FIC: "Between a Rock and a Hard Place" by irislock
To: pluschi
Title: Between a Rock and a Hard Place
Author/Artist: irislock
Pairing: Harry, Ginny, Ginny/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: about 4900
Summary: It didn't really matter if he told her or not. He was doomed either way.
Warnings: mention of chest monster, if that bothers you
Author/Artist's Notes: Many thanks to antoshevu for the beta work. This is a missing moment set after Chapter 16 ("A Very Frosty Christmas") of HBP. This story bears some thematic resemblance to a membersip application fic recently posted at catchmysnitch . Any similarities are entirely coincidental. More notes at the end.
ETA: I was completely remiss in not thanking r_becca for running such a great fest. Also, I have corrected some format errors that I didn't notice before.
Harry came bouncing down the stairs of the Burrow wearing pajama bottoms and a Gryffindor t-shirt. He had just showered and was drying his hair with a towel as he descended. And he was whistling. Whistling.
It had been a fantastic day, his best at the Burrow so far. Better even than Christmas because Percy and Scrimgeour had not made an appearance. He'd played Quidditch for hours; he, Ginny and Fred against Ron, George, and Bill. Playing three-to-a-side Quidditch meant no Bludgers, but George started charming snowballs to attack players at random, and Fred quickly took up the cause. So the Seekers sought and the Chasers chased, and the Keepers kept while all of them were besieged by snowballs. After Harry just edged past Bill to catch the snitch, the game had disintegrated into an epic snowball fight until Mrs Weasley had called them in for hot cocoa.
Even a Cannons loss was not bad news. After supper, everyone had crowded around the wireless to hear the match. They lost to Puddlemere by 50 points, but as Ron reasoned, “It’s only 50 points. Puddlemere is really good. This will give them confidence in the match against Appleby next week. I know they can beat the Arrows.”
The crooked house was quiet now. After the match ended, Mr and Mrs Weasley said goodbye to Bill, Fleur, and the twins and then retired upstairs. With the house a little less crowded, Harry had left a snoring Ron and moved his things to Fred and George's room.
Harry wasn’t tired; he was thirsty. Draping the towel around his neck, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a butterbeer. He was just twisting the cap off when he heard an odd sucking noise. It reminded him a little of the sound Myrtle made when she was emerging from a toilet.
The source of the noise was apparent when Harry turned around. He saw Ginny’s back, but her head was in the fireplace, surrounded by green flames. And she wasn’t alone; Dean’s head - and only his head - was also in the fireplace, and they were...kissing.
The monster that had been kept carefully confined in Harry’s chest for the last several weeks suddenly raged against its constraint. He had a vivid image of a Hungarian horntail breathing fire, and it felt as though he would be engulfed in the flames. The heat blazed a path through his veins, making his blood boil and leaving his good mood in ashes.
Heedless of Dean's greeting Ginny's surprised gasp, he left abruptly and walked into the living room, intending to put as much space between him and the scene in the kitchen as possible, and realizing a moment too late that he had left his butterbeer behind. Going back was out of the question. His wand was upstairs, making Summoning impossible. In a fit of frustration, he kicked the stone hearth and watched in grim satisfaction as the glowing embers in the fireplace erupted into crackling, furious flames. How appropriate.
Toe throbbing, he braced his hands on the mantle and leaned forward while he stared at the fire. He had been doing so well at not thinking about Ginny. On the Hogwarts Express, he'd been engrossed in thought about Malfoy and the Unbreakable Vow; he was not thinking about Ginny. When he was seated by her in the borrowed Ministry car that took them to the Burrow, he was not thinking about how her hair smelled. He did not think about her every time he walked into this room and saw the miles of paper chain everywhere. He did not think about her on Christmas Day unless you count how he felt when she pulled a maggot out of his hair, which he didn't. He did not think about her at night just before he fell asleep, and if he had dreams where she was thinking of him and touching him, well, he couldn't really help that, could he? He'd never been in control of his dreams.
Today, everything was brilliant, just the way things had been last summer. They laughed when Ron got hit with snowballs, and he'd helped her plan and execute a particularly vicious sneak attack on the twins, but there was no thought, anywhere in his mind, that they were anything but friends. Until now. Until he had seen her kissing Dean...again.
He could not have her. She was Ron's sister - and Dean's girlfriend. He was destined to meet Voldemort at least once more. This thing inside him, this feeling, or desire, it had to be kept secret. For what good could come of it? Either she didn't feel the same way (likely, since she had a boyfriend) or she did, and he would have to leave her to fight Voldemort - or worse, lose her to Voldemort. No, he thought. No one could know, and he would just have to go back to not thinking.
"Harry?"
Oh, damn. Had he really been staring at the fire that long? Long enough for Ginny and Dean to finish their snog session? He should have escaped upstairs when he had the chance.
"Hmm?" He didn't look at her.
"You left this in the kitchen. I thought you might want it."
He turned his head enough to see that she was holding a butterbeer in each hand. Reluctantly, he took the one she offered him.
"Thanks."
"Sure," she replied, holding her own bottle up to his. "Cheers."
"Uh, yeah," he mumbled as the bottles clunked together.
"Nice fire."
She stepped a little closer to him, and he found, to his horror, that all of this not thinking about Ginny had him aroused. His pajama bottoms were tented in a most embarrassing way, and his options were limited. He didn't want to face her, but she was standing between him and the stairs, and he had no reason to go back to the kitchen. He settled for sitting down on the sofa behind them, taking the towel from around his neck and resting it in his lap to camouflage his situation.
Unfortunately, Ginny seemed to take this as an invitation, and she sat next to him, legs tucked up under her and facing toward his side. She was idly picking at the label on her butterbeer.
"Harry," she said softly, "I need to ask you a favor."
"What?" he asked dispassionately.
"Please don't tell anyone what you saw. I thought everyone had gone to bed, and I'm not supposed to make or get Floo calls without permission. Mum and Dad have been so weird lately, not wanting me to go anywhere, and ...well, I'd appreciate it if you could keep it a secret."
