A/N: you'll note that i used the Boston slang 'packie' for liquor store in this fic, which comes from 'packed' as alcohol once had to be packaged discreetly in nondescript, brown paper after it was sold. adding this here because i realise it might be read differently than i intended it to be

One year later

She walked along Fort Point Channel, past the old speakeasy hidden in plain sight. It was already dark and the black lamps flickered every now and then across the empty path, but then it usually was like that when she finished training.

Ginny's hand brushed occasionally over the heavy chains on the bridge, their dewy coldness grounding her. Her bag, heavy and worn, cut into her shoulder; this was also a sensation she particularly clung to, because it reminded her that she was still alive.

Ginny hadn't heard that voice in twelve full months. The voice that had haunted her past, her nights, her mind, it had been silenced on a different kind of night - a mad, passionate one. It was odd, wasn't it, how he had saved her life twice.

'You didn't miss your portkey this time, I'm impressed,' Ginny spoke into the darkness, reaching out her hand into what had seemed like thin air. She grasped with confidence, and tugged the Cloak off him; Harry grinned, and leaned down to kiss her.

'That's fair and I deserved that.'

'Too right, and probably an icier greeting too,' she said as she handed the Cloak back to him, quickly falling into step. They walked side by side the thirty steps that connected their usual meeting spot with the building she lived in, their shoulders bumping here and there.

'In my defence, I did owl you right away,' Harry followed as they stopped, his breath swirling in foggy puffs up to the sky.

'You did, and I'm not cross. Not really.' Ginny found the small, round entry card and placed it near the door. With a swing, it opened and they went through.

Harry looked at her as though he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it and shrugged. He reached for the door as they arrived in front of Ginny's apartment, pulling it open when she'd unlocked it, bowing her in with a mischievous little grin.

'Don't be a knob,' Ginny scoffed, but smiled as she walked past him. 'I can get in on my own, thanks.'

He gave her another bow in response and she flipped him off, chucking her coat on a lone chair she never really understood why she had kept in the narrow hallway, propped against the wall, where the paper faded. Her boots followed the same path, shoved between the chair's legs, and Ginny padded after Harry into the kitchen.

He was sat at the table, lightning bolt scar hidden by his widespread palm, face propped into one hand, elbow on the tabletop. She almost didn't want to disturb him, a strange feeling of guilt creeping its way into her heart.

Harry had never asked her why she didn't come, why it always had to be him who would travel, who moved things around so they could meet. No, Harry never did, and Ginny was thankful for that, for she herself didn't quite know. If there was already an answer formed inside her mind, she didn't want to know it yet.

Why was she still afraid?

She stepped lightly towards the corner of the kitchen, searching for whatever had survived after his last visit. Sex and drinks, and drinks and sex - that's what this, whatever it was, had always been made of.

'I could run down to the packie. No Firewhiskey here, I'm afraid,' Ginny huffed as she rummaged through her cupboards. Although her back was turned to Harry, she could feel the grimace on his handsome face, especially reserved for her cheeky bits of Boston slang.

'To the what? Nevermind, don't go - I'm knackered anyway.' She heard him stifle a yawn - he must've been working as much as she remembered he did, quite possibly fretting about a case right now, in his mind, in that mind he tried to keep sealed from her. But it never really worked.

'Tea, then,' Ginny prompted and reached for the upper cabinet, wand just out of reach on the kitchen counter. Her shirt lifted slightly as she did, her soft, freckled skin bathed in the artificial light, and she felt, pleased, as Harry's eyes settled over her.

'Isn't it illegal to drink tea in Boston?' Harry grinned as she shifted to reach for her wand, swishing it so that a small fire ignited under the kettle.

'Well, no one's tried to throw me off a boat yet.'

'If you came to Britain, though,' Harry grinned sheepishly now, 'you wouldn't have to live in fear.'

Ginny rolled her eyes, but smiled as she carefully sent a big white mug to the table. It was engraved with the Finches' emblem and it settled there slowly, filling the small kitchen with the scent of strong, black tea. 'I'm very brave,' Ginny then said with a wink, and placed a hand on his shoulder; Harry turned and kissed the inside of her arm, his own hands snaking around her waist.

