Ginny stared dumbly at Harry as he walked into her flat, shutting the door carefully behind him. He leaned the poster against the back of her sofa and gestured at it. "Do you know what it said?" he asked. The excitement in his voice was palpable.
Harry's face was flushed and his hair messier than usual. He was still wearing the same shirt and trousers he'd had on in the laundry room and nothing about them looked amiss. Still, it wasn't difficult for Ginny to understand what Harry had heard, and how it had made him feel. He'd admitted his crush on her himself, after all. No matter the awkwardness between them in person, Ginny knew that if the poster had said the right sort of things, Harry wouldn't be able to resist getting aroused. By looks of things, the poster had said the right things.
Even as Ginny watched, it flashed numbers, first a green 15 and then a red 1. She flinched to herself. She could remember every single time she and Harry made the green number change - where they'd been, what position they'd used, what they'd talked about afterwards, what they'd talked about during -everything. She'd seen the intensity of pleasure on Harry's face as he climaxed and felt him shudder inside of her, his comforting weight collapsing on top of her afterwards while he trailed soft kisses on whatever part of her skin he could reach.
And now he'd come to see her after he climaxed alone, while listening a poster that knew exactly how many times Harry and Ginny had had sex. Ginny felt sick. What had the poster said? Why was Harry was here? She sighed and sat down on her sofa, gesturing him to sit down too. The poster was behind her and she didn't have to look at it.
But Harry picked it up and carried it over to the oversized chair across from her. He sat down on the edge of the seat and leaned the poster against one of the chair's wide stuffed armrests. He stared at his photographed face avidly for a moment before turning back to Ginny.
"It talks," he said unnecessarily. "It told me . . . do you know what it said?"
Ginny gave a tight nod, trying to remind herself that Harry had no idea what the poster really meant. She kept her voice as emotionless as possible.
"It's telling you how many times you've had sex." She couldn't look at Harry as she answered. "The green number is the number of times in total and the red is the number of . . . different witches you've had sex with in your flat." She couldn't stop voice from wavering. Given the rather short time she and Harry had been intimate, having sex fifteen times already had been more than satisfying, especially because they'd joked together about just how high they could get the number to go. Now it seemed to taunt her; fifteen times having sex with Harry wasn't nearly enough at all. And the red "1" - that number would have never had cause to change again. And now it very well might. Ginny bit the inside of her cheek again to keep the tears in check.
Harry waved his hand impatiently. "I know," he said. "I know they're the number of times I've had sex." His voice had a strange timbre to it. Ginny looked up, wondering if Harry was again recognizing that he'd had sex - lost his virginity - and couldn't remember it. Harry caught her eye. "It's the number of times I've had sex with you." He pointed at the poster. "fifteen times total, and only with you."
Ginny wasn't surprised that Harry had figured it out so quickly; she'd told him herself that the two of them had been intimate. He'd been understandably discomforted by the information in the chamber, but now it seemed like he'd gotten past that and found a way to enjoy the idea.
"I'm sorry you don't remember Harry," Ginny said tiredly. She rubbed at her eyes and tried not to look at the poster, which was flashing more insistently now. For the first time since Harry had lost his memory, Ginny wished he wasn't there. Before now, being around Harry had been painful, of course, but also a little bit comforting. Being able to see him, to watch for those things that hadn't changed - the way he carried himself, his voice, his smell, even - had allowed her to pretend that she still had a tiny bit of Harry with her. And if she was being completely honest with herself, Ginny had also harbored the hope that maybe being around her would jog something in Harry's memory. So she'd resigned herself to put up with the pain of being around him as often as she could stand it on the slim chance that it might make a difference.
But right now, Ginny didn't think she could stand it. Harry was animated about something that related to her and she couldn't even share it with him. He was reacting to the poster like a teenager and it didn't bother him. Hell, was probably planning put it on the ceiling of his room and have a good wank whenever he wanted.
That wasn't quite fair. Ginny knew that Harry had masturbated to increasingly outlandish fantasies of her before they'd gotten together, but that had been different. It had been his secret. Despite everything, Ginny couldn't bring herself to believe that Harry would go right back to that place, now that he knew about their history. Even if he couldn't remember it himself, Harry had never disbelieved what Ginny and Ron and Hermione had told him. The Harry that Ginny knew wouldn't be comfortable with a regular wank to thoughts of her now, knowing what he did. The poster had probably surprised him, this time. Still, that didn't mean Ginny wanted to hear about it.
