Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: pauraqueFrom: tjs_whatnotTitle:
Forever and AlwaysCharacters/Pairings:
Ginny Weasley, Albus Severus/ScorpiusRating:
vicarious voyeurism, masturbation, sex toyOther Warnings/Content:
Allusions to underage sexual shenanigans Word Count:
Ginny needs to get a new life, but first she accidentally lives in Albus’.Author's Notes:
Thank you prompter for such a creative prompt with limitless possibilities. Thank you Daily Deviant for always letting me explore new to me characters, relationships and kinks. And thank you C and R for the amazeballs beta help. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Ginny Potter didn’t realize how much she hated an empty house until the first weekend after the divorce was final, walking around the house that was now entirely hers. Hers alone.
Her husband--ex-husband, Ginny, remember, ex
--was across town with the children for the weekend. An empty house wasn’t all that unusual for her since Lily started school three years before and Harry had taken more and more cases out of town, as far away as he could go to avoid having to come to the realization that his wife and he just didn’t work. She wondered if they had ever worked, ever made sense in the long term.
Ginny knew that she had once loved Harry very much, still did if she was being honest with herself. Maybe she always would. She also believed that Harry had loved her, maybe he still did, but not the way she needed him to, never in that way. And still they had tried. Tried so hard. For the children, for the family, for the very ideal of what life was supposed to be.
Then the children were gone and they were forced to come to terms with the fact that they didn’t really like each other, not as people. It had been so strange to talk of divorce. Ginny had grown up not even knowing that was a thing that existed in the world. She didn’t know anyone who had done it, who had even any divorced members of their family. She just assumed when she did hear about it, that it was a thing that Muggles did, that it was something that people who didn’t have magic did. But, there was no magic for living a life not what you wanted, not what you needed, she had discovered that the hard way.
So, after months and months of talking, they had gotten divorced. The first sign Ginny got that it was the right thing to do was when they sat the kids down and told them. The collective sigh of relief from all of them told her more about what her life—and consequently their lives—had become than anything else. After that, it was easy. Telling her parents, her family, their separate employers hadn’t been fun, but everyone seemed to accept it, again a sign that it was almost universally acknowledged that they were not meant to be.
Still, that was all prep and talk and now she was there, in a house that was hers, and her children were away, starting a new life with their single father. The fun one. He was going to be the fun one. There was no getting around that. She had always been the rule maker and the guardian of said rules. It was how she was raised, and it was the system that she and Harry fell into naturally.
Thankfully, now that they were older, there were no longer many rules left to worry about.
She had good kids. She and Harry had good kids. No matter what they did to each other, how they mucked up their own lives, they could celebrate and revel in the fact that they had kids who they could be proud of.
James had had a steady girlfriend since his fifth year, a fact that shocked all of them. They had thought he would be the wild one that broke hearts all through Hogwarts. But he hadn’t. That was Lily’s role. She was only 13 but she had a string of boys sending her owls and showing up at their home during the holidays to ask to take her on outings. Ginny didn’t know what to do with this. Her mother laughed and whispered under her breath something about karma.
Al, he was the mystery to Ginny. He didn’t talk about girls, didn’t have them coming around. He had lots of mates, even ones that Harry wasn’t very fond of. He had started hanging out with Scorpius Malfoy last year and that had all of them chagrined and bewildered. Times had changed though and Ginny had convinced Harry that the father’s indiscretions shouldn’t be used against the boy. Besides, it wasn’t like Draco was raising his son like his father had raised him. Farthest from it.
Other than mates though, she knew very little about what Al got up to at school, how he entertained himself outside of it. He had very little interest in Quidditch or even any of the Muggle sports that Harry and she had taken an interest in. He liked to write, she knew that, he was constantly in his room with a scroll of paper and ink stained fingers. She didn’t know what he wrote, but he seemed to have a lot to say.***
After she said goodbye to the children, sharing an awkward smile with Harry as they walked past her, she wandered around the house. Her house.
She poured herself a glass of Elf-made spiced wine and she contemplated so many options. She could call up some old team mates and see what they were up to. That seemed a lot of work and she knew they’d all want to talk about the divorce, or about Harry. She knew they were a novelty and everyone is curious about a novelty, but she just didn’t have it in her to tell stories yet.
