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SIYE Time:10:45 on 29th March 2024
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Captured
By Syn

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Drama, General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 43
Summary: Perhaps he's had her all along, but he's more than willing to chase her.
Hitcount: Story Total: 7716







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****

A water droplet sparkles like a many-faceted diamond on her golden eyelashes. One clear rivulet flows down her forehead from her dripping hair, following the line and hollow of her nose and then down to her the plump crease of her lips. There's a bruise coloring her left eye and one tiny wet curl of bloody red hair has come free of its ponytail and is now plastered to her cheek.

This is what she looks like the first time he kisses her, standing in the pouring rain in the middle of the Quidditch pitch with lightning throwing bright white blasts of light over the sodden grass and illuminating the bottoms of the low hanging clouds. He can see, through his rain-speckled glasses, that her face is pale, with high spots of color in her cheeks and the sight of her makes his chest contract painfully.

He doesn't think about it. She's standing there screaming at him over the storm, gesturing to the sky where the other members of the Gryffindor team are shooting about in the wispy, low-hanging clouds like red, sodden arrows. He's not really paying attention to what she's saying; he only has eyes for the drops of rain on her eyelashes and the rivulet that pools on her lips.

He has to do it. He has to kiss her, has to taste the rain on the strawberry curve of her lips.

So he moves in and allows his instincts to take over. She's warm and cold at the same time and his hand goes to her face, fingers curling around her left ear, thumb brushing the Bludger-induced bruise purpling her eye. She makes a startled sound in her throat, but doesn't jump away. She tilts her face upward, catching more raindrops on her eyelashes and moving into his kiss.

Their mouths meet again and again and he forgets about breathing, about the lightning and about the other players in the air. Her fingers find the soaking wet folds of his robes and clutch, holding her to him as his other hand goes to her waist. Give and take. The warmth of her mouth and the hot sigh of air against skin are the only things he can process.

He's not sure who pulls away first, but when they do, he is the first to open his eyes. He stares at the parted swells of her lips, more rain dripping down her face, and watches in numbed silence as her eyes flutter open and he's caught in the brown trap of her irises.

A slow smile starts on his face, the corners of his lips curling upward. He doesn't know how to feel at the moment, but he feels something. Warmth, relief and definitely something that's making blood scream in his veins. He feels lightheaded as he watches her, following more drops as they cleave irregular paths down her freckled skin.

He waits for a response from her with baited breath. And he gets one soon enough.

Without warning, she decks him. He feels the sharp collision of her palm on his cheek and his head reels backward. He stumbles in the wet mire of churned mud and slippery grass beneath his feet and falls down on his back, where the breath is knocked from his lungs with a whoosh of air.

Lying there on his back, he feels the cold pings of the rain hitting his exposed face and stares numbly at the swirling gray clouds above the pitch. Something dark red looms above him suddenly and he sees her face peak around the handle of her broom, one eyebrow lifted, lips twisted cruelly. She hovers several feet above him, water from her sodden robes dripping down onto his face.

He blinks behind his speckled glasses and swallows, rainwater slipping down his throat. He watches her face for a moment and slowly, very slowly, a smile catches hold of her mouth. He knows then, that he had that coming. He'd sprung it on her with no warning and he definitely got what he deserved.

He also knows then, just before she zooms off, that the chase is on.

****

She moves like a feline, whether she realizes it or not. He notices this as he watches her walk down the corridors. There is a roll to her shoulders, a heavy-lidded dart of her eyes that betrays her as a lioness on the prowl. Her mouth is hungry. She is a lioness and yet...a kitten still.

She is soft in ways that make his fists clench and his teeth grit. The sway of her hips as she walks, the soft curve of her calves peaking through the gaps in her frayed robes. Light glints off the gilt in her hair and he's hard-pressed not to bury his face in it and breathe in, capture one of her kittenish curves in his hands and make her roar like a lioness.

He has no idea why he's never noticed it before this year, but here she is before him now and he wants nothing else. His head is full of her. She is his obsession.

They don't talk about what happened on the pitch and for all he knows he dreamt it. If he did, it is the realest dream he's ever had and for him that's saying something. Even so, when he looks up to catch her eye and finds it willingly taken the next day at dinner in the Great Hall, he almost doesn't believe it. Candlelight throws a golden glow over everything in the Great Hall and she looks like a fire crackling in front of him. There is no mistaking the look in her glowing brown eyes though.

Challenge.

Chase me Harry, her eyes say. Chase me and capture me.

