30 March 2002

"Do you have the password?" the Fat Lady asked, an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Berserker," Harry said, stomach still coiled into knots. It was getting worse by the moment. The way that his heart was thumping faster than it normally did in anticipation of seeing her and hopefully reconciling with her made it even worse. He looked down at the Marauder's Map again just to be sure she was still here.

The portrait folded her painted arms. Harry resisted the urge to ruffle his hair. For all the Fat Lady knew, he was a professor with business with a student. Not a man prepared to grovel to win back his lover. Play it cool, Potter. "Would you just let me in?"

"You aren't the Head of Gryffindor," she said smugly.

"That doesn't mean that I can't have business with a student," Harry retorted. Don't show weakness.

"What kind of business?" she asked slyly. "We portraits have a small wager, you see, and—"

Someone pushed her open from the inside, effectively cutting off her words. Harry heard her sigh, aggrieved, but then he spotted a head of bright red hair, and quite suddenly, the Fat Lady was the furthest thing from his mind. Ginny gracefully exited, straightened up, and then rocked backward in shock when she saw him.

"Er, hi," he said, eyes darting to the Fat Lady, wanting to start his apology now, this instant, but didn't want to feed portrait gossip any more than totally necessary. "I have a few things to discuss with you. About class. And… flying," he added, because he got the impression that the Fat Lady was wily when it came to things like this. "And… maybe flying during class as a sort of – training exercise. Sometimes bad people and creatures fly, you know," he continued to babble.

Ginny surprised him by smiling; the closed, angry expression he'd seen these last few weeks had completely disappeared. Frankly, this threw him a little. He had no idea what to make of it. "All right," she said, jerking her head a little. "But is the corridor really the place to discuss lesson plans?"

"No," he said, feeling immense relief. "We should go somewhere"--more private—"else."

As Ginny turned to shut the portrait, Harry noticed that she carried two bags: one looked slightly full, and the other was Arnold's. The pygmy puff poked his head out of it and, upon seeing Harry, started squeaking excitedly. "Hi, Arnold," Harry said, feeling ridiculously pleased to see him. "Do you want to go see Calliope?"

"Is that even a question?" Ginny asked wryly.

He smiled down at her. "I'll bet he's missed her a lot," he said. Ginny flushed a little, but didn't look away. He suddenly felt a little more confident, though still unsure where the change in her came from. As one, they turned and walked away.

"Don't mind me!" the Fat Lady shouted to their retreating backs. "Complete lack of gratitude…" Harry heard her mutter as they turned the corner.

The walk to his private rooms was not precisely comfortable – there were too many things that Harry had to say – but he was so relieved that she wasn't fighting him that it wasn't terribly awkward. I wish I'd prepared a speech, he thought wistfully. But Ginny ought to be used to his babbling by now; hopefully she'd make sense of it.

The corridors were so empty that it felt like they were the only two in the castle. Almost everyone had gone home the day before for Easter, and the apparent lack of other people reminded Harry of Christmas break, when he'd first been learning what it felt like to have her lips on his.

After what felt like hours, they finally reached the door. Harry undid the wards and unlocked the door, letting his hand linger on the knob before he pushed it open. The room was dark and felt slightly cold. He almost decided to light the fire in the grate by hand, without magic, as a tool for procrastination, but he didn't really want to hide behind it.

"Go find her, Arnold," Ginny murmured, and Harry heard the sounds of an overly excited pygmy puff escape the confines of his bag and go tearing into the bedroom, where Calliope was.

A heavy, waiting silence fell.

"I went to see Ron and Hermione tonight," he said, looking at her. "I was pretty desperate," he admitted.

Pain flickered over her face. "Harry, I really owe you an apology—"

"I don't think you do," he said quickly. "Sorry – but if I don't say this now, I'm not sure if I will. And I have to," he added firmly. He had to lay it all out on the line, because if she didn't understand now, then there was the possibility that she would, someday, and it would kill him if she left him. Well, she already sort of had, but not for the right reason. "I just feel that after our history, you're really the one woman I can be with. And I know that doesn't really make sense—"

"It does. I feel the same way about you—"

"But I also feel like you're the one woman that I don't really have any right to be with," he told her. He hesitated, his mind replaying what he'd just said to her. "Wait. Don't think that I – there are a thousand reasons why I feel the way I do," he hastened to clarify. "You're so lovely, and you love to fly, and you make me laugh. I love your sense of humor. But… you understand me in a way that I don't think anyone else really could."

