30 January 2002 – 04 February 2002
Ginny finally fell asleep sometime after midnight, mind still racing. Kissing Harry had been even more exciting, and it had taken hours for the feeling of his hand on her bum to fade. And during the kiss, she'd felt such blissful oblivion that she'd been able to forget that Pollux Sennet had been giving her strange looks, and she'd heard some of his Slytherin friends whispering about a book and staring in her direction.
Added to the fact that she wasn't sure if her desire for Harry was all right, she felt like all sorts of things were pressing down on her. Her body was aroused, but it also remembered how painful sex was, and alternated between wanting and cringing.
Despite the restlessness, however, Ginny was finally able to drift into anxious dreams. She wandered from one to another; in most of them, she was searching for something while the walls whispered to her. She felt a rising sense of urgency, but never found what she was looking for.
But the confusing images and patterns shifted into what had now become familiar. And welcome. She was surrounded by darkness and Harry's familiar weight was next to her on the bed. He leaned over her, nudging her thighs apart and placing pressure just where it felt the best. His other hand snaked around and cupped her bum.
She lifted her hips and rocked against his hand. And for the first time, she meant to lift her arms and touch him too, but as soon as she tried, her wrists were caught—
And suddenly she wasn't in a bed, but on the table to which she was shackled. Pain quickly replaced pleasure. And it was Lucius Malfoy, not Harry. No.
"Ginevra," he grunted.
"NO!" she cried out. "No, no, no, no." The force of her panic sent her eyes flying open. For long minutes she had no clue where she was; how was it possible that she wasn't at Malfoy Manor?
A pillow was stuffed between her thighs. Her muscles trembled and she clawed at it, trying to get it away from her.
Ginny leaned over the edge of the bed, eyes stinging, and holding her hand up to her mouth to prevent herself from vomiting. Her stomach heaved, and overwhelming disgust for the betrayal of her own body and her own mind filled her. What was wrong with her?
How can I look Harry in the eye again after this?
She couldn't. It was painful to even be in his classroom, and thinking that she'd destroyed everything. Her mind kept flashing to her dream. And she felt trapped by it, horrified, and when Harry tried to touch her and talk to her after class, she ran away.
By Friday, Ginny was about to explode. Anger with herself and at the situation appeared to be at war with her confusion and disturbance. Harry avoided her eyes as much as she avoided his, and she could tell that he felt just as awful as she did. And she wanted to tell him that it wasn't him, it was her. She'd ruined everything by being broken.
After another night of little sleep, Ginny swallowed her pride and sought out magical means of getting some rest.
"Are you all right, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
The question made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. "I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. The Healer gave her a look that told her that she didn't believe Ginny, but handed over the small bottle of Dreamless Sleep Potion anyway.
"It's just that you haven't come to me asking for this all year," she said gently.
Yet another way I've failed. Harry was making her happy – there was no reason, besides the fact that she was completely screwed up, for her to even need the potion again. A small voice that sounded like a mixture of her mother and Hermione told her that she wasn't being fair to herself or to Harry. She ignored it.
Madam Pomfrey cocked her head.
A traitorous urge to tell her about the dream rose up in Ginny, almost choking her. Since when do I want to talk to people?she thought incredulously. But the Healer suddenly looked so kind and understanding that Ginny almost wanted to seek another opinion. She might know if I'm hopeless or not.
"Thanks," she said quickly, and fled, seeking out the normalcy of breakfast and the Great Hall.
Pigwidgeon was waiting for her, fluttering around the Gryffindor table, hooting excitedly. "Pig!" she said, taking her letter. She hadn't heard from anyone since Christmas, and seeing Hermione's small, neat writing made her feel strangely relieved.
Dear Ginny,
Hi, how are you? Things are going well here. Both of us are very busy, but we've been thinking of you a lot, and hoping that you're doing well and studying for your NEWTs. I've enclosed a study schedule for you – your brother thinks I'm "mental" but I hope you find it useful.
I have to admit – and no, your brother isn't reading this, I wouldn't tell him – that I'm dying of curiosity. How did your test go? Does he fancy you? Did you tell him you fancy him? What's going on with that?
