Of Secrets and Stonework

Couples were popping out of the damn stonework, and consequently, Harry found himself wandering the halls, just to get away. Before he had thought Ron and Hermione were incomprehensible with all the nagging and shouting, but now, they were insufferable with all the shagging and pouting. Seamus was always going off to find a snogging closet with Lavender, and Neville and Luna were even spotted holding hands during Advanced Herbology lab yesterday afternoon. Of course, this alienation from The Land of Duos had Harry in a right state because he didn't even fancy any girls, and he missed that. His crush on Cho had been something to entertain him between classes (or during History of Magic or Potions), like an inside joke he had with himself. When he'd caught her eye in the Great Hall, he had felt triumphant; when he'd missed seeing her on his way to Divination, he had felt crushed. But now he didn't even have that sort of distraction to keep his mind off more ... salient matters. Merlin, would he love to have someone to turn to when everyone else turned to each other. Even Malfoy, that pointy-faced bastard, had been strutting around lately with a tall, lithe Slytherin seventh year hanging off his arm.

Ron had stormed into the dormitory after dinner on the Wednesday in question, in a complete and terrible rage. Harry, who had been sprawled on his stomach across his bed reading The Darkest Hexes and the Wizards Who Cast Them, looked up over the top of his glasses to see his best mate mussing his hair in frustration and turning an unnatural shade of purple. Another fight with Hermione, no doubt.

"A bloke can't even take his girlfriend someplace nice around here!" Ron shouted, whirling around and kicking the foot of his four-poster. Harry flinched as the bed scraped across the floor and thudded into the wall.

"Fight with Hermione?" he asked.

Ron stopped with his huffing and puffing and turned a glower--the same look Hedwig used whenever a human was short with her--on Harry. "Of course not. Why would you think I had a fight with Hermione?"

Harry tucked the corners of his lips back behind his cheeks, suppressing his annoyance. Why would he think Ron had fought with Hermione? Oh, only because they had been perfecting the craft for six years now. But that was Ron for you. Harry decided to avoid the requisite fight, though, and not tell that to Ron. "Well, what happened then?"

Ron collapsed onto his bed and apparently let off some frustration by shooting a flaming hex at a pile of spare parchment by his bed. It glowed orange and filled the dorm with an acrid smell before it was left in a smoking, singed pile. "Well, I tried to get the Room of Requirement for us. It's our eight-month anniversary tomorrow, you know. I wanted to treat her to a special night. But do you know who was in there?"

"Do I want to?"

"Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson," Ron moaned.

"Eurgh." Harry turned back to his book, hoping his succinct answer would tell Ron he wasn't interested further information about Ron and Hermione or the Slytherin couple.

"Oh, I didn't see them or anything. I just walked past the door three times, thinking of - well, the exact room I required, and a little hanging thing appeared on the doorknob: 'In use by Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson.'"

Harry looked back up from the Ebolus Curse and grinned despite himself, reminded of the old hotel knob hanger that Dudley had on his door at Privet Drive that read "Privacy Please," which was much more polite than Dudley had ever been. He felt slightly mirthful. "Actually, how do you know they were getting it on and not holding a meeting of the Voldemort Fan Club?" he asked.

Ron rolled back off the bed, a mournful look on his face. "You're right," he said. "Although I'm sure Malfoy would've been there. Maybe I'll be able to fix something up in those hallways up by Professor Trelawney's room for me and Hermione ..."

And with all of his mirth gone at the suggestion, Harry had beaten Ron to the Fat Lady's portrait on the way out. He took all the time before curfew to just walk, numbly, past the professors' office wing, through the old trophy room, around the entire fifth floor, down into the kitchens (where he got some Chocoladeliquers from Dobby, who pushed them on him a fit of beatific swoons), around where he knew the Ravenclaw house entrance was, even past the one-humped witch. He considered sneaking into Hogsmeade, just to get away from the couples, but it wasn't really worth it on a Wednesday night. When he had fancied Cho, he had someone to think about on lonely night walks under his invisibility cloak. Now he just had the fact that he didn't have anyone to think about.

Harry hesitated at the Gryffindor entrance, trying to decide whether he should go back in and risk running into Ron, whom he still wasn't in the mood to see. Ron had already let slip far too many details about his and Hermione's exploits, and Harry was frankly getting rather fussed by it. Luckily, the room was empty when he walked in. Of course it was a Wednesday night, and Easter holiday was coming up in three weeks. Even the first years had several projects due soon. Harry really should have worked on his essay on potions as antidotes instead of wandering around, angry, but he still had five days.

He looked up from his chair in front of the fire as the portrait opened and Ginny stomped in.

"Hey," Harry said wearily, and the redhead jumped.

"Oh, Harry, I didn't see you," she said, flouncing down in the chair Hermione usually claimed when they were revising. "It's so dark in here. I guess Katie is really serious about all the lights going off at curfew every night."

Harry shrugged. "What are you doing out so late?"

Ginny stood then, seeming restless, and paced in front of the fire, her body blocking the light from Harry for a split second every pass she made. "Charms lessons with Flitwick. He says I have a real aptitude, and I'm working on some N.E.W.T.-level stuff." She rolled her eyes then, and Harry noticed she didn't just shift her gaze up and down in an exercise of futility like other people. No, her brown eyes started off to the right in her eye sockets and ran counter-clockwise, all the way around. When Ginny Weasley was annoyed, you knew it. "What are you doing down here? You were supposed to be working on that potions essay." She didn't even pause before answering her own question. "Oh, Hermione and Ron probably ran off together, so she's not around to make you do it."

Harry couldn't help but snicker. "You're right, of course. Tomorrow's their eight-month anniversary."

Ginny chuckled, suddenly twirled around once, and collapsed in front of the fire, leaning back on her elbows to look at Harry. "'Ron, tomorrow's our two-hundred-forty day anniversary,'" she said in a voice quite a bit higher than both her own and Hermione's. "'Do something special for me. Because the flowers every week aren't enough to show you care, nor is the constant hallway snogging.' Did he try to do something special? And then fail miserably? Crikey, I'm sure Hermione will wake me up on her way to her room tonight just to tell me."

