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SIYE Time:3:54 on 19th March 2024
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Mixed Signals
By bibliophile19

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Category: Post-DH/AB
Characters:All
Genres: Fluff
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 18
Summary: Ron sends mixed messages; Harry decides to go with the first one.
Hitcount: Story Total: 6506



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
Very Mildly A.U.; aside from this short bit, nothing changes; the story goes on as it is written. I just got annoyed with Ron for sending mixed signals to Harry and for breaking up a tender and happy scene (of which there is a decided dearth of in this book) and what would could have been, what would have been, one of the few happy moments for Harry in the course of the entire story.




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“I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on the ground, to be honest.”

“There’s the silver lining I’ve been looking for,” she whispered, and then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before, and Harry was kissing her back, and it was blissful oblivion, better than firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world, Ginny, the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair–

The door banged open behind them and they jumped apart.

“Oh,” Ron said pointedly. “Sorry.”

“Ron!” Hermione was just behind him, slightly out of breath. There was a strained silence, then Ginny said in a flat little voice, “Well, happy birthday anyway, Harry.”

Ron’s ears were scarlet; Hermione looked nervous. Harry wanted to slam the door in their faces…

…so he did.

With a quick wave of his wand, the door shut and locked.

Instantly Ron was pounding on the other side.

“OI, Harry…!”

“Ron?” Harry said in a falsely cheery tone.

The pounding stopped. “Yes…?” Ron said hesitantly.

“Remember that book you gave me, oh, say, maybe a half an hour ago?”

There was a distinct silence from the other side of the door for a moment before Ron choked out a “Yes…”

“Then stop sending mixed signals, mate.”

And with that he cast a silencing charm on the door, but not before he heard Hermione’s voice.

“What book?”

Harry grinned, imagining the conversation that was about to start on the other side of the door as Ginny looked up at him, puzzled.

He leaned in and said softly into her ear, “He gave me a copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.”

She looked at him incredulously for a moment and then glanced at the door, a slow smile spreading on her face.

He shrugged. “I haven’t read it…” he leaned in closer, “and I don’t think I’m going to. Now… where were we?”

And with that they were kissing again, and it was sweet oblivion once more, both of them knowing that they had to savor this moment, because it would be the last one for a long time. A very long time.

All the reasons that he had for ending their relationship, all the reasons for staying away from her, were in there with them, on their minds, but they both chose, for these few precious moments, to forget them.

They both knew that, when these moments were over and done, that they would have to go back downstairs and face Ron (or whatever was left of him after Hermione was finished with him), and continue with prepping for the wedding, and pretend that they had done nothing more than had a polite talk, that they were no longer involved with each other.

They knew that they would have to pretend that he wouldn’t be spending the upcoming days and weeks and months looking at the Marauder’s Map to watch over her, that she wouldn’t spend each morning scouring the Daily Prophet for any news about him.

They knew that they would have to pretend that both of them wouldn’t regularly be having nightmares that involved the death of the other, that they would have to pretend that they each meant nothing to the other, that they weren’t both desperately wishing that, despite the Trace, that she could come along with him, that, despite his mission, that he could go back to Hogwarts with her… that… that…

The truth was, pretending was hard.

It was time to enjoy the truth, even if just for a little while, and stop pretending.

Even if just for a little while.

They stood there in her bright bedroom, swaying on the spot, his arms wrapped around her back and in her hair, her hands on his face and neck, holding him close.

They swayed, their legs wanting to buckle underneath them, but they remained upright through sheer force of will. They knew that they could end this in a moment if needed, but falling to the floor for a full on snogging session would be more difficult to end… and would be dangerous, and where it could and would probably lead would be even more dangerous. And they knew that if they started to slide down that slippery slope, then it would be ever more difficult to stop before they went too far down that path, before their ability to pretend later on was damaged or completely destroyed. Even the slightest slip past this already dangerous and simple act of a passionate kiss could and most probably would be disastrous for their ability to pretend, to act as if they meant nothing to each other.

So they had to satisfy themselves with the feeling of the other’s lips on their own, of the feeling of their hands holding the other in places that were safe, each trying to impress the memory of these sweet moments of oblivion, lost in each other’s arms, into their memories, knowing that these few moments would be all that they would have to sustain themselves until they could stop pretending once again.

And they both knew, without speaking, that it would be a while. A good long while. No. That was the wrong phrase. There would be nothing “good” about this long while. Nothing good at all.

They both knew that he would not be able to give this same present to her on her own birthday, which was in less than two weeks; they both knew that Christmas was almost certainly out of the question, and beyond that? Well....

No. This was not the time to think of that, to think that far ahead, to think ahead of this moment at all. This moment was for focusing on the Here and Now. Here, in her room, standing as if almost fused together, Now, on his birthday. This was the moment that they had that would allow them to create the memories that would keep them both going until they got that far ahead of Now.

And Now was almost… up.

It was only a matter of moments before they knew that they would have to end this, to cease with the truth and to have to put their facades back on, the facades that pretended that Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley meant nothing to each other, that the only things between them was a failed several-week-long relationship… and nothing more.

And nothing more.

It was a harsh facade. For both of them.

And yet they had to.

They had to wear that facade, that veneer over their true feelings, for if they didn’t... they would both fall.

They broke the kiss simultaneously, both knowing that it was time. Still holding each other, Ginny looked up at him.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” she said softly.

He nodded. “Thank you, Ginny. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

At that they separated, both composing themselves, putting their masks on, putting their facades back in place. Now was over. Now had become Then, and the new Now was the interminable and indeterminable time between Then and that, between the times when the facades had been dropped for the scant moments of Then and when they could be dropped again during that hopeful time in the future.

And, if all went well, then that hopeful time would be the time that they could drop the facades permanently.

And the thought of that future hopeful time and the memories of Then would be all that they would have to sustain themselves through Now.

And that would have to suffice.

Because it had to.

Harry unlocked the door. Standing outside the room was Ron and Hermione, both of whom were looking rather cross, although Hermione’s ire was being directed at Ron.

Before he walked over the threshold, Harry spoke one last time to her. “I’ll see you later,” he said. And, with that, he went out the door and followed Ron down the stairs.

When they reached the freshly mown lawn, Ron rounded on Harry. “Okay, maybe I should have chosen my present a bit better. You still ditched her. What are you doing now, messing her around?”

~finish~

A/N: And there’s my slight rewrite of canon. As I said above, the story continues just as it is told, nothing changes beyond this single moment, beyond giving Harry a more complete moment of happiness. Which, in my opinion, he deserves (a small portion of my psych commented sarcastically when I was writing this piece, “even the condemned get a last meal”).
Reviews 18
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