"Okay," he said evenly. "No problem." Leave it at that, he told himself. Do not ask.
"Does this mean I should stay out of the kitchen every night?" he asked.
"Oh," she said, surprised. "No. This was the first time we've Floo'd since hols started. He wanted to meet at Diagon Alley on Boxing Day, but Mum said no, and then he wanted me to go with him to a Muggle party on New Year's Eve. It sounded like fun, but of course Mum said no. I couldn't even convince Dad to let me go. I wasn't sure my Owl would get to him in time, so I used the Floo."
She sounded very disappointed, but Harry had a sudden and profound respect for Mr and Mrs Weasley's parenting philosophy. "There's not much Floo powder left; it's too risky to do it again. I told him I'd see him when we got back to Hogwarts."
Harry couldn't help but be a little cheered by this news. "That's good, then. If I can't leave, then you shouldn't be able to either."
She looked puzzled. "Why can't you leave?"
"Oh, um," Harry sighed. "Dumbledore asked me not to leave the Burrow while I'm here. Your parents agreed to extra security measures to have me."
"I know," she said airily. "Same as last summer."
"Er, yeah." He really did not want to discuss what an inconvenience his presence was, even if it had the benefit of making it harder for her to communicate with Dean.
"You know they don't mind."
He shrugged. Trying hard not to be aware of how red her lips looked, he closed his eyes and took a sip of his butterbeer.
"They love you like their own, Harry," she continued, "and I must say, you're a much better son to them than Percy is at the moment. The utter fool. I cannot imagine what he was thinking, bringing..."
She kept talking, but Harry wasn't really listening. The fire behind her cast a golden light on her hair, and she was making gestures with her small, capable hands. It was almost too much. God, he wanted her. Why did everything have to be so hard? He glanced up at the tree, and maybe it was his imagination, but it looked like the gnome on top winked at him. As if his lot, being stuffed on top of a prickly tree, was at least better than Harry's. He took another long pull of his butterbeer.
"Harry? Are you okay? I didn't mean...I mean...I'm...sorry. I shouldn't have said anything about it."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. Here we all had this brilliant day, and I have to go and remind you that my arse of a brother mucked up Christmas." She made a swirling motion with her bottle and then took a long sip.
"I'll take Percy and Scrimgeour over the Dursleys any day," he said.
She smiled. "You did the right thing, you know. Telling Scrimgeour to bugger off."
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?"
"It won't do any good. Things at the Ministry aren't going to change just because I won't let them use me. They'll still arrest innocent people while Death Eaters go free."
Ginny let out a long sigh. "Dad says that all the evidence he's heard against Stan Shunpike sounds suspicious. He thinks either Stan is under the Imperius curse, or the Ministry is fabricating evidence to make him look guilty. Either way, it's bad."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It's bad."
Ginny rested her head against the back of the sofa. "It seems strange, doesn't it? All of this awful stuff going on, and this time next week, I'll be in Transfiguration, listening to Professor McGonagall lecture us about how important it is to get serious about studying for OWLs, how we have our careers to think about...as if that matters if there's a war."
It wasn't so much if as when. Harry was fairly sure there would be a war, or at least that he and Voldemort had not seen the last of each other. But he didn't want to talk about it, especially with Ginny. "This time next week," Harry corrected, "you'll be at Quidditch practice."
"Good point," she said, and her eyes lit up. She tilted her bottle towards him. "Now that's something to look forward to." He noticed with some pleasure that she sounded more excited about playing Quidditch than she had about seeing Dean.
"I remember my career advice session," Harry said. "I told Professor McGonagall I wanted to be an Auror and Umbridge kept interrupting with that annoying cough. It ended up with them shouting at each other."
"That must have been interesting."
He told her the whole story, emphasizing how much fun it was to see Professor McGonagall figuratively trounce Umbridge.
"So, do you still want to be an Auror?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It's the only job I've ever really wanted." If I live that long.
"It's a hard life, Harry. Tonks has had some close calls." She sounded almost worried, but he tried not to read too much into it.
"Well," he said, as an alarming thought occurred to him, "I may need another plan. Aurors work for the Ministry, and now Scrimgoeur will probably make it his business to keep me from getting into training."
He tried to sound light, but really, what was he going to do?
"You could always play Quidditch," Ginny said. "You're really good, and you're a good Captain, too."
Harry would have appreciated this compliment coming from anyone, but knowing that Ginny felt that way made his chest swell not with jealousy and confusion, but something close to affection.
"Thanks," he said earnestly. "But it's not just me. The whole team is good. You're the best Chaser in the school."
She blushed a little. "You don't have to say that. Demelza is good, and Dean is solid. I'm surprised he's as good as he is since he was raised as a Muggle."
"So was I."
"Yeah, but you're special. Dean's not 'The Chosen One'," she teased.
"I don't know; you chose him." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. How - how? - had they gotten back to the subject of Dean?
She looked at him curiously and didn't say anything for a long time. "Actually, he asked me out first, but I think Hermione put him up to it."
Not sure what to say, he took another long sip of butterbeer and tried to think of some way to steer the conversation far away from the subject of her and Dean, but she saved him the trouble.
"How is Hermione, Harry?" Ginny asked. "She's not talking to me much these days."
"Why not?"
"I was the one that suggested she ask Ron to Slughorn's party."
"Oh."
"I thought, I really thought, that he would have the good sense not to act a complete prat. That they would have a good time, and maybe finally admit that they fancy each other. But, no, he has to go and stick his head up his arse, or Lavender's; I can't tell which is which when they're together."
Harry laughed. He thought about telling her about Ron's Christmas gift from Lavender but knew that Ginny would torture him with the information.
"I tried to tell her that maybe this was for the best. Ron will learn how to snog and when this thing with Lavender ends, and it will end, he'll realise that she's much better for him. But I don't think that helped much." She finished her butterbeer and set the bottle down. "Want another?"
Caught off guard by the question, he answered automatically. "Sure."
She picked up the thread of conversation after she returned with two more drinks.