But Harry was shaking his head, and Ginny realized that he'd been watching her, waiting silently for her regain control. He didn't look quite as . . . post orgasm . . . as he had when he'd arrived. His eyes were still bright with excitement, but there was more compassion in his expression - compassion, but not pity. It was the first spark of familiarity Ginny had seen from Harry and it reassured her that his personality hadn't reverted completely to what it had been before he and Ginny had gotten together. He may not remember them, but just the knowing had changed the way he treated Ginny now. She wasn't sure if that was completely a good thing.
"I shouldn't have burst in here like this," he said. He raised his hand as if to touch the poster and then lowered it. "I should have figured out more first. I still don't . . . but I couldn't wait." He was twisting the bottom of his shirt in his hands and seeing that small, familiar gesture grounded Ginny. She gave Harry a sad smile.
"I can imagine," she said. "The poster can be rather . . . explicit." Despite herself, Ginny gave a small smirk, remembering how the poster had seemed almost sentient at times, changing and embellishing its comments as time had gone on. It was a kind of "thing that could think for itself," but in this case, Ginny knew that the poster kept its brain inside the crazy but rather brilliant minds of her twin brothers.
"It told me a lot," agreed Harry. "Things I didn't know." The excitement in his voice had changed again; he sounded almost nervous all of a sudden. Ginny saw him take a deep breath. "And it told me some things I did." He got up suddenly and walked over to the sofa and for a moment Ginny thought he was going to sit down next to her. Instead, he sat on the coffee table facing her; their knees almost touched. Harry looked over at the poster again.
"It said your name," he said quietly. "And mine. Did it do that . . . before?"
That wasn't at all what Ginny had been expecting and she had to think. "No," she said slowly. She shook her head. "No, it can't do that." She thought for another moment. "Dam didn't buy that option, to have it say my name, I mean, the name of the witch you had sex with. Me." She knew she wasn't making sense but Harry was watching her with a sense of expectancy and Ginny was overcome with the feeling that she just wanted to give him the right answer, that it would make a difference somehow. She shook her head again. "I don't think it can say my name."
"But it did," said Harry quietly. He pointed his wand at the poster and it began reciting. At first, it sounded familiar.
And Potter catches the Snitch - twice!
"Yeah, that was what it said . . ." began Ginny. She really didn't want to be reminded of those first times she and Harry made love but he was watching the poster intently, leaning towards her so far that now and then his knees did skim hers. He didn't pull away and Ginny forced herself to stay still.
"Wait, there's more," said Harry. He pointed his wand again, and Ginny heard the poster proclaim that Harry had now had sex four times, and then announce that Harry had brought one witch back to his own flat. He was watching it avidly again and for a moment Ginny wondered if his arousal was returning. But Harry didn't have that look on his face, and Ginny had seen it enough times to know. He leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. "Just wait," he said. He seemed to realize what he'd done and pulled back his hand.
Ginny wished he'd kept it there, but then the poster shuddered and Harry made a low sound of anticipation.
And Potter Catches the Snitch - He Brought Home HIS One Witch! Harry Caught Ginny, it's Plain to See, There'll Be a Lot More Counting from Me!
Harry nodded and then sat back and smiled at Ginny. "It didn't say that before," he said. "It never said your name before."
"Right," said Ginny. "I just told you that, that Dam didn't buy the option to have the poster give up the names of the witches."
Harry nodded, he was almost bouncing up and down on Ginny's coffee table. "Because he figured he'd be with me at whatever pub I picked up a witch to bring home."
"I think that's right," said Ginny. The conversation was giving her a weird feeling of disconnection. One part of her was having a calm and rational talk with a Harry who felt like an acquaintance, while the rest was trying to suppress the ache of needing the Harry she loved. With him sitting right here in front of her talking earnestly about something that had concerned them both, it was more difficult to remember that he wasn't really here. The need wasn't a sexual one; it felt more like grief. But Harry apparently wasn't going to let her dwell there; he had more questions.
