Chapter Summary: Ginny wakes to a long-forgotten dream.
Note: Ok, here we go, actually sharing my first attempt at smut.
Thank you everyone who has been so supportive and helpful in this writing endeavor! I certainly would never have tried this without all of you.
Ginny Weasley didn't do regrets. The past was the past. She couldn't unwrite words into a cursed diary, unplace her elbow from that butter dish, push Fred out of the way. No use crying over spilt ink. She had learned to grit her teeth, transform her sorrow and fears into anger and action, and keep moving. Don't dwell. Change what could be changed; accept things that couldn't.
So when she opened her eyes to a softly sleeping Harry Potter, both of them in various states of undress, she wasn't sure what to make of it. It was a remarkably realistic dream. She applauded her subconscious imagination even if it was an idiotic masochist. This imaginary Harry was so close that she could make out of slight fluttering of his eyelashes (they couldn't actually be that long), his face framed with that trademark disastrous hair. His mouth hung slightly open in what is definitely an unrealistically attractive way. Oh, this was new, she mused, noting the definition of muscle and black hair that trailed down before it deviously hid under a thin sheet.
Mm, yes, definitely a dream, she decided with a rueful smile…or a nightmare, considering the pounding in her head. It was as if her mind were revolting against the sight, punishing her for the foolish whims of her heart. But…the piercing pain was only increasing, her mouth felt like sandpaper, and she really needed to relieve her bladder, so just wake up, Ginny. Wake up.
The world tilted nauseatingly as blurred fragments swam back to her. The engagement party, Ron and Hermione, the cheering, shots being passed to her, tapping glasses with Harry… stumbling in the dark, searing kisses, combing her nearly numb fingers through that rough and tumble hair (it was as soft as it looked), wired glasses pressed awkwardly into her cheek, the feel of him all over and inside of her.
Ginny felt bile rise in her throat. Oh God, she was going to be sick.
Harry started to stir beside her. Could she grab her things and Apparate away before he woke up? His hand moved up her hip, goosebumps rising behind his touch, that bedsheet dangerously lifting (she wasn't looking, honest). His eyes moved behind his lids, and she held her breath when those pools of green slowly met her eyes.
"Gin…ny?"
Sleep and confusion began to clear as his eyes went wide with saucers, glancing down to the exposed parts of her body before immediately darting back to her eyes. His face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Did we — oh God — !" Harry jolted, only to curl and clutch his head with a moan.
She swallowed the large lump forming at her throat.
"Loo?"
"What? Uh, 'course," he said, his brow furrowing as he pointed.
"Thanks." Wrapping a blanket around herself, Ginny made her escape. After relieving herself, she hunched over the sink, eyeing her disheveled state in the mirror. In Harry Potter's irritatingly clean bathroom.
"Seen better days, dearie," her reflection tutted. Ginny groaned and pressed her face against the cool surface, resisting banging her head against it only because of the already-resounding headache.
Maybe it had been years, but it came crashing back: the humiliating crush, his lack of interest, her invisibility. She had long outgrown all that, fought her way back to herself, allowed herself to be who she was: funny, outspoken, fiery, sharp. She wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but damn, wasn't that the point? If Harry wasn't able to figure out a good thing, then it was his loss. She had moved on, dating Michael and Dean. She had made a difference at Hogwarts during the war. She had achieved her lifelong dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player. Nothing could stop her.
So why could one look at Harry still undo her?
"Ginny?" his voice called to her from behind the door. "You okay?"
"Yes," she called back, cursing herself. She opened the door, peeking carefully first. Harry stood nearby, clutching his head precariously, dressed in a faded Gryffindor Captain shirt and rumpled jeans.
"Do you mind if I…" He shot her a tentative smile as he made hand gestures to indicate swapped places.
"Of course!"
The door shut behind him, and she stood stupidly in his room, torn between making a run for it and examining Harry's sparse bedroom (lots of clutter, particularly in regards to scribbled on parchment). Ginny had never done this before — whatever this was. A drunken shag between mates? A one-night stand? She wanted to cradle her head in her hands at the thought. Why did it have to be Harry?
