Torn

He was walking through a long, dark hallway. He was confused. His bare feet slapping against the cold stones of the floor was the only discernible noise, and it unnerved him a bit. He looked around, squinting in the dim moonlight that sifted in through the darkened windows.

How had he gotten here? He couldn't recall. He heard a noise behind him - someone was giggling. He spun around to look, and immediately wished he hadn't. His footing on the cold stones was compromised, and he fell to his knees. He gingerly lifted his hands from the floor and could tell by the way they ached that they were scratched and bleeding. He froze when the giggling came again, this time from the other direction.

"Who's there?" he called loudly. When no answer came, he became angry. He stood and brushed off his pyjama pants, even though he couldn't see any dirt on them in the darkness. "Who's there?" he demanded. His eyes widened when his only answer was the giggling. Suddenly he was frightened. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that someone was in the darkness with him, and that someone was someone to be afraid of. Without stopping to think about it further, he began to run at top speed down the hallway.

He couldn't see where he was going, but the cold flagstones beneath his feet comforted him. They were steady and stable and the only thing his mind could - would - digest right now. The giggling was getting closer - damn it all, he'd been followed! He ran faster. He ran until his lungs felt as though they would burst from the lack of air. Finally he stopped and dropped to his knees, trying to regain his breath. He froze when he heard a soft rustle of fabric.

He sucked in his breath and held it, despite his body's protests for the life-giving air that he so desperately needed. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out when he felt something brush a bare foot, and waited. The waiting was what frightened him. He wasn't accustomed to waiting and silence and not being answered, and it was terrifying, not to have his presence acknowledged.

Had he ceased to exist? Is that why it was so dark here? Am I in hell? He wondered. Did hell exist? Maybe he wasn't in hell - perhaps he was in purgatory - hell's waiting room. He slowly climbed to his feet, trying not to make any noise. He suddenly realized that he couldn't even hear the sound of his own strangled breathing, and fear almost rent his heart in two. Surely if he didn't exist, he wouldn't be struggling for air, would he?

"Is anyone there?" he cried out timidly. His body began to tremble. It was cold here; why hadn't he felt the cold before? He couldn't be dead if he could feel the cold, right? He shivered. Maybe that's what being dead feels like, he thought. Cold and dark and alone.

Alone. The word echoed in his mind as he wrapped his arms around himself, struggling to retain some warmth. Maybe he should start walking again to try and generate some warmth. He began to walk slowly, his numb feet no longer feeling the frozen stones beneath them. His steps made no noise, but he didn't think about it. He couldn't. He refused to. If he thought about the darkness, about the cold, or his utter loneliness, it would consume him. He wasn't willing to give up - yet.

"Where are you going?" a distinctly feminine voice asked. He stopped short, his eyes dodging this way and that, looking for the source. The voice sounded misty; as though it was surrounding him. It didn't come from any direction - it came from all directions. It was everywhere. He shivered uncontrollably, knowing that if he didn't get warmth soon, he would freeze to death.

"I - I don't know," he stuttered, hoping against hope that the owner of the voice would help him. He was too proud to ask for help; he would not lower himself to ask. When the giggling picked up again, he felt anger washing over him.

He turned and began walking again, not caring that the giggling had ceased, and not paying attention to what he was doing. His anger was blinding him. How dare she - whoever she was - not help him, and just laugh at him like that? When he found out who she was, he would have her head handed to him on a silver platter. Suddenly the floor gave way, and he was falling, falling endlessly...

"Draco, wake up!" Goyle was shaking him roughly, and shaking his entire bed in the process. Draco opened his eyes and pushed him away, his nostrils flaring angrily.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Goyle?" he asked furiously. Crabbe was sitting up in his bed, staring at Draco with wide eyes, and it only served to make him angrier. "And what the hell are you staring at?"

"Draco, your hands," Goyle said quietly, pointing a pudgy finger. Draco sneered at him.

"What about my hands?"

"Look at them, Draco," Crabbe said tentatively, not wanting to invoke Draco's ire. Draco scoffed at them.