"And they couldn't get the two numbers to work together, Fred and George," Harry continued. "They wanted to be able to show how many different times I brought the same witch to my flat but they haven't been able to get it to work. The poster only announces the total number of times we've had sex orthe fact that I've only brought one witch home." He shrugged. "Not that we need it to count higher, I guess."
Ginny leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. There was something about the way Harry was speaking that tickled her mind but she was too scared to pursue what was probably nothing. "The poster's gotten a lot more detailed," she said instead. She couldn't feel Harry's knees against hers now but that was probably better. "Fred'n George will be happy to hear that."
"Yeah, but, that's not from the poster." Harry voice was quiet. She felt another touch on her knee. "Ginny?"
"Hmm?" Not looking at Harry was easier.
The pressure on her knee didn't go away. "I said, I didn't know about Fred and George from the poster. I just . . . know."
Ginny felt an odd shiver in her chest. She carefully opened her eyes. Harry was leaning towards her again; his hand moved on her knee and then held it as if to keep her in place.
"What do you mean, you know?" she asked carefully. The needing part of her wanted to put her hand on top of Harry's. But it was also warning her to be careful, to not make any assumptions. Ginny made her voice stay even; they were just two acquaintances talking, still. Her heart gave another odd thump and her realistic side tried to tell it to stop.
She could tell Harry wanted to burst with his news and that alone made Ginny shiver again. He took a deep breath and when he spoke, his voice was as even as hers.
"I . . . I know what Fred and George wanted to poster to do, but couldn't get it to work. The poster didn't tell me that." He gave her a tiny, hopeful smile. "I think I remembered it."
Harry's revelation was explosive; instead, it caused them both to freeze.
Ginny tried to remind herself that the poster was only meant to keep track of sex, and that maybe Harry had absorbed some residual understanding of how it worked. Maybe Fred or George had something while she was still unconscious. Maybe Ron had a made a joke. But she couldn't not ask.
Scooting forward slowly so that she could pull back if needed, she finally gave in and put her hand on top of Harry's on her knee. His hand twitched and then stilled, gripping her knee more tightly. "Do you remember anything else?" Ginny held her breath, watching as Harry gave a jerky nod. He looked at her.
"I . . . I think I do," he said slowly. "It doesn't all make sense; some of it's just images I don't really understand. But . . . the poster kept saying things, rhyming things,and it made me . . . think of more things." Harry's expression turned distant, as if he was trying to recall something. "That's when I came to you."
Ginny felt a stab of understanding and then disappointment. "So you remember some things about having sex?" she asked. The rational part of her took over again, telling her that Harry was probably wasn't remembering as much as using his knowledge of Fred and George, not to mention his years of secret daydreams about her. But then the needing part pushed those thoughts aside. Something was different.
"Not just about sex," Harry said. He was speaking more quickly now, as if he didn't want to lose the words and he wasn't sure how long they'd stay. "Those memories are the strongest, but . . . I think there are other things too?" He leaned even closer to her. "I don't know if they're real though," he said. His hand twisted on her knee until his fingers tangled with hers. He held them without moving. "Can you help me figure it out?"
Ginny would have agreed anyway, but the raw vulnerability in Harry's voice almost undid her. Giving in to need, she tugged on his hand until she nearly pulled him off the coffee table and he had to stand up or end up on the floor. He gave her a questioning look but she didn't trust her voice yet. Instead, she scooted over on the sofa and turned sideways. Harry understood, sitting down next to her and turning so that they faced each other. He glanced at their clasped hands.
"It started with you holding my hand last time too, didn't it?"
Ginny still couldn't speak. She nodded instead, wondering what would happen if she gave into the tingling hope that was staring to course through her body. Harry shuffled a little on the sofa. "The poster didn't say anything about that," he said quietly. "About you holding my hand. I think maybe because it happened in your flat."
Ginny looked at Harry full in the face then, something she hadn't done since the nightmare had begun. His eyes stared back at her, searching. She licked her lips. "It did," she said hoarsely. "It did happen in my my flat."
Harry nodded, as if pleased to have that information confirmed. He shuffled again. "And we had sex at the Burrow," he said. He gave a small chuckle. "Apparently I talked in my sleep during a nap on this sofa after that night." He pointed his wand at the poster again.
