InsaneJournal

[FIC] All Things Good and Lovely: Harry/Ginny
Originally Posted Here on 20 August 2006

Title: All Things Good and Lovely
For: browneydweasley
Author: jadeddiva
Pairing: Harry/Ginny, sides of Ron/Hermione, Bill/Fleur, Remus/Tonks
Rating: *coughs* adult, um, yeah
Summary: He’s still the third boy she kissed and the one she wants to kiss again so badly it hurts. He’s still Harry, though, and that’s what matters the most.
Author’s Note: You wanted something fluffy with lots of love. I’m not really a fluffy person but I hope you enjoy the love. Thanks to sparkly_stuff for the beta and for being a kick-ass person in general.



The grass is cool on her back, the stars are bright in the heavens, and her heart is beating faster than it should. Slow, steady breaths cannot stop this hammering in her chest, nor can they stop her skin from feeling every blade of grass and every molecule of air and every exhale on her exposed skin. She can feel everything so acutely (her nerves are singing) and she imagines it will be like this all night and maybe straight through until morning.

The wedding was beautiful, as well it should have been. Subdued, but beautiful, and it’s a good thing because by the end Mum was in no state to chase the potential drunks off her lawn with a broom, which she had threatened to do mere weeks before. There’d been champagne, brought by Fleur’s family and only used for the toast but no more; Moody’s insistence on constant vigilance, and the somber attitude of the day, has thwarted any of the twins’ plans as well.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t lovely. She may have hated the gold dress, may have disliked Fleur’s sister Gabrielle and may have even cried like a little girl when Bill kissed Fleur at the end, but it was still a lovely day.

In the yard, the bride and groom dance, alone in their own world. Off to the side sit her former professor and the Auror who loves him, heads leaning towards the other, hands interlinked, enjoying a moment of peace. And somewhere in the surrounding area, her brother is fighting with Hermione (occasionally she’ll catch snippets but she’s too tired to care). A hedge separates her from the rest of them but it feels like a stone wall.

“Hey.”

Her view of the stars is suddenly blocked by a bushy head and lanky frame.

“Hey yourself,” she says.

She wasn’t surprised when Harry and the others came back, because the wedding was a quiet, private affair and besides, after what happened to Bill…and she’s not surprised, not really, about the way she’s feeling constantly breathless and on edge, because she can’t help that at all. Nothing changes, really.

“Can I - well - they’re fighting again,” he says, flopping on the grass besides her, closer than she expected (his shirt brushes against her arm with every exhalation).

“Ron should just snog her and get it over with,” Ginny says. She can feel the blades of grass brushing the soles of her feet, and flexes her toes.

“Yeah, but that’ll never happen,” he says, and she laughs (they both do) and she rolls to her side, shiny pink dress be damned.

He’s still Harry, still the Boy Who Lived with the Scar and another across his cheek now. He’s still the third boy she kissed and the one she wants to kiss again so badly it hurts. He’s still Harry, though, and that’s what matters the most.

He looks at her, blinking over his glasses and she leans in, placing her palm beside his head to prop herself up, then pressing her lips against his. He tastes like butterbeer and wedding cake and she licks his lower lip softly. He groans, turning towards her more and tracing her cheek with a shaky hand.

She doesn’t quite know how, between the kisses and the fumbling hands but then he’s on top, pressing her gently into the grass. His hips move slightly against her, a sort of rocking motion which she responds to almost immediately, spreading her thighs so that he rests between her and arching her back and pressing up. Harry pulls away then, suddenly sitting, and looks at her with wide eyes.

She bites her lip, sits up, and studies him. They didn’t have much time together, not nearly enough time to really explore when they were at Hogwarts, no more than tentative touches of clothed bodies, Harry always so in awe of her that he was frightened. She’s only fumbled a bit with Dean – never done anything like that, and doesn’t think she will tonight, either. But there are things that she wants to do, ways to try to encourage Harry to make the most of this.

“It’s alright,” she says. She kisses him again, happy that he responds eagerly, hands coming to rest on her waist. She swings one leg around his leg, trying to angle their bodies better and he responds, pulling her closer but breaking the kiss.

“I – ” he starts, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t either,” she admits, “but I’ve got the idea.”

“Me too,” he says, and in the moonlight she could swear he’s blushing. She kisses him again, wiggling her leg in an effort to get him to touch her.

She’s pleased when he places his hand at her ankle, rubbing his thumb up the inside her calf and she shivers, despite the relative warmth of the night. He smiles against her lips, tracing up her leg with light touches, fingers ghosting against muscle and skin and making her incredibly nervous. When he reaches her thigh he pulls her closer, looking down at the dress that’s bunched up between them.

She smiles, and he smiles back and her breath quickens as he touches once, twice, the cloth of her knickers.

“Ginny,” he exhales, voice tight and she can’t breathe, knowing how he feels.

His fingers rub against fabric, and send jolts of electricity through her body. She rests her forehead against his, breaths intermingling. With a tentative feeling, she traces her fingers down his shirt to his belt, and then further and he says “Ginny!” this time, and kisses her.

“Do you,” she starts, breathless from touching him and him touching her, “do you mind?”

He laughs, and she’s always loved his laugh so, and gets a bit bolder. “Not at all but – Gin! Your family!” he exclaims, but his hand doesn’t move.

“Don’t think they’ll mind,” she says. “You’re the hero. They’ll bend the rules.”

Harry smiles against her cheek, mouth finding his way to her neck and then he slips a finger past the band of her knickers and she gasps.

“Oh,” is all he can say and she’s not sure what else to really say other, except, “Oh, that feels nice.”

He kisses her collarbone, sucking at the skin and she knows it’ll leave a mark the next morning, but she doesn’t care. She’s surprised he hasn’t said anything about the fact they’re not together, or that but he’s probably saving that for tomorrow or whenever they leave. He also hasn’t said anything poetic or romantic either, for which she’s grateful and –

Oh.

She gasps for air. “Was that good?” he asks, and she giggles before saying, “Yes, just – do that again.”

He does, and her hips rock against his hand, and her breath speeds up and catches while his just speeds up. She can feel his hips rock back, unconsciously, and his sudden exhalations blow hot hair against her ear and oh -

“Wow,” she says, and kisses him, pushing him against the ground while her pulse races, she slowly unzips his trousers and reaches inside, pleased to hear him breath catch as she runs a finger up him and over the head.

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” she says.

“I doubt that could possibly happen,” he tells her and she tightens her hand around him and pulls up. In the moonlight, his shirt is unbearably white and his back arches deliciously as she keeps her rhythm for a few moments, and then her hand’s sticky and he moans a bit.

He laughs while she wipes her hand in the grass and settles down next to him. He reaches for her, pulling her towards him. He doesn’t talk, like always, and she guesses he’s been talking a lot lately. There are questions in her head, his words earlier repeated and so much distance between them, even here (together) in the grass. She’s not sure that either of them will be around come next week, next month, next year, but she sure hopes so. She curls closer to him, and he pulls her tighter against him, kissing her forehead.