'That's true.' His lips rested on her plexus, over her black tee, thumb trailing up her spine. Against her will, she shivered.

'You're about to do something chivalrous and noble, aren't you?'

His chin rose as he turned his head to look up at her, his green eyes bright behind his glasses. 'Don't I always?'

'You do. That's why I keep you around,' she grinned and straddled him, her fingers knotting through his hair.

Harry's arms immediately wrapped around her. 'It's all business to you, isn't it.'

'And a bit of pleasure.'

She could feel him harden under her, his arms bringing her closer.

'So, what are we talking now? Business or pleasure?'

Ginny smirked, and kissed him hungrily - so eager was she to taste him again that she managed to upset his glasses, his teeth grazing her bottom lip before he groaned.

'Sorry,' Harry pressed his lips into a wry smile, and shoved his glasses back, pushing them up his nose with two fingers.

Ginny thread her fingers through his hair, pressing down into him. 'Don't apologise. I want you to see me.'

Harry let out a deep, low groan, his green eyes gazing longingly into hers before his hands slipped under her thighs, squeezing her once before he smashed his mouth to hers. Ginny felt his tongue slide in, and gladly allowed him to taste her under the yellow kitchen light. He squeezed under her thighs again and her heart fluttered.

Suddenly, Harry lifted her onto the kitchen table, fingers nimbly working her jeans open, dragging them down quickly. She pushed onto her elbows to watch, grinning as he kneeled between her thighs and kissed them, dragging his lips over the freckles peppered on the insides of them. His fingers hooked into the seam line of her knickers, and pulled them aside.

Harry brushed his fingers over her, slipping them in to feel her, stroke her, part her as she watched, her breaths growing heavier, her eyes turning darker. She'd only had the ghost of his touch for these past months, pulling it out of her memory to be able to feel, to remember, to have him with her in the dark. He made it bearable, he showed her she could fight it. Really, truly fight it, until the voices stopped entirely.

It was his mouth that drew the first moan from her lips, working where his fingers had been - gently at first, then ever quicker, her knickers still bunched aside as he ate her on her kitchen table.

Now Ginny's knees were flexed onto his shoulders and his messy head moved fastly between her legs. She let her fingers sink into it and shut her mind, shut her eyes, her long, red hair spreading over the tabletop as she leaned back.

'Harry,' she moaned, shivering slightly as ecstasy coursed through her. He squeezed under her thighs again.

The way he made her feel - from their first night together to this night, one year after, Ginny couldn't really put it into words. It was like nothing else she'd ever felt before, her body heated as though she was on fire. Not the low, prickling glow of a fire, but the scorching, melting flame of the Sun suddenly washing down over her, engulfing her at Harry's every touch.

'Please,' she begged, one hand wound through her own hair as the other still kept him there, firmly between her legs. 'Please, Harry.'

Harry's head moved up under her palm, and he kissed up her stomach, bunching up her shirt with his nose. His lips traveled over her freckled dappled chest, over her bra, as his fingers worked his trousers loose, pulling off his boxers with clumsy, quick moves.

And then his fingers slipped under her knickers again, pulled them to one side, and Harry was inside her.

Ginny sighed in a sort of delighted relief, her toes curling as her heels pressed into the edge of the table, settling into the rhythm he was building. She could feel her underwear more wet with every thrust, but she was oddly pleased they were still on - it all built into the thrill, into the heated, hungry reunion they would have every time he came to her.

'Ginny,' Harry panted, diving in more quickly now, his palms wandering under her bra, slipping under the bottom of her cups to rest onto her breasts. She placed her hands over his, over her bra, and motioned him to squeeze and knead and grip as their mouths crashed over each other and their tongues tasted one another.

Bang - the white mug smashed onto the tiled floor, the warm, dark liquid spilling over the mint green rectangles.

'Told you it was illegal,' Harry grinned and resumed his kissing, completely unbothered by the warm tea soaking his socked toes. Ginny huffed against his lips, raising her hips to meet his.

He ravished her, that's what she felt. He ravished her and Ginny welcomed it - welcomed him with complete abandonment, heady and a little euphoric on her kitchen table. Harry smiled at her, his head descending over her neck, and her heart fluttered madly.