He cannot break free of her eyes as they challenge him and demand him. He feels a burning somewhere in his gut and clenches his hands on the stem of his golden goblet so hard his knuckles crack. She doesn't let him free of her gaze as she parts her lips, even line of white teeth sinking into the curve of her lower lip.

One corner of his mouth quirks upward ever so slightly and in that moment, he knows he has already accepted the silent challenge.

****

This is how it starts.

She's sitting in the library, hunched over a thick volume, her hair a glowing waterfall of embers down her back. He comes in, his bag over one shoulder. He stops when he sees her and feels his heartbeat quicken, making blood race through his veins so fast he feels lightheaded once more. His mouth aches to touch her skin and he knows where he wants to touch it most.

He's noticed she has a freckle in the exact center of the back of her neck. It rests like a dark moon beneath the fiery tendrils of her hair, only visible when her hair is drawn up into a ponytail. That freckle has taunted him many a practice when he's supposed to be looking for the Golden Snitch and instead found himself drawn back to her over and over again as she tears across the sky with the Quaffle under her arm.

There is no one else in the library, save Madam Pince who seems to be buried beneath a pile of large, dusty books. He decides he doesn't care if she's there or not.

He walks softly across the wooden floor, trainers barely touching the ground before he lifts them once more. He reaches her chair and his shadow falls across her book. Her quill stops and she looks at the hazy dark outline of his head and shoulders on the yellowed pages.

His hand reaches out, fingering a strand of her hair for a moment before he bends at the waist and lets both hands clasp her shoulders. She hitches in a sharp breath, but doesn't turn her head. She knows its him.

He leans in, enjoying the fresh, clean scent of her hair and of her skin. His nose brushes the rim of her ear and he sees a wave of gooseflesh rise and creep downward on her neck.

"Ginny..." he says in a soft voice and sees her eyelashes drop down to her cheeks. She tilts her head toward the sound of his voice and drops her quill onto the book, making a dark splotch of ink spread out over the handwritten words. Neither of them notices nor cares.

A shiver grips her shoulders as he moves one of his hands back to her hair. He pulls her hair to the side, throwing it over one shoulder and leaving her neck exposed. There it is. That tiny brown dot that drives him mad. More gooseflesh rises over her skin and he breathes on it, seeing the red flush that starts behind her ears and gains speed as it races to other parts of her body.

"You have a freckle here, on the back of your neck. Did you know that?" he says against her ear once more. His fingers brush against the freckle, a light caress that makes the tips of his fingers tingle.

"N-no...I didn't," she responds, eyes still closed and her mouth parted. She seems to be barely drawing in breath, but her chest rises and falls rapidly. He can see the bruise on her eye is almost faded and he longs to touch it, to see if she'll hiss with pain or open her eyes and fix him with her warm, burning gaze.

"You do and it drives me mad," he says in a low voice. He runs his fingers over the freckle again and enjoys the way her body responds, the way her back arches just so and the way her neck tilts toward the heat of his mouth.

He cannot resist any longer. He kisses the freckle on the back of her neck with the lightest of touches, her skin warm and dry against his lips. A sigh escapes her lungs and she arches her neck in entreaty for more kisses.

But he doesn't comply. His bag still on his shoulder, he sweeps out of the library as quickly as he can, hitting the hallway and taking off in a run until he manages to skid into an empty classroom.

He stands in the middle of the cold, empty room and tries and fails to gain control over his pounding head and heart.

****

The next day he's sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room playing a game of chess with Ron, when she sits down next to him at the table, so close he feels the heat of her against his arm. Their eyes meet for a moment and knows that if he doesn't look away, he'll melt right there.

He tries to concentrate on the game, though he's sure he knows the outcome. As Ron takes his king's side bishop, he suddenly feels something caress his bare foot. He thinks for a moment that its Crookshanks, but its skin against skin and not fur.

He doesn't move as it touches him again, sliding up his ankle and then back down. He realizes suddenly that its a foot and glances down into the darkness at his feet and sees her bare foot against his, her legs crossed. He looks back up at Ginny, but her face is unreadable and her eyes are on the game.

He moves his own foot as he feels her foot slide up his ankle again. Their feet rub and as strange as it sounds even to him, it feels good. Little eddies of pleasure tingle up his legs and into his crotch where he feels a stirring. He swallows hard and glances around the room. No one is looking though and the corner where they are playing is dark and cave-like. Ron's concentration is on the chessboard, where he commands a pawn to take Harry's rook. He sees Hermione sitting in a large wing-backed chair near the fire, her attention on a thick book; Crookshanks curled up on the arm of the chair beside her. She doesn't look up and he manages to draw in a breath.

