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Locked In 12 Grimmauld Place | ||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Angst, Comedy, Fluff, Humor Warnings: Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 27 Summary: Because of their supposed "connections" to Lord Voldemort, Harry and Ginny are locked in the Order's Headquarters for their safety for the whoe summer. But what is Ginny to do with a depressed Harry for the whole summer? Hitcount: Story Total: 5820 |
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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Ginny Weasley, or any other person who is from the original books. They belong to JKR. I don't own anything that you know exists, such as whipped cream and Mel Gibson's movie, "The Patroit." I do own the plot, so if you can't steal that. Without asking, of course. It was a bright, sunny, Monday morning, and we were at it, again. We were fighting again, over something to do with the bathroom. And it’s not like I was counting. One might ask what the hell I am going on about. And I’ll tell you. Harry Potter, him and bloody sexual tension. What could have caused this, one might also ask? Bloody Lord Voldemort. See, supposedly when he possessed me, he figured out my mind. And, that “Made my mind more open to control by outside forces,” if you want to put it into Dumbledore’s terms. Out of that I got, “Because Lord Voldie-Moldie has figured out your mind, along with Harry’s, we are going to lock you two, against your will, in the Most Ancient House of Black, with no floo powder, hundreds apperation wards, no owls, and all doors and windows are going to be sealed tight like a banana in its peal. Have fun!” So, I got stuck in a house for two months with Mr. Harry-I’ll-blame-myself-for-everyone’s-d eaths-and-I-am-destened-to-be-a-muderer- Potter. What a joy. Not. And you were thinking that I still liked him. Idiot…. Ok, maybe I think he is cute, but that’s it, purely platonic feelings here. I’ll just start from the beginning, and tell you, person who is boring deep into my memory, how this whole thing about the bathroom began. * We entered the house, and the “Guard” as they so lovingly are called, shut the door behind us, and securely locked the door. Literally, if our backs had not been to the door, we would no longer have noses. They are so nice and caring, aren’t they? I looked around the house, and didn’t see much dust, major improvement there. In fact, the house was in pretty good shape since last Christmas. The walls were painted a deep, warm burgundy color, with black, hardwood floors. Really nice looking if you are like me, and are really into the whole muggle rock music scene, with all the hard-rockers, and reds and blacks as I am. Continuing on with the house. One of the things I found was that Mrs. Black’s painting was gone. Actually, the whole wall was gone, too. Probably has to take the wall down, so she would go, too. Of course, Harry could have cared less. He just looked around, and then tromped up the stairs to go find his room and wallow in self-pity. I quickly followed, just hoping he might say something. But when have my hopes ever been right? He got to his room, and then slammed the door shut. I dropped my stuff off in my room, and went back to his room, letting the possibility that he would like some company flow through my mind. But, his door was locked. I pulled and twisted the doorknob left and right, (think of Jack Sparrow when he was trying to get the sword out of the door in Pirates of the Caribbean) but the door stayed firmly locked. Defeated, I dropped to the ground, and propped myself up against the door. I heard a strange, muffled sound coming from inside the room. And the noise surprised me. It was crying. Harry was bawling his eyes out. Boys, in my experience, did not cry past the ripe old age of eleven. Something was wrong with Harry, and I was going to help him. I pounded on the door for ten minutes with not even a “go away.” Just more muffled crying. And I hate crying. That is part of the reason I have sworn off kids. They cry way too much. They are like little Niagara Falls walking around in little blue and pink jumpers, with a never-ending trail of dirty nappies. So, in my eyes, the poor boy was acting way too immature for his age. And frankly, I didn’t think I could reduce someone to tears just by telling them that they are locked in a house with me for all of Summer Holes. Am I really that frightening? If I am, then I should have a permanent health warning tattooed to my forehead, and one of those really annoying Public Service Announcements about