Harry laughed, too, and warmed to the subject. It was, after all, how he and Ginny had spent the interminably long summer in Grimmauld Place: making fun of Ron and Hermione. And it worked on several levels, Harry had to admit. The thing was, his two best friends really were a neat couple, and that's what made them so unbearable. They spent all their time together and only fought when they weren't spending enough time together. They did couply things for each other; Hermione had even gotten Ron flowers when he told her in jest he'd never gotten any before. They had been blue and orange and smelled like musk--"Manly flowers, of course," Hermione said. They wrote notes to each other in class. One never went anywhere without grabbing the other's hand. They snogged every spare moment. They were in the throes of teenage love, and they used magic to the advantage of their courtship. Ron came back to his and Harry's bedroom exceptionally happy after a snog session one day in late August. "Hermione," he had said dreamily, "is so clever. She used an engorgement charm--" But Harry had cut him off. "My best mate, Ron. She's one of my best mates." "Right, right," Ron had said hurriedly.

"Your brother was upset because he couldn't get the Room of Requirements," Harry admitted to Ginny. He watched the firelight dance off her hair, making it look like it was alive with movement. He had noticed last summer that her hair seemed so much shinier than her brothers'. She had to put some type of potion on it.

"They just don't understand, do they?" Ginny shook her head. "For being so clever, they don't get how awkward it is to actually discuss their relationship with either of us. Hermione told me about their first time in detail, you know. Mmm, what is that you're eating?"

"Chocoladeliquers," Harry said, tossing her one. "Here."

Ginny caught it, popped it in her mouth, and looked indignantly at him. "Well, don't be a tease. Bring the whole box down here, Harry."

Harry climbed off the chair and settled easily down on the rug next to her. He pulled the remaining chocolates out of his pocket and set them down in the foot-wide gap between his and Ginny's hips. "It's all I've got left," he said, shrugging. "Nicked them from Dobby."

"Well, that was a grand place to store them," Ginny said. "In your pocket. Not even wrapped up or anything. You have washed your trousers recently?"

Harry shrugged and told her that Wizard sweets were as imperturbable as her mum's spells on the doors at Grimmauld Place; after all, some Muggle sweets actually melted in heat. Ginny appeared genuinely puzzled by this information. They ate through the last five candies, sparing Ron and Hermione after awhile because, after all, they were so neat. They fell to discussing the first Slytherin to join the D.A., Nadine Norge, a fifth year who had never quite been in with the Malfoy crowd. When she initially conjured a Patronus, Nadine had been as shocked as anyone else when it turned out to be a lion. It had been impressive enough for Neville to ask her out and get turned down (not unkindly, though). And she and Ginny had become fast friends.

"Well, Neville's disappointment didn't last long, did it? He and Luna look friendly nowadays," Harry said. He felt a bit uncomfortable talking about Neville's love life for some reason. He and Ginny discussed Ron and Hermione's to great lengths, but Neville was somehow different. Maybe because Neville's love life could somehow segue into Seamus' and Dean's. And that was definitely off-limits.

"He and Luna are a good match." Ginny sighed, stretched, and began unbuttoning her cardigan. "It's so hot here by the fire. So do you think that Snape will give me a break on my parchment tomorrow if I tell him I've been busy engaging in senseless wand-waving?"

Harry didn't answer because he was too busy watching Ginny pull each arm out of her cardigan. Of course he had seen her take off her cardigan, a million times before at least, but this Wednesday was different. Maybe it was because he had been so put out about not having anyone to fancy; maybe it was the warmth of the fire and the Chocoladeliquers; maybe it was just all the couples sprouting up like Neville's Mimbulus mimbletonia, but at that moment, it clicked. He thought back to long, stuffy summer days at Grimmauld Place and the only thing that had made them bearable. He thought of Quidditch and the thing that had made practices seem too short. He thought of long nights of revision and playful smiles shot across the Common Room, and it seemed so obvious that it was no wonder he hadn't noticed before. But this night, he understood. As he watched Ginny's long, thin arms appear from underneath the jumper, her shoulders angular in a perfectly feminine way, her collarbones gracefully giving way to them, her tiny, proportionate body hidden only by a gray camisole of some sort of stretchy silk, he knew that he didn't fancy anybody because he had been in love with Ginny Weasley these many months. The revelation was accompanied by a gulp of the fire and by Ginny Weasley saying, "Harry? What do you think?"

Harry still didn't answer her for what he realized was an uncomfortable amount of time. He was too busy looking at her, her red hair tumbling down her back, her face glowing in the firelight. Like when she used to blush for him. She didn't blush for him anymore.

"About what?" he managed, focusing back on her serious expression.

"About my potions parchment, you git." Ginny grinned a little. "You've had too many Chocoladeliquers. You're going all red in the face."

"You're right," Harry said. "I imagine I am."

_____

Ron, it transpired, did not return to the dormitory until hours past curfew, and he looked rumpled and satisfied when he did appear. He tiptoed in as if he were trying to be quiet, but when he noisily ripped the curtains on his four-poster back, Harry knew his best mate was expressly trying to wake him up. Harry sighed and rolled over, but he was pre-empted by The Newest Bane of His Existence.

"How'd it go with Hermione?" Dean asked from across the room. Harry sat straight up in bed, his curtains flying open, unbidden. Without his glasses on, he couldn't quite make out the features of the black boy, especially since the moon was not out.

"Fantastic," Ron bubbled. "But you know, a proper gentleman never kisses and tells."

"Right," came Seamus' voice. "So what do you call what you've been doing all along? Debriefing?"

"Aw, don't take the mickey out of him, Seamus," Dean said. "It's his and Hermione's eight-month anniversary, you know. And their relationship is serious."