Right. I've been sitting here and staring at the parchment for the last hour, and I really don't know how to do this delicately or how to even lead into it. And you're probably ripping this letter up as you read this sentence, but I simply can't write to you and not mention what happened over Christmas.
I think that's why you've had little communication from us. None of us want to hurt you. But we're all so relieved you finally told us that it's hard to reconcile that with what you must be feeling.
I imagine that you were trying to protect all of us at huge cost to yourself. And as someone who cares very much for you, I appreciate the strength it must have taken you, but it's easier to know. I hope that doesn't sound selfish, but it was very confusing and now it isn't so bad. So. You probably aren't even reading this anymore, but thank you for shedding light on the situation. I hope it makes you feel better, too.
Love from,
Hermione
Ginny read the letter three times in quick succession, growing more confused by the second. She'd tried to avoid thinking of her family's reaction to Christmas as much as she could, because she'd thought they'd be angry and hurt that she'd told them. But…
They're relieved? she thought. Why weren't they disgusted? She hadn't ever wanted to tell them because she didn't want them to feel the same way she did. It wasn't really him, a small voice pointed out. It was so clear that Ginny actually turned her head, looking for the speaker, and was surprised that the thought came from her own mind.
She paid little attention to her classes, and did not even feel bad for it. Every time she spiraled into thinking the way she had for the last several days, Hermione's words hit her. But we're all so relieved.
But why? They weren't stupid. They must know that the reason why it was hard for her to be around her dad was because sometimes she couldn't help but remember that she knew his body in ways that no daughter ever should. And she tried not to think about it, but it came out every once in a while. She couldn't avoid thinking about it all the time, they must know that. Why weren't they disgusted by how disturbed she was?
Just like with her dream about Harry, and how he'd turned into Lucius Malfoy. She'd been aroused and enjoying the dream and then her mind had conjured up an image that normal people wouldn't see.
Yes, but normal people don't have Malfoy Manor in their past, the small voice pointed out. Ginny flinched at the thought, grateful that she was walking to class, and no one could see her face. The worst part was she wanted to listen to it. It made her feel strange. Like someone was hugging her and trying to shake some sense into her all at once.
It didn't help that she'd gotten into an argument with herself. It was all the more difficult, because that small voice had grown louder and more forceful and wouldn't let her finish her own thoughts.
But I wanted Harry to rape—
Don't be stupid. You desire him; you don't want him to rape you.
But—
It was just a dream. If you think dreams are reality, then you might actually be a nutter. It was as though Fred and George had stepped into her head and were trying to tease her into agreeing with them.
Ginny retreated. It was true that dreams weren't true, and she definitely didn't want Harry to turn into the Death Eaters. But it didn't change the fact that her dreams came from her own mind, and what if Malfoy Manor had warped her in some way?
You're not. It's all right to be haunted by something that terrible. Firm and logical, like Bill and Percy. You're a Weasley. You're stronger than that. A bit harsh, but still caring, just like Charlie.
But how do I know for sure?
It hit her then, in the middle of her last class of the day that she ought to seek out the Mirror of Erised again. It would show her whether or not she could listen to whatever was telling her that she wasn't as fucked up as she thought she was. Wouldn't it be different, now? Being with Harry had changed things for her; wouldn't the physical aspects of their relationship be reflected in the mirror?
It took her several hours to make her way to the Room of Requirement. She paced in front of it several times, thinking that she wanted to know what she desired most, and even when the door appeared she didn't immediately go in. The urging voice she'd listened to throughout the day was silent.
But the feelings it had evoked were still there, pushing her forward.
"It's not so much that I want to do this," she said softly. Arnold poked his head out of his bag and eyed her. "But I just – I want to feel like I did when Harry took me here." That ephemeral hope that had all but disappeared.
Just fucking do it, Ron's voice whispered in her ear.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
It hit her right away. As soon as the door banged shut behind her, she saw herself reflected in a mirror pale and shaking and looking far more vulnerable than she ought to. Peering closer, she saw shadows hovering behind her. Looming. Her heart crashed to her feet.
