Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the HP verse. Unfortunately.

This is an exploration of the relationship between Harry and Ginny, using the five (or in this case, six) different senses. It's sort of experimental, and I really want to know what you think about this style.

Dedicated to Pinky for issuing this challenge and for generally being an awesome person. :) I hope you enjoy it!

Making Sense of Senses

On Monday, he sees her.

He sees her, walking across the landing. First it is her long hair of the most vivid red, rippling like waves in a carrying wind, tumbling fluently down to her waist in a flurried flourish of rivers and waterfalls. It dances as she walks, bouncing up and down to the rhythm of her swaying hips, left, right, left, right.

She stops, and he realises she must feel his eyes locked on her retreating figure. Still, he cannot look away; his eyes are frozen and he has no control. He can barely even blink. She begins to turn around, because she knows that someone is staring, and maybe, she hopes, it is him.

Then, when she rotates a whole semi circle, it is her eyes. Chocolate orbs of light and shades of brown, they meet his for a mere moment, but in that second he forgets everything else. He forgets the Horcruxes, he forgets Ron and Hermione, and he even forgets about Voldemort. All he can see is her, with her red hair and brown eyes, and she is all that matters.

She smiles softly and turns around again, but he continues to observe her as she walks away.

On Tuesday, he hears her.

"Harry...?" she asks cautiously, knocking faintly on his door. "Dinner's ready." Her voice carries softly through the wood, and his eyes flash open. The sound waves spiral around him, enclosing him in a whirlwind of butterflies and tweeting birds, and he is lost in her hurricane, her sweet melody vibrating piercingly through his ears. His own voice is lost in the current of air, and she waits outside his door for a few moments, her ear pressed lightly against it as if to check if he was alright, unsure if he is actually inside. The butterflies and birds subside, and it is suddenly so silent that he can almost hear her quiet breathing.

"Harry?" she asks again, her lips close to the smooth timber. He closes his eyes once more, letting her say his name inside his head a thousand times over before answering.

"Thanks, Ginny. I'll be down in a second."

On Wednesday, he smells her.

He sits at the dining table, staying silent except for the odd 'thank you' when a bowl of sausages or cereal or porridge is passed to him. He piles some food onto his plate, following the suit of the Weasley family. He likes breakfast, because it smells like a happy home.

Ginny pulls out the empty chair next to him, and reaches for the bacon almost before her bottom completely meets the seat. He inhales the scent of the meat as it passes by his nose, allowing it to fill him up, and is about to pick up his fork and start eating when Ginny reaches politely across him to grab the salt. Her hair comes within inches of his face, and all thought of the smell of bacon is forgotten when her scent takes over. Her fragrance floods his own body, making him light-headed and sleepy, and he wants to drown in it, to submerge himself in her overwhelming odour like a sinking ship being crushed by the sea's overpowering waves. He plunges into her ocean, her aroma washing over him, spreading like goose bumps and wildfire down his body, soaking him in it.

He is dragged out of the water when Ginny withdraws, a small saltshaker clutched within her fingers. Ginny smells like beauty and strength and hope, and Harry resists the urge to lean over and smell it all again.

On Thursday, he touches her.

Molly has asked Harry to help Ginny de-gnome the garden, as another chore to distract him from talking properly to Ron and Hermione. Normally he would groan at the thought of another errand, but this time he is glad of the chance to talk to her, even though his hands are shaking slightly and he has never liked gnomes. It is sunny outside, and the warmth strokes the skin of his exposed arms, snaking its way along them like the covering of an inescapable blanket. Ginny too is sun kissed; he can sense some sort of aura around her, as if she is radiating a kind of shimmering glow. He has the urge to walk forward and reach for it, touch it, wanting it to soak through into his own body so that they are permanently connected by this atmosphere of light (at least, until the sun goes in). Of course, he does not reach out, but he does edge over to her, making himself known by picking up one of the smaller gnomes and flinging it over the garden fence.

Ginny chuckles at the angered squeal that emanates from it as it soars through the air, and turns to smile at Harry. He grins back, sheepishly, and begins to look for some new gnomes to banish from the Weasley's territory. They work for quite some time in comfortable silence, (although Harry is experiencing some uncomfortable cases of trembling hands and a thumping heart) until there are only a few of the small but aggravating creatures left.

Everything happens in a flash. Both Harry and Ginny reach for the same stout gnome running right by their feet; their hands collide and her fair skin rubs past his, sending a dangerously large current of electricity shooting up is arm, as if the contact had created a phenomenal amount of sparks between them. It scares him and delights him all at the same time, and he knows that Ginny slides her arm across his for longer than she needs to. It is all over too quickly though, and Harry wishes that it had lasted just a few seconds longer. He spends the next few minutes imagining interlocking hands and intertwined arms.

On Friday, he tastes her.

It is his birthday, and although he didn't want to cause a fuss, he is secretly enjoying being the centre of attention for something other than being the 'Chosen One'. He is glad of the Weasleys more than he can ever let on (Two of them in particular, though for quite different reasons), so spending this day with all of them is very special for him. He is opening his presents when she comes for him. The familiar symptoms of nervousness begin to appear, but Harry gulps them down as best he can and breathes deeply as he enters her room.

"Happy seventeenth," she says. He stumbles on 'thank you' and mumbles something about the view from her window.

What comes next is an extremely pleasant shock. Her lips crash desperately onto his, after so long waiting, and he can taste strawberry hope dashed with hopeless worry on them, flooding intensely into him as he kisses her back. He has kissed her before, but this time it is unbelievably real, too serious, much too mature, as there is a chance they may never be this close to each other again. He tangles one hand in her hair and leans closer towards her, wanting to keep this taste, her taste, in his mouth forever, this taste of hope and strength and trust (even if he could sense her anxiety too).

Then Ron bursts in, and if Harry wasn't so shell-shocked, he would've been angry at his friend for cutting this wonderful moment much too short.

On Saturday, he feels her.

The wedding reception is in full swing, and in the midst of the hectic movement of guests dancing, eating or chatting, Harry sees an opportunity to slip through the crowds and out into the open. It is a lot quieter outside the packed dome, but he is not completely alone; Ginny is standing nearby in her gold dress, staring out at the vast hill rising up only a few miles from the Burrow. He has to admit, she looks stunning.

She is aware of him near her, and turns around, smiling weakly before lowering her gaze to the floor. He finds himself walking over to her, and before what he is doing even registers, he embraces her in a tight hug. He pulls her as close as they can get, familiar feelings from the week rushing back to him as all of his senses seem to heighten. Carefully, she extracts her arms from his grip and wraps them around his neck; he doesn't need to open his eyes to know that she is crying silently in his arms. She knows he is leaving, and they both know there may be a chance that things will not end happily ever after.

Harry can feel her heart beating strongly against his chest in some sort of powerful rhythm with his own. They do not bother exchanging words – they both seem to be able to tell what the other needs without speaking. They are truly connected now, and even when they part in due course, he can sense her, fighting for him.

Finished! Yeah, I know Touch and Feel are sort of the same, but I think I wrote them in different ways, and without 'Saturday' this fic feels very unfinished. I hope you liked it anyhow, and I'd love to hear what you think. :)