"They're just hands. Really, you would think you'd never-" his voice died when he looked down. The palms of his hands were scratched, and dried blood was everywhere. He stared for a moment, then leapt out of bed and ran over to the mirror that hung above his dresser. His hair was disheveled, and he had smudges of dirt on his cheeks. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard before looking down at his knees, which were caked with dirt.

"Are you alright?" Goyle asked tentatively. Draco swirled around to face them, his expression cold and unreadable. He would not break down in front of them, he wouldn't. He would not show anything that could be construed as weakness.

"I was fine, until you shook the hell out of me, you great bloody git," he said nastily, taking his time as he made his way back to his bed. "What the hell possessed you to do that?" Crabbe and Goyle exchanged wary glances, and Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Well?"

"You were-" Goyle's voice died. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I know you're stupid, but you do have the ability to form a complete sentence, do you not?" Goyle nodded. "Then do it, before I hex you to hell and back."

"You were -" Goyle swallowed hard. "Screaming." Draco blinked, not sure he'd heard correctly.

"I was what?"

"He's not lying, Draco. I heard you too. You were screaming," Crabbe offered, his eyes wide. Draco bit the inside of his cheek to control the surge of fear and anger that was threatening to take over.

"Whatever you thought you heard was nothing, I'm sure," he hissed through clenched teeth. "And I strongly suggest that you keep it to yourselves. If I hear that you've told anyone - and I do mean anyone - I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever say."

"We understand," Goyle nodded, holding his hands up in defeat. Draco sighed. Sometimes it was just too easy to scare them. He examined his mussed-up state in the mirror one last time before grabbing his bathrobe and heading to the bathroom. What he needed was a nice, hot shower to clear his head.

He turned the handles on the tap and closed his eyes as the warm spray hit his cool skin. Steam rose in thin curls, and he opened his eyes to watch as the wisps floated to the ceiling, and then vanished. He'd been having that same damned dream for six years, and he was tired of it. He had to admit that this morning's events had worried him a bit, though. He'd never woken up with scratched hands and dirty, torn bedclothes. He lathered his hair with the sweet-smelling shampoo that his mother had sent him and tried to wash the memory away. He always hated the mornings after that particular dream - he had no clue what the dream meant, or if it even meant anything at all.

He rinsed the soap out of his hair and stood there for a moment under the hot spray. The dream must mean something, or he wouldn't continue to dream it, would he? He rubbed his face with his hands and noticed that they were wrinkling from the water. He turned the tap off and wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, then pushed the wet strands of hair away from his eyes.

When he got back to his bedroom, Crabbe and Goyle were already dressed and sitting on the overstuffed green chairs that were in the corner of the room. He ignored their curious stares and dressed slowly as he normally did. He reached for his tube of hair gel, then for some reason decided against it and combed his fingers through his hair instead. He wrapped his school robe around him, and then turned to look at them.

"Well? Are you coming to breakfast or not?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his hip out. He tapped his foot impatiently as they jumped up out of their seats and hurried towards him.

His flunkies were strangely silent until they got to the Slytherin table, where they erupted into crude comments and burping contests. Draco took in a slow breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control over his temper - a battle which he found he was losing more and more as of late. He sipped at a hot cup of tea, and without realizing it, glanced over at the Gryffindor table.

His blood boiled as he watched Potter lean towards the Weasley girl. She cupped her hand to his ear and whispered something that made him blush. For some reason that Draco couldn't explain, he suddenly wanted to rip the Golden Boy's spleen out.

It was at that moment that Ginny Weasley raised her head and turned her eyes in Draco's direction. For a moment, he could see surprise flash across her face, then a look he was used to seeing from Pansy and other Slytherin girls, but certainly not from a pure Gryffindor. It was fleeting, though, and her gaze turned steely, as though she was looking through him, not at him.

He was momentarily confused. That look coming from her startled him; it unnerved him. He'd been cruel to her yesterday, harsh and cold and cruel. Why should she look at him with anything other than loathing, the way Potter looked at him? He was even more unnerved when she looked back at the Mudblood and started chatting animatedly with her. She was ignoring him! He felt a righteous surge of anger - how dare she ignore him! No one ignored him, least of all a lowly Gryffindor!