me. So, in all my frightening I-need-a-PSA glory, I went in search of a hammer. I was going to bust that door open. Just let me say that finding a hammer is easier said than done. I clamored down to the kitchen, and began searching the cupboards and closets for a hammer. Why I chose the kitchen, I have no idea. But I highly doubt that there would be a hammer in the six living rooms and dinning rooms that fill the Black House. Not to mention the six bedrooms. The people who locked us in this house must have thought we were going to try to kill each other, because all I could find was an endless supply of food, plastic forks, spoons, and knives, and a rolling pin. Really people, we are responsible teenagers, not five-year-olds. Well, at second thought, we were not going to starve, and if we ever had the need to burn plastic to make plastic axes, we have plenty of plastic. Sure. After minutes of staring at the supplies in the kitchen, I decided that a rolling pin was about as close to a hammer as I could get. I picked up the rolling pin, and made the long trip up to Harry’s room, the wooden rolling pin in hand. I was very unsure about this, really, a wooden rolling pin. I mean, yea, they are supposed to be made out of wood and all, but this was the closest I could get to a hammer? If I didn’t have a save Harry mission in mind, I would have killed myself with the rolling pin. But, I had to help Harry. Not kill myself. Harry’s doorknob looked like it was made out of the cheapest silver that could possibly be bought. Meaning, Dung supplied the doorknob. Well, that helps. Not. I lifted the rolling pin above my head, and began my rant on the innocent doorknob, with a sickening “Crack!” Really, if the doorknob had been alive, it would be pretty much dead. I had a pretty good swing, I suppose, because by the second time I hit the doorknob, it was completely severed off of the door. ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘that was pretty good. Gin, you’re getting off track, remember, you have to save Harry from wallowing in self-pity. It will eat him if you don’t.’ With that aside, I pushed his door open. Firstly, you have to realize something. The hallway I was in was already pretty dark, so when I opened Harry’s door I was cloaked in darkness. Like, I saw no end to the black. So, I did what any logical person would do, I searched the wall light switch. And, after nearly falling and killing myself because I had to reach over so far to get to the light switch, I turned the lights on. And, the room was suddenly filled with dim candlelight. Curse mum and her bloody muggle-start candles. Honestly, muggles were taking over. I could just see it. A quick sweep of the room with my eyes told me that Harry was not in the room, but I knew better. That boy was hiding under his Invisibility Cloak. So, I did the only thing I knew how to do. Fumble around the room for Harry. I did not go find a rolling pin, and break the lock on his door for nothing. So I began my search. I ran my hands along his bed, finding that his nicely formed butt was not on it. I continued to grope around his room until I hit something invisible in front of his bedside table. I knew it was Harry. Or should I say the “other” Harry. His hand grabbed mine, and it was at that point “what” I had hit fully comprehended in my stupid should-have-a-health-warning-stamped-on- it-head. And really, it was funny. I started laughing, when the cloak slipped over his face, and I could see red, swollen eyes, and tear-stained cheeks. I stopped laughing. He had been crying. “Harry, why in the Devil’s Bloody Hell are you crying?” I asked him. “Move your bloody hand Ginny. I don’t fancy getting attacked by your brothers.” He said coldly. I moved my hand back to my side, as he fully took off the cloak. “Why were you crying?” I asked again. But, Harry just looked away. Of course, Harry being Harry, would rather wallow in self-pity, and have as much self-esteem as a blade of grass that was dieing than talk. And, me being a Weasley have a horrible temper. I grabbed his shoulders, and slammed him against the nightstand, making him look at me. Harry was shocked, I could tell. I really didn’t care about his shock. Who did he think he was, hiding his emotions like he was? I knew I shouldn’t be mad about that, but something about it angered me. I blame it on the fact that everyone else in the world can’t hide their emotions, and then Harry goes about concealing them in any way that he can. “Tell me Harry. Why were you crying? I won’t let you go until you do.” I suppose that what I said came out as a snarl, but I didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. Harry didn’t look at me; he seemed perfectly comfortable looking at a spot on the floor just six centimeters to the left of his right shoe. “Harry, listen to me. You really need to express some sort of feeling, because all the yelling you do when you are mad is really annoying. So, please, talk. It is very unhealthy keeping everything all bottled up.” So here I was, giving Harry this big long talk about how I am concerned about his mental health and such, and you know what he does? He blows me off. “Gin, leave me alone. Just go.” So then he takes my hands and rips them off of his shoulders, and leaves the room, and locks himself in the bathroom. And if I had been paying more attention, I would have realized it was the only bathroom in the house. So I just stood there, looking at the spot where Harry’s head once occupied, while he locked himself in the bathroom. Sighing, I left the room, keeping in mind that tomorrow was a new day. * I am not a morning person, in fact, if I could control time, mornings would not exist. But, sadly, they do. So, I struggled out of my bed at the ungodly hour of noon, and slowly, but not gracefully, walked–really I more like tripped–to the bathroom. I reached for the big black doorknob, wondering why this house looked so much like a house that hasn’t been lived in for years, I mean really, people did live in it last year, and turned the knob. Only, it didn’t turn. I struggled with the knob for about ten minutes before I remembered that Harry had locked himself in the bathroom. I started pounding on the door, again. Honestly, what is it with me and pounding on doors? But, this time, the door mysteriously opened. So, I naturally walked right on in. Big mistake. The room was filled with steam, and a very wet somebody looked at me. Perhaps I should elaborate. Harry was standing in front of me, clad only in a very small towel that was loosely wrapped around his hips. And years of Quidditch have done him good. The boy–no–man in front of me had one hell of a six-pack, strong arms, and for the love of Merlin, had a tan, enough to make any girl pass out. “Oh, um, Harry!” I said, surprised. “What a, um, interesting experience, I mean, hey, fancy meeting you here!” “You can have that bathroom after me.” He said gruffly, trying to push me out of the bathroom. I was thoroughly confused, and stated so. “There is only one bathroom. So we share. Me first.” Oh my goodness. Harry was claiming the bathroom. This could not be happening. “No.” “What?” “I will not give you the bathroom. You’re done, you leave.” “No.” “Yes. You are done.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No .” “Yes” “No” “Yes” “No” “Yes” “ No” “Yes” “No” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Y es.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No. ” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes. You know, I could go on for hours, and I did once, for six hours with Charlie, won too…” “I don’t care. Get out of the bathroom Ginny. I am using it.” “For what? You know your hair never lies flat. So, why bother?” “I’m not messing with my hair.” “Then why…” I remembered the last time I fought over the bathroom with one of my brothers. Fred had won the bathroom, and five minutes after surrendering the bathroom, I heard the happy cry of ‘Yes! One more centimeter!’ Let’s just say I was scarred for life. Literally. I mean, come on. How many ten-year-old girls are exposed to horny teenage boys? Once I remembered that dreadful day, I left Harry to his own devices. * After that um… lovely um… day, nothing really happened for the next three days. Just the ordinary, Harry getting the bathroom, doing Lord-knows-what in it, then leaving it to me. After a while I became too afraid to go into it. The house that we were staying at really only had about two disadvantages, besides the bathroom, which was the very old freezer and a horrid cooling system. So, on this day, it was a Friday if you really care, it was unreasonably hot. Honestly, who ever controls the weather should just take really hot days out of the weather. Seriously. So, I went down to the kitchen to get some ice cream, when, surprise, surprise, Harry for once was not locked in some room. Really, isn’t that amazing? What happened to sulking in self-pity? In fact, he was sitting at the ugly wooden table, in some very interesting boxer shorts, doing potions homework. That alone would have stopped any girl in her tracks. But add on the fact that it was at least in the eighties in the room, and he was sweating, not too much, but enough to give him a glistening appearance. Oh, I’ll stop trying to sound formal; he was hot, and sexy. Basically, if I had not had enough self-control, I would have ravished him on the spot. Harry looked up, and his mouth hung open. He looked at me. I really didn’t see why what I was wearing would surprise anybody, it was hot, so I was wearing my bikini top, and shorts. His slack jaw could also have something to do with the spoon of ice cream half way to his mouth. Rocky Road Ice Cream, if you must know. “Ginny,” He said, “What are you doing?” “What do you mean, ‘What am I doing?’ What does it look like?” “Um, I d-d-don’t rightly k-k-know.” He stuttered. “Oh. I’m getting ice cream. Just go back to your ice cream that you were…” At that moment I had looked in the freezer to find no ice cream, absolutely no ice cream at all. “YOU HAD THE REST OF THE ICE CREAM YOU BERK!” I screeched at him, running to him, and attempting to strangle him. “NO!” He screamed, shoving the spoon in his mouth. I tried to take the spoon out of his mouth. Hey, who knows, maybe a small particle if ice cream will still be on the spoon? “You…” But what he was, Harry would never find out, because he flipped me on to my back, and ran like a chicken without a head out of the room. “YOU COME BACK HERE!” I yelled, getting up, and fixing my small black bikini top where it had become disheveled. See, by Harry eating the last of the ice cream, he disrupted my way of life. Which is eating ice cream whenever I can. And he ate the rest of it. So, naturally, I was pissed to put it lightly. Ice cream was what my mum would call my “comfort food,” especially Rocky Road Ice Cream. Eventually, after hunting him down like a rabid dog through the old house, I cornered him in the bathroom. I should have known better. See, they gave us one of those showerheads that extend, and you can use them like one of those spray things that are on kitchen sinks sometimes, and spray is exactly what Harry did. He turned on the water, cold mind you, and started attacking me with the water. He sprayed me everywhere, may face, chest, shorts, back, legs, even my feet. Not to mention he had soaked my fluffy black towel. The only towel in the whole flipping house that fit me right, too! So, in a fit of rage, and most likely sexual tension, I tackled him, taking the water and smothering him with it. Really nice on a hot day, to be dripping wet, wearing close to nothing, and on top of England’s Most Eligible Bachelor according to Teen Witch Weekly. Once we were both thoroughly drenched, Harry grasped the showerhead, and turned the water off. I was just then getting lost in his big, green eyes, when suddenly I feel his amazingly soft lips on mine. ‘Holy crap!’ I thought, ‘Harry is kissing me and… Oh God, his lips are so soft…’ And before I could control myself I was kissing him back. His hands were working their way lower down my hips, and my hands were currently tied up in his hair, when how wrong this was registered in my mind. I mean I was making out with a man within an inch of his life who could never repay my love to him… Oh no, I just said he could never repay my love… does this mean I am in love with him? Not good. I pushed Harry off of me, and looked into his eyes. He just looked at me, wondering why I had stopped. But I couldn’t look at him any longer. I got off of him, and ran out of the room, tears in my eyes. * I did not want to see Harry after that. I mean, would you either? Would you want to see the person who you just kissed like he actually meant something, and know that he doesn’t feel the same way about you? And then, when you want to go drown your thoughts with ice cream, you have no ice cream, because he ate the ice cream! Doesn’t life just suck? So, because a person who I will no longer mention ate the last of the ice cream, I settled on some whip cream based chocolate icing, because I hate the sugar based icing, and walked into the living room, to find a huge black box in the middle of it. Holy hell fire, what was it? I didn’t know! Naturally, I did what any logical person would have done. I walked over to the box and poked it. Who knew what the thing did? The box didn’t do anything, so I poked it again, I mean, there could be an insane army of two-headed devil squirrels with beady little red eyes, who plot your painful and untimely demise in it! And that would be worse than Voldemort! I continued to poke the box until I knew that nothing was inside of it. Then, I began to figure out how to work it. There was a large, black button on it that was labeled ‘On’, so, I pressed it (again, logically), and a great face appeared. The face was yelling, and I started