Special Delivery for dragyn_42 Title: Not a Mirror Reflection Author: Recipient:dragyn_42 Pairing(s): Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, with canon side pairings Rating: NC-17 Summary Harry Potter suddenly knew that it would always be like this—take away all the polite bits of society, send them back thousands of years, and he would still want to claim Ginny Weasley as his own. Word Count: 10,545 words Warnings: Post-DH, adult language, mentions canon character death, minor violence, and smut. Author's notes:dragyn_42, thank you for giving me a chance to write something I likely never would have otherwise; it was an adventure I will never regret. I hope that you enjoy the fruits of my labors. I would also like to thank D. for audiencing and cheerleading. :D
It’s not that Harry didn’t want to have sex, because, hello, he’s a teenager. He thinks about sex so often that he still can’t understand how other thoughts manage to squeeze themselves into his head. And sex—specifically sex with Ginny Weasley—would have to be bloody brilliant.
In fact, to be perfectly honest, he would like nothing better than to lie between Ginny’s thighs and prove to all and sundry that she had saved herself for him—despite the vicious rumors that jealous witches spread.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
The war had only been over for a few months, and he knew the grief surrounding Fred’s death was only now beginning to lessen. He had refused to take advantage of her whilst she was grieving, no matter how insistent she was that she had waited long enough, thank you very much.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?” He tore his eyes away from the window of the Hogwarts Express, dismissing the passing scenery as unimportant.
“I have to go patrol the train,” said Ginny, elegant nose wrinkled in distaste. The Head Girl badge on her jumper shone in the afternoon sunlight. Harry knew Hermione was still sore about not getting it, but she had skipped a year of school. He wasn’t even sure who the Head Boy was, though Ginny had mumbled something about a Ravenclaw.
“Oh, right,” Harry said. He continued to stare at her, wishing he could memorize every freckle on her face. Miraculously, she had escaped the war without a single scar; she was lucky, whereas fate had not been so kind to others. He was pleased, though, because he hated the thought of her being in pain.
His loved ones had already suffered more than enough.
Smirking, Ginny lifted one shaped eyebrow at him. “That means you’re going to have to let go, Harry,” she teased.
He shook his head emphatically. “Never! I’ll never let go!” His tone was theatric, but his words carried a wealth of meaning. The arm wrapped around her waist slid down to cup her hip and pull her more tightly against his side.
Ginny giggled and then asked, “Why, Mr. Potter, am I being held prisoner?”
He grinned cheekily. “Yes, Miss Weasley, you are. And I dare say that if you attempt to leave me, I’ll have to torture you.” He winced as soon as the word left his mouth. ‘Torture’ wasn’t a word to be bandied about lightly—not with all the horrors they had suffered through.
As if she could feel his regret, Ginny leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You already do, Mr. Potter,” she said as she walked her fingers up his thigh. Her nails were long, rounded, smooth, and tickled as they went. Harry gulped and watched their progress, unable to look away.
“Oh?” he squeaked. Flushing, he cleared his throat, pretending he hadn’t just sounded like a prepubescent boy.
“Yes,” she purred, soft lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You continue to deny me this!” Her small but strong hand closed around his prick, which was already half-hard from her mere presence, and stroked.
“Ngh!” Harry’s eyes slammed shut and his hips arched off the seat, driving himself through her fist. “Ginny!”
“I’m not a naïve little girl, Harry. I can feel it moving against me every time we snog,” Ginny said. She slid her hand back down and then tugged harder than before, twisting her wrist the slightest bit.
It felt so good! Shuddering, Harry’s grip on her hip shifted, fingers moving to caress her bum. It was firm, shapely, and distracted him almost as much as her: legs, breasts, smile, eyes, arms, hands, tongue—all right, so she was pretty much a living distraction.
Love made him stupid with need.
“I can’t help it,” he groaned.
Ginny chuckled warmly, breath brushing his ear and sending the edges of his hair fluttering into the air. “I don’t want you to help it. I want you to let me have it,” she replied. Her fingers flicked the buttons open, and then her hand slid down into his trousers and boxers.
