Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you?

Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you?

Act I

She doesn't get your humour like I do.

The wind is roaring. Slicing through Ginny's braid like a knife, cutting strands of hair free to blow around her face. It's impractical and distracting, but she twists it in her favour, using it to mask the direction she's looking in before she lifts her arm, rears it back and – feints. She lofts the quaffle towards the goal on the far left instead, and it soars straight past Harry, past Ron, and through the target.

"YES!" she screams, both hands punching through the air.

"No!" Ron's defeated cry is music to her ears.

Ginny's laughter is loud and obnoxious, carrying through the breeze so easily Luna must be able to hear her from the other side of the hill.

"That's… that's… you cheated!"

"Oh, come on, Ron, don't be a sore loser on top of everything else now."

"Can I go back inside now?" Hermione's voice yells from behind her. "I think you've proven your point!"

Ginny whirls around in disbelief. "You mean we just won against these two knobheads after they insisted it was impossible and you still hate quidditch?"

"I don't hate quidditch, I hate playing quidditch."

"Whatever," Ginny gives up. "You're dismissed."

Gratefully, Hermione descends to solid earth, broom shaking underneath her hand.

"I'm going inside too," Ron mutters.

"Going to nurse your wounded ego? Oh, I can't wait to tell Fred and George!"

"Wipe that smug look off your face, it only makes you uglier," her brother bites, jabbing his middle finger into the air.

Ginny sticks her tongue out at his retreating back, then spins back to face the fourth player of the afternoon, fully intending to brag and goad him too. Except the words sort of get tangled on their way up and out her throat, and come out in a mangled cough.

Really, she ought to be better than this by now. She knows perfectly well how bloody fit Harry looks after a quidditch match. The windswept hair, the flushed cheeks. The way his chest lifts up and down as he catches his breath.

You're like his sister, she reminds herself. He's like your brother.

"What's the matter?" she regains her composure. "Gargoyle got your tongue?"

"Next time," Harry says nonchalantly, leaning forward with squinted eyes, "We'll do a seeking match, just you and me."

"Are you sure? I don't want your loss to rattle your confidence so much it throws you off your game this year."

"That confident, are we?"

"I think," Ginny says slowly, meeting his eyes across an expanse of air, "that if I had started Hogwarts with you lot, I'd have been named youngest Seeker in a century."

The spark of competition burns his eyes dark green. "Oh, you're on, Weasley."

Excitement and anticipation hum underneath her skin, a feeling so euphoric she thinks she'd be able to fly without magic.

"Why don't we have a go right now? Or are you too worn down from losing to me?"

"Let's go the-"

"OI! Harry! Owl for you, mate!"

Ginny curses her brother a thousand times over, wondering if he could see the way she glares at him from up high.

"Bugger off, Ron, we've got business to take care of!" she shouts.

"It's from you-know-who," Ron sings tantalisingly.

Just like that, she's lost him. "If you're fucking with me," threatens Harry, "you're playing on Hermione's team the rest of the summer."

"Come see for yourself then." Ron waves an envelope in the air.

Harry's halfway down before he remembers he was talking to Ginny. "Maybe tomorrow, Gin, yeah? Good game!"

Ginny doesn't bother answering, knowing his attention is elsewhere now. God damn Cho Chang and her silky black hair and smooth skin and ladylike laugh. And god damn Cedric Diggory for winning the Triwizard Cup and becoming popular enough among women that he decided he didn't want to be in a relationship after all – subsequently sending a heartbroken Cho into Harry's open arms.

Ginny doesn't understand what all the fuss is. Apart from the hair and the skin and the laugh. Otherwise, she seems quite boring. All wrong for Harry, if anyone asked her. Too proper, too disciplined. Harry needs someone who's a bit of fun, who doesn't mind getting their hands dirty or breaking the rules. Someone like… But no one did ask her. No one ever does.

Ginny retrieves the battered quaffle and practises sending it through the hoops at different angles, refusing to go inside and watch Harry blush and gush over his most recent love letter.

By September first Harry's crush has evolved into full-on infatuation. Naturally, this means Sirius spends the entire drive to King's Cross poking fun at him and peppering him with both advice and warnings. Ginny thinks it bothers her more than it does Harry.

On the platform, he refuses to introduce her to Sirius, preferring to walk to the other side of the station to say hello, fingers rubbing persistently at the back of his neck.

"Ah, young love," Ron sighs, leaning an elbow on Hermione's shoulder.

"It is nice, isn't it, having him in a good mood as opposed to all the sulking he did last year."

"Yeah—blimey, he's liked her a whole year? That's mental."

"It's cute!"

"Do you think they'll get married?"

Giving her trademark red a rest, Ginny turns a ghastly shade of green. A low chuckle sounds from behind them. Ginny turns but Sirius isn't looking at her. His focus is on his godson and the soon-to-be girlfriend.

"They're not going to get married," he says as if it's the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Suddenly, Sirius becomes the wisest person Ginny's ever met.

"Why not? They look proper good together, don't they?"

"'Course they do, he's my godson. He'd look good with anyone."

"What's the issue then?"

"For starters, Ron, they're fifteen."

"So? You always said his parents-"

"His parents were made for each other. They are not. Besides, it's not like it matters. This'll be good for him. Nothing wrong with a little practice run to make sure you've got snogging down."

"What are you, some sort of love expert?"

"Yeah." A mischievous glint flickers in Sirius' eyes. "I could tell you right now who was made for you if you like."

Ron's face goes as red as a stop sign. "I'm going to stow away my trunk." Hermione follows him, her cheeks a tinge of pink.

"If I knew it was that easy…" says Ginny in wonder, watching them walk away.

"Never let it be said your Uncle Sirius taught you nothing. Now, go on. Your mum and dad would never forgive me if I let you miss the train."

Ginny is pleased to find Fred and George in the compartment with Ron and Hermione—a rare occurrence. We have planning to get done. Having pranks to pull off properly is no joke, Fred would tell her whenever she asked why.

Except they are jokes, George would pick up. But serious ones. Fred and I take our jokes very seriously.

"Fancy seeing you two here," she says now, throwing herself next to George and stretching her feet out until her toes touch the edge of the opposite bench.

"Thought we'd come to mess with Harry and Cho for a bit," George explains.

"Only they're suspiciously missing."

Holy mother of Merlin, Ginny's sick of hearing about these two. So what if they're together? If he probably waited until seeing her in person to ask her to be his girlfriend? Who bloody cares? All the better if they spend the train ride locked away in a compartment far away from everyone else. In fact, if Harry starts spending all his time with Cho, Ginny would finally be able to get enough distance from him to get over this stupid crush, then she could finally-

The door slides open, and in walks Harry, hand firmly locked in Cho's.

"'Lo," he greets.

You've got to be fucking kidding me. Ginny's feet drop to the floor.

"Well, well, well." The looks on the twins' faces are positively devious. "If it isn't the happy couple."

"Lay off it," Harry tells them as he sits—across from Ginny—but he doesn't deny it.

So he did ask her out officially. Likely from the second he saw her. Almost like he couldn't wait. Ginny's arm tics. She's feeling rather punchy right about now.

"Congratulations," George says politely to Cho. And the daft girl, isn't she supposed to be in Ravenclaw? Hasn't she been attending the same school as Fred and George for the last five years?

She smiles, unsuspectingly, ever so perfectly, back at him. A blush graces her face, the subtlest shade of pink. "Oh, thank you. It's… fairly new."

Ginny gets the urge to hit the back of her head hard against the compartment wall. The twins have won the lottery. Cho's not only taken the bait, she's gotten herself stuck on the hook and pulled straight out of the water. She's theirs for the taking.

From the corner of her eye, she can see Hermione put her forehead in her hands and Ron lean forward excitedly. Harry is very obviously pleading with his eyes. When Fred and George pretend not to notice, he shifts his gaze to Ginny. She shrugs unapologetically. This is sacred. This is ritual. And it's downright embarrassing.

"Is it now?" Fred ponders, tapping his index finger on his chin. "Say, Harry–I thought you said you two have been together for quite some time now."

George snaps his fingers. "That's right! If I recall you said you helped her out after a breakup—if you know what I mean."

"Gave us some pretty intimate details too, don't you remember?"

"For example, you mentioned-"

"George! Where are your manners? Not in front of the lady."

Cho's lips have formed a perfectly round O. Harry's pleading gaze has shifted to murderous. Stupid, stupid boy is definitely not a Ravenclaw. Didn't even think to warn her before getting on the train.

Ginny looks at Ron over George's shoulder. His sparkling eyes mirror hers. Oh, this will be the best performance yet. Better than when Charlie brought Maisie Sawbridge home one Easter and they all pretended to walk on eggshells around him because Charlie likes to throw things after he's had a few.