And Dean was completely serious when he said this, which annoyed Harry to even greater lengths. Dean was always compassionate and sensitive, to a degree that cut the other boys' teasing to a minimum. They felt bad about taking the mickey out of each other in front of Dean. But to his credit, Dean took it well when they took the mickey out of him.

"Well, let me just say, Thomas, don't ever let me catch you doing to my sister what I did to Hermione tonight." Harry thought it sounded like Ron was winking when he said this, but it was too dark to tell.

"You know me and Gin aren't that serious," Dean said, and Harry had heard enough. With a wave of his wand, which he had been sleeping with since Voldemort had come back, Harry's curtains were back in place and he was brooding quite seriously himself.

______

Transfiguration and Charms dragged along the next morning for Harry. Ginny hadn't been at breakfast, which was not an uncommon occurrence for her--she had a tendency to oversleep at least once a week. But Harry wanted to see her in the daylight; to see, really, if he was in love with her in the sanity that sunshine and sleeping off the Chocoladeliquers brought. He knew he was uncharacteristically quiet during the first meal of the day, and he spent his first two class periods doodling Ginny's name with disappearing ink on his Transfiguration text. He was supposed to be turning a Muggle light bulb into a lightning bug, but he was instead turning the front of his book into an invisible shrine to Ginny Weasley. He fervently hoped, after he realized what he had done, that no one went over the cover with a Reveler's Revealing Eraser.

"Harry, you all right, mate?" Ron asked as the boys and Hermione walked to the Great Hall for lunch. "You look right miserable."

Hermione looked at Harry astutely and asked, "You didn't finish your potions essay, did you?"

"Well, you two didn't, either," Harry said.

"Harry, when have I not finished an essay? Mine's done. Ron finished his last night after we celebrated our anniversary. Didn't you, Ron?"

She hooked her arm through her boyfriend's as he shrugged and said, "Sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"Well, I thought about finishing it."

"Ron!"

"It was so late, Hermione. And it's not even due until Monday."

Harry shook his head, and as they entered the hall, he laid eyes on Ginny for the first time that day. Her mane of red hair was pinned but flowing down her back; her face was full with laughter. She was sitting in her usual spot between Dean and the space Harry always occupied. Harry felt his throat become impossibly clogged, like it was stuffed full of with invisibility cloak. He didn't know if he'd be able to swallow a bit of lunch.

"Hey, Harry, Hermione," Ginny called, waving. "Dean and I need you two to settle a score. Which team is more successful in its league--West Ham or Ballycastle?"

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, clueless, as neither had ever been much into football before coming to Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione took their usual seats opposite Ginny, and Neville motioned as Harry hesitated, running his hands through his hair.

"It's Ballycastle, right?" Ginny persisted at Harry as he climbed into position on the bench but tried to sit as far away from Ginny as possible.

"Harry--erm, could you scoot over just a little?" Neville asked.

"Oh. Oh, right," Harry said, his face burning.

"See, Harry says I'm right," Ginny sang at Dean.

"Harry doesn't know shit about football, Gin," Dean said. "I think he was talking to Nev, not you."

Through the rest of the lunch hour, Harry buried himself in his food. He could barely look Ginny in the eye, let alone answer her when she protested he was being awfully quiet or when she asked if he'd managed to finish his potions essay yet. Yes, he thought, he was still in love with her in daylight. And it wouldn't have been so intensely awkward if Dean hadn't been there with his easy camaraderie, his nudges and winks, his sensitive caring. Harry had always liked Dean very much, but he wasn't feeling magnanimous toward the other boy any longer. To avoid the blush that he knew would rush to his face if he looked Ginny in the eye, Harry managed to focus his attention around her hands. Her thin hands with short fingers that unconsciously flipped her fork around her thumb while she was talking. Her beautiful little hands that would fit perfectly in his own. Harry sighed and imagined walking the streets of Hogsmeade with Ginny Weasley's hand in his own.

But when he felt a gaze boring into him, Harry snapped his attention upward to find Parvati watching him with her brows furrowed. When his eyes met hers, a cat-like smile spread across Parvati's face.

"What?" Harry said at normal volume for the first time all meal.

Parvati shrugged, tipped her head toward Ginny meaningfully and then raised her eyebrows at Harry.

"What? No," Harry said.

"No what?" Hermione asked. By the look on her face, Harry knew she'd caught the whole cryptic exchange with Parvati and understood. He felt a distinct horror sink through his abdomen, past his loins, into his legs. He felt like sprinting from the Great Hall. After all, Ginny was dating Dean. Besides, wizards who have to kill or be killed aren't supposed to fall in love with their best mates' little sisters. If Ginny found out how he felt about her, Harry didn't know what he would do. If Dean found out how he felt about Ginny ... well, Harry might find it in himself to duel the caring, sensitive bugger to a pulp.

"What's going on? You've been acting weird all day," Ron said.

"No, you didn't finish your potions essay?" Ginny asked. "Just as I expected."

_____

That evening, Harry found himself staring at the stonework around the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room. He had sat in front of it practically every night for the past six years, and he'd never before noticed that, if he looked closely, the smaller, darker stones in the façade spelled 'bravery.' Harry felt it ironic that after all this time he shoud find the message he least wanted to hear in the stones. Crushes were something to be held close, especially schoolboy crushes on your best mate's sister. You weren't supposed to be brave and run straight out and break her up with her casual boyfriend. You were supposed to be silent, to bear it away, to tuck your head and do your duty and embark upon being in love after the evil nemesis was dead. That was Harry's concept of heroism, especially after Sirius' death. Love was necessary, but being in love was risky

While Ron and Hermione worked and quarreled away at their revision on the rug in front of the fire, Harry let his gaze wander over to where Ginny was working with Colin Creevey and several other fifth years. When she looked up, he gave her a weak smile and turned his attention back to the stonework. How many times had he done that in the last hour instead of reading his Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment? Ginny had to be getting suspicious. He'd been acting crazy all day.

