Chapter 16
Ginny stretches her arms above her head, idly considering that she can't just spend the rest of her life in Harry's bed. Not that the idea doesn't hold appeal—just the two of them in here together, nothing else ever mattering.
She rolls towards Harry, pressing her face into his shoulder, and he automatically lifts his arm to make room for her to scoot up against his side.
"Hey," he says, voice low and rough with sleep.
They've been drowsing in and out the last long while, content to just let everything settle and not be so bloody dramatic for once.
"Hey," she says, snuggling closer, his skin warm against hers. And tempting.
She trails her hand across his chest, slow and exploratory. His stomach tightens under her touch, and then he's rolling towards her and kissing her. Ginny relaxes into the feel of it, his mouth warm and languid on hers, like maybe he'd also happily spend the rest of his life right here, doing this.
A sharp knock at the door has Harry jerking back away from her. They share looks of alarm, the delicate bubble around them bursting.
She imagines he's wondering the same thing she is. Who is it? Has Hermione returned? Is it Ron? She hadn't exactly told her parents where she'd disappeared to, but she doubts they would barge in like this. Right?
There's a second knock, and Harry slides out of bed. "Just a moment," he calls as he starts pulling clothes on haphazardly, uselessly smoothing a hand over his hair.
Ginny considers scrambling into her own clothing—if she can find them—only to remember. It doesn't matter who it is. Who knows. She belongs here. And she isn't going to be embarrassed by it. Not that she cherishes the idea of anyone seeing her naked exactly. She settles for pulling her wand and charming the drapes around the bed shut. Let whoever it is think what they like.
She hears Harry open the door, followed a moment later by a murmured conversation between him and Kreacher.
Ginny lets out a breath. Not an outside intrusion then. The damage is still done though—an unwelcome reminder of all the things that wait for them outside this room. Not helped by the look on Harry's face as he climbs back through the drapes.
"Lets just stay in here forever," Ginny says, falling back onto the sheets and draping her arm across her eyes.
She can feel Harry settle on the bed next to her, but not lying down or picking up where they left off, unfortunately. And still clothed too, she thinks petulantly.
"An owl came for you," he says.
"Me?" Ginny asks, lifting her arm just enough to peer up at him. Bloody efficient birds.
Harry nods. "Apparently it's been fluttering around outside." He holds up a letter, a burgundy wax seal on the back.
"Ballycastle," she says, dread flooding her stomach.
"Looks like it," he says, giving her a strange look like he can't understand why a letter from work would unsettle her. He waves it at her. "Gonna take it?"
She doesn't reach for it. "I suppose I never mentioned that I was sort of…suspended from the team."
"You were what?" Harry says, voice dangerous.
Ginny winces. "Two days before I came back to England."
Harry's hand tightens around the letter, the paper crinkling, even as he's clearly trying to speak calmly. "For what reason?"
"Apparently all my drama was causing too much of a distraction. Ginny Weasley the Dark Lord in the making and all that."
"Are they out of their fucking minds?" Harry bursts out, apparently abandoning any attempt to control his temper. "How could they possibly be idiotic enough to—"
Despite everything with her team still floating horribly in the air, Ginny can't help but be stupidly warmed by Harry's rage on her behalf, a smile spreading across her face.
"What?" he asks.
She rolls onto her side, propping her head up on her elbow. "You gonna write them an angry letter?"
His lips press together, arms folding over his chest. "Maybe. Can I?"
She shakes her head, sitting up and taking the letter from him. "Let's see what this is first, shall we? Then we can come up with an appropriate plan to curse their pants if it's needed." They'll handle it, she tells herself, whatever it is.
Harry's hand comes to rest on her knee as they sit facing each other. "If you say so."
She carefully pops the seal, folding open the letter. Inside, there's only a single line of text.
Your arse better be in the team house by match curfew tonight, or don't bother coming back.
Ginny lets out a breath, knowing this is the nicest thing her coach could do for her, bring her back into the fold as quickly as possible and with little fuss.
"What does it say?" Harry asks.
She hands it over to him.
He skims it. "Is that good?" he asks, sounding uncertain.
"Best I could hope for really. Coach isn't exactly the touchy-feely type. This is practically gushing."
"Well then," Harry says, "glad to see they've come to their senses, I suppose." He still looks angry though.
Ginny smiles, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "You're adorable."
"Watch it, or I'll write you an angry letter," he says, but his arm also sneaks around her waist, pulling her closer. "You're playing Tutshill at Exmoor tomorrow, right?"
Ginny nods. The rest of the team may have already arrived and settled into the team bunkhouse at the moor. Management likes to keep an eye on them all the night before—both to make sure no one fails to show up at the match and to ensure no sabotage of any kind. Which would seem paranoid if it weren't for a long history of key players disappearing for a few hours at the exact wrong time.
Groping for her wand to cast a quick time charm, she lets off a low curse when she realizes the hour. They've already whiled away more than half the day. If she's going to pack and, more importantly, face Antonia before curfew, she'll have to move quickly. "I have to go."
"Sure," Harry says, but she doesn't miss the way his hand tightens on her hip.
Dropping her wand back to the covers, she climbs up on his lap. "I would much rather stay here with you."
He nods, arms braced firmly across her back. "Just promise you aren't going to change your mind or anything while you're away."
She tells herself that he doesn't mean for that to hurt, but his words cut deep. "That isn't going to happen."
He gives her a wan smile. "Okay."
She hugs him tight, wrapping her legs around him, like she might be able to squeeze him into believing it. His hands slide down her bare back, and she shivers under his touch. Turning her face into his neck, she says, "Stop distracting me and help me find my clothes."
"Who exactly is being distracting in this scenario?" he asks, fingers brushing up her sides.
"I have no idea what you mean," she says, deliberately rolling her hips, rewarded with Harry letting out an unsteady breath.
Without warning, he flips their positions, pressing her back into the mattress, kissing her deeply.
Maybe, Ginny decides, there's no real reason to rush.
She eventually makes it into the shower and back into her clothes—hopelessly wrinkled from all that time spent wadded up on Harry's floor, enough that no simple charm completely erases the rumpled look of them. A nice clear signal that they are yesterday's clothes.
There isn't time to go back to the Burrow first and change, so she'll just have to deal with it. The delay was still worth it.
Harry walks her down to the entryway, having grown quieter and quieter as she prepared to leave.
Out on the stoop, she touches his shoulder and he pulls her into a hug.
"After the match tomorrow," she starts to say, hoping that having set plans may make this all easier.
"You'll come back here," he says immediately.
She leans back to look at him, knowing he's not just asking for a visit, but for her to stay over again. "Yeah?"
"Yes," he says, his arms tight around her. "I mean, if you want."
"I do," she says. "And then on Sunday, we'll go to the Burrow."
Harry's eyes widen, but he nods in agreement. "That'll be fun."
"Yeah," she says. "Keep telling yourself that."
Lifting up to kiss him, she concentrates on not getting sucked in by him again, no matter how much Harry clearly doesn't want her to leave, how difficult—knowingly or not—he's making it for her to go.
She forces herself to pull back. "I love you," she says.
With a step, she Apparates away.
It's only as Ginny is walking down Knockturn Alley that she realizes she never found her cloak. It isn't cold, exactly, but she feels strangely exposed without it. Or maybe that's just how weird it feels to be out in the world again after spending the last day tucked away with Harry. Fortunately there aren't too many people about, the few who are not showing her any interest.
When she gets to the bookstore, Antonia is with a customer. She briefly meets Ginny's gaze before looking away.
Not wanting to interrupt, Ginny moves further back in the stacks, breathing in the comforting smell of vellum as she reviews for the millionth time what she wants to say.
After a while the door groans closed, and Ginny listens for the sound of any additional customers. The shop is quiet. Making her way back to the front, she finds Antonia leaning over a ledger carefully inking in numbers.
"Hi," Ginny says.
Antonia lifts her head, giving her a polite smile. "Can I help you with something?"