"Right, right," George doesn't miss a beat. "My apologies. We're just happy for Harry. He's been talking about you all summer."

"Not just talking," Fred coughs into his hand.

"And we're happy for you too!"

"Oh, definitely. Harry's great. Really. You two will make a fine couple."

Cho smiles uncertainly. They've taken her off the hook now. Hold her in the palm of their hands, try to decide if they should throw her back into the water, let her breathe again. Or go in for the kill.

George starts scaling her.

"Allow us to give you some advice. We've known Harry his whole life, so trust me, you'll need it."

"No," Harry interjects. "I think we'll be fine." A futile attempt.

"For starters, Harry's very competitive, so don't even try to butter him up when going against us for quidditch. You definitely won't be his girlfriend during game times. Just another person for him to squash."

"Speaking of quidditch, if you do ever play with him, try not to take it personally when he shouts at you. He has a bit of a temper. Gets angry if things don't go his way. Bit spoiled."

"Yeah. And don't ask him about his scar-"

"Or anything personal really-"

"Harry doesn't like opening up or being vulnerable."

"Stems from the whole losing-your-parents-at-a-young-age thing."

"Definitely don't ask him about that."

"This is also Baby's first relationship, so be patient with him. He hasn't quite mastered the art of… you know."

"George!"

"Sorry, Harry, didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Yeah, mate, we just want to help the lass out."

"Hold on, you're forgetting something."

"Ah, Ron." Fred has never looked prouder. "Of course! You're Harry's best mate. Who better to give Cho some pointers? Go on."

"Mate," Harry looks understandably betrayed.

Ron shrugs. "Sorry, Harry, but I think she has a right to know that you have a tendency to be so daft you can be dangerous to be around." He directs his confession to Cho. "Once, we were chopping grass in the front yard for Mum, and Harry insisted he knew an easier way of doing it–long story short I ended up at St. Mungo's, and Harry was banned from sharp objects for a year."

"We were eight!"

"Like that changed as you got older!" It's Ginny's turn to have some fun. She looks Cho dead in the eye and says, "When Harry was twelve he offered to trim my hair and somehow ended up trimming off the top of his finger. This one, right here," she grabs his hand and shows off the finger. "Took two weeks for it to grow back."

"I'm more careful now!" Harry snatches his hand back.

"Prideful, too, that one." Ron and Ginny have picked up the same pace Fred and George left behind.

"Can never admit when he's wrong."

"That's true," Fred chimes in. "He thinks very highly of himself."

"He's a total uncle's-boy. It was cute when he was younger but now it's sort of worrying."

"He's always getting you into some sort of trouble. All my detentions were because of him!"

"He can't sing," Ginny lists, "He can't dance. He can't lie–though I suppose that's a good thing for you. He can't keep still for a second. Oh, and he's a sore loser."

"I am not a sore loser!"

"You see?"

"All right!" Six heads pivot towards an exasperated Hermione. "You've had your fun, don't you think? Look at her, she seems traumatised."

Four heads swivel the other way.

Cho does look… well, her lips are parted, eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed, and her perfect skin has paled considerably. She looks as though she's come face to face with a dementor, not like she's just been jokingly jerked around by her boyfriend's closest mates. Traumatised. Comically traumatised.

Fred starts laughing first, and then Ginny can't help herself. Soon, the four Weasleys are clutching their stomachs as they repeat their best punchlines, until tears start streaming down their faces. Hermione covers her smile with her book, their silent accomplice. And Harry–Harry looks torn between wanting to join in and wanting to defend his brand new girlfriend.

He allows himself a chuckle. Five minutes later, they leave to go say hi to Cho's friends.

Fred shakes his head after they're gone. "What a muppet," he concludes.

Ginny's not sure which of them he's referring to, but either way, she agrees.

Act II.

Hey, isn't this easy?

"Bloody hell. D'you think she'll be all right?"

"She better be! Why in Merlin's name would you hit it so hard?"

"I'm a beater."

"You knocked out your sister!"

"And that's not as easy as it sounds! I reckon you should be praising me."

"He's not wrong."

"I am going to kill both of you."

"Don't worry about it. Ginny'll have them both dead within ten seconds of waking back up."

"I swear to god if she can't play next week…"

"Oi! Instead of standing around here arguing, why doesn't someone get her to the infirmary?"

"Oh. Right."

"Nevermind. I'll do it."

"That would be great, Harry, that way we don't have to end practice early."

"Yeah, yeah, go on, I've got it."

"Thanks, mate. See you later."

"Harry? Don't mention this to Mum in your next letter, all right?"

"That's what you're worried about?"

An arm slips under her thighs, another around her back, then she's in the air. Someone adjusts her head and her arms for her, so she's properly curled up against a hard chest. That same someone kisses the top of her forehead lightly and whispers, "Sorry, little sis. Don't drop her, Harry!" then she starts moving.

Her head bumps against Harry's chest with his steps, and all of a sudden, more than the searing pain coming from behind her eyebrows, she becomes overwhelmed by his scent.

Ginny has known Harry for most of her life. She has never, never been this close to him. She would probably never be this close again. At fourteen years old, you couldn't blame her, really, for trying to force her eyes open to take it all in.

She manages, but not without paying for it. She's forgotten how bright it is outside today, and the light stabs straight through her eyes. Ginny inhales sharply, the smallest whimper escaping her throat.

"Ginny?" Harry stops moving. "Are you awake?"

Ginny counts to three. Opens her eyes again. Merlin, he's close. Sucks in a breath. Nods.

"I'm taking you to the infirmary. Try to stay awake, we're almost there."

She can only manage another nod. He tries to hoist her up a bit higher.

"Do you think you can try to put your hand around my neck? Might make this easier."

In the considerable amount of time it takes Ginny to stretch her arm from one shoulder to the next, any wonder she had at being so near to him is flushed out with embarrassment.

Of course the only reason he would get this close is the fact that she was knocked unconscious by a bludger. She doesn't feel like a lady, being carried like this. She feels like a girl. A helpless, weak little girl. So weak that she can't hold her head up, so she truly has no choice but to let it fall in the curve of his shoulder and his neck.

She must lose herself again, because the next thing she is conscious of is Madam Pomfrey's voice.

"Miss Weasley? Are you awake, Miss Weasley? Can you open your eyes?"

Bracing herself for the impact of light, Ginny peels her eyelids back. She blinks hard three times before her eyesight regains some focus.

"You're going to be fine," the older woman informs her sternly. "I'll brew up a potion; you'll drink lots of water and get some rest."

"I have a quidditch match next week," Ginny says in one breath, momentarily forgetting the pain.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes roll to the ceiling; her lips fall into a flat line.

"You will be able to play your game," she relays disdainfully. "If you refrain from practising for the rest of the week."

"But-"

"Miss Weasley."

"All right." Ginny grumbles and closes back her eyes. It feels like someone is trying to pound their way out her brain with a mallet.

"Try not to fall asleep before you've had your potion," Madam Pomfrey calls from over her shoulder.

"I'll try," Ginny mutters, sinking deep into her pillow and trying to do the opposite.

But then a low chuckle sounds off from her right.

For the agonising third time, she forces her eyes open. Harry sits on the edge of the bed to her right, long legs dangling off the edge, leaning back on the heels of his palms. It's a heart-wrenching sight.

"Try not to fall asleep, Miss Weasley," he berates her with a smirk on his face.

Ginny blushes painfully. "What are you still doing here?"

"Where else would I be?"

"Quite literally anywhere else."

"Miss Weasley," Madam Pomfrey shuffles back into the room. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

"Er–this morning?"

Madam Pomfrey sighs, "Food first," then disappears back where she came from.

Ginny's eyes glide back to Harry with a reproachful glare. "You couldn't let me wallow in my embarrassment all alone?"

"What in Merlin's name are you embarrassed about?"

"Oh, I don't know, getting hit in the head by a bludger and needing to be carried to the infirmary?"

"You were a bit too unconscious to walk, Ginny."

A particularly sharp sting of pain passes through her. She groans. "I'm going to kill–which one of them was it?"

"Fred." Harry hops off his bed and moves to stand over her. "How bad is it?"

It's truly horrible.

"Could be worse."

He snaps his fingers. "Hold on, I've got an idea. I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

Ginny huffs at him because where would she go? And watches him retreat in the direction Madam Pomfrey had gone.

He's back before long, bearing a towel and a smile. "It doesn't really do anything to heal you, but it makes you feel like there's less pain. Madam Pomfrey said it's not necessary as you'll get your potion soon, but there's no harm so she'll let you have it."

"What is it?"

"Just a towel with a cooling charm. It's not really magic but it may as well be. May I?"