"Did you hear me, Draco?" he was snapped back to reality to see Pansy staring at him expectantly. He frowned, and she rolled her eyes. "I asked you if you were going to meet me tonight in the library to finish our work on Snape's potions assignment. It's due tomorrow morning first thing, remember?" He closed his eyes and sighed. He'd forgotten that stupid project, and had forgotten that he had to complete it with her, his partner, as well.

"When are you going?" he asked reluctantly. She began babbling again and he only half-listened to her, letting his mind drift. It had become a rather nasty habit of his; to ignore her and let her prattle on, nodding his head occasionally. As if the ruddy cow had anything interesting to say anyway, he thought.

He spent most of the day locked away in his room, brooding over his dream and napping. He didn't like to do much on Sundays, as he felt that it was his only day to really rest and prepare for the coming week. After listening to Pansy and Millicent babbling away incessantly during dinner, he was in no mood to stay in their company in the library. As luck would have it, Millicent decided to return to the common room and study there. She shot a wink at Pansy, not realizing that Draco had seen it and rolled his eyes.

Draco was silent throughout most of their time in the library, nodding when Pansy asked him questions. His interest was piqued, though, when he saw the top of a bright red head over the top of the bookshelf. When it rounded the corner, Ginny Weasley froze and stared at them, not knowing how to get around them without incident. Draco raised his eyes to meet hers and smirked as he leaned back lazily in his chair.

"Amazing," he drawled softly. Pansy looked up and saw Ginny, and her lips curled up in an almost feral grin. "This is the second time I've seen Weasley in here in two days. You'd almost think she knew how to read." Pansy covered her mouth with her hand and sniggered, and Ginny's face turned scarlet.

"And this is the first time I've seen you alone with a girl," she said quietly. "I'd almost think you were straight." She turned her nose up at him and turned back the way she came, leaving Pansy staring open-mouthed at her retreating back. Draco wore a slight smile until he realized Pansy had turned her attention to him.

"You're not just going to let her get away with that, are you?" she asked in disbelief. He shook the smile off of his face and turned annoyed eyes to her.

"You'd do well to take a lesson from her, Pansy," he said, his eyes cold. "At least she offers me a chance to amuse myself." Pansy blushed furiously and looked back down at her parchment, leaving Draco to wonder why Weasley had shown such bravado, even in the face of what he'd done to her yesterday morning.

"I'm going up to bed," Pansy announced, rising from her chair. Draco watched her stand and shrugged, nonplussed. She put her hands on her hips. "Well, aren't you coming?"

"Eventually," he said flatly. She annoyed him to no end; a woman was not going to tell him when he should and should not go to bed like his mother used to! She huffed angrily as she gathered her things, and then stomped out of the library. When he was sure she was gone, he stood quietly and began to walk up and down the aisles of books. He went to the corner of the library, just beneath the big clock, and scanned the tables that were filled with students. At one table sat some giggly second year Ravenclaws. Two first-year Hufflepuffs occupied another table. Then he spotted her - there, in the same table she'd been at yesterday, Ginny Weasley was bent over a book. He watched with amusement as her lips moved silently while her eyes moved across the page.

He savored the startled look in her eyes as she watched him sit down across from her. She leaned back in her seat and appraised him silently, waiting for whatever insults he hurled at her. To her surprise, he offered none, and seemed content to simply sit there and watch her watching him.

"Can I help you?" she asked quietly, not wanting to anger the librarian, who was already casting furtive glances in their direction. He licked his lips, and then leaned across the table.

"Do you believe in hell, Weasley?" she blinked. Was that a trick question? What was he playing at now? He was speaking to her almost as though he thought she was human. He sighed in annoyance at the look playing across her face. "I'm not trying to trick you, I asked you a simple question. Do you?"

"I suppose," she said, considering him thoughtfully. "Don't you?" He ignored her question.

"Do you believe in the devil, then?"

"If I believe in hell, then it follows logically that I would believe in the devil," she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"And what exactly do you imagine hell might be like?" There was an odd gleam in his eyes that made her uneasy, but he was being halfway civil to her, and she didn't want to provoke him unnecessarily.

"I think that it's probably very lonely," she said. He blinked hard, but she didn't notice.

"Why would you think something as stupid as that?" he asked, his chiseled features twisting into a sneer.