Isn't this what you always wanted? an evil small voice whispered.
She shoved it away viciously. Right, clothes first. As quickly as her head and roiling stomach would allow, she reached for her previously discarded clothes. She had just finished buttoning her blouse when Harry re-emerged. Her stomach swooped unpleasantly. He seemed to be struggling to form the right words, looking anywhere but her.
"Hangover potion?" Ginny finally managed, slipping her wand between her skirt's waistband.
"Er — right," he said. His lips tightened to a thin line before he turned his head away. "Uh, this way."
The silence weighed heavily on her as they trudged to the kitchen. Harry shuffled through a cabinet for a moment. When he reemerged, he handed her a small vial with a grim smile. She held the vial up for a moment, then tapped hers against the one he held up.
"Cheers," she said.
They downed the contents. Ginny grimaced at the acrid taste, but let out a sigh as the drumming in her head receded. She rested against the kitchen counter and revelled in delirious relief for a moment. But the smile died on her lips when she chanced a glance at Harry. His lower lip jutted out, his jaw tight. His body seemed to fold into itself, but his eyes flickered through so many conflicted emotions. A swell of emotions built up in her chest.
"I don't do regrets."
His head swerved, his green eyes glinting dangerously. "I never said I regretted it."
"Good." She raised a shoulder nonchalantly.
Ginny stared at the empty vial with bitterness, wondering how to best make her escape and put this behind them without making it more awkward than it was. All those hard-earned years of building a friendship and burying her feelings dashed by one foolhardy night. Lovely.
Harry fidgeted with a nearby scrap of parchment, rolling and unrolling it between his fingers.
"It was — nice," he finally muttered.
"Nice?" She raised an eyebrow, not sure if she was annoyed or amused. He was flushed down to his roots, but he had this frustrated and reckless look that was far too damn appealing.
"The parts I can, er, remember. It's not every day you get to — you know — you're beautiful, fit, and —" he cringed "— I hope it was decent for you," Harry finished lamely.
Ginny burst out laughing. The entire situation suddenly seemed ridiculous. Harry half apologizing, hoping he was an okay shag?
Harry covered his face, mortified, but soon they were both laughing. He shook his head, but behind his embarrassment, his smile was real and relieved. Her heart warmed and lightened at the sight.
Maybe things weren't ruined.
"Been a while since you had a good shag, Harry?" Ginny wiggled her eyebrows.
"It's not easy dating the Boy-Who-Lived." He raised a shoulder with a small smile, but it seemed sadder than he probably intended. "As some would probably be happy to tell you."
Anger pulsed through her as she remembered those articles in The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly about Harry's failed relationships, some of which hardly deserved such a title. He couldn't even go to a pub with someone (male or female) without some speculation.
"Doesn't mean you can't find an interested party."
Harry flushed again under her gaze, but his expression darkened. "I've tried it. I guess it's just not for me."
She tried to picture it. The discomforting attention, the worshiping looks, the undesired touches, as if strangers had a right to any part of him.
"No, I suppose not."
"What about you? Do you — I mean, it's been a few months since Dean. Sorry, I don't mean to pry."
"It's only fair," Ginny said, still amazed that she was having this conversation with Harry of all people, though maybe it wasn't so odd considering what had transpired last night. "It was a long time coming — the breakup. It hadn't been working for some time."
She thought back to the year Dean was on the run when they weren't sure whether they were or weren't together. That awful year under the Carrows, where things like dating and boys seemed least important (except one boy they laid their faith in). And then even after it was over, everything had seemed so broken — Harry and her family and her own grief had been all-consuming. Breaking one more thing seemed too much of an effort. She shook herself from the depressing memories.
"We let it drag on. The long-distance didn't help, and maybe that's what kept it at bay. Dean wanted to make it work, and our problems were easier to forget when we had so little time together anyway. I wanted Quidditch to work more than the relationship."
She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, a "what can you do," and Harry made a noise of understanding, his eyes trained on the mess of parchments, quills, and ink bottles scattered on his kitchen table. Hardly space for eating. He never quite outgrew his obsessive streak with solving mysteries and saving the world. The uninvited shadow of a crying Cho Chang rose in her mind before she forced it down.