As Harry brooded over whether he should just go upstairs so he wouldn't accidentally let his feelings about Ginny show through his eyes, Parvati sat down in Hermione's usual chair with a soft thwump. Harry was a little taken aback; sure, he talked to Parvati every day during class and lunch, but they never sought each other out. And Parvati's dark eyes were intent on Harry as she said, "I was crystal gazing."

Harry felt a small grin of amusement creep across his face. "And you saw me in your crystals?"

"No. I saw you through my crystals. You're over here being all bloody obvious. You really are a dunderhead, Harry, you know that--don't you?"

Harry felt wounded. So Parvati had come over just to call him names. "No. I am no such thing."

"Of course you are," she said, suddenly producing a pack of tarot cards from her robes pocket and spreading them on the side table between the chairs. "You know that Ginny and Dean aren't that serious, don't you?"

"Parvati," Harry protested. "What are you going to do now, read my tarot and tell me I'm supposed to propose to Ginny Weasley next week?"

"No, dunderhead," Parvati said. "We're going to pretend like I'm reading your tarot and we're going to have an honest discussion. You obviously woke up in love with Ginny this morning. Not that we haven't all known it all term."

Harry set his jaw and focused on the stonework, pretending to ignore her.

"Come on, Potter," she said. "You just realized it this morning, didn't you? Almost as thick as Ron, you are."

"It was last night, okay?" Harry snapped. He couldn't let her get by with the Ron comment.

Parvati rolled her eyes--but just up and down, not all the way around like Ginny. "Look, you have to let her know how you feel if you want to be with her. Everyone knows you two are a perfect fit for each other, especially with Ron and Hermione about to walk down the aisle any minute. You and Ginny are a much better fit than Ginny and Dean. But you have to act now, before they get serious. You know what they say about guys like Dean." Parvati's eyes sparkled with glee as she said the last as suggestively as possible. Harry was almost scared to find out.

"No," he said evenly, "what do they say about guys like Dean?"

Parvati giggled. "Well, once you go--"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Harry interrupted, in a fever to stop her from saying the rest of the phrase and embarrassing him out of his head. After all, Seamus had been teasing Ron about it all year, saying that seeing Dean would strictly limit Ginny's dating options in the future. Harry had even gotten in on it once, saying that Ginny would next date Professor Shacklebolt, but that obviously had been stepping over the line, as Ron had hexed him so badly that he had to go to Madam Pomfrey for a potion to relieve the boils. They'd been changing with Dean for years and had all at one time been jealous of his, er, endowments. If Ron hadn't been so wrapped up in Hermione, he might've had more time to worry about it, but it suddenly seemed obvious to Harry that he could never compete against Dean Thomas, who was sensitive and hung like a horse. Parvati had made this all too clear.

After a moment of silence, Harry turned to Parvati. "Why are you getting involved in this?" he asked.

Parvati once again smiled like a self-satisfied cat. "Well, best friends should stick together," she said, and Harry shook his head as if that would help him understand her odd remark as she stood up and carried herself back to the table in the corner where Lavender sat with Seamus.

Harry glanced back over toward Ginny, where Dean had sat down with the fifth years and seemed to be showing them the incantation for allergy suppression. Harry tucked the corners of his lips. Maybe Parvati was right; maybe he couldn't wait until he had defeated Voldemort to pursue Ginny. For all he knew, the final showdown could possibly not take place until the end of his seventh year, which seemed light-years away. Merlin, this day had lasted at least three, Harry was convinced. Being with Ginny had a certain effect on time--there never seemed to be enough of it. And as he had been avoiding Ginny since his epiphany last night, Harry knew that unless he wanted to turn the next year into a seeming three, he had better act quickly.

But how could he possibly compete with a guy like Dean Thomas? Harry contemplated this while he was in the shower later that night. He thought of enlisting Ron's help. Ron could certainly drop hints that Ginny should be with Harry instead of Dean; he'd been eager enough to make a fool out of himself at the end of last year. But no, Harry thought that seemed impersonal, especially because he was convinced that Ginny would do the opposite of what Ron wanted just to annoy him. Maybe Hermione would help. She was certainly clever enough. Besides, what did she do when Ron was clueless about her feelings for him? Well, she'd snogged him, right in front of Harry and Ginny and the twins and Percy.

But then it hit Harry: something else Hermione would do, had done in the past ...

Harry nervously toweled off and muttered a locking charm at the bathroom door. He glanced down at his naked body once, quickly, and found himself looking at the ceiling for help. This was stupid. He couldn't do something as stupid as this. Ginny and Dean weren't serious; who was to say she'd never go back once she had ...

"Engorgo," Harry whispered with his eyes clamped shut and his wand pointed down. Erm, he had definitely hit where he was aiming, he could tell. He eased one eye open, ever so slowly, and peered down.

"Eeep!" he yelled inarticulately, shocked by the wealth of what was before him. He gulped and inched open the other eye and studied this seemingly brand-new appendage. The only word he could find to describe it was healthy. Suddenly, as if buoyed up by this magical turn of events, Harry's confidence shot through the castle roof. There was nothing that made him inferior to Dean Thomas that an engorgement charm couldn't fix. Yes, he could win Ginny, probably before he next confronted Voldemort in the annual battle in the epic struggle. Maybe even before Easter hols. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Could Perform a Dead-On Engorgement Charm With His Eyes Closed.

Harry wrapped the towel around his waist and sauntered around the turret stairs to his room, smiling about his new secret with himself.

___

"Morning, Ginny," Harry said, sliding into his seat at the breakfast table next to the redhead. She whipped around from her conversation with Dean and looked at Harry expectantly.

"Yes, Harry? Do you want something?"

Harry was a bit confused as the owl post came. Hedwig deposited the newest edition of Which Broomstick next to his plate of kippers and he took a swig of Pumpkin Juice. "I was just saying morning," he said, putting down the cup.

"Well, this is a change of course, after you didn't speak to me all yesterday," she said.