"You asked me what I thought, and I told you," she said, her eyes flashing. "Next time if you don't want to know what I think, then don't ask me!" She began gathering her things. She shoved them into her bookbag and stood to leave. She began to walk away, but as she passed him, Draco shot his hand out to grab her. She winced; he'd grabbed the same wrist he'd bruised yesterday. If he'd noticed her wince in pain, he didn't act like it.

"Don't think you can walk away from me so easily," he hissed dangerously.

"What exactly is it that you seem to find so interesting about me, Malfoy, that you feel the need to ditch your girlfriend and seek me out? Because I know it wasn't just to ask me theological questions." The burning look in her eyes surprised him, although his face remained cruel.

"I could ask you a similar question, Weasley," he said, glancing around quickly before his eyes fell on her face again. "You know that you're vulnerable alone, and yet somehow you keep managing to lose your chaperones. Could it be that you want to run into me?" He smirked, and she yanked her arm away from him. She smacked him square across the face before he could react, then stomped away. It was only as he was working his jaw back and forth and watching her leave that he noticed the purple marks on her wrist.

"Ginny, are you alright?" Hermione asked, barely looking up from her book as Ginny climbed in through the portrait hole. Ginny threw her books down on the floor, making several of the Gryffindors look up in surprise - including Harry, who was nestled away in a corner of the room, working on a Transfiguration essay that he'd forgotten. Ginny's face was scarlet and her chest was heaving angrily.

"No, I am not bloody well alright!" she huffed. Several of the boys exchanged wary glances and got up as inconspicuously as they could - they were familiar with the famous Weasley temper, and didn't want to be anywhere near the battlefield when the bomb went off. Ginny didn't notice them as they crept up the stairs towards the boys' dormitories.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, putting her quill down on the table.

"Who was supposed to be with me tonight?" She asked, her arms crossed over her chest. Hermione held up a slender finger as she searched through her bookbag. She pulled out a parchment that had a graph drawn on it, and Hermione's finger slid from Sunday to the words 'After dinner.' She sighed.

"Ron."

"Where the bloody hell is he, is what I'd like to know!" She exclaimed, looking around the room. Her eyes fell on Harry, who stood up and walked over to them. She cast her eyes back down to Hermione. "Malfoy cornered me in the library again."

"Did he hurt you?" Harry asked, his eyes darkening as they passed over her wrist. She shook her head.

"Well, not anymore than he did yesterday. He grabbed the same wrist, but I don't think he realized it. I don't think he even saw my bruises." She automatically raised a hand to rub her purpled wrist gently.

"Did he say anything this time?" Hermione asked, pushing frizzy strands of hair away from her face.

"He was acting really strangely," Ginny said, shaking her head and frowning. "Strange, even for him."

"What did he say?" Hermione prodded.

"He said something about how he thought I wanted to run into him, since I didn't have my chaperone with me," she said, her eyes scanning the room for Ron. "Where is my brother, anyway? I'd like to have a word with him." Harry highly doubted this; it was more likely she wanted to rip his head off, from the way her eyes were flashing. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that the red hair that was falling around her face was liquid fire.

"Why does he keep seeking you out?" Hermione wondered out loud.

"Probably because I've inherited this damn temper and can't keep my mouth shut when he fires his little insults at me! I give him a reaction!"

"But there are plenty of people who give him reactions," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Look at Ron. And Harry." Harry smiled wryly.

"Maybe he's tired of toying with me - I'm too much of an easy target." Ginny met his eyes across Hermione's head and sighed. She was starting to have a great appreciation for Harry, and wondered how he stayed as cool as he did. Then again, Harry only got one of two reactions from anyone he met - either they loved him, or they loathed him - there was no middle ground. She sympathized with him; she was starting to realize what it felt like to be stalked and harassed just because of your name - something you were born with and couldn't change, no matter how much you might want to.

"You do kind of have a bulls eye painted on your back, don't you?" she said, grimacing the moment the words fell from her lips. To her relief, he smiled at her. "Then again, my bulls eye is on my head." She lifted a limp strand of red hair between her milky fingers, and his smile faded.

"Actually, so is mine," Harry said softly, lifting his hair so his lightning bolt scar was visible. Hermione stared between them with curiosity, and watched as Ginny blushed with shame.