"May you what?"

Harry does it anyway–pushes some of her hair out of her face (Ginny breathes in like she's in pain), sits on the empty space at the edge of her bed (Ginny holds the breath), and places the folded towel over her forehead, his fingers brushing her skin (The breath leaves her without permission).

It's as if the cloth is sucking up some of the pain. "Are you sure this isn't magic?"

Harry grins.

"Thank you," she adds upon seeing his smile, feeling at once grateful and sad. Her heart might have the concussion now.

He looks down, and for one tiny, nearly undetectable second, Ginny thinks he starts to lean down. She prays to every possible god above that he's not about to kiss her forehead, the way Fred did before Harry walked away with her. Like it would be nothing more than a small, brotherly gesture. If he does that Ginny might cry, and that would surely make her headache worse.

But he doesn't. Thank Merlin, he doesn't. He hops off the bed and pulls a chair, sitting more comfortably at her bedside. He places his hands in his lap.

"You don't have to stay. It's just a minor injury, I'm sure I'll be out by evening."

"Your mum would have my head if she knew I left her one and only daughter in the infirmary alone."

"My mum is not finding out about this."

"And Sirius would be disappointed in me."

"Sirius? Disappointed in you? In what world?"

"Fine. If I go back to the common room Hermione's going to harp on me about studying for O.W.L.s."

Ginny decides not to bring up the fact that there was no shortage of places he could go when he left here. Back to the pitch, to the Great Hall for a late lunch, to his girlfriend.

"I will be lousy company," she warns.

"How's that any different from normal?" he shrugs.

Ginny smiles. "Ow! Don't make me laugh, Harry, it hurts."

His returning smile contains no hints of remorse or intention to stop. "My apologies."

For the most part, Ginny doesn't see Harry much as the weeks go by. They have quidditch practice together, and Ginny occasionally sits with him, Ron, and Hermione at mealtimes. Apart from that they share no classes, and he seems to be making little use of the common room lately. Ginny assumes that has to do with a certain dark-haired Ravenclaw Seeker.

Ginny does her best not to think much about that. It becomes easier as she discovers just how popular she's become. She's always been friendly, charming students of any age from any house into friendship (most of them, anyway). But she's started garnering attention of another sort this year.

Ginny has a lot of brothers; it does not take her long to work out that when boys sidle up next to her in class or look at her from down the hall or spark up conversations with a specific glint in their eyes, they're flirting with her. She quite likes the attention, if she's honest.

She hasn't become so bad at it herself. It must be the Gryffindor in her, the way she revels in watching their faces burn as red as hers with shock at her unexpected boldness.

She's in the middle of this with Michael Corner, who she's grown a particular fondness to flirting with, when a loud chanting of Weasley is Our King bursts through the busy hallway. Both Ginny's and Michael's heads turn to catch sight of the small crowd of Slytherins–led by Malfoy–prancing down the walkway.

Ginny's easy smile is gone and her gaze hardens to a glare. The obnoxious students up their antics with the ongoing looks from their peers. The sound grows louder and louder as they near her.

Then Malfoy catches sight of her. If it were anyone else, she would be flattered at how surely his face lit up.

"Well if it isn't the girl weasel!" he exclaims with delight. "Tell me–how did it feel to lose to us so spectacularly?"

"Just awful," Ginny fires back. "Nearly as bad as your mother felt when she realised the sorry excuse she got handed for a son."

"Shut it, you little slag. At least my mum didn't feel the need to keep having more and more children in the hopes at least one child wouldn't be a disappointment."

Pressing a hand to her chest, Ginny coos, "Malfoy, are you calling me the perfect child?" He sneers at her, but no comeback falls from his lips. "What's the matter? Tiny little brain of yours finding it hard to come up with a response on the fly?"

"Watch your tone, weasel. No need to show off for your little boyfriend here. I'm sure he'll be happy anyway to have his way with you later. If he can get past all the others who have, that is."

"Watch it, Malfoy." Suddenly Harry's there, at the other end of the hallway, Cho next to him, as if they'd been coming up behind the rest of the Slytherins. "And move it, will you, you're holding up traffic."

"Don't worry, Potter, you can still have your turn after the Ravenclaw's through with her."

Harry's hand disappears into the pocket of his robes. "I'm warning you, watch it or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?"

And then it becomes clear to Ginny that Draco came here for the express purpose of goading someone into a fight. Having no time or interest to figure out why, she steps away from the wall and calls, "Don't, Harry, it's not worth it."

"Yeah, Potter," agrees Malfoy with a sick grin. "She's really not."

In a flurry of wands being pulled out, students rushing out the way, and spells being hollered, Malfoy eventually ends up falling backwards from a powerful Expelliarmus.

"There they are, Professor, just like I said!"

The scene Professor Snape is led to by Crabbe is one of Harry standing over a wandless Draco, surrounded by more than a dozen shocked onlookers.

"What have we here," he drawls, sneering at Harry with a distaste that makes Ginny's blood boil. "Attacking students in the hall, Potter? That's detention, I think."

"But Malfoy started it!" Ginny's the one who protests his sentence, indignified. "It's not fair, we were all just minding our business before he came in here acting like a complete git!"

"Mind your tone, Miss Weasley. Potter, I'll see you in my office–Saturday at noon!"

"What?" Ginny lashes out again. "You can't, that's when we have quidditch practice!"

Snape tuts triumphantly. "Again with the tone. I think you'll find that I can and most certainly will. As a matter of fact, you can join us. Saturday at noon. Both of you."

So that's how Harry and Ginny end up in Snape's dark and gloomy dungeon on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. He's assigned them lines to copy from the most mundane of books and forbidden them from talking.

That doesn't stop Ginny from making faces at Harry over her quill when Snape isn't looking. Harry returns the gesture until it's a full-blown contest between them, trying to get the other to crack first.

Of course, it's Ginny, sniggering into her sleeve when Harry, bless his heart, tries and fails to do an impression of… well, she's not sure of whom.

"Something funny, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny, snapping back to reality, straightens her back and looks dead ahead, successfully schooling her features to a serious expression but failing to stop the blush from creeping up her cheeks. Pathetic. Caught giggling all moony-eyed at her brother's best friend. Who has a girlfriend! She inwardly admonishes herself.

Meanwhile, Harry looks rather proud of himself for getting her in trouble, the prat.

Snape's eyes switch from one to the other for a dreadfully long time. Something seems to register behind his eyes and he hisses, "Quills down." They both obey. "Follow me."

Exchanging confused glances, they stand and follow Snape to the back room of the dungeon, where all ingredients and reserves are kept. "You will organise in here instead," he commands.

"Why?" Ginny asks, unable to help herself.

"For no reason other than I'm sick of the sight of you two. I want every last ingredient on the shelves re-labelled and re-shelved. In alphabetical order. When you're done you may leave."

"That's odd," notes Ginny as he walks away.

Harry shrugs. "I'm not complaining. At least this way we won't die of boredom."

"You find organising pantries fun, do you?"

"With you, sure."

Ginny turns her back so as to hide the way her blush spreads to her collarbones. Why, why did he have to say such things?

"How are we supposed to do this anyway? Some of this stuff isn't even labelled." He picks up a half-open jar containing a handful of picked flowers.

"Careful, Harry!" she grabs it away from him. "This is hellebore, it might be poisonous."

"Might be?" he asks, watching her set the jar down.

"Yes, if the toxins haven't been magically drawn out already. There's no way to know."

"How d'you know all this?"

Ginny stares at him. "Blimey, do you pay attention in none of your classes?

"I do, when they're interesting. Blech, I know this one. Bubotuber pus. Here, smell it."

"Gross, no!" Ginny swats Harry's hand away.

"Oh, look, wolfsbane," Harry's already on to the next. "Wonder why they need this lying around."

"Perhaps someone here's a werewolf. Perhaps it's Snape."

Harry rejects the idea immediately. "No way. That would be far too predictable."

"You're right," sighs Ginny. "Here. Fairy wings. Are you lining them up?"

Harry nods, absentmindedly taking the container from her without looking up. "Bezoar," she passes back. "Scarab beetle. Lavender. Honeywater. Rose thorns. I'm angry with you, by the way. Knotgrass."

"Angry at me?" Harry accepts the next jar from her. "Why?"

"I didn't need you to jump to my rescue with Malfoy. I had it under control. Newt."

"Malfoy's a right-"

"Flobberworm."

"Yes, that," Harry takes the glass containing a single flobberworm. "Besides, I was trying to stay-"

"Horseradish powder."

"I was trying to stay out of it. But then he started saying all that stuff about you."

"It's not like it's true," Ginny stiffens, her hand freezing over a container of leeches.

