Ginny comes on top of him, the slick wetness dripping off her freckled thighs, rubbing hot over his pelvis as she continues to ride him; fast, always fast, her hands wound through her red hair.
Briskly, he wraps his arms around her body, his palms against the freckled constellations on her back, tickled by her hair, his mouth now at her breast. She straightens and his lips fall to her stomach, stubbled cheek dragging over her muscles, feeling as they rise and fall to the rhythm of her laboured breath; as they tense and relax when he guides her up and down and Ginny moans his name.
Harry presses her down and lets himself fall into her, forehead now near the wrong edge of the bed as her hair touches the floor in wild tangles. Her ankles lock around him, her back arches into him and Harry groans.
The mattress creaks, hard and loud and quick. Her tongue meets his.
They've been fucking each other for six straight days.
Glasses pushed up into the crown of his head, Harry rubs his tired eyes and yawns, her warmth still lingering on his skin, almost familiar. The sheets are coiled around his calf, lips still buzzing with her bites as he fights another rush of postcoital bliss.
He knows that this - whatever it is, Harry knows it needs to end. He knows he needs to end this now.
The faucet squeaks shut, the echo of running water fading from the bathroom. Ginny's feet shuffle back inside his room, her naked body curling around his again.
He'll tell her when they're done.
"What the fuck is this bloody thing?" Harry growls as he brandishes a crumpled letter under Williamson's nose. The letter, which presented itself as a testimony to Harry's ineptitude, was signed 'Dan John' in a pretentious hand, every swish of the quill more affected with each syllable.
Williamson slides back in his chair, slow, eyes haughtily trained on Harry's face.
"Whatever do you mean, Potter?"
"This," Harry tries to stifle his roar - only making it more terrifying as it comes out in a whisper. "No one else would be stupid enough to style themselves 'Dungeon'."
His nose is very close to Williamson's pointy one when he finishes, rage boiling in Harry's chest. If the letter hadn't randomly caught in his unruly hair as Harry trudged his person into the office, knackered to bits after another sleepless night, he had absolutely no doubt it would have ended in Rita Skeeter's greedy clutch.
"Well someone had to do something and apparently that someone's not you, Potter," Williamson retorts and, to his credit, doesn't even balk when Harry's fists suddenly grip around the rolly chair's plastic arms.
"Disclosing the list of suspects to the press is something you get fired for, you bloody prick," Harry yells and gives the chair a furious, hefty shake before he storms away. He needs to go before he puts his colleague's head through a thin cubicle wall.
"You don't even have another lead, Potter," Williamson calls after him, a newfound courage in his voice now that the distance has increased between them.
"Yeah I do," Harry retorts, and he feels downright murderous.
"Sod off," Harry flips the glaring figures in the wanted posters spread about his cubicle, kept awake by the sheer force of spite. He throws himself into it with the same recklessness he'd thrown himself with down the slide as a young boy, dropping into the unknown, into the dark Chamber to save Ginny.
The sun starts to rise over the mess he's made, heaps of paper and dotted lines, old manila files littering the floor, pictures of the murdered women placed right at the centre with newspapers of different shades of white, beige, and yellow carelessly strewn here and there.
At midnight, he'd sent Neville home. Robards had given him a disapproving grunt an hour later, the office then completely empty and still. But it didn't matter, Harry needed to be alone.
He needed to be alone and think.
He's been going over all his old notes from all the old cases, reading them almost frantically throughout the night, feeling nearly demented. But there's got to be something - it's got to be someone he'd dealt with. A Dark wizard. The black jet of light…
There had been many who had tried to revive Voldemort's cult after his fall, had there not? What if they targeted Wizards and Muggles alike now, what if they seeked revenge on those who had fought at the Battle, on their families and friends?
What if they were simply looking to kill, ruthlessly and without reason?
No, they always had a motive, Harry learned that very fast.
It's got to be someone from the old guard, it certainly has got to be. The black jet of light Ginny described, magic powerful enough to cut a human in two…
Pure evil released into the world again. The past never really stays into the past, does it?
Harry's thumb dances over the scar, tired eyes roaming over the black and white faces in the posters one last time; and this time, one in particular, showing from underneath a week old newspaper, catches his eye.
What if -
In the still quiet of the early morning, Harry snorts, stretches his limbs in a jaw-breaking yawn and jumps to his feet. He strides towards the loo, suddenly aware that his bladder's now painfully full.
Harry splashes water into his eyes when he's done, shaking the mind-numbing fatigue off. There are thin, red veins like spider legs crawling all around his orbs, cheeks puffing under the dark smudges spreading around his eyes, under the messy patches of black beard covering his neck and jaw. The edges of the old scar shine white over his pale skin, wet, dark tips of hair plastered here and there onto his forehead.
Just a little longer, just a little while longer and it's done. No more killings, no more suffering, and no more danger.