The words dried up for a moment, mostly because he was going to have to tell her why he felt he didn't deserve her. "I just feel selfish," he said simply. Standing in front of her, he suddenly felt completely vulnerable. "I mean – did you know that I count your laughs? You've laughed eighty-four times that I've heard, and every time, it makes me happy. But I just keep remembering that I'm partially responsible for… why you didn't laugh as easily as you used to."

Harry watched as her throat worked. "You make me want to laugh again," she said softly.

"You may feel differently," he said. "I have something I need to tell you about Malfoy Manor—"

"I already know," she interrupted him abruptly.

"Er," he said.

"While you were talking to my brother, I was – I went to talk to Dumbledore's portrait," she said.

Harry's stomach plunged to his feet. "So…. Did he…"

"You have to understand that I was furious," she said quickly. "And more than that – I was just so confused that you didn't think you deserved me. You say that I can understand you, but I was – completely blind. I thought that you should feel the way I feel, that for – for whatever the reason, or the circumstances, you were there when I needed you the most."

"But I—"

She didn't let him finish. There were two spots of color high in her cheeks, but her gaze didn't waver. "You meant to die to protect me. You killed people for me. And for whatever reason we both made it out of there alive, please let that be enough. Because I—" for the first time, her words seemed to falter. But her eyes beseeched him, and he couldn't ignore the fact that her words had suffused him with warmth from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

But he had to make sure. "Dumbledore – he told you why I was able to survive?" he asked.

There was a hard, blazing look in her face that he didn't understand, but it comforted him nonetheless. "Yes," she said. "And it doesn't… matter," she added delicately, though Harry got the impression that this was more for his sake than her own. "All that matters to me is that you're here with me, because… well, I know that Voldemort didn't win after all."

Harry let the words sink in. He heard the truth in them as it pertained to her, but it was much harder to accept that they were true when it came to himself. "I feel like he did what he set out to do," he admitted. "That he… broke me. I mean, that's what he set out to do." And it almost felt like an insult to what happened to her to feel like he wasn't. But at the same time, she was the one who made him feel like he was whole again.

She looked stricken, and she opened her mouth—

"I love you," he blurted out. Her mouth closed with a snap. Shit, shit, shit. But it was too late now. Could I be any less romantic? he asked himself, disgusted. But now that he'd told her, he couldn't stop himself from continuing. "And it just makes me feel – I dunno – less… broken."

His heart pounded while he waited for her response, but silence stretched out, until it was almost unbearable.

"I thought for a while that you pitied me," she said so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her. He held his breath while the fire cracked and popped behind him, almost obscenely loud. "You know. And that's why we were together, because you felt guilty, like you owed me something."

Harry winced. "I absolutely do not pity you," he said firmly. "I—"

But before he could finish his sentence, she'd thrown herself at him with enough force that he just barely caught himself – and her – in time. And she didn't even give him a chance to deny it before she pulled his head down and kissed him full on the lips. She pulled slightly away after a few seconds. "I thought that you didn't desire me the way I desire you," she whispered. "Because I kissed you first, and I touched you first—"

Harry couldn't help it. He pulled her even closer and tried to prove with the way he kissed her that she'd been wrong. It was almost laughable – how long had he wanted her? For long, wonderful moments, he let himself be lost in the sensation, before he knew that he needed to clarify, and to explain. "Trust me, I desire you plenty," he told her. He couldn't help the wry note in his voice. If she knew how often she'd fueled his fantasies…

Tentatively, he moved his hand from her hair to the small of her back and pressed her closer, knowing that she could feel his erection. Instead of pulling away and waiting for her to touch him, he pushed against her. And it felt so good, he did it again. His mind was already weaving elaborate fantasies, and he couldn't help but thrust against her more insistently.

