Never (H/G, PG)
Title: Never
Rating: PG
Summary: Ginny takes it upon herself to expand Harry's horizons.
Word Count: 1,455
Notes/Warnings: Harry/Ginny. Rather very fluffy. Yes indeed. :) Written for r_becca's Alphabet Challenge.
"I've never had chocolate ice cream before," Harry admits, looking idly up at the sign outside of Flortescue's detailing the specials of the day, which include "Toad Wart Tripledecker" and "Dragon's Breath Butternut".
Ginny looks at him, surprised.
"Never?"
He feels his face heat. "Well, I wasn't really allowed to," he says defensively. She smiles and she is wearing her hair up for the summer heat, and it is hard not to notice the small mole she has at the back of her neck, just in the place he would kiss every day, if he were allowed to.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," she says, and grabs his hand, pulling him towards the entrance.
"What? Ginny-Ron is waiting for us."
"You're joking, right?" Ginny stopped and placed one hand on her hip, looking at him disbelievingly. "You can't honestly think Ron is waiting for us."
"We said we'd meet him at thirteen-thirty-"
"Right, which in Ron time is fourteen-thirty," Ginny laughed, then added matter-of-factly, "Harry, really, he's probably off shagging Eliza in a corner; we won't see him for another three hours at least. If you think they're going to remember to meet us, you clearly know nothing about Ron's hormones."
Except Harry knows quite a lot about hormones, and he is quite sure of this because he is with Ginny, around whom his hormones seem continually to be not just functioning, but functioning at top levels.
"Well," he says, because he is certainly not going to say what he is thinking, which is vaguely related to Ginny's skirt and less vaguely related to her shirt.
"Well, you are eighteen years old, and you have never had chocolate ice cream, which is just completely ridiculous, so just come on and stop thinking about Ron," says Ginny, dragging him into the shop and to the counter.
(Harry isn't sure how to say that, if he is thinking about a Weasley, it certainly isn't Ron.)
"How can I help you?" the slimy git at the counter asks, looking not-so-discreetly in the direction of the logo on Ginny's shirt. Harry crosses his arms and glares at the floor.
"I'll have the boysenberry," says Ginny, "and… Harry?"
"Huh?" He looks up very quickly and puts on his best I-am-not-jealous-but-rather-am-thinking-deeply-about-certain-complex-matters-pertaining-to-the-floor face.
"He'll have the chocolate," Ginny continues, rolling her eyes. Her rather nice eyes, Harry thinks hopelessly.
"Would you like nuts with that?" the Slimy Git asks.
"Yes," Harry replies, trying to make it sound very intimidating and failing horribly.
The Slimy Git leaves. Ginny elbows Harry, hard.
"Ow! What?"
"Honestly, Harry, you have absolutely no manners. You were very rude to Everett."
Harry's eyes bulge.
"You know his name?"
"He's wearing a nametag, you prat."
"Well… well, you… you sound like Hermione!" he retorts.
"I what?"
"'Honestly, Harry, you have absolutely no manners'-hmm, sound familiar?"
"Oh, Harry," says Ginny, and her voice is entirely exasperated.
"You did it again!"
"I did what?"
"The Hermione thing!"
"Harry, you're so stupid. Sometimes-agh! Sometimes I don't even know why I like you."
And Harry knows, he really does know, that she only means "like" as "platonically-get-along-well-with". And he knows that he is out of Hogwarts and he is too old to be thinking about the difference between "like" and "like like". But there is something in her voice that makes him do a double glance, and she is standing there staunchly, arms crossed, waiting for the ice cream, and she seems very defensive, as though she has said something she did not intend to.
"Ginny," he says, and he barely recognizes his own voice, and he knows he is going to make a complete fool out of himself, but he always does anyway, and-
"Here you go!" says the Slimy Git cheerfully, plunking down two bowls on the counter. Ginny looks away from Harry then, and in that moment Harry really hates the Slimy Git, just really wishes he were somewhere else, somewhere very far away.
"Thanks," Ginny says faintly, and takes hers and starts towards a table. Harry grabs his bowl and practically runs after her, knowing he looks a bit daft but also knowing that he is a bit daft, and that he thinks something important might have just happened and he doesn't want to lose it.
They sit down, at a table that seems too small, a table that means he could reach out and touch Ginny's neck easily if he wanted to, if he were allowed to. Somehow Ginny is talkative again, but she is not looking at him and he doesn't know what to do.
"Do you like your ice cream?" she asks suddenly.
"My what?"
"Your ice cream," she says. "You know, the reason we came in here."
"Oh." He looks down at his bowl, a bit confused. "Oh, yeah."
He takes a bite of it, tentatively, uncomfortably, because Ginny is staring at him intently. It tastes a bit strange-good, but a bit strange. New. A little odd.
"Well?" she asks. He looks up.
"Yeah-yeah, it's really good." He takes another bite, and it really is great, and he smiles. "I like it a lot. Thanks for making me try it," he says, grinning.
"No problem," she says, ducking her head and-blushing? She can't possibly be blushing. He hasn't seen her blush in years.
