Third base: mouths join hands below the belt.
Before the mad hunt for Horcruxes began, it was enough for Harry to so much as make eye contact with Ginny and a flood of warm memories would crash mercilessly into his mind, twist its edges, fold them on themselves; he remembered her face, her beautiful face, her lust-filled eyes, and the way the shadows created by the hearth danced all over her body that final night, before Dumbledore had summoned him and all had been forever changed.
To Harry, it was something akin to agony, to knives entering and tearing apart flesh - that was what not being able to hold her again did to him. However, he knew there was no other choice: she had a future before her, whereas he…
But it was better not to think about it, it was safer to forbid his mind to stumble over it, to shatter before the greatness of this knowledge. It was abundantly better to stay away - or he would go insane.
If only he could tell her, if only he could change his destiny.
If only, he was tired of so many 'if onlys'.
He would catch her gaze lingering on him every once in a while and it would always spike something inside him, electrify his senses and challenge all his instincts. He would catch her gaze lingering on him and he would almost run her way, sprint to the wild beating of his heart, longing to wrap his arms around her, to just feel her. He would catch her gaze lingering on him and he'd swear hard under his breath, viciously promising himself that he would return to her, that he must return to her, and life would finally be different.
Different. What exactly would be different, really?
The thought was laughable, ridiculous, that he, Harry Potter, could ever lead a different life, a safe life, when all he'd ever known was sorrow, despair, helplessness and lies.
Oh, so many lies. How was he supposed to cut through all this bloody mess and make something new out of it? How was he planning to stay alive long enough to see it happen? He was barking and he knew it and so he laughed a bitter laugh every time he found enough reason to shake out of it. And, every single bloody time, the absurdity of it all hit him like a brick on the back of his head, left him dazed and sad and bleeding from the cracks inside his soul.
Today, though, he would come of age - yet another fact rendered useless by the times they lived in. So he was able to do magic legally, great. It wasn't like he would refrain from cursing Voldemort into the afterlife if he hadn't been granted legal permission to do so. Wouldn't it be just the treat of the century to come face to face with the Dark Lord and say "Sorry, mate, the Ministry won't allow me to do magic, you see. Raincheck?"
The world simply stopped making sense and somehow he was trapped in the middle of it.
And then even more absurd was the way his own voice just came out of his mouth and agreed to follow Ginny into her room.
Ginny. Into her room.
Her room, when he was supposed to stay as far away from her as he could. Bloody fool that he was, Harry cursed himself and cursed the legs that were carrying him after Ginny, like a sleepwalker, like a ragged doll following its master - and followed her nonetheless; that's how easily she could entrance him, how swiftly she could break his resolve.
He felt like a spectator at someone else's black comedy. He heard her whisper something and himself reply, saw her laughing bitterly and then closing the distance separating them.
He witnessed it all as if he was the one person in the audience, watched the actors on stage embrace, kiss with fiery passion, never to let go of each other. And then, to create a climax for the drama of the two young, star-crossed lovers, the door on the right of the stage flew open: enter Ron Weasley, big brother and protector. The couple is broken apart and the curtain falls.
Was he really one of the actors in such a demented play? Was he really about to go into battle at seventeen, ready to measure his power with the darkest wizard of all time?
But he did battle and, somehow, even won the war.
Still, the losses were innumerable. The pain was unbearable and he wished time and again that he could exchange his worthless, meaningless life for those precious many who had lost theirs during that endless May night.
After that, Harry found himself in an endless trance, unaware of his surroundings for the first two weeks, lost in black, cold pool of darkness. He had no recollection of being brought to the Burrow, no idea how he ended on its front steps in the middle of the night, completely dressed, wand ready, and Ginny tugging at his sleeve, attempting to pull him back inside the house.
"It's over, Harry. Do you hear me? It's over," she'd say, that blazing look in her face, the only thing that brought him to the living world those days. She had the effect of a tonic and acted like a safety net, flatly, fiercely refusing to let him slip away into his own misery, back into the limbo.
"I won't let you, do you hear me? I won't let you leave me again, Harry," she'd yell and shake him every time she found him staring absently through the living room window in, alone and frightened in the middle of the night. "It's enough that Mum and George and Percy are - as they are right now and I'd rather go to war all over than let you drift away from me again. Because I need you, you bloody git, you absolute sod, you – you - I need you to be here for me," she'd yell at him and break down in front of him, shatter to a million pieces on the ground. His soul bled for her.
