Sunset
Harry climbs one more step before stopping to look up at the sky. "There's a sunset," he says, turning to Ginny who catches her breath. "It matches your hair." The witch smiles and adjusts the scarf around her neck to dispel the embarrassment that colors her face. Four years earlier she would have died hearing him talk like that, while now she manages to pull out some self-control.
The woody smell of Hagrid's hut manages to reach them even at that height, and the memory of the cup of lemon tea offered by the half-giant a few minutes earlier awakens their taste buds. They would gladly go back, except that a few steps down Ron and Lavender are telling each other the story of their lives: their mutual interest, always poorly concealed, exploded when she tripped over a pebble and ended up in his arms. They would gladly go back then, if it weren't for the treasure, still locked in a damned little black leather box. "It's a beautiful sunset." Ginny takes a long breath and approaches the Chosen One. "And it's a shame to have wasted it like this." She casts an amused glance at her brother, who stutters something and turns all red.
"There will be others."
"Will there be others?" She urges, slipping her hands into her pockets and carefully watching the color of the sunset mingle in wonderment with Harry's green eyes. He matches that sky, too.
It's the Chosen One's turn to photocopy Ron's movements: he blushes and scratches his neck as he mentally curses himself for not preparing sooner. Or for talking too much. Or for the silence that is now filling the open air and adding to the pink above them. He tries to calm himself and thinks of Hermione, one of the few girls he can hold a conversation with without dying, who has spent the last two weeks encouraging him. It can't get any worse than that time Cho gave you a two-fer in the midst of two hundred owls, can it?
"We could take a flight over the lake after our next Quidditch practice," he proposes eventually, holding his breath until his skin feels frozen.
The blood only flows again when she laughs and nods, "And as soon as we can, let's go spend the treasure at Honeydukes."
"Deal." Ginny removes her left hand from her pocket and hands it to him.
"Deal."
They let go as the sound of Ron's footsteps begins to approach. "Before you ask, no, we don't have an appointment." He fills them in, quickly passing them and climbing the steps two by two.
"What do you have then?" asks Harry, advancing to join him.
"We have that she want to read my future in a glass ball."
"Romantic," comments Ginny, holding back laughter. It's no use, because Ron turns to look at her crookedly anyway, "In the language of Lavender Brown, that sounds romantic."
He shakes his head, but can't hide the blush that has shown up on his cheeks, "Let's get moving, or George will tear us apart for being two minutes late."
The chosen one laughs, "That's usually Hermione's part."