Greener Grass Ch.1

She wouldn't look at him anymore.

For the millionth time since class had started, Harry found himself sneaking a glance in Ginny Weasley's direction, and she was so beautiful it made his throat close up. Though he reckoned his mates would say he needed to find another word. Ron especially would have his head if he heard Harry calling his sister beautiful.

But there was no other way to describe her brown eyes and red hair. She'd left it loose today, and Harry knew exactly how it felt between his fingers, the sounds she made when he tugged on it.

In the year since the war ended, his heart had only pounded for one girl.

And she'd chosen her career over him.

At the front of the class, Professor Slughorn delivered what Harry had come to think of as the Do Better Speech. It was the third one in six weeks.

Surprise, surprise, seventy percent of the eighth years had managed to score a Dreadful or worse on their practical brewing exam.

Harry? He'd aced it, naturally. And he'd be lying if he said the big red O+ scrawled across his parchment had come as a complete shock. All he'd done was follow the scribbled notes in his battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making; the same book that had made him Slughorn's golden boy back in sixth year.

Advanced Potions was supposed to be a breeze. Slughorn had always been the sort to hand out praise like sweets and grades that reflected his fondness for particular students rather than their actual ability.

But something had changed since the war. Maybe it was guilt over what had happened with Tom Riddle, or maybe the Ministry had finally cracked down on Hogwarts' standards, but Slughorn had turned into a proper taskmaster. He expected perfection now, and he wasn't shy about expressing his displeasure when he didn't get it.

The fat old walrus stood at the front of the classroom, his waistcoat straining over his considerable belly, looking genuinely baffled by his students' poor performance. If this were a Muggle film, he'd be the eccentric professor who whips a bunch of hopeless students into shape, and they'd all end up brewing perfect Polyjuice Potions while the credits rolled.

Except this wasn't a film, which meant the only thing Slughorn had accomplished was making most of his class want to hex him into next week. And he honestly couldn't seem to grasp why his precious eighth years were struggling.

Here was a hint, it was because he'd started setting the sort of brewing challenges that would stump a bloody Potions Master.

"I'm willing to offer a makeup examination to anyone who failed or received an Acceptable or lower," Slughorn said, his walrus mustache twitching as though he couldn't why it understand why that was even necessary.

The word he'd just used—willing? Right. Harry reckoned that was complete bollocks. He'd heard that half the class had complained to McGonagall about Slughorn's new standards, and he suspected the Headmistress was forcing the potions master to give everyone another chance. It wouldn't look good for Hogwarts if more than half the students in Advanced Potions were failing, especially when most of them were planning careers that required a NEWT in the subject. Hermione, who was looking positively murderous beside him, had also crashed and burned.

"For those who choose to retake it, your marks will be averaged. Should you perform worse the second time, your original grade will stand," Slughorn finished with a heavy sigh.

"I can't believe you got an Outstanding," Hermione whispered, and she sounded ready to commit murder.

Harry felt a stab of guilt rather than sympathy. He and Hermione had grown much closer since Ron had buggered off to Romania with Charlie, and she'd become his closest friend at school. She was planning to work for the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures after Hogwarts, and Harry knew she'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail than admit to her parents that she was struggling with any subject.

"Honestly, I can't believe it either," he whispered back, fingering the battered textbook in his bag. "Have a look at my practical notes if you want. Though I should warn you, most of the good bits aren't exactly regulation techniques."

Actually, none of the techniques were regulation. Every successful potion Harry had brewed this year had been thanks to the Half-Blood Prince's modifications, and he was fairly certain that admitting to Hermione he was still using Snape's old textbook would get him into more trouble than it was worth.

"Actually, may I?" Hermione sounded desperate now, which was saying something for Hermione. "I'm curious to see what Slughorn considers Outstanding technique."

"I'll show you tonight in the common room," Harry promised, though he'd have to be careful about which notes he let her see.

