In Caelum Fero

The wind was bitingly cold, stinging the cheeks of seven figures swaying dangerously on their brooms. Though the evening was filled with the gloomy light of a cold winter, the sky was piercingly clear, with a small number of stars twinkling benignly from their place in the heavens. The forest was dark and seemed to occupy the land like a low black cloud, an occasional animal sound echoing from within its depths.

The movements of the Quidditch players were silent, engulfed in the sound of the raw wind that swept in from the North. Their movements were slow and calculated as one of the crimson clad figures gave orders, directing authoritatively with his pale hands. Black balls were being hit viciously back and forth by arms skilled with practice, a well worn leather ball was being tossed between three of the figures, occasionally being fumbled by numb hands and watering eyes.

Ginny swept the knotted hair out of her face and concentrated on where Matilde Hammond was aiming. She dipped quickly underneath the other girl, ready to catch the Quaffle whilst keeping her eye out for the brutal bludger that was winging its way towards her from the left. Matilde dropped the Quaffle heavily into Ginny's waiting hand. Ginny immediately pulled her broom handle up, the bludger skimming her tail close enough for her to hear the sound above the roar of the wind. She pushed forward, laying low on her Cleansweep Six and bolted towards the middle ring. Seeing her way blocked by Andrew Kirke and his bat, she threw the Quaffle straight to Rosalind Macintyre without delay. Free of the weight of the Quaffle, she dipped beneath Andrew who at once wheeled his broomstick around to give her a grin.

She stopped to catch her breath, the cold air making her lungs heave with pain and her throat dry and sore, she turned to watch Rosalind pass the leather ball through the hoop, giving her a big grin when she swooped over the far side of the pitch. Her alert eyes flitted to her brother, swaying on his broom from the force of the wind. His hands were clenched tightly over the broom handle and his head was forward, eagerly following the Quaffle. Ginny couldn't help but think how much his technique had come along under Quidditch training. His stretches and leans to cover hoops were now graceful yet still tinged with a style that was uniquely Ron. His long arms seemed attached to his body instead of his old way of flailing them about, hoping and praying for them to eventually come into contact with the Quaffle.

Whoosh.

One of the figures brushed past Ginny with speed and accuracy, heading towards Ron. The black hair was whipped off his forehead, the back straight and low, his robes billowing out behind him. He pulled up sharply in front of her brother and began conversing with him, occasionally looking behind him whilst pointing at his team-mates. After a nod from Ron indicating his understanding, Harry wheeled his broom around and headed towards the other end of the pitch, paying no attention to Ginny in the process. He stopped in front of Matilde and lapsed into his role of Quidditch Captain, quietly gesticulating with his hands.

She noticed Neville in the stands, wrapped up in layers of Gryffindor colours, his mousy brown head peaking over the top of his thick scarf. His glove covered hands were clasped tightly in his lap, his eyes flitting from one player to another during the lapse of play. He caught Ginny's gaze upon him and stuck his fist out with the thumb prominently vertical. She answered with a shy smile then swung around to practise some neck breaking dives at the end of the pitch.

After half and hour a shrill whistle sounding faint through the deafening wind announced the end of the training session. Wind-beaten and exhausted, the team traipsed up the sloping grass towards the looming castle, longingly dreaming of the hot showers that awaited them.

Ginny suddenly became aware that Harry had thoroughly ignored her throughout practice.

~*~

Satiated from a hot shower and just as hot a meal, Ginny lazily made her way towards Gryffindor Tower. As she turned the corners of the catacomb-like corridors she put out a hand to brush the ancient stone walls, a habit she had picked up as a child. With her hair still damp from her shower, the odd draught that streamed through the corridors made her shiver violently, making her speed up her pace for a while, before she settled back into the lethargic walk that her body insisted on, her mind wandering and always coming back to the same thing.

Wandering...

And settling on the night in the common room that was almost two weeks ago. Harry had been polite and cordial when he had to talk to her and ignored her when he didn't. No one seemed to notice a change in him because he was the same Harry. Well, as similar to the Harry they knew before all the... stuff, he had to go through. People were lenient. If there was something slightly off about him, they brushed it off with the usual 'Well, just think of everything he's been through... give the bloke some credit, will you?'

