Chapter Thirteen – You Know….

"Are they still at it?  How long has it been?" Harry closed the book on his lap.

"About four hours, I think," Ginny replied while rubbing her eyes.  It was very late in the evening, or very early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it.  They had had a very, very long day, one that felt like it was months in the making. And, though they were both exhausted, neither wanted to venture upstairs.  They had done so earlier in the evening and the experience would leave them disturbed for some time.  More than a decade's worth of pent-up lust and frustration being released at one time was tantamount to an eruption of Krakatoa…during an earthquake…in hurricane season.  At least that's what it sounded like.

"Four hours?" Harry responded disbelievingly. "Thank Merlin for Silencing Charms."

"No kidding, though I wish we would have thought of it sooner.  Two hours of 'Ron! Yes, Ron!, 'Ron, you're so big, Ron', and 'Harder, Ron! , Harder!' was a little more than I ever needed to hear. I'll be having nightmares for weeks.  And what were the references to hairy moles and laxatives all about?"

"You got me on that one. They kept cackling like a pair of banshees, too.  Seems an inappropriate time for laughter, don't you think?  Anyway, I pretty much tried to block out everything after, 'Who's your Daddy?' I mean, really.  Who says that?"

Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger as she shook her head.  "And why," she moaned, "would you fix a bed only to break it again and again?  Just leave the damn mattress on the floor and hope you don't break through the ceiling of the room below you, injuring the innocent."

Harry shook his head in reply.  He managed to survive a childhood spent cramped in a cupboard with an aunt who belittled him, an uncle who berated him, and a whale of a cousin who battered him.  And those were the days they acknowledged him at all.  His teen years were spent fighting for his life against dark lords, dark wizards, and dark creatures, all hell-bent on bringing about his untimely demise.  The irony of it all was that this, the coupling of his best friends, which he fought vehemently for, would be the thing that drove him to seek psychiatric help. 

And he didn't even want to speculate about what Hermione did to Marie Elena.  It was enough that he would occasionally pick up a reference to her and hear a sinister snickering that sent shivers down his back in a way Voldemort never did.  He didn't want to know, and it would be better that way.  Should he ever be asked to testify, he wouldn't have to perjure himself.  Some time ago, while helping Hermione during one of her drunken binges, he remembered stumbling onto some photographs in her apartment.  Some very…interesting shots taken just after the war ended and after a particular raucous party that he remembered little of – save waking up between the Patil twins, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers with "Spew You" scrawled across the front.  What was happening upstairs reminded him of what he thought when he saw those pictures : there are some things one didn't ever need to know about.  Ever.

Ginny sighed.  "Well," she began, "we did it.  We wanted them to get together, and they did.  In a most explosive fashion, I might add.  Now I wonder if we will ever get them apart.  They may remain joined at the hip permanently."  Ginny laughed but Harry only gave her a small smile. Ginny watched any joy that was on his face quickly leave. "What's wrong, Harry?" she asked.

"Nothing really.  Just being selfish again." Harry began running his fingers along the spine of the book he held, avoiding any eye contact with her.

His demeanor concerned Ginny. "What do you mean?"

He gave a shrug.  "It's just like I thought it would be.  Don't get me wrong; I am thrilled that they are together, they both deserve to be happy and all, but this is something that I can never truly be a part of.  It is special and private…and… and theirs."  He looked down.  "I just hope they still remember to occasionally find time for me."

Ginny looked at him. She really looked at him.  It dawned on her that she really did not know him at all.  The image of Harry Potter she had in her head did not mesh with the man sitting in front of her.  The confident super hero with the easy smile and the brave heart was replaced by this shy, lonely man who was afraid, really afraid, of being alone.  But it made sense, didn't it?  He never had any real family other than the Dursleys.  The people he loved the most just discovered each other, and they would be exploring that territory for a long, long time.  If the sounds coming out of the upstairs where any indication, sounds that even a strong Silencing Charm could not mute completely, then Harry looked to be alone for a long while.  It was that fear of being alone that prevented him from helping Ron and Hermione years ago.  And it was the guilt he felt at his selfishness that made him fight so hard now.  Now that battle was won and he was left picking up the pieces… again, just as he did after the last big battle of his life. How much was one man supposed to take?

And what about her?  What did she really want?  Who was she?  Wasn't she just as alone as Harry at the moment?  And was she any better equipped to handle it?  Hermione had found a truth about herself that day.   And in that truth she found the determination and the will to get the one thing she wanted more than anything else.  Ginny was facing a truth, too.  After a five year relationship that was nothing but a shill for the life she really wanted, she had no idea what it would really take for her to be happy.  In all candor, she had no idea if she ever was happy to begin with.  She knew she was unhappy in this moment. She knew she was lonely. She knew how to fix it.  But did she have the courage?

She looked at Harry again, at his quiet fear and isolation, at the sacrifice of his own happiness for those he loved and the rest of the world.  For a second she caught a glimpse of a boy asking timidly how to get to platform nine and three-quarters. She caught a glimpse of the boy she loved because of his name, before she really knew him. That image faded quickly, replaced by that of a man, a man she was only truly and honestly seeing for the first time.  A man named Harry who loved his friends and would do anything for them.  A man who was unhappy.  A man who was lonely.

So she was faced with a decision. She could try to be the person she really thought she wanted to be and go for the things she wanted more than anything else in the world, or she could just continue down the path her life was traveling, safe, uncomplicated, and uninhibited by trivial things like love and passion.

Well, sometimes you just have to say 'what the hell!'

"Harry," she began in her sweetest voice.  "Harry, you looked stressed and terribly tired.  Would you like for me to rub your shoulders?"

He contemplated the offer, it was quite possibly the best one he'd had in a long time.  "That would be amazing.  You don't mind?"

