"How is it that it's always you who initiates our snogging?" Ginny asks as she flips herself to one side, crossing the invisible line between her side of the bed and Harry's.

"What?" Harry laughs, switching his attention from the report he's been perusing for the last hour to his girlfriend.

"No, I'm serious. I mean I even bought super high heels, but then remembered I cannot walk in those bloody things." Her face is impassible, which tells Harry that either he's in the middle of an elaborate Weasley patented prank or Ginny is, indeed, taking the matter seriously.

"Oh god, you're not messing with me. Is there any particular reason you've convinced yourself of that?"

Ginny scoffs, "Convinced myself? Ha. Who kissed who first? Yeah, that's correct, you kissed me after Gryffindor won the House Cup. Dare you deny it?"

Harry blinks. "Erm - no? Is this what's it all about? That I snogged you in front of our House?"

"No, Harry," she rolls her eyes, rearranging her features the way she always does before launching into a scorching sarcastic streak, "I'm saying that, for once, I'd like to be the one to choose when, where and how we snog instead of you towering over me with your stupid sexy height and wild hair and - I'm straying from the point."

"So there's a point?" Harry chuckles and Ginny's chocolate brown eyes turn to slits.

"I dare you, Harry James Potter, to a contest with exactly five rounds, where the winner gets to pick the circumstances and means of our next kiss," she lays her proverbial cards on the proverbial table as she pokes a bewildered Harry in the chest after each word.

It takes Harry more than an hour to accept that Ginny is in fact, not joking, she is not flirting and definitely not attempting to be sexy. Even though competitive Ginny is always sexy to him, no exceptions. It's like he's conditioned. He sees her all worked up and bam! Every bloody time. It's, quite frankly, a disease, albeit one he knows will never want a cure for.

Shaking his head, Harry shuffles back into their bedroom to find it - erm, Ginnyless. Mussing up his hair, he stumbles upon a note scribbled in fresh ink laid out for him on the bed covers.

Gear up and meet me at the Burrow. It's showtime

He can't stifle the grin spreading wide over his face. If showtime she wants, showtime she'll get. Hell, Harry Potter's never been one to say no to a duel, reckless as it may sound.

The orchard is still, the perfume of fruit heavy in the early summer day. Harry stands his ground, waiting for Ginny to make her entrance, flowery smell and all.

Just as he clings onto the thought of her fragrance, always filling his lungs and brain and soul when she's near, firm, clipped steps approach him. By the sound of them, boots booming on the dusty ground, it's Ginny alright - and she's brought an army.

"You seem a bit intense, you lot," Harry sniggers as his eyes skim over the party of three. Ginny in her Hogwarts Quidditch gear, hair twisted into a messy knot at the top of her head, Ron sporting old Muggle jeans and Cannons sweater, and Hermione carrying a distressingly long scroll and a frown.

"You shall not address the referee unless you have been granted permission," Ron instructs, arm sneaking its way around Hermione's shoulders to bring her to his side. A kiss on her cheek and she melts for a beat, then regains her professional posture.

"Thank you, Ron. Harry, Ginny, welcome to your slightly odd but overall challenging competition," Hermione chants and beckons for the two contestants to acknowledge each other. Never one to disobey Hermione, Harry sends a top-of-the-lips kiss towards Ginny, while she pretends to let it fly past her and mouths "You're going down, Potter."

"Brilliant. The tasks you must tackle are five and shall be completed as follows: task number one - Seeker's Thrill; you shall both play the role of Seeker and attempt to catch the Snitch in as little time as possible, a blindfold secure over your eyes. Vision is not a sense to be used for this round. The winner ought to prove they have other senses or skills honed over the years," she continues as Harry groans, mostly due to Ron's lovestruck expression, his blue eyes plastered to a very businesslike Hermione. "Task number two - Constant Vigilance; the one who succeeds in blocking the most spells thrown at them by sources unknown shall be crowned victor."

"So what, you're gonna hide behind a bush and hex us at will?" Harry scowls, visibly displeased as Hermione simply smirks.

"Let the woman speak," Ron interferes and Harry feels that, for a best mate, this one's pretty treacherous when it comes to a certain bushy haired woman.

"Thank you, Ronald," she smiles at him sweetly and it's this that breaks Ginny's posture. She could never really miss an opportunity to take the mickey out of her brother, Ginny. "And thank you for the display of sibling affection, Ginny," Hermione snarks at a fake-barfing Ginny, "Now, if we might all remember what we're here for, I shall carry on describing task number three. Called "Muggletastic" this task will take the contestants to a journey down Muggle lane. More precisely, as Muggle children do in competitions or quite simply to enjoy themselves, you shall race in canvas sacks while balancing an egg in a teaspoon using your mouth only. First one to reach the finish line wins."