Ron and Hermione were acting normal. They shot worried glances at Harry when he was in their company and bickered about him when he wasn't.

Normal.

Ginny wasn't about to leap to any assumptions, but she had a gut feeling that he acted the way he acted in front of her, only in front of her.

But why?

Why did she deserve this treatment from him? Had she done something to upset him? If she had, surely she had the right to know what that something was? It was morbidly funny. She wouldn't expect that kind of behaviour from Malfoy.

But she was on the receiving end of it from Harry.

She heard the heavy click of school shoes on stone floor from behind her.

She tensed.

She turned around and waited, her chest tight with the breath she was holding. Her eyes focused intently on the corner at the bottom of the corridor she had recently walked down.

A short, round figure hurried into view breathing heavily, his hair mussed up and cheeks red from walking briskly. His robe was flapping between his trouser clad legs in disarray causing him to trip on every other step.

"Ginny!"

She carefully released her painfully held breath.

"Neville? What's up with you? You looked like you've just flown a broomstick race. Lost Trevor again, have you?" Ginny ended with a frown on her brow as the dark haired boy drew up to her, panting.

"Er... no. Trevor's all fine and dandy in my dorm. I, er, actually wanted to talk to you about something that, er... didn't involve my reptilian yet nomadic pet. I, um, wanted to talk to you about the... the... the Hogsmeade Weekend that's coming up," Neville finished lamely.

"What about it?" Ginny said worryingly. Why bother asking that question? You know what's coming next. Brace yourself for it. And be kind when you turn him down instead of the blunt and brash country girl you are.

"Well, do you want to go? With me? Not as a big thing, just two, er, friends going to the local village together," asked Neville with trepidation, his body leaning slightly away from her, as if the verbal blow he expected from her would literally knock him down.

"Neville, because it's you I'm saying yes," said Ginny with a genuine smile, small as it was. Just as friends. Surely there's nothing dangerous about that? Neville won't try anything. "When and where do you want-"

"Neville!"

Neville whirled around, Ginny following him, to focus on the abrupt voice that had interrupted their awkward conversation.

Her stomach sank.

"Harry? What is it?" said Neville with a frown on his round face.

"Just spoke to Sprout. Said she needed you to help her with the Fanged Geraniums. They need their teeth brushed. Rather you than me, mate," Harry finished with a slight shudder.

"Bollocks. Forgot about that. Thanks Harry," Neville said, whilst starting to walk briskly down the corridor, "Oh, and Ginny. Half ten outside the portrait hole sound okay?"

"Sounds fine. Thanks Neville," replied Ginny, turning to carry on with her walk to the Common Room.

"No, thank you," echoed the distant voice that was slightly louder than the clattering shoes.

Pushing the hair out of her face, she began to walk down the corridor. She wanted to get somewhere warm. The icy draught that inhabited the school corridors had rapidly affected her, making her shiver to the bone. The yellow torches flickered dangerously in the stream of air, causing her shadow to distort.

"Ginny."

She turned around to find Harry's eyes focused sharply on her face. His dark hair, untidy as usual, fell softly into his eyes, his stance was casual, arms were unceremoniously placed at his side.

"Yes?" she said firmly, keeping the tremor out of her voice.

"What was that about?" he said narrowing his eyes, "And before you say 'What was what about?', I'll save that waste of breath for you. I want to know what the thing with Neville was about."

"He asked me to Hogsmeade is all. As friends. I don't see why that should bother you though," she ended huffily, raising her eyebrows

"Don't take that tone with me. I was simply asking. I was curious, if you will," he replied coolly. He began to walk towards her and each footstep echoed in her head. The torchlight cast dancing shadows across his pale face, drawing her gaze to it, hypnotising her.

"You said yes?

"I did," she replied, lifting her chin defiantly.

"Come with me," he said, taking her hand and drawing her through the corridor. His hand was cold and it encased her small one, telling her through plain touch who had the strength here. Who had the power.

"Harry, what-" she started indignantly.

"No talking. Not yet."