"I know it's not true." His voice is as tense as she feels, but she can't see him from her angle and can't bring herself to turn and look.

"Then why bother?"

"It didn't bother you?"

"Not really, coming from him."

"Oh."

Ginny's nails clang the top of the jar.

"Did it bother you?"

"A bit."

"Oh."

Harry scrapes the bottom of a jar against the table.

"Sorry. For butting in."

"That's all right. You were just protecting my honour and all."

"The sort of chivalrous gentleman Sirius raised me to be."

"He would be proud."

"And landing a detention with Snape? He might mail me one of your mum's pies as a reward."

"Hey, I'm entitled to half that pie. You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me."

Harry laughs breezily. "Of course. So long as we hide it from Ron. He's a pie-hogger."

"Well, naturally."

"It's a d-deal."

"Brilliant." Ginny's heart skips a beat. "Leeches."

Act III.

You say you're fine. I know you better than that.

It's Ginny who suggests Muggle Movie Night, Ginny who picks the movie, and ultimately, Ginny who ends up regretting it.

She thought it would be fun to have one last sleepover before going back to school after the holidays. But Fred and George pointed out that they already lived with everyone except Harry, who they technically lived with at school, being that they're all in Gryffindor. So they refused to come, preferring to stay at the Burrow to work on whatever it is they've been whispering about all year.

Hermione's parents were not fond of the idea of sending her away sooner than necessary, especially since Hermione had spent the end of the summer holidays with them. So she isn't here either.

Ron came, of course, always eager to be near his best friend. But Ron notoriously falls asleep halfway through any movie in Sirius' collection, so he can hardly be considered company.

Sirius, who normally loves movie nights, claimed a migraine early in the night and disappeared into his room.

This means it's just her and Harry left watching the movie, which would be fine if it weren't for a few impossible-to-ignore things:

1. The movie is the sort that Ginny normally likes, but tonight all the jokes are falling flat, and even she has to admit it's a dull choice of a movie.

2. Ron is in the centre of the couch, mouth open, snoring loudly. Ginny can't tell if she's more irritated or comforted by his presence, but either way, it makes it very difficult for her to try to hold any sort of conversation about the movie with Harry.

3. Harry clearly is not having a good time. His jaw looks strained, his feet keep tapping the ground as if that will make the movie go faster, he's sitting up far too straight to be relaxed. And he hasn't spoken a word, nor has he slapped Ron with a pillow to tell him he's snoring too loud.

4. Ginny's in a weird sort of limbo because she and Harry haven't hung out alone together in quite some time, and the last few times they had, she was adamantly trying to get over her stupid crush. She was also getting closer and closer to a certain brown-haired Ravenclaw, and on the last day of school Michael finally asked her to make it official. She said yes of course. So now she has a boyfriend and is not altogether sure what remains of her feelings for Harry.

5. All these things make tonight incredibly awkward.

She should have kept her mouth shut and stayed home for a nice, quiet, boring night.

To make matters worse, five minutes later, Harry feigns a yawn and says, "I'm actually really tired, Gin, I think I might call it a night."

Ginny feels marginally triumphant knowing she lasted longer than him. But that goes away quickly when she realises Harry is getting up to go to his room, and Harry never sleeps in his room when she and Ron both stay over. Since they were little, whenever the slumber party took place at Harry and Sirius' house, all the kids would set up camp in the living room for the night. They've never done it any other way.

Confused and slightly panicked, Ginny sighs and picks up the movie controller and presses the button labelled PAUSE. "Is everything all right?" she asks, stopping Harry from walking away.

He sits back down with a startled look on his face. "What do you mean?"

Ginny shrugs and makes a conscious effort to meet his eyes. "You seem a bit tense."

"No, everything's fine," he shrugs back. "Just tired."

She can't refrain herself from rolling her eyes. "It's not even ten."

"Sirius woke me early today."

"And you were going to sleep in your room tonight?"

"Why not?"

His voice takes on an irritated hinge, and Ginny knows he's in a bad mood and is probably best left alone (Ron and Hermione always advise to stay ten feet away when he gets like this), but for some reason it spurs her on. Her mother does always say she has the largest tendency to dive head first into danger–a remarkable feat considering her oldest brothers are curse breakers and dragon tamers.

"Because you always sleep out here for slumber parties."

"Perhaps I've outgrown our slumber parties."

Her eyes flash dangerously. He's cut her where it hurts–how dare he ridicule slumber parties–and two can play at that game. "Is it Cho? What's she done to put you in such a sour mood tonight?"

"It's not Cho," he says through gritted teeth.

"No? Or perhaps it was you who did something to upset her."

"You've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Hit the nail on the head then, have I?"

"No. Not even close."

"Sounds like I have. Couples fight all the time, you know, it's healthy."

"It's not like that! You and Michael may fight all the time but-"

"Me and Michael? Oh no, we don't fight. He's much smarter than that."

"Well, whatever. The point is, that's not it."

"So what is the point?"

"I'm just saying–you can't compare me and Cho to you and Michael. It's-"

"Me? You're the one who brought him up."

Harry sputters over his next words like they're the first he's ever spoken. "That's not–I didn't–You're completely missing–This is–"

"Let me guess," Ginny saves him. "That's not the point?"

"No. It's not."

"So Cho isn't the reason you've been gloomy all night."

"I haven't been gloomy."

"You've been downright mopey. It's quite sad to look at."

"I'm fine!"

"Yeah, obviously."

She's fired up now, daring, hoping for him to take it further. For reasons she can't exactly put a finger on, Ginny would love nothing more than to get in an absolutely raging screaming match with Harry right now.

She thinks he must see it in her, because after a short staring contest he backs off.

He stands up and glares at Ron, as if angry with him for falling asleep and leaving him alone with her. "I'm going to bed."

"Still too old for slumber parties then?"

"Yes," he says with conviction, turning around and walking towards the hall.

"Wanker!" she calls, because she is a fourteen-year-old girl with six brothers, and sometimes the most gratifying insults are the most immature sounding ones.

Harry pauses and the backs of his shoulders tense up. Only for a moment. Then he sighs and surrenders from the fight. "Goodnight, Ginny."

He can't see her, but she sticks her middle finger up at him. She says a quick prayer that the nargles get him tonight. Then she picks up a pillow and whacks Ron in the face.

Harry is slumped on one of the library benches near the window. His lips are pouted, his eyes are droopy, his skin is clammy. Ginny's arms are crossed, and her eyes study him with mild interest.

"You look awful."

"Thanks."

"Oh, you sound it as well."

Harry scrubs his face with his palms. "Did you want something, Ginny?"

One of her eyebrows arches, a round of annoyance flushing through her system. "I don't want anything. The sight of you sitting at a table in the library by yourself was just very disconcerting."

"Ha-ha," he responds dryly, hardly paying her or her joke any attention.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?"

He shrugs, refuses to make eye contact.

"You chased them away, didn't you? With your magnetic charm and perfect manners?"

Harry's hands come up on either side of his head, and his eyes flutter closed. "Don't take this the wrong way, Gin, but could you please leave me alone."

A frown forms on her face, and she leans closer for inspection. Harry snips at her occasionally. They bicker now and then. But he's never rude for no reason. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes."

Her brain finally puts together what the matter is; she rests her hand against his forehead to test her theory.

"Harry. You're sick."

"No. I'm not. I've just got a headache is all."

"You've got a cold. You need to go to Madam-"

"No! I wouldn't need to go to the hospital wing for a cold, Ginny. Besides, I bet Ron I could go a full two months without ending up in there. And," he marginally lifts his head to look at her, make himself clear. "I'm not sick."

"Are you always this much of a baby when you're sick?"

"You're making it worse."

"I am so writing Sirius."

No answer.

"Oh my god. You want me to, don't you? Does he normally fuss around you when you're sick? Blimey, he's just like Mum sometimes."

"Ginny."

"Do you want me to fuss over you?"

"No. I'd like for you to be quiet." His voice sounds like it's been coated in molasses, thick and heavy, and he wears a semi-permanent frown.

"I won't, I'm afraid. Remember when you forced me to go to Madam Pomfrey during Quidditch practice last semester?"

"You had a concussion." Ginny waves the statement away, but Harry insists. "I don't want anything from Madam Pomfrey, Ginny. Okay?"

Ginny sighs. "Fine. You win."

"Thanks," he mumbles, and Ginny knows he must be feeling awful because he doesn't even gloat the victory in her face.

She doesn't bother with a goodbye, knowing Harry would only half-hear and not at all care for it. She has every intention of respecting his wishes. But she is very good at loopholes.

Twenty minutes later, she finds Harry in the same spot, his head slumped on the desk, his mouth slightly open, fast asleep. She shakes her head. He's so bloody stubborn.

