Tangled, Part 2
Author: mrspadf00t1
Title: Tangled
Challenge: Three Column Prompt Challenge
Date: Midsummer
Location: 12, Grimmauld Place
Object: A lock of Ginny’s hair
Summary: It had been the holiday; the magic in the air and the sweet, mesmerizing scent of the herbs being gathered and harvested for Midsummer’s Day. He - Harry Potter - had acted like a common, randy teenager, gawking at one of his best friend’s as though she had been an ethereal trophy to be won and boasted about.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fangst/The beginning is ‘slit your wrist’ angst…the end pure, unadulterated Fluff. Sorry. Couldn’t help myself…what can I say? I loff the drama.
Word Count: um…yeah…very long.
A/N: I promise this ends far better than it began. I know this is very long, but I hope you will enjoy it none the less. Also, you all will probably get a toothache while reading the ending. I am so not happy with it, but it had to end.
February, 2000, Grimmauld Place
Ten months.
Ginny had been gone for nearly ten months. Harry had felt, at first, after she’d left, a bit of satisfaction and accomplishment that he’d pushed her away; setting her free of his constant doubt and his irrational depression. Then, slowly, he’d begun to mark every event in his life by when Ginny had left. His birthday had been, ‘three months since Ginny left’ rather than July 31st. Arthur’s final therapy session - the one that had completed his journey back from incapacitation to relative normalcy - was ‘six months since Ginny left,’ rather than October 12th. Lupin’s accident had occurred ‘seven months, two weeks and four days after Ginny left,’ not November 16th.
She’d set the tone of his life with a simple movement; with one night of silent departure. He’d known she hadn’t left England; she’d never venture too far from her family. That’s why Harry had considered Lupin’s need of him to be somewhat of a hidden blessing. He’d known that Ginny would never return to the Burrow as long as he’d lived there; it had been the source of many guilt ridden family gatherings with only Harry laying the fault at his own feet. So when Lupin had been attacked in a brutal bout of cruelty at the hands of some twisted Pure Blood maniac with Mein Kampfish hatred toward half breeds and the like, Harry had taken it upon himself to play caregiver to his former professor. Lupin had, initially, refused Harry’s care, telling him that so free of responsibility and worthy of a carefree life shouldn’t be bothered with an ‘old arse like myself.’
What Lupin hadn’t realized is that Harry had been desperate to feel needed. Molly had spent so much time catering to him, assuring that he had been cared for, that the young wizard’s sense of purpose had been temporarily nonexistent. Watching over Lupin, assuring that he had been well fed, that his wounds had been dressed and tended to, allowed Harry moments of reflection. He’d thought of all the werewolf had endured: all that had been laid upon his shoulders; all the loss he’d suffered; and it had lifted the shroud of hopelessness from Harry’s eyes. He’d spent more than a year brooding about his life and what had been taken from him; what he had been forced to do during the war. He had learned that his lengthy bouts of depression and self pity were pathetic and irrational. He’d only focused on his guilt, his shame, his lack of purpose, his sins. Harry had never realized how others had been affected by the war; how his misery had affected those so close to him, those who’d loved him. He’d been a selfish fool and it had cost him plenty. It had cost him…her.
“She said that? You serious?” Ron asked as he took the large bottle of Ogden’s Gripping Grog out of Harry’s firm grasp.
Harry had shrugged but was determined to be undeterred. “Yep.”
Ron remained silent as he stared into Harry’s expressionless face. The two wizards merely glanced at each other passing the bottle back and forth in a systematic style. The silence allowed Harry to recall Ginny’s words - the sting of them - had lessened to a dull ache and then morphed into a satisfying thrill of determination. She’d been so adamant, but Harry hadn’t been willing to let them kill his determination.
He’d reluctantly attended Arthur’s birthday party, assuring himself he wouldn’t be affected by Ginny’s presence or that of her new boyfriend, Ben. Ben the Bugger, Harry had called him. But with brief nonchalant glances, Harry had taken note of it - what she’d truly felt. He’d seen it in her eyes. Behind that veil of anger and indifference, he’d seen it, lurking just beneath the surface. She’d been fighting it, had tried desperately not to linger too long in his direction; had been stout in her refusal to give him even a moment’s attention; her body, her mannerisms had proven that. She’d been avoiding him. All day. And Harry hadn’t been able to help himself; he’d allowed the hope to stir within in his chest and percolate in his mind. He had to win her back; prove to her that he’d changed; that he’d loved her. Harry had spent so many years dreaming of her taste, her skin, her hair, her heart. In what he’d only been able to name as a moment of clarity - an epiphany really, it had thundered down upon him - he loved her; wanted her. He’d fight for her, do whatever he could to make her understand that.
But she’d been less than eager to forgive and forget.
“There was a time, Harry, when it was all I could do not to grab hold of you…touch you. Even when I was with other boys, I’d never felt it…that thrill of longing… not the way a young girl should feel…you were always an obstacle. I’d feel their kisses, their touches and wanted them to be yours. It may have been Michael’s or Dean’s fingers running over my cheek or their lips dragging down my neck; but in my mind it was yours. Gods,” she’d begun as she’d shifted her face away from him and closed her eyes at the memory, “I was desperate for a fleeting glance from you in my direction. For a smile or even a wink that meant more than an inside joke about Ron and Hermione.” She’d walked to face the flames with her back facing Harry and her eyes glistening. “But it never came. Not once. I’d…I’d thought, that there’d been a moment, just before the final battle….during Quidditch. I’d given you that lock of my hair. I’d only meant it as a joke, but you…I could have sworn you’d blushed, but then…”
“I remember,” Harry had answered as he inched closer to her; standing so close, in fact, that his breath rustled the back of her hair. “And you were right, I did blush. I still have….”
“But…it doesn’t matter now, does it? That was so long ago, Harry. So much has happened,” she’d interrupted.
“You’re wrong, Ginny,” Harry had said as he cautiously placed his hand on her arms and rested his chin on the top of her head, his voice echoing from his chest against her back. “It’s not too late. We’re still here. We can start over,” he’d offered as he’d inched closer to her slowly wrapping his arms around her waist and lowered his head to nuzzle her neck slowly with his nose. “It’s not too late for us,” he’d said and he’d pushed back her hair and placed a whispered kiss on her skin.
For a moment, Harry had thought he’d settled the argument that he’d won her over, if the way she’d rested against him or the way her eyes had drifted lazily to a close was any indication. But then she’d muttered his name as if it were a prayer and then louder as though it were a curse and her back had tensed.