She could Floo over to Ron and Hermione’s but the prospect of them feeling sorry for her or worrying about her was too much to bear as well. Besides, what if she got there and found that Harry had brought the children over? How pathetic would that be?
No, she had to survive this on her own. These two days had to be gotten through.
She found herself going to her children’s rooms. She didn’t think of it as snooping. She just wanted to know who these people she was starting a new chapter of her life with were. Not as Potters or as part of the hoard of Weasleys, but as people. As individuals.
James’ room was a mess. Utterly revolting and she didn’t stay long. He had become obsessed with the future, his career, his getting married, his having kids of his own. This, it seemed, manifested itself with even less regard to the everyday here and now of taking care of clothes, binning his rubbish or having space to walk in the cavern he called a room.
Lily’s room was very much a 13 year old girl’s room. It was prim, proper and covered with posters from the teen edition of Witch Weekly. The boys from whatever band she was currently into leering at her from the walls gave Ginny the creeps. The magic of wizarding photography had never affected her like these before. She remembered having posters on her walls, and pictures she’d nicked from the local paper. She remembered vividly one of a young boy with a lightening shaped scar being chosen for the Triwizard Tournament in the Daily Prophet with a pang of wish fulfillment gone awry. She had spent many nights with that picture under her pillow, his scowl and annoyance at the photographer not marring her fantasies in the slightest.
Al’s room was neither a disgusting mess or overly prim and proper. It was just right. Ginny remembered that she often thought of a Muggle story that Harry had told the children when they were little about three little bears. Al had always been her baby bear. Not too this, like James or too that, like Lily, but just right, like himself. That seemed to be the thing he strived for the most, to be the middle. Not average, or invisible, just content with his lot in life. It was something that Ginny admired in him and something that drove Harry to madness quite often.
She looked at his bed, not made exactly, but a blanket thrown over it to give the appearance of order. His desk was the same. There was a quill and ink bottle, a few rolls of empty scrolls but nothing that gave anything away. Ginny knew that he was a private person, more so than either of her other children. Maybe that was why he was the one she wanted to know the most about. The one whose belongings she found herself rifling through the most. It could also have been that, of all of her children, Al was the one who she least suspected to have something in his room that could make her rethink their entire life.
Oh, how silly she was. She found them in the back of his cupboard. A wooden chest filled with pages and pages of letters.
I had another dream about you last night. I hope you don’t mind me telling you about my Dream Al. He is very much like the real Al that I have the pleasure of calling mine.
Mine? Al has someone in which he belongs? When did this happen? Who was this person with the strong pen stroke who dreams about her son? She sat down on the bed and read on.
In this dream, we were older, and free of the obligations of school and our families. We are free to be who we are, and we are glorious. I must have fallen asleep with thoughts of our History of Magic classes because in the dream, we are in one of the small islands of Aeaeae and it is just us. We are setting on the shore and you give me that look. You know the look, the ‘Why is this necessary’ look you always have in that class.
Ginny knew that look. It was the look he snuck to her every time Harry went on excessively about Quidditch. She sort of liked that he had someone else he shared that look with. She only wished she knew who this person was and worried why Al had never talked about them. She decided she would worry about that later. Now was for gathering information.
After that smile, I gave no more thoughts to History of Magic. That smile will be the death of me. Dream You has mastered it almost as well as you have. You know what else Dream Al does almost as well as you?
Ginny stopped reading. Did she really want to know what Dream Al did? Did she really want to know what real Al might have done? She looked around as if expecting someone to be there to answer for her, to try and talk reason with her. After a moment she came to the answer all on her own, and she wasn’t proud of it, or herself. But that didn’t stop her from looking back down at the parchment and reading on.
She didn’t know if she was relieved by this vague—if not slightly terrifying—answer, or disappointed that there hadn’t been examples. What is
wrong with you Ginevra Potter?
