That was what he always was to Ginny, though, when it boiled down to it. She didn't think of him as the Boy Who Lived, the hero, the Chosen One. He was just Harry, her Harry, and she loved him so much, all of him.
This was different from all the other times, some how; snogging on the couch, hands slipping under clothes, that hesitant and tentative first exploration of skin beneath hands. This was different. It was heat and need and love and desire, and the sound of that in his breathless voice, the way he said her name, make Ginny's heart race and her breath catch and her blood pulse through her veins. There was no awkwardness for once, just honesty in her voice and desire in her eyes as she held his gaze and murmured, "I want you, Harry." Her fingers curled into his dark hair again as she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his throat, lips brushing up to find his pulse point briefly before she pulled back again to add, "I need you."