He tries to concentrate on his next move as he slides his feet alongside hers. The chessboard swims before him and all he can feel is her damned foot against his damned foot and he wants to hang the game and grab her up in his arms. He commands his knight to take one of Ron's pawns and as he does, he looks up and watches her out of the corner of his eye.

Again, she shows no sign of acknowledgement for what's going on beneath the table, but he feels her toes hook beneath the hem of his trousers and slide up his leg, making him tense in his chair. There's a light in her eyes, a twinkle of mischief that betrays her. He glares slightly, telling her without words that its not fair what she's doing to him.

He's supposed to be chasing her, not the other way around.

He decides he needs to get her back and slowly let's one of his hands drop beneath the table. Ron doesn't notice it's gone as he makes another move, crowing in delight as his knight charges Harry's knight off the board. Harry laughs along with Ron, but meanwhile his hand is moving toward the warm body next to his.

She slides her toes up his leg again and he tenses slightly, but immediately enjoys the look in her eyes as his hand lands on her bare knee. Her foots stops on his calf and he leans forward, studying the chessboard. He rubs his thumbs against the smooth skin of her knee, his fingers curling up the inside of her thigh. Her skirt brushes the top of his hand and he knows he won't go any further than that.

Still, this is close enough and, as he makes his next move against Ron, he manages to glance at her. Her eyes are slitted and he notices the lioness in her features. Her mouth is hungry again and he longs to feed it.

Her hand closes over the hand on her knee suddenly and he glances at her again. A smile is barely threatening her mouth and he expects her to throw his hand off of her knee. Instead she suddenly pulls it higher on her thigh, drawing it beneath the hem of her skirt where her thighs get fuller and softer and above that...

His eyes widen and he meets her mischievous gaze with wonder and terror. A real smile graces her features and he's suddenly inflamed by it. He wants to kiss her again, right there in front of Ron and everyone in the Common Room. He doesn't care if they see. He doesn't care if they know or if they tease him until eternity.

He wants to kiss her right there.

Instead, she let's go of his hand, letting him snatch it away. Her foot leaves his and he takes a deep breath. She stands, looking very red in the face and leans across the table toward Ron.

"G'night Ron," she says, landing a kiss atop his tousled head. Ron shoos her away, his concentration on the game. He doesn't see the look in her eyes, or the way she smoothes her skirt down with one hand as she looks over at him. He knows his face is burning and he knows she can tell what just happened has affected him. "Goodnight Harry."

He doesn't say anything, but he knows the burn of his eyes are enough response for her. She walks away, kittenish curves enticing and maddening like the freckle on the back of her neck. He watches long after she disappears up the stairs to the girl's dormitories, finally coming back to the game after Ron waves his hand across his eyes.

He loses the game quickly, just so he can go to bed early. He thanks God and whoever invented a Silencing Charm as he lies in bed, thinking of her and the way her skin felt against his. He doesn't sleep for a long, long time.

****

It's a cat and mouse game, started on a whim. She gets up from the table at breakfast on Saturday and he sees the look on her face and knows.

Follow me.

He gets up, excuses himself and takes off after her, not caring if Ron or Hermione notice where he's off to and what direction he goes in. She moves up the stairs to the left and he stands at the bottom of the staircase, one hand on the banister, looking up at her.

Chase me.

Her mouth is a sweet, hungry bow and he loves the pink gloss she's spread over it. He wonders if it's flavored or not. He wants to touch her suddenly and wonders if she'll let him.

He puts his foot on the bottom tread of the stair. She moves one step backward. He climbs another stair. She moves backward one step. A third, she moves back. And again and again it goes until he reaches the top stair and steps onto the second floor landing. She has now backed against a large wooden door and her hand is on the latch.

They stare at one another for a moment and then, the game begins in earnest.

She goes through the doorway and he follows at a respectable distance, moving down the long corridor, flames guttering along the stone walls every few feet. She doesn't turn around to look at him, but as she rounds a corner, he sees her looking out the corner of her eyes.

He trails his hands along the rough, pitted stone walls as he turns the corner after her and just sees the sweep of her robes as she darts down another corridor. He picks up speed, following, knowing now that this is a chase. He has no idea what his reward will be if he catches her.