It's Ginny's turn to act befuddled and Harry's to smirk. He did this racing thing once or twice in his youth, whenever Dudley wasn't paying attention, all too busy with the trillion gifts he received every birthday. This round will definitely be his.

"Task number four," Hermione continues, unscrolling the roll of parchment a bit more, "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, pretty self-explanatory actually. First one who downs a bottle wins."

"And doesn't sick up afterwards," Ron amends, a smug expression on his freckled face. He's enjoying this way too much and Harry silently promises to get back at him as soon as possible and with gusto.

"And last but not least, task number five - Pucker up, darling. Who's the best kisser. I really have no clue how we're going to grade you on this one but Ginny insisted so…"

Speaking of the devil, her features remain as still as porcelain, but Harry has a pretty clear idea on how she's congratulating herself on the inside, the little minx.

"If there are no questions," Ron breaks the heated eye-battle currently unfolding between the two competitors, "Then let the games begin!"

Both Hermione and Ron retreat to the comforting shadow of an old apple tree, scroll and watch to time the task in their hands.

"Accio Firebolt," Harry commands as Ginny does the same with her old Cleansweep. Glaring, she mounts hers and Harry swiftly strikes the ground once with the soles of his boots to gain momentum, then zooms high up in the air.

Courtesy of a nifty spell, Hermione obstructs both their visions, cotton blindfolds tying themselves over the challengers' eyes as Ron releases the golden Snitch.

It takes Harry a minute to block out all noise and focus on the Snitch's buzz, his trained senses perking slowly, yet surely. His mind becomes void of everything but the fragile wings beating against the wind. He dives and spins in steady loops, all the time aware of how alluringly close Ginny is. But that is a thought to have at another time. What matters now is if she senses the Snitch before him or not, but so far so good.

He stands still, waiting, heartbeat and breath even. He's always been his best self when flying, comfortable in his own skin, free to do as he pleases. And as always, his patience is rewarded when the flying object swishes past his ear and he knows exactly how to dive to catch it.

Stretching his body as further as possible, Harry nearly looses balance as his fingers touch the cool metal of the Snitch. Closing his fist, he gently descends, lower and lower until his feet hit the ground once again.

"Well done, mate," Ron congratulates him with a clap on the shoulder. "Ginny, you'll need to come down. Your better half is still better, it seems."

A great harrumph and then Ginny rips her blindfold, "We'll see."

"Sore loser," Harry coughs, but his only answer is an apple to the back of his head.

"Moving on to task number two, and my personal favourite, Constant Vigilance," Hermione chirps, resuming her referee duties. "On my mark, you will have exactly ten seconds to hide. Ready? Go!"

Harry knows he can't panic, but still Ginny's disappeared in a blink of an eye and she probably has the whole orchard charted onto her brain, an inheritance from a childhood of mischief well managed. So probably his best option is to cast a shield spell around himself and anticipate the others' moves.

A rush of colours hits him and before long his shield gives. Replacing it with another one, Harry tries to enter the same state of mind as before.

"Damn it, why am I only calm when I'm on a broom," he curses, then tries harder. Clearly whoever is attacking him is casting nonverbal spells, so he must do the same if he wants to win this one too.

Concentrating like he's about to fail one of McGonagall's brain boggling Transfigurations tests, Harry's lips stretch into a grin when he actually starts a counter-attack of his own. A spell here, a shield there, and he's doing fantastic, superb even, when -

"Expelliarmus!"

His wand flies out of his hand unwillingly as he stands there gaping.

"You were right, love. This spell is awesome," Ginny winks, a cluster of freckles at the corner of her mouth enticing him into kissing her right there. But of course that would be counter-productive to this whole who's snogging who and how snafu she's initiated. He sighs.

"So you win this one."

"So I do."

"Alright you two, enough with the cackling," says Ron as he hands them a canvas sack each, accompanied by a teaspoon and an egg. "Also Harry, mate, George will probably unfriend you for not shedding light into this Muggle form of entertainment earlier," he adds and Harry blows extra air through his nose, as one does when one intends to laugh but does not really get there.

"You'll have to hop from here," Hermione makes her wand draw a line near them, "To there. Easy enough? Excellent. Now position yourselves at the starting point and wait for the whistle blow."