Harry’s head fell back and thunked against the window, and he was bloody grateful that they had managed to get a compartment to themselves. The fire and frustration in Ginny’s beautiful brown eyes told him she might have decided to grab his prick even if they hadn’t been alone. He had a fleeting image of Ron fainting, but it didn’t last long because she rubbed.
“G-Ginny, I—”
“What part of ‘I love you and I’m ready’ don’t you understand?” asked Ginny as she tugged lightly and rubbed the head of his cock with her thumb.
Harry felt the pre-come trickling out, dripping down her fingers and his cock. Why hadn’t they done this before, again? He was sure there was a reason. Something about—
Ginny’s hand stilled and her eyes widened as every muscle in her body tensed. “Unless... unless you don’t love me. Unless you don’t want to be with me,” she whispered. She paled, red hair standing out more than usual, appearing all the more radiant in comparison. “If you—am I—?” She stared down at his lap in horror as she struggled to remove her hand from his trousers, as if she had suddenly decided her attentions were forced.
“No!” Harry said quickly, her words destroying the lust-induced haze faster than anything else ever could, aside from completion. How could she think that? How could she doubt him? Yeah, because you’ve never broken up with her before and then vanished for an entire year, you prat. The thought slammed into his chest like a Bludgeoning Hex, crushing his ribs and flattening his lungs; each breath was a painful rasp of air.
He wrapped both arms around her as tightly as he could and then pulled her onto his lap, being careful not to twist her wrist, which was still in his trousers. “I love you Ginevra Weasley—more than I’ve loved anyone else in my entire life.” She sagged against him and the color returned to her cheeks.
“Then why don’t you want to make love with me?”
The hitch in her breath filleted his heart. “I do. God, I want you so much that it’s almost all I can think about,” he confessed, eyes crossing as her fingers twitched along his erection.
“Then why haven’t we done anything yet? You won’t even put your hands under my jumper when we snog!” The glare she threw him was a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
His cock surged painfully at the thought of sticking his hands under her jumper, a scenario he had wanked over more than once in the past two years. Her breasts weren’t exceedingly large, but he knew they would fill his hands, and that’s all that interested him. The possible colors of her nipples taunted him at night as he fisted himself. Were they pale pink? Dusky brown? Rose?
Her thumb fondled his cockhead again, and his hands dropped to grasp her bum possessively. “Harry?”
“U-um... I didn’t want to do it because we survived the war.”
“What?” She stopped stroking him, much to his dismay. “We can’t have sex because we didn’t die? What kind of—?”
“No!” Harry groaned and hung his head. He really was pants at explaining himself today, and always, it seemed. “I meant I didn’t want us to have sex just because we lived.” She opened her mouth, but Harry continued before she could interrupt him. “After the war, I know a lot of people slept around, hopped beds, had ‘we lived sex.’ I didn’t—” Harry swallowed roughly, thoughts of the war returning with a vengeance. “I didn’t want that to be us. I didn’t want to let the war with Voldemort dictate when we should take that step.”
“Oh, Harry.” Ginny hooked her unoccupied hand around his neck and pulled him down into a quick kiss; it was fast and wet, but not the gross kind of wet—like when he had snogged Cho. Her teeth scraped lightly along his bottom lip as she pulled away, and he heard her giggle softly as his pre-come dribbled down her hand.
He kneaded her bum and only barely conquered the urge to pull her against him fully and rub against her until he got off. “He dictated so much of my life,” Harry whispered, before groaning as she stroked him more firmly than before. He wasn’t going to last long now. “I couldn’t let him control something this important.”
“And it has nothing to do with Fred’s death?” asked Ginny, eyes dimming the slightest bit. “I won’t believe that, you know.”
Harry’s jaw hardened, but he didn’t deny her words. “You were broken, Gin.” He closed his eyes, dueling the memories of crying and wailing away. “I know he was your favorite brother; hell, you’re the only one who could tell them apart. I wouldn’t just—I couldn’t—”
“Take advantage,” she finished for him.