"Harry," she shakes his shoulders gently. "Harry, wake up."

His eyebrows crinkle together, and slowly, his eyes open, blinking hard like he has no idea where he is. "You came back?" His question comes out garbled, accompanied by sleep and illness.

"Yes. With this." She grins and holds up the stopped bottle.

Harry's eyes flash with irritation. "Ginny, I told you-"

"I didn't go to Madam Pomfrey, Harry. I went to Dobby."

"Dobby?"

"It was actually much easier than going to Madam Pomfrey would have been. All I had to say was Harry doesn't feel well and he was rushing to brew you this concoction. He said, Harry Potter will be all better when he wakes up, but first he will be like this." Ginny imitates what she saw Dobby do minutes earlier–hold her hands out like a zombie with her eyes closed and sort of droop around. "I'm assuming that means you'll get all groggy, pass out, and wake up good as new."

Harry rubs his eyes again. "You're assuming something Dobby made is completely safe."

"I asked the other house elves; they all confirmed it's safe. And effective."

Coming to terms with the fact that Ginny would not be giving up, Harry relents. "Fine."

Ginny smirks. "I win."

Apparently Harry isn't too sick to roll his eyes. "Tie," he mumbles.

He reaches for the bottle but Ginny pulls her hand back. "Common room first. There's no telling how long it'll take for this thing to kick in and I cannot carry you."

"Fine."

"Obedience. I like it." Ginny crams all his papers and books into his bag and tosses it over her shoulder. "Ugh. O.W.L.s. Not fun."

"I can take it." He offers her his hand.

"Oh please. You couldn't carry a snitch in your state."

"Bloody hell." He winces at the light as they step out the library, and Ginny swears she sees him pale more.

"How long have you been feeling like this?"

He shrugs in place of an answer. Ginny gives up on conversation, trying to ever-so-slightly increase their speed so they'd get there faster, but Harry is lagging.

"Harry." Her tone drops to a gentle encouraging one, her hand finds his elbow and tugs him along. "Come on, the sooner we get there the sooner you'll feel better."

"I know. Sorry. I'll just-"

"Harry?"

Ginny freezes. Harry freezes.

His fever must suddenly spike astronomically because his skin becomes too hot for Ginny to touch. Scalded fingers fall back to her side.

"What's going on?" Cho asks. "Are you okay?"

"He's sick." Ginny doesn't know what possesses her to answer for him. He sounds too terrible, she tells herself. He can hardly form full thoughts, much less sentences. "I just convinced him to take some of this draught the house elves made and go to the common room for some rest."

"Oh." Cho is all eyes for Harry, her lower lip pulled in with concern. "I guess that means our study date is cancelled?"

"Postponed," says Harry quickly. "I'll come find you as soon as I wake up."

The real reason he'd been in the library alone awakens something long dormant in her stomach.

"Okay. I'll see you later then?"

"See you later."

And that's the end of it.

"That's it?" Ginny asks in disbelief, watching the girl walk away.

"What do you mean?" Harry continues on.

"Just seemed a bit frosty is all. No asking you how you felt, no apologies, no goodbye kiss–were you going to let her think you stood her up if she hadn't run into us?"

"I'm sick," Harry defends, sounding as heated as he feels.

"Oh, now you admit it."

He ignores her comment and decides to stay quiet the rest of the way. Ginny follows suit. She would not feed the thing she'd worked for so long to kill.

It takes them twice as long to reach the common room. Never happier to see it, her body relaxes the instant she walks through the portrait hole. Harry must feel the same. He makes a beeline for the couch and collapses. The common room is otherwise empty, though that's not entirely surprising.

Today is a rare sunny day in a dark, cold winter, and nearly the entire school were dispersed all around the grounds like pieces of confetti. She herself would have been included if it wasn't for Harry. Harry, who lets out a low groan and buries his face into the sofa cushion.

"I can't tell if you have the worst cold in the world or if you really are just that dramatic."

"The worst cold that's ever been had."

"Probably shouldn't keep this from you any longer then. Sit up." She kneels next to him and waits for him to listen before passing him the bottle. The back of her hand presses his forehead while he drinks. He seems to relax under her touch.

Harry's lips release the bottle with a pop Ginny tries not to take notice of. "You look like your mum when you–woah."

"Already?" Ginny gapes, watching Harry fall back against the chair completely out of control of his body. "How do you feel?"

If Harry was woozy before, he is absolutely plastered now. She stays completely stunned as a long finger wraps around several locks of her hair and drags it (and subsequently her) closer. "Ginny?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, it is you."

She rolls her eyes in exasperated affection. "Yes, it's me, Harry. Go to sleep."

"Righnow?"

"Yes. You're tired."

"You… tired?" Ginny could just barely make out his words.

"Me? No, I'm fine."

"You can…" The rest of what he planned to say gets lost on his lips.

"Okay." She giggles. "I reckon I could ask you anything right now and you'd answer."

He answers something that Ginny takes is supposed to mean probably.

The possibilities are endless. She could ask about Cho. Strategically make a comment about her and Michael to gauge his response. Confess some old truths to him.

"Do you think I'm a better Quidditch player than you?" is what she goes with.

"Defntly."

"Ah." Ginny sits back on her heels, uncoiling some of her hair from his finger. "At last, victory. It is sweet."

"Ginny."

"Go to sleep, Harry."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"Crimas. I love… slum part…"

"Merlin, I can't take you seriously when you sound like this."

"Ginny."

Another sigh. "Yes, Harry."

"Thanks. For… medzin."

"You're welcome."

"Gin…"

Maybe it's because she's almost positive he won't remember any of this tomorrow. Or maybe it's because she's certain, now more than ever, that even if she could never completely kill that monster in her, she has definitely learned how to tame it. How to become its master.

Or maybe it's the sound of her name, a soft whisper from his lips.

Something drives Ginny to exhale softly and lose her fingers in his hair. Gentle caresses with both her hands, like she used to daydream of doing.

He tries to fight sleep, but his eyes close more and more slowly with every blink. She takes off his glasses, places them on the end table. When he finally does fall asleep, it's with her name on his lips and her hands in his hair.

Act IV

I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry.

Easter becomes an occasion for meeting significant others. It was only Harry at first, who finally stopped prolonging the inevitable and asked Cho to come visit to meet Sirius. But then Sirius insisted on meeting Michael too, to which Mum was only too happy to agree, and the next Ginny knew, Fred and George were bringing Angelina and Alicia. Ron and Hermione would also be there—not as a couple, because of course not. Percy, whose one true love has become his new job at the Ministry, would not be attending. Nor would Bill or Charlie–Charlie due to his being in Romania, Bill because he says his relationship is too new to withstand meeting the family. Ginny can't hold that against him.

For once, she's actually glad for all the cooking and cleaning and running back and forth Mum orders her to do. It provides a more-than-welcome distraction from any nerves that she might feel. Not that she's terribly worried about what her family would think about Michael. Fred, George, and Ron have already gone through their rounds of embarrassing her and semi-threatening Michael. And she knew her mum and dad would like him, or pretend to if they didn't.

But for some reason, she can't stop wondering what Sirius would think. She remembers how quickly he formed an opinion on Harry and Cho. Would he see right through her? She hopes if he does he keeps it to himself.

"Ginny, have you set the table?" Mum yells from the kitchen window.

"Yes, Mum!" she hollers over her shoulder.

The table is done quite prettily, thanks to her and Mum. Lights hang overhead; a pale pink table cloth dances swiftly in the soft wind. Flowers adorn the table. The sun has not yet begun to set, but it will soon, and the cool feeling of evening being ushered in calms her.

"Ginny! Get dressed!"

Taking one deep breath, Ginny turns her back to the garden and strolls back inside for a quick shower. She washes her hair, because why not, and even puts a bit of her mum's rose tint on her cheeks and over her lips. Then she grabs the tube of this thing Hermione gave her last summer–mascara it's called. They make her eyelashes longer, and Ginny quite likes the way they make her eyes appear bigger.

And Ginny puts on a dress. It's second-hand and light blue and makes Ginny feel like a proper girl. She second guesses it for a moment, knowing her brothers would mock and tease her for it. But after she takes it off nothing seems to look as nice on her.

It's Easter, she tells herself. A special occasion. And there's nothing wrong if she wants to dress up once in a while.

Satisfied, Ginny heads back downstairs, adding a little extra bounce in her step, liking the way her skirts swish around her legs.

"No way Michael Corner is worth all that," are the first words she hears.

Ginny turns to George and beams. "I think that was a compliment."

"You look lovely, dear." Her father pops up from behind and kisses her forehead.

"Thank you." Ginny's grin widens. "Have Sirius and Harry gotten here yet?"