“No. NO,” she’d shouted as she’d pulled away from him, seeming to need as much distance between them as possible. “No, Harry, it is too late. We can’t…”
“Gin,” Harry’s temper, that had begun to rise at her refusal, ebbed away as he watched the long strain of tears coursing down her face. Slowly he had approached her, cautiously, trying to reach for face. “I’m…Merlin, Love, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you’d felt that way…I had no idea. I would have never hoped …I…shite, Gin, please, you have to believe me…I am sorry.
“I’d loved you for so long; I’d even been happy to settle for your friendship, but you didn’t want me and I had to walk away. I had to. I’d loved you, absolutely needed you, but I had to learn to love myself more. I couldn’t continue to watch you destroy yourself…I just couldn’t.”
Ron’s palpable cough brought Harry back from his reflective mood and his words only caused Harry’s eyes to roll flippantly.
“Blimey, mate, I’m sorry,” Ron replied taking a quick swig of the liquor and then wiped his fist across his wet mouth. “Do you…you don’t think… maybe she’s…I dunno, in love with this Ben bloke?”
“No. I know she’s not,” Harry spat back and then stole the bottle out of Ron’s hands.
Offering his best mate a sincere expression, Ron tried reasoning with Harry. “Look, Mate, you can’t just…”
“Can’t just what, Ron? Can’t just fight for her? Can’t just make her understand how I feel? Can’t just ignore the truth?”
“But she’s already said…I mean, you’ve just got to back away, I suppose. Give her some space.”
Gapping stupidly at the redhead, Harry sat up with his elbows resting on his knees and the bottle of whiskey dangling limply from his hand. “Are you daft? Have you completely lost grip of your mind? Give her space? She’s had space for a sodding year. I have absolutely no intention of giving her anymore space.”
“But she said she didn’t want… and she’s with Ben now. I think…I think they may be getting pretty serious.”
“Bugger that. He’ll just have to step aside,” Harry answered with a shrug and then rest back against his chair.
“Harry, you can’t force her. You’ll have permanent wings fixed to your face. You know how stubborn she is.”
“I’m not going to force anything on her, Ron. Give me some credit.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
A wide, calculating smile draped Harry’s face as he gulped another swig and then stared at Ron smugly. “Hmm…stalk her sweetly, I suppose.”
“Wh…what?” Ron’s his eyebrows shifted upward nearly disappearing beneath his crimson fringe.
“I’ll be everywhere they are,” Harry began as he lifted from his chair and began to pace the den with a litany of thoughts…agendas coursing through his brain. He nodded to himself and then took another swig. “I’ll be as constant as Hermione and libraries. I’ll get under her skin until her eyes cross.”
“You think that’s wise? I don’t think she’ll cotton on to that very well,” Ron asked as his head darted back and forth, watching every movement Harry made.
“She will…I’m not a total tosser, Ron, I can do charming.”
Ron stood and walked in front of Harry, grabbing the bottle back from him. He shook his head and then smirked as he noted the determined expression on Harry’s fate. He sighed and then took a deep swallow from the bottle.
“It’s your funeral, Mate.”
March , 2000, Ginny’s Flat
“Bloody hell…not another one!”
“What is it?” Hermione had asked as she walked near to her friend and peered over Ginny’s shoulder at the elegant parchment in her hand. The redhead had thrown the attached vase that had encased yet another dozen roses into the rubbish bin and thrust the parchment into Hermione’s hand.
“Your ruddy best mate…again. I swear, I’m going to kill him! Look at this…look at this one!”
Tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart.
If this be love, to live a living death,
Then do I love and draw this weary breath.
Once again, Gin, I’m sorry. Have dinner with me?
Harry
“He is relentless, isn’t he?”
“It’s not funny, Hermione. Not one bit. You know he was at the match last night? Sat there behind me the whole bleeding time. And then…when Ben and I made to leave, he stood up, grabbed my arm and kissed me! Right there in front of Ben! I think he’s lost it, Hermione. I really do. I think he’s officially gone round the twist,” Ginny had replied as she’d slumped down on the settee and rested her forehead against her palm in a defeated manner.
“What did Ben do?” Hermione asked as she tried to conceal a large smirk while she stood in front of Ginny.
“What could he do? He knows he’s no match, not physically anyway, for Harry. He pulled me away from Harry and then led me down the bleachers,” Ginny answered.
“How was it?”
”What?” Ginny asked as her head whipped up and her eyes widened.
”The kiss? How was it? Was it bad?”
“HERMIONE! You’re not listening,” Ginny snapped with a well of frustration echoing in her voice.
“I noticed you didn’t say yes…must have been pretty good.”
April, 2000, Almeida Theatre
“I’m excited about this play. My mother says it was brilliant, even if it is a Muggle show,” Ben said as he led Ginny through a wide thicket of theatre goers and into the lush lobby.
“I’m sure it’ll be lovely, Ben,” Ginny replied as Ben stopped in front of her and approached an usher dressed impeccably in a opulent red jacket with a oval hat pulled down over his eyes, nearly concealing them from the patron’s view.
“Blimey, where did I put those ticket stubs? Ah…yes, here they are,” Ben answered as he handed over the stubs to the usher that towered over him by several inches. The young man took the tickets and glanced at them quickly, avoided Ben’s eyes completely and focused on Ginny’s expressionless face.
“Ah yes, I’ll lead you to your seat. Nice seats…this way please,” the usher answered as he led the couple in and seated them near the center section facing the stage. Ben took his seat as Ginny followed.
“Thank y…shite!” Ginny had begun as she glanced at the usher quickly offering him a smile and then stopped herself when she noted the usher’s large, bright green eyes and then immediately, the faint lightening bolt scar across his forehead.
“Ginny? What ever is the matter?” Ben had asked as he stood facing his date and then glanced at the retreating form of the man that had just seating them.
“Um…no…nothing. It’s um…it’s nothing, Ben.”
“Right then…I’ll just go to the loo before the show begins. Will you be alright on your own?” he had asked as he walked back into the aisle and darted from their seats.
Ginny had sat, momentarily shocked still, and she’d continued to glance over her shoulder, looking for Harry and trying to conceal both her amusement and shock. She had started roughly when a pair of long legs jumped over the seat followed by Harry’s lanky frame into Ben’s reserved seat.
“The play is ruddy awful. All pretentious and vague. Not one joke in the whole two hours,” Harry had offered as he draped the back of Ginny’s seat with his arm and gave her a mirthful smirk.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“Working.”