There’s this thing you do with your tongue. Do you know you are doing it? Do you do it specifically to drive me mad? I sometimes think you do and that you take immense pleasure in my madness.How like you’re father you are, Albus Severus,
Ginny thought, then stopped herself from drifting away in a haze of fond remembrances of her own. There was something inherently wrong about that. Wasn’t there? It was just… well Harry did have a glorious tongue when he put it to use on her and not against her. She hadn’t thought about it in a while and certainly she hadn’t thought about how very long it had been since he’d used his tongue, or any other part of himself, on her. Doing the math caused her to ache all over. Instead she read on.
Obviously I also get a bit of pleasure in the madness or I wouldn’t continue to dream what I do. And I do dream about you all the time. You’re in my dreams almost as much as you are in my thoughts. I only wish you were in my life when the school term ends. But I understand. Believe me; I understand about family and the demands put upon you. I, more than anyone else, might know EXACTLY how you feel. I would never push for more. Not when I have your correspondence and the memory of our time together to satisfy my dreams. It is enough.
Until we are once again together, love forever and always.
S? That was it? S. Who is this S? She thought about all the people she knew Al’s age. They were obviously in the same year as they were taking classes together. Her mind went blank. She couldn’t think of a single Gryffindor with that initial. It could be a different house, of course it could be. She wasn’t like the rest of her family; she didn’t believe that only Gryffindors were good enough for her children. She wasn’t Ron after all. But which of the other houses took History of Magic together? It had been Slytherin in her day. Could it be still? She guessed that would explain his reluctance to talk about it. He knew how much grief he would get from many of his family and friends. If not grief, than definitely teasing. Al had always hated being teased.
She carefully placed the letter back where she had found it. She looked at the stack. No. You can’t,
she admonished herself. She placed the chest back where she’d gotten it.No.
She went to the kitchen to pour herself another glass of wine.Absolutely not.
She drank the glass and poured another.No. No. No. No.
She flipped on the wireless and tried to pay attention to the programme, secretly cursing her refusal all those years ago to allow a television into her home. What did single people do with their weekends?They don’t live vicariously through their children, that’s what they
It took her two more glasses of wine to start reasoning and bargaining with herself.Let’s be honest. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend and every weekend after wanting to read those letters, wanting to know. Wouldn’t it be better to just… just maybe… maybe read them? Just read them all and then you’ll never be tempted again.
After the bottle was consumed and another opened she came to the conclusion: Yes. Get it out of your system. Good idea.
It was so great bumping into you today. I’m only sorry that we were both accompanied by other people and couldn’t be together. I’ve missed our long debates and all-night arguments. I still contend that Viridian was the greatest Headmaster of all time. But you are right; we shall continue to agree to disagree. Namesake’s honor and all that.
Of course, our conversations that sometimes lasted until the morning’s rays peaked over the horizon are not the only thing I miss. The days without your hands to hold, your lips to kiss are like torture to me. I often feel as if you have perhaps bewitched me, only if that were true, I would be free of the spell in your absence, instead, I find myself more spellbound by your memory. Yet, I count the days until the train takes us back to school, back to where we can be together, or as together as possible.
I often fantasize about the train ride, about finding a small hidden place to have my way with you. Oh, the delicious things I would do. Will do.
Ginny suddenly realized that the room had gotten exceedingly warm; she fanned herself with the letter. This was not right. She should not
be getting this turned on my some child’s letters to her youngest son. And yet she was, and she continued to be so:
I blush at the images I am able to conjure and yet I read your letters to me, how well you articulate your desires, how poetic you make your yearnings and I burn to be able to return the gift you have bestowed on me. If you could get as much pleasure from my correspondence to you as I get from yours, if just once you could take these letters to your bed and find release in the language and imagery as I have, I will have considered myself a success.
Please tell me, in great detail, the first time I have prospered in this goal, will you, love.
All yours forever and always,
Ginny bit her lip. She needed another drink as her throat was suddenly dry. Looking around her son’s room, she also concluded that she probably shouldn’t be in there. It just added to how very wrong this whole thing was. And yet, she couldn’t stop. Not now.
She stood up and instantly sat back down. She hadn’t realized just how drunk she was until that moment. She giggled. Yep. This is your life. You are an almost 40 year old, drunken, divorcee perving on your son’s love life. Good job, you.
