Note: this chapter definitely earns a mature rating for sexual situations and a detailed description of needles.

PART FOUR: EROS

The packet of clear, unused syringes sat innocently on the coffee table next to Harry's vial of antidote, glinting artfully off the shallow sunlight that peered in through the sitting room windows. Still slightly achy, he flipped through the pages of Quidditch International without much interest, bored but still tired, breezing past adds for the new Dragonfly Racing Broom and an upbeat photo spread of the Brazilian team. Ginny entered the sitting room with two cups of tea in her hands, joining him on the sofa and propping her feet up on the cluttered hardwood table.

"Anything good?" she asked, sipping at the lemon-scented tea.

Harry shrugged. "Not really. There's a bit about Gwenog Jones signing on as part of the coaching team for England, but that's not a surprise."

Hollyhead was Ginny's favorite team, much to Ron's disapproval, and it was no secret that she followed their players in the papers. Harry had taken her to one of their games last fall and they'd both yelled themselves hoarse by the end of it—Harry cheering for Puddlemere and Oliver Wood and Ginny for Gwenog and the Harpies.

"Let's see then," she said, taking the magazine and turning to the back section with the smaller articles.

He watched her face change as she read, memorizing the small worry lines that formed around her mouth and eyes while she concentrated, the way her lips pursed into a little bud when she was deep in thought. Harry sipped his tea and stretched his mildly sore legs, thinking about the time of his last injection. He had nearly thirty minutes before he would need another, and after that any residual pain or discomfort he was feeling would be alleviated for a good five-to-six hours.

Sitting his cup down on a copy of The Stranger that he'd borrowed from Hermione, Harry slumped farther down in his seat, fighting the desire to close his eyes. He settled for resting his head on Ginny's shoulder instead, and he felt her adjust underneath him, her skin warm against his cool cheek. He felt her glance sideways at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He licked his lips and thought about how nice it would be to kiss her, or to pull her jumper off and make out for the whole lazy, quiet afternoon with her naked skin against his.

"What?" she asked, finishing the article and letting the slick magazine paper fall to her lap. "You're being way too lovey to be my Harry."

"Too lovey? I'm just resting my head on your shoulder," he defended, his warm hand resting on her thigh.

"You never do that," Ginny said, a playful tone to her voice.

"I'm sick," he offered. "And tired. And I want your attention."

"Okay. You've got it," she chuckled, tossing Quidditch International on the floor under the coffee table.

"Good," Harry said, turning to face her and slowly kissing her. She warmly responded, tugging on the hair at the base of his neck and sliding her tongue across his lower lip. Casually, gently, he eased her downward, pressing her back into the soft cushions on the couch and easing himself on top of her body, his hips resting in the cradle between her legs. Ginny sighed as he kissed her chest, his hands underneath her jumper stroking her sides, his thumb circling the dip of her hip bone.

One of her soft hands crept underneath the lining of his navy auror T-shirt, ghosting over his back and shoulders, her hand knotting a soothing trail across his skeletal muscles. Harry ran his tongue over hers, his hips shamelessly rolling against her center while her palm brushed his lower stomach, fingering the thin trail of dark hair that descended beneath the waistband of his jeans. He felt his cock twitch at this teasing contact and actively bit back a moan while he slid his hands underneath her jumper, pushing past her bra to her round breasts.

Ginny gripped his bum and pressed him against her, and he could feel himself harden, in spite of the extra fabric they were both still wearing while she arched her hips upwards. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her mouth, her soft, keening cries ringing like thunderclouds in the silent afternoon.

Before he could actually work her top off the sound of the Floo flaring to life startled them apart from each other while Hermione clamored out of the fireplace.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said, a surprised, hesitant expression on her face.

Ginny blushed a vibrant pink while Harry sniggered. "C'mon Hermione, nothing you haven't witnessed before," he said, grabbing his cup of tea to have something to do with his hands, memories of his best friend walking in on him and Ginny last year at George and Angelina's Christmas party flashing through his mind.

"I can come back later," Hermione offered, still pointedly looking at the empty space above his shoulder rather than meeting his eyes.

"It's fine, really," Ginny said, composing herself. "How about I get you some tea?"

"Oh, thanks," she replied, taking a seat in the vacant winged-back chair facing the window. "I really am sorry for interrupting."

He brushed it off, running a hand through his hair while Ginny put the kettle on in the kitchen. "It's not a big deal. I'm really not supposed to be doing anything like that for a bit anyway," he explained, offhandedly gesturing to the potion and syringes on the table.

"How long will you be taking your antidote?" Hermione asked.

"Just for the next day or so, then I'll be fully recovered," he said.

Ginny returned with a cup of fresh tea for Hermione and sat down next to Harry on the sofa, drawing her legs underneath her like a young colt. "Did you take the day off?" she asked.

"I wasn't scheduled to be in today," Hermione said. "And Rodger Drummond wouldn't let Ron come in to the office, even to just do a bit of paperwork. He said he needed to rest after staying up all night."

"He's right," Ginny agreed. "Ron didn't leave till after three in the morning. He would have been totally useless at a desk."

She nodded and sipped her lemon tea, a rouge strand of her hair falling out of the bun she'd wrangled it into. "He's asleep at the moment. I'm surprised to see that you're awake, truthfully."

Harry shrugged, blinking his admittedly tired eyes. "I'm too sore to sleep."

