harry Potter," she sang. "Are you suggesting I dance with you just to piss him off?"

His lips trembled; for a moment Ginny thought he was going to say something else, but Harry just shrugged.

"It was this or helping you hit him with a bludger—the last one might get me in trouble."

"Oh, you are in trouble either way." Ginny raised, offering him her hand. Harry looked at it rather warily before accepting it; his hand was warm, but not in a strangely uncomfortable way, she couldn't help but notice. "I'm a terrible dancer, in case you've forgotten."

Harry smiled.

"We can embarrass ourselves together," he offered. Ginny doubted it; she had seen him dancing before, and Harry wasn't bad.

But it was a nice gesture anyway and, as Harry had foreseen, Harper was glaring at them now; she avoided his gaze, instead focusing on Harry's green eyes as they paused in the middle of the dance floor, and turned to each other.

"Er—" Harry looked suddenly nervous, letting go of her hand as if he had forgotten how to hold it. "May I?"

He looked helpless. Ginny almost called it out—it was obvious that Harry was just now remembering she was just his best friend's little sister, and he didn't know how to hold his best friend's little sister—but then Harper was moving to the dance floor as well.

"Of course," she said, pulling his hands around her waist, and raising hers to hold his arm. "Now you do your thing."

Harry gulped. "My thing?"

"Dancing? I told you I'm terrible."

That made him chuckle softly, and then Harry started moving. It was slower than the other couples around them, a little out of tune, but Ginny didn't mind; it lessened the chances of her stepping on his foot—though not very well.

"Sorry," she whispered when she caught sight of Harry's wince. He had very courteously not reacted the other two times. "I told you—"

"You are stubborn, not a terrible dancer," he countered. "Just let me lead you for once."

"Ugh. Do you know how old-fashioned you sound?"

Harry shook his head, amused. "You can lead me if you want," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I would just step on you anyway. Fine, just tell me left or right and I'll do it."

"It's not about telling you, it's about—" He bit his lip for a moment. "Let me show you, ok?"

"Okay," she agreed, though she had a feeling she wasn't sure about what she was agreeing on. And then a gasp left her mouth as Harry's hand on her back pulled her closer to him, their bodies pressed together.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a tiny step back that allowed her to breathe, though Ginny doubted there was enough air in the room; her head felt a little bit dizzy.

"No problem," she whispered back, raising her head to look at him; it was probably a mistake, because her gaze fell on his lips—there was a Golden Snitch inside her suddenly, its wings fluttering madly as it tried to escape—and then she was trapped by the green of his eyes. Before she could think this through, Ginny claimed back the proximity, pulling herself closer to him. "What else?"

Harry opened his mouth—her gaze was drawn once again, and what a nice lips those were—, but he seemed at a loss for words; instead, Harry lowered one of her hands to the middle of his arm, and took her other hand, their fingers intertwining.

A pair of bludgers joined the Golden Snitch inside her; she felt breathless.

And then Harry started moving again, his movements more deliberate now, and yet easier to follow—or maybe Ginny wasn't really paying attention, just reacting to each pressure of his hands. His eyes were locked on hers, shining with a strange glint, and she couldn't look away, didn't want to look away. Her heart was beating too fast now, a Quaffle changing hands quickly inside her, and Ginny could only lift her head a bit more; Harry lowered his as well, and Ginny thought about that second after she'd thrown the Quaffle, when she knew with a certainty that defied logic that she would score a goal—

Then there was an uproar around them, and she blinked against the sound and the sudden lights coming from the stage; they turned together to see that The Weird Sisters had joined the party, their songs far more popular and animated, and less… romantic.

She shivered, taking a step back suddenly; Harry's hand released her at once. Ginny couldn't stare at him for a moment, admonishing herself. They were just friends, Harry was her brother's best friend and a coworker; and Ginny—Ginny was over that crush she had harboured for him years ago.

"Potter! Weasley!" And then their teammates joined them on the dancing floor, everyone locking arms together in a group hug; the strange moment that had just happened between her and Harry made Ginny wish there was someone between them, but instead, she found herself being pressed against Harry, his perfume far better than any other scent there as they embraced the rest of the team in a rolling wheel. "Puddlemere!"

She joined the cry until her throat was dry, preferring to deal with her drunk teammates than with whatever had nearly trespassed between Harry and her. Her heart was pounding, loud; her eyes kept drifting to Harry as if he were the centre of her universe.

Someone brought to the middle of their circle a round of shots of firewhiskey. Ginny probably should know better, but Harry accepted a cup without saying anything, and she downed hers in one gulp, earning her teammate's applause. Then another shot; someone wolf whistled. Harry followed her in the drink, and Ginny met his gaze.