"I just feel bad for her. She's liked him for ages, and...well, it's hard when you fancy someone and they fancy someone else."
"Yeah."
"Dad says there's muggle saying for it. She's between a rock and a hard place." He knew precisely what that was like, but Ginny seemed to misinterpret his silence.
"Harry? You don't... fancy Hermione, do you?"
"What? No. No, we've never been anything but friends."
"But you did know she liked Ron?"
"Yeah, I suppose. Suspected, at least. But..." He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"What?"
He wasn't sure if he should tell her, but why not? He couldn't talk to anyone else about it, and this was one of his many, many worries that Ginny might actually have some insight about.
"Maybe it's better if they aren't a couple. I mean, what if they do get together and they get all gooey like Fleur and Bill and they get so wrapped up in each other they don't notice anything else?"
Ginny laughed. "I can promise you that Hermione will never end up like Fleur."
"Okay," Harry said, unwilling to let it go easily. "What if they get together and then break up? How am I supposed to be friends with two people who hate each other?"
"Isn't that what it's like now?" she asked shrewdly. "Anyway," she continued, "if they ever do wise up and get together, I think they...well, it might last. It's obvious to everyone but them that they are nuts about each other. In the meantime, I told her she should find someone else to snog."
"So she asked McLaggen out."
"Not the best choice," Ginny agreed. "That was revenge. I think she'll be a little more careful next time."
"Why would you tell her to snog someone she doesn't like?" he asked, incredulous.
"I didn't tell her that. I would never to tell her to snog someone she doesn't like. I just thought that maybe if Ron saw her with someone else, you know, someone nicer than McLaggen, he might unglue himself from Lavender long enough to realize how he feels about her. A little jealousy might be good for him."
"I don't think so," Harry said. "Jealousy is the reason he's with Lavender. After you so kindly pointed out that he hadn't snogged anyone and that Hermione had snogged Viktor...that's when he hooked up with Lavender."
Ginny put a hand over her mouth in shock. "Nooo...do you mean to tell me that the git had never figured out that Hermione and Viktor...?"
Harry shook his head.
"That explains a lot."
He made a frustrated grunt. Girls. Boys. All hurt feelings and wounded pride and wanting what you couldn't have. "It's all more trouble than it's worth, if you ask me."
"What is?"
He made a vague gesture between them. "All this...stuff...with girls," he said rather lamely.
Ginny chuckled. "Clearly, you have not been snogging the right witch."
That went without saying. He hadn't been snogging any witches. "Just don't tell him I told you, okay?"
She thought about it for a moment. "Okay," she said. "I'll keep your secret if you keep mine. I don't think Ron wants to hear any dating advice from me anyway."
Desperate to change topics, he rubbed a sore spot on the back of his neck. "So, you reckon Ron's right? Think the Cannons have a chance against Appleby next week?"Her eyes followed his hand, and she smiled.
"Maybe. The Arrows are using a reserve Chaser since Barton is injured, and their Seeker is new this year. That's a nasty bruise. Does it hurt?"
He nodded. "A little. Some of those snowballs were brutal."
She leapt from her spot on the sofa, eyes wide. "Can I try something? I've been reading about healing charms, and I think I can make that feel better." She drew her wand and touched it to his neck. It was quite warm, almost uncomfortably so, and the point of heat began to spread outward across his shoulder. Gooseflesh broke out on his arms, head and neck, and he felt the muscles in his shoulders relaxing under the charm while other parts of his body got decidedly more tense. It was blissful, exactly the sort of thing that would fuel a hundred more dreams, and he just couldn't make himself resist. He was very grateful for the towel on his lap.
She was still standing behind him with her wand on his neck, when her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Who is she, Harry?"
"Who is who?" he said dreamily, eyes still closed.
"This witch you want to snog."
His eyes snapped open.
"I don't want to snog any witches." Just one witch.
"Ah, so it's a wizard, is it? There are rumors that you've been following Malfoy around..."
"That's different!"
"How so?" she asked evenly.
"He's up to something. I know it. I just can't prove it."
"What can't you prove?" She had come around the end of the sofa and was again sitting next to him.
No one believed him. Not Ron, or Hermione, or Lupin, or even Mr Weasley. Even Dumbledore had seemed unconcerned. She wouldn't either. He couldn't think of one good reason to tell her.
"That he's a Death Eater." He waved his hand noncommittally and reached for his butterbeer that Ginny had set on the table.
He looked at her. "This is the part where you tell me that's a ridiculous idea."
"It's not," she said. "Unlikely, maybe, but not ridiculous."
"So you think it could be true?"
"Of course it could. I learned a long time ago not to underestimate Malfoys, Harry. Underneath all the show, Draco is really just a coward. And he's cruel. I'd say that's not a bad job description for a Death Eater." She drank some of her butterbeer while he considered this. He couldn't begin to explain it, but he felt immeasurably better knowing that she at least thought it possible that his suspicions about Malfoy were right.
"Who is it?" she asked again.
"No one," he lied. "And it doesn't matter because she's -"
"She? So there is a witch you want to snog."
Harry sighed deeply. He should just shut up and go to bed.
"But it doesn't matter because...why?"
He would not talk to her about this. It was absurd.
"I won't tell anyone Harry."
"She's...with someone."
"Ah. So you're waiting for her to notice."
"That's me. Between a rock and a hard place." He smiled in spite of himself.
"So you just need to be patient. They might break up, and then you'll have a chance."
"I doubt it. He's a nice bloke."
"You could snog someone else in the meantime," she offered reasonably.
"I don't think so."
"Harry, don't be thick. You know how many witches wanted to go to Slughorn's party with you. You're captain of the Quidditch team, you're not scrawny anymore, and now everyone knows you were telling the truth about Voldemort. Who wouldn't want to go out with you?"
You don't. He only just stopped himself from saying it.
"It wouldn't be fair," he said after a long pause. "I still have this scar on my head, and Voldemort still wants me dead. Even if she did like me, who would want to go out with a bloke who's destined to be hunted by Voldemort?"
"Who says you're destined?"