She didn’t care. There was no one there to see how far she’d fallen. And by the time the children returned on Sunday, she would have gotten this all out of her system and she could go about starting a proper life again. But for now,
she thought, fuck proper.
She giggled again. Then she went to the kitchen to pour herself another glass, then thought better of it and just toddled to her bedroom with the stack of letters and the entire bottle.
She sat down in the middle of her overly large bed with the draped canopy that she suddenly hated. Whose idea had those been? Not hers. She didn’t think, but the idea of Harry choosing them, or any other piece of furniture made her laugh again.
They suddenly reminded her of the beds in Gryffindor tower and she shuddered. They’d have to go. Of that she was certain. If she had the capacity to hold a wand and perform the incantation she’d do away with them right then and there. But, she didn’t, and besides, she had more pressing things on her agenda for that night.
Your letter arrived just in time. I was going mad with my desire to hear from you and drown in your words and the images they elicited in me.
Ah, so that explained her son’s ink stained fingers and him always having a quill in his hand. She wondered if his language to this lover of his was as flowery and articulate as theirs were to him. Probably. Al was well-spoken naturally and this correspondence between the two of them seemed to be something that a lot of thought about words and their meanings went into. She was suddenly proud of her son, if not a little worried that he could so fully give his heart to this person at such a young age. She didn’t even want to contemplate if they had actually performed any of the things alluded to on this pages.
She shuddered. But then read on.
The days of the summer run into each other one after the other in tedious succession. The only thought that carries me on is that in a few weeks we might have the opportunity to once again bump into each other in Diagon Alley as we collect our supplies. Shall we try and make that happen? I’m sure I can persuade a day and time with my parents. What about you?
How is your family doing? I have, of course, heard about your parents’ divorce. I know you had been expecting it for a while and seemed to be fine with it, but are you? I try to imagine my parents doing that and I can’t. Even the days where they barely speak and their every expression breaths contempt. I don’t think either would have the nerve. Your parents are so strong to face their lives and futures as they have. No matter what else, remember that, yes?
Forever and always,
She put the letter down. It was weird to read about herself in the letters and even stranger that she was bored by it and disappointed that the letter seemed flat compared to the others. She tossed it aside and instantly pulled out another.
My love,Now this is more like it,
The nights are the longest
The wind swirling from my window
Teases me with resemblances to your
Finger’s feather light touches
Ginny thought as she took another drink. She was barely conscious of unfastening the top button on her blouse.
The breeze brings to mind
The way your breath on my skin
Sent shivers down my spine
I ache for you.
She undid another button and licked her lips, running her finger along the fabric of her bra trying to remember when she and Harry had all the time in the world to explore each other’s bodies. Before there were children’s needs to attend to, before there were careers whose ladders needed to be climbed. She couldn’t do it.
Instead she tried to imagine a faceless, nameless stranger there with her, laying kisses along her collarbone, their fingers undoing the last buttons of her shirt and pulling it apart and down her arms. She imagined him pulling the straps of her bra down after them.
She read on, continuing to imagine, continuing to massage the prickled skin of her breasts as the nipple hardened to a painful point.
The moist air envelopes my bare skin
And I moan as I remember
Your lips, your tongue, your teeth
Marking me as yours
As intimate a lover as the wind is
There are still places in me it cannot touch
Places that belong to you alone
I yearn for the day when you finally claim them...
Forever and always
me,” she moaned through her teeth, suddenly burning. She was suddenly aware of how wet she was. She slid the letters off her bed. She didn’t want to be reminded of what had gotten her there. After that, she shimmied her skirt and knickers down her legs. She lay spread out on her overly large-for-one-person bed and imagined there was someone there filling it up with her.