His eyes had teared up with the alcohol, his face flushed; she snorted suddenly. "My throat is burning," she admitted, and Harry laughed as well. He took her hand and made her spin to the song. The whole world spun together, but it was funny. "Do it again," she asked, and he did. This time, Ginny nearly fell, but Harry's arms held her—and he didn't let go. She'd thought her throat was burning, but maybe Ginny couldn't define things anymore, because if there was one thing there in flames, it was Harry's eyes. She'd never seen him looking at anyone like that before; bright; burning; irresistible.

It matched the nice smile on his lips; actually, his whole lips were very nice. Full, well-shaped. Kissable.

Very very kissable.

Ginny smiled; I would like to kiss you, she thought giddily, or maybe she said it out loud; all she knew was that she closed her eyes and took a step closer to him.

The problem with the sun, as far as Ginny was concerned, was the light. It seemed to mock her; her room would be immersed in very comfortable darkness if not for that tiny gap in the curtains that allowed for a beam of sunlight to enter the room and shine directly upon her face, waking her up from a dreamless sleep to a world that wanted to remind her of all the alcohol she'd drank the night before—and to punish her with a pounding headache.

She groaned, unhappy, and fumbled around for a pillow she could throw over her face; instead, she met a surface that wasn't cotton at all—in fact, it looked very much like human skin; smooth, well-shaped, warm, and why could she feel Harry's perfume in the room —

She snapped her hand back, shaking; the figure sharing the bed with her turned towards her.

"Gin," mumbled Harry, and for a moment Ginny thought he was awake; but he just mumbled something she couldn't hear now, and his body relaxed once again, fast asleep, his lips curved in a soft smile.

She raised from the bed slowly, stepping on some weird plastic cubes and biting her tongue to keep from crying out. She had not been inside Harry's room ever since they were preteens, but she managed to spot a door in front of the bed and slipped inside the bathroom. There, eyes narrowing against the sudden clarity, she threw water over her face and watched herself in the mirror.

She looked a mess, still with the makeup from last night—on her eyes only, that was it; her lipstick was gone, and her mouth was still swollen. Of course—she'd snogged Harry senselessly in the middle of the dancing floor.

She couldn't remember exactly what had happened; they were dancing, and then they were toasting with their teammates, and then—then there was just Harry; Ginny had a faint recollection of getting near him, placing her arms around his neck, and Harry, rather than being output by this inexplicable and unjustifiable behaviour, had just put his hands around her waist to help her lift up and then… Then they were kissing, not like two people who were just in this for a spur of the moment, but rather two people that were very much drawn together—

"No, no," she whispered feverishly. "I'm over him, I've been over for years now, and Harry—he never fancied me!"

Her reflection didn't answer her, but it didn't need to; with her swollen lips and the purple spot on her neck from the time he'd pressed his lips until she was moaning — on the dance floor! — it was clear that it did not matter her past feelings or his inexistent feelings for her. They had snogged and then—

Bloody hell. She had no recollection of leaving the party with Harry to come to his place, and even less of sleeping with him.

Had they—no. Ginny glanced down, checking mentally; dress, knickers. Everything in place. Her neck was sore from sleeping in someone else's bed—Harry's bed, she'd slept in Harry's bed!—but her body did not show signs of any other activity, not at all.

So it was bad, but not that bad. Maybe Harry wouldn't remember; maybe everyone wouldn't remember. They were all drunk after all—if Ginny could pretend it had never happened, all the better for everyone. Maybe they would all have a laugh later — hey remember when we made out at that party? Haha, yeah, I'd almost forgotten!

She tiptoed her way back, finding her shoes without any problem, then looked around; her purse was at the bedside table next to Harry's side in the bed. She moved quietly, once or twice nearly tumbling upon the unfamiliar floor, but Harry didn't move.

Ginny got her purse and checked it; her wand was inside, all perfect. Now all she needed was to quietly leave the house, hoping she wouldn't find anyone until she was out of the front door, and could disapparate.

She took a deep breath, ready to depart, but then Harry let out another of his dreamy sighs, and her gaze was drawn to him. With his hair even messier from rolling around in bed, the carefree way he slept, and the sight of his bare chest, it hit her how gorgeous he was.

Her treacherous heart pounded inside her chest, and now, rather than feeling terrified of it, there was a strange longing to be back in Harry's arms. She had blank spots in her memory from last night, but she remembered clearly how she'd thought his lips were soft, and she enjoyed their touch very much—and how he'd coached a deep moan from her as his tongue moved against hers, his hand keeping her closer; she remembered how Harry had groaned when she buried her hands into his hair, how he'd whispered her name and how she could feel him hardening, how she'd rubbed her body against his, drawing him to hold her even closer—

She bristled, running her hand through her hair nervously. No, no. They had enough coherence last night to not take that step, and Ginny wouldn't allow herself to wonder what hadn't happened. She had enough on her plate about what had happened already.