As soon as Ron blows the whistle, both Ginny and Harry hop as best they can, teeth clenched to keep the teaspoon and egg in balance.

One, two, three, Harry counts to himself, separating his hops into sets of three, then pausing. One, two, three. One, two, bloody buggering hell! He nearly crashes, lanky legs tangling in each other. Trying hard not to let the sack slip, he rearranges his glasses and resumes hopping when something short yet fierce collides into him.

"Oi, wha' a' you playin' a'?" Harry questions (or does what he can given the teaspoon in his mouth) an innocent looking Ginny standing right behind him.

"No'ne sai' 'ee 'an't 'oo 'eet. 'ow d'op tha' egg, 'ottah," she grins, teaspoon between her front teeth.

"Ne'er," Harry swears through gritted teeth and tightens his grip on the canvas.

They race as fast as possible, both hopping and clinging to their respective sacks and eggs for dear life. Hop, hop, hop, and it's a tie. Leaning into each other rather than pushing, Harry and Ginny cross the finish line at the same time as Hermione claps and beams.

A table and two chairs are conjured while they strip off their canvas sacks and get rid of the teaspoons.

"Well played, Gin," Harry whispers, a need to take her into his arms and feel her against his chest washing over him.

"Yeah, you too, but this one won't be that easy. Buckle up, Mr. Lightweight," she laughs, dropping into one chair.

Ron slaps the table with a bottle of Ogden's finest as Hermione summons two goblets from Molly's kitchen. Rapping the tip of her wand on the bottle, it elegantly raises into the air, then tilts itself to pour the amber liquid into each goblet.

Ginny raises her own in cheers and gives Harry a blazing look before throwing her head back and gulping down the whiskey.

Impressed, Harry does the same, clenching his buttocks to power through the burning sensation, the scorching like feeling melting the insides of his throat. Yet he doesn't give up, signals to Hermione to pour more once he's finished, tears forming at the back of his eyelids with each downed goblet while Ginny seems fine, in her element even.

One more goblet. Two more goblets. Three? Or is it four? He's lost track but who's counting when the world is spinning and his head's about to explode.

Harry's head hits the table and he loses focus for a moment before his girlfriend's lips come near his ear to whisper that "I basically smoked you, you lightweight." Harry doesn't really understand what that means, but her lips on the back of his ear, that he knows. That he likes. So he's disappointed when their warm breath is replaced by a bucket of ice cold water poured over his head.

"Oi," Harry coughs, gaining back full control of his senses. "What was that for?"

"You have to complete the last round, Harry," Hermione barks, that rule-loving spark in her eye glinting hard and strong. "Now, I guess we're about to find out who's the best kisser," she goes on, visibly confused.

"And I guess I'm going to sick up," Ron rolls his eyes, then leans in to whisper conspiratorially to Hermione, to which she nods all too eagerly.

"So, erm, Ginny, care to explain how we approach this one?" Hermione rolls the parchment back and stuffs it into her pocket, along with the watch she's used to time every round.

"Absolutely," Ginny smirks, slowly raising from the table and pouncing towards Harry, her eyes locked with his. With a swish of her wand, she turns his chair so their knees meet, Harry looking up at her hungrily, lovingly. It's Ginny who towers over him now and she's taking her time with it.

"Should we leave?" Ron asks, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"Don't care," his sister answers as she straddles Harry, slithering her way into his lap.

Harry smiles wide, "Was this your plan all along? Working me up then snogging me silly?"

"And then some," Ginny bites her lip before gluing her mouth to his, her hands tangled into his wet locks.

Harry has no idea if his friends are still there, unwilling witnesses to the scene, and, much like his girlfriend, he really doesn't care. What matters to him is Ginny, her lips on his, her hands roaming freely, her heartbeat fluttering madly against his chest. Their kiss is determined, firm, wild, as if they're still fighting to the very end. Neither lets go, both bite and suck and kiss, clinging on to each other with all their power.

Harry thinks of their bedroom and the comfort of their sheets, and it's enough to send them twisting and turning, their backs hitting the large mattress as they Apparate.

"Brilliant, I was going to do the same," Ginny comments before tangling her hands into his shirt and ridding him of it.

"You can always choose the kissing details if it means we'll do this more often. You're so unbelievable attractive when you're being competitive, you have no idea," Harry breathes as she kisses her way down his neck to his chest and lower.

Ginny shoots him an "I know" grin, her hands sneaking to the hem of his trousers. All Harry hears is the zip being trudged down before his mind goes into overdrive, over and over for the rest of the night.