“Working? Really?” Ginny had asked as her spine stiffened and she folded her arms tightly around her body.
“Well, yeah. Remus is better now, and I was bored. Besides, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to chaperone you and your date. I have to make certain your bloke behaves himself,” Harry had replied as he’d leaned back in his seat and mirrored Ginny’s crossed arms stance.
“Harry, you have no right…I thought I made myself clear…I can’t…”
“Gods, you’re beautiful…especially when you’re annoyed. Have dinner with me?” Harry had asked as he turned his head sideways and stared unashamedly into Ginny’s flustered face.
“How many times to I have to turn you down? And what part of ’never while I draw breath in my body,’ do you not get?”
“Hmm…so that’s a maybe then?” Harry had asked cheekily and then barked out a loud chuckle when Ginny’s face had glowed crimson.
“Maybe…Harry you are…”
“Looks like the Bugger’s back…catch you later, Gin,” Harry had replied as he looked over his shoulder, crashed his lips to Ginny’s and jumped back across the seat before darting up the aisle, leaving the redhead desperately trying not to smile.
June, 2000, The Burrow
“Mum, I’m completely serious. He’s gone mental. Absolutely, utterly barking!”
“Ginny, how can you say that? Poor Harry has been through so much. And he’s very…well, I’m sure he’s just concerned for you…for your well being,” Molly had replied to her daughter as the two witches stared at one another from across the long table in the kitchen. Ginny had given her mother a widened expression and shook her head in disbelief.
“Concerned? You think he’s merely concerned? He’s bloody stalking me! Every time I’m out with Ben he’s there. If we go to a restaurant, he’s conveniently sitting twenty metres behind us in a booth. You know he even picked up our tab last Thursday? Ben was livid! I can’t go to a Quidditch match or to lunch without him handily showing up, kissing my cheek or stroking my hair when he sits behind me. He sends me roses every day of the week! Hedwig is at my flat so often my neighbors keep asking me if my owl has taken on a girlfriend!”
Molly had given her daughter a pseudo frown and then covered a smirk behind her tea cup as she swallowed deeply. The older witch cleared her throat and then grabbed Ginny’s hand softly. “Ah, dear, I’d say that Harry’s trying his best to win you back.”
“But I’m with Ben now!” Ginny had snapped causing her mother to lower her cup and then silence her with an arched eyebrow.
“Well, what a ruddy article he is, then, eh, Ginny? Imagine, a rich, criminally handsome wizard, who you’ve been in love with since you were eleven years, old is sending you flowers and poems, trying his best to charm you, doting on you as though you were the loveliest witch in the world. Yes, Ginny, I can certainly see where that would be an annoyance.”
Ginny had remained silent as her eyes had narrowed over her mother’s face and then had quickly widened as realization dawned upon her. “I didn’t mention the poems, Mum.”
“Um…what was that, dear?”
“MUM! You’ve been…are you…blimey, you’re helping him, aren’t you?”
Molly rose quickly from the table and pointed her wand at a small stack of dishes that had been lying in the basin. “Well, enough girl talk for now, Ginny, dear. I’ve got loads of chores to be getting on with.”
“MUM!”
~*~
Two hours later Ginny had returned to her empty flat sulking as she’d meandered through the den, half expecting yet another bushel of roses to be awaiting her. She hadn’t been surprised to see Hedwig waiting patiently outside of her kitchen window; she had been surprised, however, to find that the animal had only a small envelope tied to her leg. As was customary by now for Ginny, she opened the window and retrieved the envelope and awaited Hedwig’s departure. It hadn’t come however, instead the owl flew through the window and perched herself on Ginny’s den table waiting expectantly for the witch to read the letter.
“No roses today, Hedwig? Is he finally giving up, then?”
The animal had hooted softly in response and then Ginny had sat down roughly on her sofa, then ripped open the parchment. Her eyes scanned the letter, noting Harry’s rough scrawl.
Gin,
Sorry, no roses today. I have a feeling you’re getting quite tired of them. But, I do have something of yours that I thought you’d like back. You gave it to me as a joke, years ago, but I’ve held on to it because as I’ve always said, it was lucky. I expect you thought I’d tossed it out, but how could I? This small part of you got me through the final battle…through a lot of battles after that.
I know you’re annoyed with me. Perhaps you think I’m only pursuing you because you’ve become a challenge. Nothing could be further from the truth. No matter how many times I say it, no matter how often I swear to you that I love you, it won’t mean anything until I prove it with actions. I suppose some stupid part of me thought that chasing you, ok, stalking you, would show you how desperate I was to have you love me again. Now I’ve realised that what would best prove to you that I’m sincere is by leaving you be…letting you have a bit of happiness.
It’s hard for me to accept that you will be happy without me. It’s impossible to imagine myself without you, but if that is what you want…if that is what you truly need, then I’m happy to do it. So, I’m giving you back the luck you gave me. Maybe it’ll bring you the good fortune you want…even if it’s with Bugg…um…Ben.
Just don’t forget, Gin, that I do love you…I’m just so ruddy sorry it took me so long to figure that out.
All of me,
Harry
Ginny had sat back against the sofa and then reached into the envelope. She’d gasped in shock as she’d withdrawn the tightly wound satin ribbon that had held in place a few wisps of her own hair. Much to her dismay, thick, fluid tears had begun to gather between her lashes as she’d stared down at the crimson locks in her hand. He’d kept them. All those years, he’d held onto them and the realization and caused Ginny’s head to spin roughly. She’d glanced around her vacant flat and searched the room for remnants of Harry’s pursuit. There had been vases upon vases of flowers Hermione had insisted on preventing her from tossing out; elegant stacks of jewelry that had remained untouched, collecting dust on her mantel; and empty wrappers of chocolate frogs spilling out from her rubbish bin, those she’d willingly enjoyed. They’d all been superfluous to Ginny at the time she’d received them, but now, as she’d reread Harry’s words, as the realization that he’d no longer pursue her, that he’d willing allow her to live her life free of his constant chase; they meant so much more. He’d loved her. She’d realized that quite suddenly. He’d once again sacrificed his happiness - his heart - for the contentment of another.
Ginny had lifted from the sofa and stood in front of Hedwig staring down at the animal solemnly.
“There’s only one thing left for me to do, girl. You mind me using you to send a letter?”