They continue through the castle. She loses him several times and he has to run to keep up. He loses her in the dungeons when they pass through a knot of Slytherin fourth years as they made their way toward their Common Room. He passes a tapestry hanging on the wall and stops to see he's at a dead end. Thinking he's made a wrong turning, he wheels and sees her escape from behind the tapestry and take off down a narrow, dark corridor full of cobwebs.

He follows, a smile forming on his face. The cobwebs itch, but the corridor gives soon enough, spilling him out into a portrait-lined dungeon corridor with red carpet running down the middle of it.

She is nowhere in sight.

"Did any of you see a red-haired girl go this way?" he asks and a wheezy witch wearing a monocle answers immediately.

"She ducked into that room over there, young man."

"Thanks," he says and moves off toward the room the witch had pointed to from within her tacky, ornamental gilt frame. The door creaks open and he feels cool, damp air hit him. He enters the room and sees it's a large gallery full of rusted suits of armor. Several of the rusted visors creak in his direction as he makes his way across the gallery, his footsteps heavy on the dusty wooden floor. The door at the end is ajar and he sees a handprint on the heavy layer of dust on the warped wood.

For a moment, he lays his hand over her handprint and feels a tingle rush through him.

Then he's through the door and running to catch up. He's too far behind now. He might lose the game and worse, her.

But she's thought of that. The dungeon soon gives way to the corridor leading to the kitchens and another corridor that stretches on for what seems like miles. He's never been down it before and doesn't know which way to go.

But Ginny does. There is a small red arrow burning in the air, pointing down the long corridor. He starts down it immediately, amused at her cheating.

Another arrow burns in the air halfway down the long corridor and he swings a painting open to reveal a hand-operated lift. Looking up the dark shaft apprehensively, he steps onto the dumbwaiter and takes the rope in both hands. The pulley creaks, but pulls him up smoothly enough. Several jerks of the rope gets him up to the top of the short shaft and he pushes on the doorway to let himself out.

It's another painting and it swings open to reveal a very familiar corridor, the one that leads to the Charms classroom. There is another arrow waiting for him and he takes it.

He's lost her, but she hasn't lost him it seems. He doesn't catch even a glimpse of her for another hour, though her fiery arrows are everywhere it seems. He follows blindly, his heart racing beyond control. It seems she knows all the shortcuts in the castle, even ones he doesn't remember are there...not even from looking at them on the Marauder's Map.

An idea suddenly springs to his mind. It's cheating, sure...but he wants to win.

He ignores the arrow in the air pointing him toward Ravenclaw Tower and turns left, toward Gryffindor Tower. It doesn't take him long to nip into his dormitory and grab the scrap of parchment. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he taps the map with his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" he says. Lines of ink immediately spider out from the tip of his wand and the whole of Hogwarts is revealed to him. He easily finds the dot labeled "Harry Potter" and searches for the one marked "Ginevra Weasley".

She's...

"Naughty boy. That's cheating," she says suddenly, pulling back the hangings on Ron's bed. She is sitting on the bed, her legs crossed primly. He nearly drops the map at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought we were playing a game, Potter. That's cheating..." she says, standing up. He glances at the map and swallows hard.

"And your arrows weren't cheating?" he counters, lifting an eyebrow.

Ginny shrugs, the picture of innocence. She smiles despite herself and says, "Maybe I wanted you to win?"

"Maybe I do too," Harry replies, waving the map at her. She approaches him slowly, step for step. She is closer to him than she's been all morning and he nearly can't breathe from the closeness. He wants to touch her and can't move. "If its really a game, that is."

"Of course its a game," she replies, stepping so close that he could reach out an arm and touch her face. She stops right there and he feels the distance between them is painful. "Aren't you having fun?"

"I'm not sure anymore," he says, putting the map down on his bed. "I'm not sure what the rules are."

"No cheating. No magic anymore. You have to capture me before dinner tonight," she says thoughtfully.

He studies her face. "And what do I get if I catch you?" She smiles, but it isn't a playful smile. It is dark and mysterious and it makes him feel light-headed once more. "What happens if I don't catch you?"

"Then we'll see."

"See what?"

She closes the distance between them with one step and lifts her hand, pushing his glasses back up his nose with one finger. His heart contracts painfully in his chest and he gazes longingly at her. "Catch me, Harry and you won't have to find out."

She leans in close and he feels the stir of her breath against his lips. His eyes close of their own accord and he longs to feel the press of her lips against his, but it never comes. When he opens his eyes, she is gone and he curses beneath his breath. He spares a glance at the map on his bed, but leaves it where it is.