"I offered, didn't I?"  Ginny sat behind him on the sofa and began kneading her thumbs along the ridge of his shoulders. She leaned forward slightly while applying pressure to the base of his neck in small, firm circles.   "You know," she began, her voice all sugar and velvet, "This would be a lot easier if you took your shirt off."

Oh no.  "My….what….what was that?"

"Your shirt, Harry.  If you take it off, I could do a much better job, " she replied innocently.

Oh dear.  "You're doing fine now."

"You're not nervous, are you?  It's only a shirt after all.  And you are so tense.  I could get at your muscles better.  I've done this a hundred times.  It will be fine…really."

Oh well.  "Oh….ok…..sure."  Harry swallowed hard. He pulled his shirt over his head.  He could feel the muscles in his neck spasm while he waited.  This was so wrong. Ginny continued her treatment and, as her warm hands touched his tight neck, he released the breathe he was holding and let his head fall forward.  It was still wrong, but now was not the time to dwell on such pettiness.  Her hands began to knead their way down this back, pushing and pulling on his muscles and shoulders blades.  She pushed harder and harder until she was rewarded with a light moan.

This was progressing quite nicely.

"You know," she began, her voice all honey and silk, "this would be a lot easier…and more comfortable, if you were to lie down."

'Yes, yes it would,' he thought gratefully.  Harry did not fight this merciful suggestion as he did not know how much longer he could sit up with Ginny's hands on his bare skin. Lying down would help to cover up a very embarrassing problem that was developing of its own volition.  Ginny got up and moved the small table in front of the sofa, while Harry watched in groggy recognition.  She laid down a worn but thick blue afghan on the floor and motioned for Harry to join her.  "We really should enjoy this fire that we spent all day gathering wood for," she smiled sweetly.

Harry laid down on the floor and Ginny sat next to him using this opportunity to rub rigorously along his spine, down to the small of his back.  With each moan she would rub just a little harder until he she felt him begin to relax.  Sometimes her hand would rub firmly into his muscles and occasionally she would allow a more gentle caress.  Once, she very lightly allowed her fingertips to skim the length of his back, a subtle maneuver that was greeted with shivers and gooseflesh.

"You know," she began again, her voice all liquid fire, "this position is a little uncomfortable for me.  I think I could do a much better job if I straddled your back.  You wouldn't mind, would you?" She smirked as she felt him stiffen at her words. 'This was progressing quite nicely, indeed.'

'Would I mind, she asks,' Harry thought through his stupor. 'Now if that isn't a loaded question.  No Ginny,  why should I mind?  I am about to combust from your hands roaming up and down my naked skin, while impure thoughts run through my mind like the bulls of Pamplona.  I have an erection digging into the floor, and though it is not necessarily the worst sensation I have ever felt, I am sure I could think of some better places for it.  And now you are asking me if I would mind if you bestride your nubile, tight, incredibly voluptuous body on top of me while I squirm underneath trying to retain my dignity and fortitude.'  He paused momentarily to mentally slap himself silly. 'Well, actually, no, I wouldn't mind.  Actually, I think that would be a smashing idea.'

When he was finally able to verbalize again, he stammered, "That..that..that would….be….ah…fine….fine."  Ginny enjoyed the tremble in his voice as he gave her permission.  In one very fluid motion, she got up and gently but firmly planted herself on Harry's backside, placing her thighs on either side of his hips.  She now began to massage his back with her entire hand, fingers extended and palms flat until she had touched every inch of the back. She kneaded small circles into his muscles  with the base of her palms.  As she leaned forward to put more pressure on his back she deliberately ground her hips into him in the same rhythmic motion.

A wicked glint came into her eyes as she watched him biting his lip trying to stay calm, and his eyes roll to the back of his head.  He made to speak, but seemed to have difficulty finding his voice.  "You know,  Ginny," he began, his voice all jelly and shivers, "I think I'm relaxed enough."

"Oh, don't be silly Harry," she replied in a low, sultry voice.  "You seem to be getting tenser and tenser by the moment.  I don't think you've relaxed at all."  Ginny sat up and began to unbutton her shirt.

"No, really, if I were anymore relaxed, I'd be dead."  Or, at the very least in a very comfortable coma.

"No, no Harry," she said softly, seductively, as she removed her blouse entirely.  "I think we need to come up with a better way of relaxing you.  Any ideas, Harry? Can you think of anything that would relax you?"  Ginny proceeded to unclasp her bra and slid it off her body.

"Nothing comes to mind at the moment," he squeaked

"You know…I think I have an idea."  Ginny leaned forward draping Harry's bare back with her bare front.  He moaned loudly at the contact, shocked at the heat her body emanated.  She whispered in his ear, "What do you think, Harry?  Do you think I can relax you?" His hesitation in answering her led to a languorous tongue running along his ear. 

"You and I seem to have very different definitions of what it takes to relax someone," he sputtered.

"Oh, I promise, Harry, when I am done with you, you will barely be able to move," she purred.

You might say Harry found himself in a bit of a conundrum.  On the one hand he had a half naked, beautiful, sinuous redhead rubbing her body on his, promising him things his better fantasies could not deliver on. On the other hand, or should he say fist, there was said-redhead's brother.  With the combination of Ron's strength and temper Harry know he would be in for a world of hurt if he touched Ginny, whether she instigated it or not.  Then again, this very same brother was upstairs not necessarily being a proper role model.  It was really his fault anyway.  He wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for his wanting to help Ron.  And wasn't Ron enjoying the fruits of his labor right now in about twenty different positions if Harry's estimation was correct?  So in the end, anything that happened would be Ron's fault…right?

Good enough.

"You know, Ginny," he began, his voice all sugar and satin.  "I think you're onto something."