"Since then?" he asked.
"Then?" Ginny echoed, fumbling to regain her footing. "Oh, right, shagging."
He let out a snort of laughter at her crassness, his face lit with amusement instead of worry for once, and a tiny bit of triumph flashed through her.
"I've enjoyed being able to focus on Quidditch, and now I'll be starting. Gwenog thinks we have a pretty good shot at the Cup this year."
"You're brilliant. They should've switched had you play over Rebecca Saks ages ago."
"Oh? I thought you were a Puddlemere United fan."
"I follow most of the teams," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck.
"Not having to fret about romance really allowed me to focus on training."
"I suppose I can relate. There's never enough time."
"Ron says there's talk of you being promoted." Youngest ever to be made deputy head Auror, though Harry looked more disgruntled than pleased.
"Women just love the 'career-obsessed,'" he said dryly, using air-quotes.
"You love what you do. Nothing wrong with that." She bumped shoulders with him, and they shared a smile. "Of course, it has its drawbacks. Don't really have time for, you know."
"I know," Harry said, his voice low.
Ginny was suddenly incredibly conscious of his presence, the heat that rolled off his body.
"Sometimes my teammates encourage me to…unwind." The stupid words tumbled out of her mouth, and a frantic urge to somehow take it back, take it back surged up inside her.
"Unwind," Harry repeated, watching her as he took the vial from her. She bit down on her lip, cursing when his fingers brushed against hers.
"Stress management," Ginny said slowly, watching his gaze land on her lips.
"Maybe…" Harry swallowed hard. "I can help."
The way he was looking at her made her feel uncomfortably exposed, like he was really seeing her. Her heartbeat thrummed loudly in her ears, her chest growing hot with something she had pushed back and back until now it was spilling out, spreading through her body like wildfire.
She looked up at him through her lashes, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Maybe you can."
Fuck it.
Ginny closed the distance between them, her arms wound around his neck, and she kissed him. Kissed him like she had only dreamed of since she was a stupid little girl, who couldn't speak near an awkward, kind boy, unleashing years of bottled-up desire into him. Harry met her with equal passion, his hands splayed against her back, pulling her closer against him. The backs of her eyes burned, and an angry noise, half trapped in the back of her throat, tore through her. He took advantage of her parting lips to slip his tongue in. It hungrily twined with hers.
He pressed her hip against the counter, the sharp pain building the only thing keeping her from melting. Her fingers raked through his hair, dragging against his scalp. He released her lips, only to dip into her neck and graze against the sensitive part of her neck.
"Harry," Ginny said, her voice demanding (demanding what really?), and he growled. His right hand swept over the table and shoved the clutter haphazardly away. He clumsily lifted her onto the table. His hands swept over her breasts, far more gently and gingerly than necessary.
She made an impatient noise, needing more now. She yanked at his shirt, which he quickly tugged over his head. When his glasses got caught in his haste, and he grew more and more belligerent in his efforts to free himself from the shirt.
Ginny couldn't stop the laughter that rushed out. Harry, finally liberated and adjusting his glasses, scowled for a moment, but then he too was laughing, the knot of tension between them easing.
The sight of Harry laughing, so innocent and unburdened, melted something inside her. She reached up and cupped his face, wanting to drink in the sight. His expression flickered with surprise but darkened. The air seemed thicker, seeming ready to ignite at any moment. His very presence seemed to smolder her.
"Ginny," he whispered, looking at her through his heavily lidded eyes. Then he was tilting toward her or she was drawn toward him, really she wasn't sure, and the kiss was tantalizingly soft that the back of her eyes prickled. She ran her hands up his chest, awed that she was the cause of the erratic beating of his heart.
Was she doing that to him?
With great care, Harry began trailing kisses down her neck and her collarbone, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She threw her head back, giving him more access, ignoring the books and quills that pressed against her spine.