To hide his confusion, he has some more ice cream, and then some more, and he is thinking about how good it is, how simple, how he should have had this years ago but couldn't, when her leg hits his under the table.
His stomach bottoms out. He drops his spoon. He knows he is being a little immature; at eighteen, he is old enough to realize that legs are just legs, and everyone has them. But Ginny's are amazing and long and very warm, pressed against his calf, and he keeps his leg as still as possible, hoping she won't move hers away.
She doesn't.
And then, boldly, and he isn't sure quite why, he slides his leg against hers firmly. His entire body is stiff; for a long time, she does nothing. Suddenly, just when he was beginning to relax a little, she hooks her leg around his and pulls her chair a bit closer, and he feels dizzy with the table so small and her so close. She is biting her lip. He smiles awkwardly at her and she smiles back.
And he thinks it is over. He is racking his brain for things to talk about, any way to make her stay there forever, so close to him, her leg wrapped around his. He is thinking about it so hard that he almost misses it when she says, "You have some chocolate on your face."
"Huh?"
"Right-here," she says, tapping the corner of her mouth. He tries to mimick her action and is clearly not successful, because she shakes her head and bites her lip again.
"No-not-I-" and then she is quiet for a millisecond before she leans across the table and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, right where he assumes the chocolate was. And he is not a Seeker for nothing; he puts his hand to her jaw just as she begins to pull away, and she so she does not move away, and he can feel that her skin is warm from blushing, and there is certainly not any more chocolate on his face, but she is still kissing him. Somehow there are tongues, and his teeth hit hers, and she tastes like what he supposes boysenberry tastes like, though he's never tried it so he isn't sure.
She breaks the kiss, or maybe he does; he isn't sure, but it doesn't matter. He is smiling like an idiot, he knows, and so is she.
"I've never done that before," she says breathlessly.
"Done what?"
"Kissed a bloke while he was eating ice cream."
"Oh," he says, and doesn't know what to say to that except, "It doesn't--ummm. It doesn't have to be the last."
"Okay," she says, smiling more widely. He reaches out impulsively and grabs her hand. It is soft and strange in his, and when he slides his fingers through hers, they fit well together.
"I really like chocolate ice cream," he says, looking at their hands intertwined.
"Oh, do you?" she laughs.
"Yeah. A lot, really."
She laughs again and he catches her mouth with his mid-laugh.
"It's probably my favorite thing in the world," he says. He moves his hand to the back of her head and pulls her closer. She smiles against his mouth.
"Mine too," she agrees.
Rating: PG
Summary: Ginny takes it upon herself to expand Harry's horizons.
Word Count: 1,455
Notes/Warnings: Harry/Ginny. Rather very fluffy. Yes indeed. :) Written for r_becca's Alphabet Challenge.
"I've never had chocolate ice cream before," Harry admits, looking idly up at the sign outside of Flortescue's detailing the specials of the day, which include "Toad Wart Tripledecker" and "Dragon's Breath Butternut".
Ginny looks at him, surprised.
"Never?"
He feels his face heat. "Well, I wasn't really allowed to," he says defensively. She smiles and she is wearing her hair up for the summer heat, and it is hard not to notice the small mole she has at the back of her neck, just in the place he would kiss every day, if he were allowed to.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," she says, and grabs his hand, pulling him towards the entrance.
"What? Ginny-Ron is waiting for us."
"You're joking, right?" Ginny stopped and placed one hand on her hip, looking at him disbelievingly. "You can't honestly think Ron is waiting for us."
"We said we'd meet him at thirteen-thirty-"
"Right, which in Ron time is fourteen-thirty," Ginny laughed, then added matter-of-factly, "Harry, really, he's probably off shagging Eliza in a corner; we won't see him for another three hours at least. If you think they're going to remember to meet us, you clearly know nothing about Ron's hormones."
Except Harry knows quite a lot about hormones, and he is quite sure of this because he is with Ginny, around whom his hormones seem continually to be not just functioning, but functioning at top levels.
"Well," he says, because he is certainly not going to say what he is thinking, which is vaguely related to Ginny's skirt and less vaguely related to her shirt.
"Well, you are eighteen years old, and you have never had chocolate ice cream, which is just completely ridiculous, so just come on and stop thinking about Ron," says Ginny, dragging him into the shop and to the counter.
(Harry isn't sure how to say that, if he is thinking about a Weasley, it certainly isn't Ron.)
"How can I help you?" the slimy git at the counter asks, looking not-so-discreetly in the direction of the logo on Ginny's shirt. Harry crosses his arms and glares at the floor.
"I'll have the boysenberry," says Ginny, "and… Harry?"
"Huh?" He looks up very quickly and puts on his best I-am-not-jealous-but-rather-am-thinking-deeply-about-certain-complex-matters-pertaining-to-the-floor face.
"He'll have the chocolate," Ginny continues, rolling her eyes. Her rather nice eyes, Harry thinks hopelessly.
"Would you like nuts with that?" the Slimy Git asks.