She'll be free again.
He stops by the supply closet just outside the men's, pressing his back against it to deeply breathe in as he shoves the round glasses back on top of his nose. If he keeps his eyes shut more than a heartbeat, he'll fall asleep right there.
His elbow knocks into the knob and Harry finds the door is firmly locked. No one's fond of working on a Sunday, he shrugs to himself and goes to raise the alarm.
"How did you work that one out, mate?" Ron grins, clinking a pint to his with a loud 'Cheers'. The word resonates throughout the pub, tables filled with crimson-clad Aurors celebrating the end of a gruelling twenty-hour long operation.
Naturally, she'd tried to run when they found her sweeping the streets of Knockturn Alley, instincts every bit as sharp and mind every bit as cruel as they were when she'd ruled over Hogwarts, torturing students with her brother. Having snatched Williamson's wand, Alecto Carrow had barricaded herself inside Borgin and Burkes.
She probably even got a kick out of it, Harry reckons. A small taste of 'the good old days'.
Negotiating with criminals was always his least favourite part of the job and Harry discovered that, often, they still hurt the people around them just because they could.
The door bangs into the wall as a ponytail swishes its way out, its owner not bothering to close it after him. Sneering, Harry flicks his wand and the door swiftly shuts. What an absolute twat.
Once he's rested and can think straight again, Harry'll find some time to let Robards know about the list of suspects being leaked. Better yet, he'll include it in the case report, next to the Carrow cock up. Look at him being professional.
Happy to see Williamson's back, Harry reaches for a crumpled newspaper cutting in his pocket, valiantly tries to flatten it and slides it under Ron's nose. Immediately, Hermione's bushy head glues to Ron's, dark eyes scanning the article with frightening speed.
"That old Carrow cow's been given labour days from Azkaban on account of her good behaviour? How does that work?" Ron spits, pinching the wrinkly piece of paper.
"Kingsley's new policy," Hermione supplies, frowning. "I've worked on drafting that bit of legislation when I first joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it's part of the re-entry process."
Ron's eyebrows shoot into his hairline.
"Reckon Death Eaters can honestly re-enter society as nice, harmless citizens?"
"I think it's up to them," Hermione firmly states. "I think it's our decisions that make us who we are. A prisoner can start by working outside of Azkaban two or three times a week and, eventually, it can become something permanent, why not? There are documented cases where the approach worked and Kinglesy agreed."
Ron smiles, kisses her cheek as Harry downs another pint. His hand shakes in exhaustion, drops trickling down his chin, into his robes.
"Just happens that the murders correspond to the days she was out of Azkaban," Harry shrugs, suppressing an ale induced belch. The edges of his brain fuzz with the alcohol, dates and facts colliding.
From the other side of the bar, he sees his boss subtly raising his pint to him and Harry nods. If he'd been less zombie than human, he'd definitely prance around a bit, a 'told you I had it under control' and a tinge of gloating on his lips. Under the current circumstances, though, Harry settles for taking the win in a humbler, more decent sort of way.
"Brilliant! Wish I could've been there," Ron grins.
"Me too, mate - although you know how Robards is," Harry lowers his voice to add. "Respect the protocol, no next of kin before the suspect's cleared."
But Ron's retort is cut by a cheerful Neville, cheeks red hot and hair wildly rumpled.
"Thanks for letting me put the shackles on old Alecto, Harry," Neville chimes, ale spilling out of his pint. "Best moment of my life, that was. No, wait, I also killed the snake," he adds dreamily after a bit, wobbling his way to the bar.
From the corner of his eye, Harry sees him kissing Hannah with such fervour he doesn't even notice the liquid pouring into his boots.
Ron snorts, thumb hooked over his shoulder, "Did we know about this?"
"Oh, Neville's fancied Hannah for a long time," Hermione nods. "Good that they're finally together."
"You know too much."
"Cheers to old Alecto now back in Azkaban and the case finally closing," Harry interrupts his two best friends, nudging them to drink. They smile and he grins, ridiculously tired, his insides buzzing to go home, go find Ginny and tell her that it's over, that she's free.
She had been sleeping the last time he saw her, nearly three days ago, and once again Harry had postponed telling her she had to leave, telling her it had to end.
If he's completely honest with himself, which he definitely isn't, Harry knows he'd been avoiding that particular conversation.
It had been so good, though, whatever they've had. Illegal, irresponsible, but so bloody good.
He briefly wonders if she'll still be there when he arrives and, oddly, his stomach twists.
"I've been thinking," Hermione starts, a little uncertain, her eyes fluttering to Harry's face before she points her gaze at the table. "Harry, don't be angry with me, but I don't think your murderer's a woman."
Harry suddenly feels like he'd been clobbered over the head, the delight of having closed a case, the thrill of victory painfully subsiding. His head aches.