“You were so vulnerable, love, even if you don’t want to admit it or hate that word. I’d never forgive myself if I took your virginity after you’d crawled into my bed bawling your eyes out,” he said tenderly, left hand rising to cup her face. Harry bent forward and pecked her on the lips.
“I would have forgiven you.”
He stared into her solemn brown eyes. “I know. That’s why I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t deserve forgiveness for something like that.”
Ginny settled her head on his chest, hair falling over his shoulder. “You were right; I wasn’t ready then. But I am ready now.” She punctuated her statement by using her damp fingers to handle his prick more efficiently, fingers slipping up and down in short, sharp movements.
Whatever his response to that statement should have been, Harry couldn’t grasp it. She was sucking what little intelligence and coherency he possessed out through his cock with her dexterous fingers. It took him less than a minute to orgasm, his come shooting out and staining his boxers and trousers.
Grinning wickedly, Ginny withdrew her hand, wet with his come, and licked it off. His brain fairly melted at the sight, and his prick twitched with renewed interest. “Don’t keep me waiting long, Harry. I need to be completely yours.”
His palm petted her bum as he imagined it: Ginny, nude and splayed out across a bed, with him perched between her milky thighs and thrusting inside her heat. Want roared through him.
“Think about it, please,” she whispered before climbing off his lap and leaving the compartment.
It took him an appreciable amount of time to notice her absence, because the word ‘please’ was still resounding through his head. The witch he loved more than his own life had just politely asked him to relieve her of her virginity.
How could any gentleman deny such a sweet request?
The sticky mess in his trousers began to itch and chafe, and he felt humiliated when he realized how long he had left it there. Then again, he had just gotten the best hand job of his life... so he was willing to cut himself a little slack. Harry buttoned them and then drew his wand and pointed it at his crotch. “Scourgify.”
“Er, is this a bad time?”
Harry’s head jerked up and he flushed an unflattering shade of red when he saw Neville Longbottom standing in the doorway. Harry’s reflection in the window darkened further when Hannah’s head appeared over Neville’s shoulder. “No, not at all!” Brilliant, now Neville thinks you’ve been tossing off on the train. At least Neville wouldn’t ever spread such knowledge around—inaccurate though it was.
Harry was content to let his friend remain ignorant as to the true nature of the problem. Other blokes might like to brag about shagging and snogging their girlfriends, but Harry wasn’t one of them. That was entirely too disrespectful for his tastes. He couldn’t imagine his father talking about his mum like that—not even to Sirius.
Neville and Hannah sat across from him, snuggling together in a manner almost identical to how he liked to hold Ginny: one hand draped around her waist, fingers touching just the edge of her bum. Although he was also partial to winding an arm about her shoulders and letting his hand fall between her breasts.
“Where are Ron and Hermione?” Hannah asked, glancing about as if they would melt out of the seat cushions.
Harry’s blush, which had been fading, deepened again. “They wanted some privacy.” It hadn’t been an unreasonable request, what with how much time Hermione had spent finding her parents and then mending her relationship with them; they had been pissed off—not because she had protected them, but because she had made them forget her. Ron had whinged for weeks about never seeing her, and Harry had wondered more than once why he hadn’t just gone along.
“Oh.” She blinked rapidly and let the topic drop. “How are you, Harry? I haven’t seen you since...”
“The memorial,” Neville concluded.
A month after the Battle of Hogwarts, once all the funerals had been conducted, McGonagall erected a monolith beside Headmaster Dumbledore’s tomb. On it, she engraved the name of every person known to have died at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Harry had read every name on it, but lost count of how many there were.
“Better,” said Harry, thoughts flitting over the past few months. Even with the deaths and losses, something now burned brightly instead of snuffing out in his life: hope.