Running her fingers along her clavicle and down to her belly button, the words come back uninvited. The nights are the longest…
Gooseflesh rose on her skin as she brought the nail of her middle finger back up to her breasts. The wind swirling through my window…
She massaged the flesh of both breasts, flicking the nipple with her thumbs until they ached. Teases me with resemblances to your fingers feather light touch…
She pinched the pebbled nipples and cried out with the pleasure coursing through her entire body. She balled her hand into a fist and bit down on it, just to feel, just to imagine. She had always been a biter. She’d just never had to bite herself before. I ache for you…
She rolled over and pulled open the drawer of her bedside table. Pulling out a box, the contents of, she’d never had the need or desire to play with before. It had been purchased when one of her teammates had dragged her to a shop called “Wicked Wands.”It’s lonely on the road, but that doesn’t mean you have to break your vows,
her mate had said.
She opened the box and stared at its contents. She supposed she should have read the instructions before she found herself in this impatient position. It looked like a regular wand, but that couldn’t be it.
Tentatively, she picked it up and was shocked by its warmth and weight. As she held it, as it sensed and responded to her body heat, it thickened and reshaped.
“Oh my,” she whispered. It was the loveliest cock she’d ever seen. Not that she had much to compare it to. It seemed to pulse in her hand.
She only studied it for a moment more before she held it to her breasts, where Harry had once rested his. She had been so turned on by him then that she didn’t even think twice as she squeezed her breasts around his cock while he rode her tits until he came, drizzling her neck and throat with his come.
Oh, the things she had done for love.
Now though? Now she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do. This wicked wand
wouldn’t ask her to suck it, ejaculate in her mouth, or jizz and grow limp before she’d even begun. This one would never go limp and it would always be in the mood.
She closed her eyes and ran the magical wand around her breasts and down her sides in slow circles, marveling at the feel of the device that somehow felt like soft, feather light caresses. And I moan as I remember your lips, your tongue, your teeth…
“No, no, no,” she whispered, chastising herself. You cannot have your son’s lover’s words on your lips as you do what you are so determined to do, I don’t care how much you’ve had to drink!
But no matter how hard she scrunched up her eyes, how hard she bit her lip, how desperately she tried to remember instead Harry’s lips, tongue and teeth, it was useless. The words bombarded her as she, a little timidly, slid the magically warmed and slightly vibrating cock in between her legs. There are still places in me it cannot touch. Places that belong to you alone…
“Oh, fuck me,” she moaned again, her timidity replaced with an overwhelming need as she spread her legs wide and slid the cock inside herself. She took a deep breath and held it as she explored the new sensations inside. Moving her hips in sweeping circles she felt the dildo fill to stretch and massage her walls. She remembered to breathe again in a gasp.
Sweating, panting and writhing on the bed, her hands fisting the sheets, the dildo working its magic all on its own, hitting spots she didn’t even know she possessed. She lost track of her orgasms and forgot a time when there hadn’t been this much pleasure and ecstasy. And with each spasm of release, she heard the words, unbidden in her mind, and then on her lips, “Forever and always… forever and always…
Finally she could take no more and she pulled the dildo out, reached for her wand on the night table, cast a cleansing spell and put the device that she shamefully decided to call “S,” back in its box. She felt weak and spent, but she needed to finish cleaning up her mess before she gave in to sleep and the sweet—hopefully—forgetful drunken slumber.
She picked up the letters and was about to return them while still starkers, after all, it was her house, all hers, but the idea that someone might see her coming out—or in—of her son’s room without clothes on almost made her break out in hives. She’d have enough to answer for if anyone saw the letters in her possession, if anyone even suspected what she had been doing with them.
Despite the fact that not a single person would be dropping by, especially at that late hour, she put on her knickers and a dressing gown before returning everything exactly
where she found it. And though she thought of very little else during the entire rest of the weekend, she forced herself to stay out of her children’s rooms. She might not be ready to go get a life of her own just yet, let alone find a new lover to replace Harry, but she absolutely could not live her children’s. No matter how well written and creative it might be, no matter what desires and promised pleasures it instilled. She knew where the line was, and though she had blatantly crossed it that night, she knew she could step back over to the right side, maybe not unscathed, not without some internal repercussions, but still redeemable.
She had to remind herself of that repeatedly as she greeted her children—and their father—back into her home that Sunday night. She did get a feeling of smug satisfaction when Harry looked at her with shocked wonder, as if sensing that she had a weekend full of more orgasms than he’d given her in the last three years at least. Let him wonder
, she thought. He didn’t need to know who her “S” was any more than she needed to know who Al’s was. And she didn’t. In fact, she was now terrified to know. She had a hard enough time in the preceding week looking Al in the eye; she could imagine how awkward she would be around his mysterious and well-versed lover.