"I didn't mean anything by that, Harry," she whispered, suddenly cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get warm. He nodded and let his hand drop.

"I know," he said simply. She lifted her eyes to meet his, and felt herself being drawn into them - into him. What was so magical and wonderful about him that made her feel as though when he looked at her, he was really seeing her and not just her red hair and nasty temper?

"I'm going to go find Ron," Hermione said, excusing herself from the table. Her friends barely noticed as she went out through the portrait hole, so focused on each other they were. They were totally oblivious to the interested stares of their other housemates as they stood there, too. Ginny gasped; how could Harry say so much to her without him ever uttering a syllable? She could see it all in his eyes. His eyes revealed the pain; the secrecy. His eyes belied his cool demeanor and spoke volumes to her, and she felt her knees growing weak as she suddenly recognized that look in them - the look that meant he was going to kiss her. She snapped back to reality and was instantly aware that every pair of eyes in the room was focused on him. He took a step towards her, but instead of leaning forward breathlessly the way she wanted to, she grabbed his hand and tugged on it. She moved out of the portrait hole, and he followed obediently.

Did he know where they were going, or why she'd wanted to leave the common room? If he did he didn't indicate it. Her heart was pounding wildly. She wanted Harry to kiss her, but she didn't want it to be a public spectacle. Harry didn't deserve to have every moment of his life available for public scrutiny; some things were meant to be private. He deserved that much, after not having a moments' peace in the last seven years. He followed her wordlessly, still holding on to her hand, as she dragged him through hallway after hallway. When they finally reached one that Harry hadn't been in since his fifth year, she pushed him into a room and closed the door.

"Colloportus!" Ginny muttered, pointing her wand at the door. Harry blinked as the loud squelching noise signaled that the spell had worked, then turned back to look at her. She sat down on a desk and crossed her legs at the ankles before looking back up at him.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, sitting on the desk across from her.

"I just - I thought you were going to - and -" her voice died. She wasn't really going to tell him that she thought he was going to kiss her, was she? But then, how else would she explain to him why she'd brought him here, away from everyone else?

"You thought I was going to what?" he asked, his pulse racing. The roaring in his ears reminded him of the ocean, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it away.

"Nevermind," she said, waving her hand dismissively. She smiled and stood up, and he watched as she brushed the dust off of her skirt. He stood and took a step closer to her. She stopped swatting at her clothes and stared at him, her lips parted breathlessly.

"What did you think I was going to do?" he asked again, softer this time. His heart was pounding madly against his ribcage, doing its best to break free of its prison. If he was ever going to do it, then this was the time. They were alone in a room with no windows and a door that had been soundproofed. What more privacy could he ask for? He knew he would have kissed her in front of the entire house if she'd let him, no matter what they would have said later on. Just to look at her, drink her in with his eyes - it wasn't enough anymore. He wanted something tangible.

"I -" Her breath stuck in her throat as Harry took another step closer, then another. Soon he was right in front of her. They were so close that their noses were almost touching. "I thought-"

"You thought what?" he asked, his voice sweeping over her like a warm blanket. Her eyes drifted to his lips, then back up to meet his eyes. She saw a spark there that she didn't remember seeing before, and for some reason it made her knees feel like something very close to melted butter. He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her face, warm and gentle. She closed her eyes and sniffed gingerly, inhaling his scent. He smelled of chocolate and pumpkin and something else she couldn't identify.

He watched as she closed her eyes and wondered if she even wanted him to kiss her. Maybe she didn't, after all; perhaps he was scaring her. She still hadn't opened her eyes, but her breathing was becoming more and more labored, just as his was. Maybe he shouldn't kiss her. Every time he got close to someone, it seemed like they ended up dead or hurt. He started to take a step backwards, then had second thoughts about that, too. Hadn't she said herself that Malfoy would find a way to hurt her, even if she didn't fancy him? Or was he just so greedy for any contact with her that he would believe what she'd said as a way to justify his touching her?