“Good.” Neville nodded, cheeks still somewhat gaunt from the stress of the past year. Harry knew of, and appreciated, all the sacrifices Neville had made in his name. Without Neville, he never would have been able to defeat Voldemort; it wasn’t something he would ever forget. Neville smiled, causing the smooth scar along his left cheek to stretch. “How’s Ginny?”
Harry coughed, trying to think distasteful thoughts as he remembered exactly how fine Ginny was and what she had recently done for him. He really didn’t want to be visibly aroused in front of his friends, and his trousers weren’t going to hide an erection like robes would. “She’s brilliant.”
“And how are you and Ginny?” Hannah asked as she wiggled her eyebrows. “Has she had a little more Gryffindor in her than normal?”
It took Harry a moment longer than it probably should have to understand what she was implying; in his defense, he hadn’t heard much innuendo in his life. Still, he couldn’t believe that a blooming Hufflepuff had the daring to ask him if he and Ginny had shagged yet.
“Hannah,” said Neville severely, before smiling at Harry apologetically, “that’s none of our business.”
“I was just curious,” she said.
Harry snorted and glared out the window at the passing trees; they sped past so fast that he began to get dizzy. “Yeah, you and the rest of the world,” he grumbled as he turned to stare at his hands. He didn’t remember fisting them, but they were, so tight that the skin was white from the pressure.
He saw Neville frown at his girlfriend out of his peripheral vision and wished his friend hadn’t done that. Harry hated false apologies, and that’s what it would be. Hannah wasn’t a bad person; she was just a bit nosy. It was an unattractive personality trait that most of the girls in Hogwarts seemed to share.
And here it came.
Hannah opened her mouth, but the startling, loud ruckus in the corridor caused it to snap shut without the faux-apology escaping. Harry leapt to his feet, recognizing Ginny’s distinctive voice, and shoved open the compartment door. He took in the scene with one glance. Malfoy was lying on the floor, blood dripping down his chin and bats pouring from his nostrils. Three students he vaguely recognized as being younger Gryffindors were glaring down at the screaming Slytherin, who kept hitting the bats with his hands as they beat about his head.
Ginny’s back was to him, but her shoulders were shaking, and her hand was spasming around her wand. He walked up behind her and wrapped her in his arms, but that only eased the solid, tensile steel her muscles had become the barest bit.
“What happened?” Harry bit out, eyes piercing the younger Gryffindors like a collector pinning butterflies.
The one in the middle, the only girl, flapped her hands uselessly beneath his glare. “H-he, uh, that is, Malfoy, u-um...” Doors to other compartments opened, and more people spilled out into the hallway. The witch shrank back as their combined gazes locked on her.
A tow-headed boy, who couldn’t possibly be older than fourteen, lifted his foot as if he would stomp on Malfoy’s head if he rolled any closer. “He said something very rude, Mr. Potter.”
Harry blinked at the formal address, but didn’t dwell on it. Whatever Malfoy had said had been bad enough for Ginny to Bat-Bogey Hex him, and she didn’t do that lightly. Rage and adrenaline flooded through him, and what little pity he had felt for Malfoy died. Malfoy had long since depleted what little appreciation he had earned for not identifying them in Malfoy Manor. As for losing his father to the Kiss, well, he still had his mother, and that was more than Harry had.
“Did he now?” snarled Harry as every insult he had ever heard cascaded through his mind. None of them could be realistically applied to the brave and beautiful witch in his arms. He propped his chin on Ginny’s head and clutched her against him, aggravated—but somehow not surprised—that Malfoy hadn’t changed at all.
He truly was a lost cause.
Ginny twisted in his arms, as if she couldn’t bear for anyone else to look at her when she spoke, and then said, “He called me ‘a diseased bint unfit to bear children for a proper pureblood’ and then asked how you liked going where half of Hogwarts has gone before.”
“You fucking wanker!” he hissed in Parseltongue, relishing the full body flinch that resulted in Malfoy’s head slamming into the floor. He didn’t even realize he had drawn his wand until the incantation for the Cruciatus Curse caught in his throat—he was that livid. He hadn’t felt like this since Bellatrix had murdered Sirius.
