[Spicier version posted on AO3].
Harry had his fingers wrapped around Ginny's ponytail, pulling her head back against his chest, exposing her neck. He placed his lips against her neck finding that certain point under her jaw and kissed, licked, sucked, bit until she cried out. His other arm was slowly trailing down her front, ghosting across her naked breasts, down her abdomen, teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
"Please." Her voice came out raspy, filled with need.
"Please what?" He kissed back up her neck, biting her ear, earning a more desperate moan.
"Touch me . . . please . . ." Her breathing was getting heavier, she ground against him, feeling the length of him pressed against her.
Ginny's arms were holding on to the post of her four-poster, magically held in place. She was starting to shake with want, while Harry's hands grew hungrier across her thighs.
His fingers immediately went to her centre and began to tease her.
"Oh gods, you're so ready." His fingers were moving with deliberate rhythm. Ginny arched her back, knuckles turning white as she gripped the post. "Tell me, Ginny. What do you want?"
"Ohh fuck, Harry. I need you . . . please!" She felt him at her entrance, but he held her still, fingers digging into her hips as she rolled them in frustration.
"What's the magic word?" He hissed as she rolled against him and spread her legs wider.
"Please! Please, I want you inside me . . . I – I need it." He slowly, deliciously, pushed into her. Harry groaned into her red hair, Ginny nearly coming apart from the single motion.
They began to move together, first in no hurry, and then faster. Harder. As the tension built inside of Ginny's core, her moans became more ragged.
"Please, Harry, harder. Oh gods . . . I'm going to . . ."
The pace became feverish, the bed beginning to hit the wall, over and over.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Crunch.
SCRUNCH.
Ginny was suddenly ripped from her dream to the sound of something repeatedly slamming into her window. Something feathery and chirpy. "PIG! GO AWAY!" She put her pillow over her head. She was far too hungover for this.
Pigwidgeon, her brother's fucking annoying minute owl, did not go away, but flew to the next window he could find. Instead of slamming himself bodily into the glass, he chirped a very loud and mournful hoot over and over . . . and over.
"For the love of GODRIC, go away, you exasperating creature!" She threw her pillow at the window. There was a moment of quiet. Ginny pulled the covers to her chin and muttered "Cock-blocking little shit."
Suddenly, Pig flew in through the fireplace in their living room, avoided the vexed paws of Crookshanks, squeezed through her slightly ajar door, and perched on her forehead, dropping a letter on her face and covering her in soot.
"Mother. Fucker. Fine, I'm up. I'm up, you miserable beast!" Ginny sat up, and blearily wiped the sleep out of her eyes and ash off her cheeks. She saw on her bedside table Hermione had left her a bottle of hangover potion. Gods bless that woman.
Ginny had tied one on last night, celebrating at the Three Broomsticks with the Harpies. Another win against the Tornadoes––though Chang did give them a run for their money.
She hadn't paid for a single drink all evening—random blokes kept asking her for her autograph on copies of the latest Seeker Weekly. Which she happily obliged . . . for a price.
If she had been a smart woman, she would have taken a sobering potion before she went to bed. But alas, Ginny can only manage to be so many things at once. As described in Seeker Weekly, she was already busy being "wildly successful, stunningly beautiful, and tragically single." She'd leave something for the rest of the girls.
After she downed the potion in one gulp, immediately feeling some relief, she ripped open the letter. Before she could read more than a couple of words, Pig poked at her hand, hooting hopefully.
"Yes, yes, there should be leftover muffins in the kitchen. Go on, then." Pig gave her hand one more poke, this time in a manner she would almost describe as tender, and flitted out of the room. "Good grief."
She started to review the contents of the letter. It was from Ron. "Why the hell is Ron owling me at the crack of dawn?"
Hermione must have been in her usual arm chair in the living room, because Ginny heard her respond, "It's almost noon, Gin."
