The mattress creaks raucously, headboard banging against the wall, quick and sharp and noisy. There's a sudden thump as Ginny's fist falls from her tangled hair, fingers gripping the sheets until they gather in a lump in her hand.
"Harry, ah."
He thrusts in deeper and her hand returns to her hair, twisting through her long, red locks as she moans again in pleasure. Harry groans as he watches her.
The wet towels lay in messy heaps by the bed, the purpose of their early rise forgotten once her lips dragged over his, her naked body glued to his. He kicks the towels away and leans in further, lifting her slightly up to reach in deeper, better. She grips the sheets again, this time with both her hands, her back arching further up.
His palms are on her lower back, supporting her and pulling her to him as he dives forward quickly, keeping up an impossible rhythm. His knees smack into the edge of the bed with every thrust, the bed whacking into the wall. He doesn't care.
Outside, the sky blushes pink and gold, gentle daylight lighting up her skin. He follows the ray of light, brushing his thumb over her skin in its wake - brushing it over her heart, her ribcage, down her bellybutton, stopping in between her legs.
He sneaks it in where their bodies meet, searching for her clit. Finding it, he presses there, sweeping his thumb over it in short, tender strokes. He feels his hunger grow as she writhes in pleasure, as she pushes on her elbows, coils her legs around his hips; his ever-growing, insatiable hunger for her.
"Ah," she cries again as Harry drags his tongue over her stomach, palms traveling to rest against her shoulder blades. Carefully, he whisks her up and Ginny's hands are instantly wound through his hair, her teeth grazing his lips.
Stepping over the damp towels, Harry walks them to the wall.
She holds on to him tightly, head thrown back as his mouth works at her chest, licking, sucking each breast as he presses her into the wall. His knees give, he can't hold on much longer.
Her nails scrape at the base of his neck, hands holding him to her chest as his tongue darts over her nipple, groaning every time she moans, every time she cries 'oh, fuck, yes'. He keeps working at her chest, panting harder and louder.
He bucks under the wave of pleasure hitting him, coursing violently through his body, his cheek to her beating heart, resting on her heaving chest. Slowly, he takes them to the floor.
They lie there, out of breath, tangled in a sweaty, panting pile.
"That wall thing you did was pretty good," she says, breathless, from under him.
His hand shoots up to ruffle his hair, face still happily stuck to her breasts. "Just good - ah, shit, I'll be late for the press conference," Harry groans as the old watch glistens on his wrist.
"Fuck the press conference," Ginny suggests and locks her legs around his hips, snuggling into a more comfortable position. "Reckon you could do better, with a bit more practice."
Grinning broadly, Harry returns his mouth to hers.
Harry dashes past a fuming Robards just as the clock strikes eleven sharp. Pretending he doesn't notice his boss growling behind him, Harry clears his throat, grabs the microphone stand with both hands, and begins.
"My name is Harry Potter, and I have been the lead Auror in this case," he starts, willing his voice to sound stern, his knees not to give. He'd worked through the speech with Hermione - it would be, they agreed, the first step towards a new legislation package that will pave the way to a reform. Not only in the justice system, Hermione had said, but across the Wizarding World.
From the back of the crowd, Ginny nods subtly at him, then draws the cloak back over her long, red hair.
Breathing in steadily, Harry continues.
"Balthasar Inique - the caretaker, we called him - is a man with a murder on his record," Harry speaks clearly, allowing enough time for the reporters to scribble down their notes. "Before committing the murder of four innocent women: Susan Danes, Madeline Belby, Mary Tart, and Agnes Brown -"
"May they rest in peace," a blotched-faced figure Harry recognises to be Marcus Belbly hiccups from the front row.
"- Balthasar Inique was found guilty of the cold-blooded murder of his own wife. When he found out his wife was meeting another man, Mr Inique took it upon himself to teach her a lesson of his own liking. You yourselves have, by now, seen what his lessons look like - cruel, vile and merciless. Not an ounce of humanity. The two of them fought and he lost control, Mrs Inique blasted with the same powerful curse he had since used on each of his victims. She died instantly."