Harry and Ginny Won't Let it Get Static, Not When They Have Sex on a Ladder to the Attic!
Ginny couldn't help but groan. "How long do you think it had to work to come up with that rhyme?" she asked. The voice in her head that had been telling her not to assume anything, to take it slow, Ginny, was still there, but getting fainter.
Harry grinned. "Good thing we weren't in the garden, or I'm sure it would be telling us about what had a chance to 'harden.'" His face crinkled. "Is that right? We didn't have sex in your parents' garden, or did we?"
Some of the reality came crashing back down around Ginny. She shook her head. "We didn't," she said carefully. Hermione's warning about memory charms and being careful not to stress them ringing in her head. "Do you think we did?"
"No," said Harry slowly. He rubbed a hand across his face. "I don't remember that," He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa. "There are a lot of images though, and they're coming faster now. I don't know if I . . ." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "I want to trust them," he said, hesitantly, looking down at his hands.
"But . . .?" asked Ginny softly. She squeezed his hand. "If it's not what we . . . think it is, that's okay." She had almost said that if it wasn't what they wanted, it would be okay, but something held her back. The doubt that Harry, in this state, just didn't care about remembering her, was still there. The fear had dogged her sleep and even chased through too many waking hours for Ginny to give it up easily. She couldn't deny that something was different now, and that scared her even more. She waited until he looked up at her. "But?" she asked again.
"But Kane's ritual put thoughts in my head too." Harry scooted closer to Ginny on the sofa but she wasn't sure he noticed, so intent was he on getting the words out. "I had conversations with Tom Riddle that weren't true. It was all an illusion created by a wizard who didn't care what kind of damage he did to my mind as long as he got what he wanted in the end. What if this is all an illusion too?" Harry's voice shook on the last word; he looked terrified in a way Ginny had never seen before, and that was including the Department of Mysteries and at the Final Battle. "I have no control over this, I can't make it better," he said, so quietly that Ginny had to strain to hear him. Harry held up his wand. "If it was a spell or a battle or a dangerous creature I'd either know what to do or at least figure out as I went along. I didn't even think to ask questions before I ran after you into the ritual." Harry was staring at her, and Ginny could see unshed tears in his eyes. He shook his head at her. "Ginny, I'm so sorry, I don't know how to fight this."
The needingdoor in Ginny's heart opened a little wider. She instinctively ran her hand down Harry's cheek, intending it to be just a momentary touch. But he leaned into it, capturing her hand in his as it brushed across his jaw and keeping it there. He'd closed his eyes again and was breathing slowly, and Ginny didn't know if he was seeing more memories or struggling for control.
"But you are fighting this, Harry," she said softly. She moved a little closer to him on the sofa. "I've seen a difference in you even in the time since you knocked on my door." She tilted his chin up to look at her. "You want to remember, don't you?"
Harry nodded immediately. "I can't stand not getting it back," he said vehemently. "And now that I'm seeing glimpses, I want it even more."
Ginny felt like the very air around her and Harry was fragile, and that one wrong word could shatter what she was starting to believe was happening. She kept her voice as even as she could, but knew Harry could hear the emotion behind it. "This is the first time you've wanted it back," she said. "Until now, you just . . . I mean, I thought . . ." Ginny's efforts to keep her emotions in check finally failed. She shook her head, letting the tears fall and taking deep breaths to try to stop them. She sensed more than saw Harry moving in front of her. His voice was very close when he spoke again.
"I remember giving Fred and George each a Galleon to help me win when we played Quidditch at the Burrow," he said softly. "You were so angry when those Bulldoggers wouldn't leave you alone."
Ginny looked up at Harry. Here was a memory that clearly had nothing to do with sex. She started to nod but Harry kept talking. "And when you got mad at me, all I could think about was how . . . beautiful you were, and it wasn't like before, when I'd just had my crush. It was the first time I really . . ." He smiled ruefully. "And you then you lumped me in with all your brothers and all I could think was that I was never going to change your mind about me."
It was a simple little story, one Ginny hadn't heard before. It was the kind of thing Harry probably would have mentioned the next time they were at the Burrow and someone asked about having a game of Quidditch. Ginny would have pretended to be indignant that Harry'd actually paid her brothers to help him win but would have loved the story too, of Harry thinking that she was beautiful even though she still considered him a prat. It made her think of something else.