"What? Shit!" She rolled out of bed with Ron's letter in her hand, hurrying to grab some tea and a muffin before Pig ate them all. "I'm supposed to be at the pitch in a few hours, and I have so many errands to run." She took a bite, exclaiming through her full mouth, "Ugh! I need to hurry up and get filthy rich and hire a house elf." As she returned to the living room and curled up on the couch, she added to Hermione, "And pay them a living wage, of course."
Hermione's nose was firmly in a book; she barely looked up to acknowledge Ginny's comment. Ginny took the opportunity to finally read the correspondence that so rudely woke her up.
Gin,
Mum wants to know if Hermione is coming to dinner tomorrow. I told her I wasn't sure. Do you have any idea?
"Why the fuck are you asking me, you knob?" Gin rolled her eyes and kept reading.
I'll be honest with you. Hermione hasn't exactly been responding to my owls recently. I know things have been busy at work, but I'm not really sure that's the problem.
Ginny grimaced. Well, it's true she saw this coming, but it's still awkward as hell.
Also . . . mum was at the shop when Susan came through the other day, and we got to talking, and one thing led to another, and mum invited her to dinner. It wouldn't be weird if Susan came and not 'Mione, right?
I dunno, Gin. I suppose if I'm resorting to asking you for advice, I should probably just talk to Hermione. Maybe you could mention to her that I'm trying to reach her?
Cheers,
Ron
"Alright, that's it." She slammed the letter on the coffee table. "Hermione. We need to talk."
"Hmmm?" Hermione's face was still buried in her book. Ginny turned her head to read the title on the spine: One Hundred Obscure Potions & Elixirs.
Ginny poked Hermione with her foot as she held her mug of tea in her hands. "Put the book down for a minute, alright?"
Hermione finished the sentence she was reading and reluctantly marked her page. "What is it, Ginny?"
Ginny cleared her throat. "Hermione. You've been my best friend for a long time. I have tried very hard to draw a boundary and not talk about your love life, seeing as it involves my older brother." She swallowed. "But, we've reached a point where you've forced my hand and I can no longer keep quiet. What is going on between you two?"
Hermione sat quietly, taking a long sip of her tea. She opened her mouth as if preparing to speak. Then she closed it and walked into the kitchen.
"Oi!" Ginny got up and followed her. "What the hell, Granger?!" Hermione was digging in a cupboard, finally pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey. She had poured a fresh cup of tea, and was now adding a healthy splash of Ogden's.
"A bit more, I think." One more dash. She took a sip and hissed as it went down. "Perfect. Alright, Ginny, I'm ready."
Bewildered, Ginny grabbed the last muffin before Pig could get it, earning an indignant hoot, and he headed out the open kitchen window. They walked back into their living room, this time they both took a seat on the couch. Hermione faced Ginny and took a deep breath.
"I think . . . I think I want to break up with Ron." She gave Ginny a sort of apologetic look.
"Ohhh, thank god!" Ginny felt her body relax. "I was worried you were going to be upset that Ron hadn't proposed or something like that." She gave Hermione a nod of encouragement indicating for her to continue.
"No, I'm definitely not disappointed that Ron hasn't proposed. I just think our time together has run its course, and we both know it, but we've both dreading the conversation, and I've just not really had the time and—"
"Hermione, it's time, okay? Ron knows it, you know it. You just need to bite the bullet. You can't just ghost him forever." Ginny tapped her chin thoughtfully, "Oh, I have so many cute Quidditch mates to set you up with!"
Hermione gave her a dismissive wave. "Oh no, I'm not sure I'll be ready to date so soon after breaking up with Ron."
"You're barely dating him, Hermione. You've practically been single for months. You need to get out there and shag a few gents. Sow some wild oats!"
Hermione wrinkled her nose at Ginny's cavalier attitude. "I'm not interested in going out and shagging random men, Gin."
"You're hardly interested in shagging Ron! I can't remember a time he's stayed the night since you and I moved in together." Suddenly, a thought occurred to Ginny. "Oh! Are you ace? Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."
"What? No, no, no! That's not the issue." Hermione quickly clarified. "It's just . . . well, it's kind of odd, isn't it, sex?"