Her nerves seem to have disappeared completely, replaced by confidence and excitement.

"No, but they should be soon," Ron answers, eyeing her dress.

"Blimey." Fred walks in next. "Is this our sister?"

Feeling absurdly giddy, Ginny mocks a curtsy his way. Fred and George exchange a glance. "Might have to have a second go with this Michael Corner."

"None of your games tonight," orders her mother. "Especially not with Harry's girlfriend."

"Don't worry, Mum, we took care of that ages ago."

"Ginny," Mum ignores Fred completely. "Run upstairs and fetch some candles for the table before the guests arrive."

Ginny's in too good of a mood to argue. She takes her time, not wanting to risk messing up her hair or breaking a sweat. On the third landing on her way back down, she hears Sirius' voice. Speed-walking, Ginny makes it down the remaining flights of stairs quickly and without putting a hair out of place.

"Sirius!" she exclaims, hosting a bright smile and wide eyes.

Sirius sees her and pretends he's been shot to the heart. "The princess. She grows too fast. But you look more and more like one each day." He kisses her head just like her father did, and warmth spreads through Ginny. When anyone in her family calls her princess, it's an insult and mockery. When Sirius does it, it feels like the time he took her shopping for a brand new outfit, for no reason other than he'd had the extra money and you deserve it for putting up with all those boys; then he'd taken her for ice cream and asked her if it would be okay if he shared her with her parents. Seeing as he was the single coolest person Ginny had ever known, she'd been more than happy to oblige.

She hugged him around his waist just as happily now. She didn't get to see him when she arrived at King's Cross for the break, so she spends the next couple minutes answering his questions about school and quidditch and if she's gotten into any trouble.

At some point she hops up on the dining table, allowing her legs to dangle freely, her back to the door making it impossible for her to see when Michael walks in, flanked by George, who announces, "Ginny, your boyfriend's here!"

Ginny's head whips around fast. Merlin, she forgot she was supposed to meet him by the grate at six.

"Oh," she smiles easily. "Hi. Sorry, I got distracted. Come meet Sirius." She beckons him over with her head.

Michael walks over, places one hand on her bare thigh and stretches one out to Sirius, introducing himself politely enough. Sirius, whose eyebrows shot up at Michael's forwardness, is polite as ever, but Ginny knows thoughts and opinions must be flying around his head.

Then Michael turns his attention to her and says, completely tactlessly, "You look so s-"

"I'll leave you kids alone," Sirius announces, stepping back and putting good distance between himself and this conversation. He backs out into the garden to join her mum and dad, but not before giving her this look that Ginny forces herself to ignore.

"Really, Michael," she sighs in defeat. "In front of my uncle?"

"Sirius Black is your uncle?"

Another sigh. Sometimes she forgets how little she and Michael actually know each other. "As good as."

"My apologies. But you do look-"

"So do you," Ginny flirts, kicking him softly.

The thing with Michael is that it's easy and requires little to no effort. She learned shortly after Christmas that she was not quite so invested in the relationship as she thought she would be. But that's just fine because Michael doesn't seem inclined to put too much effort into it either. Mostly they hang out, flirt, snog when they get the chance. They never do such things like talk about feelings or celebrate stupid anniversaries.

She recalls Sirius' words at the beginning of the school year. Nothing wrong with a little practice run to make sure you've got snogging down.

She supposes that's what this is, and she's fine with it. So long as no one here finds out. They would all give her crap over it, she's sure. Plus, it makes her feel more grown up, being in this relationship. And less alone. Less sad and pining over someone who would never like her back.

She may not love Michael, but through him she's been able to unshackle herself from the pains of an unrequited crush, and for that, she would forever be grateful. So when he leans in to kiss her atop her dining table in the middle of the kitchen, she decides not to stop him. She's only a little surprised when a Screaming Yo-yo comes flying past her head.

"I'm never going to be able to eat again!" groans Ron loudly, staring at them in disgust.

"Good," Ginny says, smoothing down her hair. "That should save us enough money to afford another visit to Charlie."

She turns around and faces Ron, Harry, and Hermione, sporting the most nonchalant face she could muster.

"Hi, Harry, Hermione. No Cho yet?"

Harry, frustratingly, doesn't even look at her. (Not that she wants him to, but everyone else commented on how pretty she looked; he could at least notice.) But his eyes are trained on Michael instead. "No. She gets here in a bit."

"And you, Hermione? No date tonight?" Hermione glares at her. "Oh, right, I forgot you said he couldn't make it. Well at least you've got Ron to keep you company!"

She feels slightly bad when Ron whips his head towards Hermione, as if trying to read from her face who she had invited. "Whoops," Ginny mouths to Harry, who tucks his head down to hide his smile.

"Right. Well. Let's go outside, shall we?" she addresses Michael, jumping off the table.

"Are you sure we don't have a bit of time before dinner starts?" her boyfriend asks, ogling the hem of her dress.

"Merlin's beard, can you keep your hands off my sister tonight?"

"Like you don't enjoy snogging," Michael scoffs.

"All right, that's enough of that." It's one thing when Ginny embarrasses her brother. It's another when the boyfriend she doesn't even care about does it.

Without wasting any more time she leads him outside to meet her parents. As expected they tell him how dapper he looks and that he seems like a nice boy and that Ginny is a handful so he should be careful.

By the time it's over, Harry shows up with Cho and another round of preening begins.

Ginny turns away from the sight and goes to speak with Alicia, who just arrived. She refuses to let herself get wrapped up in Harry Potter again, and that means staying the bloody hell away from his relationship.

She lasts almost the entire night.

The night passes and Michael only marginally annoys Ginny. She considers that a success as she flounces out her seat to head inside for the loo, still in a rather good mood. She hardly takes notice of Cho chatting with Angelina and her mum, the seat beside her empty. Nor does she notice the only other empty seat at the table, hastily pushed back and left standing haphazardly on the grass.

It isn't until she hears voices, hushed but steadily rising, that she pauses and starts paying attention to things.

"It's written all over your face!" Harry's distressed, unmissable voice says.

"Harry, you're being ridiculous," comes Sirius' tired one.

"I'm not! I know you, I can tell!"

They're arguing, It hits Ginny like a slap in the face, hard and quick. Harry and Sirius so rarely argue.

And you shouldn't be listening, her conscience berates. Move, Ginny, move.

But curiosity drowns out the sound of her inner voice with ease.

"Harry. What would you like me to do? Or say? Hm?"

Harry sounds more than a little agitated when he responds. "I wanted you to like her!"

"I do like her, Harry, she's a nice girl."

"Nice. That's bollocks! I can tell when you're just telling me something you think I want to hear."

Sirius heaves a sigh and mutters something Ginny can't hear. "What's really the matter here, Harry? It seems everything I say is wrong or a lie, so come on, out with it."

"Nothing."

Ginny acknowledges the distinct sound of Harry kicking a chair (she's witnessed it quite a few times in her life).

"All right. You don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Better you picked a fight with me than her, anyhow." Sirius' joke receives no laughter. "Look, whatever it is, you'll figure it out and you'll be fine, all right? Whenever you're in the mood to have a real, grown-up conversation with me, you'll know where to find me. I'm going to go back outside, stall for you a bit. You pull yourself together then come back out with a delightful smile and be a proper date. We'll finish this later."

Ginny barely has time to swing the door open and shut again and pretend to be rounding the corner for the first time before she rams into Sirius.

"Oh! Sorry!" She takes a decent-sized step back in the hopes he can't feel the way her heart pounds underneath her skin.

Sirius grins at her, any trace of his quarrel with Harry completely gone from his demeanour.

"The fault is all mine, Your Highness," he jokes, sidestepping her and continuing for the door.

Ginny sticks her tongue out at him before making her way into the kitchen. Her eyes go to Harry immediately, with no permission whatsoever, and they must be playing tricks on her, because Ginny swears she sees him go from aggravated to downright miserable.

And damn her weak conscience and stupid curiosity. He looks almost like he does post-quidditch match–flushed, hair messy, breaths falling in and out his lips. And whereas before the idea of kissing him had been as intangible as the idea of kissing anyone, now that she knows what it's like to have a proper snog, she thinks she only wants it more.

How would he react, begs Curiosity, if you sauntered up to him right now and just kissed him? How would it feel?

Your boyfriend is outside, Conscience reels her in. His girlfriend is outside.

Ginny is somewhat aware that neither of them have said anything, and if it goes on much longer she won't be able to save the situation from complete awkwardness.

"Hi."

It's the best she can do.

"Hi."

Enough of this. Her nerves sizzle inside her, but she forces herself to ignore them. "I have a proposition for you."

His eyebrows raise. Curiosity wins him over too. "A proposition?"