A flash of red went through her when his lips found one of her breasts, lightly grazing her nipple. His hand snaked up behind her back, groping to unclasp her bra. He let out a growl of triumph as he freed her of her top and bra. She gasped when his lips tightened around her nipple again, while a hand cupped her other breast. She arched up against him, grinding her hip against his arousal. His hand skimmed down her abdomen and under her skirt. As he brushed against her knickers, and he made a choking noise against her chest.
"You're so wet." His fingers pressed against her knickers again. "Gin — can I…?"
Could he what? Did it matter? When this was what she had always wanted?
"Yes."
He dropped onto his knees, pulling her knickers off, following its path as it slipped down her toned legs. He stared at her for a moment, and she imagined she must look wild, propped up on her elbows, her skirt bunched at her waist. She felt heat creep up her chest, and blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, pushing through the embarrassment with a smirk.
"See something you like?"
He scoffed. "That's an understatement."
But his eyes looked up to meet hers while pressing a kiss against her thigh. Her head went fuzzy as she watched, almost in a trance, as he lowered his tongue to her hot center. First it was tentative, skimming over her. Her head dropped back as a tingling pleasure shot through her. None of all those embarrassing times she had imagined him touching her while using her own fingers could compare. He must have been encouraged by her response because his movements grew more assured. He shifted to roll his tongue over her clit, swirling and alternating pressure. She jerked under him, her muscles straining and toes curling with an impossible need.
Ginny cried out when he slipped a finger into her, then another, burying them deep. She reached blindly for him, aching for more, even as he gave and gave. Her fingers wound into his dark hair as she writhed underneath him, pressing up against him. His fingers pulsed over a deep bundle of nerves inside her to the same rhythm of his tongue. She bucked her hips up to meet him, craving more as he built up pleasure inside her. It crashed over her as she screamed her release.
Ginny had not even realized she had been biting her hand to keep her cries down until Harry gently pulled it away from her face. She watched, in a daze, as he kissed the pink teeth marks that marred her pale, freckled flesh. His face was flushed, his lips glistened, and his eyes flashed with awe and desire.
"Merlin, Ginny. You're beautiful," he said with such reverence that her heart clenched.
She pulled him up into a deep kiss, feeling an odd thrill at the taste of her on him, mingled with his heady scent. He hips rubbed against her, his desire apparent and urgent. She slipped a hand into his jeans and took him in her hand. He groaned, letting his head fall against her shoulder as she stroked his length and fumbled to relieve him of the rest of his clothing. When his jeans fell to his knees, he stilled her hand.
"We don't have to — "
"I want to," Ginny said, wanting him hot and messy and needy for her for once. She moved her hand and his eyes clouded over, her hand gliding against him, alternating between soft and firm strokes. But her hand paused as a seed of doubt pulsed through her. "Do you — ?"
"Yes," he choked out, burying his head between her breasts, cupping one as she continued her ministrations.
"Harry," Ginny gasped when she slid him between her thighs, the hot friction electrifying. She rolled her hips against him, pleased when he made a garbled noise, jerkily searching through the mess for something.
Wand in hand, Harry quickly muttered a contraceptive charm. With surprising care, he leaned her back against the kitchen table. His fingers cupping her bum as he lined himself against her opening, but he paused.
He searched her face for something, and whatever he found made him swallow hard and jerk his head in a nod.
Without breaking eye contact, Harry entered her, and she let out a cry at how impossibly good, impossibly right he felt. How ridiculous that it felt like some missing puzzle piece was finally found.
It should be illegal, Ginny decided, to see his handsome face scrunched up this way, sweat furrowing on his brow. Her nails scraped against the rippling muscles of his back. It was almost unfair because she couldn't unsee him like this. And she never wanted anyone else to see it either.
Her leg wound around him, pulling him closer, and a rush of swear words tumbled from his lips.
"Move, Harry."
He pulled himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in to the hilt. She arched up to meet him, watching his face clench with pleasure at the sweet impact of their bodies. Their harsh breathing and the slick sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. The table scraped against the floor. They began to set a harsh, punishing pace, more items tumbling to a messy heap.
Harry pressed one of her legs higher, allowing him to drive in deeper, hitting a depth that reverberated inside her. Ginny mewed against his shoulder when one of his hands went between them to brush against her clit.