"Sorry. I had something on my mind." Harry shrugged nonchalantly, shifting in his seat. The engorgement charm had started to wear off a little this morning, so he had to recast it and almost at once burst with the rush of self-possession again. He had then changed in the bathroom. He didn't want his roommates to be in on this secret. This was just for him.

"It wasn't Parvati, was it?" Dean asked. "I think she's interested in you, Harry. She kept watching you all night. And then you two were sitting together by the fire."

Harry tried not to shoot Dean a look of pure annoyance. Instead, he looked at Ron and Hermione across the table, who were involved in an intense discussion about whether or not Ron should go to Diagon Alley for Easter hols and work at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Ron seemed to want to reject the invite from his brothers; Hermione seemed to think it would do him good to learn a bit of business sense. "She was just doing a tarot reading for me," Harry said testily. "She's definitely not interested in me. She's definitely after someone else."

"Harry's had enough of dark-haired girls, anyway," Ginny declared. "His next girlfriend is going to be a blonde."

Harry turned to the girl next to him and managed to grab her brown gaze with his green one. "Says who?"

"Says me." Ginny shrugged. "It's obvious. You need a girlfriend. Everyone else in the world is paired up. You should be, too."

This was a new development. Ginny wanted to pair him up with someone. Harry tried to decide how he felt about this. On one hand, Hermione had twice suggested she pair Ron up with Luna before she kissed him, so this could mean Ginny was playing by the same rules her friend did. On the other hand, someone blonde?

"I don't particularly go for blondes, but thanks," Harry said. "You can pair me up any day, Ginny."

Dean leaned around his girlfriend and scrutinized Harry as Ron's voice rose above the rest of the happy chattering at the table, saying, "I don't want to be gone for seven bloody days, Hermione!" The looks of reproach from all the nearby Gryffindors except Dean seemed to rein him in, though. Dean was too busy studying Harry to shoot anyone else a look.

"There's something different about you today, mate," he said slowly at Harry. "Did you cut your hair?"

Harry frowned, and Ginny said, "Yeah, there is something different, but it's not the hair." They both studied him, and Harry felt the urge to get up and run. He felt like he was the python he set on Dudley that time, behind a sheet of glass that the casual couple next to him was tapping.

"Nothing's different about me," Harry said. "What would be different about me?"

"I put a cheering charm on him because he was so foul yesterday," Seamus said from the other side of Parvati and Lavender, and Harry would have frozen with fear of his secret being discovered were he not completely drunk on his sense of self-satisfaction at the real charm on him.

"There's nothing different about me," Harry said. "Seriously, mates. Unless I grew since yesterday, I can't think of anything else that would be different."

"No, you're not taller," Ginny said. She looked at him earnestly from behind the sprinkling of freckles across her face. Harry felt his stomach give an excited churn. "But something's different. I can't put my finger on it. I think it's good, though."

Dean nodded slowly. "Whatever it is, we'll need it on the Quidditch pitch tomorrow, playing Ravenclaw and all."

"Well, don't worry," Harry said. "I'll try not to get rid of whatever it is anytime soon."

_____

Parvati spent the rest of the day shooting Harry what would be unnervingly clairvoyant looks had he not been so positive that his secret was safe with himself. After breakfast in Herbology she gave him a "good work" nod, and at dinner she seemed to monitor Harry's conversation with Ginny and Dean with a smug little smile. She even dropped by his table in the Common Room as he was revising with Hermione and Ron, telling him he was off to a good start, but he needed to really go all out.

"A good start at what?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"Getting a girlfriend," Parvati said.

"Oh, yeah," Ron said. "Ginny was saying at dinner how she has the perfect girl in mind. Gin will get you a girlfriend. After all, she helped Luna and Neville get together."

"Oh, really, Ron," Hermione said, socking him in the arm. "Are you that clueless?"

Parvati nodded significantly and started up the stairs to the girls' tower as Ron protested, "Clueless about what?"

Harry, for his own part, found himself staring across the Common Room as he had for almost the whole of his sixth year. Ginny, Neville, and the Creeveys were playing Exploding Snap, and Harry liked how every time an explosion went off, she laughed and caught his eye. He wondered if his secret had intrigued her. She and Dean hadn't spent anymore time trying to figure out what was different about Harry, but he thought he detected a certain level of consciousness about her interactions with him that he hadn't before. He recast his charm in the bathroom after most everyone had gone to bed and wandered back down to the Common Room to find the game was still going on.

"Dennis is a bloody menace at this game," Ginny said, her face covered with soot and her cardigan singed around the neck area. Harry settled down outside the foursome and laughed with the others as Neville shuffled underhanded and the deck exploded out of his hands, shooting straight across into Colin's face. "It got my eye," Colin said mournfully as he claimed the deal and got his sweet revenge in a spectacular explosion in Neville's hands.

"They've had it in for each other all night," Ginny whispered to Harry, her cheekbones flashing as she turned to him and away quickly. Harry nudged her thigh with the toe of his trainers to get her attention again, but she seemed preoccupied with the cards she held precariously far away from her face with her right hand. She absentmindedly laid her left hand on his shin to keep him from nudging her, and at the contact, neither pulled away. Harry felt something twinge. So in the front of his mind he began to outline his potions essay while the part of his brain that exalted in sensation thoroughly enjoyed the light touch of Ginny's thin little hand, especially when she began to wrap the excess of his trouser leg around her pointer finger, pulling the material tight around his ankle when she was lunging out of the way of the explosions.

The game carried on until the portrait opened and Katie stopped short at the sight of the five of them.

"What are you guys still doing up?" she asked dubiously. "Lights out was half an hour ago."

"Was it?" Dennis said. "But we still haven't blown Neville's nose off yet. We even brewed a facial regeneration potion. It'll go bad if we don't use it tonight."

"Facial regeneration potion?" Harry asked.

