A Little Past Ten

It's a bit amazing how one little kiss can change things so greatly.

Kisses, it seems, have become damn significant these past few days. It all started with that first one under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. I still can't believe the nerve of him--Harry, that is--wrapping his arms around my neck and pressing his lips to mine, making me fall harder for him than I ever could have expected.

But that's Harry Potter for you, the brave and daring Gryffindor through and through.

Next came the kiss under the oak in the back yard later that same night, the kiss that assured me that Harry had fallen just as hard. As for the million that followed, pressed to mouth or to hair or to cheek or to miles of warm and eager skin, each one served to cement these feelings, whatever they were, and remind us both that, whoever we might've lost in three long years of war, we two were still very much alive.

It was the million and first kiss, however, that proved to be less than perfect.

It seemed right enough, natural enough--a chime of the clock, cries of "Happy New Year!", a giddy smile on Harry's face, and then a perfectly normal kiss. It wasn't all that remarkable, really, nothing hot and heavy or at all lewd--just a simple, sweet lingering kiss.

Then again, a lingering kiss isn't so simple or sweet when the thirty people surrounding you aren't expecting it.

But that was last night, and it's morning now.

New Year's Day.

I needn't use my Inner Eye, needn't even possess the Sight, to know what's going on below us. Mum is doing all she can to keep herself from crying or screaming out, wondering why Fleur wasn't good enough, angry that she never saw "the signs" in my twenty-seven years of life, weighing this new catastrophe against the death of two other children, worrying that Harry is too young and too vulnerable right now to know what he wants. Dumbledore is smiling pleasantly and offering her some form of Muggle candy, as if it were the perfect solution to all her problems. Remus Lupin is taking his ritual morning toast, happy for us and proud of us but concerned when he stops to consider the adversity Harry and I will undoubtedly face, because he faced it all with Sirius Black some twenty years before. Ron, Fred and George are probably having a good laugh, still shocked as hell but unable to do anything but love the scandal their big brother has caused.

But motherly tears, ritual toast, kid brothers and Muggle candies be damned, because I'm not downstairs and have no desire to be anywhere but where I am right now.

"Time 'sit?" I hear Harry murmur behind me. One cold hand grips my upper arm and rolls me onto my back. He's gazing down at me, hair tragically askew, squinting a little because his glasses are on the end table and he's not awake enough yet to reach over and retrieve them. I have to giggle a little at the angry red mark the pillow has made on his right cheek.

"A little past ten," I answer as I lift up a bit to give him a quick kiss. He groans slightly when I pull away, then lowers his head to my shoulder and rests it there.

"You think we're in trouble?"

"Loads of it," I joke. "Hard spankings for us both and no telly for two weeks."

Silent laughter racks Harry's body and, inevitably, my own as well. "I'm serious," he sighs. "Your Mum looked ready to burst last night. Merlin, what were we thinking, kissing like that in front of everybody? I told you we shouldn't have had those last two glasses of firewhiskey!"

"Harry," I say firmly, "you're eighteen. I'm twenty-seven. I think we're old enough to take responsibility for our actions. I'm doing exactly what I want, and I'm pretty certain the same goes for you--"

"It does," he interjects.

"--so it's not as if we owe any apologies for it. Just...fuck 'em all."

Harry lifts his head to give me an adorable sleepy smile. "You know, I think I'm falling in love with you, Bill Weasley."

"Good thing," I say, returning the smile. "Wouldn't want to think I'd been sleeping with you for no good reason."

"Oh, I'd think my perfect teenage arse would be reason enough for you," he purrs, his face inching closer until I've no choice but to close my eyes and wait for his mouth to meld perfectly to mine.

"Enjoy that 'perfect teenage arse' while you can," I murmur against his lips, "because in a little over a year, you'll just be another twentysomething like the rest of us old farts."

"Shouldn't I be the one telling you to enjoy my youth?"

His smirk is to die for, but isn't that the very thing that made me want him so much in the first place? "An impudent little urchin," Snape refers to him with such disdain, but I find it rather endearing. Then again, when have I ever agreed with Snape on anything?

"I mean it, though," he says softly, pulling back a bit to look me in the eye. "I am falling in love with you. I'm not even certain about the 'falling' part, actually--I might already be there."

He cocks his head, then adds, "In love, I mean."

I tangle his hair around my fingers, pull him close again, kiss him soundly and then whisper "Me, too," into his ear.

And I mean it. In this past week, I've found that I feel something with Harry that I don't remember ever feeling before. Funny thing is, I don't know what to call it. It's more than love, but that's part of it, and it's nothing as desperate as need or longing. With Harry, I feel...I feel....

"Can we just stay up here all day?" Harry sighs, breaking my train of thought as he settles back against my shoulder. "I don't want to go downstairs."

"What's the matter?" I chuckle as I rake my knuckles down his side. "You're not scared, are you?"

I feel him shake his head against me. "No, not scared," he answers. "I'd just rather stay here with you, where I feel safe."

Safe.

That's the word I was looking for.