"That game, the contest, it was before we . . . so how do you know it's something you lost in the first place?" As far as Ginny knew, Harry had forgotten that the two of them were together, that he loved her. This memory didn't fall into that category. But he hadn't forgotten his earlier crush. So maybe this was a memory Harry hadn't forgotten anyway.
Harry grimaced. "Hermione asked me a lot of questions," he answered. "A lot." Ginny couldn't help but smile, imagining their friend delving into every aspect of Harry's recollection. "She concluded that my last true memory of you was the night you moved into the building, when the team came to your flat. I remembered the break-ins and the Bellows after that, but not your involvement as it related to me." He shook his head. "This is a memory that's come back." He closed his eyes, thinking. "And then you made that comment about me not coming to the Ministry anymore." He opened his eyes. "All that was already completely fucked up because of Kane and we didn't even know it. I thought I knew why I wasn't going back to the Ministry and why I'd quit the Aurors but I really had no idea." He took both of Ginny's hands. "They're coming back," he said softly. "My memories of you. He gave a tiny shake of his head. I mean, my memories of us."
The voice of caution was still in Ginny's head. She ignored it. "I know," she said, hardly feeling like she could breathe from hope. "I don't know why or how, but they are."
Her agreement lit up Harry's face. "They really are," he said. He was staring at her as if seeing her for the first time, which, Ginny considered, he sort of was. It wasn't how she'd imagined it would be, during those few moments when she'd allow herself to imagine Harry getting his memory back. Those fantasies were usually quite dramatic - Harry suddenly bursting into her flat to announce that he remembered everything before sweeping her into his arms and then onto her bed. In that scenario, Ginny immediately accepted Harry's pronouncement without question and happily let herself get swept away. And they all lived happily ever after. It was completely unrealistic. Other than the part where Harry burst into her flat, nothing in reality was the same, but Ginny was more than willing to let things play out.
Ginny watched Harry's face closely. He'd leaned back against the sofa again and was concentrating so carefully - he so clearly wanted to get this right that she wanted to wrap her arms around him and reassure him that it was all going to be okay. She kept still instead, letting the memories come to him, and drank in the sight. There was a tiny wrinkle between his closed eyes that she knew appeared whenever he was deep in thought. His eyelashes fluttered with memories and his lips tightened and then relaxed with no obvious pattern. Ginny found herself staring at Harry's lips more than any other part of his face; with his eyes closed they were the most expressive part of him. She knew what those lips could do when they touched her skin - when they touched all parts of her skin. She swallowed hard.
And then Harry took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes, finding hers. There was a long beat of silence while he simply looked at her. And then he spoke.
"I love you, Ginny." There was a small, delighted smile playing about his lips and Ginny could hear the certainty in the words. Harry wasn't realizing it again for the first time; he knew. But before Ginny could respond in kind, Harry's eyes grew tortured. "I can't believe how much I hurt you - I love you more than anyone in the world and I forgot it." He grabbed her hands again and there was anguish in his voice. "How could I forget something so important?"
Ginny knew better than to tell Harry it wasn't his fault . They'd even had a talk about it once, how much they both hated people trying to reassure them that things weren't their fault, like the Chamber and Sirius' death. She chose her words carefully, grateful that she knew exactly what to say. "Kane intended to take the most important thing from you - from us," she said softly. She rubbed her thumb across the back of Harry's hand. "if you didn't love me so much, it wouldn't have worked. It wouldn't have mattered." She ached to kiss Harry then, but held back. He had to make the decisions right now.
He nodded at her words. "That's true," he said. "It doesn't make what I did any better." His eyes blazed at her. "I'm going to make it up to you."
Ginny knew Harry didn't miss her shudder of need, and his eyes softened. "Can I kiss you?" he asked.
In response, Ginny scooted even closer to Harry - she was nearly in his lap - and leaned in. She saw Harry swallow hard . He gave a tiny nod and then carefully took her face in his hands before meeting his lips to hers. The kiss was tentative at first but immediately familiar, and Ginny couldn't stop herself from melting against Harry's chest. He made a sound low in his throat and then his arms were around hers, pulling her fully to him. A slight twist of his head and Harry deepened the kiss, opening his mouth a moment before Ginny did. He made another sound of relief and Ginny matched it. She lost track of how long they kissed, she didn't let her mind wander any farther than the feeling of Harry's lips on hers or his hands playing lightly with her hair. She didn't wait for the next step; kissing Harry was enough.