"Trelawny."
"Hmph. Since when did she ever get anything right? If she's predicted your death again, then you should take comfort that your future will be rosy. "
Harry didn't say anything. He'd already told her more than he meant to, more than he should. Ginny regarded him with a piercing look.
"Harry," she said slowly. "Did Trelawny make that prophecy in the Department of Mysteries? The one that got broken?"
"N-No," he said, trying to sound casual. "Of course not."
"Then how do you know your destiny?" It would be a silly question if she had not asked it so seriously.
"It's not exactly a secret that Voldemort wants me dead, Ginny. He's been trying to kill me since I was a baby."
"But he hasn't succeeded," she said slowly. "And with all the extra security measures...I don't think Dumbledore will let Voldemort anywhere near you."
He looked at her, wondering how much was too much to tell. He trusted her, but he didn't want to burden her with knowledge she couldn't do anything about.
Finally, he said, "Dumbledore's doing everything he can to keep the school safe. But I can't expect him to protect me forever, and he couldn't even if I wanted him to. The reason Scrimgeour showed up here is because Dumbledore wasn't here. He can't be everywhere all the time, and I can't stay at Hogwarts forever."
"Is that why he's giving you private lessons? Is he teaching you stuff to use against Voldemort? Defensive spells and stuff like that?"
Harry was confused; how did she know about his lessons with Dumbledore? But then he remembered that she had given him a note about one of those lessons just before heading off to Hogsmeade. She must have overheard.
"Yes and no. He is teaching me things, but it's not quite like that. It's more...he's teaching me about Voldemort's weaknesses...but...I can't really talk about it."
"So The Prophet was right. You really are The Chosen One, aren't you?"
He was, of course, but he hadn't planned on telling Ginny. It would be strange to confide in anyone but Ron and Hermione. Saying that it was entirely possible that the future of the wizarding world could easily come down to a battle between him and Voldemort made him sound like the melodramatic, attention seeking adolescent Rita Skeeter thought he was.
"Don't be daft. The Prophet gets things right about as often as Trelawny." It didn't sound convincing, even to his own ears, but he hoped she would let it go.
Ginny looked at the mouth of her bottle for a long time. "You're a bad liar, Harry."
He made no response other than to glance at her.
"You'll have to fight Voldemort in the end, won't you? He won't stop until one of you is...finished. And Dumbledore is trying to help you, make sure that you win. Isn't that right?"
He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? He didn't think this was the sort of information that should be common knowledge. On the other hand, this was Ginny. If he asked her not to tell anyone, he trusted that she wouldn't. Still, he didn't want her pity; that would just be salt in the wound of his unrequited desire. In the end, it didn't really matter if he told her or not, he was doomed either way.
He couldn't think of a convenient lie so he nodded slowly, hoping that she would let it pass. He rubbed his neck.
"Is it better?"
"Oh, um, yeah," he said, relieved. "Much. Maybe you should be a Healer."
"If there really is going to be a war, maybe I should."
The air was heavy between them and neither spoke as they slowly drank butterbeer.
When she broke the silence some time later, her voice sounded slightly coarse and slow, like she was talking underwater. "Sometimes I wish that we could settle it all with a Quidditch match, you know, the Death Eaters against the Order. Winner rules the wizarding world for a year, until the next match."
He chuckled. "It's a good idea, but I don't think Voldemort will go for it."
Just then, they were interrupted by a tap on the window. They both turned to see an official looking Great Horned owl outside. Harry let it in and removed the large flat envelope from its leg.
"It's for you."
He watched as she opened the envelope and read the contents. Her mouth widened in a smile, and her whole face looked so - he couldn't think of any other word for it - happy.
"It's my Christmas present from Dean," she said, and the embers in the fireplace roared to life again. "Look."
It was a picture of Ginny that he had drawn. She was sitting in his favorite chair in the common room, legs curled under her and a book on her lap. Her hair was down, held away from her face on one side by the hand on which her head was propped, and she was concentrating on the book. Studying Quidditch plays. The image didn't move, of course, but Dean had done a spectacular job of capturing Ginny on paper. She looked beautiful, and he found himself staring at the picture.
"Wow," he said. "That's really good. You look...great."
"You really think so?" She looked at him and her eyes sparkled. He nodded.
"I like it too."
"He's really talented."
"Yeah, he is. He's a nice bloke." As soon as she spoke the words, she looked right at Harry, and raised an eyebrow.
His only response was to return the gesture. A frisson of energy passed between them, and then she shook her head as if trying to rid herself of unwanted thoughts.
"I...I... should go write to him," she stammered. "It may not get to him before we're back, but it might." She downed the rest of her butterbeer and stood up.
"Good night, Harry." She paused and then ruffled his hair before she turned toward the stairs, and he again felt gooseflesh break out on his neck.
"Good night."
She took a few steps and then turned to face him.
"Don't worry, " he said, "I'll get the bottles."
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Oh?"
"Harry, Voldemort's tried to off you..." she counted on her fingers, "five times, and he hasn't done it yet. I don't care if you are young and don't have an army of Death Eaters at your command, there's a lot of people who would fight for you, including Dumbledore. The odds are in your favor."
He couldn't quite name it, but he had the same sort of feeling he'd had when he told Ron and Hermione about the prophecy. Ginny had faith and confidence in him and just knowing that made him feel a bit better about his future. He looked into the fire, now just glowing embers, and rubbed the spot on his neck where the bruise had been. The soreness was gone. There was only a lingering warmth where her wand had healed him.
*
Forpluschi , who likes missing moments and is interested in secrets that are "fundamental, something that requires them to really 'see' each other for what they are...Perhaps Harry and Ginny discovering their feelings, in the process of bonding..." Other requested elements included the Burrow, the Weasleys and Quidditch.
I hope you like it! I worked in as many of your requests as I could, and I hope you don't mind that this is sort of a "pre" Harry/Ginny story. To me, some of the most exciting and secret filled times between a couple can come before they have completely acknowledged their feelings for each other, and I wanted to explore that.
