...It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
 W.H. Auden, As I Walked Out One Evening

It was 2 o'clock in the morning on a sultry night in July. A blanket of slumberous quiet lay heavily over the ramshackle rooms and stairways of The Burrow, and all its occupants were sleeping soundly.

All, that is, apart from a tall and pale young man with a mess of jet black hair, who was slowly creeping down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Harry Potter couldn't sleep. He had arrived at The Burrow that evening, so late that only Mrs Weasley had been awake to greet him, and had spent the next 2 hours tossing and turning in his makeshift bed. Unable to block the whirl of thoughts and feelings circling in his mind, he had finally accepted the impossibility of rest and was on his way down to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and try to clear his head.

It was hardly surprising, thought Harry grimly to himself, that he was having trouble adjusting to normal sleeping patterns. After all, he had spent most of the past year sleeping in tents, often on an empty stomach, always moving to a new location in the morning, and with the ever present fear of capture, torture and death lurking on the edge of thought. Now that the danger had passed, try as Harry might, he seemed unable to drop his guard and accept that he was safe.

It didn't help that the events of the Battle of Hogwarts were still so fresh in his memory. Every night when he closed his eyes, he saw again the walls of the once indomitable castle tumbling down around him, he saw Fred's face, the mischievous light in his eyes forever extinguished, he saw Lupin's body – frail and small in death, he saw Snape's life's blood seeping unstoppably from the savage wounds made by Nagini…

But if he was honest with himself, the real reason why he couldn't sleep had nothing to do with grief or tension or the memory of old fear – no, the thing that was preying on Harry's mind most of all, was Ginny.

Harry had been so busy in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat that he had hardly seen her since the end of the battle, hardly had a moment to spare to speak to her. Even if he had, Harry wouldn't have wanted to impose himself on her when she was mourning her brother. But he knew that the instant they found themselves alone in a room together, he wouldn't be able to help himself.

Those long months as an outcast, unable even to send her a message without risking death or discovery, had lit something inside him – something he hadn't fully realised was there until Voldemort was dead and he was finally able to take stock. He couldn't deny his feelings for her any more – and it was terrifying.

Reaching the kitchen with a weary shake of his head, Harry padded over to the sink, poured himself a glass of water, and downed it in one.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself grimly.

As he shifted position to pour himself another, a shaft of bright moonlight fell across his body, illuminating an enormous, puckered scar that sat directly in the centre of his bare chest –

And from the other side of the room, he heard a shocked gasp.

Instantly, Harry's instincts kicked into action. He grabbed his wand from where it was sticking out at the waist band of his boxers, spun round and found himself face to face with –

"Ginny!"

She was standing tensely in the doorway to the sitting room, staring with wide, concerned eyes at the scar on his chest, the remains of tears still tracing their way down her cheeks. Her duvet was lying on the sofa where she had obviously been sitting curled moments before, and her fiery red hair was dishevelled.

"Harry," she said quietly, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion. "I…I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," he said breathlessly.

All of a sudden, he was keenly aware of how little he was wearing and felt himself blush slightly. They stared at each other for several long seconds, suddenly awkward.

But here she was, his Ginny, right here in front of him… so beautiful…

And here I am getting embarrassed? For the love of Merlin!

He was on the point of swallowing his nerves, striding over to her and snogging her senseless – but the atmosphere in the room was starting to shift imperceptibly. The joyful, glowing expression Ginny had been wearing moments before was sliding off her face like Stinksap to be replaced with what could only be described as incandescent fury…

"Where the hell have you been?" Ginny spat.

Harry actually took a step backwards, shrinking from the vehemence in her voice and desperately racking his brains to decipher which of the many possible causes she might have to be upset with him was motivating her fury. He had not expected this at all…

Ginny was now advancing on him like an angry cat, her hair flying around her face in glorious disarray.

"Do you have any idea how much I've worried about you this year, how much I've missed you? You were the only good thing I thought about, the only thing I had to keep me going. Did you miss me at all?"