He finally pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, and there was satisfaction in his voice. "I remember kissing you."
"I can tell," said Ginny softly. "I can tell you remember."
Harry chuckled then, and it was a glorious sound. He played with her hair some more. "But . . . nothing else yet," he said finally. He leaned Ginny back in his lap so they could see each other properly. "I . . . I want to," he said quickly. "But I want it to be right. I'm not ready yet."
Ginny touched Harry's lips. "We're not ready yet," she corrected gently.
Harry nodded, briefly closing his eyes. "I have a lot more memories," he said. "I need to tell you them first." He looked at her. "Can I do that? Will you listen to me telling you what I remember?"
Ginny nodded solemnly. "Of course I will."
"Even if I . . . get something wrong. I want you to tell me, okay?" He looked at her so earnestly Ginny again had to resist the urge to put her arms around him and tell him it would all be okay.
"I promise," she said. And then, for good measure, she added, "no matter what."
Harry gave her a smile. "I know you will."
HPHPHPHP
Ginny made tea first, and put together a plate of her mum's biscuits, the normal activities giving her heart a chance to return to a more regular pace, even if the tingling remained. Harry put the poster under Ginny's bed so it wouldn't interrupt their talk and then came back to sit down facing her on the sofa again. He took one of her hands in his.
"So . . . these may not be in order," he warned. "The memories didn't come back in order, and some of them were a lot more detailed than others at first." He smiled. "But they're all getting stronger now."
"Whatever you want," said Ginny. The tingling in her body was getting stronger and she tried to ignore it.
"What I want . . ." Harry began. He shivered, then shook his head. "I need to tell you what I remember," he said firmly. "First." He closed his eyes again and began to speak.
"I remember the first time we really talked, here in your flat." Harry's voice took on an amused tone. "You'd just snogged Dam in that pub but I thought you'd had sex with him." He smiled at her. "And then we sat on your bed and you tried to figure out what type of witch I'd like, when all I could think about was why you couldn't figure out that the person you were describing as perfect for me was you."
Ginny laughed. "Brave, smart, likes Quidditch." She ticked off the list on her fingers. "Good thing I didn't ask you about hair color, hmm?"
Harry smirked. "You might have thought I was talking about Ron." He grew thoughtful. "And then when we talked in the laundry room right after you'd stood up to Robards."
"I'm glad his intentions were actually good," Ginny commented.
"Me too," agreed Harry. "The Ministry doesn't need any more shaking up at the highest levels." He smiled again. "That day in the laundry room was the first time we touched on purpose, not because one of us was trying to trip the other or something. We shook hands."
Ginny's breath caught. "I can't believe you remember that."
Harry brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. "I don't, exactly. But I remember you telling me about it later, after you'd viewed your memories in the Pensieve."
"When I realized I loved you," Ginny said.
Harry nodded. "That counts as a memory, doesn't it?"
"It definitely counts," said Ginny. "What's next?" She leaned in, curious to hear what else Harry had to say.
Instead, he blushed, looking down at their clasped hands. "The first time you caught us playing Quidditch in the hallway," he said.
Ginny could barely remember that day herself, she'd interrupted so much "corridor Quidditch," as she'd begun to call it. "Was that the one where you'd all transfigured your clothing to look like Harpies' uniforms?"
Harry shook his head. "I was riding a folding chair instead of a broom," he said.
Ginny remembered. "Oh yeah. You were showing off, flipping upside down and things." She cocked her head at him. "Were you showing for me?"
Harry shrugged, and then blushed again. "Not so much showing off as trying to control . . . things," he said. "You uhh, you were wearing a fairly transparent t-shirt." He shuffled on the sofa. "It umm, made me . . ." he looked at her sheepishly. "I had a really good shower that day."
Ginny laughed. "No mermaids then?" she asked.