Midsummer, 2000, 12, Grimmauld Place
Harry had stood next to Ron a few metres away from the riverbank, watching curiously as Ginny and Tonks knelt down in front of the shore, giggling between themselves. She hadn’t sent him a reply to his letter and it had been a difficult evening watching her chat with her family; partake in the celebrations without mentioning a word to him about his small gesture. It had been two weeks since he’d returned the lock of her hair and, despite the absence of ‘The Bugger” at the Midsummer’s celebration, Harry couldn’t have helped feeling down. She’d truly given up on him, of that he had been certain. Listlessly, he had watched as Tonks’ wreath separated from Ginny’s and then, continued to float down the bending river. Within a minute, Ginny’s wreath had returned to her and Harry had noted a faint smile pulling her lips. She’d bent down to retrieve the wreath and smiled widely.
“What’s she so happy about?” Harry couldn’t help but ask Ron as they’d watched Ginny cradle the wreath in her arms and speak lowly to her mother.
“Um…well, Ginny doesn’t put much stalk into the Muggle beliefs of the holiday. She believes in choosing her own destiny, I suppose.”
“So what does that mean, exactly?” Harry had asked but Ron had merely smiled at him, shrugged his shoulders and then followed the crowd into the old house.
Harry had begun to follow the others as well but he’d stopped when he’d heard Ginny calling his name. With his throat twisting into something very reminiscent of a cotton ball, Harry had stopped, trying to silence the pounding of his heart that he’d been certain Ginny could hear.
“Yeah, Gin?” he’d replied.
Her movements had been fluid, criminally slow, and Harry had found he could do little more than swallow repeatedly as she’d approached. Her mouth had lifted, temptingly in small sections, formulating from a faint whisper of a smirk to a luscious grin that had caused Harry’s breath to choke roughly. She’d stood mere inches from him with her wreath still nestled securely in her arms. She’d lifted her free hand to stroke over his fingers and he’d been certain she’d been able to feel the quick tremors that had rattled through his limbs.
“I wanted to speak to you, if you wouldn’t mind, Harry,” she’d said and Harry had been able to only nod stupidly. Apparently that sweet thrill of determination that had fueled his bravery for the past few months had instantly vanished. “This is for keeping the locks I gave you,” she’d said and then she’d risen up on the balls of her feet and had pressed a lingering kiss on Harry’s right cheek. He’d nodded once more, trying to force conscious thoughts into sensible words, but the power eluded him. “This,” she’d begun as she’d turned his face with her hand, “is for never giving up on me…and for realizing that I needed some distance.” Then she’d placed an even more prolonged kiss on the left side of his face.
Harry had allowed his palm to cover the moist spot on his face, and he had stared down at Ginny, wide-eyed and hopeful, as he awaited her next movement. “This is for being an utter and complete git,” she’d offered as she’d reached back and slapped Harry roughly across his face.
“What the…” Harry had begun, but he was immediately silenced as Ginny had pulled his collar roughly and had brought his lips to meet her own. Harry had blinked twice and then a third time, quickly shaking his head. “And what was that for?” he’d asked in a whisper.
She didn’t answer. She’d merely stepped back, reached for Harry’s hand and placed the wreath onto it.
“I’m giving you this, Harry. It’s yours….it’s yours just as I’ve been yours since I was a little girl. You nearly had me convinced…fooled into believing that you’d never wake up…”
“Gin, I’m sorry…I…”
“I’m not done, Harry, so shut up a minute, yeah?” He’d nodded in response. “It’s as simple as this; I love you.”
In that moment Harry had felt like the winds had shifted and fate had, at long last, smiled down upon him. Ginny had pulled him down into a bruising embrace and then kissed him keenly. When they’d broken apart, Harry had felt his knees weakened into rubber, but he hadn’t been able to prevent a relieved sigh from issuing from his mouth or the wide, toothy smile from draping his face. Ginny had rolled her eyes and laughed at his expression.
“You’re absolutely relentless and completely infuriating, but, blimey, I just can’t help myself.”
“Nor can I, Gin.”
~*~
He stares down at an impossibly beautiful face, lingering on those beloved freckles. 18. That’s how many dance across her nose and onto her cheeks. 18 mocking, perfect freckles that he has belabored on, dreamt of and could have kissed as though they were pious monuments…
“You keep staring at me, Harry, and I’m leaving,” Ginny said as she turned in Harry’s arms and begrudgingly opened her eyes. Harry gave a laugh then pulled her closer to his chest.
“Sorry. It’s become a habit...”
“What has?” Ginny asked through a yawn as she rested her cheek on her palm, putting all her weight on her elbow.
“Freckle counting,” Harry replied as he traced the tip of his finger over Ginny’s cheek then across her nose. “Well, Ginny freckle counting…it’s been a hobby of mine for about, hmm…three or four years now.”
“Wanker.”
“Wanker? Me?”
“Yes, you, Harry. You’re a wanker for not telling me sooner. And also for making poor Ben miserable with your obsessive pestering.”
Harry laughed and then flinched when his chuckle prompted Ginny to elbow him in the rib. “Sorry, but it couldn’t be helped…I had to be all charming and win you back.”
“Hmm…so what stopped you? I mean, why did you stop?”
Harry sighed tiredly and then laid down on his pillow with his hand behind his head. “You,” he answered as he looked down at Ginny’s flushed face.
“Me?” she answered, arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah. I was there…that day at the Burrow…the day you were venting to your mum. I saw the frustration on your face and figured I’d better back off a bit. Besides,” Harry began as he reached for Ginny’s arm and pulled her on top of his chest. “I figured you’d get annoyed enough to start hexing and I had no intention of sporting great, giant wings on my face.”
“Good. Very clever of you,” Ginny replied with a chuckle.
Harry’s fingers once again danced across her face and then down her neck, and he didn’t even try to refrain from sighing as their eyes locked for a lengthy moment.
“18,” Harry whispered, and the remark caused Ginny’s brow to wrinkle in confusion.
“18?”
“Yeah, 18. You’ve got 18 freckles on your face. 18 perfect freckles.”
“Do I?” she asked with a small laugh.
“Yes. I should know…the whole freckle counting thing.”
Ginny nodded then crawled up Harry’s body, fitting her frame snuggly to his. “Well now, Harry, that’s 18 on my face, but I think you’ve miscounted.”
“Have I, now?”
“Oh, I believe so. There are loads more….in other areas. Care to count those as well?” Ginny asked as she wiggled her eyebrows impishly.
Harry didn’t respond with words. He merely growled as he tackled Ginny gently and closed his eyes, memorizing the sound of her melodic laughter echoing through his bedroom.