"I thought – you never initiated anything," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

With great effort, Harry pulled away, running his hand down her arm and lacing her fingers with his. "It's not that I don't desire you," he said. He felt self-conscious, but he brought their hands down between their bodies, and let her feel it for herself. "It's just… being intimate, physically, with you feels like icing on the cake."

"It's okay to desire me," she said shyly. "I want you to."

Harry regretted pulling away from her, especially when she let go of his hand and turned away. But then she looked at him over her shoulder, and he felt a jolt of heat right to his groin. This effectively derailed any thought he had in his head. He watched as she grabbed her bag – not Arnold's bag – and lifted it over her shoulder.

"Are you leaving?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"No," she said. Her face reddened. "I was – when you found me at the portrait hole, I was on my way here," she told him. "I was hoping that I could stay the night here?"

All sorts of wild thoughts entered his head. "Yes," he said fervently. And even if she didn't mean what he hoped she meant, he would like nothing more than to just sleep beside her. Though I might have to take care of business before that happens, he thought vaguely.

"I'm going to change into my pajamas," she said pointedly.

"Er – me too," he said.

She flashed a smile at him and he walked into his bedroom, and searched around for a clean pair of pajama bottoms. He took off his clothes, and pulled them on, staring at the door of his bathroom.

It opened, and her head poked out first, and then the rest of her. Harry forgot how to breathe. She was wearing a blue nightgown that hugged close to her body and allowed him to see every curve. Hot blood thundered through his veins. Dimly, he registered that she held her arms tight against her abdomen, as though she was self-conscious. But he was too busy walking toward her that he couldn't think of a word to say. His mind was too busy processing the fact that the material was tight against her breasts, and he thought he could see the vague shadows of her nipples through it.

"Wow," he said.

She was smiling when he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and they sort of rocked toward the bed, ignoring the pygmy puffs; Arnold was chasing Calliope around the room.

He lifted her and laid her on the bed, settling himself beside her. For a moment, he shifted his hips so that he wasn't pressing his erection against her thigh, but her voice echoed in his head. It's okay to desire me. And he moved until he was half on top of her, and not hiding anything.

"I'm going to kiss you," he said, running his hand up her thigh, and her sides until his thumb was right under her breast.

"Yes, please," she breathed.

At almost the same moment he kissed her, he stroked her breast, running his fingers over her nipple, delighted to find it already a hard little nub. It's okay to desire me. After several long moments, he pulled back slightly. "I'm going to kiss your breasts," he said. He gave her plenty of time to stop him, but then he leaned down and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

She arched her back.

His hand found its way back to her thigh, bunching up the material of her nightgown, and stroking the silky skin it uncovered. He grinned when she rolled her hips. "I'm going to touch you," he told her. Again he waited enough time for her to stop him. She didn't. Instead, her legs opened a little wider. He stroked her gently through her knickers, amazed that they were damp.

He shifted his mouth to her other breast at the same time he slid his hand under her knickers and cupped her bum, kneading it.

"I'm going to take your knickers off," he said shakily.

Instead of stopping him, as he half-feared she would, she moaned and lifted her hips, aiding him. He lifted himself up and used both hands to pull them off. When he looked at her face, his heart skipped a beat. Her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips were parted, and her cheeks were flushed. Feeling slightly more confident than he had in the past, he touched her. His fingers slid into her easily, and her hips rocked up to meet him.

I want to use my mouth, Harry thought suddenly. His penis twitched as he imagined being that close to her, tasting her. But… he didn't know how she would feel about that. One way to find out. "I'm going to – I want to kiss you," he said firmly. She looked at him quizzically. He brushed his thumb against her clitoris. "There," he added.

Her eyes widened, and she clenched her thighs around his hand. "What?" she squeaked.

"Well, sometimes people like to—"

"I know what oral sex is," she said breathlessly, pushing against his hand. Harry didn't know if it was hearing those words coming out of her mouth, or the way she moaned when he rubbed her clitoris again, or the fact that she was really responding to him in a way that she never had before, but suddenly his erection was almost painful.