Title: Between a Rock and a Hard Place
Author/Artist: irislock
Pairing: Harry, Ginny, Ginny/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: about 4900
Summary: It didn't really matter if he told her or not. He was doomed either way.
Warnings: mention of chest monster, if that bothers you
Author/Artist's Notes: Many thanks to antoshevu for the beta work. This is a missing moment set after Chapter 16 ("A Very Frosty Christmas") of HBP. This story bears some thematic resemblance to a membersip application fic recently posted at catchmysnitch . Any similarities are entirely coincidental. More notes at the end.
ETA: I was completely remiss in not thanking r_becca for running such a great fest. Also, I have corrected some format errors that I didn't notice before.
Harry came bouncing down the stairs of the Burrow wearing pajama bottoms and a Gryffindor t-shirt. He had just showered and was drying his hair with a towel as he descended. And he was whistling. Whistling.
It had been a fantastic day, his best at the Burrow so far. Better even than Christmas because Percy and Scrimgeour had not made an appearance. He'd played Quidditch for hours; he, Ginny and Fred against Ron, George, and Bill. Playing three-to-a-side Quidditch meant no Bludgers, but George started charming snowballs to attack players at random, and Fred quickly took up the cause. So the Seekers sought and the Chasers chased, and the Keepers kept while all of them were besieged by snowballs. After Harry just edged past Bill to catch the snitch, the game had disintegrated into an epic snowball fight until Mrs Weasley had called them in for hot cocoa.
Even a Cannons loss was not bad news. After supper, everyone had crowded around the wireless to hear the match. They lost to Puddlemere by 50 points, but as Ron reasoned, “It’s only 50 points. Puddlemere is really good. This will give them confidence in the match against Appleby next week. I know they can beat the Arrows.”
The crooked house was quiet now. After the match ended, Mr and Mrs Weasley said goodbye to Bill, Fleur, and the twins and then retired upstairs. With the house a little less crowded, Harry had left a snoring Ron and moved his things to Fred and George's room.
Harry wasn’t tired; he was thirsty. Draping the towel around his neck, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a butterbeer. He was just twisting the cap off when he heard an odd sucking noise. It reminded him a little of the sound Myrtle made when she was emerging from a toilet.
The source of the noise was apparent when Harry turned around. He saw Ginny’s back, but her head was in the fireplace, surrounded by green flames. And she wasn’t alone; Dean’s head - and only his head - was also in the fireplace, and they were...kissing.
The monster that had been kept carefully confined in Harry’s chest for the last several weeks suddenly raged against its constraint. He had a vivid image of a Hungarian horntail breathing fire, and it felt as though he would be engulfed in the flames. The heat blazed a path through his veins, making his blood boil and leaving his good mood in ashes.
Heedless of Dean's greeting Ginny's surprised gasp, he left abruptly and walked into the living room, intending to put as much space between him and the scene in the kitchen as possible, and realizing a moment too late that he had left his butterbeer behind. Going back was out of the question. His wand was upstairs, making Summoning impossible. In a fit of frustration, he kicked the stone hearth and watched in grim satisfaction as the glowing embers in the fireplace erupted into crackling, furious flames. How appropriate.
Toe throbbing, he braced his hands on the mantle and leaned forward while he stared at the fire. He had been doing so well at not thinking about Ginny. On the Hogwarts Express, he'd been engrossed in thought about Malfoy and the Unbreakable Vow; he was not thinking about Ginny. When he was seated by her in the borrowed Ministry car that took them to the Burrow, he was not thinking about how her hair smelled. He did not think about her every time he walked into this room and saw the miles of paper chain everywhere. He did not think about her on Christmas Day unless you count how he felt when she pulled a maggot out of his hair, which he didn't. He did not think about her at night just before he fell asleep, and if he had dreams where she was thinking of him and touching him, well, he couldn't really help that, could he? He'd never been in control of his dreams.
Today, everything was brilliant, just the way things had been last summer. They laughed when Ron got hit with snowballs, and he'd helped her plan and execute a particularly vicious sneak attack on the twins, but there was no thought, anywhere in his mind, that they were anything but friends. Until now. Until he had seen her kissing Dean...again.
He could not have her. She was Ron's sister - and Dean's girlfriend. He was destined to meet Voldemort at least once more. This thing inside him, this feeling, or desire, it had to be kept secret. For what good could come of it? Either she didn't feel the same way (likely, since she had a boyfriend) or she did, and he would have to leave her to fight Voldemort - or worse, lose her to Voldemort. No, he thought. No one could know, and he would just have to go back to not thinking.
"Harry?"
Oh, damn. Had he really been staring at the fire that long? Long enough for Ginny and Dean to finish their snog session? He should have escaped upstairs when he had the chance.
"Hmm?" He didn't look at her.
"You left this in the kitchen. I thought you might want it."
He turned his head enough to see that she was holding a butterbeer in each hand. Reluctantly, he took the one she offered him.
"Thanks."
"Sure," she replied, holding her own bottle up to his. "Cheers."
"Uh, yeah," he mumbled as the bottles clunked together.
"Nice fire."
She stepped a little closer to him, and he found, to his horror, that all of this not thinking about Ginny had him aroused. His pajama bottoms were tented in a most embarrassing way, and his options were limited. He didn't want to face her, but she was standing between him and the stairs, and he had no reason to go back to the kitchen. He settled for sitting down on the sofa behind them, taking the towel from around his neck and resting it in his lap to camouflage his situation.
Unfortunately, Ginny seemed to take this as an invitation, and she sat next to him, legs tucked up under her and facing toward his side. She was idly picking at the label on her butterbeer.
"Harry," she said softly, "I need to ask you a favor."
"What?" he asked dispassionately.
"Please don't tell anyone what you saw. I thought everyone had gone to bed, and I'm not supposed to make or get Floo calls without permission. Mum and Dad have been so weird lately, not wanting me to go anywhere, and ...well, I'd appreciate it if you could keep it a secret."
"Okay," he said evenly. "No problem." Leave it at that, he told himself. Do not ask.