"I don't want this," she moaned. This couldn't be her heart's desire, she would—
Look closer, Ginny, her dad's voice was quiet in her mind and for once didn't make her shiver with dread. She walked up to it, and the shadows behind her didn't take shape. She saw the form of a woman and a man, but they weren't solid enough to recognize. The glass was cracked down the middle, as though she had been slashed from head to toe.
It wasn't the Mirror of Erised. It was smaller and cracked; something tugged at her memory. Ginny was standing in front of a Foe Glass, and her enemies were reflected behind her. She knew what this was. Looking closer, she forced herself to identify the shadows. Her stomach dropped when she thought she made out a figure holding a cane, and a hulking shadow that might have been Fenrir Greyback.
As she watched, the shadows came closer. The figure of herself just stood there, like a puppet with cut strings, drooping down. Ginny backed away.
Her foot caught on something large, and she automatically stooped down. It was a club that looked like it might have belonged to a troll: thick and unwieldy. She glanced from it to the Foe Glass and back again.
Do it, Gin. Harry.
Closing her eyes, she hefted the club in her hand. It was very heavy and it scratched her palms. I've been letting them win. I don't want to.
She swung and the glass shattered into a million little pieces. "Holy shit," she breathed. Cleansing anger burned through her belatedly. Her hands stung; the troll's club had been much too large, and splinters had shot into her palm. Ignoring them, she brought the club down again, sending shards spraying.
She pulverized the fuck out of it, and each blow felt incredible.
And it hit her, really hit her, and the force of it took her breath away. I've been letting them win! The Room of Requirement had answered her, and had shown her what she most desired… and it – it had let her destroy some of the shadows.
Almost without thinking, she took her wand and healed her hands. They shook as wave after wave of realization hit her.I've been letting them win. All these years. But tonight she hadn't. "Not anymore," she told Arnold. His eyes were very wide as he stared at her.
And, feeling disoriented and oddly light, she turned and left, barely aware of where her feet were taking her.
She slammed back into her dorm, glad that Emma and Demelza weren't yet in and she had the place completely to herself. The burning rage and strange triumph had dimmed somewhat, but she was still riding on the emotion, and the worry over how exactly she was going to apologize to Harry and explain to him what had happened hadn't hit yet. It was there, but muted.
Not to mention that she was pretty sure that he'd forgive her. It made her feel slightly guilty to bank on that, as she knew she'd hurt him quite badly. And she hadn't offered anything as an explanation. But he'd been so patient with her thus far that she couldn't help but have faith that he'd continue.
Just one more time.
It was a little embarrassing, but it felt pretty good to have destroyed the Foe Glass. It was almost like she'd destroyed them. Or they weren't looking over her shoulder anymore.
Arnold greeted her by climbing up her robes and squeaking in her ear. "I know," she said. "I know you want to see Harry and Calliope. I do too." He seemed to understand, for the scolding note in his little voice disappeared and he nuzzled her. She stroked him a bit and then cast the privacy charms and set him down while she pulled off her robes and uniform.
She was about to dig through her trunk for a nightgown, but was distracted by feeling like something inside her had shifted over just an inch, and yet her entire perspective had changed. But she recognized the signs that her thoughts had been reordering themselves throughout the year.
Falling in love with Harry. Being honest with her family about the worst thing about Malfoy Manor. Feeling desire, and wanting intimacy. And now realizing that she really didn't have to associate the intimacy she might share with Harry with being raped. There would be a vast difference, like being hugged rather than beaten.
"And it's not so much that I didn't know," Ginny said out loud. Arnold peeped enthusiastically. "It's just that I've really avoided thinking about it." Now that she had her eyes open, though, she realized she'd been hiding from her own mind, because she'd been afraid of the pain.
The room seemed brighter.
"And Harry's been the eye-opener," she informed Arnold. It was true that her relationship with him hadn't solved every issue the way the immature and naïve part of her had hoped. But he'd really given her the motive to want to heal, and not to be so afraid to really acknowledge what had happened. And actually try to find her way out of the maze instead of pretending that she was all right.