~End~
Title: Tangled
Challenge: Three Column Prompt Challenge
Date: Midsummer
Location: 12, Grimmauld Place
Object: A lock of Ginny’s hair
Summary: It had been the holiday; the magic in the air and the sweet, mesmerizing scent of the herbs being gathered and harvested for Midsummer’s Day. He - Harry Potter - had acted like a common, randy teenager, gawking at one of his best friend’s as though she had been an ethereal trophy to be won and boasted about.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fangst/The beginning is ‘slit your wrist’ angst…the end pure, unadulterated Fluff. Sorry. Couldn’t help myself…what can I say? I loff the drama.
Word Count: um…yeah…very long.
A/N: I promise this ends far better than it began. I know this is very long, but I hope you will enjoy it none the less. Also, you all will probably get a toothache while reading the ending. I am so not happy with it, but it had to end.
February, 2000, Grimmauld Place
Ten months.
Ginny had been gone for nearly ten months. Harry had felt, at first, after she’d left, a bit of satisfaction and accomplishment that he’d pushed her away; setting her free of his constant doubt and his irrational depression. Then, slowly, he’d begun to mark every event in his life by when Ginny had left. His birthday had been, ‘three months since Ginny left’ rather than July 31st. Arthur’s final therapy session - the one that had completed his journey back from incapacitation to relative normalcy - was ‘six months since Ginny left,’ rather than October 12th. Lupin’s accident had occurred ‘seven months, two weeks and four days after Ginny left,’ not November 16th.
She’d set the tone of his life with a simple movement; with one night of silent departure. He’d known she hadn’t left England; she’d never venture too far from her family. That’s why Harry had considered Lupin’s need of him to be somewhat of a hidden blessing. He’d known that Ginny would never return to the Burrow as long as he’d lived there; it had been the source of many guilt ridden family gatherings with only Harry laying the fault at his own feet. So when Lupin had been attacked in a brutal bout of cruelty at the hands of some twisted Pure Blood maniac with Mein Kampfish hatred toward half breeds and the like, Harry had taken it upon himself to play caregiver to his former professor. Lupin had, initially, refused Harry’s care, telling him that so free of responsibility and worthy of a carefree life shouldn’t be bothered with an ‘old arse like myself.’
What Lupin hadn’t realized is that Harry had been desperate to feel needed. Molly had spent so much time catering to him, assuring that he had been cared for, that the young wizard’s sense of purpose had been temporarily nonexistent. Watching over Lupin, assuring that he had been well fed, that his wounds had been dressed and tended to, allowed Harry moments of reflection. He’d thought of all the werewolf had endured: all that had been laid upon his shoulders; all the loss he’d suffered; and it had lifted the shroud of hopelessness from Harry’s eyes. He’d spent more than a year brooding about his life and what had been taken from him; what he had been forced to do during the war. He had learned that his lengthy bouts of depression and self pity were pathetic and irrational. He’d only focused on his guilt, his shame, his lack of purpose, his sins. Harry had never realized how others had been affected by the war; how his misery had affected those so close to him, those who’d loved him. He’d been a selfish fool and it had cost him plenty. It had cost him…her.
“She said that? You serious?” Ron asked as he took the large bottle of Ogden’s Gripping Grog out of Harry’s firm grasp.
Harry had shrugged but was determined to be undeterred. “Yep.”
Ron remained silent as he stared into Harry’s expressionless face. The two wizards merely glanced at each other passing the bottle back and forth in a systematic style. The silence allowed Harry to recall Ginny’s words - the sting of them - had lessened to a dull ache and then morphed into a satisfying thrill of determination. She’d been so adamant, but Harry hadn’t been willing to let them kill his determination.
He’d reluctantly attended Arthur’s birthday party, assuring himself he wouldn’t be affected by Ginny’s presence or that of her new boyfriend, Ben. Ben the Bugger, Harry had called him. But with brief nonchalant glances, Harry had taken note of it - what she’d truly felt. He’d seen it in her eyes. Behind that veil of anger and indifference, he’d seen it, lurking just beneath the surface. She’d been fighting it, had tried desperately not to linger too long in his direction; had been stout in her refusal to give him even a moment’s attention; her body, her mannerisms had proven that. She’d been avoiding him. All day. And Harry hadn’t been able to help himself; he’d allowed the hope to stir within in his chest and percolate in his mind. He had to win her back; prove to her that he’d changed; that he’d loved her. Harry had spent so many years dreaming of her taste, her skin, her hair, her heart. In what he’d only been able to name as a moment of clarity - an epiphany really, it had thundered down upon him - he loved her; wanted her. He’d fight for her, do whatever he could to make her understand that.
But she’d been less than eager to forgive and forget.
“There was a time, Harry, when it was all I could do not to grab hold of you…touch you. Even when I was with other boys, I’d never felt it…that thrill of longing… not the way a young girl should feel…you were always an obstacle. I’d feel their kisses, their touches and wanted them to be yours. It may have been Michael’s or Dean’s fingers running over my cheek or their lips dragging down my neck; but in my mind it was yours. Gods,” she’d begun as she’d shifted her face away from him and closed her eyes at the memory, “I was desperate for a fleeting glance from you in my direction. For a smile or even a wink that meant more than an inside joke about Ron and Hermione.” She’d walked to face the flames with her back facing Harry and her eyes glistening. “But it never came. Not once. I’d…I’d thought, that there’d been a moment, just before the final battle….during Quidditch. I’d given you that lock of my hair. I’d only meant it as a joke, but you…I could have sworn you’d blushed, but then…”
“I remember,” Harry had answered as he inched closer to her; standing so close, in fact, that his breath rustled the back of her hair. “And you were right, I did blush. I still have….”
“But…it doesn’t matter now, does it? That was so long ago, Harry. So much has happened,” she’d interrupted.
“You’re wrong, Ginny,” Harry had said as he cautiously placed his hand on her arms and rested his chin on the top of her head, his voice echoing from his chest against her back. “It’s not too late. We’re still here. We can start over,” he’d offered as he’d inched closer to her slowly wrapping his arms around her waist and lowered his head to nuzzle her neck slowly with his nose. “It’s not too late for us,” he’d said and he’d pushed back her hair and placed a whispered kiss on her skin.
For a moment, Harry had thought he’d settled the argument that he’d won her over, if the way she’d rested against him or the way her eyes had drifted lazily to a close was any indication. But then she’d muttered his name as if it were a prayer and then louder as though it were a curse and her back had tensed.
