Shiver

It was three in the morning. The sun had long since hidden behind the ocean, the stars lighting up the dark sky. Ginevra Molly Weasley, however, took no notice of that.

She was tossing and turning under the light starry covers her aunt Augusta had once given her for her seventh birthday, picking her hair up with a sigh and throwing it off the pillow violently, as it was tickling her neck.

After a few seconds, she rolled over onto her side again, feeling her vibrant red hair follow her. She let out a soft, angry growl and sat straight up in bed.

'Bloody hair,' she muttered, swinging her feet over to the left side of the bed and throwing the blankets to the side. She quickly looked down, making sure she wasn't going to step on her best friends' face (she had done so once, and Hermione had absolutely refused to talk to her for three days, insisting she'd done it on purpose), and shifted towards the right.

When her feet reached the carpeted floor with a loud 'flump', next to the large, white mattress her friend was laying on, Hermione half-opened her eyes.

'Whatyuodoujg?' she demanded sleepily.

Ginny blinked. 'Just going to the –' Hermione shrugged and rolled over, fast asleep. '– kitchen,' finished Ginny, rather unnecessarily.

She tried to slide off the bed without making a sound, but ended up making even more noise than she wanted to, hitting her head sharply on her bed post, though she wasn't able to explain to anyone afterwards how exactly she'd done that.

She rubbed her head, glaring at said bed post, and stood up, nearly knocking into her desk while doing so. Muttering something about meddlesome mothers who had insisted on placing her desk and her bed so close together (not mentioning the fact that both were at least three feet away from each other), she opened the door and looked around.

There seemed to be no one there. She quickly stepped out of her room, closing the door behind her and shivering as her cold feet made contact with the red carpet on the landing, which was very warm, because Fred and George had accidentally put a Heating Charm on it several years ago.

She effortlessly navigated her way towards the stairs, letting her fingers slide over the wall briefly. She quickly jumped over the first step, because it creaked loudly, and continued to hop off the stairs, wanting to make as little noise as possible.

Forty seconds later, she jumped off the last step, and quietly opened the kitchen door. Then she let out what seemed to be a half moan, half squeak and half faltering 'eshshs', all at the same time.

Harry Potter whipped his head around so fast he cricked his neck, and Ginny let out a real squeak when she saw he was pointing the Weasley kitchen knife at her throat.

When he saw who it was, Harry let out a sigh. 'Merlin, you startled me, Ginny.'

'H – Harry.' Ginny stepped into the kitchen, as Harry rubbed his neck with the hand that was holding the knife. 'What happened to your hand?'

Harry quickly tried to hide his left hand behind his back, and Ginny narrowed her eyes, dodged a kitchen chair and slinked closer. Harry scrambled backwards, and Ginny heard some clattering, which meant he'd dropped the knife into the sink.

Ginny put her hands on her hips, and glowered up at him. Even though she was a head smaller than he was, Harry tried to shuffle even further back, a slight blush staining his cheeks.

'Harry,' said Ginny softly, still glowering. 'What happened to your hand?' she repeated, demanding.

'Er –' Harry licked his lips nervously. 'I – I – '

'Well?' said Ginny, now crossing her arms over her chest.

'It's nothing,' said Harry quickly.

'Harry,' said Ginny warningly, and Harry gave her a nervous grin, to which she only lifted an eyebrow.

'Really, Gin, you needn't worry, I – Ow!' He rubbed his arm, which she'd hit rather violently a second ago. She pursed her lips. 'I would've aimed for your head, but you're a bit taller.'

'You didn't have to hit me!' said Harry indignantly.

Ginny only stared at his hand. 'You're bleeding,' she said weakly.

Harry realised his mistake, swore darkly, and attempted to shove his hand into his pyjama pocket. 'I'm not,' he replied rather stubbornly.

Ginny softly grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the table. 'I'll be right back.' Before Harry could reply, protest against this most violently, swear he didn't need any help from her; she was back, holding a small towel in her hand.

'Now, sit,' she said rather sternly, and Harry sat on the table, feeling a bit stupid. Ginny walked over to the sink, wetted the towel, and came back. She grabbed his hand and softly began brushing at the blood that had crawled all over his hands and dripped onto his pyjama bottoms.

Harry was quiet, staring down at her as she tended to his hand with a certain care that made him feel special, somehow. As if she was doing this only for him, taking care of him when he'd wounded himself in battle.

'How did you cut it? It's very deep,' murmured Ginny, when she wrapped the towel around the wound to stop it from bleeding.

'I was trying to make myself a sandwich,' said Harry.

Ginny raised her head at him, a smile dancing at her lips. 'It's not funny,' replied Harry, trying to suppress the urge to grin back at her. 'I had just finished buttering my toast, and when I was about to apply the peanut butter, there was a loud bang from upstairs.'

'Must be the ghoul,' said Ginny quickly, suddenly paying a lot more attention to his hand than necessary.

'Gin?' said Harry, sternly.

'Yes?' said Ginny in a small voice, looking up.

'It wasn't the ghoul, was it?'

'No,' said Ginny, shifting guiltily. 'I hit my head on my bed post.'

'I thought as much,' said Harry. Ginny's jaw dropped. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

Harry laughed, and put his arms around her. Ginny felt her cheeks burn brightly as she looked up at him. 'You're Ginny,' said Harry cryptically, pushing her hair out of her face. Before Ginny could protest to this, he leaned in and softly pressed his lips to hers.

Ginny decided that she was definitely going to thank the peanut butter later.

Author's Note: This one is for Sabs (twinsofthesky), who requested Harry to be in a clumsy peanut-buttery mood.