screaming. Really, how many times to you go up to a box, poke it, and a yelling face appears? After many moments of insanely screaming, I finally calmed down enough to look at the images on the box. Suddenly, out of nowhere the words ‘The Patriot’ flashed on the box, and this whole thing, I believe Hermione called it a ‘movie’ started. And it was a very interesting movie too. The movie was right at the part when the evil British Commander, who looks and awful lot like Malfoy’s dad, was going to kill this really hot blonde dude…I wonder if Malfoy knows his father leads a double life, really, that could ruin his personality, you know, knowing that he lives in an unstable environment, I mean, his father leading a double life, one being a rich man, who buys his son everything, and is a minion of Voldemort, and the other life, he is commanding the British army to run round in those bright red outfits–I mean, honestly, who ever made the army outfits had no taste–killing off innocent people! And what would his mother think? You really do have to look out for people’s well being. You wouldn’t want you’re archenemy not having a stable home life, that would just be wrong. He could attack you just for having a slightly stable home life! That would be painful… I couldn’t believe though, how evil those muggles set out to prove the British are. I mean, according to Dad and Hermione, if we British had not oppressed the Americans, then they would have never left our dear country to form America. Enough about the British muggles, the point is, by the end of the movie, when the little girl finally actually talks to her father, without insulting him, I was reduced to tears. I mean she didn’t want her father to leave her! Do you have any idea how sweet that is? She actually cares enough to want him around! And that is where Harry found me. Sitting on a couch, crying because of what was going on in side of a box, (you know, the little girl, and the dead blonde bloke,) in my striped flannel pajama pants and black tank, wiping my eyes with a tea towel. “Ginny,” Harry said, walking over to me, “are you alright?” The really cute thing was that he sounded honest and concerned about how I was feeling. I mean that was really sweet. And he was acting like I could break any moment. Which was smart on his part, really, I had just walked out him in a bathroom after kissing him. I looked, tears forming in my eyes. Harry ran over to me, hugging me. “I’m sorry. I should have never kissed you. I’m sorry.” I was like…wow. Harry was apologizing for kissing me, real shocker there. Really, that is the Harry thing to do though. The guy can’t handle people hating him, so he tries to be noble and fix things so they are all better. I’m sure his wife will love him if he ever gets married. “No, I should have never kissed you back, I mean…” “No, you shouldn’t be sorry. It’s not your fault that I get aroused so easily….” I don’t think he meant to say that. I really don’t. Harry just looked at me with the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on, and ran away from me, fast. As soon as he left, I couldn’t help myself, and fell on the floor laughing. * It was the week of Harry’s birthday, and he looked pretty putout. I don’t know why, I mean, I thought I turned him on? But, anyway, Harry was moping around again, letting self-pity kill him, and it was killing me, literally. I had no idea what the Order was going to do for Harry’s birthday; I mean it was in two days. So, I was in the kitchen, cutting up meat with a plastic knife, when I missed the meat, and nearly chopped off my finger, well, about as much damage you can do with a plastic knife, but still, it could have SARS on it or something. So I ran upstairs to go clean my finger with some peroxide like mum always does. But in my haste to clean my finger, and get back to cooking, I forgot to put the bottle of peroxide away. * The sun was just barely peeking its way into the window, the morning after I nearly severed my finger off, and risked getting SARS, and I could tell it would be a wonderful day. Yea, right, in a bloody fairytale. No, really, it was dark as night outside, when this window-shattering scream fills the house. “GINNY!” Obviously, it wasn’t mum, unless I managed to do something in my month that I have been gone, so that only left Harry. Checking the clock while I was still half-asleep, I discovered it was five in the freaking morning. Damn you Harry, I was in the middle of a dream consisting of me, the blonde person from The Patriot, and chocolate icing. Slowly, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, and before I even saw