She was hot, wet and tight, engulfing him in pure sensation. The heady scent of sex filled his nostrils, and her taste still lingered on his tongue.

"Harder, Harry," she urged between clenched teeth, her legs twining about his hips, fingernails digging into the firm flesh of his buttocks.

He gave his body over entirely to her desire, thrusting as hard and fast as he could, their skins, slick with sweat, slapping together in time to the piercing, rhythmic squeak of the old brass bed frame. His glasses pressed awkwardly against her cheek as he bent to capture her mouth with his, and he was oddly excited by his own musky taste on her lips.

He usually felt strange wearing his glasses when he wore nothing else, but this time - the first time - he wanted to be able to see her perfectly. The way the lithe, pale shapes of her body moved beneath him. The curve of her small breasts as they filled his hands. The exquisite delicacy and detail of that beautiful, secret place between her thighs. The flush of her freckled cheeks as she gasped his name when he first entered her. The sweaty tangle of her copper-silk hair. But most of all, her eyes - dark, excited, brave, determined, beautiful - locked with his own, hardly blinking, never looking away. He felt as bound to her by her eyes as by the slick, hot clutch of her around his cock.

"You feel - so good - right there - so good!" she gasped between thrusts, arching her back to take him into her as deeply as she could. "So - good - Harry - oh!"

The last syllable was barely more than an intake of breath, but he felt it echo and reverberate throughout her body, her muscles clenching - releasing - clenching - releasing, in an ancient, mystical rhythm which could not be denied. He gave himself to it joyfully, complying with the demands of her body, pouring himself into her in a spiral of sensation which left him not knowing where he ended and she began.

As he slowly came back to himself, sweaty forehead pressed against hers, it seemed to him that he had touched something toward which he had been striving all his life. He felt at once sated and hungry for more.

And then Ginny giggled. The vibrations of her body sent small aftershocks into his own through the point of their joining, as if they were two halves of the same creature. He raised his head to look at her.

"What's so funny?" he asked with a shy half-smile. "Did I do it wrong?"

She met his eyes and then laughed again. "No. It's nothing. Only - I thought about it so many times. What it would be like to be with you. I thought I had imagined every possible aspect, but somehow I never considered the sound of your bollocks slapping against my arse."

He snorted and rolled off her, the cool air of the room drying his sweaty skin.

"So you've thought about this in a lot of detail, have you?" he asked. "Did I live up to your daydreams?"

"Oh, most definitely." She sighed contentedly and stretched, arching her back.

Harry watched this process with fascination, glorying in the idea that he could reach out his hand and touch her if he wished. He did so, tracing the curve of a lightly-freckled breast. She turned toward him, nestling her head against his shoulder.

"I hope we'll get the chance to try out all of the things I imagined doing with you."

He did not answer. He had not wanted to think about that tonight - the fact that they might not get another chance like this - that one or both of them might be dead by this time tomorrow. But he knew the thought was looming large in both their minds, and that it was what had impelled them to this place on this night, as they sought reassurance from one another, and took for themselves as much as they could of life's joys and the joy of each other while they were able. Part of the reason why this night was so exquisitely precious was that it might be all they would ever have.

She shifted to look up at him. "I think it will be all right," she said softly. "The way Fred and George described the plan, I don't think we'll be in all that much danger."

"Maybe not. But there's still a chance we'll lose people. If you or Ron or Hermione -"

She sat up suddenly, laying her fingers against his lips to silence him. "Don't," she said. "Tomorrow will come. Let's not waste tonight mourning anyone prematurely."

A floorboard creaked over their heads. Ginny and Harry cast their eyes toward the ceiling.

"How do you think they're getting on?" Harry asked nervously.

Ginny laughed softly. "You sound more nervous about them than you were about us."

"They're my best friends," he said simply. "I want them to be happy."

"They'll be fine," Ginny assured him, laying her head beside his once more. "Painfully awkward and embarrassed at first, knowing my brother, but fine."

"If they have time to get to 'fine'," Harry could not stop himself saying darkly.

"I don't want to talk about tomorrow," she said firmly. "I want to talk about life. Once we've won our glorious victory, what will we do with the rest of our lives?"

"Well, I imagine you, Miss Weasley, will go on to your final year at Hogwarts, and make your parents proud with all the NEWTs you'll earn," said Harry, raising himself up on one elbow to look at her some more. "Technically, you shouldn't even be coming with us tomorrow. You're underage."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "You're welcome to try and talk me out of it, Mr Potter," she said, casually parting her thighs to suggest exactly how he might go about persuading her. "But you didn't seem to notice my being underage a few minutes ago."

He grinned and rolled his eyes. "Give me a minute to rest, and I'm sure I can come up with a - er - compelling argument."