She wasn’t the only one who seemed a bit ill at ease, she realized as the week progressed. Al too seemed a bit peaky and she was terrified that he had somehow discovered what she had done. When he went away the next weekend, she rushed to his room to make sure the letters were still where they had been before, that he hadn’t moved them because he knew his former hiding spot was compromised. She was overcome with relief that they were still there, so relieved that she didn’t even peruse to see if any new letters had arrived.
That weekend was much different than the weekend before. She still wasn’t ready to go out even though a few friends had asked her to; even one of her male friends who was also recently single and had harmlessly flirted with her for years. She needed a bit more time for that, but she didn’t need her son’s letters to get her turned on enough for a night of unimaginable pleasure with her “S.” And there were hardly any of S’ poetic letters in her mind as she once again came over and over, alone in her own oversized bed, this time sans canopy.
The next week when Al still looked like he was continuously on the cusp of saying something, Ginny pushed. “Albus, is everything alright? You know you can talk to me.”
“I know Mum.” He looked even more ready to say something and even more nervous to start. Ginny poured herself a glass of wine, offered him one that he refused and waited. “Do you think… would it be any problem… is there any way… that you could take me into Diagon Alley this year? I know Dad wants to, and he could take James and Lily, but… I… I…”
“It’s okay, Al, really. I’ll take you.” She remembered the letter and the wish expressed in it to meet up at Diagon Alley. “Is there a day or time you’d like to go, specifically?” she asked, hoping not to give away that she knew.
“Maybe… this Saturday?”
“It’s just, a few friends…” he rushed to explain.
“Al, it’s fine, really. Maybe I’ll call up some friends and have lunch and you can be with your friends.”
He hugged her he was so happy. “Thanks Mum, you’re the greatest.”
He was about to bound to his room when she asked, despite herself because she really, really didn’t want to know, but couldn’t stop. “So, who’s all going to be there?”
“Just a few people, Helena, Lilith, maybe Marcus…” he paused for a moment and Ginny nodded her head disappointed. She had raised her glass before he added, trying to match his earlier nonchalant tone, “…oh and Scorpius.”
It all fell in place at the exact moment her glass fell from her hand and shattered into a million pieces. He turned to look at her concerned as she bent down. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said trying to hold onto any bits of thoughts that weren’t ‘oh and Scorpius… oh and Scorpius… oh and Sssssssscorpius…’
He came to bend down to where she was pretending to be picking up pieces and not feeling nauseous. “Are you sure? You’re shaking.”
“No, no, I’m fine. Just slipped out of my hand and scared me, that’s all.”
“Scared you? The glass scared you?”
She looked at him and he looked so sad. He had tried to tell her something important, something he thought she would lose her composure about and it is exactly what she did. Only not for the reason he assumed. I am a horrible mother.
He went to pick up a piece of glass. “No!” she started and reached for his wrist. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Never, never want to hurt you.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand. With a sweep and a muttered incantation, the mess was gone. She only wished she could clean the mess she’d made of her life as easy.
She took a deep breath. This was an important moment for her son, for her and for their entire relationship. She could dispose of her ‘S’ and perform a memory charm or something to deal with her guilt later, first she needed to talk to her son.
“Is Scorpius why you don’t want your dad to take you?”
He blushed shamelessly and she marveled at how she had never picked up on the way his eyes twinkled when he talked or thought about the other boy.
“He just doesn’t understand.”
She came and took him in his arms for a long, tight hug. He seemed taken aback, but he gave into it shortly and then returned it, as if he too had put all the pieces together. When she pulled away from the hug moments later, she put her hands on both his cheeks and looked him in the eye. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell your father about how much Scorpius means to you, you might be surprised by how understanding he can be.”
He studied her for a long time and whether or not he fully understood, she couldn’t say. It didn’t really matter. They would sort it out when the time came, and until then, she would be there for him in any way he needed.fin