"What do you mean you don't think the murderer's a woman?" The words come out so fast and shrill, they blend together in his mouth.
"Well, I mean, when you think about it, it really can't be, can it?"
"Fancy telling us why?"
"Oi, she's just trying to help," Ron interjects from the other side of the table, throwing him a filthy glare before he downs his pint, his arm now draped around Hermione.
Harry knows he's being snarky - yet he's so incredibly tired, so unbelievably exhausted, he doesn't really care. All he wanted was to celebrate this with his friends.
Hermione's hand finds its place on Ron's arm. "It's alright," she gives him a small smile before her attention is focused on Harry again. "It can't be a woman because it's quite obvious this is the work of someone who genuinely hates women."
Harry's insides prickle, the certainty in Hermione's tone flickering unexpected anger inside him.
"Oh, it's quite obvious, isn't it?"
His hand grips the pint unnecessarily tight.
"Watch it, mate," Ron glares. "I want my sister's name removed from this case and it's frustrating to hear there's even the slimmest chance it might not be over, alright? But you don't know Hermione's not right."
"Thank you, Ron," Hermione smiles, lightly squeezes his arm.
"But," he follows, "it's also true that girls can hate other girls. I've seen you all at Hogwarts, you were all rather vicious really. Frightening," he finishes with a shudder, two fingers then flying through the air, signaling another refill is needed.
"Not like that," Hermione clicks her tongue, body momentarily leaning away from Ron to allow the barman enough space to push two fresh ones down the table towards Harry and Ron. "It's true, women often harm other women, but never quite like that. Did she admit to the last three murders?"
"As if that's ever an indicator. Jesus, Hermione!"
"I'm sorry, Harry, I don't mean to discourage you -"
"Yeah? Well, from where I'm standing it really seems like you do," he bites back, quickly swallowing the guilt of seeing Hermione stare at him with a deeply hurt expression on her face. "And, mate," Harry plows forth, eyes pinned on Ron, "have you even talked to your sister?"
He knows it's stupid and rash, but there's a storm unleashed inside his chest and he doesn't remotely care anymore. He hasn't slept in over a week, there have been women murdered on his watch and now - now that he's made so much progress, now that Ginny's finally free to walk away - well, fuck everything.
"No, she hasn't been to The Burrow at all. Why?" Ron asks, freckled hands knocking over the freshly filled pint in his haste. "Have you seen her? Have you - oi, Harry -"
But Harry doesn't hear the rest. He can only imagine what Ron's got to say as he walks away, money slapped furiously on the table and a litany of curses on his mind. He doesn't fully understand what's made him so utterly angry, what's made him lash out like that and, quite frankly, he doesn't want to. Not now.
There's something else he needs to do, somewhere else he wants to be.
He drops his cloak and sends his boots flying through the hallway the instant he steps inside, a new kind of whiz shooting through his system, like sunlight flowing through his veins, his limbs, a sun rising in his sternum.
Harry blows a warm breath of air into his cupped palms, rubbing them together as he tries to ground himself. Is he nervous?
His hands fly to his hair, rumpling it atrociously.
"Ginny?" he calls, hoping she's still there, a little uncertain, maybe even a little afraid.
The candlelight flickers from his bedroom and the mattress creaks.
"Harry?"
He's alight and awake now - more awake than he'd ever been.
Her voice is no more than a murmur when Harry rolls next to her, an uncontrollable grin spreading on his tired face, heart beating wildly inside his chest. Firmly shoving aside the prickling unrest of his recent conversation, Harry lets himself lean in with a joy he can't quite place.
Her flowery scent washes over him as Harry kisses her, wraps his arms around her, one knee placed between her legs as his fingers thread excitedly through her hair.
"You're free, you're free," he whispers between kisses and Ginny whimpers under him, her brown eyes wide.
"What? Harry -"
"I've caught the murderer, it's over, your name's cleared," he grins madly and he kisses her again, tugging away at her clothes in excitement.
"Oh, Harry," Ginny lets out a peal of laughter and he quickly finds himself sprawled over her as her legs lock around him and they kiss and bite and feel the fears that have nestled in their hearts now shrink and wither.
Harry shuffles his way down her body, lips dragged over her every freckle, fingers hooked around the waistline of her leggings, nudging it lower with his nose.
Peck, peck, peck.
Glasses crooked on his nose, Harry frowns to see a small, brown owl, it's beak pressed against his window. Reluctantly, he pries his mouth away from Ginny, opens the window with a huff and takes the tightly rolled scroll from the owl's leg, shooing it away a moment later.
Harry throws his glasses next to the scroll on the sill, and clambers back in bed with a wide grin. Ginny's a blur of ginger and excitement as she takes off her shirt and straddles him, her mouth hot and hungry over his as her hips start to roll.
She fucks him till his world spins.