Ginny sighs, not missing the way she's talking to her like she's a stranger. "Antonia."
The politeness on her face cracks, leaving something much worse. "What?"
It's a lot easier to think of Antonia as being above anything Ginny could possibly do or say to her, but it's clear that she's definitely hurt her with her thoughtless words. Ginny may not be intimidated—much—by her anymore, but she still finds everything she planned to say disappearing in the face of that hard truth.
"Well, then," Antonia says after the silence stretches on unbearably long. "I'm glad we've cleared that up." She moves towards the back of the shop.
Ginny has no idea where to even start, how to begin to apologize. "Thank you for coming to the inquest," she says. Despite everything, she had been there.
Antonia pauses, back still to her. "That inquest was a travesty. Anyone with half a brain could see that. You could have been a lot less reckless. Though I suppose I know where that influence comes from."
Despite herself, Ginny feels herself flushing like a schoolgirl.
"Now, if you don't mind," Antonia says, still brisk and cool, "I have things to attend to."
Ginny takes a step after her. "I don't even know who I would be if it weren't for you."
Antonia twists to look at her. "You'd be you ," she snaps. "Only less interesting."
"I'm sorry," Ginny says, knowing it can never really be enough. "It turns out I am just a scared little girl with no idea what she's doing."
Antonia is clearly unimpressed, giving her a look like she's yet again missing something obvious. "None of us do," she says, throwing her arms wide. "Welcome to the great lie known as adulthood."
Ginny lets out a weary huff of laughter. "Now you tell me."
They stand there regarding each other, a painful gulf between them, and Ginny is exhausted. So damn tired of feeling this way around the most important people in her life.
She takes a few determined steps closer to Antonia. "Look, you were right, what you said to me that day. Of course you were. I just…I wasn't ready to hear it. It's no excuse, I know. I just…"
Antonia shifts, at first as if to maybe walk away, but instead faces Ginny more squarely. "You just what?" Almost as if daring her to say what this is really about.
Ginny squeezes her eyes shut, thinking back to that lunch, back over the last few horrible months. Maybe it really is time to admit the truth.
They will never understand, that horrible voice whispers. But that is a lie, and she's finished letting it rule her life.
"When Harry was attacked last winter, when he almost died…I think, deep down, I already knew I loved him. And when I thought I might lose him…" Her jaw tightens, the panic still there, just under the surface. Right there with that hated, repulsive voice. "I completely fell apart."
Antonia's shoulders soften. "That's understandable."
"No, it's not," Ginny shoots back, taking a determined step forward. If there is anyone who should understand this, it's Antonia. "It was an unknown curse. They didn't know how to save him, if they even could. And I just sat there. I was completely useless. All my plans, every bit of training, every piece of information I ever collected—none of it meant anything. It was all gone in a moment. I could have contacted you. Reached out to Nymue. Anything. But I didn't." She stops, biting her lip against the swell of emotion in her throat. "He could have died. He could have died even though I could have done something. It would have been my fault."
"He didn't die," Antonia says, even though they both know that is far from the point.
"You were more right than you knew. I think that's why I was so angry. Because that day in the hospital was like glancing over the edge of a cliff and seeing a sheer fall onto rocks below. Just enough of a glimpse to know I would never be able to survive it. I almost walked away. Left him right there on his sickbed. I honestly considered it. But I couldn't even do that. I couldn't leave, but I wasn't sure I could stay anymore either."
"Which you kept from everyone," she says.
She nods. "Even from him."
"That's a lot to carry."
Ginny shrugs. "He eventually got better. And we went back to our lives. But it was different after that. I told myself I was giving him space, that I was focusing on my career. What I was really doing was pulling back. Stepping back from the edge of the cliff one tiny step at a time. Until I was far enough away that it only took one firm tug and that was it. Decision by attrition."
"You broke it off?" she asks.
Ginny nods.
"When?"
"Last Sunday."
She watches Antonia consider that, lining up all the events this week, putting the entire trial in context. "I'm sorry."
Ginny shakes her head. "It seems pushing people away has been the easy answer for me lately."
"What will you do?" Antonia asks.
Ginny sucks in a careful breath, her chin lifting. "I already did it. Last night."
"Did you?" Antonia says, looking wary.
Ginny gives her a grim smile. "I stopped moving away from the ledge. Instead I jumped off the bloody cliff."
Antonia's eyes widen.
"I know there's a good chance I'll smash open on the rocks below." Ginny shrugs. "Or maybe I won't. Either way, it doesn't matter."
"It doesn't?"
"No," Ginny says, feeling more certain of this than anything, the one truth she is building everything on now. "Because being with him is worth any consequence."
Antonia lifts a hand to her mouth, staring at Ginny as if she's begun speaking in tongues. "I'm honestly not sure if I should be horrified or awed."
Ginny lets out a breath. "You're the one who said I shouldn't try to control it."
"That's not quite the same as throwing all caution to the wind!" Antonia says. "I'd say you have far too much Gryffindor in you, but that seems in poor taste considering the situation."
Ginny gapes at her in shock. "Antonia," she says, scandalized.
And then, somehow, they are both laughing, absolutely cackling with mirth. They end up leaning against the counter next to each other.
Antonia valiantly tries to gain control of herself, wiping at her eyes, leaving a careless smudge of eyeliner that feels somehow like a crack in her armor.
"I really am so very sorry for how I treated you," Ginny says. "I feel like I'll never be done saying that."
"Just make sure you're apologizing for the right things."
"Meaning?"
"For your actions, not who you are. You should never apologize for that."
"That one might take some work," Ginny admits.
Antonia looks down at her hands. "You were right too. What you said that day."
Ginny frowns. "What?"
"I do like to give advice from on high." She flashes a brittle smile. "So much easier to tell other people what to do with their lives than deal with my own."
In that moment, it is clearer than it has ever been before that Antonia-for all Ginny has always held her up, admired her as a mentor with all the answers-is just as lost as any of them. It's a completely disorienting realization. But why? Because she's always supposed to know what she's doing? Is that was this has always been?
Turning, Ginny hugs her.
Antonia is a bit stiff in the embrace. "What are you doing?"
Ginny loosens her grip, giving space for her to pull away if she wants, but doesn't let go. "Something I learned from a Hufflepuff. This thing where we don't do any of this alone."
"You really are just the most appalling house traitor," Antonia accuses, even as her arms tentatively close around her.
"I try," Ginny says.
After a few moments, they both pull away with unspoken agreement.
"So," Antonia says, hand smoothing back over her hair. "Tea?"
Ginny nods. "Definitely tea."
When Ginny arrives at the Burrow, her luck somehow holds, because Molly is nowhere to be seen. Her dad still won't be back from work for another half hour or so. Meaning she's able to sneak back in her wrinkled clothes without being observed.
She pauses in the kitchen, looking at the stack of papers on the table. Scooping them up, she takes them into her room, dropping them on her bed. She skims the articles, eyes lingering on certain headlines.
POTTER SPEAKS OUT AGAINST WIZENGAMOT INQUEST
She reads what he is quoted as having said after the trial, feeling a swell of awe and horror and wonders if this is what Antonia meant. She's proud of him for saying what he clearly believes, but also wonders what the consequences will be. A resurgence of articles trashing him like there had been during the Great Trials the summer after the battle, maybe.
There are opinion pieces on either side of Harry's picture, one calling the entire thing a travesty of Harry using his celebrity to manipulate public opinion and Ginny getting away with things that should land her in Azkaban. But there's also another piece that focuses on the idea of what kind of future they want, one calling Harry a hero. As always, not much in between.
Lower down, another article asks: LEGALITY OF LEGILIMENCY?
Much smaller in the corner is a picture of Ginny, the inquisitor leaning into her, his face angry, hers frozen and dismissive as she turns to look at him.
FORMER STUDENT WALKS FREE AFTER REFUSING TO NAME CONSPIRATORS
Ginny rolls her eyes, supposing that is one version of what happened. There's been more than enough speculation around her personal character the last month that she doesn't really feel the need to read it. She knows what it likely says.