Harry tried to interrupt, but Ginny just talked right over him.

"The day after the battle I looked for you everywhere, I was looking for you for hours – and then Ron told me you'd gone! Gone without saying a bloody word!"

"Ginny -" Harry weakly tried to cut across her, but once again she cut him off.

"I'm warning you now, Harry – I don't care if you're the saviour of the wizarding world – if you don't tell me right now where you've been this week and what the situation is between us, I will hex you into next decade!"

As Ginny was talking, Harry had backed away from her until his back was pressed against the wall, but at these words he bristled.

"What do you think I've been trying to…!" he gesticulated in frustration. Then, taking a deep breath and willing himself to be calm, he continued in a low, passionate voice that sounded quite unlike his own.

"Where've I been this week? I've been making sure my Godson is safe and provided for, and I've been helping to find and relocate the Dursleys from their hiding place. I didn't come and talk to you before I left because I didn't have the opportunity to talk to anyone. I woke up in my dormitory the day after the battle and Kingsley was sitting by my bed, waiting to leave. Believe me, if he'd let me, you'd have been the first person I'd come to find."

Harry paused and warily eyed Ginny's reaction to his words. The anger was already fading from her eyes. Heartened by this, he continued, his voice sounding oddly husky to his ears.

"What's the situation between us? Well… I was kind of hoping you might be able to help me answer that."

Harry paused again, hoping Ginny would help him out, but she was clearly determined not to throw him any lifelines. She crossed her arms, waiting.

Harry did the only thing that made sense – throwing caution to the winds, he strode across the room, caught her up in his arms and kissed her.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. His lips were hard with the desperation and longing he had been feeling for the past year and his hands grasped her hair so tightly that he heard her gasp in shock.

But, through the haze of emotion he was feeling, he dimly noted that she was kissing him back with equal passion. After a moment or two, they started to relax into the kiss, and he couldn't suppress a low moan.

He could taste the tears that had traced their way down her cheeks, he could feel every line of her body pressed against his bare chest. And, with another sudden shock of embarrassment, he could feel himself getting hard… and he was in his boxers… she was bound to notice!

It wasn't as if they weren't familiar with each other's bodies – they had been together for several months in Harry's 6th year, after all, and had spent many a happy hour in secluded areas of the grounds. But with the ever present possibility of a stray teacher or student stumbling across them, they had never gone much further than some awkward, excitable fumbling inside each other's clothes.

Now here he was, practically naked – and she… only wearing a tiny little camisole and panties…

Suddenly nervous and a little bit shy, Harry broke free of the kiss panting heavily and looked warily at her.

She was shaking, just like him, but she didn't look nervous at all.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, her fingers running gently through his perpetually messy hair.

Harry swallowed heavily. He didn't even know how to start telling her what was going on inside his head, and the heat was all around them, and he loved her, he loved her…

Ok, I have to tell her…

"Ginny…"

He stopped talking, his throat suddenly dry. She didn't try and prompt him at all but waited patiently for him to continue. And then it came out in a rush.

"You want to know what the situation is between us? I love you, Ginny. I…" Harry paused again, frustrated. The words didn't seem to exist for what he was feeling right now. "Look, I know I'm not much good with words and emotions and stuff, but… every single part of me is… I never could have imagined I could ever feel anything like this… I love you so much it hurts. Every second of every day while I was away it was like a physical pain inside me, not being near you, and if I'd known last June how that was going to feel…"

Harry shook his head helplessly, and realised to his intense embarrassment that his eyes were starting to burn.

Ginny didn't say anything at all for a long moment – but her face was blazing with that familiar burning look and telling Harry everything he needed to hear.

"So what next?" she eventually whispered, the start of a mischievous smile playing around her lips.

Then, very deliberately, she glanced down at his bulging boxers and back up again at him. Her intention was completely unmistakeable, and became even more so when she reached down and gripped him in one small, trembling hand.