"And you, Harry, you should be in bed. You too, Ginny. We have a match tomorrow." Katie began sweeping her arms in large shooing motions. "Right now! To bed! All of you!" She stomped around the room, extinguishing lanterns with her wand as the boys and Ginny all shared amused looks and began to clean up their game. Harry found that he really, really wanted to pull Ginny aside, to initiate more contact with her somehow, but she was heading toward the girls' staircase, and Katie was standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her wand hanging menacingly from the hand tucked under the other arm. Her foot was tapping an obscenely impatient rhythm on the red and gold rug.

"I think," Harry said on impulse, "that Ron and Hermione haven't come back yet, Katie. Do you want me to go look for them?"

Ginny paused at the foot of the stairs and turned around, puzzled, as three separate doors slammed in the boys' turret. After all, she had seen the couple retire to their separate sides of the tower three-quarters an hour earlier. Katie looked aghast, as she had constantly since becoming Head Girl and subsequently becoming more Hermione than Hermione.

"Of course you can't go look for them, Harry," Katie said, "you have to go to bed. Besides, they're the prefects. I'll go look for them. Do you think they're in one of their usual haunts?"

"Actually, I thought I heard Ron say something about going up to Trelawney's tower."

"That's so damn far away!" Katie moaned. "I'll dock them house points for this." Her voice trailed off as she climbed back out the portrait opening, and Harry thought he heard her saying, "... if they're any less dressed than they were last time ..."

Harry felt luminous with triumph as Ginny smirked at the closing portrait. "What are you up to, Potter? You know very well the royal couple went to bed."

"Look, we need to talk about this girlfriend of mine if you're going to find her," Harry said, motioning Ginny back toward the fire. He leaned up against the stonework surrounding the last licks of light, trying to swell his chest so he looked strong, watching as Ginny emerged out of the black of the rest of the room, her head cocked slightly sideways, her bottom lip partially caught between her teeth in interest.

"What about her?" Ginny asked. She walked straight and stopped directly in front of him, casting her gaze somewhere around his knees before looking up at him through her eyelashes. Harry caught his breath. This was crazy. Ginny was dating Dean. Ginny was, well, Ginny.

"Well, she should be short," Harry said. "I like girls who are short."

"A short girl, check," Ginny said. "So no Millicent Bulstrode." She tilted her head to the other side, and Harry watched as the firelight danced in her right eye. He couldn't see any of her freckles at all in the darkness, but he could feel her body heat across the foot that separated them. "What about eyes? What kind of eyes should she have? Blue? Green?"

"Brown," Harry said. "Big brown eyes. I like big brown eyes."

"Well, it's tough to find blondes that have brown eyes," Ginny said. "But there is of course Susan Bones and ..." she trailed off, and Harry felt a definite electricity between them. It was almost as if little currents had somehow met in the space between them and started reeling them in. She adjusted her head, lifting her chin a little, looking straight up at him. Harry found suddenly that his hand was in the hollow between her ribs and her hip. She felt warm and alive under his grasp.

"I don't like blondes. Or brunettes," Harry said.

Ginny, who had been looking up at him very intently, swallowed and looked back at the fire as her knees buckled a little. Harry felt his stomach flip over as he put his other hand on the opposite hollow beneath her ribs to steady her.

"Dean reckons he knows what's different about you," she told the flames.

"I guarantee he doesn't," Harry said. He pulled Ginny closer to him, gently buried his face in her neck, her hair the only thing separating his lips from her skin. Every part of his body felt like it was blowing up with heat, especially his heart. He realized it was thumping so crazily that Ginny could probably hear it. She didn't turn her face away from the fireplace, but Harry could feel her eyes close. Between his hands she seemed pliant, shy in a way she hadn't been in years. But he still didn't think she was blushing for him. And for two days now, there was nothing he had wanted more.

"Harry," Ginny said, her voice thick, "Dean and I ..."

She trailed off as he smoothed her hair out of the way, gently pressing his lips to her neck. He was satisfied to find her heart, beating beneath her jawbone as quickly as his was. He could almost, almost feel her individual pores under his tongue, he was sure. This time, when knees buckled, they were his.

"He says you're in love--"

Harry cut Ginny off, and he was pretty sure that she said "with me" into his mouth. But then, he wasn't sure of anything besides the fact that this was different, much different, worlds different than kissing Cho. He wasn't sure of anything besides what he could feel, and he wasn't even sure of that. After all, who would believe it? Ginny's delicate hands spread against his chest, her mouth that tasted of Drooble's Best and some kind of fruit that he had always avoided eating at the Dursleys' but tasted divine here, in the Common Room, against the stonework of the fireplace. Harry was pretty sure that he was falling. That he was falling more quickly. That the falling was what he wanted. And that when the portrait opened, Ginny was not the one who pulled away.

But she did look at him, her eyes wide and disbelieving, before they both fled to their dorms before Katie's wrath could come down.

Harry fell asleep to dreams of dancing fire and the snores of his best mate, his two friends, and his competition.

______

The next morning dawned along with a sinking feeling in Harry's stomach. He had kissed Ginny. Ginny, his best mate's sister--hell, one of his best mates--Ginny, who had a boyfriend. He'd read the writing on the wall and obeyed even when he knew heroes like himself who have to kill or be killed are risky in love. He'd caved into peer pressure and all that. He'd done a bad, bad, crazy bad thing.

In the shower, Harry contemplated not renewing his engorgement charm. He should just face what he had done with his own courage, not an artificial pick-me-up. Besides, look what it had gotten him into. He should apologize to Ginny and Dean and bear it away.

As he shook his head violently to dry his hair, Harry peeked down and saw that the healthfulness had started to fade again. He really should just let it go. He really should, but they were playing the last Quidditch match of the season, and he needed to get the snitch early or after the chasers opened a good lead so they could win the cup despite their loss to Slytherin in November. And it just gave him so much confidence ...

Harry said the incantation - for the last time!, he told himself - and didn't mean to stop and admire his handiwork, but Merlin, he had to admit he wished he had been gifted with as much love below as charms talent.