She flips through the rest, reaching the back before she realizes what is missing. There is no mention of their relationship. She supposes that happened late enough that it hadn't made the early editions. Something to look forward to this evening then.
Abandoning the papers, she changes into clean clothes, ones free of any telling wrinkles. She starts packing up her things. Under a stack of clean laundry on her bureau, she comes across a worn piece of parchment hastily shoved away, a faded set of runes running along one edge.
She picks it up, feeling an awful pressure in her throat—the last painful week spent in this room rushing back.
Setting it down, she pulls a quill and inkpot out of a drawer, sitting down in front of the parchment.
Harry? she writes.
She sits back and waits, reminding herself as the seconds tick by that it's very possible he destroyed the parchment. Or tucked it away somewhere out of sight. It would be understandable. Even if he didn't, he's hardly sitting around staring at it.
The minutes stretch longer and longer.
Only then his words start to appear, one letter at a time, and she's embarrassed by needing to blink her eyes a few times to clear her vision, to read his words.
Hey. How did things with Antonia go?
She takes a breath, inking her quill. As well as can be expected.
Good, he writes. And your parents?
Haven't seen them yet. Managed to avoid the walk of shame at least.
Small favors.
She laughs, able to so perfectly imagine his tone and expression. I've just been packing and reading the paper.
Ugh. I don't want to know.
Well, they've got a really nice picture of you at least. I think I'll clip that one and keep it.
Excellent. Already turned into dartboard targets all over the Ministry I'm sure.
So he's aware that he probably took a giant kick at a pixie nest. She's not sure if that's comforting or not. What you said, she starts to write.
I know, he writes before she can finish. Probably not the smartest. Hermione tells me it was important, but I was honestly just too angry not to say what I really thought.
I was only going to say thank you. For what you did.
Well. It's like you said, isn't it? Someone comes after you, they're coming after me too. I wasn't going to let the Wizengamot get away with that.
She smiles down at the parchment. That, too. Though I more meant pulling the press off me.
Oh. Now that was heroic. You owe me for that selfless act.
Got anything particular in mind?
She imagines him, all flustered and intrigued at once and wishes he were here right now with an urgency verging on pain.
I'll tell you all about it when you get here tomorrow.
Deal.
Ginny lifts her head, hearing the sound of the Floo downstairs, followed by the sound of pots moving. Mum's arrived. Time to face the music, I suppose.
Do you want me there?
Yes, of course I do. But this is one awkward dinner I should probably face on my own. I need to leave soon anyway, so there's that.
If you're sure.
Don't worry. I'm sure you'll pay your dues on Sunday.
Great.
She plans to write 'see you tomorrow', but changes her mind. I'll write again before I go to sleep. Okay?
Yeah, he immediately agrees. Good luck.
She makes to get up, only to pause. Harry?
Yeah?
I'm glad you kept the parchment.
Yeah, he writes. Me too.
Tossing the last of her things in her bag, she shoulders it and goes down to the kitchen.
"Ginny," Molly says, pausing as she carefully looks her over, eyes lingering on her bag. "You're going?"
Ginny nods. "Got a letter from the Bats. Coach wants me back with the team."
"That's wonderful, dear. Do you have time to eat?"
"Sure. Thanks."
Her dad arrives home soon after, pulling her into a hug. "Did you forget to send us a message?" he asks, voice more worried than stern.
Ginny winces. "Sorry. Things have been a little crazy." She glances at Molly, surprised that she didn't get on her case for that.
Molly just smiles. "You're an adult, dear. We trust you."
Since when exactly? Ginny wonders, but doesn't dare say.
Glancing at her dad, she can see that his lips are pressed together, and Ginny suspects this is not something they have discussed, or necessarily agreed on. She decides she has no interest in stirring the cauldron by trying to figure out what the hell has gotten into her mum.
"Set the table, Ginny, will you?" Molly says, turning back to the cooktop.
Ginny nods, settling into the familiar chore.
Dinner is filled with the usual chatter. Her parents talk about their days, but don't ask about Ginny's. It's not that she expects an inquisition—well, to be honest, she actually did expect one—but this lack of interest is almost stifling.
Maybe she should have let Harry come. Then they might at least address the dragon in the room.
Ginny eventually sighs, putting her fork down. "Mum, Dad, I'd like to bring someone to Sunday dinner."
They look at each other with clearly feigned surprise. "Oh, really?" Molly asks. "A special friend?"
Ginny rolls her eyes. "Yes. A special friend."
"How lovely," Molly says brightly, turning to Arthur. "Isn't that lovely?"
Her dad doesn't look like he particularly agrees. "You'd better bring them by early so we can talk uninterrupted."
Oh, boy. Harry is going to love that.
"Okay," Ginny says, glancing at the clock and getting up from the table. She picks up her bag. "Then I'll see you Sunday."
She expects to get grilled over that—and where are you staying Saturday night?— but Molly just smiles.
With a shake of her head, Ginny gives up entirely on understanding her parents.
After Ginny leaves, Harry finds himself at a bit of a loss. There isn't much point in going to work. If he actually still has a job at this point. But that's something to worry about some other day. Like maybe next week.
He looks around his room, noticing how empty it feels now when it had been warm and cozy before. It's still a bit of a disaster though, so he distracts himself by picking up. Putting things away in his closet, he comes across the mess of files and pictures and newspaper clippings mounded on the floor. The box he carelessly flung them into earlier in the week seems to have lost its transfiguration.
Blowing out a breath, he squats down, picking up the first wad of papers. One of the scribbled notes in Ron's handwriting catches his attention, and he squints down at it, reading through it before picking up another. He doesn't get very far cleaning, unexpectedly sucked back into the mystery of how the hell Rowle got his hands on the lantern. He should check if any of the other items from the raid on the vault disappeared as well.
He's so engrossed that it takes a long time for the soft buzzing sound to register. He almost ignores it until he realizes exactly what it is. Scrambling to his feet, he tears through his drawer, shoving aside socks and pants to find the parchment he'd shoved out of sight during one of his lowest moments.
Harry? it says in Ginny's writing—the one thing he would have done anything to see this week.
Hey , he writes, nearly dizzy with the rush of relief he feels to hear from her.
They chat a while, Harry dreading the end of the conversation and stupidly relieved to hear her say she'll write again later tonight. He knows he's being ridiculous, that he'll see her tomorrow. That everything is fine. It's all just harder to believe when she's not here. To remember that it was all just a mistake, a misunderstanding.
Turning back to the closet, he looks down at the mess of papers. It's tempting to use it to pass the hours. But isn't that what he'd done these last few months? Stuck his head in a file and missed everything important happening around him? Missed Ginny struggling and wanting more?
He isn't bloody missing anything else.
Glancing up at the top shelf, he pulls down the suitcase he'd bought for Australia after Hermione convinced them that giant trunks were not exactly traveling incognito in the Muggle world. Not to mention how troublesome trunks are to move about without charms.
Scooping up the papers and books and clippings, Harry dumps them all in the suitcase. It fills nearly to the brim. He flips the lid shut, zipping it up and hefting the case back onto the shelf. Safely away.
He spends the rest of the evening picking up his room, giving his bathroom a thorough scrub for good measure as he tries not to wonder if Hermione and Ron will ever come back. Last, he carries the remains of the breakfast tray down, only to realize he has inadvertently offended Kreacher yet again by undertaking this simple chore. In penance, Harry lets him make him dinner.
After, he tries to listen to the wireless, only to get annoyed by the various bits of 'news coverage', finally retreating upstairs. After a quick bedtime chat with Ginny, he finally dozes off, still rather sleep deprived despite barely leaving his room in the last 24 hours.
Harry wakes in the morning to an empty bed and a beat of panic before he remembers. Rolling over, his hand lands on the parchment resting by the side of his bed.
Ginny's written. I'm off to the mess. Missed you this morning.