Harry pauses again to catch his breath, following the dotted lines with his mind's eye. By the end of the speech, he would connect them all.
"For his crime, Balthasar Inique was sentenced to ten years in Azkaban. It was concluded, the record states, that the murder was the unfortunate result of an accidental burst of magic. Not guilty, he had pleaded. At that point, you see, Mr Inique did not view himself as the avenger he wishes to be today. Nevertheless, while in Azkaban, he repented and appeared a changed man, devoted to God and the new christan religion he had suddenly embraced. On this account, his sentence was reduced to five years. Mr Inique vowed to serve the following five in a Christian church, in prayer."
Another moment of silence as Harry's eyes survey the crowd; even Rita Skeeter, dressed in robes of sparkling mauve, seems busy, her enchanted quill frantically trying to record every word Harry had said.
"When the five years ended, Mr Inique was offered a job as caretaker of the Ministry of Magic, on account of his humble and good behaviour. He accepted."
With a sudden flick of his wand, Harry vanishes the thick veil that was covering something at the back of the crowd. Standing tall in the warm light, a statue of four women, their arms linked, presents itself before their eyes. At the bottom of the statue, the women's names are looped in gold letters, glinting brightly to remind them of the lives neither of the four women would ever live.
"Balthasar Inique isn't the problem," Harry's voice booms, requesting their attention once again. "Our society is the problem. The way we raise our children is the problem. The way we treat each other is the problem. Do you see? Mr Inique is a man who learned to hate women. He was not born with this hatread, as none of us are when we come into the world. No, he was taught to hate, taught to destroy, to stifle the joyous light in the innocent's eyes. It will be Azkaban for life for him today - the four added murders on his record give us no other choice. But we can prevent more Balthasars, we can prevent more deaths if we learn to nurture a culture of respect for one another, if we instil the value of treating each other kindly in our children."
His eyes stop on the stone figure of Mary Tart, on Agnes' kind smile, and he blinks at them, his head hung in silent goodbye. Swallowing hard, Harry prepares to end.
"Together with Hermione Granger of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I - we've worked on a new legislation package to reform our justice system. We argue there's an imperious need for a bigger change, a change that will uproot the evil in our society and pave the way for a new era. We argue that it is really the thought that flicks the wand, and that is where we need to work. More details will be released by the end of the year."
There's a death like silence in the echo of his words, the kind that leaves one thinking that time had stood still. Harry jumps off the podium, parting the swarms of reporters, his hand reaching for the back of the crowd.
Smiling, Ginny draws her cloak off, her freckles alight in the sun, and takes his hand.
A rumbling noise, pure uproar unleashes as soon as their hands touch, reporters fighting each other for a chance to take one precious photograph. A second later, Harry and Ginny disappear in a great, blinding flash of light.
They land in front of a colourful, mad-looking house, its walls and topsy turvy roof climbing so high up, no wizard would believe it isn't held together by magic. At the base of it, a yard stretches in glistening green, littered from place to place by pecking chickens and heaps of mismatched wellies.
To Harry, it is the cosiest, warmest place on earth.
"Oi," he brings the tips of his fingers to his mouth and whistles sharply, "oi, everyone! There's someone who'd like to see you."
Mrs Weasley is the first to appear, bristling as she marches out the door, wooden spoon in her hand. The grey in her hair shines brightly as she trundles through the yard.
"What's all this noise?"
Meekly, from behind him, Ginny takes a step forward and whispers, "Mum?"
Instantly, Mrs Weasley is reduced to tears, stumbling back as she clutches at her chest. From the doorframe, George calls everyone through, shouting 'It's Ginny! Oi, you lot, it's Ginny!'
"Oh, Ginny, oh, my darling," Mrs Weasley sobs, her daughter disappearing in her fierce embrace, Mr Weasley's hand hovering above her shoulder before he, too, lets out a sob and pats her on the back. Tearful and red in the face, Ginny grips both her parents' hands, throwing herself in their arms.