'I missed you,' she said between hard, shuddering pants; he thrusted harder, his hands pressing onto her knees, holding onto them as he moved with her, parting them more widely open.

She could hear her own panting sighs, her moans growing louder and less coherent, the rasping in his voice as he called her name. The table's legs scraped over the mint green tiles, the wood creaking, and Ginny let herself plunge into that deep, blissful oblivion.

Later, when they had tired themselves out and somehow managed to stumble out of the kitchen, her hand clasped in his, Ginny sighed happily as she sat with one arm over his chest, her forehead in the crook of his neck, fully peaceful in the moonlight. Because she really was happy in his arms, enthralled and spellbound by his kiss, his scent, his gentle touch.

Then why didn't she want to go back with him?

'If I were to leave America,' Ginny started, not fully certain of where she was heading.

'Yes?' Harry prodded her excitedly, fingers wound gently through her hair. She relaxed into his touch, scrunching her eyes, searching for her words.

'I didn't say I am, just - just if I was considering it, what would happen next?'

Harry didn't miss a beat and, resting his stubbled chin against the crown of her head, he replied, 'Well, you could live with me, if you wanted. I think we handled that part rather well the first time round.'

Ginny scoffed, although his cheek didn't bother her at all. 'You mean by having sex every day?'

'And night, but yes.'

She lightly kicked him in the shin, stifling her laugh. 'And what else would we be doing?'

Harry thought about it for a moment - Ginny saw as his lips pressed together through the thick darkness in the room. 'We could go to The Burrow on Sundays.'

Briskly, Ginny pulled away from him. She suddenly felt breathless, something very painful stirring in her chest.

'I can't just fall back into a life I was supposed to have, Harry.' She noticed, as though removed from her body, how her voice had veered into shrillness.

Harry raised on his elbows, shifting so he could look at her. There was confusion heavily etched onto his features, and hints of hurt. Ginny wanted to close her eyes, she didn't want to see his eyes or the creases on his forehead, stretched across his skin from the edges of the lightning bolt.

'I would be there with you,' he said, almost in a whisper.

'Why?'

Harry stared at her, his face suddenly expressionless. 'Are you really asking me that, Ginny?'

'I suppose I am. It's been a year, and you keep coming round and -'

He shook his head slowly, his jaw clenched. 'God, Ginny, you're so obstinate sometimes.'

He didn't yell or grunt or raise his voice; he said it just like that, like it had been on his tongue for far too long, a conclusion he had reached but somehow still hoped he would be wrong.

'Only when it comes to life altering decisions.'

Her last words resonated through the thick darkness of her bedroom, lashing at the walls, crashing into the furniture, leaving him speechless. The sarcasm was biting, she recognised, and she desperately wished she could take it back as soon as she had said it.

But before she could open her mouth again, Harry pulled the sheets aside, and rose out of bed, collecting his glasses and the clothes he had just recently discarded, his wand swishing silently as he summoned them. He didn't look at her, not even once, his head hung low as he started to dress. It reminded her of another day, although it had been her who'd dressed and him who'd watched, resigned and weary.

Ginny watched him with her heart like stone, a sudden panic boiling in her stomach as she shook herself back to reality. What was he doing?

'Harry, I didn't mean -' she started, but he dipped his chin to look at her and Ginny quickly stopped. The messy hair plastered to his forehead, sticking at the back, the hardness in his jaw, the hurt expression in his bright eyes… Her head wasn't straight, she didn't mean it. He must have known that, he must have.

'Don't bother.'

He didn't know - he would have never broken her heart with those words if he could read her mind, her soul.

He made his way to the front door of the small apartment, stepping over the tea stains and drying puddle in the kitchen. Ginny's eyes traveled over them, her stomach churning at the memory, and it felt just like a slap.

He shoved his boots on and opened the door, his back turned to her; she stared at him from the other side of it, broken and angry and confused.

'I love you,' he softly said, and Disapparated with a loud pop.

Tears prickled viciously at Ginny's eyes - she banged the door shut with a hefty push and fell to the cold floor, crying.