Smiling to himself, he jots off a quick message in response and then drags himself out of bed. He washes up and gets dressed, not sure what he'll do to fill his day. Maybe go visit Teddy.
Only on his way down to the kitchen, he can hear voices.
"Hey," Harry says, hesitating in the doorway—at once relieved and nervous to see Ron and Hermione sitting at the table. They must have come back sometime in the night.
"Morning, Harry," Hermione says, smiling at him.
Ron barely glances at him. "Mum said Ginny went back to her team."
"Uh, yeah," Harry says, finding it strange to speak so openly about her. "Yesterday."
He nods. "We figured it was safe to come back then."
Harry blinks, not certain if that is a jab at the sorts of things he and Ginny might have been up to or not, but in hopes of maintaining peace, doesn't ask.
"How are you?" Hermione asks.
"Good," Harry says, crossing over to make himself some breakfast. Feeling a vibration in his pocket, he pulls out the parchment he tucked there. Setting it on the counter, he looks down at Ginny's words.
I'm off to face the gauntlet. Wish me luck!
He smiles, putting toast on his plate.
"You're kidding me," Ron says, having gotten up to pull the kettle off the stove.
Harry looks up at him, his hand hovering protectively over the parchment. "What?"
"Is that what that bloody thing has been all along? Ginny?"
"Er, yeah," Harry says, hastily reaching out and rolling it back up. "She had them made for my birthday. So we wouldn't have to mess about with owls."
An uncomfortable silence falls over the kitchen, whatever hope Harry had of things just miraculously being okay evaporating the longer Ron scowls down at his plate. Apparently he'd been content to be supportive of Harry in his misery, but now all bets are off.
Harry sits at the table across from them, despite finding his appetite rather dampened.
"As much as I don't want to know anything about this—no, sod that," Ron says, shoving his plate back, arms crossing over his chest. "We deserve some sort of explanation, don't you think?"
"What I think Ron means," Hermione rushes to say, voice placating as though hoping to avoid a fight, "is we'd like to know about you and Ginny, if you want to share. When it happened. How."
"Trying to win the betting pool?" Harry shoots back before he can stop himself.
Ron doesn't even crack a smile.
"Right," Harry says. "What do you want to know?"
"Maybe you could just start at the beginning," Hermione says.
Harry lets out a breath. "Look, at first I honestly didn't know what it was. What I was…feeling. I've never been that great at this stuff."
Ron lets out a very unsubtle snort. In the hopes that their friendship might somehow be salvaged, Harry keeps himself from pointing out that Ron was hardly any better at girl stuff.
"Once I figured out what it was, I just…" He shakes his head. "Feeling that way about her, right as we were about to leave, it didn't seem right."
"Leaving for Australia?" Hermione asks.
Harry shifts in his seat. "No."
"The bloody horcruxes," Ron nearly growls, like he can't believe that.
Harry squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I kissed her, a few days before Bill and Fleur's wedding. But then we left and everything happened and when we got back things were just so complicated and then we went to Australia."
"Where you dated Cass," Ron says, arms crossing over his chest, clearly belligerent on his sister's behalf.
"Not really," Harry tries to defend. But he also remembers with an itchy sort of embarrassment their one drunken kiss. Or two, technically. He drags a hand through his hair. "Okay, yeah, I guess. Ginny told me not to, you know, wait for her. And it seemed a good strategy to get you two to stop stressing over me."
"Is that why you were so upset with me?" Hermione says, sounding hurt. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Harry throws his hands up. "What was I supposed to say? I have a thing for Ron's sister, but being around me makes her feel awful and I can't stop thinking about her but we aren't together even though I wish we could be and it's just a giant confusing mess?"
"Yeah," Ron says, "if that's what it was!"
Harry shakes his head. He'd barely understood what was happening himself, let alone been able to put it into words. He was also embarrassed. Or maybe even worried already what Ron's reaction might be. Behold how right he'd been.
"Obviously you figured it out eventually," Ron says.
"It's why I came back early." He gestures at the parchment. "We'd been writing and I wanted to see…if there was any chance left that she might…feel the same way."
"Which she did," Hermione says, voice soft.
He can't help but smile, remembering that day. "Yeah. It was right before Easter. Everything finally seemed to work out. And she…" He clears his throat. "We decided to give it a go."
"Let me guess," Ron says. "The sodding end of March. You and your bizarro disappearing act for some bogus late night shift."
Hermione sighs, her lips curving into a misty smile. "It was your anniversary." She has a tendency to find everything terribly romantic these days.
"Yeah, I suppose," Harry says, rubbing at the back of his neck. With as many starts and stops as they've had, it's hard to know. Not to mention he'd very nearly missed it, he'd been so engrossed.
"Does she even know about Cass?" Ron asks—demands more like, as if he's looking out for his sister's honor.
"Of course," Harry defends. "We talked about it. It was in the bloody papers back here after all. Would have been hard to avoid."
"Oh no," Hermione says, looking miserable. "I'm so sorry!"
"You didn't know, Hermione," Harry says.
She shakes her head. "But maybe if I hadn't been so self-absorbed I would have noticed something was going on. Then maybe I wouldn't have—"
"You're not a bloody mind-reader, Hermione," Ron says. "And it's not our job to investigate our friends. Or try to figure out if they're lying to us."
Harry winces. "He's right."
Ron gives Harry an unimpressed looks as if to make it clear that agreeing with him isn't going to make this all go away. "You still didn't say anything after. It's been more than a year."
"I know. It just…it seemed to make sense to keep it quiet while we figured things out. While Ginny got her spot on the Bats. You know, without having to deal with the press or anything. And then it just got bigger and bigger and I had no idea how to get back out of it. The longer I didn't tell you, the more impossible it felt."
"So clearly the answer was to keep not saying anything," Ron says, pretty much abusing sarcasm at this point.
"We were planning to, that weekend that Rowle…and then everything went to hell. And I was weak and fucking useless. I couldn't keep her safe that way. I couldn't even keep me safe. I thought maybe once I figured out how Rowle…" He shakes his head. "I couldn't risk anything happening to her."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione says. "But everything is…okay now between you two, right?"
"Yeah," Harry says, glancing down at the parchment. I missed you this morning. "I think so." She'll be back in just a matter of hours, he reminds himself.
"Great," Ron says, pushing to his feet. "Excellent. That really clears things up. I have a shift. I'll listen to the match at the shop."
He kisses Hermione goodbye and disappears up the stairs.
Harry watches him go, slouching back in his seat.
"He just needs a little time," Hermione says.
Harry nods, ignoring the horrible coldness in his stomach. He deserves this. He did this. "Yeah. Sure." He looks at Hermione. "What about you? Why aren't you mad?"
She reaches over, covering his hand with hers. "I just want you to be happy, Harry. That's all I've ever wanted. For you to have the kind of relationship you deserve."
Something in her tone seems to be questioning whether or not he has that. "I do," he says. "I am."
She pats his hand, smiling at him, but he can't help but notice she doesn't look completely convinced.
"Oi, Dark Lord."
Ginny jerks awake as something soft impacts her chest. She surges up, hand pulling free from her pillow with a wand, swinging it around to find the source of the unexpected attack.
From the next bed, Mara, their backup Seeker, looks back at her with wide eyes. "Sorry. I just thought you wouldn't want to sleep through the match."
Ginny lowers her wand, relaxing back against her pillow. "No, I'm sorry," she says, annoyed that she's started her first day back by nearly hexing one of her bunkmates. She looks up at the ceiling, only for her attention to be caught by movement on the wall above her head. While she slept, someone has enlarged and pasted every newspaper clipping about her to the wall. Including some, she realizes, that are not real.
IS GINNY WEASLEY A SUCCUBUS?
'Woke up with her trying to sit on my face once,' an extremely handsome, exceptionally talented Beater reported.
"You arseholes," Ginny says with a laugh.
Across the room, Liam shrugs laconically. "I only told them the truth when they came to ask about you."
Ginny chucks the pillow at him.
