'Twas Christmas night in the Burrow. The Weasleys had finished their succulent dinner. Not all of them mind you. Arthur had been called into work, but in truth Molley knew that he was there to perk up Perkins. Charlie was still dealing with his bad dragons and Ron was spending the holiday on a getaway with his chocolate goddess. After the meal Harry and Ginny had stolen themselves a moment in her childhood bedroom, where a thin layer of dust had covered all her toys. She'd moved out to join Harry at his central London studio, closer to his job in an entry level position at Barclays, perfect for a man who speaks snake.
"It's smaller than I remember.", Harry said with his hand comfortingly resting on Ginny's waist.
She let out a small chuckle, her plain lips curling in the corners. "I suppose we're used to bigger things now, yeah."
They were just a few steps into the room, the door already closed behind them. It was plainly furnished; a large, robust bed claimed most of the space, with a small crotch-high desk and a chair seductively posed in the corner. A wardrobe was recessed into one of the walls, bursting with Ginny's skanky attire. On the opposite wall, shelves heaved so heavily with books they could burst, like a teased tallywacker ready to erupt its contents over unsuspecting denizens of the room.
Harry turned his gaze to her desk. Small piles of old notes were spread across it like a whore's patient legs. Between them, a ginger cunt - a single photo of Fred lay in a light pink frame. Harry reached for it, wrapping his slender pussy flickers around it.
"I miss him." Ginny said quietly, looking over his resilient shoulders.
Her mind wandered to the day she learned of her brother's death. The darkest day she'd known.
She remembered his body laying on the cold stone floor of the castle she'd once thought of as home, a place once as familiar and comfortable as a mother's meat pantry. Now here he was. Meat. It had only been moments ago that his body fell to the floor, flaccid after years of standing tall, erect, against those who tried to bring him down. Yet here he was. Downed.
She reached down and placed her hand on his chest. He was still warm. The realisation that she would never again feel the warmth of his body against hers suddenly washed over her, leaving her soul soaked with misery. A wetness that before long would spread. She could feel his soft chest hair under her hand, a delicate ginger welcome mat to his pale body, a body she yearned to feel encompassing hers now more than ever.
As her eyes continued to examine the body she had already been so familiar with, now irrevocably broken, her pussy began frothing as heavily as the crashing waves of pain, longing, and desperation. She couldn't help herself. Like a crackwhore sliding back to her cardboard box on the puddle of semen she'd conjured from men's wands, he had slid from this life to the next. Now he was unreachable. The ultimate tease. She still wanted him.
Harry snapped her back to reality.