He tried to ignore it. "I really want to," he told her seriously. "But if you don't…"

"I – but…" she said uncertainly. Her brow furrowed and she gazed at him without really seeing him for several long moments.

"It may not even work," he said. "I may not even be able to do it right. But I'd like to try."

"All right," she said finally, relaxing her thighs a little.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "But… you'll just be so there and seeing everything…"

"I know," he said earnestly, gently spreading her knees and moving to kneel between them. "That's the best part." But instead of spreading her legs wide and looking his fill, he was mindful of her misgivings, and began with her knee. He pressed what felt like hundreds of kisses on her knee, gradually working his way up her thigh. He stretched out.

"Your skin is so smooth," he said. And because he wanted to know what her inner thigh tasted like, he licked it, and was rewarded with the muscle quivering under his mouth. She moved restlessly, and he moved higher, pushing her pretty nightgown up over her hips. "I love your nightgown," he mumbled. I wonder if she knows that it just makes me want to take it off her?

"I… suspected," she said, propping herself up on her elbows. "That's why I wore it."

He poked his head up. "I said that out loud?"

She grinned at him. "You say a lot of things out loud."

Harry might have wanted to explore this further, but she planted her feet more firmly on either side of him and suddenly all he could think about was how good she smelled, and how close he was to his goal. Just an inch below the juncture of her thighs, he found a new taste.

He licked it and was rewarded with a moan.

And, suddenly, he was there, and for a moment he closed his eyes, nerves almost taking over. But then his eyes popped open of their own accord, and feasted upon the sight before him. It was lovely, just like the rest of her—

"Thank you," she said, sounding embarrassed.

Harry brought his hand up and opened her further. She was pink and swollen and glistening and it brought his awareness right back to his erection, and how good it felt to wiggle against the bed.

"You're staring."

"I can't help it," he said, taking a deep breath. He didn't really know where to begin, and he needed to stall, so he leaned forward and nuzzled her, and took another deep breath.

Just do it,

He gave her a long, slow lick from the bottom to the top, and jerked his hips against the bed when he heard her ragged, gasping moan. Yes. She likes that. So he did it again. And again. "You taste incredible," he said, thrusting into the bed again, hoping she didn't notice. And she did taste incredible. I can't believe some blokes don't like doing this, he thought incredulously.

And it wasn't so much the way she tasted, but the way she panted and lifted her bum up to give him better access. He slid one arm under her. Harry had no real idea what he was doing; he didn't know if he had a technique, or if he shouldhave a technique. But Ginny's moans were coming faster and faster, and she was twisting the bedclothes in her hands.

You're beautiful, he thought, tilting his head and thrusting his tongue up inside her. The sound that came out of her mouth was so close to a scream that he reached down and rubbed himself with his palm before he was even aware of what he was doing. Focus on Ginny. I want to hear that sound again…

Maybe a minute passed before she did it again. This time Harry looked up her body, and all thought left his brain. Her back was arched, and all he could see was that she's pulled her nightgown up, and was squeezing her breasts in her hands, stroking her nipples. Merlin… "Ginny… that's—"

"Less talking, Harry!" she panted, thrusting up into his mouth.

She was totally out of control, and Harry blinked, feeling a mixture of strength and awe. He chuckled against her, and then flattened his tongue against her clitoris. He was totally unprepared for what happened next. In the same moment, she wrapped her legs around him and fisted her hands in his hair, bringing him hard against her.

He got the impression that she didn't want him to move, and he kept his tongue pressed tightly against her clitoris, rubbing it back and forth. Her breath came in gasps; he heard her moan his name, and she squeezed him even tighter. He couldn't really breathe, but oxygen was overrated. When he compared it to having Ginny completely undone beneath his mouth, breathing didn't matter at all.

Fortunately, she finished not even a minute later. She cried out and pulled him even closer, rolling her hips. Then, almost abruptly, her shaking thighs fell away and she relaxed. And instead of pulling his hair, she started stroking it gently.