The hall was mercifully empty. Ginny didn't know the hours, but she estimated it was very early in the morning. She glanced at the doors at the end of the corridor, fortunately closed, and turned the other way, climbing down the stairs without meeting another soul. She thought she heard some noise coming from the kitchen, but she didn't linger, instead bolting to the front door, and turning on the spot.

She nearly threw up, but at least she got her destination right. The Burrow never seemed comfier as Ginny approached the building—she'd enjoyed staying with the team, but the Burrow was home.

Luck seemed to be on her side. Her mother wasn't around, so Ginny dodged any questions about her previous whereabouts as she entered the house through the backdoor. She helped herself some water, planning her next move; she'd allow herself a couple more hours of sleep, then she'd take a shower, and rejoin her family, enjoying their Sunday morning together. In the afternoon, she'd search Harry and tell him she was very sorry for her behaviour—a talk that would probably be dreary for both—and they would agree to never discuss it again.

A perfect plan, one that couldn't go wrong; if they pretended they had never kissed, then Ginny would just forget it. It was not like the fact she'd snogged Harry would be branded on her mind—very much unlike what was printed on the front page of the magazine laying on the kitchen table with the newspaper of the day.

Because in the cover of the Witch Weekly, there was a small picture of her and Harry locked in an embrace, kissing each other fiercely, with one comment, "The couple to watch for."

Ginny knew that she wasn't a smart woman — smart women knew better than snogging someone they shouldn't and allow themselves to be photographed while at it —, but she knew she had screwed up. Hugely. The short article in the magazine just confirmed it. Making out in public. Couldn't keep their hands off each other. Scandal.

And because she needed a smart woman to deal with his mess, moments later Ginny was banging on the door of that smart woman's flat. "Hermione!" No answer. Another bang. "Hermione!"

The sound of heavy steps answered her this time. She grimaced at the magic eye on the door, waiting until the door opened.

"It's not even eight," Hermione complained as a way of greeting, rubbing her eyes, and tying a robe over her nightgown. "This better be an emergency."

"I snogged Harry last night." Hermione's eyes popped open. "And there's a picture."

She raised the latest edition of the Witch Weekly. Hermione blinked to the cover, pinched herself as if to make sure she wasn't dreaming, then stepped aside.

"Come in—I'll make some coffee."

Ginny entered the flat. When her gaze fell on a pair of jeans over the couch, she asked, "Ron is here?"

"He left early; he is on duty all Sundays this month."

"Thank goodness," Ginny mumbled. She wasn't ready to face any of her brothers yet—maybe they didn't subscribe to the Witch Weekly, but the odds weren't in her favour: someone would mention it to them sooner or later.

Hermione paused for a moment with the coffee powder in one hand and holding the coffee maker in another. "Did you and Harry really—"

Harry's lips had tasted like the firewhiskey they had drunk—spicy and burning and very much addictive.

Her pulse quickened; Ginny pushed that thought to the deepest corner of her mind. "Yeah." She pointed to the magazine. "A picture is a thousand words?"

Hermione glanced at the cover and apparently decided she didn't have time to make coffee the Muggle way, for she pointed her wand, and then the coffee powder swirled in the air with the steam; seconds later, two cups were filled.

"Sugar?"

"Not today." Ginny joined Hermione on the kitchen balcony. "I screwed up, Hermione."

Hermione gave her a sympathetic look as she pushed the cup of coffee to Ginny. "Maybe the timing wasn't the most discreet, but the important thing is that you and Harry acknowledged your feelings—"

"Feelings?" Ginny shook her head, paling at this possibility. "There were no feelings, we were just drunk and we were dancing and we got caught in the moment—but that was it!"

"Oh, I thought—" But whatever she thought, Hermione decided not to share. "So you are not dating?"

"Of course not! It was just one drunk make-out."

"Made public by a gossip magazine," Hermione noted. She glanced at the cover once again. "It doesn't look as if you were just—ah—caught in the moment."

Ginny knew what she meant by that; the second worst thing about that picture was that they looked steamy together, intimate. It was a wizarding picture, so it was moving: undefined, dancing shapes circled them, but the focus was solely on the couple kissing—arms wrapped in a loving embrace, mouths claiming the other with quiet desperation; they could be the only two people left in the world for how they were acting. Under the flashing lights of the dance floor, they made a striking pair, with her vivid red hair and his dark messy one, and their complementary costumes—his midnight blue robes blending with her cobalt blue as if they were one body.

