AN: Ask was: Hey! could you make 11. "I don't feel welcome anymore." (From the Taylor Swift's prompts) Hinny?

"I don't feel welcome anymore."

The words cut through Ginny like Diffindo, causing an ache deep in her bones. Harry lingers in her bedroom doorway, delivering the words that end the two-hour-long argument that has been raging between them.

The new term at Hogwarts will begin in less than a fortnight, but Harry and Ron aren't coming. It'll be strange without them, and Harry is searching for a new place he can call home. He longs to go to Grimmauld Place, to brood with the spiders, and the ghost of Walburga Black. Or Godric's Hollow, with it's ruinous cottage, and bitter memories.

"Anywhere is better than here," he says, "without you to buffer the hurt of the war.

"It's... ever since the battle, your mum hasn't looked at me the same way. Your whole family blames me for the death of Fred. George has barely said three words to me."

He looks lost, identical to the small boy they found at King's Cross Station, lingering between platforms nine and ten. Tears streak over his cheek, then drip off the end of his chin, his glasses have clouded over, protecting Ginny from the anguish that flashes through his eyes.

"I'm worried that without you here, I'll be pushed away."

Pain tugs at her heart. Harry has always been a part of the Weasley family, ever since that day. She has, no, she needs to tell him how welcome he is here. Even when she's over five hundred miles away. Losing him would be like the death of another son for Mum and Dad.

Sliding off the edge of her bed, she takes a brave step towards him, determined to close the gap between them. Ginny doesn't even blink as he flinches. It's still hard for Harry, showing intimacy through touch. Those fucking Dursleys could have ruined his life.

"That's ridiculous. You know that, right?"

She reaches out, her face so close to his that she can feel his hot haggard breath against her cheek. It would be easy to press her lips against his straight away, but there are words that need saying first before she can give in to the passion of the fight. Instead, she reaches past him to push the door closed, flicking the lock with one practiced move.

"Everyone loves you. The whole family are going through their own shit right now. We have to allow them time to grieve. It's not always about you."

"Yeah, but—"

"We weren't fighting for you." It's too easy to anticipate what he'll say. Ginny knows Harry better than she does herself. She keeps her voice calm and steady, forcing the words of her mouth. "They were fighting for the whole Wizarding World. It's not about you!"

As she pulls away, she catches the glint in his stunning green eyes. Urgency, want and lust shine in them, eliciting a moan from her lips.

"I need you," Harry whispers.

She presses a soft, cautious kiss on his cheek, a small smile appearing on her face as Harry shudders. Pleased with the result, she moves her lips down, tracing his five o'clock shadow along the line of his jaw and to his chin. The stubble rasps under her mouth's caress, flooding her body with warmth.

Harry leans his head back against the door, baring his neck to his girlfriend. She skips over his lips and goes straight for the jugular, nipping and suckling at the thin skin drawn tight over his Adam's apple.

He murmurs her name as his hand slides into her hair, guiding her tender touch to all his favourite places. Usually, Ginny hates giving him dominance over her; Harry's long fingers tugging at her flame-red locks to provide him with pleasure. The last time she gave up her control to a man, she woke up in bed covered in blood and chicken feathers.

Just this once, she reasons, Harry deserves it.

Still, Ginny takes her time, scratching her teeth over his pale skin, moaning in frustration as she reaches the barrier at the neck of his t-shirt. She could remove it and continue her assault, but instead, she lifts her head and presses a hard kiss against his lips.

Love blossoms in her chest, and it's intensified when Harry's tongue licks at her bottom lip. She gives in to him, parting her mouth in an invitation to deepen the kisses. And he takes it eagerly, a passionate moan vibrating against her as his tongue strokes over the length of Ginny's, teasing her in at a painfully arousing pace.

As they kiss, her hands reach lower, pulling at the cords that tie his sweatpants to his too-skinny hips. It would have been easy to remove their clothing with magic, get it over and done with in a blink of an eye, but it's sexier to do it this way, drawing out the moment until they're both fit to burst.