"Yes. It's called: We both sneak a swig or two of Mum's reserve of firewhiskey before heading back outside."

Harry's eyes glance from her to the door and back. "How much of that did you hear just now?"

Ginny squints her eyes at him. "How much did you want me to hear?"

"Terrific," he grumbles.

"Don't worry," reassures Ginny, hauling over a stool to reach the top of the cabinets. "I won't pry if you don't want to talk about it."

He doesn't respond, presumably waiting for Ginny to reach the bottle. She has to stretch a bit, even with the help of the stool, but the bottle eventually finds its way into her grasp. Ginny spins around triumphantly, and fast enough to see Harry's eyes hastily shift away from what could have very possibly been her legs.

A swell of pride and confidence bursts through her. She cocks her head to the side. "You haven't said if you like my dress."

Harry's eyes flicker once, briefly, to her face, then away again. "It's, er, nice."

"Nice? That's it? How disappointing."

Harry blushes, and it fuels Ginny with such adrenaline she could have just the Quidditch House Cup. "It is, you look – it looks-"

Ginny realises two things in this moment: one, Harry Potter does not want to flirt with her; two, she is flirting with Harry Potter, which is wrong on so very many levels.

"Relax, Harry, I'm only joking," she relieves them both of her pressuring him into a compliment. "Here, you first."

She passes him the bottom. He only eyes it for a couple seconds before he tilts his head back and pours a bit down his throat. Ginny watches, helpless, as it travels down his throat. She takes the bottle back from him, takes a sip of her own.

"Oh, bloody hell," she squeezes her eyes tight, her face screwed up with the burning sensation.

"Yeah, not the nicest thing I've ever tasted."

"Are you joking? Take a few more, you'll be telling me this was the best thing you've ever had soon enough."

Harry obliges. Back and forth they pass the bottle, taking long swigs then regretting it before doing it again, laughing at each other's faces as they do so. Ginny feels the liquor as it travels down her system, warming her bloodstream.

"This was a shit idea," he admits after a couple rounds of drinking and laughing.

"What were you going to do, not ever introduce them?"

He looks at her surprised. "I meant the drinking."

"Oh. I disagree."

"You would."

Ginny gasps. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You love bad ideas. You specialise in bad ideas."

"Bad ideas love me."

Harry watches her take a rather large gulp, and as if in a trance, the words leave his mouth. "They certainly suit you."

They both freeze. Ginny's blood runs cold. Or maybe hot, she's not sure. Did he just–

And he seems just as shocked as she feels, his features frozen in time. He looks ridiculous, honestly. And lost. And nervous. And weirdly sure of himself. And also a bit regretful.

She has no idea who starts it first, but one of them starts laughing, and the other joins in soon after. Because Harry Potter definitely just checked her out and it should have made her flustered but instead it's just so hilarious. Ginny slinks down the wall and crosses her legs, her dress bunched up around them.

"You are so drunk," she gasps for breath as he joins her.

Harry laughs again. "I know. That would be your fault."

"You're welcome," Ginny giggles some more. The world feels a bit shaky, so she decides to lay flat on her back, hooking her feet at the ankles. "This is so comfortable," she hums after their laughter dies down.

Harry's shoulder knocks against hers a couple moments later.

"Not really," he disagrees.

"Then you're not drunk enough. Here, have some more."

It takes a visceral amount of effort for her to lift the bottle off the ground and hand it to him. Lazily, he cranes up his neck and tries to sip from the bottle like that, sending firewhiskey streaming all down his face. He coughs as Ginny laughs again.

"Charming," she remarks. "Cho's a lucky girl."

Harry groans very loudly. "Oh, bollocks. I forgot we were having a dinner party."

"At least now it'll be interesting," giggles Ginny.

"Sirius is going to kill me."

"Mum is going to kill me."

"Whose idea was this anyway?"

"Yours!"

"No. I wanted her to meet Sirius. Not… everyone at the same time."

"We already knew her, Harry."

"You know what I mean!"

"It was Sirius. He wanted to meet Michael too."

Harry shifts, his shoulder pressing into hers for a second before it relaxes again. "S'pose it worked out better this way. It would have been so awkward if it was just Sirius, Cho, and me."

Ginny frowns. "Why do you think he doesn't like her?"

"It's not that I think he dislikes her. It's just–he–I don't know. I don't know what I was expecting."

"You were expecting him to demand an immediate betrothal."

"Ha-ha."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better he definitely doesn't love Michael either."

Harry's quiet for too long.

"Out with it, Potter, what do you wanna say?"

"Why do you think he doesn't like Michael?"

Ginny knows for a fact that is not what he wanted to say but she answers anyway. Her shoulders shrug down. "Nothing personal. He just thinks he's a twat."

More loud silence.

"What is it!" she exclaims.

"Well… he sort of is, isn't he?"

Michael Corner is most definitely a twat. But Ginny still indignantly counters, "What, and Cho isn't?"

"No!"

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Yeah, according to you maybe."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing."

"You don't like her either!"

Ginny whistles.

"Why the hell not?!"

"She's just a bit boring, isn't she?"

"She's not! She's just fine."

"Fine. I reckon that's exactly what Sirius thinks."

"At least he doesn't sit and wonder how I can deal with someone so annoying and insufferable the way he does about you and Michael."

"No, he just thinks you and Cho have to be the most boring, predictable couple to walk this earth."

"He doesn't think you and Michael suit each other at all. You don't even know each other's middle names. It's hard to watch sometimes, it's like you're not even interested in each other apart from snogging."

"He thinks Cho is just all right, but he can't wait for you to wake up one day and realise you can do so much better than date someone just because she's pretty and you share a grand total of one thing in common: playing the most boring position on the quidditch team."

"Wow. My thoughts exactly. Am I really so predictable?" A voice that is most certainly not Harry's come from behind and above them.

Ginny tilts her chin up and rolls her eyes back.

Uh-oh.

She and Harry dart up, hinging upward from their hips. The world spins frighteningly, and Ginny has to grab onto Harry's shoulder to to keep herself upright. "Woah."

"Hi, Sirius," Harry says, as nonchalant as if they'd run into each other at the supermarket.

Sirius has his arms folded as he walks towards them, his expression somehow both stern and amused.

He squats down to be eye level with them, then plucks the bottle out of Harry's hands. "You're pissed."

Ginny holds up two fingers close together. "Just a little."

"You're lucky it was me who came in here and not your mum, Ginny."

"I know," Ginny smiles, ignoring his disapproving tone. "Because you can just charm us into sobriety, can't you?"

"Yes."

"You're so lucky you have him for a parent," Ginny groans dramatically and leans backwards. She nearly loses her balance and would have slammed her head into the floor if Harry didn't reach out and drag her back up. She stays leaning heavily against him for support, head propped on his shoulder.

"But I won't," says Sirius, wide smile on his face.

"What?"

"You both are going to get up right now, go back outside, try to act normal, and make complete fools of yourselves. And then tomorrow morning, your last glorious day to sleep in, I'm going to wake you up, bright and early, and you're going to come with me to run some errands. There are quite a few things I've been putting off that need to get done."

He turns his head down to look at her. "Who's lucky now? At least your mum would just yell."

"Something tells me you're going to get a bit of that too. Now come on. Up you go." He ushers them up and towards the door, but before they walk out, he sings, tantalisingly under his breath, "Back to your mediocre partners."

The day Harry and Cho break up, Ginny is the last to know.

It's May, bright and colourful out, and she slips into the Gryffindor locker room with purpose. The pitch hasn't been reserved for any House specifically, and a handful of students are up in the air tossing around an old quaffle. Ginny fancies the idea of going out there and messing about with a couple of them. She's played more quidditch this year than she ever has before, which is great, but most of the time she's running drills or competing. It's been a while since she's been up in the air just for fun.

So that's what she does–throws on her gear, grabs her broom, and zooms out onto the pitch, goading some second and third year Hufflepuffs into a scoring competition. But just as she's about to stop the Quaffle from flying through a goalpost, a golden blur zips by right in front of her face.

Her focus lost, her fingers skim the Quaffle and it skitters through the goal. "We got one!" the Hufflepuffs yell. "Did you see that? We got one on you, Ginny!" But Ginny's eyes follow the direction of the Snitch until–there he is, his form and swiftness impossible to miss, dipping down, gaining momentum as he dives.

"Yeah, yeah, you lot win," Ginny says. "I'll see you later."

She heads in Harry's direction, keeping an eye out for the Snitch, but paying more attention to the school's best Seeker. He pulls up, suddenly, going after the gold streak headed straight for the bleachers to her left. Grinning against the wind, Ginny races towards the same spot and waits.