"Does this mean I should stay out of the kitchen every night?" he asked.
"Oh," she said, surprised. "No. This was the first time we've Floo'd since hols started. He wanted to meet at Diagon Alley on Boxing Day, but Mum said no, and then he wanted me to go with him to a Muggle party on New Year's Eve. It sounded like fun, but of course Mum said no. I couldn't even convince Dad to let me go. I wasn't sure my Owl would get to him in time, so I used the Floo."
She sounded very disappointed, but Harry had a sudden and profound respect for Mr and Mrs Weasley's parenting philosophy. "There's not much Floo powder left; it's too risky to do it again. I told him I'd see him when we got back to Hogwarts."
Harry couldn't help but be a little cheered by this news. "That's good, then. If I can't leave, then you shouldn't be able to either."
She looked puzzled. "Why can't you leave?"
"Oh, um," Harry sighed. "Dumbledore asked me not to leave the Burrow while I'm here. Your parents agreed to extra security measures to have me."
"I know," she said airily. "Same as last summer."
"Er, yeah." He really did not want to discuss what an inconvenience his presence was, even if it had the benefit of making it harder for her to communicate with Dean.
"You know they don't mind."
He shrugged. Trying hard not to be aware of how red her lips looked, he closed his eyes and took a sip of his butterbeer.
"They love you like their own, Harry," she continued, "and I must say, you're a much better son to them than Percy is at the moment. The utter fool. I cannot imagine what he was thinking, bringing..."
She kept talking, but Harry wasn't really listening. The fire behind her cast a golden light on her hair, and she was making gestures with her small, capable hands. It was almost too much. God, he wanted her. Why did everything have to be so hard? He glanced up at the tree, and maybe it was his imagination, but it looked like the gnome on top winked at him. As if his lot, being stuffed on top of a prickly tree, was at least better than Harry's. He took another long pull of his butterbeer.
"Harry? Are you okay? I didn't mean...I mean...I'm...sorry. I shouldn't have said anything about it."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. Here we all had this brilliant day, and I have to go and remind you that my arse of a brother mucked up Christmas." She made a swirling motion with her bottle and then took a long sip.
"I'll take Percy and Scrimgeour over the Dursleys any day," he said.
She smiled. "You did the right thing, you know. Telling Scrimgeour to bugger off."
"Yeah, but..."
"But what?"
"It won't do any good. Things at the Ministry aren't going to change just because I won't let them use me. They'll still arrest innocent people while Death Eaters go free."
Ginny let out a long sigh. "Dad says that all the evidence he's heard against Stan Shunpike sounds suspicious. He thinks either Stan is under the Imperius curse, or the Ministry is fabricating evidence to make him look guilty. Either way, it's bad."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "It's bad."
Ginny rested her head against the back of the sofa. "It seems strange, doesn't it? All of this awful stuff going on, and this time next week, I'll be in Transfiguration, listening to Professor McGonagall lecture us about how important it is to get serious about studying for OWLs, how we have our careers to think about...as if that matters if there's a war."
It wasn't so much if as when. Harry was fairly sure there would be a war, or at least that he and Voldemort had not seen the last of each other. But he didn't want to talk about it, especially with Ginny. "This time next week," Harry corrected, "you'll be at Quidditch practice."
"Good point," she said, and her eyes lit up. She tilted her bottle towards him. "Now that's something to look forward to." He noticed with some pleasure that she sounded more excited about playing Quidditch than she had about seeing Dean.
"I remember my career advice session," Harry said. "I told Professor McGonagall I wanted to be an Auror and Umbridge kept interrupting with that annoying cough. It ended up with them shouting at each other."
"That must have been interesting."
He told her the whole story, emphasizing how much fun it was to see Professor McGonagall figuratively trounce Umbridge.
"So, do you still want to be an Auror?"
He nodded. "Yeah. It's the only job I've ever really wanted." If I live that long.
"It's a hard life, Harry. Tonks has had some close calls." She sounded almost worried, but he tried not to read too much into it.
"Well," he said, as an alarming thought occurred to him, "I may need another plan. Aurors work for the Ministry, and now Scrimgoeur will probably make it his business to keep me from getting into training."
He tried to sound light, but really, what was he going to do?
"You could always play Quidditch," Ginny said. "You're really good, and you're a good Captain, too."
Harry would have appreciated this compliment coming from anyone, but knowing that Ginny felt that way made his chest swell not with jealousy and confusion, but something close to affection.
"Thanks," he said earnestly. "But it's not just me. The whole team is good. You're the best Chaser in the school."
She blushed a little. "You don't have to say that. Demelza is good, and Dean is solid. I'm surprised he's as good as he is since he was raised as a Muggle."
"So was I."
"Yeah, but you're special. Dean's not 'The Chosen One'," she teased.
"I don't know; you chose him." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. How - how? - had they gotten back to the subject of Dean?
She looked at him curiously and didn't say anything for a long time. "Actually, he asked me out first, but I think Hermione put him up to it."
Not sure what to say, he took another long sip of butterbeer and tried to think of some way to steer the conversation far away from the subject of her and Dean, but she saved him the trouble.
"How is Hermione, Harry?" Ginny asked. "She's not talking to me much these days."
"Why not?"
"I was the one that suggested she ask Ron to Slughorn's party."
"Oh."
"I thought, I really thought, that he would have the good sense not to act a complete prat. That they would have a good time, and maybe finally admit that they fancy each other. But, no, he has to go and stick his head up his arse, or Lavender's; I can't tell which is which when they're together."
Harry laughed. He thought about telling her about Ron's Christmas gift from Lavender but knew that Ginny would torture him with the information.
"I tried to tell her that maybe this was for the best. Ron will learn how to snog and when this thing with Lavender ends, and it will end, he'll realise that she's much better for him. But I don't think that helped much." She finished her butterbeer and set the bottle down. "Want another?"
Caught off guard by the question, he answered automatically. "Sure."
She picked up the thread of conversation after she returned with two more drinks.
