Sitting beneath the large tree by the Black Lake, the afternoon sun painted everything in warm, golden hues. The laughter of students drifted from across the grounds, but none of it reached where you sat, wrapped in something unspoken.

Ginny’s arm was slung lazily around your waist, her head resting against your shoulder as if it belonged there. It was a normal sight—two best friends, close in the way girls often were, finding comfort in each other. If anyone looked, they’d see nothing out of the ordinary.

But you knew.

You knew in the way Ginny’s fingers traced slow, absent-minded circles against your hip, the way her breath hitched just slightly when you shifted closer. You knew in the way your own pulse quickened whenever she squeezed your waist a little tighter, grounding you both in the unspoken truth of what this was.

Because you and Ginny weren’t just best friends.

To the world, you were just two Gryffindors bound by friendship, inseparable in the way only the closest of friends could be. But in the quiet spaces—when no one was looking—your fingers would brush for a moment too long. Your eyes would linger, your smiles would soften, and every touch, every whisper between you carried something more.

It wasn’t labeled. It couldn’t be. Maybe it was love, maybe it was something still growing into the shape of it. Either way, it was yours, hidden in plain sight.

“You know,” Ginny murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “sometimes I wish we didn’t have to pretend.”

Her words settled between you, delicate and heavy all at once.

“And if we didn’t?” you asked, voice softer than you meant it to be.

Ginny hummed, thoughtful, before pressing her forehead against your temple. “Then maybe I’d kiss you right now.”

The admission was barely a breath, lost to anyone who wasn’t listening for it. But you heard it. You felt it in the way she held you closer, fingers gripping your waist as if trying to keep this moment just for the two of you.