She opened her eyes and blinked. The conflicted look that he was wearing wasn't exactly what she'd been hoping to see. Maybe he didn't want to kiss her, and she'd pressured him into it by bringing him here? But, oh Merlin, his mouth was so close! She didn't want him to kiss her out of obligation, did she? Suddenly she just didn't care; she needed that kiss. She deserved it, after everything that had happened yesterday and this evening. She leaned forward quickly as he took an uncertain step backwards, and pressed her lips lightly to his. After a few seconds of no response from him, she stepped backwards and looked down at her feet awkwardly. She'd really screwed things up this time, she had.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, raising trembling fingers to touch her lips. Her mouth throbbed in protest at having him ripped away so quickly.

"You're sorry?" he asked, frozen to the spot. She nodded. "Why are you apologizing?" Had he made her feel sorry for him? Is that why she'd kissed him? Her eyes snapped up, though her fingertips still rested lightly against her lips.

"I didn't bring you in here to steal a kiss from you, Harry, I really didn't," she said, a pleading tone in her voice. Please understand, Harry, she thought. I can't bear to look at you and not see you looking at me the way you did a moment ago. Please understand.

"You didn't want to kiss me? But why did you do it, if you didn't want to?" he asked, frowning. It was more to cover up his own embarrassment at himself. The moment she pulled away, he should have pulled her back, and he hadn't. Now the look on her face was telling him that she was mortified; she thought she'd done something wrong.

"I did want to - but - I mean," she stammered, feeling flustered. She bit down on her index finger to keep herself from crying. She was really screwing this moment up. She was doing Ron proud. "I mean, I wanted to, but I didn't - oh!" She stomped her foot in frustration, and a smile tugged at his lips.

"It was nice," he said softly, feeling the warmth rising in his cheeks. What had come over him? He'd been nuts over Cho for almost two years before they were alone enough to share a kiss, and even then he'd been too paralyzed with fear to do anything about it. Yet now, here he was, flirting with Ginny Weasley like it was second nature to him! She looked at him from beneath the heavy fringe of her lashes and turned crimson.

"It was?" she whispered, not meeting his eyes. "You mean I didn't offend you by doing it?" The last thing she wanted to do was make him the object of her unwanted affections again - she'd learned her lesson from the singing valentine she'd sent him once. Public rejection was humiliating, but somehow being alone with him and being rejected then would be even more devastating to her.

"Offend me?" he asked, surprised. He shook his head. "Surprised, but not offended." His heart skipped a beat as he realized that they really were alone - there would be no Ron bursting in to interrupt them. He leaned forward slowly and brushed his lips against hers, feeling her surprise. Almost immediately, though, it melted away, and she was responding to him. She tilted her head up ever so slightly, and he increased the pressure from his lips. They stayed like that for a few moments, then he pulled away, leaving them both feeling bereft. They watched each other silently, until he cleared his throat.

"Should I apologize now?"

"No."

"This changes everything, you know," he said, his mind reeling with her nearness, and the memory of her lips still burning against his. She nodded.

"I know." Their eyes locked, and she knew that he understood. He understood her, and she was beginning to have a deeper appreciation for him. Did Malfoy know that he was the reason she and Harry felt drawn to each other so suddenly? She made a mental note to thank the smarmy bugger later. "But it's not a bad change."

"It's a very good change," he agreed, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "What are we going to tell everyone?"

"Why should we tell them anything?" she asked. He knew she didn't mean that she was ashamed of him - she never had been ashamed of her feelings for him, even when she'd dated other boys in their house. They dated her with no pretense - they knew that if Harry ever showed her the slightest bit of interest, she'd be gone in a heartbeat. What Harry couldn't figure out was why - why should she be so interested in him, of all people? Most girls were too intimidated to admit that he was even cute, let alone develop crushes on him. But here she stood, a rose among the thorns, unafraid to let her feelings be known, and unafraid of what being attached to him might mean. His heart threatened to burst with that sudden realization. She knew what she was getting into, and she didn't care; she liked him that much. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to take her into his arms and crush her to him. Instead, he settled for moving to stand next to her and placing his hand over hers.

"I want to tell Ron and Hermione," he said softly. She nodded; she'd expected as much.

"As if we could hide it from Hermione, anyway," she laughed. He chuckled and brushed the top of her hand gently with his thumb.

