Romancing the Sorcerer's Stone

Chapter 12: Silver Stars

"Harry."

Ginny sets down her quill, shoves the papers back into their folder, and frowns. "Harry?"

The empty room mocks her — he was just right there. Wasn't he?

She's on her way to the door, thinking to call Breezy to find out if she's seen him when she catches a flash of white-blond hair out the open window. Of course.

She steps out into the garden, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck to ward off the evening chill.

"Harry!"

"Yeah, Gin?"

He doesn't turn away from his companion.

Even if she hadn't seen his hair through the window, she would know him anywhere. Malfoy.

He leans against a small apple tree, looking infuriatingly attractive, as always. He laughs, suddenly, at something Harry said, touches his shoulder, and Ginny shivers and rubs her arms. She wishes she'd thought to wear her heavier cloak.

"Harry!" She tries again. He flaps his hand absently behind him, and she rolls her eyes. "We're late for dinner," she says, stalking toward him. "Harry, if we're late again..."

Bad things happen when one is late for dinner at the Burrow. At home, she thinks wistfully, even though she's not lived there in years. She lives with Harry, now. Theoretically.

Really she just lives with the ghost of his presence and a lot of empty rooms. She shivers again.

She doesn't think anyone else has ever been late to dinner at the Burrow. And she's about to be. Again.

Harry doesn't respond, doesn't even look at her.

She feels her legendary fiery temper flare, tries to tamp it down. She taps her foot impatiently, her fingers inching toward her wand, itching to cast a Bat-Bogey hex or two. She's always liked that one.

Several minutes later, Harry still hasn't moved, and she gives up.

"Fine," she mutters, stalking forward. "I'm not risking another lecture, so..."

She reaches out, snags Harry's elbow, and whisks him into a side-along apparition.

"Of bloody course," she huffs when they appear in the Burrow's kitchen — all three of them.

Harry, being Harry, must have simply tugged Malfoy along, never mind that he could easily have splinched them all.

Ron hurries up to steady her as she stumbles, thrown off-balance by the added weight as they land.

Malfoy, of course, lands smoothly, continuing his conversation as if he didn't even notice the world shifting around him.

Harry stumbles — Harry always stumbles out of any sort of magical transport — but he just steadies himself on Malfoy's outstretched arm.

Ginny wonders bitterly how many times they've performed that little maneuver, that it's so second nature.

Harry and Malfoy wander off toward the porch, still deep in discussion.

"Gin," Ron mutters into her ear, after closing his gaping jaw with a snap, "what's Malfoy doing here?"

She rolls her eyes as she shakes herself loose from his grip. "Don't ask," she replies, heading in search of George and his hip flask. She needs something stronger than wine to get through tonight.

—

Hermione giggles as Ron leans over to whisper in her ear then licks her cheek and snags her pickle as she swats at him. She retaliates by swiping his tomatoes, kicking him under the table. Ginny sighs, leaning on her hand and swirling her fork idly through the mashed potatoes. They're such goofballs, her brother and his girlfriend, but she loves them. They seem to shine brighter tonight; their light-hearted banter and ease together twist something in her chest and she shivers. She'd known they'd be like this, even back at school, but she'd always hoped...

She glances over at Harry and nearly drops her fork, face heating as she fumbles it, hoping no one noticed. But Harry...

Harry is deep in discussion with Malfoy, still. They've not stopped talking since their precipitous arrival, and they don't look likely to stop anytime soon. That isn't what draws her attention now; she's almost used to that. But this...

Malfoy snags the fruit salad before Harry can pass it on, scooping out generous helpings for each of them. Ginny is about to say something — Harry never eats fruit salad, and even her mother accepts it now — but Malfoy isn't finished. He picks through his helping, scooping out the chunks of pineapple and depositing them on Harry's plate. Harry, meanwhile, is poking through his and depositing the raisins on Malfoy's plate one by one. He's frowning, tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates, and when Malfoy notices he laughs. He pulls his wand, mutters something, and summons every raisin and walnut from Harry's plate.

Harry looks flabbergasted, and then delighted, and then annoyed, the expressions flickering across his face almost too fast to register, and then he retaliates by summoning Malfoy's olives. Only he must put too much power into it, as he's prone to when he's annoyed, and suddenly every olive on the table is flying toward him. He stares, eyes wide, as olives pelt him from all directions, and Malfoy throws a shield charm around them and then collapses onto Harry's shoulder, overcome with hysterical laughter. They neither of them notice the way everyone else is staring at them; they're far too busy laughing and teasing one another. And... flirting.

Ginny's heart twists again, and the smile falls from her face. Harry doesn't flirt with her, she realizes. Does he? Surely sometimes... She can't think of a single time, casting frantically back through the years, and she wonders how she'd never noticed. She's reminded of their last date, when he'd ordered Malfoy's favorite dish without thinking, without showing any sign that he knew hers. How he's sat here at this table countless times, passing on the fruit salad or pushing it around his plate. All because he doesn't like raisins or walnuts. And she never noticed.

He doesn't know her like he knows Malfoy. And she doesn't know him.