heat wave

Ginny woke to a stripe of sunlight warming the bare skin on her shoulder and an arm draped over her chest. For a moment, she forgot where she was, because it felt right, to lay here like this - and who was she to mess with perfection?

Then she opened her eyes and saw the pair of glasses resting on her bedside table.

“Shit.” She pushed herself up and grabbed Harry’s shoulder, shook it roughly. “Get up. Get up, we bloody fell asleep.”

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at her lazily. “Wass goin on?”

“Shh - shut up.” She ran her fingers through the tangled mess of her hair. “Forget mum - Ron will slaughter us if he wakes up and you’re not there.”

“Oh.” Harry kicked the sheet down to the end of the bed, “yeah, fuck,” he reached over her and jammed his glasses onto his face.

“Go now,” Ginny hissed.

He smiled at her and kissed her firmly on the lips. “Lovely seeing you too.”

She found his shirt - Ron’s shirt, Jesus Christ - tangled under her pillow and chucked it at his head. “Get out.”

He left. She heard him taking the steps two at a time, could picture him tugging the Chudley Cannons shirt over his head as he pounded up the stairs. The image of him leaning down to kiss her - lovely seeing you too.

She drew her legs into her chest and rested her head on top of her knees. Surely it was wrong to feel this normal the morning after your brother’s funeral.

//

In the garden, half-asleep in the hammock. She pressed her face into the rough fabric and listened to the lazy game of quidditch Ron and Harry were playing by the house.

It was easier to be outside than inside. Inside Mum was running around like a nut, dusting shelves that hadn’t been touched in years, cleaning things the muggle way so it took up more time. Outside it was sunny and she could pretend things were normal, that this was just another summer Harry was staying with them. Except now they were closer - much closer. And wasn’t that nice?

There he was now, his voice carrying across the lawn, teasing - “ah, c’mon Ron. At least give me a challenge.”

“It’s hot out,” Ron moaned, “not to mention I’m starving.”

She poked her head out of the hammock, saw Ron stalking across the garden toward the house, presumably for lunch. Ginny hoped he’d bug Mum for some ridiculous sandwich - give her something productive to do with her hands.

Harry was walking towards her.

“You’re really good at flying,” she called as he approached, “youngest seeker in a century.”

He grinned. “You really think so?”

She shrugged. “Well. Not as good as me, but pretty decent.”

“So good enough, then.” Harry dangled his arms over a low-hanging branch and stared down at her, hair blown out of his face and eyes bright. He chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“How d’you feel?”

“That’s a loaded question,” Ginny said.

He just shrugged.

“Oh, I dunno. Odd.” She twirled a fray of denim at the hem of her shorts. “Don’t think I’m feeling much of anything, honestly.”

“Me neither,” Harry admitted.

He gets it, she thought, remembering last night, behind the broomshed - it feels too bad to be true. 

Ginny shielded her eyes with the back of her hand and looked up at him. “So. Have you got a pounding headache or what?”

“Nah,” Harry smiled easily, and just like that the subject was dropped, “barely had anything to drink.”

“Well, I’d like to rip my entire head off, in case you were wondering.”

Wine tended to have that effect on her. She’d discovered that at school last year - Demelza smuggled an entire vineyard’s worth of muggle wine into the castle after Christmas. The taste of it still reminded her of huddling in the common room at all hours of the night, pressed up against the portrait hole, waiting.

Harry gestured at the hammock. “Can I get in?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re gross - you’re all sweaty.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, “you’ve never minded that before.”

She made a show of stretching out languidly in the hammock.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“That match against Ravenclaw, in the changing rooms after - we’d absolutely steamrolled them…”

It was a good memory.

Ginny waved him off. “That was different.”

“How so?”

“I was sweaty too. It gets cancelled out, when its both people.”

“Oh, right,” he grinned wickedly, “now that you mentioned it, I do remember reading that in Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to -”

“- oh, curse that bloody book -”

“It’s an heirloom,” Harry said, nudging her, “c’mon, budge up.”

She shifted, and he dropped into the hammock next to her. They were lean enough for both of them to fit semi-comfortably. She was struck with the sudden memory of hiding out here with the twins after they’d charmed all of Ron’s underwear bright pink. Giggling and shushing each other, pounding adrenaline at the prospect of being caught.

She wrapped herself around Harry.

“Mum would flip if she saw this,” she muttered into his chest, “I’d almost rather be caught in bed - much less intimate than a hammock.”

“I’d blame it all on you,” said Harry. “Tell her you seduced me.”

Ginny sighed grandly. “Problem is, she’d probably believe you.”

//

Later that afternoon, her bare feet propped up on the coffee table, all of them sitting around reading books like little old ladies. It was almost peaceful.

She nudged Harry. “You won’t believewhat they’re saying about you in Witch Weekly.”

Ron glared at her. “Why’re you reading that crap?”

“Got to get my news somewhere,” she said.

“Is it the spread about my severe psychological disturbances?” asked Harry, “cause if so, I’ve already read that one…”

Ginny grinned wickedly. “Nah, but you’ve got a new nickname -”

Harry groaned. 

“- The Boy Who Saved Us All.” Ginny pronounced.

Ron snorted. “Tough one, mate.”

“You’re his faithful wingman, Ron,” she informed him gravely.

He bristled. “Least I’m a wingman and not a wingboy.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with me, say,” said Harry defensively. “More like they were going for continuity.”

Ginny patted his knee, a blithe act of consolation. “Of course.”

He looked at her. “Well, they’ve got to keep with the theme. The Boy Who…”

“- wanked himself to sleep every night in sixth year -” Ron droned.

“- is what they’d say if the article were about you.”

Ron pushed himself up, apparently interested now, and laid his book spine-up over the arm of the couch. “Did they say anything about Hermione in there?”

Hermione - sat in the armchair across the room, practically dead to the world - looked up from Great Wizarding Development of the 19th Century for the first time in an hour.

“What about me?”

“Ginny’s reading the tabloids,” Harry supplied.

She pressed her mouth into a thin line. “Ah.”

“Hermione…” Ginny scanned the page, “oh, look! You’ve got two nicknames - you’re The Strategist and also The Scornful Traitor!” she announced brightly.

Ron guffawed.

“What?” Hermione snapped, rising to rip the magazine away from her/

Ginny bit back a grin as she watched Hermione scan the page, her face turning a brilliant shade of red as she went. “How did they even get this?” she squawked, flapping the magazine at them when she finished.

“Get what?” said Ron.

She turned to him, looking as if she’d swallowed a spoonful of cough syrup. “They know that we’re… you know…”

“It’s alright Hermione, Jesus. Don’t have to sound so ashamed about it…”

Hermione looked at Harry helplessly. “They’re saying I’ve betrayed you by being with Ron, and also that -” she consulted the article again, “our genes would make much cuter babies than mine and Ron’s.”

Ginny giggled maniacally. Ron grabbed the magazine from Hermione and began to read a section out loud - 

“‘But alas, there may be a silver lining in the midst of Granger’s stinging betrayal - it appears The Chosen One remains up for grabs.’”

“Unlikely,” she said, quickly and without thinking.

She’d never seen someone’s neck turn as fast as Ron’s did in that moment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked at Harry, who had his teeth clamped over his bottom lip, biting back a smile. “You two…”

Harry shrugged. “We’ve worked out our differences.”

Hermione squealed, flapping her hands in excitement. “Oh, I knew it!”

Ginny glanced at Harry sideways, as if to say, oops, sorry. Slipped out. He was grinning.

“Great,” Ron groaned, gesturing at her and Harry like a sink full of dirty dishes that needed to be done, “this again.”