"Is it just me or was it much more restful and peaceful while she was gone?" Liam asks before sending no less than half a dozen pillows back in her direction.
Mara lets out a shriek and then all bets are off, bedding flying in all directions.
The door slams open. "For fuck's sake, are you professionals or not?"
Everything flutters back to the floor, the three of them turning to look at their coach standing in the doorway.
"Morning, sir," Mara says, trying to give him a charming smile.
Coach ignores her, instead turning to Ginny. "So you came back."
"I did," she says. "Not quite as luxurious as Azkaban, but what's a girl to do?"
Her coach rolls his eyes, as always unimpressed with her cheek—but secretly amused, she suspects, which is why she keeps doing it. He peers over at the wall covered in clippings. "Well, fortunately for you, the owner is willing to overlook your less than stellar press so long as we can use your notoriety to get arses in the seats." He gives her a hard look. "You have a problem with that?"
Ginny never expected anything less. "It doesn't matter if I have a problem with it, only if I'll do it."
He shrugs. "True enough."
She stands. "Shall I go now?"
"Might as well eat first. But then through the front gates, if you please. Let the crowds have a nice long look. The press is waiting just inside."
She hoists a smile on her face. "Sounds like fun."
After breakfast in the mess, Ginny heads out of the house on the edge of the moor. It's thick with fog, some of it even natural, but most of it cast in order to shield the stadium from any Muggle eyes. Instead of heading through the player entrance, Ginny walks up the central path past the Appartition points and row of Floos. The most dedicated of fans are already arriving in steady streams.
She holds her head high as she walks past. There is definitely a rumble of reaction, various people pointing at her, a few photographers running up to take her picture. She supposes this is something she will have to get used to.
"Weasley!" one of the reporters calls out once she's made it inside the stadium and steps onto the field.
She crosses over to them, noting that the person calling her name is one of the sports writers she's pretty familiar with. She's not going to let that lull her into a false sense of security though.
"How does it feel to be back with the Bats?" he asks, leaning on the low fence like they're having a casual chat.
"Good," she says. "I'm very happy to be back with my team."
"You aren't upset about the suspension?"
She shakes her head. "The decision was based on what was best for my team. I understand that and I wouldn't want to distract from their training. Would I have rather been here? Yes, definitely. But that isn't on the Bats. That's on the British Ministry."
He lifts an eyebrow, perhaps to have her come out swinging at the Ministry. "Do you have anything to say about the inquest?"
She brushes her hair back over her shoulder, the gesture deliberately dismissive. "Only that it's already taken up far more of my time than it's worth."
"What do you think about what Harry Potter did?" another reporter asks.
Here we go, she thinks. "I think Harry spoke for himself clearly enough."
"And do you agree with him?"
"I do."
"Why you?" a woman on the end breaks in.
"Excuse me?" Ginny says, turning to look at her.
"Why do you think Harry Potter decided to appear at your inquest?"
"It wasn't about me. It could have been anyone." The last thing they need is Harry's very valid point getting dismissed because of their relationship.
"But you're his best mate's little sister. And he's practically a defacto member of your family, isn't he?"
Having braced herself for 'you're his girlfriend', she tries not to let her surprise show when it doesn't come. "Harry has always been close with my family, that's true. But he's proven more than enough times that he's willing to put the good of the community above his own feelings. Even his own life. Don't you think?"
The reporter shuts up after that. There are few things that make people more uncomfortable than making it sound like they don't appreciate The Chosen One's great feats. Ginny supposes all that rot should be good for something.
"Anyone have any more questions?" she asks.
"Do you think you deserve to be punished?"
The question doesn't come from the reporter area, but from behind her. She turns, finding a young man in Bats gear regarding her from behind another fence.
"Excuse me?" Ginny asks.
He looks thoughtful, hands clenched around a Bats flag. "Despite what Harry Potter did, it's clear that bad things happened at Hogwarts. That you did things that aren't legal. Do you think you deserve to be punished?" He isn't antagonistic, he just honestly seems curious.
Ginny takes a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I think…it's not always about what we deserve. Maybe sometimes it's about doing better in the future and not getting stuck in the past." She takes a breath, straightening her shoulders. "And for now, the future is watching my squad kick Tutshill's arse."
A few of the reporters laugh. "Can we quote you on that?"
She gives them a brazen smile. "You bet you can."
Harry shifts in his seat, glancing over at the clock, noting that yet another ten minutes have passed.
The Bats' match had been short by professional standards, Burne getting the Snitch after only ninety minutes of play. But it's been four hours now since the match ended. There's probably a team meeting and even a celebratory pint, he tells himself. Not to mention things like changing and showering, though Ginny herself hadn't actually played so…
He looks at the clock again. Four hours and six minutes.
"Alright, Harry?" Hermione asks.
"Of course," he says gruffly, forcing his attention back on the book open in his lap and promising himself not to look at the clock again. He hasn't managed much more than a page in the last half hour of staring at it. It's just not that interesting, he tells himself.
The front door opens and closes with an audible bang. Harry straightens abruptly, nearly dumping his book to the floor. It could be Ron, he tells himself.
"Hello!" Ginny calls, appearing in the doorway a moment later.
"Hey," Harry says casually, as if his heart isn't being a little bastard and thumping away traitorously. She said she would come back, and it's ridiculous to worry otherwise.
His attempt at casual must not fool Ginny, because after a cursory glance at Hermione, she crosses directly over to him, plopping down next to him so her entire body is pressed up next to his.
"Hi," she says again, stretching up to kiss him.
He's very aware of Hermione in the room, but that concern seems to evaporate with the touch of her lips, Harry finding himself catching Ginny's elbow and kissing her back with probably too much enthusiasm.
Her face is a bit pink when he finally manages to force himself to pull back. "Miss me?" she asks, expression mischievous.
"What gave you that idea?" he asks, the epitome of cool.
Really.
Her lips twitch and she settles back against his side like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Hi, Hermione."
"Hello," she says, voice a bit frosty. But if she's going to be in a tizzy because of one measly kiss after all the things he's been subjected to by her and Ron, she has another think coming.
"Great match," Harry says, nudging her arm.
"Yeah," Ginny says, her nose scrunching up. "I was thankful I didn't have to eat my fighting words."
"The interview was a good idea," Hermione concedes, gesturing at the evening editions spread all over the coffee table.
Ginny pulls a face. "Coach made me."
"Did he?" Harry asks.
She shrugs. "Let's just say he made it clear that my future at the Bats would be improved greatly by doing it."
Harry frowns, still more than a little angry at the way Ginny's team has been treating her.
She touches his arm. "It's fine. No need to write any letters."
"I'm not making any promises," he grumbles.
She grins at him before turning her attention to the stack of papers. "Anything new in the evening editions I need to know about?"
"Like what?" Harry asks, not having read them himself. He doesn't need any more reasons to be annoyed or angry.
Ginny gives him a look he can't quite read, and then turns to Hermione. Something seems to pass between them.
"No," Hermione says.
"Weird," Ginny says.
"What's weird?" Harry asks, not particularly liking to be left out of this little back and forth.
Ginny shrugs. "I'm just surprised there hasn't been anything about us yet."
"Oh," he says, realizing she means their relationship. "Maybe they just don't care."
Ginny shoots him a disbelieving look. "Since when?"
He's reminded of all the speculative articles about basically every witch he's ever been seen talking to.
"Don't you think it's weird?" she asks, turning to Hermione.
Hermione makes a vague sound, not looking up at them, her book apparently really interesting. "Maybe they've finally realized there are more important things to concern ourselves with."
Ginny lets out a derisive huff. "Not likely. But I suppose I'll enjoy it while it lasts."
Harry realizes with a jolt what she means. How much people may hound her once it's common knowledge, and god, that is going to be—
Ginny nudges him, wrenching him out of his thoughts. "Hey."
He looks at her.
"I can handle it," she says. "Whatever it is. Okay?"
He wants to say that shouldn't have to, but the look she's giving him makes him bite it back. "Sure," he says.