It's as if the Snitch knows she's not the one after it. It comes to a stop right next to her, bobbing through the air in rhythm with her.

Harry looks triumphant at first, then confused, then alarmed, coming to a quick stop several feet away.

"What are you doing over here?" he asks through a heavy breath.

"Saying hello," she smirks. "Also proving once and for all that I am a be-wh-oh, bloody hell!"

Ginny had attempted to casually reach out and grab the snitch, and then toss it in the air as coolly as possible, declaring herself the better Seeker. It would have worked perfectly had the Snitch not read her mind and flown away right between her fingers, sending her tumbling off-balance a couple feet through the air.

"Stupid bloody thing," she curses as she rights herself, trying to retain as much dignity as she can while Harry laughs and laughs.

"Not as easy as it looks, is it?" he says from above her.

"Shut up or I'll hex you."

"Don't be a sore loser."

"I haven't lost anything! The Snitch is still yet to be caught."

"Still think you could beat me in a Seeking competition then?"

"Only one way to find out."

"You're on, Weasley."

In the end, Harry catches the Snitch. But the evening is too much fun for Ginny to care much. She's not sure how long exactly they spend chasing after the Snitch, but it must be a while considering the time they wasted trying to sabotage each other or calling temporary truces to talk about whatever it is that crossed their minds.

"Truce, Harry, look!" she shouts at one point, coming to a quick halt.

"What is it?" Harry stops beside her a few moments later.

"The sunset. It's beautiful."

"Oh. Yeah, I s'pose."

Ginny slants her eyes at him. "Have you never stopped to admire a pretty sunset?"

"It's not on my top list of things to do exactly."

"Such a boy," Ginny scoffs. "Never taking the time to appreciate what's right in front of you."

"I'm appreciating!"

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"We're lucky, you know."

"Are we?"

"No muggle is ever going to have this view. Not like this."

Harry's silent for a while. "You're right."

When Ginny looks over at him, his gait has softened and his eyes round a little more than usual.

"Now you're appreciating it. Come on. We've got a Snitch to catch, and that job's going to get a whole lot harder once the sun goes down completely."

Later, after they've put their brooms away, they find Ron and Hermione waiting for them.

"It's about bloody time," Ron exclaims in exasperation, shoving Harry playfully, and the pair of them stumble ahead, laughing at and pushing each other around.

Hermione smiles softly watching them. "Thanks, Ginny," she says as they walk. "I'm sure that was a big help. He seems much better than I could have hoped for."

Ginny frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Harry. He's been in a foul mood since the breakup earlier. Ron and I have been trying to cheer him up all day, but that only seemed to make things worse. We almost got into a stupid argument over it, but he decided to go 'blow off steam' out on the pitch. I tried to tell him being alone with his thoughts hundreds of feet into the air was not the best idea but he refused to listen. As usual. Anyway, I'm glad you convinced him otherwise. Looks like he had a lot of fun."

Act V

Think I know where you belong. (Think I know it's with me.)

"Hi, Ginny."

Ginny looks up, surprised. "Hi, Dean," she replies; her voice gives away the suspicion she feels.

Dean clearly finds it amusing, his shoulders bouncing softly while he laughs. "I come in peace. No need to sound so frightened."

He leans against the pillar next to her. His head tilts down and his eyes meet hers and Ginny curses herself when her heart skips a beat. What is she nervous for? Despite the stutter, she makes sure her voice is clear and confident when she says, "I'm not frightened. Merely curious as to why you're talking to me."

"Can't I say hello?"

"Is that what this is? Hello?"

"Well there's another thing."

"I'm listening."

"I've heard, through the grapevine, that you and Michael Corner have broken up."

Ginny's eyebrow quirks. "Have you?"

"Are the rumours true?"

"I'm happy to confirm they are."

"Wonderful. I mean, my apologies."

"No apologies necessary." Ginny stops battling a grin from spreading. "It was long overdue."

Dean smiles too. "That's great to hear. I'll see you around, Ginny."

"You're leaving?" Ginny hates the way she sounds the moment the words leave her mouth, but there was no way to take them back now.

"We've got Flitwick's end-of-year exam right now. But can I find you later? We can finish our chat over some Every Flavoured Beans I nicked from Neville."

Perplexed and very intrigued, Ginny can only nod her agreement. "All right."

His smile widens. "Brilliant." He begins walking backwards, his volume increasing with the distance between them. "This means I'm about to ace my exam!"

"Why's that?" Ginny calls.

He holds his arms out. "Must be my lucky day."

Then he turns on his heel and walks away. Ginny watches, her heart rattling her ribcage.

"What in Merlin's name," she mutters under her breath, returning her focus to the book on her lap and trying to dismiss the interaction. But the blush wouldn't leave her cheeks, and try as she might, her smile would not dampen.

"What about her?" Ron asks.

"Nah. Not my type."

"Mate. What the bloody hell is your type?"

"Er… you know. Like Cho."

"You know you're mental don't you?"

"How's that mental?"

"You're Harry Bloody Potter! You could get with nearly anybody in this school. But you won't because they're not all boring crybabies?"

"Jesus, Ron," Hermione berates.

"Yeah, Jesus, Ron," Harry agrees.

"You're both disgusting," clarifies Hermione. "You are a pig," she directs to Ron. Then to Harry, "And you are far too judgemental and picky. It's shallow."

"Hey!" They both sputter.

"She's right," Ginny sings absentmindedly. She sits up from her position flat on the ground.

"What would you know?" grumbles Ron.

"More than you," she counters. Harry laughs, which sets her off for some reason, so she goes after him too. "And you–are you ever going to get over Cho, or are the rest of us going to have to sit and listen to you moon after her for the rest of your life."

"I am over her!" Harry insists. "I just… I know what I want, all right? And it's not some random Ravenclaw fourth-year."

"No? So what is it you want then?"

"Someone…fun," Harry says lamely. "And pretty, obviously. And who talks about things I actually want to listen to, and not just the newest edition of Witch Weekly. And who'd get along with… you know, everybody. Someone who preferably likes quidditch and wouldn't mind breaking the rules every now and then. And who won't get cross with me for a reason she won't tell me, then start crying when I don't say the exact right thing. And…" Harry trails off, seeming to come to and realise he was going on too long. He clears his throat. "Yeah, just someone fun."

Hermione gets a look on her face, like she's one piece away from solving a mind-boggling puzzle.

Ron scoffs. "Good luck finding all that in one woman."

Ginny dawns upon three things.

The first, that she was having this conversation and her most prominent feeling towards Harry was annoyance.

The second, she really, really fancies Dean Thomas and the chats they've been having.

The third—Harry Potter is an idiot.

Epilogue

"Well? How was school, children?"

"Fine."

"Dreadful."

"Fantastic."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny rattle off their answers as they pile into Sirius' car.

"Interesting," Sirius hums. "I'm going to have to dive deeper into each of those answers."

"How come you're picking us up?" Ron asks, rather rudely. "No way Mum just let you have school drop-off and pick-up duties."

"Oh, she's not too happy about it, believe me. But after Fred and George got expelled, she's refused to take her eyes off them. Quite literally. Lest they're in the toilets, they are in her sight."

"Bloody hell," Ron mutters.

"That's not even the worst of it," Sirius begins laughing. "She's even used one of their own contraptions to keep an eye on them while they're sleeping that will alert her the moment they wake up. It's diabolical. She really is their mother, isn't she?"

"Poor Fred and George," Ginny notes.

Ron shrugs. "Least that means she won't be getting on me for every bloody thing I do."

"Oi," Sirius warns.

"Sorry."

"Why was school so dreadful?"

"It's just bare boring," Ron exaggerates. "Nothing to do, wearing the same thing everyday, seeing the same people everyday, getting told when to sleep, when to wake up."

"No girlfriend then, I take it?"

"Nope. That makes it four single people in the car. Sad, innit?

"Three!" Ginny protests at the same time Harry complains, "Ron!"

Sirius' eyes light up. He presses his lips together before speaking. "Harry? Anything you need to tell me?"

"Cho and I broke up."

"...How come?"

"It was just over, we both agreed." Ron coughs into his shoulder. "It's not a big deal."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure!"

"Good. You're right, it's not. She wasn't right for you. Never made you laugh."

"Gee, thanks."

"And you," Sirius, who already knew Ginny and Michael broke up, and who had sent her congratulations in the form of a card and fruit tart, turns to Ginny. "Only three single people in the car? Are you seeing someone new?"

"Yes," Ginny says simply.

"Well? Who is it?"

Ginny folds her arms and lifts her chin. "No one in here's business."

Sirius glances at her quickly, his expression half-puzzled, half-amused. He answers with a small smile on his face. "All right then. Good for you."