And that finally got through to Harry. He could finally understand that; protecting his friends, his loved ones was part of him, part of his raw being and he could do that. If Ginny needed him, he'd escape his own sorrow and remorse. He'd make sure to be there for her, to hold her, to keep her safe.
For Ginny was his anchor, the only thing keeping him still amidst these muddy tides and thus he was determined to become the pillar which would support her from now on.
To his surprise, it wasn't hard slipping back into that familiar rhythm they used to have. With Ginny, ah, she was something else, so confident and strong, so beautiful in her slight roughness; he'd always be mesmerised by her incredible grace, by her sheer will to live, by the stubbornness with which she held on to life.
This girl that had suffered so much from an early age, the little girl that lost so much. It was like she had shed her girly skin and chose to be reborn as a woman of phenomenal power.
And it was her who'd made everyone aware of their relationship by simply kissing him goodnight after dinner, leaving her parents, brothers and boyfriend gaping. It was her who'd made it crystal clear that the time she and Harry chose to spend alone was theirs only and nobody should dare interrupt (which did not sit well with Ron, to be frank). It was her who set the pace now, her who sought him day after day after day to show him that he's wanted, and cared for, and home.
With Ginny, Harry spent many peaceful moments in the orchard throughout the summer - something seemed utterly unreachable mere months before. But the good brought many terrifying moments too, such as when Ginny and Mrs Weasley had a monumental row, the first insisting that Harry be allowed in her room and the latter bellowing that that was not happening as long as Ginny lived under her roof or until they were married.
"You should take a leaf out of your brother Bill's book," Mrs Weasley charged. "He was twenty-seven, not sixteen –"
"I'm coming of age this summer!"
"- when he was married and allowed to sleep in the same room as his wife," Molly Weasley crossed her arms and glared at her daughter.
Ginny responded by mirroring her mother perfectly, a spitting image of the woman fuming right in front of her, each made of utter force and wit and fearlessness.
Pouting, Ginny stomped out of the house, throwing a petulant 'yeah, right' behind her. Harry was left to stare at the ground, embarrassed, and wonder when had the issue of them sleeping together in the same room even came into discussion. He sure didn't think about it (or not too much, if he was fiddling with honesty) - only someone barking mad would believe that Molly Weasley would approve of her underage daughter and somewhat-son doing - whatever couples sharing the same room were doing.
He cringed hearing the kitchen door slam shut. Harry remained sat on the kitchen chair, not completely sure what to do with his hands or if he should simply let himself out and quite possibly hide under a rock.
But not even Mrs Weasley could control the force of nature that was Ginny. Whenever her mother was busy, Ginny would very conveniently find that she was unable to mend to a series of things. So, naturally, Harry had to be called over to her room to help her move various pieces of furniture or fix a couple of broken flower pots. After all, she wasn't allowed to do magic and what was a clumsy, underage witch to do when she needed some help redecorating?
And Ginny redecorated, alright. She redecorated Harry mostly, with a love bite here and there, him walking out of her room with his hair more tousled than ever before.
Still, they never crossed the line of first base again for fear of Mrs Weasley's retribution (on Harry's part) and because they had discussed actually approaching their relationship slowly this time. They had, after all, all their lives before themselves and could afford the luxury of just taking their time, unhurriedly, patiently, carefully.
It was during one of their patient and unhurried get-togethers in late July when their taking it slow brought them to the brink of third base. Ginny had sweetly asked Harry to help her find something in Ron's and his room on the uppermost floor and, being the perfect gentleman, he had swiftly obliged. They had climbed the stairs fully aware that Mr Weasley and Charlie, who'd just stopped by the Burrow in between his research trips, were watching them - and they had continued nonetheless.
"Are you trying to have your family do me in?" Harry quirked an eyebrow as soon as she shut the door behind them.
"No, I'm trying to prove that it's none of their business," Ginny replied, waving a hand as if to show how little she cared of what her family had to say.
"Understandable, but would it hurt to be more subtle?" Harry huffed, right hand rumpling the back of his head.
"Hark who's talking," she shrugged cooly.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, slightly incensed. His behaviour had been completely gentlemanly and she knew it.
"Just that I see no point in being a little hypocrite about it," Ginny struck back, hands on her hips.
"Is that really what you think of me?" Harry said crossley.
"I do when you try to act as though you're so innocent," she quickly retaliated, glaring.
"And what makes you believe I'm not?" Harry continued, petty. "I haven't been anything but appropriate towards you since I came back."