She slips her hand into his, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. "No Ron?"
"He's at the shop," Hermione says quickly, shooting Harry a worried glance.
"Oh," Ginny says, tilting her head up to look at him in question.
"He was here this morning." He lifts his shoulder in a little shrug, pretty sure it's apparent enough that things with Ron hadn't gone all that well.
Ginny's hand tightens around his. "Do you need me to punch him?"
Harry lets out a low laugh. "What is it with Weasleys and punching people?"
"Only people who deserve it." She frowns. "Wait. Ron didn't actually punch you, did he? Because forget punching, I will hex him to hell and back if he did. I told him—"
"No one punched anyone," Hermione says, voice nearly shrill. She is not enjoying finding herself between Ron and Harry. Never has really. It painfully reminds him of fourth year, or even worse, those weeks in the tent. "Right?"
"Right," Harry says. "Though not from lack of interest, I imagine."
Ginny sighs. "I'm sorry."
Harry shakes his head, wanting to wrap his arm around her, to pull her closer. It's not like it's her fault. Harry played his part in this too.
"He'll come around," she says.
"Sure," he says, even though he's not sure he completely believes it.
"By the way," Hermione says, voice brisk and managing in that way Harry's quite familiar with. She holds up Ginny's green cloak with no small amount of disapproval. "I found this with my things this morning. Kreacher must have thought it was mine."
"Oh, thanks. I was wondering where that had gotten too." She glances at Harry, eyes bright with mischief, or maybe just the memory of how she'd lost it in the first place. "How careless of me, leaving my things about all willy-nilly. Now all I'm missing is my—"
"Ginny," Harry cuts across her, very certain she's about to say something like 'knickers'.
She gives him a wide grin, leaning into him. "Merlin, this is going to be so much more fun, making you blush all the time."
"I am not blushing," he insists.
"Must just be warm in here then," Ginny says.
Harry quickly changes the subject to Quidditch. Fortunately Ginny is more than happy to comply, the two of them analyzing the match, debating various calls and plays. Hermione is predictably content to stick her face back in her book rather than be bored by Quidditch talk.
Not that Harry is paying Hermione much attention, Ginny getting more and more animated as she crosses her legs under her, leaning into him and gesturing emphatically as she makes her point. Harry finds himself arguing the other side just to see the way her eyes light up as she sets about proving how wrong he is. And possibly it is a little warm in here after all.
Eventually it becomes obvious what he's doing, her eyes narrowing. "You are deliberately provoking me."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, trying to bite back a grin. "I just happen to be right."
She pins him with a gaze that has him shifting in his seat. "I don't even have time to explain how wrong you are," she says.
Unable to help himself, he reaches out, thumb absently trailing along her neck. "Likely story."
Her eyes flash, but he's pretty sure that isn't annoyance. She presses closer, her hand tracing up his thigh, his pulse jumping in response. "Well for you, I might be willing to make time."
Harry swallows against the sudden dryness in his mouth, thinking of all the ways they could use that promised time.
Hermione very unsubtly clears her throat as if to remind them that she is still here. Harry can't help but jump, almost automatically pulling away from Ginny, but her hand latches on to him, holding him close, not giving a single inch.
Considering how long they managed to keep things under wraps, it strikes Harry as a bit ridiculous how quickly they've forgotten themselves. But to judge from the look in Ginny's eyes, maybe that's a good thing.
Only then she lifts her arms above her head in an exaggerated stretch, her shirt lifting to show a generous glimpse of skin. It is so completely unsubtle that it's obvious she's doing it on purpose.
"I don't know about you lot," Ginny says, letting her arms drop back down, "but I'm exhausted."
"Yes," Hermione says, voice wry. "I imagine sitting on a bench and watching a Quidditch match is quite exhausting."
Ginny's smile only widens. "Yes, well, I'm still recovering from Thursday night, I suppose."
"For Merlin's sake, Ginny," Harry mutters as Hermione lets out a snort.
Ginny gives him an innocent look. "Why, Harry, I was talking about the pub party running late. What did you think I meant?"
They regard each other, Harry trying to look stern and not hopelessly turned on, but Ginny is only seeming more encouraged. He wonders if she's always like this after a match. He's really looking forward to finding out.
"Right," he says, getting to his feet. Grabbing Ginny's hands, he pulls her to her feet and pushes her towards the door. "I think I've had enough humiliation for one night."
"How disappointing," Ginny comments as they walk out the door. "Night, Hermione!"
"Privacy charms!" she yells after them.
Ginny laughs, clearly not even a little embarrassed. The moment they are out of sight, it's completely beyond Harry not to pull her around and back her up against the wall at the foot of the stairs. He braces his hands on either side of her shoulders—not touching any part of her, a small sliver of space between their bodies.
"Something wrong?" she tries to play off as he continues to glare down at her.
"You're a menace, you know that?" he says, trying to be exasperated, but failing spectacularly.
"Your menace," she corrects, something fierce and blazing in her expression.
Fuck, they still aren't even touching, but Harry feels like his body is on fire, and how is that fair?
"By the way," she says, fingers trailing down the buttons of his shirt. "If this is your idea of punishment, it isn't much of a deterrent."
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," he mutters before leaning in and kissing her, feeling her arms loop around his neck as she pulls her body flush against his.
"You two had better not still be in the hallway," Hermione yells from the next room.
They pull apart from each other, both clearly having forgotten Hermione.
With a grin, Ginny ducks under his arm and darts up the stairs, her laughter trailing behind her. Harry doesn't waste any time chasing after her.
Ginny wakes from a very pleasant dream, legs restlessly pressing together and a warm burn low in her belly. Reluctantly opening her eyes, she takes in the dim interior of Harry's room. It's very quiet, the kind of pressing silence that comes with early morning hours. In fact, the only thing she can hear is the uneven rush of Harry's breathing from behind her.
His hand is on her thigh above her knee, arm lying tense against her hip. It takes her a moment to realize that this is what has woken her. She shifts back towards him, wondering if he's had another nightmare. He's much closer than she expects, curled up behind her with only a small space between them. Harry's breathing hitches as her hip brushes back against what is a very alert part of his anatomy.
Perhaps something other than a nightmare then. Ginny's own dream rushes back in tantalizing flashes and without thinking, she presses further back, fitting her bum firmly against him.
Harry goes very still, a muffled sound low in his throat, the particular one Ginny has grown very familiar with. He doesn't do anything else though, his body still tense behind hers as if trying to hold himself back. Maybe thinking she's still asleep and trying not to wake her, and that's as sweet as it is tantalizing.
Rather than immediately rolling over to disabuse him of the notion, she keeps her body soft and relaxed, her breathing even as if in sleep. She focuses on sinking back into the lingering sensations from her dream. She's lost the particulars, but knows it centered on him. They always do. She allows herself to enjoy being here with him, to savor the anticipation as she considers how much she can get away with before he realizes she's awake.
She waits an excruciatingly long time before making a sleepy sound. Stretching her arm up above her head, she lets the sheet slip down her side. Her skin prickles in the cool air of the room—a stark contrast the heat building between their closely nestled bodies. She likes to imagine the sensation sliding down her back is Harry's eyes on her, that he's struggling to stay quiet as his hand traitorously flexes on her thigh like he wants nothing more than to pull her even closer.
What she doesn't have to imagine is what this is doing to him, her own resolve to draw this out as long as possible beginning to splinter when he shifts against her. Only far too soon he's stopping with a muffled curse, maybe realizing what he's doing only after the fact.
Staring at the clock, Ginny lets three entire minutes drag by before she gives him another little push. Restlessly moving, she slides her leg along the top of his. She planned to stop there, to draw this out even longer, but instead she arches her lower back until they are pressed very intimately together.
"Christ, Ginny," he says, barely a breath in the dark. "You'd better be awake."
"More pleasantly awake by the moment," she says, pushing back against him.
He lets out a breath, his chest pressing fully against the length of her back as he rolls into her, eliminating any last gap. "Thank god."