"I just feel bad for her. She's liked him for ages, and...well, it's hard when you fancy someone and they fancy someone else."
"Yeah."
"Dad says there's muggle saying for it. She's between a rock and a hard place." He knew precisely what that was like, but Ginny seemed to misinterpret his silence.
"Harry? You don't... fancy Hermione, do you?"
"What? No. No, we've never been anything but friends."
"But you did know she liked Ron?"
"Yeah, I suppose. Suspected, at least. But..." He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"What?"
He wasn't sure if he should tell her, but why not? He couldn't talk to anyone else about it, and this was one of his many, many worries that Ginny might actually have some insight about.
"Maybe it's better if they aren't a couple. I mean, what if they do get together and they get all gooey like Fleur and Bill and they get so wrapped up in each other they don't notice anything else?"
Ginny laughed. "I can promise you that Hermione will never end up like Fleur."
"Okay," Harry said, unwilling to let it go easily. "What if they get together and then break up? How am I supposed to be friends with two people who hate each other?"
"Isn't that what it's like now?" she asked shrewdly. "Anyway," she continued, "if they ever do wise up and get together, I think they...well, it might last. It's obvious to everyone but them that they are nuts about each other. In the meantime, I told her she should find someone else to snog."
"So she asked McLaggen out."
"Not the best choice," Ginny agreed. "That was revenge. I think she'll be a little more careful next time."
"Why would you tell her to snog someone she doesn't like?" he asked, incredulous.
"I didn't tell her that. I would never to tell her to snog someone she doesn't like. I just thought that maybe if Ron saw her with someone else, you know, someone nicer than McLaggen, he might unglue himself from Lavender long enough to realize how he feels about her. A little jealousy might be good for him."
"I don't think so," Harry said. "Jealousy is the reason he's with Lavender. After you so kindly pointed out that he hadn't snogged anyone and that Hermione had snogged Viktor...that's when he hooked up with Lavender."
Ginny put a hand over her mouth in shock. "Nooo...do you mean to tell me that the git had never figured out that Hermione and Viktor...?"
Harry shook his head.
"That explains a lot."
He made a frustrated grunt. Girls. Boys. All hurt feelings and wounded pride and wanting what you couldn't have. "It's all more trouble than it's worth, if you ask me."
"What is?"
He made a vague gesture between them. "All this...stuff...with girls," he said rather lamely.
Ginny chuckled. "Clearly, you have not been snogging the right witch."
That went without saying. He hadn't been snogging any witches. "Just don't tell him I told you, okay?"
She thought about it for a moment. "Okay," she said. "I'll keep your secret if you keep mine. I don't think Ron wants to hear any dating advice from me anyway."
Desperate to change topics, he rubbed a sore spot on the back of his neck. "So, you reckon Ron's right? Think the Cannons have a chance against Appleby next week?"Her eyes followed his hand, and she smiled.
"Maybe. The Arrows are using a reserve Chaser since Barton is injured, and their Seeker is new this year. That's a nasty bruise. Does it hurt?"
He nodded. "A little. Some of those snowballs were brutal."
She leapt from her spot on the sofa, eyes wide. "Can I try something? I've been reading about healing charms, and I think I can make that feel better." She drew her wand and touched it to his neck. It was quite warm, almost uncomfortably so, and the point of heat began to spread outward across his shoulder. Gooseflesh broke out on his arms, head and neck, and he felt the muscles in his shoulders relaxing under the charm while other parts of his body got decidedly more tense. It was blissful, exactly the sort of thing that would fuel a hundred more dreams, and he just couldn't make himself resist. He was very grateful for the towel on his lap.
She was still standing behind him with her wand on his neck, when her soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Who is she, Harry?"
"Who is who?" he said dreamily, eyes still closed.
"This witch you want to snog."
His eyes snapped open.
"I don't want to snog any witches." Just one witch.
"Ah, so it's a wizard, is it? There are rumors that you've been following Malfoy around..."
"That's different!"
"How so?" she asked evenly.
"He's up to something. I know it. I just can't prove it."
"What can't you prove?" She had come around the end of the sofa and was again sitting next to him.
No one believed him. Not Ron, or Hermione, or Lupin, or even Mr Weasley. Even Dumbledore had seemed unconcerned. She wouldn't either. He couldn't think of one good reason to tell her.
"That he's a Death Eater." He waved his hand noncommittally and reached for his butterbeer that Ginny had set on the table.
He looked at her. "This is the part where you tell me that's a ridiculous idea."
"It's not," she said. "Unlikely, maybe, but not ridiculous."
"So you think it could be true?"
"Of course it could. I learned a long time ago not to underestimate Malfoys, Harry. Underneath all the show, Draco is really just a coward. And he's cruel. I'd say that's not a bad job description for a Death Eater." She drank some of her butterbeer while he considered this. He couldn't begin to explain it, but he felt immeasurably better knowing that she at least thought it possible that his suspicions about Malfoy were right.
"Who is it?" she asked again.
"No one," he lied. "And it doesn't matter because she's -"
"She? So there is a witch you want to snog."
Harry sighed deeply. He should just shut up and go to bed.
"But it doesn't matter because...why?"
He would not talk to her about this. It was absurd.
"I won't tell anyone Harry."
"She's...with someone."
"Ah. So you're waiting for her to notice."
"That's me. Between a rock and a hard place." He smiled in spite of himself.
"So you just need to be patient. They might break up, and then you'll have a chance."
"I doubt it. He's a nice bloke."
"You could snog someone else in the meantime," she offered reasonably.
"I don't think so."
"Harry, don't be thick. You know how many witches wanted to go to Slughorn's party with you. You're captain of the Quidditch team, you're not scrawny anymore, and now everyone knows you were telling the truth about Voldemort. Who wouldn't want to go out with you?"
You don't. He only just stopped himself from saying it.
"It wouldn't be fair," he said after a long pause. "I still have this scar on my head, and Voldemort still wants me dead. Even if she did like me, who would want to go out with a bloke who's destined to be hunted by Voldemort?"
"Who says you're destined?"
"Trelawny."