“No. NO,” she’d shouted as she’d pulled away from him, seeming to need as much distance between them as possible. “No, Harry, it is too late. We can’t…”
“Gin,” Harry’s temper, that had begun to rise at her refusal, ebbed away as he watched the long strain of tears coursing down her face. Slowly he had approached her, cautiously, trying to reach for face. “I’m…Merlin, Love, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you’d felt that way…I had no idea. I would have never hoped …I…shite, Gin, please, you have to believe me…I am sorry.
“I’d loved you for so long; I’d even been happy to settle for your friendship, but you didn’t want me and I had to walk away. I had to. I’d loved you, absolutely needed you, but I had to learn to love myself more. I couldn’t continue to watch you destroy yourself…I just couldn’t.”
Ron’s palpable cough brought Harry back from his reflective mood and his words only caused Harry’s eyes to roll flippantly.
“Blimey, mate, I’m sorry,” Ron replied taking a quick swig of the liquor and then wiped his fist across his wet mouth. “Do you…you don’t think… maybe she’s…I dunno, in love with this Ben bloke?”
“No. I know she’s not,” Harry spat back and then stole the bottle out of Ron’s hands.
Offering his best mate a sincere expression, Ron tried reasoning with Harry. “Look, Mate, you can’t just…”
“Can’t just what, Ron? Can’t just fight for her? Can’t just make her understand how I feel? Can’t just ignore the truth?”
“But she’s already said…I mean, you’ve just got to back away, I suppose. Give her some space.”
Gapping stupidly at the redhead, Harry sat up with his elbows resting on his knees and the bottle of whiskey dangling limply from his hand. “Are you daft? Have you completely lost grip of your mind? Give her space? She’s had space for a sodding year. I have absolutely no intention of giving her anymore space.”
“But she said she didn’t want… and she’s with Ben now. I think…I think they may be getting pretty serious.”
“Bugger that. He’ll just have to step aside,” Harry answered with a shrug and then rest back against his chair.
“Harry, you can’t force her. You’ll have permanent wings fixed to your face. You know how stubborn she is.”
“I’m not going to force anything on her, Ron. Give me some credit.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
A wide, calculating smile draped Harry’s face as he gulped another swig and then stared at Ron smugly. “Hmm…stalk her sweetly, I suppose.”
“Wh…what?” Ron’s his eyebrows shifted upward nearly disappearing beneath his crimson fringe.
“I’ll be everywhere they are,” Harry began as he lifted from his chair and began to pace the den with a litany of thoughts…agendas coursing through his brain. He nodded to himself and then took another swig. “I’ll be as constant as Hermione and libraries. I’ll get under her skin until her eyes cross.”
“You think that’s wise? I don’t think she’ll cotton on to that very well,” Ron asked as his head darted back and forth, watching every movement Harry made.
“She will…I’m not a total tosser, Ron, I can do charming.”
Ron stood and walked in front of Harry, grabbing the bottle back from him. He shook his head and then smirked as he noted the determined expression on Harry’s fate. He sighed and then took a deep swallow from the bottle.
“It’s your funeral, Mate.”
March , 2000, Ginny’s Flat
“Bloody hell…not another one!”
“What is it?” Hermione had asked as she walked near to her friend and peered over Ginny’s shoulder at the elegant parchment in her hand. The redhead had thrown the attached vase that had encased yet another dozen roses into the rubbish bin and thrust the parchment into Hermione’s hand.
“Your ruddy best mate…again. I swear, I’m going to kill him! Look at this…look at this one!”
Tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart.
If this be love, to live a living death,
Then do I love and draw this weary breath.
Once again, Gin, I’m sorry. Have dinner with me?
Harry
“He is relentless, isn’t he?”
“It’s not funny, Hermione. Not one bit. You know he was at the match last night? Sat there behind me the whole bleeding time. And then…when Ben and I made to leave, he stood up, grabbed my arm and kissed me! Right there in front of Ben! I think he’s lost it, Hermione. I really do. I think he’s officially gone round the twist,” Ginny had replied as she’d slumped down on the settee and rested her forehead against her palm in a defeated manner.
“What did Ben do?” Hermione asked as she tried to conceal a large smirk while she stood in front of Ginny.
“What could he do? He knows he’s no match, not physically anyway, for Harry. He pulled me away from Harry and then led me down the bleachers,” Ginny answered.
“How was it?”
”What?” Ginny asked as her head whipped up and her eyes widened.
”The kiss? How was it? Was it bad?”
“HERMIONE! You’re not listening,” Ginny snapped with a well of frustration echoing in her voice.
“I noticed you didn’t say yes…must have been pretty good.”
April, 2000, Almeida Theatre
“I’m excited about this play. My mother says it was brilliant, even if it is a Muggle show,” Ben said as he led Ginny through a wide thicket of theatre goers and into the lush lobby.
“I’m sure it’ll be lovely, Ben,” Ginny replied as Ben stopped in front of her and approached an usher dressed impeccably in a opulent red jacket with a oval hat pulled down over his eyes, nearly concealing them from the patron’s view.
“Blimey, where did I put those ticket stubs? Ah…yes, here they are,” Ben answered as he handed over the stubs to the usher that towered over him by several inches. The young man took the tickets and glanced at them quickly, avoided Ben’s eyes completely and focused on Ginny’s expressionless face.
“Ah yes, I’ll lead you to your seat. Nice seats…this way please,” the usher answered as he led the couple in and seated them near the center section facing the stage. Ben took his seat as Ginny followed.
“Thank y…shite!” Ginny had begun as she glanced at the usher quickly offering him a smile and then stopped herself when she noted the usher’s large, bright green eyes and then immediately, the faint lightening bolt scar across his forehead.
“Ginny? What ever is the matter?” Ben had asked as he stood facing his date and then glanced at the retreating form of the man that had just seating them.
“Um…no…nothing. It’s um…it’s nothing, Ben.”
“Right then…I’ll just go to the loo before the show begins. Will you be alright on your own?” he had asked as he walked back into the aisle and darted from their seats.
Ginny had sat, momentarily shocked still, and she’d continued to glance over her shoulder, looking for Harry and trying to conceal both her amusement and shock. She had started roughly when a pair of long legs jumped over the seat followed by Harry’s lanky frame into Ben’s reserved seat.
“The play is ruddy awful. All pretentious and vague. Not one joke in the whole two hours,” Harry had offered as he draped the back of Ginny’s seat with his arm and gave her a mirthful smirk.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
“Working.”