_____

Hermione sat next to Ginny at the table in the Great Hall, the giggles overtaking the whispers when Harry arrived. He was a bit miffed at the seating arrangement. Ginny was sandwiched between the other witch and Neville, Dean was nowhere to be seen, and Ron was buried in his eggs across from his girlfriend, looking rather eager about his food consumption. Harry sat down next to Ron and slid his eyes questioningly along the other bench.

"We needed some girl time," Hermione said, clutching Ginny's arm. They both giggled, and Harry's stomach twitched at the sight of Ginny's thick pink lips spread from her straight white teeth. He really should apologize, but Ginny didn't seem at all vulnerable this morning. In fact, she looked like she was even more chipper than usual.

"We really should talk about that girlfriend deal," Ginny said, and Harry was suddenly clueless as to how he should take that. He caught sight of Dean, who was pulling his other leg over the bench in a seat next to Seamus. He felt, quite fervently, that he had woken up in Bizarro Hogwarts.

"Okay," Harry said slowly, "but I thought I was--er, clear about what I'm looking for."

"Crystal," Ginny said, and she and Hermione both looked like they were choking back giggles. Harry furrowed his brow and was sure Ginny had run off and told Hermione all the details. He didn't like knowing they had probably giggled at his expense or that they probably thought he was pretty presumptuous to kiss Ginny when she had a boyfriend.

"And about Dean--" Ginny started.

"He was right. About what was different about me," Harry said. And despite his confidence, he could feel his cheeks warming. He watched Ginny's top eyelashes fall to meet the bottom ones, almost in slow motion, before she lowered her chin and looked up at him.

"I have no clue what you guys are talking about," Ron said, "but don't you think it's hot in here, too, Harry? I mean, your cheeks are turning all red."

"Yes," Harry said, smiling to himself a little. "I imagine they are."

_____

Harry let off a little confusion by looping-the-loop on his Firebolt during warm-ups. Kirke and Sloper were swinging their bats at each other with alacrity; Ginny, Katie, and Dean were zigzagging, the practice Quaffle a blur between them; and Ron was flying suicides up and down the middle ring. Ravenclaw was on the opposite side of the pitch, flying in formation. Ruddy Ravenclaws.

Katie motioned for them all to descend to the ground for their team meeting. Harry swooped down from his altitude and found himself right behind Dean. Ruddy Dean, the Quickly Aging Bane of His Existence. Harry narrowed his eyes and pressed his body down to his Firebolt, shooting past his roommate so fast that he thought he saw Dean spinning off course out of the corner of his eye. Harry pulled up and touched down, feeling rather smug.

"And you're trying to take out one of our Chasers why?" Katie barked at him. Harry thought it annoying that every Gryffindor captain always took on the same dictator persona. He hoped that he kept his head about him if he was named head of the team next year.

"What's that all about, man?" Dean sputtered, landing next to Harry and shoving him with his forearm. "We all know your broom's faster than mine. No need to show off."

"I wasn't showing off," Harry said coolly. "I was just in a hurry to get a spot up front for the team meeting."

Dean dropped his broom and crossed his arms, looking down at Harry superiorly. "Show off. Don't think I don't have you figured out, Harry. You don't have to show off, anyway. You win."

"Win what? What are you talking about, Dean?" Harry felt belligerent, but he wasn't going to back down from this confrontation. In fact, he took a step closer to the taller boy and tried to go nose-to-nose. They were only nose-to-chin.

"I am not a showoff," Harry said. "Take it back."

"Showoff."

"Fine! You think I'm a showoff? You and me, right here, Thomas. Wizard's duel."

Dean seemed amused at this suggestion. "Like I'd duel you, Harry. If you're so determined to fight me for her, let's do something we're evenly matched at. Let's settle the score like we used to back in Muggle school. Let's race."

"Oi, what's going on?" Ron asked.

"You will not race! We're having a team meeting!" Katie insisted.

Ginny piped up for the first time, looking like her patience was being supremely tried. "What the hell do you two think you're doing? Don't be so ridiculous."

"Creevey, say 'mark-get-set-go' for us," Dean said, ignoring Ginny, squatting down as if he were in a sprinter's starting block. Harry followed suit, saying, "Fine. We race to the left goal post." He was pretty confident he could win. After all, he had been quick enough to outrun Dudley all those years.

"Stop it right now!" Katie screeched. "We have a game in two minutes!"

"Dean, I never expected you to be this stupid," Ginny said.

"Oh, let them get it out of their systems," Colin said. "On your mark, get set, go!"

Harry felt adrenaline burst through all his veins. It had been forever since he'd been in a footrace, but he felt like he was definitely running for his honor. Thomas couldn't call him a showoff and get away with it. Besides, he'd show Ginny that he could run faster than Dean anyway. He took off across the green field, the cacophony of the Quidditch crowd behind him, his arms and legs falling into the familiar rhythm from his youth on the playground, this time a little stretch out.

But with his third stride, he realized something was wrong. Something was-- in the way. He strode again. Something was definitely in the way. Something was--

Gone.

With a rather womanly screech, Harry hit the ground and grabbed his groin. Oh, Merlin, he felt as if he had been kicked so hard that all the healthiness had come out the other side. He briefly wondered if Dean was still running, but then the realization of incredibly intense pain hit him and he moaned in horror. Oh, Merlin, put him out of his misery, oh, Merlin, curse him dead. He realized he was clutching onto nothing.

The rest of the team materialized around his head, a concerned Dean among them. Harry couldn't look at Ginny. Merlin, what had he done to himself?

"Harry?" Ron ventured. "You okay, mate?"

"Bloody hell!" Harry screeched in reply.

"What did he do?"

"Is he okay?"

"Someone call Madam Pomfrey."

Harry's eyes flew back open after he had clenched them shut in agony. "Not her!" he gasped, casting around in his mind for the least embarrassing person he could enlist to help him reclaim his nether regions. "Get--get Flitwick!"