They glowered at each other.
"I know," Ginny finally sighed, "and that's what's bothering me!"
Harry's eyes widened - and so did Ginny's. He could tell that she, too, was surprised of herself, but the cat was out of the bag now and, in classic Ginny style, she would play along and play it cool.
"It – it does?" Harry sputtered, feeling a bit deflated, scratching his forehead. He thought it was what they had agreed upon.
'Women, can't ever understand them,' Ron's voice sounded inside his head and Harry mentally and very eagerly nodded.
"A bit. I mean, you know, at Hogwarts you just couldn't keep your hands away from me and now I have to resort to ludicrous lies that, I might add, no one actually believes only to get you to come near," Ginny explained, her chin held high, clinging to her dignity, holding fiercely on her pride.
"Gin," Harry chuckled - and it was such a delight to suddenly discover that, for all her maturity and common sense, she could be such a normal teenager sometimes. Harry felt refreshed, light, and absolutely in love with her.
"Don't you dare laugh, Harry James Potter, or I'll – I'll," she stammered, in search of a good enough threat, squinting her eyes in his direction.
"You'll what? Bat-Bogey Hex me?" Harry lifted an ebony eyebrow, smug.
He leaned against the wall, all tall and proud of himself, and watched with amusement as her nostrils flared.
The only thing Harry saw before he tripped and fell flat on his back was a mass of freckles attacking him. Luckily, the blow had been cushioned by Ron's bed and both of them fell on top of it in a tangle of limbs.
Ginny was pressed flush against his chest, as far as he could see with his glasses skewed above his nose. Harry straightened them just in time to notice her close her eyes and part her lips and he took it as a cue to kiss her thoroughly. His heart leaped.
The kiss turned into a full snog and the snog into hands roaming under shirts. He could never quite resist her when she moaned in a husky little voice she made whenever they'd kiss so deeply that his stomach churned - so he flipped them over brusquely.
As simple as that, with a few well placed sensual sounds, she'd hoodwinked him into wanting to take control. Ginny looked up at him, interested, a cheeky glint at the corner of her eye.
So he lifted her shirt just above her navel and left a trail of kisses back and forth, from the hem of the cloth to the buckle of her belt. She writhed beneath him as he swiftly dragged the tip of his tongue over the sweet portion of skin hidden by the belt.
Inhaling sharply, Harry took a leap of faith and closed his palm over the buckle.
"May I?" Harry asked, timid.
"Just stop talking," Ginny breathed, her eyes squeezed shut and a mess of ginger hair sprawled against white cotton.
Biting deeply into his bottom lip, Harry fumbled with the belt and buttons, cursing his trembling fingers. When at last he managed to have them open, he bent down to plant one, two, three open-mouthed kisses above the line of her pink knickers before attempting to discard her Muggle denim shorts.
Wriggling, she kicked them off the bed.
Harry traced a finger over her thigh, following a pattern of freckles that led up inside her knickers. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten this small detail - he'd always adored the constellations strewn across her creamy skin, loved every small freckle, wanted to caress every peak and valley of her body. His eyes opened wider and his stomach churned again.
It was a burning desire the way he never felt it before and Harry started kissing his way up the inside of her right thigh, then her left, lingering here and there, dragging his lips against her skin as she sighed and shivered under him.
The flowery scent he'd always linked to Ginny suddenly invaded his nostrils, spiking his senses, tearing at his barriers. So he kissed her through the fabric of her knickers just to be sure he'd never forget this feeling, making it part of him just as slanting his mouth against hers had recently become.
She let a tiny 'oh' escape her lips and covered her eyes with her arm, curling her toes and grabbing at his hair as he blew hot breaths of air against her.
Two blistered palms slipped underneath her and Harry gently lifted, feeling bold and shy and ready to do the scariest thing he'd done in his life: he slowly took her underwear off.
Harry's face instantly caught fire and his heart threatened to beat out of his chest as she covered her eyes and stood, beautiful, before him, the powerful thumpthumping of his very being flooding his ears, deafening.
Harry had no clue what he was supposed to do - or what he was currently doing, actually. He closed his eyes to steady himself and begged his instincts to save him. They had never failed him before, not even in the face of death.
Now, the same instincts told him to start on familiar grounds. He'd done this before and quite successfully, Harry agreed. Bringing his palm against her center, he pressed softly and then a little harder, slipping just one finger carefully inside. She was as warm as he remembered and it pleased him to see ecstasy bloom in her heavy-lidded eyes. He recalled the gentle circles he'd done last time and applied the motion again, going round her sensitive numb, right to left and left to right.