the door, it ripped open, and Harry stood there, panting like a person who just ran a kilometer. “What the hell happened?” I asked, covering my eyes from the light that had flooded the hall. “My–hair–“Harry chopped out, fingering it madly. “Um, yes, your hair. Is it even more unruly that it normally is? Because if it is, I believe that would not cause a world disaster, Harry. It is five in the freaking morning. What were you doing up so early, anyway? Go to bed.” “I couldn’t sleep, so I took a shower. That’s beside the point! My hair is blonde!” Well, that was shocking. I mean if his hair was blonde, I could crack blonde jokes at him. I turned around and looked at it. It certainly had some blonde streaks in it, but wasn’t completely blonde. It looked more…orange, actually. “Jesus Harry, what shampoo did you use?” Harry went into the bathroom, and handed me a white bottle that resembled the shampoo bottle, and something else, I just couldn’t place it. I looked at the label, and then looked at Harry. “Harry, you stupid idiot, this is peroxide. Where would you get peroxide at five in the…” and then I remembered. I forgot to put the bottle of peroxide up last night. Harry must have thought the peroxide bottle was the shampoo… And they use peroxide to bleach hair. Oh dear. It was all his fault I cut my finger, risking getting SARS, I mean, if he had not been letting self-pity eat him, then he could have cooked, therefore not making me have to clean my finger with peroxide, which in turn would have saved his hair. What was the Order thinking anyway, trusting us with dangerous chemicals! The boy-who-lived now had blonde…okay, so it was orange… streaks in his hair. And all I could think of is how my mates and I call Malfoy Mr. Peroxide Boy, because really, hair just doesn’t naturally come in that color! And now Harry was “blonde” from peroxide. The whole thing was just laughable. But I would not laugh at Harry. It could ruin is already dieing-blade-of-grass self-esteem. We can’t hurt that, now can we? “That is per–that is beside the point. I wasn’t fully awake Ginny; you would think it was the shampoo bottle too! Do I look like I pay attention to which bottle is which?” “Obviously not. Honestly Harry, you need to pay more attention.” I started laughing, giving into the need to laugh, and walked away. * Today was Harry’s birthday; you could smell the air, and you would smell ‘Essence of Harry’s Birthday’. No, but really, you could smell Harry’s cologne, but that is a different story. So, like I had said, today was July 31st, or as the rest of the world would call it, Harry Potter Day. That’s right. The Insane Harry Potter Fan Club, which was a group of twenty insane girls and the last time I counted, also included six boys, had requested Dumbledore to make it Official Harry Potter Day. And, needless to say, the request was granted. And how was I spending Harry Potter Day? Holed up in a house with him. In fact, I was eating whipped cream, straight out of the can, that day, too. It was one of those days that the day would have been perfect if we had some ice cream. But, we still didn’t have any ice cream. So, I was stuck eating strawberry and chocolate whipped cream right out of the can, while Harry was making use of the bathroom. Right in the middle of trying to expertly spray both flavors of whipped cream into my mouth, Harry screamed. “GINNY!” Sighing, I went to go see what he wanted, still eating the whipped cream. I slowly marched up the stairs, to the now infamous bathroom. I opened the door, slightly annoyed. “What is it now Harry?” “The toilet overflowed Ginny! Look!” He pointed to the toilet, in which the water level was slowly rising. I rolled my eyes at his stupidity. Honestly, men. The toilet overflows, and the bathroom needed to be declared a State of Disaster. “So get a plunger!” I barked at him, slightly annoyed, as I set my whipped cream on the sink next to a… ruler. I looked at it, and shuddered. ‘One more centimeter.’ Harry left to go search out a plunger, when I found one right next to the toilet. I decided to show Harry how stupid he was, and started to try to unclog the toilet. This will really show how stupid he was! And then I could get back at him for the butter dish! Well, that wasn’t really his fault though… But that doesn’t matter now. I got the plunger in the toilet, and I couldn’t get it out. The plunger was stuck in the toilet. Well, that is just great. Lovely. So, I started yanking at the handle of the plunger, when Harry walked in. “Harry! I found the–plunger–it just won’t–come–out!” I coughed out, while struggling with the now-stuck plunger. “Help me!” Harry obliged, and circled his arms around my hips, helping me tug at the plunger. But it still wouldn’t move. “Ok. On the count of three, pull.” He said, talking to my hair. I nodded, as he started to count. “One… Two… Three!” And we pulled, but it only slightly twitched. I didn’t even know that plungers could twitch. “Let’s do it again.” Harry mumbled, once more into my hair. And we did it again. Pulling the plunger that is. Honestly, get your mind out of the gutter, seriously. “Two… Three... Pull!” Harry said, pulling on me, as I pulled on the plunger. The plunger swiftly came out, and I fell back onto Harry from the force of the bloody plunger, and Harry fell onto the sink. I let go of the plunger as we fell over, knocking over the ruler and whipped cream that was on the sink. We landed on the floor, and upon impact, the cans of whipped cream exploded, coating Harry and myself in strawberry and chocolate whipped cream. It was then that I realized I was on top of Harry. But I also realized then how right being on top of Harry felt. Like I was at home. Like I belonged on top of him. “Ginny.” He breathed. I turned around, inches from is face. “You have whipped cream all over you. Let me help you get that off.” And then, Harry did the oddest thing. He licked me. Harry Potter had licked my shoulder where I was donning whipped cream! And then, he slyly smiled at me. “You still have it on you,” He said softly, looking at my eyes. “You have it on you too. Let me help you with that.” And then I lost it. I started licking the whipped cream on Harry’s left cheek off. And then the whipped cream on his nose, and then the whipped cream on his lips, and then I lost it. I started kissing him. There was nothing I could do to stop myself. I need to kiss someone so bad; the need had just built up inside of me. And Harry responded. His soft lips pressed against mine, and his sent intoxicated me. I groaned as he put more pressure on my lips. I opened my mouth, and his tongue darted into my mouth. His tongue danced with mine in an erotic dance, exploring my mouth, and soon I was exploring his. And soon, we were back to licking the whipped cream off on each other. And it seemed like the whipped cream was all over us. And the strange thing was I didn’t want to stop any of it. And neither did Harry. He started licking a spot of whipped cream just above my bikini top, when he started moaning. And I couldn’t get enough of it. I wanted more, but just then, someone walked into the bathroom, right in front of Harry to be exact. * “Well, that sure is some constant vigilance you have Potter.” A gruff voice said. I looked up, and almost cried, because standing in our bathroom, while both Harry and I were madly licking each other, was Mad Eye Moody. I screamed. What did you expect me to do? Invite Moody to join in licking with Harry and I? “Gods, Weasley, your brothers are downstairs!” He said, hushing me. “What!” I shrieked. “All six of them!” “No, five. Percy didn’t want to come. But Lupin, Tonks, and Molly are downstairs with your brothers.” He replied, looking through all the walls with his freaky little eye. I was in deep trouble. I mean, like, my whole family was downstairs, and here I was, in a bathroom with Harry, licking him. And things just got worse. “Hey, Moody, where are you?” Fred’s voice said, as he opened the door. Well, at least he had common curtsy to actually open a door. “Ginny, what are you–” I’m afraid Fred never finished what he was going to say. “GINNY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN A BATHROOM! WITH HARRY! YOU BETTER NOT BE DOING ANYTHING I WOULDN’T DO!” He yelled. And actually, I am happy he walked in, and not anybody else, because he is my only brother, besides George, who could take a potentially deadly situation, and turn it into something totally the opposite. “I mean, Ginny, don’t go teasing, and playing with the poor boy without giving him some action, because that gets painful after a while.” He said, all the while looking like a little boy on Christmas. Harry just nodded at Fred, and got up, red as a tomato. “Well, I, um, I am going to um, go get changed. Yea, that’s it… I’ll go change.” He said, leaving the bathroom in a hurry. Moody and Fred just looked at me. I started mumbling, and left as well. I was screwed, and I knew it. And the bad thing was, I actually enjoyed having Harry lick whipped cream off of me. And that is what scared me. The facts that I might still have feelings for him, and are in love with him. Or, that I was not in love with him, and it was purely physical attraction. * I went to my room, still covered in