"Yes," Harry replies, trying to make it sound very intimidating and failing horribly.
The Slimy Git leaves. Ginny elbows Harry, hard.
"Ow! What?"
"Honestly, Harry, you have absolutely no manners. You were very rude to Everett."
Harry's eyes bulge.
"You know his name?"
"He's wearing a nametag, you prat."
"Well… well, you… you sound like Hermione!" he retorts.
"I what?"
"'Honestly, Harry, you have absolutely no manners'-hmm, sound familiar?"
"Oh, Harry," says Ginny, and her voice is entirely exasperated.
"You did it again!"
"I did what?"
"The Hermione thing!"
"Harry, you're so stupid. Sometimes-agh! Sometimes I don't even know why I like you."
And Harry knows, he really does know, that she only means "like" as "platonically-get-along-well-with". And he knows that he is out of Hogwarts and he is too old to be thinking about the difference between "like" and "like like". But there is something in her voice that makes him do a double glance, and she is standing there staunchly, arms crossed, waiting for the ice cream, and she seems very defensive, as though she has said something she did not intend to.
"Ginny," he says, and he barely recognizes his own voice, and he knows he is going to make a complete fool out of himself, but he always does anyway, and-
"Here you go!" says the Slimy Git cheerfully, plunking down two bowls on the counter. Ginny looks away from Harry then, and in that moment Harry really hates the Slimy Git, just really wishes he were somewhere else, somewhere very far away.
"Thanks," Ginny says faintly, and takes hers and starts towards a table. Harry grabs his bowl and practically runs after her, knowing he looks a bit daft but also knowing that he is a bit daft, and that he thinks something important might have just happened and he doesn't want to lose it.
They sit down, at a table that seems too small, a table that means he could reach out and touch Ginny's neck easily if he wanted to, if he were allowed to. Somehow Ginny is talkative again, but she is not looking at him and he doesn't know what to do.
"Do you like your ice cream?" she asks suddenly.
"My what?"
"Your ice cream," she says. "You know, the reason we came in here."
"Oh." He looks down at his bowl, a bit confused. "Oh, yeah."
He takes a bite of it, tentatively, uncomfortably, because Ginny is staring at him intently. It tastes a bit strange-good, but a bit strange. New. A little odd.
"Well?" she asks. He looks up.
"Yeah-yeah, it's really good." He takes another bite, and it really is great, and he smiles. "I like it a lot. Thanks for making me try it," he says, grinning.
"No problem," she says, ducking her head and-blushing? She can't possibly be blushing. He hasn't seen her blush in years.
To hide his confusion, he has some more ice cream, and then some more, and he is thinking about how good it is, how simple, how he should have had this years ago but couldn't, when her leg hits his under the table.
His stomach bottoms out. He drops his spoon. He knows he is being a little immature; at eighteen, he is old enough to realize that legs are just legs, and everyone has them. But Ginny's are amazing and long and very warm, pressed against his calf, and he keeps his leg as still as possible, hoping she won't move hers away.
She doesn't.
And then, boldly, and he isn't sure quite why, he slides his leg against hers firmly. His entire body is stiff; for a long time, she does nothing. Suddenly, just when he was beginning to relax a little, she hooks her leg around his and pulls her chair a bit closer, and he feels dizzy with the table so small and her so close. She is biting her lip. He smiles awkwardly at her and she smiles back.
And he thinks it is over. He is racking his brain for things to talk about, any way to make her stay there forever, so close to him, her leg wrapped around his. He is thinking about it so hard that he almost misses it when she says, "You have some chocolate on your face."
"Huh?"
"Right-here," she says, tapping the corner of her mouth. He tries to mimick her action and is clearly not successful, because she shakes her head and bites her lip again.
"No-not-I-" and then she is quiet for a millisecond before she leans across the table and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, right where he assumes the chocolate was. And he is not a Seeker for nothing; he puts his hand to her jaw just as she begins to pull away, and she so she does not move away, and he can feel that her skin is warm from blushing, and there is certainly not any more chocolate on his face, but she is still kissing him. Somehow there are tongues, and his teeth hit hers, and she tastes like what he supposes boysenberry tastes like, though he's never tried it so he isn't sure.
She breaks the kiss, or maybe he does; he isn't sure, but it doesn't matter. He is smiling like an idiot, he knows, and so is she.
"I've never done that before," she says breathlessly.
"Done what?"
"Kissed a bloke while he was eating ice cream."
"Oh," he says, and doesn't know what to say to that except, "It doesn't--ummm. It doesn't have to be the last."
"Okay," she says, smiling more widely. He reaches out impulsively and grabs her hand. It is soft and strange in his, and when he slides his fingers through hers, they fit well together.
"I really like chocolate ice cream," he says, looking at their hands intertwined.
"Oh, do you?" she laughs.
"Yeah. A lot, really."
She laughs again and he catches her mouth with his mid-laugh.
"It's probably my favorite thing in the world," he says. He moves his hand to the back of her head and pulls her closer. She smiles against his mouth.
"Mine too," she agrees.