He wants to win, but he's not going to cheat anymore.

There are no arrows to help him this time and by the time he gets through the Fat Lady's portrait hole, she's long gone. He realizes that he's playing a version of Muggle hide-n-go-seek and nearly laughs out loud. He keeps it in and starts searching for her.

The day stretches on and he doesn't find any sign of her. He doesn't ask anyone if they've seen her either, not even a painting. He searches high and low, even ducking into the kitchens where he gets a lunch of cakes and a rushed cup of unsweetened tea from the house-elves. He takes off again, sprinting through unused classrooms and corridors so thick with dust its doubtful anyone has used them in years.

In one of these corridors he finds footprints in the dust. Fresh footprints and they're not his size. He takes off down the corridor, following the footprints in the dust. The corridor gives out to an odd round room with windows high in the ceiling. There are only two ways out of the room, so he takes the other exit, passing a painting of a maiden chained to a pile of rocks who waves at him with her bound hand.

The corridor leads upward toward a spiral staircase and he climbs it, seeing there are hand trails in the dust on the winding wooden rails. He puts his hands in the prints and knows they're hers too. He's on the trail and he smiles as he reaches the top.

He follows through more dusty corridors, seeing her footprints clearly marked in the dust. As he passes a high window, he glances at his watch and starts, his eyes widening. Dinner is in an hour and he has no idea how cold the trail he is following is.

Panic sets in. He hurries his steps, jogging down too many corridors to count. He runs into some Hufflepuffs and nearly pushes them out of his way to get through. The dust is gone by now, as the corridors he's run into are well used. The trail is gone and he's no closer to finding her than when he started.

Then, looking up, he sees her, a flash of red mane darting down a corridor. He bursts into a run and takes the corner with a skid. He sees daylight up ahead and realizes he's in the corridor leading to the main entrance. Sunlight glints on the frames of the paintings lining the corridors and it falls across her hair.

As if she feels him behind her, she turns at the door and looks at him, her eyes burning like arrows, pointing him onward. He stops and stares through the steady trickle of students coming down for dinner. She smiles.

Catch me, Harry.

He steps deliberately forward, slowly letting his feet fall on the floor. She doesn't move away. The distance between them closes. He pushes through a gaggle of first years and stops ten feet away.

Her smile is still there and he returns it. She lifts an eyebrow.

Come and catch me.

What will I get?

He walks forward again and she still doesn't move. Her back is against the door, escape available at the turn of a knob. The distance between them shrinks to nothing. Close enough to bend and press his lips to her forehead, he stops, one hand going to the door beside her head.

The space between them is warm and charged. She looks up through heavy lids and parts her mouth. Her lips are still pink and wet looking. He's never wanted to kiss her more.

"Do you think you've caught me, then?" she asks softly.

"No, I don't think I have," he replies, lifting one hand to her face. He lets his fingers hover over her skin, seeing the shadows they make over the curve of her brow. "I don't think I ever will."

"That's not true. You had me all along," she says, eyes closing in anticipation of his touch. Her voice is choked as she says, "Touch me."

His fingers lower, touching her skin lightly, sliding with a tingle down her faded bruise to the swell and curve of her lips. The feel of her skin against his skin is torture, much like waiting to touch her was. "Ginny..."

His voice trails off as he bends, his eyes intent on her lips once more. She turns her head, tangling her fingers with his with a sigh. "Not here."

He realizes they're standing in plain sight in the main hall and flushes, looking around to see if anyone has noticed them. Students move off toward the Great Hall, giving the couple near the entrance a wide berth. If any of them notice the strangeness between the two of them, they don't show it.

He turns back to her and lifts her chin. Her eyes trap his once again and he doesn't want free of them. He doesn't want to think of anything but her and hasn't wanted to for a long time. He forgets the war going on outside of Hogwarts, forgets about the dreams he cannot block, forgets about everything.

"No, here. I don't care who sees," he says and within moments the chase that had began nearly a week ago on the rainy Quidditch pitch ends. He kisses her softly, claiming her mouth and all of her. She doesn't hit him this time, doesn't protest.

Her arms curl around his neck and his hands go to her waist again. Her mouth moves slowly, sensually against his, drawing him deeper into her. His tongue dances against hers, warm and wet.

He doesn't care who sees. He doesn't care who knows. He's chased her all day, perhaps all his life and he's finally caught her.

Or maybe she caught him. He doesn't know and doesn't care. He just knows he has her here in his arms and something is finally, finally right in his life.

****
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