whipped cream. I just sat down on my bed, and started to cry. What was happening to me? I was licking Harry Potter, and as odd as that sounded, I actually enjoyed it. I was over him! Why was this happening to me? I just sat there, in tears, for how long I don’t know. All I know is after a while, I could hear the shower running, and then it soon stopped. Moments later I was in the shower myself, drowning my pain in the shower. * Everybody was downstairs, laughing his or her heads off at something. I stood, hidden, in the shadows on the stairs. I sat down after a while, feeling so stupid. And I don’t know why I was feeling like this. I mean, it was like my mind and what I really wanted to do was having an eternal battle, and there was nothing I could say about it. Part of me just wanted to keep on making out with Harry, and take chances, risk it all, but the other part, the part of me that sounded a bit too much like Hermione, was going on like, “You shouldn’t take chances. By loving him, you risk your life.” And then it hit me. It hit me why Harry was crying on our first night here, all those days ago. Because everyone he loves gets hurt. His love only hurts. And that brought tears to my eyes. Because his life sort of sounded like that muggle song I heard a while ago on some TV Channel. I think the song was called “Behind Blue Eyes” By some odd band called “limpbizkit” who did a “cover,” what ever that is, of The Who’s song. I didn’t even know biscuits could be limp. Oh, and don’t get me started on the Smashing Pumpkins. Why would anyone want to smash pumpkins? But anyway, the song was about this… I don’t know what the song was about, but part of it went like this: “I have hours, only lonely, My love is vengeance, That’s never free…” And I thought about that. How everyone who loves Harry pays for it. A stair next to me creaked, and a shape sat down next to me, breathing slowly. “Ginny” It whispered. I turned my head. It was Harry. “Ginny,” He said, looking at my tear stained face. “Don’t cry.” And then he hugged me. Harry wrapped his arms around me, and brought my head to his chest, running his hands through my hair, rubbing my back, whispering sweet, calming words, that only mad me cry harder. “What’s wrong?” He said calmly, and smoothly, his voice dripping with worry. “You don’t have to do this, you know.” I said, to him, wiping my tears away. “Do what?” “Be a loving person. I just realized why you were crying when we first came here.” “I wasn’t–” I placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. “Yes, you were. Now be quite. We don’t want them to hear us,” I half-whispered, motioning to the sitting room, where all our guests were assembled. “You love people so much, and they take the risk to love you back. And the sad thing is, is that they pay for taking that risk.” I took a deep breath, trying not to get lost in those emerald eyes too fast. “Harry, do you have any idea how easy it is to not take that risk of loving you? Do you have any idea how easy it would be for anyone to just turn his or her back on you? And you don’t deserve this Harry. You don’t. You deserve to be able to be a normal sixteen-year-old boy, who has a mum and dad, and a dog, who has a preppy little girlfriend, who doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders because the world doesn’t know how to handle things, and take care of itself. But Harry, I am willing to take that risk. I will take that risk of loving you, even if it does kill me.” “Ginny. You don’t–“ “But I want to. I want to give you something you deserve, even if it isn’t me.” I honestly did not know where all this was coming from. It was like a muse just came down, and hit me with all this stuff. Harry just looked at me with disbelief, and hugged me. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” It felt like my whole world had come crashing down and I don’t know why. I felt like I was feeling Harry’s pain, too. So I just cried. Big, fat tears soaked Harry’s shirt, while he just stroked my back calming me. After a while, I had stopped crying, and sat next to him with my face resting on his chest. “Ginny?” He said, looking down at me. “You know how you said it was unhealthy to keep things bottled up? Well, I’m ready to talk.” He took my hand, and led me to the now well-known bathroom. “Here? You want to talk to me here?” I asked him. “Yep.” “Why?” It was more like a statement than a question. “Because I realized something in here. And so this would be the best place to talk. Because I think we both realized something in there.” Fin |
| Reviews 27 |
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