Harry gives them the privacy they need, walking past the Weasleys and stepping through to the back garden. Loosening his tie, he waves at Hermione as she greets him with a smile.
"How was the press conference, Harry?"
"Not bad," he nods, the bridges of his palms massaging slowly over his temples. "Thanks for the help, would've never pulled off that speech without you."
She touches her shoulder to his, silently acknowledging how far they've come, but also how much longer it will take to finish what they've started. "They're coming through," she says, instead.
Pushing his glasses higher up his nose, Harry sees Ginny, a teary smile on her lips as George ruffles her hair, Bill and Percy flanking them. Looking as though he can't decide if he should be happy or not, Ron walks behind them.
Harry waits for him to draw nearer before he gets up and, hands deep inside his pockets, catches Ron's gaze, and gestures vaguely towards Ginny.
"Better you than any other git, I suppose," he huffs.
Harry grins, heart feeling a million times lighter. "Thanks, mate."
"Yeah, cheers," Ron shrugs and shuffles past him, taking the stacks of plates out of Hermione's hands to set the table.
"So - the Finches, eh?" Ron breaks the silence once they're all seated and enough food's been piled onto each plate. "I heard the All-Stars are wiping the floor with you this season."
"What?!" Ginny splutters from Harry's right, banging her glass onto the table. "The Finches won seven US Cups, while the Cannons - oh, that's right, they suck."
George snorts into his wine, but Ron ignores him.
"Be the bigger person for once, Ginny," he says grumpily.
"Can't," Ginny grins, "I'm too short."
The table erupts into bouts of laughter, goblets rising into 'cheers' across the yard.
"Finally," Harry thinks as he watches her smiling, happy face, "she's home."
Her hair is soft against his cheek, the flowery scent lulling him into a sense of utter safety, into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. He caresses her naked back in wide strokes, reveling in her warmth, in the feel of holding her, with her leg over his hip and her head nestled in the crook of his neck.
He laces his hand with hers, playing with her freckly fingers.
"I'll take you to the portkey in the morning," he says, voice above a whisper.
"You don't have to," she responds and cuddles closer into him. Harry smiles.
"I still want to."
"That's very noble of you, Harry."
"And I'll come visit, if you want me to," he follows, trying and nearly failing to maintain the seriousness of their conversation. She lightly tickles at his sides, swinging her leg higher over his hips.
"I might," Ginny shrugs and shifts, now straddling him. "But let's not talk about it now."
Harry's gaze locks with hers and he feels like she's piercing through him, his very soul revealing itself to her. There's so much he wants to tell her before she leaves.
Instead, he catches her by the arm and moves his lips over her wrist, brushing her skin up to her shoulder, lingering on her neck. He gently pushes her long hair back and kisses under her jaw, behind her ear. He'd memorised her this past month.
And if she doesn't want to say goodbye, he won't. If she doesn't want to think about the future, he won't ask her to. He'll simply make her feel good and safe and cared for. He'll simply be there for her.
Harry flicks his wand, whispering 'Nox', and the room is bathed in moonlight, and quiet.
The silver light catches in her hair as it flows, cascading down her back, flowers growing from the walls, the ceiling, in their bed every time she moves. He presses his thumb to her bottom lip, his skin colliding with the warm, moist flesh, before he kisses her again. He takes his time, eager to remember the way she tastes, snaking her arms around her to remember what it feels like to have her chest pressed against his, her breasts brushing his scarred skin. It's almost like she's healing him.
He lets her ride him to remember that first night, their first blissful night together, when she'd broken him and rebuilt him with the things she'd done. Harry leans back, his head hitting the pillows as Ginny starts to roll her hips, feeling as the pleasure drums at the pit of his stomach, watching as a ray of light shines over her.
"Hold onto me, Harry," Ginny says, echoing the words she'd told him on their very first night. Carefully, she places his hands over her hips and slowly moves again, slipping into the rhythm that blew him away then, that perfect rocking that always, without fail, shattered him to bits.
Now Harry had been fucked before, but only ever by her.