"Do you think Ron will want to kill me, when he finds out that we're more than friends, or that I kissed you?" She smiled and wrinkled her nose, which made him laugh again.

"No," she said, bumping her shoulder gently against his. "I think he pretty much gave you his stamp of approval two years ago. He did nothing all summer but tell me what bad choices I'd made in picking boyfriends."

"He's one to talk about relationships," Harry said, grinning. "He can't even tell Hermione that he wants more than friendship from her."

"I know," she laughed, feeling more relaxed. It was nice talking to Harry, and not having that unspoken tension between them. "Do you think he even realizes that he feels that way towards her?"

"I'm sure he doesn't, or else he would have already told me," he said honestly. She giggled.

"You'd think that raging jealousy would be a big red flag," she said, grinning. Her teeth were so white that Harry was almost blinded by them. He grinned back. Her enthusiasm and light-heartedness were infectious, and he was suddenly grateful to Hermione for getting up and leaving when she had. Otherwise, he might not have tried to kiss Ginny, and they might not be here, talking and laughing and just ... being.

"Not with Ron," he laughed. He laced his fingers with hers, not hearing her sharp intake of breath, and pulled her their entwined fingers in his lap. The gesture was effective - it forced her closer to his side. "Nothing with less subtlety than a sledgehammer is going to wake him up."

"Now, who could argue with that logic?" she teased. His cheeks turned pink.

"It's driving him mad that we know who Hermione likes, and we won't tell him."

"If he's too stupid to figure it out for himself..." she said, laughing again. He chuckled.

"He's not stupid, just... not as quick as Hermione would probably like him to be."

"That poor girl," Ginny said, shaking her head. "Infatuated with my brother!"

"I've stopped feeling sorry for her," Harry said, brushing a strand of raven hair out of his eyes. "You know Hermione - she's the type of person that believes in throwing yourself against the brick wall until you stick." Ginny giggled again.

"Interesting analogy, comparing Ron to a brick wall." Harry laughed.

"I didn't mean it that way, but now that you say it like that..."

"Maybe we should get back," she suggested, hopping down off of the desk she'd been sitting on. She clung to Harry's hand, not wanting to break contact with him. He nodded and slid off of the desk he'd been on, then squeezed her hand.

"Do you feel comfortable walking back into the common room like this?" he asked, holding up their clasped hands. She nodded.

"Are you?"

"Fifteen minutes ago I wouldn't have been, but I am now," he said, his eyes serious. He waved his wand at the door, muttering the counter spell to Colloportus. Ginny heard the squelching noise again, and then he was making his way to the door, pulling her gently behind him. They walked down the hallways without incident, then stopped when they stood in front of the portrait hole. He looked nervous, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. He smiled at her.

"You don't have to do this if you're not ready, Harry," she said softly. He shook his head.

"I am ready." With that, he whispered the password to the fat lady, who didn't even look up at them as the portrait swung open. They clambered through it awkwardly - it was harder to hold hands and get through it than they'd thought it would be. When they entered the common room, all of the conversation died. Everyone looked up at them in surprise, and suddenly Ginny felt a wave of sadness for Harry. What it must be like to have people watching every move you made, hanging on your every word - what had he done to deserve being deprived of the life of a normal teenaged boy? She squeezed his hand again gently, and he gave her a soft smile. They moved forward, looking for Ron and Hermione. Ginny bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling when she saw the proud look on Ron's face as she walked towards him, holding the hand of his best friend. Then suddenly she remembered that he'd been assigned to watch her earlier, and her happiness took a back seat to her anger. She let go of Harry's hand long enough to rain furious slaps on his arm again.

"What did I do now?" he asked, rubbing his arm. She put her hands on her hips, and Hermione hid her smile behind the large book she was reading.

"Where were you tonight? Malfoy cornered me in the library again!"

"I got hungry," he whined, rubbing his stomach. "I went down to the kitchen for a snack."

"Your stomach was more important to you than me, Ron?" she fumed. Ron shot a pleading look at Harry, who held his hands up.

"I'm not taking sides," he proclaimed. There was a muffled giggle from behind the book Hermione was holding up, and three pairs of surprised eyes turned to her. She lowered the book slowly to reveal a very pink face.