"Hmph. Since when did she ever get anything right? If she's predicted your death again, then you should take comfort that your future will be rosy. "
Harry didn't say anything. He'd already told her more than he meant to, more than he should. Ginny regarded him with a piercing look.
"Harry," she said slowly. "Did Trelawny make that prophecy in the Department of Mysteries? The one that got broken?"
"N-No," he said, trying to sound casual. "Of course not."
"Then how do you know your destiny?" It would be a silly question if she had not asked it so seriously.
"It's not exactly a secret that Voldemort wants me dead, Ginny. He's been trying to kill me since I was a baby."
"But he hasn't succeeded," she said slowly. "And with all the extra security measures...I don't think Dumbledore will let Voldemort anywhere near you."
He looked at her, wondering how much was too much to tell. He trusted her, but he didn't want to burden her with knowledge she couldn't do anything about.
Finally, he said, "Dumbledore's doing everything he can to keep the school safe. But I can't expect him to protect me forever, and he couldn't even if I wanted him to. The reason Scrimgeour showed up here is because Dumbledore wasn't here. He can't be everywhere all the time, and I can't stay at Hogwarts forever."
"Is that why he's giving you private lessons? Is he teaching you stuff to use against Voldemort? Defensive spells and stuff like that?"
Harry was confused; how did she know about his lessons with Dumbledore? But then he remembered that she had given him a note about one of those lessons just before heading off to Hogsmeade. She must have overheard.
"Yes and no. He is teaching me things, but it's not quite like that. It's more...he's teaching me about Voldemort's weaknesses...but...I can't really talk about it."
"So The Prophet was right. You really are The Chosen One, aren't you?"
He was, of course, but he hadn't planned on telling Ginny. It would be strange to confide in anyone but Ron and Hermione. Saying that it was entirely possible that the future of the wizarding world could easily come down to a battle between him and Voldemort made him sound like the melodramatic, attention seeking adolescent Rita Skeeter thought he was.
"Don't be daft. The Prophet gets things right about as often as Trelawny." It didn't sound convincing, even to his own ears, but he hoped she would let it go.
Ginny looked at the mouth of her bottle for a long time. "You're a bad liar, Harry."
He made no response other than to glance at her.
"You'll have to fight Voldemort in the end, won't you? He won't stop until one of you is...finished. And Dumbledore is trying to help you, make sure that you win. Isn't that right?"
He shrugged. What was he supposed to say? He didn't think this was the sort of information that should be common knowledge. On the other hand, this was Ginny. If he asked her not to tell anyone, he trusted that she wouldn't. Still, he didn't want her pity; that would just be salt in the wound of his unrequited desire. In the end, it didn't really matter if he told her or not, he was doomed either way.
He couldn't think of a convenient lie so he nodded slowly, hoping that she would let it pass. He rubbed his neck.
"Is it better?"
"Oh, um, yeah," he said, relieved. "Much. Maybe you should be a Healer."
"If there really is going to be a war, maybe I should."
The air was heavy between them and neither spoke as they slowly drank butterbeer.
When she broke the silence some time later, her voice sounded slightly coarse and slow, like she was talking underwater. "Sometimes I wish that we could settle it all with a Quidditch match, you know, the Death Eaters against the Order. Winner rules the wizarding world for a year, until the next match."
He chuckled. "It's a good idea, but I don't think Voldemort will go for it."
Just then, they were interrupted by a tap on the window. They both turned to see an official looking Great Horned owl outside. Harry let it in and removed the large flat envelope from its leg.
"It's for you."
He watched as she opened the envelope and read the contents. Her mouth widened in a smile, and her whole face looked so - he couldn't think of any other word for it - happy.
"It's my Christmas present from Dean," she said, and the embers in the fireplace roared to life again. "Look."
It was a picture of Ginny that he had drawn. She was sitting in his favorite chair in the common room, legs curled under her and a book on her lap. Her hair was down, held away from her face on one side by the hand on which her head was propped, and she was concentrating on the book. Studying Quidditch plays. The image didn't move, of course, but Dean had done a spectacular job of capturing Ginny on paper. She looked beautiful, and he found himself staring at the picture.
"Wow," he said. "That's really good. You look...great."
"You really think so?" She looked at him and her eyes sparkled. He nodded.
"I like it too."
"He's really talented."
"Yeah, he is. He's a nice bloke." As soon as she spoke the words, she looked right at Harry, and raised an eyebrow.
His only response was to return the gesture. A frisson of energy passed between them, and then she shook her head as if trying to rid herself of unwanted thoughts.
"I...I... should go write to him," she stammered. "It may not get to him before we're back, but it might." She downed the rest of her butterbeer and stood up.
"Good night, Harry." She paused and then ruffled his hair before she turned toward the stairs, and he again felt gooseflesh break out on his neck.
"Good night."
She took a few steps and then turned to face him.
"Don't worry, " he said, "I'll get the bottles."
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Oh?"
"Harry, Voldemort's tried to off you..." she counted on her fingers, "five times, and he hasn't done it yet. I don't care if you are young and don't have an army of Death Eaters at your command, there's a lot of people who would fight for you, including Dumbledore. The odds are in your favor."
He couldn't quite name it, but he had the same sort of feeling he'd had when he told Ron and Hermione about the prophecy. Ginny had faith and confidence in him and just knowing that made him feel a bit better about his future. He looked into the fire, now just glowing embers, and rubbed the spot on his neck where the bruise had been. The soreness was gone. There was only a lingering warmth where her wand had healed him.
*
Forpluschi , who likes missing moments and is interested in secrets that are "fundamental, something that requires them to really 'see' each other for what they are...Perhaps Harry and Ginny discovering their feelings, in the process of bonding..." Other requested elements included the Burrow, the Weasleys and Quidditch.
I hope you like it! I worked in as many of your requests as I could, and I hope you don't mind that this is sort of a "pre" Harry/Ginny story. To me, some of the most exciting and secret filled times between a couple can come before they have completely acknowledged their feelings for each other, and I wanted to explore that.