"You finished," he said, looking up at her. It wasn't a question, but he was waiting for her nod. He didn't know whether it was the lack of oxygen for a while, or the fact that he was so hard that he thought he'd go off after one firm stroke, but he could barely see straight. And he moved to straddle her belly, almost sitting on her, and pulling down his pajama bottoms in the same motion.

His eyes slammed closed as he gripped her hand and guided it to his penis. "That was amazing," he told her, cracking his eyes open.

"I'm going to want you to do that a lot," she admitted, giving him a lazy smile.

His orgasm slammed into him, and he kept his eyes fixed on hers as he spurted onto her belly and the valley between her breasts.

"I'll need a few minutes," he told her.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Ginny felt bad, but she was barely aware of her hand on Harry's penis until it was almost over, and he finished over her breasts and belly. Her mind was too busy replaying what had happened, and wanting to do it again. It was stunning how much better it was than her own hand or her pillow. The two couldn't even be compared.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he shifted so that he lay next to her and pressed his lips to hers and gave her a slow, languid kiss. His mouth was sticky and tasted strange, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Just as she hadn't been able to feel self-conscious, not really, because he'd obviously been enjoying himself. But that reminded her—

"Sorry for telling you not to talk," she said, grimacing a little.

He chuckled again, just like he had the first time. "Believe me, I didn't mind at all," he said. After kissing her forehead, he pulled away and got off the bed. His pajama bottoms slid down, but instead of pulling them back up, he kicked them off.

Ginny watched him. He seemed completely unself-conscious about being naked in front of her; he even reached down and adjusted himself before he pulled back the bedclothes. A part of her wanted to be naked too, but…

"Have you seen my knickers?" she asked, surprising herself.

"Your knickers?" Harry said, as though he had never heard of such a thing. "Er… I don't – I think I threw them somewhere."

Ginny knelt and peered over the side of the bed, looking for a scrap of blue, and feeling more and more perplexed when she couldn't see it. Where did they go? Did he--

Harry barked out a laugh. "Ginny… your knickers—"

"Did you banish them?" she asked curiously.

He shook his head, shoulders heaving with laughter. "No," he said, pointing.

Arnold staggered across the floor, making slow progress due to the fact that he was burdened by her knickers. He squeaked almost continuously – not frightened squeaks, but proud squeaks. Calliope watched him from underneath the armoire, big eyes remaining fixed on Arnold. As Ginny watched, the lady pygmy puff took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Look," Harry said, chortling. "He's trying to impress her with his strength – you carry those knickers, Arnold!"

Ginny giggled. "What's worse is that it's actually working," she pointed out. For a few moments, they both watched Arnold's progress.

She sighed. "I suppose I should let him keep them," she said.

Harry agreed, and they both seemed to decide in the same moment that they'd watched Arnold enough. Ginny wanted to feel his arms around her again, wanted to be close to him. She didn't have to wait long; the moment the blankets were over them, Harry held her close.

"I missed you," he told her.

"I know. I missed you too. And I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to be," he said firmly. "It's over. We're together. It doesn't matter."

Ginny thought this just might be the case. He seemed certain of it; he didn't want to dwell on it. He didn't seem to need to hear that she felt really bad for being so wrong about what he was feeling. She pressed a kiss to his chest, and he pulled her even tighter against him.

And somehow, she dozed off. It was only eight in the evening, but her eyes were heavy, and she could hear Harry's heartbeat, and she was so relaxed…

She woke up some time later to the feeling of patterns being traced on her back. She sighed, enjoying the feeling of his caress.

"You're awake?"

"Mm hmm," she murmured.

Ginny gradually became aware that Harry's hands were stroking her back with greater purpose. Rather than gentle, feather light touches, they were firmer, more rhythmic. Feeling suddenly restless, she scooted closer and moved her leg up and hooked it around his waist.

They both sucked in a breath when his penis pressed against her belly, through her nightgown. Ginny had been comfortably warm under the covers and wrapped in Harry's arms, but now it was hot. Her limbs felt heavy, and her mind was filled with the memory of watching his head bobbing between her thighs. She could almost feel his tongue on her, licking her.