Before she can fall too deeply into his kiss, Ginny pulls away, panting for breath. He looks so fucking sexy with his kiss-swollen lips and his round glasses knocked from their place on the bridge of his nose.

"Ginny, I—" he starts, but she presses a finger against his lips before pulling him to her bed. On the way, she loses her sundress, his t-shirt, her knickers, his glasses, their socks.

"You belong here," she whispers, "with me."

They collapse in a heap, Ginny fumbling with his bottoms as Harry presses heated kisses against her newly bared skin. They've done this before, of course, but there is still much to learn. Ginny is determined to enjoy the practice before they are torn apart at the end of August. Soon enough, they add his joggers and boxers with her underwear to the heap on the floor, and they are naked and entwined with each other. When they're like this, it's hard to tell where Harry stops and Ginny begins, their pale skin melting into one.

His lips seek out hers once more as his fingers claw into the meaty flesh of her hips, sending goosebumps all over her body.

But still, he has control, and that's not what this is about. Ginny wants Harry to feel needed, to shower him with love and adoration. She has to show him where home is, at least for her.

Without breaking the kiss, she flips them over, pressing Harry into the bed as she straddles him, pushing her wet heat against him. A sudden thought comes to her mind, and she tears her lips away from his, gasping for breath as she says, "Charms. Where's your wand?"

"Pocket," he manages, as he sits up to press a hot trail of kisses through the valley of her breasts.

It doesn't take long for her to locate the holly wood, and she performs all the usual spells on herself, him and the bedroom door before throwing it to the side.

"Can we?" she asks.

He's giving her all the right signs, but she has to make sure. The last thing she wants is Harry thinking she's taking advantage of his upset, even as his body says yes. She rocks her hips against him, groaning as the friction threatens to push her over the edge too soon.

Harry's head rolls back in the pillow, his hands back on her hips, pulling him back to her again and again, pleading with her to give him what he wants. She leans in, kissing him hard as she lifts her hips and positions herself against him. She's painfully aware of how hard he feels, how much he fills her as she sinks onto him with a low desperate moan.

For a second, she's sure her lungs might have given up. Her childhood bedroom, painted lemon and lime, spins around them in a blur of colours. Then Harry breaks their kiss, and she takes a deep breath, pressing her forehead against his as a low, guttural groan escapes his lips. His fingers trail up her spine, bouncing over each bony knob before tangling in her hair.

"I love you."

It's slow, torturous and wonderful. With each moan, each whispered word Harry and Ginny's voices break. Tears mingle with sweat. It's never been this way—this hot, this sweaty, this intimate—but she knows it was the right move to make. Harry is home to her, and she has to make sure he feels the same way.

Sharp fingernails press into his skin, and she's moving harder, much faster against him, and the noises that reverberate around the room are louder, her breathing coming in ragged sobs, the sound of flesh against flesh obscene in her ears. She pants his name like a mantra in time with her thrusts, and it soon becomes too much. She can't remember the last time she allowed herself to feel this way, and by the look on Harry's face, he's experiencing the same sensations as her.

"Ginny," he warns, squeezing his eyes shut, his lips pressed together.

Her name on his lips fill her heart, and the coil in her lower stomach tightens, threatening to break.

"It's okay," she manages to spill out, although she's struggling to breathe. "Let go."

Harry tightens underneath her, but even as his orgasm thunders upon him, he chooses to focus her, sliding a hand between them to press his thumb against the tight bundle of nerves. Light ignites behind her eyelids as she comes with him, still moving against his hips until she rides out the pleasure. It seems to go on for forever, yet it's over far too soon, and she crashes against his chest, her body boneless, a buzzing in her ears.

They come down together, Harry's hands stroking through her hair and down her back to her bottom and her thighs, then back up again. This is the moment she enjoys the most, the aftercare, the cuddling. It's the time when she gets to teach him that it's okay to touch and be intimate with each other, that his fingers, growing softer by the moment, feel amazing as they explore her body.

"You're always welcome here," she mumbles as she lifts her head before sleep steals her away. "With me."

Harry nods, then draws his arms even tighter around her.

"I know."