Ginny did not want to know about her brother's sex life. In fact, she would rather have someone stick gold up her arse and set a niffler on her. But, hearing Hermione call sex "odd" made her unbearably curious.
"Alright, we'll need to be careful here, but, 'Mione, you and Ron have had sex, right?"
"Yes, definitely." Hermione nodded, and took a sip of her strong tea. "Once."
"ONCE?!" Ginny choked on a bit of muffin, spraying crumbs across the room. "Merlin, have mercy! Only one time? With Ron? When – what – why?!"
"You know the night at the Three Broomsticks where we all got plastered after your win against the Chudley Cannons?"
"Wh– Wha – bu–" Ginny sputtered, "That was just last May!" Hermioned didn't elaborate. "You've been dating for years!"
"Well, we've done . . . other things. And it's just been busy, you know, with the last year at Hogwarts, preparing for N.E.W.T.s, and then being at Oxford, and then I immediately started this job and it has been quite a lot of work . . ."
To say Ginny was flabbergasted was putting it mildly. Sure, she had her share of awkward romantic encounters. Hell, she dated a gay man for most of year five.
But when she was with Harry . . . well, the words that come to mind were earthquakes, fireworks, explosions, volcanic eruptions. Most certainly not "odd."
She had always assumed it was the same way for Hermione and Ron as it had been for her and Harry. She had been holding a torch for Harry for years, and when they finally had their chance to make a real go of it, the passion was immediate and intense.
Ron had been painfully awkward around Hermione for as long as she could remember. She recalled late summer nights at the Burrow when she and Hermione would whisper about their crushes—agonising over whether they liked them back, and reassuring each other that of course they did, and if they didn't they were a bloody fool.
She knew Ron had finally worked up the courage to kiss Hermione, or perhaps it was the other way around, during the last battle at Hogwarts. But after the dust settled, Ginny wasn't really paying attention to anyone else's relationship.
She was too busy grieving—-the loss of Fred was like losing an arm. She couldn't comprehend how George got out of bed each day.
She was too busy celebrating—the freedom and relief she felt was palpable. She would go flying every day, craving the sensation of air rushing past her, the thrilling terror of screaming toward the goal post on the Quidditch pitch, then pulling up to a stop at the last moment—her Chaser version of the Wronski Feint.
She was too busy healing. Her nerves had been frayed under the terror of the Carrows. She had been tortured more than most, in part because of her blood-traitor status, but also because she continually stuck her neck out to protect the younger students from some of the Carrows' more heinous forms of punishment. She went to a mind healer once a week and worked with Molly to regularly pickle Murtlap tentacles, and delivered the healing salve to students still recovering from some of the more lasting damage.
But mostly, she was too busy loving Harry. He was the first thought of every morning, and the last thought each night. She had waited patiently for him to see her as more than his mate's younger sister, and she finally had him. Hermione's advice about dating other boys worked like a charm, and helped build Ginny's confidence to boot.
When they were finally together, after the war, because they barely had a chance to date before Harry broke things off the first time, her appetite for him was nearly insatiable. She wondered if it was genetic given the number of siblings she had. Luckily for her, Harry was up to the task, as usual.
Harry could be very awkward around women, to be sure. But with Ginny, he was at ease, and when he was at ease, he was bold and incredibly sexy. Also, perhaps having literally died, and otherwise developed a taste for danger, sex with Harry was . . . wild.
It seemed they found themselves shagging in unconventional places more often than in a bed. At first it had been necessary, with the ridiculously archaic wards her mother placed around her room. But, then at Hogwarts, where she had her own room to herself as Head Girl, Ginny's four-poster, while providing some excellent ways to get tied up, was no longer really enough for them.
Of course there was the Come and Go Room which they used regularly and creatively. But, Harry was also prone to drag her into an empty classroom, or a secret passageway, or their spot by Black Lake. He didn't necessarily want to get caught in the act, but the danger that they might immediately got him hard. And she wouldn't lie—the inventive positions they had to come up with in their unusual settings far surpassed her expectations.