The article had capitalised on this, casually noting that they had been seen leaving the party together; it implied enough of their post-party activities.

She thought about waking up in his bed, Harry's cologne in the room, and thanked whatever god had made them stop, because she would not survive if a magazine had announced to the world that they had sex.

"And that's why I'm screwed," she mopped, drinking the coffee. It was strong and bitter, just what she needed. "It's bad. There's no story good enough here, there's nothing going on between Harry and me—then how long until they start creating some made-up story? Or they interview the player to watch for and Harper implies I'm the Quidditch league skank of the season?"

"He would not!"

"He would." Ginny groaned in anger. "Harper is still sore because I turned him down last year. And you know what anyone will point out soon—" Her nostrils flared; this was her biggest fear at the moment. "They will say that I slept with Harry so I could get a position on the team."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"And did you?" She asked neutrally.

Ginny pulled down her cup, angry. "Of course not!"

"Not about the team!" Hermione rushed to explain. "I know you are talented, everyone knows it!" Ginny doubted it, but she didn't comment. "What I meant was…" Hermione glanced meaningfully at Ginny's clothes; Ginny flushed, knowing what Hermione was seeing: Ginny's traveling cloak was slightly open now to reveal the dress she'd worn the night before—the same blue one on the cover page of the Witch Weekly. "Did you sleep with Harry?"

"No, I mean, technically yes—but not in the way you're thinking!" She added quickly when Hermione's eyes widened. "I went to his house, but that was it, we just shared a bed. Nothing happened. I swear."

"Oh, I believe in you. You don't have that post-sex glow on you."

"Neither would you if a photo of you and Ron snogging was printed on a gossip magazine for your parents to see!"

To Ginny's surprise, Hermione just chuckled. "Ron and I have been dating for a few years now, I doubt we would even make a footnote in a magazine."

"Lucky you."

"Yeah." Hermione had a faraway look now as she glanced at the couch, to that pair of jeans that belonged to Ron. "I'm lucky."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Okay, I get it, you and my brother are sickly sweet, your bickering-friends-to-lovers story is a favourite in the family." Hermione chuckled again. "Hermione—I need your help. I need your brains. You are amazing at solving puzzles—how do I get out of this mess?"

"Ah." Ginny could almost see the gears of Hermione's brain working. "Have you talked to Harry?"

"No." She felt a strange twinge of guilt. "I—hum, I left this morning before he woke up."

"Like Ron," Hermione mumbled to herself.

"Nice of you to compare my brother going to work with my walk of shame, but—"

"No, no, it's a good inspiration, actually. The only way to kill gossip is presenting a story that's in fact so boring that no one bothers talking about it."

"So we should just explain that Harry and I were so drunk that we ignored years of a fraternal relationship?"

Hermione gave her a stern look. "You don't think about Harry as your brother."

"No," Ginny admitted, seeing no point in denying this to Hermione. "I've already got too many brothers."

"And since it's obvious that Harry doesn't see you as his sister—"

"That's not—" But Hermione raised the magazine, very much like Ginny had done before. Those Harry and Ginny making out on the front cover, oblivious to the real Ginny staring at them, seemed to mock her. "Fine. There is nothing fraternal."

"No, but look at this angle—you two were nervous about it. He is your brother's best friend after all. Maybe it started during school—no, people will know you didn't date at Hogwarts. Only mutual attraction then, but you spent one year apart while you were finishing school, and things were uncertain. Then you joined the team; practising together, staying so close during weekdays, both singles—it would be only natural that you two got closer, but neither of you wanted to let it wreck your job or cause the team any trouble. You don't want any press about it, it's your personal life. Then there's a party, emotions are high, one drink too many, and you two slipped, your secret is out to the world."

Ginny's head was spinning; she wasn't sure she could blame the alcohol after so many hours.

"Hermione—what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that two single people making out at a party is gossip; a couple sharing a kiss at a party is boring, unworthy of a note anywhere."

"But Harry and I—"

"You are a couple. You have been hiding for a few months because you two didn't want the press to lose focus on what really matters—your talent, your team—but the cat's out of the bag now and that's it." Hermione beamed, the same way she always did when she solved a problem. Her voice left no room for argument. "You will tell everyone you have been dating in secret; it's sweet but rather tedious, and gossip will soon die."

Author's Note: Oooh, if you've reached this far, I'd love to hear your thoughts! As I'm still writing this fic, it will be very nice to talk about this story!

And, of course, I'm on Tumblr as well!