She flopped backward, still stunned by the continued awareness that kept pouring over her. It was strange that clarity could come so swiftly. But it had been almost as easy as opening her eyes, as though she could have seen these things long ago. And even though she knew that it would be frivolous to assume that everything was sunshine and rainbows now, but… she already felt more at ease.
And more prepared for all that would come with a more adult relationship. It frightened her a little, still. But it was more of an echo than a thought that made her panic and think about other things.
It's okay to desire Harry. He isn't like them. This ran through her mind again and again. Harry was the furthest thing from a monster as someone could get. Her mind had played a cruel trick on her with the dream. Harry wouldn't turn into Malfoy.
If he were to touch her, it would be gentle. Ginny closed her eyes and imagined it. His hands would caress her body, and he probably wouldn't even do it until she strongly encouraged him to. She'd practically pushed her bum into his hand. Harry wouldn't take anything that she didn't give him.
If she wanted him to touch her breasts, he would. Her hand moved of it's own accord until she was lightly stroking her breast through her bra.
She was very self-conscious about what she was doing – it seemed like such a bloke thing. But when she closed her eyes and pretended that it was Harry's caress causing her nipple to harden beneath her fingertips, it ceased to matter. No one was watching; she was about as private as she could get.
Her hand traveled down, and she bent her knee. Harry's hand on her bum had inflamed her, and the idea of his hand between her legs had her panting. She allowed a few moments of her recent dreams – the good ones – to inspire her. Her body responded with a growing enthusiasm that surprised her a little, and she rolled her hips, thrusting up against her own hand. Her eyes were pressed firmly closed as she thought about her dreams.
Her orgasm rippled over her body, leaving her feeling almost weightless. So that's why everyone likes this so much, she thought, with a sense of wonder. It wasn't so much the physical sensation, but the ability to do it. And she hadn't once had a disturbing image pop into her head, and she was pretty damn certain that she wouldn't while she was awake and able to control it.
"Now all I have to do is tell Harry I'm mostly okay now," she told Arnold. But it was only nine in the evening. It seemed like forever until tomorrow, another twelve hours, at least. But then it seemed like not enough time, since he deserved an actual explanation instead of a stammering apology.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
05 February 2002
Harry jolted awake the moment someone touched his shoulder. "Whathefu?" he said blearily. He kept blinking -- have I gone blind? -- and realized that his room was black as pitch.
"Harry, I'm so sorry."
Ginny.
The sleepy haze persisted, and his mouth opened and closed several times without any words emerging. What was going on? Hadn't she decided not to see him anymore? Why was she in his room and apologizing to him? It almost made his head hurt. Am I dreaming? "Am I dreaming?"
"No," she said. "Listen, I've been really stupid—"
"You're sure?" said Harry, who thought that if it turned out it was a dream, and Ginny seeking him out after several long days of silence and disgust was only an image conjured by his mind, it was a particularly cruel trick. "Because—"
Her hand clamped over his mouth. "Sorry," she said. "But it's taken me all night to get here, and I have to tell you something. And – and I'm really… well, it's hard for me."
Harry nodded, grateful that some of the cobwebs were clearing out of his head. Her hand disappeared, but he still didn't say anything. He still had a general question of what the hell was going on, but Ginny had settled herself at the foot of his bed – he could feel the weight near his feet – and he hoped she would explain.
Not that she needed an explanation for deciding that she didn't want to see him. But why the change of heart? There was a long silence, and Harry might have begun to doubt the fact that she was really here if Arnold hadn't chosen that moment to jump on his chest and crawl over to nuzzle his chin.
"I really liked it when you touched my bum," she blurted out. This only added to the confusion, and Harry suddenly had the strong sense that he didn't actually understand anything.
"Er," he said, before remembering that he wasn't to say anything.
"And I like it when you kiss me," she added. It sounded as though these words carried heavy weight, though in his befuddled state, Harry couldn't quite grasp what she was getting at. "I – well, I mean… I really, really like it." For some reason, this was accompanied by a prod to his foot.