The moment Slughorn dismissed them, the classroom erupted with the sounds of escape. Quills were capped, parchment rolled up, bags packed with urgent efficiency.

Ginny lingered near the door, chatting with some of her teammates, and Harry's gaze locked onto her like a Snitch he was determined to catch. She was beautiful.

Had he mentioned how absolutely beautiful she was?

His palms went clammy as he stared at her. She was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team now, and though she'd wasted no time establishing herself as one of the best Chasers Hogwarts had ever seen, she wasn't like the other athletes at the school. She didn't swagger through the corridors with that look that said the world owed her everything, or show up with a different bloke on her arm every week. Harry had seen her laugh with her teammates, but there was a fierce determination about her that made it clear she had her priorities sorted. Which was exactly why she'd chosen her bloody career over him.

"You're staring again."

Hermione's knowing voice brought heat to his cheeks. She'd caught him mooning over Ginny on more than one occasion, and she was one of the few people who knew about their breakup.

His best mate Ron knew too, obviously, but his other friends? No chance. Most of them were fellow Gryffindors who'd been through the war, and Harry didn't fancy having his love life dissected by the lot of them.

Nearly everyone else had gone, including Slughonr, but one person remained in her seat.

Daphne Greengrass.

The Slytherin had her fists clenched tightly around the edges of her exam parchment, and she looked like she wanted to set the whole thing on fire.

She must have failed as well, but Harry didn't feel much sympathy for her. Slytherin was known for two things: ambition and cunning, which wasn't much of a shocker considering most of them came from old pureblood families with more gold than sense. The Slytherins almost always landed cushy Ministry positions after Hogwarts, and during their years here they usually had everything handed to them on a silver platter, including grades.

So yeah, maybe it made him a bit vindictive, but Harry got a sense of satisfaction knowing that Slughorn was failing one of Slytherin's brightest students right along with everyone else.

"Fancy a butterbeer from the kitchens?" Hermione asked as she gathered her books.

"Can't. Got Quidditch practice in twenty minutes." Harry stood, but he didn't follow her toward the door. "Go on ahead. Need to check something before I go."

"All right," Hermione said. "See you at dinner."

"Yeah, see you."

At the sound of his voice, Ginny paused in the doorway and glanced back.

Oh. Bloody. Hell.

It was impossible to stop the flush that crept up his neck. This was the first time they'd made proper eye contact since their breakup three months ago, and Harry didn't have a clue how to respond. Say something? Wave? Pretend he hadn't been staring like a complete prat?

In the end, he settled for a small nod. There. Casual and cool, like any mature eighteen-year-old wizard would manage.

His heart nearly stopped when the corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smile. She nodded back, and then she was gone.

Harry stared at the empty doorway, his pulse hammering because bloody hell. After three months of carefully avoiding each other in the corridors, she'd actually smiled at him.

He wished he were brave enough to go after her. Maybe ask her for a walk around the lake. Or dinner in Hogsmeade. Or just a proper conversation that didn't involve Quidditch strategies.

But his feet stayed rooted to the stone floor.

Because he was a coward. A complete and utter coward. He was terrified she'd say no, but he was even more terrified she'd say yes and then break his heart all over again.

He'd been in a good place when eighth year started. The war firmly behind him, the shadow of a dark lord not haunting his time at Hogwarts for the first time ever. He'd been ready to plan a future with someone, and he had. He'd dated after Ginny, but she was the only one who'd ever made his whole world tilt sideways, and that still scared him senseless.

Baby steps.

Right. Baby steps. That's what the Mind Healer at St. Mungo's always said during their sessions. Focus on the small victories, she'd advised.

So... today's victory: Ginny had smiled at him for the first time since their breakup. Next week, maybe he'd actually say hello. And the week after that, maybe he'd work up the nerve to have that conversation they both knew was coming.

Harry took a deep breath as he headed toward the door, clinging to that feeling of victory, however small it might be.

Baby steps.