Their relationship gave Ginny a healthy perspective about shagging. While they certainly made love, they also fucked. They were completely different experiences. Love-making with Harry was slow and passionate, eyes-locked on to each other, sweet nothings whispered in each other's ears—pure bliss.
But fucking, it was raw, animalistic, working through their urges with a desperation to get off. Also, completely fantastic.
Ginny's understanding of the difference helped her when everything hit the fan last October. In the last year, after Harry had pulled her heart out of her chest and stomped on it repeatedly, Ginny still had managed to find a few half-way decent lays. She knew some people would look down on her approach to dealing with heartache—namely, to fuck the pain away—but Ginny wasn't fussed about only sleeping with people she had feelings for.
Whatever type she had, fucking or love-making, sex was a wonderful and necessary part of Ginny's life.
But odd? She was now very concerned that Hermione had neither made love, nor truly fucked. That was no way to live. If she indeed had such a bad experience with—well, nevermind who—Ginny would make it her mission to get Hermione the shag she obviously needed. In fact, this might explain a lot.
She pressed Hermione for more information.
"Hermione. I cannot stress this enough when I say, 'please keep it vague,' but, was Ron . . . bad at sex?" Ginny had grabbed a pillow, squeezing it in front of her, readying it almost as a shield if Hermione accidentally let slip something she wasn't prepared to hear.
"You know, Ginny, Harry is basically my brother and I've let you describe to me in graphic detail some of your more adventurous encounters." Ginny gave Hermione a look of chagrin. "But never mind that." Hermione continued on. "I mean, I wouldn't say he's bad but I just wasn't . . . into it?" She sighed, grabbed her own pillow and groaned into it.
"Well, that's settled, Hermione. You need to get laid. Properly." She brushed the last of the crumbs off her jumper. "And not to throw shade at my brother, but you need to shag someone you actually have chemistry with. I'm not trying to embarrass you or make you feel bad, but, 'Mione, you deserve better than 'odd' sex."
Hermione let out a sigh of frustration. "I know. I know. But I'm twenty-one, coming out of a 2-plus year relationship that wasn't exactly kept out of the public eye. Men are going to expect me to be more . . . experienced. I mean, Rita Skeeter has been publishing stories about me like I'm some sort of harlot since I was 15. Remember, your mum thought I was a scarlet woman!"
Ginny busted up laughing at the memory. "My mother is a ridiculous woman." She put a reassuring arm on Hermione. "It won't matter when you find the right person, trust me. Is there really no one that gives you that weak in the knees feeling? Or just someone so fuckable you can't help but undress them with your eyes every time you see them?"
Hermione averted her eyes, worrying her lower lip. She was obviously thinking about someone, but not willing to say more. Ginny was burning with curiosity, but knew when to leave well enough alone. "Alright, keep your secrets. But just know, you can tell me . . . assuming it's not another one of my brothers."
"Right. Well, I'll talk to Ron after dinner tomorrow, I promise. You're absolutely right. It's time . . . for both of our sakes." She drained the last of her tea, standing to reach for her book again.
Suddenly, Ginny remembered the second awkward thing they needed to discuss. "Oh, about tomorrow's dinner . . . Ron's sort of invited . . . another woman?" Hermione's face was unreadable, so she pressed on. "Susan Bones. She was in your year, yeah? They've been . . . becoming friends recently, and—"
"Oh, of course, Susan! Yes, I'm not surprised to hear that. It is a bit awkward, but I'm glad it's not someone like Romilda Vane." She settled back into her arm chair, and cracked open her book. "I'll talk to him today, then. I could use Sunday to rework my draft house-elf legislation."
"Great!" That was easy.
"I just need to run to Diagon Alley first."
"Oh, I'll join you. Let me just grab a shower. I need to stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies for some new gloves. Where are you off to?"
Hermione smiled in a way that told Ginny she was definitely hiding something.
"Flourish & Blotts. I've got a 20 galleon gift certificate burning a hole in my pocket."