"What time is it?" he asked suddenly.
"Three," she said hesitantly.
Harry felt like telling her that it was a bit late to be so cryptic, but the part of him that had missed her and was happy to see her no matter the hour overpowered the cranky part of him. He held his tongue. But he still didn't see the importance. Harry really, really liked her kisses too, if his physical reaction was any indicator. It was like having a constant—
Oh.
"Oh," he said, surprised. Is that what she's getting at? Really? He sat up. "Really? I mean… not what time it is, but about the – er – the really liking kissing part?"
She puffed out a sigh. "Well, yes," she finally said, voice firm. Despite the darkness, Harry knew that she was blushing. His sleepiness was fading very fast. They'd never talked about this kind of thing, of course, and he needed to give it his full attention.
I was really wrong, he admitted to himself.
"I was – it – I didn't," she stumbled over her words, and then fumbled around in the dark and found his foot underneath the bedclothes. Gripping it tightly, she continued. "I was confused. I thought… well, I wasn't thinking things through all the way. It just seemed like being – aroused by you meant something that it absolutely doesn't."
In spite of the halting speech, Harry knew exactly what she meant. Of course. "I had the same thing," he told her. "For the entire first year." He'd masturbated a grand total of three times that year, and each occasion had brought about disturbing thoughts and shame. It had taken a while, but sexual frustration and greater distance from the situation had made him realize that even though his mind had been assaulted with images that only a monster would find titillating, he'd never found them arousing, and he never would.
But how could he tell her this without revealing his private habits?
"I was really afraid that Voldemort warped me," he said. "And that I'd – well, that I wouldn't be able to help myself. But, Ginny," he continued firmly. "Never. I never would, and I—"
"I know," she interrupted him, giving his foot a squeeze. Harry was impressed that she'd made sense of what he'd just said, given that it had been pretty incoherent even to him. "I know. And that was sort of – I was really disgusted with myself, you know," she told him. Her voice shook a little. "And I know that it isn't always – sex can be… not like that."
"I hope not, otherwise there are lots of seriously fucked up people in the world," Harry said before he could stop himself. He froze. Now is not the time for humor! Not even dark humor!
But instead of withdrawing again, she snorted. Silence fell, and Harry found himself wishing that he could see her face. As though in response to his thoughts, she lit the end of her wand and looked him full in the face. "Mostly I felt awful that… I had a nightmare," she shrugged. "And it started out as a really, really good dream."
She eyed him carefully, and Harry nodded once to prevent her from prodding him again. Now wasn't the moment, but he sensed that once the seriousness of the conversation faded, he was going to be very happy to think of her dreaming about him.
"And then it changed," she said delicately. "And, well, it was suddenly Lucius Malfoy."
Harry thought very quickly. He felt a renewed rage at her tormentors for being able to reach through the years so deftly and continue to hurt her. But she didn't need to see anger now, so he pushed it away. It was a lot to process. She hadn't turned away from him because she'd come to her senses. But she was feeling confused by her sexuality. Harry couldn't begin to imagine how difficult it must be for her – it had been hard enough for him, and he hadn't suffered the way she had – but it wasn't something that had to drive them apart.
"I'm sorry," he said thickly.
"I'm the one who should be," she said quickly. "I know you aren't anything like them. I swear. It wasn't because – I don't think—"
"I know." It was his turn to interrupt. He eyed her closely. She was shaking, whether from nerves or cold, he couldn't tell. Without even thinking about it, he scooted to his left, and pulled away the bedclothes. "Come here."
She crawled over immediately and lay on her left side, facing him. "I've got it figured out now," she said. "And I wanted to tell you – I'm sorry that I let it bother me so much."
Harry hesitated, buying time by hooking a lock of hair over her ear. He was feeling very cozy and warm all of a sudden. And sleepy. And happy that she was here with him. "I avoided you for several days when I realized that I was attracted to you," he told her.
She lifted her head off the pillow, eyes wide. "When you didn't want to go flying anymore?"