She grinned in return, and reached out to trace the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He drew back in surprise.

"Sorry," she said, still smiling a little shyly. "I just realised I'd never even thought to touch it." She giggled again. "Now I'll be famous too. I get to be the Girl Who Shagged the Boy Who Lived. There isn't a girl who went to Hogwarts with us - bar a few Slytherins maybe - who didn't want that on her CV."

That surprised a laugh out of him. He captured her hand and kissed her fingers grinning against them. "My various scars are yours along with all the rest of me, Ginevra."

"I like this one," she said softly, her fingers moving to touch a knotted scar on his arm. It was the one he had earned five years before, saving her from a basilisk and the memory of Tom Riddle. "Maybe you got the other one when you became the saviour of the Wizarding world, but you got this one as my champion. I've never forgotten."

"I never asked to be anyone's saviour," he said, bending to kiss her softly on the mouth. "But I'm glad to be your champion. If you ever have need of one, that is. I've seen you with that crossbow; you don't need me to protect you."

"Maybe not, but it's nice to know you're looking out for me." She kissed him in return. "Mmmm - that's nice. How did you get to be so good at kissing?"

"Natural talent, I guess."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "Because there were about a million girls at Hogwarts would would have lined up to give you lessons. But I never heard about you kissing any of them, apart from Cho."

Harry blushed slightly. "That's because I didn't."

"You've never even kissed any other girls apart from Cho and me?" Ginny said with an air of surprise.

"Well, no, but -" Harry's blush deepened.

"What?" said Ginny, suddenly sitting up to stare at him intently. "Did you and Cho do more than just kiss?"

"What? No! This is the first time I ever -"

"What, then?" There was curiosity and also suspicion in her voice.

He had put his foot in it, and now it was too late, and he was going to have to tell her. How would she take it?

"I - er - haven't kissed any other girls, but -"

"You kissed a bloke?!" She put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with shock when he made no move to deny it. "Oh my God, Harry! It was Ron, wasn't it? I know how close you two are, but I never thought - shit! - now I've -"

"No!" He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from her mouth and squeezing it between both of his. He had to make her understand. "It wasn't Ron. It - it was Neville."

"Neville?" She looked at him blankly for a moment and then, amazingly, she began to laugh.

Whatever reaction he had been expecting, this was not it. "What's so funny?"

It was a moment before she could get the words out. "I kissed him, too," she giggled helplessly. "I can't believe we've snogged the same bloke! God, did you see his face when we left tonight? I thought he was looking at me, but -"

Harry was nonplussed. "First of all, I didn't kiss him; he kissed me. Secondly, it wasn't a snog. It was just really quick. Like this."

He bent to softly, briefly brush her lips with his own. When they parted, she had stopped laughing, and was looking at him thoughtfully.

"Wow," she murmured. "Neville kissed you. I'm impressed. He was so nervous when he kissed me at the Yule Ball, and he kept apologising after. That's why I got fed up and ditched him for Michael. But - he's really different now, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He is. At least, he never apologised after." Harry was unsure what to make of her reaction. "It doesn't bother you? Him kissing me?"

"No," she said, a wicked-eyed smile blooming on her face. "Did you like it?"

"I - I dunno," he said, surprised. "At the time, it seemed weird, but not in a bad way."

"Did you ever wish he'd do it again?"

That gave him pause. There had been moments - rare moments in the two years since that night - when he and Neville had found themselves alone. Harry had thought at those times that Neville might try again, but he never had. Once or twice, Harry had even lain awake at night, wondering what would happen if he ventured across the room for a late night visit. But how could he tell Ginny any of that? Could she ever understand the faint thrum of longing that underlay all else - a longing he had long ago made his peace with, knowing that it could never be fulfilled?

"I'm with you now," he said firmly, looking into her eyes. "Whatever I might have thought then, it doesn't matter now."

She narrowed her eyes. "That's not what I asked, and you know it, Harry Potter."

He shifted uncomfortably. What did she want? A signed confession? She did not seem disgusted, only keenly interested.

"I don't know. Maybe a couple of times I thought -"

"Would you do it again if I asked very nicely?" she purred, trailing her fingers up his thigh.

His mouth fell open in shock. "You're joking."

She smiled enigmatically, then rolled over to push him back against the pillows, swinging a leg over to straddle his hips. He felt himself stiffening again as her wet heat rubbed against him. When his fingers trailed down her body to find the center of her her desire, he felt exactly how slick and willing she was.

"Damn," he moaned as he slid inside. "You're not joking, are you?"

"No," she said, moving her hips. "I'm really not."

Somehow, they missed the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and the front door closing quietly.