“Working? Really?” Ginny had asked as her spine stiffened and she folded her arms tightly around her body.
“Well, yeah. Remus is better now, and I was bored. Besides, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to chaperone you and your date. I have to make certain your bloke behaves himself,” Harry had replied as he’d leaned back in his seat and mirrored Ginny’s crossed arms stance.
“Harry, you have no right…I thought I made myself clear…I can’t…”
“Gods, you’re beautiful…especially when you’re annoyed. Have dinner with me?” Harry had asked as he turned his head sideways and stared unashamedly into Ginny’s flustered face.
“How many times to I have to turn you down? And what part of ’never while I draw breath in my body,’ do you not get?”
“Hmm…so that’s a maybe then?” Harry had asked cheekily and then barked out a loud chuckle when Ginny’s face had glowed crimson.
“Maybe…Harry you are…”
“Looks like the Bugger’s back…catch you later, Gin,” Harry had replied as he looked over his shoulder, crashed his lips to Ginny’s and jumped back across the seat before darting up the aisle, leaving the redhead desperately trying not to smile.
June, 2000, The Burrow
“Mum, I’m completely serious. He’s gone mental. Absolutely, utterly barking!”
“Ginny, how can you say that? Poor Harry has been through so much. And he’s very…well, I’m sure he’s just concerned for you…for your well being,” Molly had replied to her daughter as the two witches stared at one another from across the long table in the kitchen. Ginny had given her mother a widened expression and shook her head in disbelief.
“Concerned? You think he’s merely concerned? He’s bloody stalking me! Every time I’m out with Ben he’s there. If we go to a restaurant, he’s conveniently sitting twenty metres behind us in a booth. You know he even picked up our tab last Thursday? Ben was livid! I can’t go to a Quidditch match or to lunch without him handily showing up, kissing my cheek or stroking my hair when he sits behind me. He sends me roses every day of the week! Hedwig is at my flat so often my neighbors keep asking me if my owl has taken on a girlfriend!”
Molly had given her daughter a pseudo frown and then covered a smirk behind her tea cup as she swallowed deeply. The older witch cleared her throat and then grabbed Ginny’s hand softly. “Ah, dear, I’d say that Harry’s trying his best to win you back.”
“But I’m with Ben now!” Ginny had snapped causing her mother to lower her cup and then silence her with an arched eyebrow.
“Well, what a ruddy article he is, then, eh, Ginny? Imagine, a rich, criminally handsome wizard, who you’ve been in love with since you were eleven years, old is sending you flowers and poems, trying his best to charm you, doting on you as though you were the loveliest witch in the world. Yes, Ginny, I can certainly see where that would be an annoyance.”
Ginny had remained silent as her eyes had narrowed over her mother’s face and then had quickly widened as realization dawned upon her. “I didn’t mention the poems, Mum.”
“Um…what was that, dear?”
“MUM! You’ve been…are you…blimey, you’re helping him, aren’t you?”
Molly rose quickly from the table and pointed her wand at a small stack of dishes that had been lying in the basin. “Well, enough girl talk for now, Ginny, dear. I’ve got loads of chores to be getting on with.”
“MUM!”
~*~
Two hours later Ginny had returned to her empty flat sulking as she’d meandered through the den, half expecting yet another bushel of roses to be awaiting her. She hadn’t been surprised to see Hedwig waiting patiently outside of her kitchen window; she had been surprised, however, to find that the animal had only a small envelope tied to her leg. As was customary by now for Ginny, she opened the window and retrieved the envelope and awaited Hedwig’s departure. It hadn’t come however, instead the owl flew through the window and perched herself on Ginny’s den table waiting expectantly for the witch to read the letter.
“No roses today, Hedwig? Is he finally giving up, then?”
The animal had hooted softly in response and then Ginny had sat down roughly on her sofa, then ripped open the parchment. Her eyes scanned the letter, noting Harry’s rough scrawl.
Gin,
Sorry, no roses today. I have a feeling you’re getting quite tired of them. But, I do have something of yours that I thought you’d like back. You gave it to me as a joke, years ago, but I’ve held on to it because as I’ve always said, it was lucky. I expect you thought I’d tossed it out, but how could I? This small part of you got me through the final battle…through a lot of battles after that.
I know you’re annoyed with me. Perhaps you think I’m only pursuing you because you’ve become a challenge. Nothing could be further from the truth. No matter how many times I say it, no matter how often I swear to you that I love you, it won’t mean anything until I prove it with actions. I suppose some stupid part of me thought that chasing you, ok, stalking you, would show you how desperate I was to have you love me again. Now I’ve realised that what would best prove to you that I’m sincere is by leaving you be…letting you have a bit of happiness.
It’s hard for me to accept that you will be happy without me. It’s impossible to imagine myself without you, but if that is what you want…if that is what you truly need, then I’m happy to do it. So, I’m giving you back the luck you gave me. Maybe it’ll bring you the good fortune you want…even if it’s with Bugg…um…Ben.
Just don’t forget, Gin, that I do love you…I’m just so ruddy sorry it took me so long to figure that out.
All of me,
Harry
Ginny had sat back against the sofa and then reached into the envelope. She’d gasped in shock as she’d withdrawn the tightly wound satin ribbon that had held in place a few wisps of her own hair. Much to her dismay, thick, fluid tears had begun to gather between her lashes as she’d stared down at the crimson locks in her hand. He’d kept them. All those years, he’d held onto them and the realization and caused Ginny’s head to spin roughly. She’d glanced around her vacant flat and searched the room for remnants of Harry’s pursuit. There had been vases upon vases of flowers Hermione had insisted on preventing her from tossing out; elegant stacks of jewelry that had remained untouched, collecting dust on her mantel; and empty wrappers of chocolate frogs spilling out from her rubbish bin, those she’d willingly enjoyed. They’d all been superfluous to Ginny at the time she’d received them, but now, as she’d reread Harry’s words, as the realization that he’d no longer pursue her, that he’d willing allow her to live her life free of his constant chase; they meant so much more. He’d loved her. She’d realized that quite suddenly. He’d once again sacrificed his happiness - his heart - for the contentment of another.
Ginny had lifted from the sofa and stood in front of Hedwig staring down at the animal solemnly.
“There’s only one thing left for me to do, girl. You mind me using you to send a letter?”
