A/N: I am usually a strict D/G shipper, but this story was just dying to be let out. I'm very proud of this little ficcy, even if it is a bit fluffy. One of my better ones, I think.





I have always believed in the great healing powers of food. You may believe me to be mad, but once you think about it, you realize the truth of the statement. When you have a bad day, what could be better than coming home to discover that your mum has made your favorite meal for dinner? Everyone knows that a Quidditch victory party just isn't the same without a frosty bottle of butterbeer in your hand. And when your boyfriend breaks up with you, you can always depend on that pint of double-chocolate-chunk ice cream to reassure you that you really are a fantastic person.

That's what I was thinking when I saw Harry. He had come to the Burrow a few days ago, to enjoy the last weeks of summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts. But I don't think anyone could claim he was 'enjoying' it.

He sat on the front steps, silent in the swiftly approaching dusk, slouched, with his head in his hands. He seemed to be staring out into nothingness, reaching deep within his soul for something I could not understand. Something he had neglected to talk to anyone about. Was he searching for forgiveness from Cedric?

I was almost surprised to note Ron and Hermione's absence. The key word being 'almost'. No doubt they were off taking another walk, something they had grown quite fond of taking these little walks ever since Hermione had come to visit. To this day, I still believe 'We're going to take a walk' really meant 'We're going to go find a secluded spot to snog each other's brains out'. Of course, they would never admit to it.

They had learned to leave Harry alone when he developed moods like the one he was in now. But still, the sight of him out there, all by himself, and in such a state of melancholy, was almost unbearable to my fourteen-year-old heart.

I debated going out and talking to him; I had recently gotten past my old crush, and had managed to not turn red and clumsy when he neared. We had even had a few conversations; he seemed generally surprised to learn of my passion for Quidditch. But growing up in a house full of boys, as I explained to him, could make even Hermione a fanatic.

I finally made up my mind to go and talk to him, but not unarmed. I walked to the kitchen, and made two glasses of chocolate milk. I watched, thoughtful, as the powder mixed with the milk, creating swirls, seeming to reek with an ethereal beauty. I sighed, and I realized something that in my heart I have always known.

I love Harry.

Such a simple thing as a glass of chocolate milk made me realize that. Watching the chocolate and the milk mix, slowly twisting together as if performing the steps to some primal dance, indented in the very spirit of the living. I wish Harry and I could mix like that. I long for us to come together, two seemingly different people, and flow together, my fiery hair mixing with his raven locks, embraced in the beauty only known to true lovers. Two different people, together to form a new, celestial being. The very essence of love.

I picked up the glasses, and headed towards the front door. Somehow, I managed to maneuver the screen open without dropping the chocolate milk. I caught the door with my foot, making sure it didn't bang back in its frame.

Harry seemed unaware of my presence as I sat on the stoop. "Knut for your thoughts?" I asked, startling him. He jumped, and turned to look at me.

"Hello Ginny," he said, voice completely devoid of emotion. I took one of the glasses, and held it in front of me as if it were some sort of peace offering.

"I thought you might be thirsty," I said, uncertainly. Maybe I wasn't ready to do this. But I had to try; I had to see if I could talk to him about important things, not just whether or not Britain will win the cup.

He took the glass, and a ghost of a smile appeared upon his lips. He seemed touched by the trivial, but kind gesture.

"Thanks," he said softly, then took a sip. He then lowered his hands and cupped the glass. He proceeded to stare at it as if it would grant him the answers to all of life's questions.

"If you talk about it, it might make you feel better," I said, and, hesitating ever so slightly at first, I laid my hand on his knee.

He looked down when he felt its gentle weight, but did not ask for its removal. I didn't know it at the time, but it was actually a very comforting thing to him at the moment.

"I don't have anything to talk about," he said, so quietly I almost didn't catch the words. His voice scared me; it sounded dead, defeated. I had never heard him so completely hopeless before. "And thanks to me, neither does Cedric."

A wave of sympathy and pity washed over me as I looked at him. He was only fifteen, but he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. I had finally got an insight on the demons that had been torturing him these long summer months. He still blamed himself.

"It's not your fault,"

He didn't reply.

I sighed, and reached the hand that was formerly resting on his knee up to gently cup his chin. I tilted his face towards me, and looked deep into his emerald eyes. "Harry, listen to me. Things happen that we have no control over. You did not kill Cedric; Voldemort did," A faint look of surprise formed in his eyes. "Yes, I have met him, and I will call him by his name. I refuse to be afraid of a name. He has done terrible things, Harry. He has killed hundreds of people. But we can't change the past. Blaming yourself will not make Cedric come back." I paused, but then continued. "You can't seclude yourself from people. I know you think you're protecting us, but you're not. You're just letting him win. I know it's hard, but you will have to move on. It may take awhile, but you can't just stop living because someone else did." I finally stopped, and took a deep breathe. I released Harry from my grip, but he continued to stare at me, a curious expression gracing his features.

"How did you grow up so much without me noticing?" he asked.

"I never really gave you reason to notice," I said softly, looking away. "I'm not surprised you didn't."

He smiled: the first real smile I had seen on him in a long time. It made me want to take him in my arms, and never let go. I was reminded why I loved him so much.

"I'm surprised I didn't," He tentatively reached up and put an arm around my shoulder. I unconsciously leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder. The stars had come out now, and they were twinkling merrily at us, seeming to sense my joy of finally being in his arms.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, then, he broke it.

"Thank you for snapping me back to reality."

I smiled. "Someone had to do it."

"I'm glad it was you." Then, without warning, he leaned in, and gently pressed his lips against mine.

It was my first kiss, and it was everything I could ever imagine it being. There was love in it; not lust, not raw passion, but love. Something older than the mountains and the trees and the stars burning so brightly above us. It was soft, sensual, and perfect.

When we broke away, we were both wearing identical grins, ones that could make Fred and George jealous. That was how Ron and Hermione found us.

If either of them noticed the slight flush in our cheeks, they knew better than to say anything. I saw Ron's eyes dart at Harry, and then back to me, trying to see if he was seeing things, or if his best friend and his little sister really were here, arms around one another. He opened his mouth to say something about it, but with a nudge from Hermione, he quickly changed whatever he was going to say into some trivial remark about Quidditch.

He and Hermione sat down, and we sat out there for a few more hours, just talking. I don't know how we started talking about some of the things, but I learned a lot about my friends and my brother that night. I learned that Hermione used to sing show tunes in front of mirrors when she was little, and that Ron secretly liked the smell of lilac perfume. I learned that Harry drew; he was quite the artist actually. He showed us some of his drawings; I blushed when I saw one of me, but I was enraptured. It was beautiful, almost like a black and white muggle photograph.

Finally, we decided to go to bed. As we were getting up, Hermione noticed the half-full glasses of chocolate milk. The cool night had left them relatively cold, so she took a sip. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Quite good, isn't it?" asked Harry, laughing. "Amazing what Ginny can do with a little milk and chocolate."

We went inside, and the boys went to Ron's room, while Hermione and I went to mine. As I slipped beneath the covers, I had a brief image in my mind of a picture my subconscious had made of Harry and I at our wedding. We were standing, arms linked, and raising our glasses in a toast. Were we drinking champagne? No.

We were drinking cold, swirling, chocolate milk.