Harry shook his head and Ginny could tell he knew exactly what she meant. "None." He leaned forward to kiss her again and Ginny felt him shiver when she moved her hand to his his waist. When he finally pulled back again, his eyes were dilated with need. "I have more memories," he said. His hand fluttered by Ginny's side as if he wanted touch her there. After a moment, he brushed his hand across Ginny's hip and made a sound of satisfaction when she shuddered. They looked at each other a long moment.
"I should . . . tell you a few more, shouldn't I?" Harry asked thickly. His eyes darted to the place his hand rested on Ginny. "Just to be sure?"
"You should," nodded Ginny. She scooted herself back from Harry so that they weren't quite touching anymore. He looked at her curiously.
"Tell me more memories, Harry," she said softly. She fingered the top button of her pajamas. "And every story earns you a reward."
Harry made a convulsive gesture with his hands; for a moment Ginny thought he was going to reach over and help unbutton her pajamas himself. Instead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"The compulsive potion in the laundry room," he said next. "I remember that. It made me want to take off my clothes." A smile crept into his voice. "It was harder to fight because part of me wanted you to see."
"Very good," said Ginny. She shrugged off her pajama top. Harry cracked open an eye and examined the stretched out Gryffindor tank top she wore underneath. His eyes snapped shut again.
"The night you held my hand," he said quickly. "I confessed that I fancied you, but more importantly, you told me I'd become one of your best friends." He opened his eyes and looked at her hopefully.
Ginny had to laugh. "I think we need to keep this even," she said. She nodded at Harry's shirt. "Your turn."
HPHPHPHP
Harry couldn't stop his fingers from trembling as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the floor. The images of him and Ginny were no longer flying rapidly though his mind in a confusing tangle; they were just there for him to access at will. He suspected Ginny knew this now but it felt even more important to see their discussion to completion, especially with the new rules Ginny had made.
"The first time you told me you had feelings for me was in the garden at the Burrow," he said. "I remember every moment of that night." He grinned at her. "The walk there, I was completely sure you were about to let me down easy, tell me you'd thought about it and that you didn't have feelings for me."
"Ummhmm," said Ginny. She carefully shimmied out of her pajama bottoms. Her knickers were pale blue and Harry had to hold back from reaching out to stroke his fingers across them. "You weren't wearing knickers," he blurted out instead. "The first time we made love." He didn't even wait for Ginny's hum of affirmation before he was undoing his belt and pushing off his trousers. Until that moment, Harry's feelings of arousal had been held in check by a million other emotions. But Ginny looked right at the space between his legs and Harry knew what to say next.
"You love to watch me get hard," he said, pulling of his pants and dropping them off the side of the sofa.
Ginny was staring intently at that very thing. "I think it was my turn next," she mumbled, eyes not moving away from Harry's middle. "I'm glad you cheated."
Harry barked a laugh. "We cheated that night everyone was trying to figure out who I'd had sex with," he said. "Pretending to be drunk and getting them all pissed instead. That was after you'd gone down on me, of course. Right here on this sofa." Harry swallowed. "We kept getting interrupted, every time we were together. You'd get me to climax and then I couldn't return the favor."
"That's two memories." Ginny pulled off her tank top and then her bra and Harry sucked in a breath. Until that moment, he'd been only partially aware of the passage of time during his memory loss. But it suddenly felt like forever since he'd seen Ginny's breasts. He stared at them for a long minute, watching the way they moved gently up and down as she breathed. He blew out a breath of his own and watched with something close to fascination as they wrinkled at the tips. Other than the soft movement of her chest, Ginny was completely still.
At some point she'd straighten out her legs to rest loosely on either side of his waist and when Harry looked up he found her staring at him like she had the first night she'd told him she loved him, joyous and vulnerable all at once.
"I don't want to play anymore," he said heavily. "I don't . . . need to play anymore."
In response, Ginny pulled herself into his lap and wrapped her legs around him. Harry groaned to feel her weight on his erection and her breasts against his chest.
"I don't need to play either," she said, her voice completely content. "But I need something else."
Harry finally felt confident enough to joke. "I think you need something twice," he said. He stood up off the sofa, taking Ginny with him. "Or hopefully three times."
"At least," agreed Ginny.
A/N: The chapter ends here because Deadwoodpecker convinced me to post tonight and not write anything else. Blame her.