"Ginny, why don't we go upstairs? There's something I want to show you," she said, standing. Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"Alright," she said slowly, turning her head to stick her tongue out at Ron. The boys watched them go, then Harry sat down where Hermione had been. Ron eyed him furtively.

"Are you going to take her side from now on?" he asked suspiciously. Harry chuckled.

"I didn't take sides, Ron. I didn't say anything!"

"That's just as good as taking her side - you didn't defend me!" He grinned at Harry. "So where were you two off to, then?"

"We went into one of the old classrooms near McGonagall's room," he said, his face feeling hot.

"Well? What happened?" Ron asked impatiently.

"We... I ..." Ron held up his hand and wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Harry, if you tell me you kissed my sister, I'm going to obliviate the both of us!" Harry laughed, and Ron shook his head. "That's just wrong."

"Then why were you so hot to know what happened? You knew that if Ginny and I ever got together that something was bound to happen, right?" Ron removed his wand from his robe and held it up between them.

"I mean it, Harry! I'll do it!"

"You'll do what, exactly?" Hermione asked, walking towards them. Ginny was right behind her, and Harry's stomach lurched pleasantly as she smiled at him. Merlin, was he going to feel like a lovestruck moron every time he looked at her?

"I was going to obliviate the both of us," Ron said, slipping his wand back inside his robe. Hermione put her hands on her hips and tapped her toes against the floor.

"And how exactly were you going to do that, Ron, when you don't know how to work that spell?" His retort died on his lips as she sat down next to him. She bumped his hip slightly with hers, and they both pulled away quickly with extremely red faces. Harry could almost feel the heat of embarrassment from where he sat, and he coughed to distract them.

"Gilderoy Lockhart was a bloody idiot, but he managed it pretty good," Harry said, wondering why Ginny was standing there instead of sitting in the seat next to him.

"Managed it pretty well," Hermione corrected him. "And he wasn't an idiot!" Ron's face flushed.

"He most certainly was," he said hotly. "The stupid git tried to obliviate us in the Chamber, and he was going to leave Ginny for dead!" At this, Ginny's cheeks turned pink. Harry kicked his leg savagely, and then nodded towards Ginny. "Ow! Blimey, Harry, just because you fancy Ginny doesn't mean you have to hurt me for her! She's plenty capable of doing that by herself!" Hermione sniggered, and Ginny smiled.

"Are you going to sit down?" Harry asked quietly. Ginny nodded, though he could see a faint blush appearing on her throat. She sat down next to him on the sofa, with their knees touching lightly. The contact sent tiny ripples of lightening through him, and he reached for her hand slowly. She slipped slender fingers between his, and he squeezed gently. Ron and Hermione were watching them, holding their breath. Harry and Ginny noticed, and grinned at each other conspiratorially.

"You two are sitting awfully close," Ginny said, a teasing note in her voice. Hermione and Ron tried to jump apart, but the sofa was simply too small, and their thighs collided. They both turned red again, and struggled not to touch.

"They are, aren't they?" Harry asked, grinning at her. "Anyone looking might think that they were a couple." Hermione's look shot daggers at both of them, but Ron just blinked.

"And why would anyone think that?" Ron asked, crossing his leg to keep it from touching Hermione's.

"Hermione, any thoughts?" Harry asked her. Her glare deepened, and it was all Ginny could do to keep from laughing. Ron turned to look at her, but it was a mistake. She was so close to him that for the briefest instant, their foreheads touched. Hermione stood quickly and ran towards the girls' dormitories, and Ron stood too. Ginny was shaking with silent laughter.

"What is so funny?" Ron demanded. She shook her head, then turned to Harry as she wiped tears away from her eyes.

"I'm going to g-go check on her," she choked out, between giggles. He nodded and grinned as she made her way up the stairs. Ron turned to look at him, and Harry tried to wipe the grin off of his face. He pushed himself up off of the sofa and clapped Ron's shoulder.

"She'll be fine."

"I know she'll be fine," he said, annoyed. "But what in Merlin was so funny?"

"You two just make quite a sight, is all," Harry said. Ron's brow furrowed as he frowned.

"Cracked, the lot of you," he mumbled, as he made his way towards the stairs. Harry followed behind, chuckling the entire way.