Ginny slid in her skirt and smoothed it down in a vain attempt to unwrinkle the fabric. What was I thinking wearing silk today? She looked about for her knickers. The dim-lit hotel room was a mess, with clothes scattered all over the floor and the smell of sex still in the air. They had made it to the bed this time, which was rather impressive considering it had been almost five months since their last encounter.

Harry was still in bed, wrapped in a profound sleep. Ginny allowed herself to stare at him for a moment. His lips were parted and he was snoring softly, a clear sign of his exhaustion. She sighed; he looked so different when he was asleep. His features were softer and he looked much younger, almost like an innocent little boy… So different from the criminal the Order painted him to be.

Shaking her head, Ginny wordlessly summoned her knickers with a flick of her wand and watched it fly towards her from under the nightstand. She raised a brow. How on earth did they get there? Thoughts of Harry vanishing her knickers, lifting her hips with his hands, and pressing her legs apart assailed her.

Right.

Fastening her pearl necklace, Ginny caught a glimpse of the silver band ring on her left hand. The ring was so small, so fragile, she often forgot it was there.

"It's your duty," Aunt Muriel had told her. "Do you want to end up like your brothers?"

Ginny suddenly felt cold. She looked back at Harry and it took all her willpower not to lay down next to him.

Their relationship ‒ if you could call it that ‒ was doomed from the very beginning, but she was too stubborn, or maybe too much of a coward, to admit it. He was Harry Potter, the Undesirable Number One, and she was Ginny Weasley, proud member of the Order of the Phoenix.

The moment Sirius Black and Harry refused to join the Order, they became traitors according to Dumbledore. Ginny wasn't so sure if this statement held true. She had asked Harry about his view on Voldemort, and it was clear that Harry and she were both fighting against him. Their means were simply different.

Ginny had come to the conclusion that Harry wasn't a death eater, and therefore she wasn't doing anything wrong by seeing him. At least, that's what she had been telling herself for the past few years to justify their secret love affair.

It started very innocently ‒ coffee at the Leaky Cauldron, a walk in Hogsmeade ‒ but then words had gotten around and her brothers had confronted her. Deep down, Ginny knew she should have put a stop to her meeting with 'dangerous Harry Potter' after that, but she simply couldn't. He was like a breath of fresh air and she was suffocating.

Then they started to meet secretly in Muggle London. Their late night conversations turned into soft caresses and hot kisses, and there was no turning back from there.

Except… Ginny twisted the ring on her finger. Except whatever there was between them had to end now.

A car zoomed down the street, its siren breaking through the silence of the hotel room. Harry stirred on the bed. Eyes still closed, he blindly reached for her and sat up straight when he found her side of the bed empty. He summoned his glasses with a wave of his hand, then seemed to sigh in relief when his eyes finally found hers.

His hair was a mess and a sheepish smile was dancing on his lips. He looked utterly adorable.

Ginny turned her back to him, swallowing against her rising sobs. "We should stop seeing each other."

Harry didn't answer right away and for a brief instant, she wondered if he heard her. She picked her discarded handbag from the floor and rummaged aimlessly through her belongings, mostly to give herself something to do.

"Why?" His voice was so cold, a chill went through her.

Keeping her back to him, she answered, "Because I'm getting married. Tomorrow."

Again, no answer.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, forbidding herself to give in to her tears, and clenched the handle of her handbag tightly. She wished Harry would get mad or yell at her, it would make this breakup easier. She could deal with anger, but this cold stoic silence… Her mum was right, silence did hurt more than words.

"What's his name?" Harry finally asked.

Heart drumming, she tried her best to keep her voice steady. "It doesn't matter."

"Ginny," he growled. "Give me his name. Right. Now."

She turned around to face him, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Ernie Macmillan."

Harry instantly flew off the bed, closing the space between them. "Since when have you been seeing him?"

His green eyes bored down into her, pinning her to the ground, and she suddenly felt small and vulnerable. "I'm not seeing him. We're just… engaged."

His brows snapped together. "What?"

"Look." She took a deep breath. "Ernie asked for my hand and Aunt Muriel approved of him."

Harry's mouth set in a hard line. "You can't marry him."

Ginny glared back at him, clenching the handle of her handbag tighter. "I have to."

"Have to?" he shouted. "You can't marry a man because you have to! Do you love him?"

"Love doesn't matter!" she yelled back, her anger filling over any kind of sorrow she was feeling. "Bill married a Veela, Charlie is in Romania, Percy is a Ministry puppet, Fred and George are on the run Merlin knows where, and Ron married a Muggle-born. I'm my family last hope, and Ernie will provide us with financial stability."

Harry sneered. "Social status, that's more like it."

"Stop it."

Ginny turned on her heels, but Harry caught her wrist and spun her around, bringing her close to his body. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the look in his eyes; a mixture of anger, anxiety, and carnal desire.

One arm around her waist, Harry clasped her to him. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want to see me again."

Chest heaving, Ginny urged her brain to say something, but it was hard to think straight when Harry was looking at her like that ‒ like a predator hunting down his prey. She was overwhelmed by his scent, his warmth, and her slowly rising desire.

"Harry," she breathed.

Never breaking eye contact, Harry's hand sneaked underneath her skirt and he gently ran his fingernails up her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her skin. Her lips parted with a soft moan when she felt his growing erection against her belly. Lust, raw and hot, spread through her.

"Stop." Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

Harry leant down and kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling on her flesh. "You don't want me to stop."

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her mind hazzed off, lust blindsiding her, and all she could think about was how much her body craved his.

Harry cupped her bum and held her against his hips, languishly pushing his arousal into her.

Ginny arched against him. "We shouldn't," she said, despite the wetness dampening her knickers.

"Tell me you want me," he whispered in her ear.

"Harry," she breathed, "I'm engaged."

Harry captured her lips and Ginny kissed him back with an anguished moan. His tongue parted her lips, ravaging her mouth mercilessly. One arm around her waist, he ran his hand through her hair, getting a good handful of it, and pulled her closer. An almost unbearable heat rushed through her, all the way down her groin. He had never kissed her like that before; it was as if his lips were branding her soul.

Harry tore himself from her mouth and trailed hot kisses down her neck.

"Harry, please."

His teeth lightly grazed her neck. "Say it."

"I want you," she gasped. "God, I want you so bad."

Harry's hands moved down her thighs and he lifted her up. Ginny wrapped her legs around his waist as his arms slid underneath her bum to support her. He had wordlessly vanished her clothes by the time her back was pressed against the bed.

Ginny pulled her knees up as Harry positioned himself at her entrance.

"You're mine," he growled, then drove himself into her.

"Ah," she moaned, meeting his thrusts.

Their lovemaking was hard and fast. Harry called out her name when he came, thrusting harder, then stilling as he emptied himself into her.

They lay together for a long time; Ginny curled into his side as he traced lazy patterns up and down her back. She looked up when she felt the moist whisper of his lips on her forehead. Harry was staring at her with an intense look in his eyes. His anger and lust had disappeared, but his anxiety was still there.

Ginny reached over and caressed his cheek, her silver band ring gleaming in the dim-lit hotel room. Harry turned his face slightly and kissed her palm.

And at this moment, it all became clear to her.

"I'm yours," she whispered. "Yours only."

They would face the world tomorrow, but tonight, all she needed was the warmth of his arms.