Midsummer, 2000, 12, Grimmauld Place
Harry had stood next to Ron a few metres away from the riverbank, watching curiously as Ginny and Tonks knelt down in front of the shore, giggling between themselves. She hadn’t sent him a reply to his letter and it had been a difficult evening watching her chat with her family; partake in the celebrations without mentioning a word to him about his small gesture. It had been two weeks since he’d returned the lock of her hair and, despite the absence of ‘The Bugger” at the Midsummer’s celebration, Harry couldn’t have helped feeling down. She’d truly given up on him, of that he had been certain. Listlessly, he had watched as Tonks’ wreath separated from Ginny’s and then, continued to float down the bending river. Within a minute, Ginny’s wreath had returned to her and Harry had noted a faint smile pulling her lips. She’d bent down to retrieve the wreath and smiled widely.
“What’s she so happy about?” Harry couldn’t help but ask Ron as they’d watched Ginny cradle the wreath in her arms and speak lowly to her mother.
“Um…well, Ginny doesn’t put much stalk into the Muggle beliefs of the holiday. She believes in choosing her own destiny, I suppose.”
“So what does that mean, exactly?” Harry had asked but Ron had merely smiled at him, shrugged his shoulders and then followed the crowd into the old house.
Harry had begun to follow the others as well but he’d stopped when he’d heard Ginny calling his name. With his throat twisting into something very reminiscent of a cotton ball, Harry had stopped, trying to silence the pounding of his heart that he’d been certain Ginny could hear.
“Yeah, Gin?” he’d replied.
Her movements had been fluid, criminally slow, and Harry had found he could do little more than swallow repeatedly as she’d approached. Her mouth had lifted, temptingly in small sections, formulating from a faint whisper of a smirk to a luscious grin that had caused Harry’s breath to choke roughly. She’d stood mere inches from him with her wreath still nestled securely in her arms. She’d lifted her free hand to stroke over his fingers and he’d been certain she’d been able to feel the quick tremors that had rattled through his limbs.
“I wanted to speak to you, if you wouldn’t mind, Harry,” she’d said and Harry had been able to only nod stupidly. Apparently that sweet thrill of determination that had fueled his bravery for the past few months had instantly vanished. “This is for keeping the locks I gave you,” she’d said and then she’d risen up on the balls of her feet and had pressed a lingering kiss on Harry’s right cheek. He’d nodded once more, trying to force conscious thoughts into sensible words, but the power eluded him. “This,” she’d begun as she’d turned his face with her hand, “is for never giving up on me…and for realizing that I needed some distance.” Then she’d placed an even more prolonged kiss on the left side of his face.
Harry had allowed his palm to cover the moist spot on his face, and he had stared down at Ginny, wide-eyed and hopeful, as he awaited her next movement. “This is for being an utter and complete git,” she’d offered as she’d reached back and slapped Harry roughly across his face.
“What the…” Harry had begun, but he was immediately silenced as Ginny had pulled his collar roughly and had brought his lips to meet her own. Harry had blinked twice and then a third time, quickly shaking his head. “And what was that for?” he’d asked in a whisper.
She didn’t answer. She’d merely stepped back, reached for Harry’s hand and placed the wreath onto it.
“I’m giving you this, Harry. It’s yours….it’s yours just as I’ve been yours since I was a little girl. You nearly had me convinced…fooled into believing that you’d never wake up…”
“Gin, I’m sorry…I…”
“I’m not done, Harry, so shut up a minute, yeah?” He’d nodded in response. “It’s as simple as this; I love you.”
In that moment Harry had felt like the winds had shifted and fate had, at long last, smiled down upon him. Ginny had pulled him down into a bruising embrace and then kissed him keenly. When they’d broken apart, Harry had felt his knees weakened into rubber, but he hadn’t been able to prevent a relieved sigh from issuing from his mouth or the wide, toothy smile from draping his face. Ginny had rolled her eyes and laughed at his expression.
“You’re absolutely relentless and completely infuriating, but, blimey, I just can’t help myself.”
“Nor can I, Gin.”
~*~
He stares down at an impossibly beautiful face, lingering on those beloved freckles. 18. That’s how many dance across her nose and onto her cheeks. 18 mocking, perfect freckles that he has belabored on, dreamt of and could have kissed as though they were pious monuments…
“You keep staring at me, Harry, and I’m leaving,” Ginny said as she turned in Harry’s arms and begrudgingly opened her eyes. Harry gave a laugh then pulled her closer to his chest.
“Sorry. It’s become a habit...”
“What has?” Ginny asked through a yawn as she rested her cheek on her palm, putting all her weight on her elbow.
“Freckle counting,” Harry replied as he traced the tip of his finger over Ginny’s cheek then across her nose. “Well, Ginny freckle counting…it’s been a hobby of mine for about, hmm…three or four years now.”
“Wanker.”
“Wanker? Me?”
“Yes, you, Harry. You’re a wanker for not telling me sooner. And also for making poor Ben miserable with your obsessive pestering.”
Harry laughed and then flinched when his chuckle prompted Ginny to elbow him in the rib. “Sorry, but it couldn’t be helped…I had to be all charming and win you back.”
“Hmm…so what stopped you? I mean, why did you stop?”
Harry sighed tiredly and then laid down on his pillow with his hand behind his head. “You,” he answered as he looked down at Ginny’s flushed face.
“Me?” she answered, arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah. I was there…that day at the Burrow…the day you were venting to your mum. I saw the frustration on your face and figured I’d better back off a bit. Besides,” Harry began as he reached for Ginny’s arm and pulled her on top of his chest. “I figured you’d get annoyed enough to start hexing and I had no intention of sporting great, giant wings on my face.”
“Good. Very clever of you,” Ginny replied with a chuckle.
Harry’s fingers once again danced across her face and then down her neck, and he didn’t even try to refrain from sighing as their eyes locked for a lengthy moment.
“18,” Harry whispered, and the remark caused Ginny’s brow to wrinkle in confusion.
“18?”
“Yeah, 18. You’ve got 18 freckles on your face. 18 perfect freckles.”
“Do I?” she asked with a small laugh.
“Yes. I should know…the whole freckle counting thing.”
Ginny nodded then crawled up Harry’s body, fitting her frame snuggly to his. “Well now, Harry, that’s 18 on my face, but I think you’ve miscounted.”
“Have I, now?”
“Oh, I believe so. There are loads more….in other areas. Care to count those as well?” Ginny asked as she wiggled her eyebrows impishly.
Harry didn’t respond with words. He merely growled as he tackled Ginny gently and closed his eyes, memorizing the sound of her melodic laughter echoing through his bedroom.
~End~