She smiles into her pillow. "You were just going to suffer in silence?"
"Didn't want to be a bother," he mumbles, arm wrapping across her stomach, his hand tucking under her hip, holding her tight.
She licks her lips, hooking her leg back over his, just wanting him closer. She's rewarded when he rocks against her and this time doesn't stop. "I could stand to be a lot more bothered by you."
"I'll see what I can do," he says, breath warm on her neck.
She tilts her head, sucking in a breath as his lips brush against her throat, sending goosebumps cascading down her arms. "You'd better," she says, which would probably sound like much more of a challenge if her voice weren't so unsteady.
His mouth opens, tongue warm and slick on her skin as he marks a tantalizing path down her neck, his hand skimming up over her stomach. Her eyes close as the rough pad of his thumb drags across her breast, as he so effortlessly rekindles the relentless ache in her body.
Lying as they are, she can't do much more than roll into his touch in encouragement, but she finds she doesn't mind that at all. It's startlingly easy to just give herself over to him, to lie here in a sleepy daze as he deftly, steadily turns her into a quivering mess.
"Harry," she breathes as his fingers slide between her legs, deft and patient. She presses back, so ready for him, not needing him to draw it out.
His hand trails down her thigh to her knee, lifting her leg slightly. "Yeah?" he asks, voice rough.
"Please," she says, arching her back. Fortunately he doesn't make her ask again, just as ready as she is because he's pushing inside of her, slow and gradual, content to take his time. Ginny revels in the slow drag between their bodies as he pulls back.
It's an exquisite sort of torture, so quiet and yet so completely, thunderously intimate, his movements unhurried and methodical in the dark of the room, the whole world distant and unimportant. She turns her head, trying to find Harry's mouth, his lips brushing her jaw. She squeezes her muscles, tightening around him, rocking back hard, and his mouth is finally on hers, the kiss messy and off center. She pulls his lower lip between her teeth, nipping at it, and his hips jerk hard, a moan spilling out of his lips as his smooth, patient pace stutters. He half rolls her forward for better leverage, his breathing a loud rush against her ear as his thigh brackets hers.
He nearly pulls all the way out, the angle changing as he slides back in and Ginny can't hold the cry back, unprepared for the sudden spike of heat and pressure. "God, yes," she gasps. "Right there."
Harry pulls back, adjusting until he finds that perfect spot again, settling into shallow, steady thrusts with an endless patience she would have said was beyond him.
"Fuck," Ginny says, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her face into the mattress. He doesn't have to ask if he's got it, because she starts making noises she should probably be embarrassed about, but can't bring herself to care so long as he doesn't ever stop.
She thinks she says that to him, don't stop, don't stop, don't you dare stop, and he very obediently follows instructions, somehow maintaining the smooth and patient rhythm no matter how rough his breathing becomes, how much his fingers restlessly tighten and release as he struggles to hold on.
It just builds and builds and builds endlessly. Ginny's certain she can't possibly feel more, that this cresting inescapable pressure has to give way, but it just keep on and on, hovering right there on the edge, and fuck, she can't—she can't possibly—
The angle changes just the slightest amount and she's coming blindingly hard, shouting as she clenches around him, the sensation echoing fiercely through her body and refusing to fade.
Harry hasn't stopped moving, face lowered to her shoulder. He lets out a curse, the sound a low rumble against her hypersensitive skin, her entire body shuddering in reaction. "Ginny, I—" he says roughly, hand nearly shaking where it grips her waist, tugging slightly as if in question.
"God, yes," she says. "Yes."
Pulling at her hips, he lifts them up as he shifts to his knees and then he's plunging inside her, so very, very fucking deep. She stretches her hands out, gripping the sheets, meeting him eagerly as he finally lets go, meticulous control and measured pace disappearing entirely.
Harry is the one talking now, grunting her name as his fingers dig almost painfully into her hips, sending new ripples of pleasure up her spine, and god it feels amazing. How can it feel even more amazing? How can she feel anything after that? But feel it, she does, the slowly coiling pressure and tension.
He moves a hand around between her legs—erratic, impatient circles that are somehow everything and there is no way she's going to—
She feels like she must be absolutely wailing, but she can still hear Harry talking to her in a steady, low voice, telling her what he needs her to do—get there, get there, you feel so good—and she's a shuddering mess, letting go of controlling anything at all, giving herself over to him wholly as he somehow gets her there again, something completely different but no less potent. Every muscle in her body contracts and then Harry is toppling right over the edge with her. There's nothing but this, nothing but them and this connection and the sheer, complete, body-weakening release.
He collapses forward, his body a heavy warmth blanketing hers. She's completely boneless and floating and adrift and yet so firmly surrounded by him.
She doesn't know how long they lie there insensibly, both of them breathing heavily as gravity gradually returns.
He nuzzles the back of her neck. "Alright?" he mumbles.
She tries to lift her arm and give him a reassuring pat, but it's completely beyond her. "So very much more than alright," she says. "You?"
"I may never walk again, but that seems a small enough price to pay."
She huffs, thinking that she probably couldn't stand right now herself. "I really hope those privacy charms are still working." She's never been that much of a screamer before.
Harry laughs, a puff of air against her skin that sends tingles down her spine. "Would have taken a pretty impressive charm to make a difference."
She tries to swat at him, her cheeks blazing. "You're one to talk."
He pulls back, the cold air a shock against her skin, but it lasts barely a moment, Harry pressing close the moment she's rolled onto her back. He kisses her, deep and languorous, and she revels in the feel of his mouth, the sated relaxation of her body.
"I love you," she mumbles against his lips. "So bloody much."
His fingers tighten in her hair, breath releasing unsteadily. "Ginny," he whispers, voice painfully reverent, so much layered in the simple word.
They fall asleep tangled together.
It's quite early when Ginny hears Hermione pass by on the stairs, the privacy charms definitely a distant memory at this point.
Carefully untangling herself from Harry, she pulls on clothes—Harry's mostly—and takes a quick trip to the loo before going down to the kitchen.
Hermione looks up as she walks in, taking in her rumpled appearance with lifted eyebrows. "Well rested?" she asks with not a little asperity.
"Not particularly," Ginny says, refusing to be discomfited or judged, particularly since she knows that is not what this is really about.
Hermione gives her a prim look, turning back to tinkering around the kitchen.
Ginny sits down at the table and waits for Hermione to get situated, the morning paper spread out next to her. "So let's hear it."
"Hear what?" Hermione asks, not looking up at her.
Ginny presses her lips together. "Whatever it is you've been itching to say to me."
Hermione's cheeks are pink when she looks up. "What exactly do you want me to say? Do you want to hear all the gory details of how miserable he was? That he didn't leave his room for days? Or am I just supposed to threaten you if you hurt him again?"
Ginny looks down at the table, Hermione's anger not coming as a surprise. She expected that and a lot worse. Yet even this sparse glimpse into what those days might have been like for Harry opens up a deep well of self-loathing. Ginny spreads her hands across the tabletop, taking a careful breath. "Tell me that somehow, you managed to forgive Ron for leaving."
She dares to glance up at Hermione, finding her staring with her mouth slightly open. "That's hardly—how did you—I mean, that's not—" She pushes the papers around, flipping absently at the pages, and Ginny feels more guilt flare in stomach for even bringing this up.
Ginny leans closer. "Tell me that coming back can mean something. Anything."
When Hermione still doesn't say anything, even as minutes stretch on, Ginny bites back a sigh and shifts to her feet. She hasn't any right to probe further. She just needed to know. Needs every bit of information she can get her hands on.
"I'm sorry," she says, and moves towards the door.
"All you really can do is stay."
Ginny turns back. Hermione is still looking down at the table, hands clenched together.
"Just be there. And someday…someday he'll believe it." Hermione looks up. "Someday he'll stop expecting you to disappear again."