"Mm hmm," he murmured. "And this – I'm not going to lie. I haven't been very happy over the last few days. But what you've been sorting through – well, I understand why you needed a break." He curled toward her in almost the same moment that she curled toward him. Their knees touched.
"Still," she yawned. "If I ever get crazy again—"
"You aren't crazy," he told her forcefully. "I'm the one who's a complete nutter." And it was true. It seemed remarkably stupid of him to avoid her.
"Don't turn this into a contest," she said. "I am a Weasley."
Harry appreciated the levity. The conversation had lifted a burden from his shoulders, he had to admit. A lot of it had been there before she'd recoiled. It seemed a bit strange that he was relaxed enough to sleep, but he was.
"I won't do it again," she said quietly. "I don't want to hide anymore."
"Good," he said.
"I'm really comfortable," she said. Harry was once again unaware of what she was getting at. He cracked his eyes open, and noticed that she'd moved her head closer to his. Maybe she wants a good night kiss?
He was glad that he wasn't too drained to enjoy the feel of her lips against his. Nor was he too tired to smile at the sight of Arnold scooting closer to the sleeping Calliope.
"Can I stay?" she asked.
"You were going to leave?" he asked.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
05 February 2002
Ginny awoke feeling warm and well-rested for the first time in days. It took her a few seconds to realize why, but she gradually became aware of Harry's body curled around hers. She lay on her side, and the palm of his hand was splayed on her belly, just below her ribcage. His stomach was pressed to her back, and she could feel the puffs of breath from his snores stirring the hair near her ear.
And Harry's erection was snug against her bum.
Her breath caught as fear and dread swamped over her, and suddenly she wasn't in a warm bed, but under a table, and she knew exactly what a hard penis meant. It wasn't anything good and--
"Juh," Harry murmured sleepily. She immediately latched on to the sound of his voice.
This is Harry, she told herself firmly. It took several moments for her heartbeat to calm down, but the longer she forced herself to remember that it was Harry nestled against her, the easier it got. One by one, her limbs relaxed. The fear and dread receded, and once it had faded enough, Ginny realized that she was more intrigued by his arousal than frightened.
Not like you should be frightened at all. Ginny had to admit that it would be pretty hypocritical of her to dislike the fact that he was aroused. He was really able to light a fire in her with his kisses and bum touching, and her confusion over that had faded. Plus, he was asleep, and his penis wasn't actually doing anything. Just resting against her bum.
Ginny felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to giggle. After the last several days, it just felt quite surreal to wake up in Harry's bed with him wrapped around her, completely asleep, and with an erection throbbing against her. And she wasn't frightened a bit, not anymore, though her skin still quivered with the aftermath.
Almost without thinking, she pressed back against it a little. Harry sighed heavily and Ginny froze, but he continued to sleep. Now that she was paying especial attention to it, she could feel that it was throbbing against her. Gradually, she relaxed and her limbs felt like they were melting into the bed. Her breasts ached, and she was very aware of his hand on her belly all of a sudden. It was warm, hot even, and she wished he'd move it just a few inches higher...
All sorts of wild thoughts were surging through her head, and the mad urge to roll over and perhaps even steal a peek almost seized her. He wouldn't know, said a maddeningly little voice. I would know, she argued. Harry wouldn't appreciate me spying on him like that. But her common sense and respect for his privacy was slowly being overshadowed by the slow tide of desire.
It won't hurt anything.
Ginny rolled over, and was hit with a heady dose of nervous excitement when Harry moved when she did. It seemed to happen naturally that he was on his back and she was on her side. She laid her head on his chest and, heart threatening to thump right out of her, considered what to do with the bedclothes. And even though she probably shouldn't want to take advantage of Harry while he was sleeping, she couldn't help but like the fact that she wanted to.
It was almost like she'd finally woken up. Strange to think of it in that way, but even though the last few days had been terrible and almost as confusing as the first weeks after she'd returned to the Burrow after Malfoy Manor, she felt a greater sense of clarity. Destroying the Foe Glass in the Room of Requirement had lessened the sense that the Death Eaters were looming over her, and what had come after in her dorm had reassured her that the desire that Harry evoked in her shouldn't cause her to be afraid.