"Flitwick?" Ron asked. "Harry, what are you on about, mate?"

Harry snapped his eyes shut again, trying to suppress groans of pain. It suddenly felt like everything was way too crowded in his lower abdomen. Oh, this was no good, no good at all. But it only got worse when a silky smooth voice said, "What seems to be the problem, Potter?"

Harry was hugely dismayed to see that the voice was coming from the potions professor, who was the sole profile hovering in his vision now.

"Not you," Harry moaned, "Flitwick."

With three waves of his wand, Snape succinctly erected a privacy curtain around them, charmed Harry's hands to stick behind his head (which was quite a rude gesture, as they slapped him in the face on their way into position), and stripped off his Quidditch pants.

Harry groaned in pain and tried not to look at Snape's face, which he seemed to be holding off from twitching into a smile.

"Well, Potter, it appears as if you have a retracted testicle. Or two," he said. The corner of the potion master's mouth pulled back into his cheek. He was definitely trying not to smile.

"Or two!" Harry wheezed. "Feels like thirteen! Bloody hell!"

Flitwick suddenly appeared inside of the curtain and began mopping his brow with a lacy handkerchief. "Oh, dear, completely and totally internalized," he said. "Must have been two days, at least. Let's magick him up to the infirmary, Severus."

"Well, Potter, it looks like there will be no Quidditch or children for you," Snape said.

_____

The world was heavy and hazy as Harry came to. He felt rather immobile, but he couldn't remember why or where he was. A series of tall, arching windows stretched before him, and a distinctly antiseptic smell filled his nostrils. Hospital wing. He was in the hospital wing. But what--?

Harry then remembered the footrace with Dean, and pain rocketed through his body as he jerked his hands down to his pelvis. Oh, wonderful, all back in place. But rather tender. How horrible, to have one's external body parts completely and totally internalized. Harry felt like he was going to vomit if he continued to think about it.

"Look, he's awake," came Hermione's voice. Suddenly, she, Ron, Ginny, and Parvati appeared by his bedside. "How are you feeling, Harry?" Her hair looked bushier than normal, but her face wasn't sneering with disgust, just sympathy.

"Er--well enough," he said. "What happened in the match?"

"We won," Ron said. "Ginny caught the Snitch in twelve minutes."

"Who filled in as Chaser?"

"Dennis Creevey."

Harry nodded and fell silent for a moment before bursting out, "You! This is all your fault!" and pointing an accusatory finger at Parvati. He was sure that was why she was there, anyway--to get pointed at. She had to have known his mishap had to do with her.

"I never said anything about putting an engorgement charm on the wand you were born with, dunderhead," Parvati said. Harry reeled with horror. So everyone knew.

"Everyone knows, Harry," Ron said, sounding very sorry indeed. "Zacharias Smith was flying overhead when he heard Flitwick say it before they magicked you up here."

Harry began to wave them out, saying flatly, "I would really like to sulk in my own dejection, thanks."

Hermione and Ron were all of courses and we'll come back laters. Parvati shrugged and said, "Since you so rudely interrupted me on Thursday, and just so you know, I was going to tell you that once you go sensitive, you never go senseless."

"Huh?"

"Once you go sensitive, you never go senseless," Parvati repeated.

"You're making this up," Harry said.

"Actually, she's not," Ginny said, plopping down comfortably on a chair beside his bed. "You know, it's why Hermione would've never dated Ron if she had dated someone else first."

"And anyway, I got what I want out of the debacle," Parvati said. She smiled much bigger than Harry had ever seen her do. "Thanks."

So Harry was left with Ginny, possibly the person he wanted to talk to least in the world. He could feel her gaze on him, even though he turned away from her in his bed. He thought of the message in the stonework over the fireplace in Gryffindor Tower, but he didn't know if he had the heart to face Ginny Weasley the day after he kissed her, the day he embarrassed himself so completely and totally in front of the entire school.

"You know, Harry," she finally said, sounding contemplative, "Muggle-borns do miss out on a lot of wizarding folklore and tradition. So you probably didn't know that you should never constantly charm a body part out of the size and shape it's supposed to be. I mean, we just grew up knowing, especially because Bill had to have his head removed from his torso when he was 11. He went through a phase thinking it was too big."

Harry didn't turn to face her, but he could hear the sincerity in her voice, and he couldn't be mad. She wasn't laughing at him.

"If you want to change things, you have to use a potion or transfiguration, not a charm, you know," she said. "And I don't know what in the world made you think that you needed to blow yourself up--Merlin knows I don't think my brothers have ever felt the need--"

"Ginny, stop."

"--But I'm glad that your secret was--was what Dean thought it was." She was picking at the seam of his sheet, her spindly little fingers wrapping it around themselves.

Harry shivered and turned to her, laying his head back against his pillow. "So you and Dean broke up?" he asked.

"Yesterday after dinner," Ginny said. "I tried to tell you last night, but erm, you know. We kissed." Harry thought he could see her ears turning pink, but the color didn't spread to her cheeks. Instead, with a completely straight face, Ginny said, "Too much testosterone to go with that swollen sex organ, I guess."

Harry let out a short laugh but then refrained because it didn't feel too hot when he did. "Why did you break up?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Ginny cocked her head to the side, at the same angle as last night when they were in front of the stonework. "Well, we were so casual, anyway. When he said he thought you were in love with me, I denied it, you know. But then I remembered the way you looked at me, the way you blushed on Wednesday night, and I knew he was right. I mean, it was how I looked at you for a long time."

Harry looked down at her hands, playing with the sheet on his bed. She had such delicate hands that had felt so nice against his chest the night before. And she was such a good fit under his hands, in his mouth, next to his hip. And he'd been in love with her for these many months without even realizing it.

"You don't blush for me anymore," he said.

Ginny responded by pushing her hands under his own, flipping her red sheath of hair over her shoulder, and saying, "I trained myself not to years ago." She grinned slyly. "But I can think of a few things you could do that would make me."