She holds Ginny's gaze, almost as if daring Ginny to pity her. Ginny thinks about that sapphire sparkling on her finger, the fact that someday very soon they will be sisters-in-law. The way they may not understand each other perfectly, how they grate up against each other at times—but then there are moments like this, where it feels like they are really seeing each other.
Ginny nods, her jaw tight. "Okay," she says.
Hermione nods briskly, everything sliding back under as she pulls the paper towards her.
Ginny gestures towards the staircase. "I'd better go back up. Don't want him to wake up and find me gone."
Hermione barely acknowledges her.
Her foot is on the first stair when Hermione says, "Ginny."
She stops, looking back at her.
Hermione is regarding her steadily. "We both know who Harry is and what he's been through."
Ginny feels that in her chest, a deep, brutal twist. She nods.
"So you get that it might be…rough for a while, right?"
Ginny lifts her chin. "I can survive that."
"Let's hope you can," Hermione says, and Ginny is fairly certain she's been dismissed, like maybe Hermione is holding her judgment on that.
Or maybe it's just a reminder that there's more than one kind of trust she's going to have to rebuild.
"Where'd you go?" Harry mumbles, cracking an eye open to watch Ginny strip down to her knickers and shirt.
"Just a little girl talk with Hermione," she says, sliding into bed.
He pulls her against him, settling back into the soft warmth of the bed, his eyes closing. "Do I want to know?"
He feels her lips press against his shoulder. "Probably not."
"Hmm," he says, running his fingers over her hair, appreciating the silky feel of it, only to wince when he gets caught in a tangle. "Sorry."
Ginny laughs, reaching up to free his hand. "Learning all my secrets now, I see. Including what a mess I am first thing in the morning."
He opens his eyes, peering down at her, taking in the tangled hair and her sleep-soft face. First-thing-in-the-morning Ginny is more than he ever could have hoped for. "Disappointed you aren't grumpier, to be honest."
She smiles. "Being a morning person's the final straw is it?"
"I can handle it," he says, tugging her closer. He's really looking forward to a few more hours dozing with her.
He's relaxing back into sleep, so content with Ginny warmly snuggled up against him. Only then her fingers start tapping on his chest, just enough of a steady rhythm that he assumes she has no idea she's doing it. Cracking open an eye, he looks down at her to find her frowning off into space.
"Gin?" he asks.
"What are we going to do?"
"What do you mean?" He was hoping to just lie here for a while longer until they got too hungry to avoid eating breakfast. Maybe convince her of the need to share a shower. For reasons. That's the extent of his plans.
She looks up at him. "When I go back to Ireland tonight."
And that reminder is a cold dose of reality he could have done without.
She isn't finished. "When you go back to work and I'm over there and traveling around with games… What are we going to do to make sure this doesn't happen again? That I don't see you once a month and only in the dark?"
"Well," Harry says, trying to pivot with this abrupt change in mood as best he can . "It won't be like that anymore, right? I mean, everyone knows and we won't have to hide it. Right?"
That should make things a hell of a lot easier.
"Yes. Of course," she says, not looking convinced. "But I just…"
"What?" he asks, feeling something unpleasant like alarm starting to build in his head. She's not having second thoughts, is she?
She blows out a breath. "I'm not willing to leave it to chance. It's too important." She looks up at him. "You're too important."
Harry stares back at her a moment, jaw tight and then he's rolling towards her, kissing her firmly, not able to stop himself even if he'd wanted to.
"Trying to avoid the conversation?" she asks when he's done thoroughly kissing her, catching her lower lip between her teeth.
He gives her a sheepish grin. "Sorry, no. I just…" Couldn't help himself, really. "So what exactly are you thinking?"
She sits up, expression intent and managing, and it's clear that she has been thinking about this a lot. Of course she has. "Got any parchment?"
He gestures at the bedside table.
Groping around the drawer, she pulls out a piece and charms it with a set of grids, creating a perfect calendar of the next three months. He's having flashbacks to Hermione and her bloody timetables, but doesn't dare say so. Besides, for obvious reasons, Ginny being managing is far sexier. Maybe because this time table will more than likely lead to sex. Or just because it's Ginny.
"So my parents bring me back to stay with them once a month with a portkey. We already have a lot of those arranged." She marks those dates in. "So clearly we'll be able to see each other then. And every time I'm already in England for a match." She frowns down at June. "Though there aren't very many left this season."
"I'll come out to you," Harry says, thinking that's easy enough to solve.
"Which?" she asks, waving her hand at the series of weeks.
"All of them."
"Harry," she says, clearly thinking that's ridiculous.
He's starting to feel a bit ridiculous, to be honest. "I suppose that wouldn't leave you with much free time, having me underfoot all the time."
Without warning, Ginny shifts, Harry letting out an 'oof' as she drops down on his chest. "I would gladly have you underfoot all the time, Harry. But I don't expect you to drop everything and spend every moment with me. That's not what I'm saying. You have a life here. You have friends here. Most of my friends are here."
"So we alternate," he says, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close. "I'll go out there, and you come out here. I'll get you another portkey once a month and then you'll be here every other week. And I'll portkey out to you the other weeks."
She gnaws on her lip, looking uncomfortable. "That's…a lot of money to spend."
International Portkey permits are easily ten times as expensive as International Floo tickets, but also far more convenient. To be honest, Harry is no more comfortable talking about money than Ginny seems to be, mostly because he remembers very clearly every single time the topic became something brittle between him and Ron. But Ginny's also right. It's not enough to assume not keeping this a secret is going to be enough to fix everything. And they bloody well are going to fix things.
"Look," he says, "I have the money. I think you should let me spend it on us if I want to."
She doesn't immediately blow up, which he takes as a victory, but she doesn't immediately agree either. She does sit back up, gazing down at the little grids as she clearly tries to work something out.
"How about this," she eventually says. "In addition to the weekend my parents bring me out, I come once a month here and you come to me once a month. We each pay for our own way by Floo. That's three visits a month without taking into consideration matches."
"Ginny," he presses.
She puts up her hand. " And you buy us one portkey permit a month. Only that one we don't plan. Leaves a little wiggle room for your spontaneous, reckless nature."
"Which I decide to use how?"
She shrugs. "Whenever we might need it. I don't know, one of us has a horrid day or we just miss each other or for no reason at all. Just…because."
He likes that idea very, very much.
"On one condition," he says.
"Yeah?" she says, looking little wary.
"No matter what, no matter how crazy things get, we never go more than two weeks without seeing each other. If we're in danger of breaking that, all restrictions are off the table." He'll crack open his entire bloody vault if he has to.
She smiles. "I can definitely live with that."
"Good," he says.
She holds her hand out as if to shake on it. "So, we have a deal?"
Instead of taking her hand, he grabs her wrist, tugging her back down against him. "I can think of another way I'd rather seal the deal."
She laughs, settling herself against him as he pulls her lips to his. Her mouth widens, deepening the kiss, clearly just as keen as he is, and, fuck, he needs to touch her with an urgency he should probably find alarming.
"If we keep this up," she teases, "we'll have to limit our visits to once a month or risk wearing you out entirely."
"Trust me," he says, hands sliding up under her shirt as he helps her pull it up over her head. "You aren't anywhere near wearing me out."
He thinks it should feel ridiculous, the way they can't keep their hands off each other, the way it seems like they haven't touched each other in weeks, when it's really only been hours. And a very, very thorough and satisfying exploration that had been too.
He catches a brief glimpse of her smile before she's ducking her head, running her lips across his shoulder, moving down over his chest, teeth nipping lightly. "Is that a challenge?"
"Just a fact," Harry somehow manages to focus enough to say, his hand sliding into her hair as she sets about melting his brain, her tongue warm and teasing.
"Well," she says, shimmying down in the bed, her hand brushing across his thigh, "we all know how well you rise to the occasion."
He laughs, only for the sound to get caught in his throat as her hand closes around him, her mouth trailing down over his stomach as she shifts even lower.
His last coherent thought is that for first-thing-in-the-morning Ginny, he would do pretty much anything.