And the desire that she evoked in Harry – that should be the least frightening of all. Everything that happened at Malfoy Manor – he'd killed people to stop himself from hurting her -- and everything since (even his long absence) was just proof that he'd do anything not to hurt her. She didn't have to be confused about that, not at all.
Even in the midst of her thoughts, Ginny was very aware that her hand now rested on his lower stomach, reminding her of why she'd rolled over in the first place. Harry's erection, pressing against her bum.
The bedclothes were still in the way, and she didn't know quite what to do with them. She pushed away further thoughts of how she was technically taking advantage of him by reminding herself that just the night before, he'd admitted to desiring her. And she wasn't going to touch it… just look at it. It wasn't her fault that a man's arousal was easy to see. It's not like I'm going to strip him before I ogle him, she told herself. And he looks at my bum often enough.
She shifted a bit and squirmed so that the covers were just barely covering his stomach, right below her hand. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of flesh and dark hair surrounding his navel and disappearing into his pajama bottoms. The languid, heavy feeling in her limbs increased, and the air in the room seemed particularly heavy all of a sudden.
Ginny was just trying to convince herself to lift the rest of the bedclothes, when Harry woke up. Her ear was still pressed to his chest, and she heard his sleepy mumble followed by a hitch in his breath. His stomach muscles contracted beneath her hand, and his hips rose off the bed.
"Shit," he murmured, squirming.
He tried to move away, but Ginny grabbed hold of his shirt and wouldn't let him go. When he froze, she loosened her hold. Her fingers splayed on his stomach, and it quivered beneath her touch. It was strange… all of her attention was focused on that one spot, and she knew by the quality of his silence, and his uneven breath, that all of Harry's focus was just as intense.
I'm going to do this, she thought. This is going to happen. She brushed her fingertips through his thatch of dark hair. And then she followed it down, dipping her hand beneath the waistband and tickled a little. Harry sucked in a deep breath and arched his back, mumbling incoherently, though Ginny thought she heard her name. His reaction made her hand travel down another inch, until her index finger rested lightly against hard, heated flesh.
Ginny turned her head and pressed a kiss directly over his racing heart, just as she stroked his penis lightly and then wrapped her hand around it. Harry made a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, a mix between a groan and a sigh.
She explored him as his hips rolled and he thrust into her hand. The tip, she discovered, was particularly sensitive, and her touch was causing him to pant and whisper to her.
"Ginny – that's – whoa," he said. His hand moved restlessly into her hair. "I've – thought and thought – it's even better --much better than a fantasy—"
And even though she kept a tight lid on whatever lingering anxiety and fading dread she felt, his voice kept her in the bed with him, instead of trapped in her own memories. She increased her pace.
Look at him.
She obeyed the impulse, despite the fact that her face flushed at the idea of actually meeting his eyes when she was stroking him and trying to please him. But she peeked at him to find that he was staring at her. The look of pleasure on his face forced away some of the lingering shadows.
But the intensity was a bit much, and she glanced down. The moment she pressed her lips to his neck, he gave a final groan, and warmth flowed over her hand. She kept her face buried in his shoulder while he recovered, and slowly, almost reluctantly, she withdrew her hand, not knowing exactly what she was meant to do with the mess.
Harry took care of the problem for her. He reached over for his wand and cast a simple cleaning charm that her mother used for fixing spills. She couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry," she said, lifting her head and meeting his eyes again, the moment of discomfort fading fast. "It's just – I've never heard of that spell being used in quite that way."
He kissed the tip of her nose and then her lips. "You aren't a bloke," he pointed out fairly. "This charm is pretty much the most useful one out there," he admitted.
Ginny felt her face flush again, but in an entirely good way. She felt strangely relaxed and comfortable and not the least bit jittery. This is Harry. And even though his presence in her life and what he meant to her couldn't make all of the darkness completely disappear, he gave her the strength to step into the sunlight. "I hope – well, I hope we use it, you know. More."
"Me too," he said fervently.