Faint

Chapter 5: Stoking The Fire

"Ginny?"

The bewildered voice cuts through the quiet night air like a knife.

Harry. She feels her heart stop, then drop into her stomach. What is he doing up this late? It has to be at least two in the morning. Relatively early for her to be returning, but still . . .

"Yes," she answers him, her voice wavering. She clears her throat and tries again. "It’s me."

She can see him now, seated in front of the low burning fire. It casts its soft orange glow on him, the shining edges of his black hair like a halo. His back is turned to her, but as she steps near him she can see that his posture is tense and rigid. In a moment, she is beside him. She isn’t really sure why, as she was planning to get back to her dormitory as quickly as possible.

"Harry?" she whispers gently, surprising even herself. Her fingers, acting of their own will, reach up to touch his hair. It is even messier than normal, standing in shock waves of black around his tight lined face. So different from Draco’s perfectly groomed, oh so pale hair.

His eyes jerk upward, meeting hers. So many emotions swirling restlessly in those brilliant green depths. Fear and confusion and guilt and something that makes her heart pound. Such a stark contrast to Draco’s cold and guarded gray orbs. She begins to feel slightly dizzy.

"How is it," he asks, "that you always appear right when I need you?"

She feels a wave of warmth wash over her, all the way to her bare feet. "I . . ." She begins, and opens her mouth to try again, but he stops her with a kiss.

His lips press against hers ever so gently. This is a new thing for her. She is used to harsh kisses, and even when Draco was gentle it was never this . . . affectionate. Yes, that is how it feels. His hands are resting on either side of her face, his left thumb brushing over her cheek.

 She clasps her hands behind his neck, finding that her first impulse to pull away has completely left her. Her skin is burning as if with fever. Her heart is doing acrobatics. Her knees feel weak, her legs unsteady. She is almost certain that, were she not holding onto him, she would collapse. She vaguely wonders whether her feelings for Harry had ever really left. She knows that someone else makes her feel like this, but as the kiss becomes more insistent, she finds all thoughts of that other person slipping farther and farther back in her mind.

After a few moments, he pulls back and looks at her. His emerald eyes are shining with happiness and desire and what could possibly be love. They bore into her sparkling brown ones, searching for the answer to an unspoken question. As he gazes at her, reality comes slamming into her with the force of a swinging hammer. All the thoughts that she has detached herself from piece themselves together. An icy feelings rises from her stomach, overpowering the pleasure coursing through her like fire in her veins. There is a sharp, stinging sensation behind her eyes. Harry’s eyes widen, his smile becoming a frown. He pushes her wild red curls back from her face.

"Ginny, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?"

She hadn’t realized she was crying. And somehow the knowledge makes her feel even worse.

"Should I not have done that? I’m sorry."

She can tell from the miserable tone of his voice that he really is, and it makes her feel sick. "No, Harry. It’s not your fault." She pauses and takes his hand in hers. "It wasn’t bad of you." No, it certainly wasn’t. Which is why this is so hard.

"Oh." He looks down. "What is it then?"

"I– I can’t tell you," she manages. It isn’t a lie, not exactly, but saying it makes her feel as though she has just swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro.

When did all of this become so complicated?

*

"Have you been crying, Ginny?"

Do her eyes really look that bad? She had put a charm on them this morning to lessen the puffiness. Than again, she had cried twice since then.

"No, Colin. Just– an allergy."

"Oh. There are charms for that you know. I could teach you some, if you’d like."

"No, that’s ok," she answers lazily. She can feel the dull pounding that signifies the beginning of a headache.

She lays her head down on the table, enjoying the feel of the cool surface against her skin. She can sense two pairs of eyes upon her. One green, one gray. She cannot bring herself to meet their gazes. She is terrified that Draco will see it in her eyes, know what has happened. She knows Harry wants answers. Answers she herself doesn’t know. She is exhausted in every way possible. And she still has to get through the rest of the day.

*

He doesn’t understand her at all. What happened last night was amazing. For him, at least. And he had thought the same for her as well. It has become quite clear to him lately that she was the only one who understood him. Waking up that night in the common room to find her kneeling beside him, concern shining in her beautiful eyes, her scarlet hair tumbling around her face, he had been reminded so sharply of his mother that it almost took his breath away. He quickly realized that it was not, in fact, Lily Potter, but Ginny Weasley. And that, if possible, was even better.

But now, his mind was whirling with questions. He had the sneaking suspicion that her reaction last night had been, at least partially, due to someone else. But if so, who?

*

She has her head down and won’t even look at me. She is acting as though she is ill. Perhaps she is simply tired from last night’s excursions. Who knows with women.

One thing is for sure though. I can see the way Potter is looking at her. And I don’t like it one little bit.