She moved closer at the same moment he rubbed against her. His hand moved from her back to her thigh and then under her nightgown.

"I'm going to touch you again," he said, his voice husky.

"Yes, please," she said.

His touch was gentle at first, barely even there; his fingers were tickling and playing rather than moving with any real purpose. She moved her leg higher and gasped when his thumb brushed against her clitoris. The tip of his finger swirled around, spreading the moisture, and then delved inside her.

She gave herself into the sensation for long moments, allowing him to arouse her slowly, letting the desire build. Then she opened her eyes, and tilted her head to find Harry staring at her intensely, mouth parted, and she wanted to make him feel the same way she felt. And she stroked his side, smiling when he quivered.

He was hard and heavy when she gripped him. Whispered words reached her ears, loving words, as he thrust into her hand. And without even thinking about it, really, she shifted, until her nightgown was no longer in the way. Instead of moving her hand in a way that she knew would bring him to orgasm, she pressed the head of his penis to her clitoris. His hand convulsed and he withdrew it, shuddering.

Slowly, she used him to rub herself in a circular motion. His hand was on her back again, pulling her closer, urging her on. And for once, he wasn't talking at all. His gaze was fixed on hers. With every circle, she moved him closer to where she really wanted him most, until, finally, he was there.

Her throat worked. "I'm going to…" she started. But she didn't have his easy way with words, so she pulled him even closer, to show him instead. Amazingly, his penis was even hotter than she was. A moan escaped her, and she watched as he flushed. But he still looked slightly uncertain, so she leaned forward and kissed him, and guided the tip of him inside her.

He thrust tentatively at first, and then so enthusiastically, that he slipped out.

"Sorry," he whispered against her mouth.

It broke the tension, in a way. He rolled her over until he was on top of her, and this time, she was the one who clutched at his back, and he was the one who guided his penis to her entrance. And because he still looked uncertain, she stroked his calf with her foot and moved against him.

His hand shook as he brushed the hair out of her face. And then he slipped all the way inside her with an ease that she hadn't expected. She arched up against him, gasping. He groaned her name, but he didn't move just yet. For long moments, he held completely still, and the only sound in the room was their labored breath.

And then he rocked against her, and she felt just the barest hint of his thrust.

"You really – this is the best feeling in the world," he said shakily.

His thrusts remained slow and easy for so long that it was almost unbearable. And he kissed her so sweetly and for so long that neither one of them noticed for a long while that tears were spilling out of her eyes. Ginny wasn't even aware that she was crying, nor did she even feel like crying. But him being inside her felt so good that she couldn't even help it.

Once he was aware of it, he pulled back, and stopped moving. "You're crying? Ginny, I—"

"I'm not," she shook her head firmly, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pulling him back down to her until his head was buried in her shoulder. She moved her hips. "It's just – it feels…"

It was just completely unlike she thought it would be. Harry's arms and his body sheltered her. And it was so warm and so safe in their cocoon of blankets. She wrapped her legs around his hips, wanting to feel him deeper, as deep as he could go.

Stroking her fingernails along his spine, she whispered, "I love you."

He kissed her fiercely then, and surged up inside her, moving with new urgency, as though her words had kindled something in him – in both of them, Ginny realized, as the desire she felt became sharper. Harry moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, and as he thrust inside her harder, he told her how much he loved her and how lovely she was, and how—

"I had no idea," he said, panting.

The further she spiraled away out of control, the tighter she clutched him. With every move he made, he groaned, and she answered it. I love you. "I love you," she said again.

His thrusts grew more erratic. He was close, but so was she. Dimly, she registered that the headboard was knocking against the stone wall, and he gasped her name over and over again, and she couldn't help the cries that were practically ripped out of her throat.

And suddenly waves of pleasure crested over her, and she arched up against him and shattered. But it didn't seem to end there. He surged up, and then again. Suddenly, there was a new slickness, and he rocked against her. Her hands slid down his back; it was wet with sweat. He pressed kisses all over her face: her forehead, her cheeks, even her nose, and finally her mouth.

Both of them were shaking by the time Ginny finally relaxed her grip.