It shouldn't feel this good, it shouldn't feel this good, but God, it did. But even through the mind-numbing pleasure, a tiny fear whispered in her heart whether she would ever feel this good again.
Pleasure soared through her as his fingers found a steady rhythm. He was here, surrounding her, enveloping her. It was better than flying, the weight of the world behind her, only endless blue expanse and bright sunlight — and Harry, whipping past her, glancing back with that smile.
"Ginny, I'm — !" Harry gasped, and she jerkily nodded in agreement.
His hand found hers and wound them together, clutching desperately. His pubic bone replaced the cadence of his fingers.
Ginny sank her teeth into his shoulder as Harry thrust one last time, and clamped down on his as they both toppled off the cliff together. She whimpered as he released into her. She had never felt so full.
She was still blinking away the bright lights behind her eyes, their jagged breathing filling the air. She felt like she was still floating, slowly, slowly descending until her foot touched the ground once more.
Only when the tingling began to fade did Ginny notice the cool, wet sensation in the hand not clasped in Harry's. She lazily opened one eye and turned her head. The air in her lungs choked in her throat as she stared unseeingly at the ink dripping dripping down her right hand.
The blood drained from her head.
"Ginny?" Harry's voice seemed far away, small and scared. "Did I hurt you?"
"Hmm?" Ginny shut her eyes tightly, stilling the dizziness that swirled in her head, before turning to him with a smooth smile. "No, not at all — it was…nice."
He let out a huff but seemed to relax notably. He let go of her hand to cast a cleaning spell over them. Despite herself, she flushed under his examining gaze. He looked both shy and pleased when he mumbled, "I might have torn your blouse."
Ginny snorted with laughter as he nuzzled against her neck, his early morning stubble rubbing against her skin. She gave into the yearning, letting herself savor the musky smell of his sweat, the feel of his warmth around her, for a foolish, weak moment.
Then she gently pushed him away.
"I'm sorry." Harry immediately started, lifting himself off of her. "I must be crushing you."
"No," Ginny said, already missing his warm weight. But the tender ache between her legs curled her right hand into a fist. "But I should probably get going."
"What? Please don't — don't leave." Harry averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "I can make us breakfast" — she reached for her blouse — "or there's this place nearby —"
He looked like a kicked puppy.
"Harry," she said, touching his face. He stilled, his brows furrowed. "You're sweet. Really."
Unable to stand the look on his face, Ginny kissed him. When they broke apart, she took advantage of his muddled state to shuffle off the table and grabbed her wand from where it had fallen on the floor. When she felt coolness slip down her thighs, she pushed down on the heat that surged through her. She cast a cleaning charm and started pulling on her clothes, avoiding his gaze.
"But I can hardly go out with ripped clothing, and I have a Portkey to catch in a few hours and still have to pack. This was fun. Definitely a stress-reliever," she rambled. God, she couldn't stop. "If The Daily Prophet were to get a hold of how well the Boy Who Lived shags, you'd have to get your own Auror detail to keep the ladies away."
Harry opened and closed his mouth before settling on a strained smile.
"Obviously, that wouldn't do, so I hope this helped you too," she went on. "I'm sure you don't have an easy time 'unwinding' with all that press."
Ginny really needed to shut up before she put her other foot in her mouth. She made for his entryway, where she found her discarded robes pooled on the floor. Harry quietly followed her, his hands shoved into the pockets of the jeans he had pulled back on.
"Can we get together, maybe, next time you're in town?" Harry asked.
"Next time?" she repeated, not looking him in the eye. He drew in a sharp breath.
"As friends," he added quickly.
Something awful bloomed in her chest.
Last night was a stupid drunken tryst, and this morning they agreed that they both were overworked and needed an outlet. Keep moving forward. She wasn't going to let it and this relentless, never-ending attraction to him ruin their friendship.
"Of course we can," she assured him. "This doesn't change anything."
"Yeah?" Harry sounded unsure, but reached up and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
Ginny gave him a bracing smile, resisting the urge to lean into his touch.
"Yeah."
