Like A Summer Breeze

By Magickk

A/N: Alright, after approximately five years away from fanfiction, here I am again. I guess I just can't escape it, huh? I wrote this on impulse, deciding that my life was too boring and I had nothing to do. And it sat alone in a corner of my hard disk for about a month or so. Due do my beloved adopted brother's constant bugging, I have uploaded this little piece into the fanfiction world. Thank the great almighty James Milamber for this piece of work. He beta'd it too.

Ah yes, I love my big brother. -hugs James till he turns blue in the face-

-

Love is like a summer breeze. You can neither see it, nor hear it, but certainly, it can be felt.

I remember those soap operas Aunt Petunia used to watch. The male, gallant and courageous, sweeps his female into his arms and gently kisses her on the lips. Her arms wrap around his neck, and they give each other a knowing smile. From there, they live happily ever after.

I actually wished that I were that handsome, brave male.

Fat chance.

Why would anyone want me, Harry James Potter, scrawny, quiet, temperamental boy from Gryffindor, with an ugly scar on my forehead? Maybe if the person wanted some fame or recognition, but then again they'd just want status as the boy-who-lived's girlfriend, instead of actually wanting to be with me.

Sometimes I lay awake on my bed in the boys dormitories, wondering what it would be like if I just could summon enough courage to tell her how much I want to hold her in my arms, how much her friendship means to me, how her smile can light up the world around me.

I simply cannot get her out of my head. It was the looks that she'd give me that made me dizzy. That sweet laughter that makes me walk into walls and trip over my feet – although thankfully she never seems to notice. And that smile of hers, so dazzling, so warm, so sincere, would make me blush uncontrollably.

It had all started that summer after Sirius had passed on. I was sent back to the Dursleys. In their letters, Ron and Hermione kept asking how was I, and whether I was coping all right. Her letters, on the other hand, were simple, telling me about the joke shop Fred and George had set up, or about Charlie's visit from Romania. She never mentioned what happened at the ministry. In her letters, I found solace.

Finally, on a bright Monday afternoon, the doorbell of Number 4 Privet Drive rang three times. Uncle Vernon hollered at me to answer the door.

And there she stood, at the doorstep. She was wearing a white cotton sundress, and the wind was blowing through her red tresses, reminding me of a warm fire flickering lazily. A soft golden glow radiated around her as she beamed at me. She looked like an angel.

"Hello Harry," she said, grinning at me.

Of course, Uncle Vernon didn't take too well to her arrival. After quite a lot of bellowing about the nerve of 'my kind', showing up at the door in the middle of the day (even though she was dressed as a Muggle), we finally managed to get myself and my trunk out door and onto the pavement.

"The Order thinks we'd best lie low and travel the muggle way."

Soon after, we arrived at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. We spent a lot of time together there. She'd make me forget the worries and the frustration of losing Sirius. Besides, Ron and Hermione needed their time together, especially since the former had accidentally yelled out his undying love for the latter. I didn't really feel like imposing them with my angst, so I sought company in her. She would hear me out when I needed to rant, as well as share in little jokes of Ron and Hermione's constant bickering, and Tonks and Charlie's night-time escapades into each other's rooms.

As I lay in bed at night, accompanied by the soft snores from Ron, I dream and fantasize about her.

I wonder how it'll feel to kiss those ruby red lips, to touch those places her horrid robes cover during the day. I close my eyes tightly. In my head, I can feel her small, soft hands caressing my back, slowly shedding me off my clothes. Her nimble fingers would work their way around the buckle of my belt, and then my pants, and reach into my boxers to grab my manhood. I'd run my finger across one erect nipple. I'd be about to feel her heart pounding against her chest. Then I'd pull her towards me, and hold her tightly. I'd cherish this moment, when we're together alone.

My mouth would seize one of the breasts, while my hand would slowly squeeze the other. My tongue would lick her erect nipple, and I can hear her moan, ever so quietly. I'd send a trail of light kisses down to her stomach, until the little bit of skin above the triangle of her private. By golly wow, she's lovely. One of my hands would slowly rub against her damp sex. Her moans would, by now, be getting louder. Then after, I'd capture her lips with mine. Our tongues danced around each other, and that kiss would send blood rushing into my groin. My own erection would push against her soft folds, teasing her at first, and with a push, my manhood would penetrate her body…

"Harry, mate, wake up."

"Huh, what?"

"You were tossing and moaning in your sleep. Having another nightmare?"

"Wha? Oh, yeah. Thanks Ron."

Night after night, the dreams would haunt me, tease me, and Ron would wake me up, thinking that it was a nightmare. I certainly cannot tell Ron about my dreams. What would he think about his best friend having erotic dreams of his little sister? I doubt he'd ever forgive me.

All too soon, school term begins, and she runs to classes with her friends. An occasional "Hello" when passing through the corridors is all I get to hear from her.

They talk about the courage of Gryffindors, and yet, here I am, watching her from the corner of my eye, wanting to tell her how I feel, and I can't. I'm afraid. I'm afraid of rejection; afraid of the harm Voldemort will cause her if I let my feelings show. I'm afraid of what her parents and brothers might think of me, whether I will be less to them for putting her in greater danger. Yes, I am so very afraid.

It was only in early January, that I managed to pick up the courage to talk to her. It was after Quidditch practice. Without a doubt, she had made it to the Gryffindor team as chaser. And, like after every practice, she'd help me pack up the equipment. It might not have been much, but for a long while those moments were the only real contact I had with her, so they were greatly treasured. Now, however, I was petrified.

"So, uh, Ginny," I stuttered.

"Yes Harry?"

"I, err, well, you see, love is like a summer's breeze." I wish a hole would open up in the ground and swallow me up. How much more stupid could I get?

"I beg your pardon?" She blinked a few times, clearly amused. "Since when did the mighty Harry Potter become a poet?"

"You can neither see it, nor hear it," I went on, ignoring her previous comment.

She dropped the Quaffle she was holding, and promptly burst into a full-fledged laughter, clutching her sides and sinking to the ground in mirth.

"It's not funny!" I cried out in indignation. "I'm trying to be serious here!"

But it was of no use. She refused to stop laughing. She threw her head back, closed her eyes, and laughed. Her laughter sounded so innocent and young. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt down in front of her.

"But certainly, it can be felt," I continued on. She sat up straight and looked at me, biting her bottom lip as she fought to control her laughter.

I, on the contrary, lost all restraint whatsoever, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her.

It was exactly like what I had imagined it to be. She tasted of sugar and chocolate, and her lips were soft and delicate. She was tensed at first, but relaxed soon after. I only pulled away when Ron came running at us and gave me a smack on the head.

I am fortunate to have someone that returns the feelings that I hold in my heart. Perhaps I am not as brave or as handsome as the male leads in Aunt Petunia's soap operas, but there is a beautiful maiden whom I'm able to sweep off her feet, and plant loving kisses on her lips. She wants me, for who I am, Harry James Potter, scrawny, quiet, and temperamental boy from Gryffindor, with an ugly scar on my forehead.

That was good enough for me.