Harry tried to control his reaction but he couldn't help it – his heart was beating so hard and fast he wouldn't have been surprised if Ginny could hear it, and all of a sudden he was breathing as though he'd been sprinting.

"But," he said hoarsely, "we can't… here… what if someone comes down or hears us?"

The mischievous smile broadened, and Ginny moved her hand off him (Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief – much longer and he might've spontaneously combusted). She wove her fingers through his and pulled him towards the door.

Moving as quietly as they possibly could, they opened the back door and padded barefoot across the garden, through the orchard and towards the makeshift Quidditch pitch that was the paddock. When they had walked as far as Harry had ever been on Weasley land, he glanced questioningly at Ginny, but she just grinned at him and pulled him on.

Ginny pushed her way through a small opening in some bushes up ahead, and then down on to a slope at the bottom of which was a thick, prickly looking hedge. Here she paused and looked back at Harry.

"You don't mind getting slightly scratched, do you?" asked Ginny, "It'll be worth it."

"Nah, it'll just be a few more to add to my collection" grinned Harry wryly, indicating the numerous scars scattered over his chest and arms.

"Hmmm, yes, we'll be having talks about that," said Ginny, crossing her arms with a mock-serious frown. "If you're going to be my boyfriend again I want you to take better care of yourself. Being the Chosen One and the saviour of wizardkind is no excuse!"

"Yes, miss," Harry said with a sheepish grin.

Ginny giggled, then grabbed his hand again and tugged him through a thin patch in the hedge.

After a minute of scratches and cursing, Harry broke free of the bush and found himself standing in a clearing next to a little stream. It was completely hemmed in by hedges on all sides, and the moonlight was slanting down from above bathing the ground and the river in a lovely, pearly light. It seemed perfect, but –

"Do any of the rest of your family know about this place?" Harry asked nervously.

"No," Ginny replied quietly, "It's just me – I found it when I was 7 and hiding from Ron. I was angry with him – I can't remember why. No one else ever comes here."

She looked at him for a minute. Harry could see that despite her bravado before, she was nervous too now. Her eyes moved slowly downwards, drinking him in – and then came to rest with a surprised giggle on his boxers.

"What?" Harry asked, staring down too. He felt something tugging at him from behind and turned to realise he was caught on the bush behind him. He pulled, but couldn't get himself free. Ginny's giggling turned into laughter and Harry couldn't help it – he grinned sheepishly as well.

After a moment, however, Ginny stopped laughing. She walked slowly over to him, the fierce expression back again. "You know, the easiest way to sort this out is just to take them off completely."

She slowly pulled out her wand and pointed it at Harry. Her hands were now shaking so badly that she couldn't keep her wand steady. Harry didn't like to think what might happen at this point if her aim was off…

But Ginny took a deep breath, and with a wave of her wand – he was naked.

It was actually liberating – there was no room for embarrassment any more, she could see everything. And he could see from the expression on her face that she wasn't disappointed. So he walked deliberately forward and kissed her again.

This kiss was more breathless, more nervous than before, because they both knew what was going to happen next. Hesitantly, still half expecting her to tell him to stop, Harry grasped the hem of Ginny's camisole and started to pull it up and over her head. She raised her arms above her head to help him, and then – the material was falling soundlessly to the ground, and her bare skin was pressing against his, and her flowery scent was all around him, engulfing him…

And all of a sudden he was alive, on fire, in a way that he had never experienced before. Without a second's hesitation he clasped her to him – it was like he'd lost control over his own body, he was kissing her face, her neck, his hands touching every part of her that he could reach, and he'd never wanted anything so much in his life. Even if Voldemort suddenly came back from the dead and appeared in this clearing, Harry doubted whether he would pay him a second's attention.

And somehow – Harry didn't know how it happened – they were on the ground, and she was holding on to him with the strength of a drowning woman, and then…

It was the most indescribably delicious feeling – she was so soft, and so warm, and this feeling, this feeling…

Is it possible to die of pleasure?