"Isn't there something he can take for that?" Hermione probed, looking to one and then the other.

"It'll be much less noticeable after this next injection," Ginny said soothingly, taking his hand. "It's about time for that, actually. Do you want to go ahead and give it a go?"

"Sure," he relented, reaching for the thick length of rubber he'd been using for a tourniquet. "Want to tie me off?"

She made quick work of his arm, synching the band tight around his left bicep while he rhythmically squeezed his fist, bringing his ropelike veins to the surface.

"You have such prominent veins," Ginny observed, loading one of the new, clean syringes with antivenom and a nerve restoration draught.

Hermione made a face and excused herself to the kitchen in pursuit of a biscuit, but Harry suspected that she was more than likely just put off by the sight of needles.

"I can do it if you have trouble," he offered, watching her contemplate the already bruised marks on his arm.

"I'll be alright," Ginny said, settling on an untouched region in the inner crook of his elbow. "Ah," she sounded, seeing the red flare of blood in the glass tube. "There we go."

The odd stinging was over within seconds, and after a quick clotting spell his arm was tentatively healed. "You can come back in the room, Hermione. Needles are away," Harry joked.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she said, a few more strands escaping from their pins as she returned to her seat. A smile lit Ginny's eyes at this admission, and he chose not to tease her too much, the steady rushing of relaxation arching through his neck and spine.

Lanolin watched her from the open window, her long brown tail swishing agitatedly from her perch on the sill while Ginny charmed the dishes to wash themselves and straightened up the kitchen. The velvety, lavender sky was smooth outside, and she hesitated to close it, savoring the warm brush of spring air that had just begun to creep into London. She dried her hands on a kitchen towel and tried not to feel disappointed when Lanolin pounced to a ledge below in search of an alley mouse.

"Harry," she called, shutting the window with a flick from her wand.

"In here," he said, the sound suggesting that he was in their bedroom. Ginny followed his voice and peered around the doorway, watching while he cleaned up from what looked like his most recent injection.

"Feel any better?" she asked.

"Loads," he said, yanking off his T-shirt and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Good."

He rolled his shoulders, the tension in his body slowly uncoiling. It was impossible not to watch—her heart picked up in her chest and the room felt perceptively hotter, the thrill of being exposed to something adult piercing her like a flaming rod. Subtly, she eased into the room, Harry watching her through the corner of his dark eyes, his jaw outlined in the half-light while her mind raced through all the times they'd danced around each other like this, and all the times they hadn't.

She sat down next to him, her thigh burning with the hint of contact. Her mind rationalized that they had been through this over and over, done nearly everything two heterosexual humans could do in terms of sex, but her hyper-awareness persisted like she was still an aching teenager, blossoming across her thighs and through her pelvis.

Ginny reached out a small hand, sliding it over the cuff of his shoulder, the taunt plane of his back. "Any pain?"

His hand fisted on the edge of mattress, but she didn't get the impression that it was due to discomfort. "None."

Acting counter to his character, Harry didn't wait for her to make the first move. He kissed her with an open mouth, tongue sliding over her lower lip while his large, pale hands eased her downwards, edging underneath the hem of her jumper and over the curve of her hip. Her eyes were shut but she felt the shift in gravity when her back hit the mattress, his lips on her neck. She wormed her hands between them and made short work of her jeans, unclasping the button and tugging the zipper down.

He pulled away from her and tossed his wand and glasses on the end table before piercing her with an intending look that shuddered straight to her core. Ginny leaned back on her forearms while he eased her jeans down her legs; her breath caught when his hand trailed against her inner thigh, his nail digging a sharp, vertical line along her white skin.

Harry unbuckled his belt and worked his trousers off, joining a now topless Ginny on the bed.

She wanted to say I've missed you, but they had been together all day, and even if he had taken it to mean I've missed this instead, in reality, it hadn't been that long since the last time they shagged. But the threat of nearly loosing him forever had made her ache with emotion, and her limbs were burning with the desire to release it.

"You're so fucking perfect," he said, his hands tracing the hourglass of her waist. "You saved my life after I was the stupidest prat in the world and you still want to be with me."

"Shut up," Ginny urged, her freckled wrist disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants, her fingers curling around his erection in a firm, silken grip. His eyes squeezed shut and she urged herself closer to his body, pressing her breasts against his chest.

He unhooked her bra in an easy, deft motion that he'd perfected over the years, pushing the fabric away from her skin and teasing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

Harry slipped out of his boxers while she shed the remains of her undergarments, dropping her knickers to the floor and climbing on top of her naked boyfriend. She could feel his cock pressing against her lower stomach, tantalizingly close. His hands streaked a trail between her legs and straight to her clit, rubbing in slow circles until she was useless with tension.

"C'mon," he said, his fingers in her cunt, arching forward against the wall of her pelvis. She bit her lower lip between her teeth and rolled off him.

"Please," Ginny breathed, pulling him on top of her. Harry positioned himself between her folds and thrust inwards in a quick rolling motion that made her toes curl.

Oh fuck, she thought, sensations from being filled after what felt like an eternity of emptiness rocketing around in her brain. The deliberate, pounding rush of his breath against her ear and his hair clenched in her fists and the softness of her chest molding into the hardness of his roiled through her over and over again like a drum beat.

"Oh God," Harry whispered, his lips curving along her neck. The evening swallowed them in cool, soft blackness, the heat of her core a tiny flame in the dark.

END