For some God-only-knows reason, she obeyed. Closing her mouth and pressing it into a thin line, she tried to keep up with the hand pulling her along at a hurried speed. Brackets containing flickering golden light, oak doors and windows ran past in a stream of haziness, a torrent of blurred colours.

She suddenly realised she walking along a path she knew only too well, a path that she walked at least once every week. They walked up a dark winding staircase and came to the top floor, in front of them a door, similar to most doors that led outside from the castle.

The West Tower door.

With one hand clasped in hers, Harry opened the door with the other, whirling her inside the covered classroom that lead to an opened flagstoned area so as to close the door and bolt it.

To bolt it.

Shit.

Ginny felt the arctic wind stream through the glassless windows, through the many stone exits that led to the terrace.

"Look, I don't appreciate being locked up here in the freezing cold. Can you undo the-"

"No," he said, whilst walking to stand in front of her.

He looked at her. She winced as his hand came up to her face. It then began to stroke the fly-away strands of red hair back into place. He placed his hands around her neck, and began to gently turn the pewter chain around so that the clasp was at the back of her pale neck.

He gently placed his forehead against hers, closed his eyes and, almost inaudibly, sighed.

She was abruptly pushed against the nearest stone wall, large hands encircling her upper arms. Her head banged violently against the cold stone. The pain was so intense, her knees buckled.

"No. No swooning just yet," came a voice as the strong hands pulled her up to stand on her feet.

His mouth covered hers, suffocating her, whilst one long leg was placed between hers. She could hear heavy breathing in her ear, or was it her own roaring blood? Her hands grasped at his red jumper, not to pull him nearer or push him away but to steady herself. She was painfully crushed between his body and the wall and was glad of it.

She suddenly realised that for the first time, she was feeling.

It wasn't superficial. It wasn't trivial. It wasn't anything that she'd felt before.

He had her soul on a metallic fishing hook. Every ounce of her being was clutching onto it, trying to keep it in her control. He was dragging it out to the surface, ignoring her silent pleas for him to stop. He knew this was what she wanted. Needed.

This was what Tom had brought to her senses all those years ago. This was what she was branded with. This was what she needed now to be herself. No, no, not to be herself. To survive herself.

He removed his mouth from hers without moving his bodily position.

She opened her eyes to meet his blazing emerald gaze.

"Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you let everyone take you for someone that you're not? I know you. Not the person you're trying to be, but what you are. Be with me," he said.

She saw his lips move, felt his voice vibrate around her, knew he was saying something important to her but she couldn't force herself to take notice. All that mattered was what had been knocked away to allow this red hot lava to course through her veins, to make her ears ring with a heightened sense. She felt every muscle that tensed in the hands that still held her arms, she felt his warm breath beating into her mouth with every one of his soft exhales, she felt his intense bottle green gaze boring into her murky brown one. She could feel the low moan of the wind that whipped into the large classroom quiver along her skin, the conspiring rustle of the bare branches that were so far away from the two figures pressed together. She could feel the benign light of the brilliantly white stars that dotted the heavens run over skin like silver tears.

"You feel it, don't you?" he whispered, as he placed his mouth on the soft skin of her jawbone, every vibration of his voice shooting straight through her full-to-bursting chest. "The colours, the sensations, the vibrations of the magic."

"Is that what you're using on me? Magic?" she whispered back as she closed her eyes.

"No," he said, lifting his head to look at her. "What you're feeling is the magic that's all around you. The magic you live, eat and breathe. Drink it in. It's what you are. What we are. But don't forget that I did this to you. I did this to you..."

"How did you-"

"No. No more talking. Feel." he murmured as he covered her mouth once more, moving his cold hands underneath her jumper, pulling her slight figure closer to his as the ringing in her ears grew to a thunderous roar. She could feel the sobs building in her chest and throat and felt them doused by the blanket of enchantment that surrounded Harry and herself and streamed through them.

Her hands skittered up to thread into his black hair, for the first time participating. Trying to take control.

Because now she understood it.

The two figures fell into the dance that only understanding brings, the dark clouds chased each other through the night sky; the icy rain hit upon the ground with a tumultuous force; the trees bowed down and the lake hailed the dynamic wind.

The elements rejoiced in the enlightenment of one vibrant soul.

~*~