Penance
A/N: I saw a HGSS story entitled seven deadly sins, and I was inspired to explore the depths of those sins in our favorite HP character: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron. (I couldn't think of any for Neville or Luna, otherwise they'd be in there too). Possibl;e DH spoilers, canon pairings (HG, RHr)
Chapter 1: Lust//Ginny
It was very appropriate that her hair was red. Red represented passion; it was the color of a salsa dancer's scandalously swinging skirt, and of phallic chocolate-dipped strawberries. Red was lust, and Ginny was absolutely full of it.
This was nothing compared to Harry's 'chest monsters'; this was a nearly untamable passion, a desire so bordering on nymphomania that she could barely control it. Not that it always occupied her mind; when she wasn't around Harry, she was rather sweet, with just a hint of passion lingering underneath her freckled face and braided locks.
Yes, Harry Potter. The catalyst to her lustful thoughts. Once around him, her desire flared up, the flames licking at her insides and burning her so thoroughly that even those around her could sense it. Her blazing looks in the emerald-eyed boy's direction only told part of how much she was feeling, how much she wanted every part of her to be his and his alone, and to receive all of him in return.
Dean had never experienced Ginny in her most sexually depraved state. Making out in hidden passageways behind tapestries? That never would come close to the vocal and eternally satisfying act of sex with Harry Potter. It would never compare, not in a thousand centuries.
Ginny never knew just what about Harry made her want to jump him and shag him senseless, no matter the time or place. Perhaps it was his fame, the inevitable attraction to those whose names are now legends. Maybe it was his modesty, his utter ignorance to his rough good looks and charm, and his immunity to the fame that was always threatening to inflate his ego. Maybe it was simply the fact that no matter which way she sliced it, he was just good-looking, famous or not.
Perhaps it was a combination of all those, coupled with his humor and wit, and perfect personality.
All Ginny knew was the moment she and Harry landed in her bed, smoking kisses being traced along her neck and jaw line, her hands clawing at his belt buckle and the waistband of his jeans, that she was on fire.
And she had never felt better.