Ginny moaned as a pair of chapped lips brushed down her abdomen and stopped above her curls. She parted her legs for him, and Harry instantly wanted more, so much more, as much as she could give.
Harry drew near her folds steadily, his mouth stopping inches from her, then paused. Rising on his elbows, Harry took off his glasses and safely placed them at the foot of the bed. He then turned back and he caught her gaze and saw her blush sweety and sexy and everything felt more erotic than anything he'd ever done or imagined.
Instantly, there was something wild, bestial, a raw sensuality in Harry's emerald eyes, something like steel in his war-hardened features. Ginny looked at him and felt as though she was his prey, as though he was preparing to feast on her. She shuddered, as if a hardwire had gone through every one of her nerves and set them ablaze.
Harry gently laid his lips on her warmth and shyly opened them enough to allow the tip of his tongue to glide against her. It snaked within her and slowly parted her. Exploring. Discovering. Tasting and enjoying such sweet honey. He flicked over her numb and she nearly jumped against him, pleasure growing slowly inside both of them.
He did it again and Ginny moaned louder, burying her heels deep into the mattress, clawing at the sheets with her delicate fingers. Her knees bent and the gap between her legs widened, freeing enough space for him to dive deeper inside, as deep as he could.
She wanted to scream, to toss, to turn, to ask for more, more, more.
Harry wanted to sink into her, to taste her forever, to have more, more, more.
A discrete knock on the door.
"Harry?"
His heart stopped.
Were her brothers always going to interrupt their quality time?
"There are some people from the Ministry here," Charlie's voice continued. "They want to talk to you." There was a pause, in which none of them dared move. "It's really important," he tried again, weakly.
"Shit," Ginny spat through gritted teeth and Harry kept his hold on her, the taste of her still on his lips.
Steadily, Harry raised his head - and just as firmly the same rumpled head disappeared again between her legs and Ginny's eyes rolled from pure delight, from rough, sheer, primal pleasure.
"Harry?" Charlie Weasley tried again, but remained completely disregarded.
Harry pressed his warm tongue across the little bundle of nerves again and again, increasing the pressure with each flick and Ginny f couldn't hold back her moans and cries any longer. He felt high on her and powerful as he circled his arms around her thighs, savagely pulling her closer, pulling himself deeper within her. Her dainty fingers flew to his dark locks again and she grabbed hard, holding on for dear life. She squeezed her knees together against his temples and Harry felt a rush of heat over his tongue; she'd found the release she was craving for.
Harry raised his head once more and Ginny looked at him through heavy lids, cheeks blushing and mouth open. He was enraptured with her, with the view of him tightly holding her legs, her tenderly parted lips, wet, so arousingly wet as his were with her.
Fuck, he thought. Ginny sighed and licked her lips and Hary shivered over her. There was no other word to describe what he was seeing than provocative.
"Take this, Romilda Vane," Ginny lazily stated, pleased, and stretched her arms to beat some sense back into her numb body.
A dizzying feeling washed over Harry as he rolled against his back and, happily, he allowed himself to laugh so hard he actually choked. Of all the things she could have said after he went down on her for the first time, this was what she chose.
"I love you," he told her, dazed, shifting to sit cross-legged on the mattress, shaking his unruly head of hair.
"What?" Ginny's brown eyes widened, her eyebrows in danger of blending in with her hairline.
It suddenly dawned on Harry that he'd accidentally confessed his feelings for her.
"What?" Harry blinked, the shock on his face mirroring hers.
They stared at each other for a moment, her half-naked, him blushing to the tips of his ears. And then they started laughing, hard, joyful, unburdened laughter. Blissful, easy, unapologetic.
It seemed that they both had a way with words today and they both failed to grasp the importance of timing.
"So much for taking it slow, eh?" Harry chuckled, his fingers twisting with hers.
"I never really wanted to," she shrugged. "I rather prefer what we have now."
"Guess I do too," Harry admitted, grinning.
He yawned and threw himself on one side, easy, like a lazy prey animal, drawing her to him.
"What about the Ministry people looking for you?" Ginny asked, giggling, placing her arms around his neck and planting little lithe kisses over his swollen lips.
"The who?" Harry absently asked, tracing his fingers through her ginger hair.
"Nevermind," she suppressed another giggle and returned her mouth to his.
Some priorities easily changed after the war.