As if she felt the rampant darkness rising in him—and maybe she did; Voldemort had touched her mind as well—Ginny licked his neck and then kissed it.
He kept his wand aimed at Malfoy, but stared into Ginny’s eyes. They shone with righteous anger and more than a hint of pain. He knew the rumors bothered her, even though they were patently false. He also didn’t doubt that some silly chit who had a crush on him started the damned things, and they kept rising like a Hydra—undefeatable.
Power avalanched through his veins, and it was a heady sensation. He knew that he could Cruciate Malfoy and no one would object. Hell, he could kill the bastard and no one would ever speak of it; that’s how much power and prestige vanquishing Voldemort had wrought. But if he succumbed to this urge, he would be no better than his parents’ murderer.
“Finite.” Harry carded his hand through Ginny’s waist-length hair, only glancing down at Malfoy once he had stopped his shrill screeching. Harry kissed her cheek, and then pushed her behind him so that he could haul Malfoy to his feet by the front of his robes. He ignored the spluttering and choking sounds and successfully smothered his need to wring the blighter’s neck until it broke.
“P-Po—”
“Listen to me, and listen well,” Harry said, voice colder than the worst of Scottish Winters. “My girlfriend is not a bint, and she’s certainly never slept with anyone other than me—I can guarantee you that.” He couldn’t see the smile on his face, but from the way Malfoy stopped struggling and cringed, he could imagine how manic and vicious it must appear. “And if you don’t keep your gob shut and leave us the hell alone this year, I’ll convince McGonagall that you’re a danger to the students.”
“He is,” several people muttered at once.
“Let the Death Eaters in, didn’t he?” the tow-headed boy asked snidely.
The gathered students grunted their agreement.
“Understood?” Harry asked as he shook Malfoy roughly. He had put up with too much crap from Malfoy over the years, and he wasn’t going to allow it anymore. McGonagall would never expel Harry, and that had been the only thing keeping him in check as Malfoy maligned his family and friends.
Malfoy nodded frantically, eyes wide and lips trembling.
“Best not forget,” said Harry, because he would certainly not give Malfoy another chance. He unclenched his fists, letting Malfoy land on his heels and stumble gracelessly as he tried to regain his balance. He had an insane urge to wash his hands, as if the Slytherin’s mere presence had tainted them. Only evil brought out that darkness in him, and he hated it—hated that they had such power over him.
Turning to Ginny, he said, “Let’s go? I want to hold you.”
“Yes, let’s.”
He reached out for her, but Ginny evaded his grasp. The minute frown on his face blossomed into a massive grin as she hauled her arm back and punched Malfoy in the nose. It broke, spilling bright red blood onto his already stained shirt. The yell of pain it garnered sounded altogether feminine and sent the watchers into gales of laughter.
“All right,” Ginny said as she slung an arm around his waist, “now I’m ready.”
Laughing, Harry pulled her to his side and headed for their compartment. He winked at Neville and closed the door behind them, then Locked and Silenced it. As much as he would have liked to catch up with Neville, Hannah would have asked a multitude of questions, and he just wasn’t in the mood. Besides, Ginny would definitely want some alone time with him after that. Frankly, he would like some alone time, too.
***
Harry sat on the bench, leaning his back against the window and propping his feet on the seat, legs spread. “Sit.” He tugged lightly and Ginny settled between his legs, her back to his chest and her legs hooked around his. Even lying down she was noticeably shorter than him; he liked that, liked being taller and knowing he could enclose her in his arms and protect her.
She didn’t say anything for several minutes, just twined their fingers together over and over. “I hate him.” Harry didn’t interrupt her, or disagree. He hated Malfoy, too. “You don’t—do you think they believe what he said?” Her voice was small and he couldn’t stand it. She’s meant to be alive and passionate, not dull and fading. Why couldn’t people just leave them alone and let them be happy?
“No,” Harry assured her immediately. He nuzzled the back of her head, breathing in the scent of Quidditch leather and vanilla. “And if anyone had been stupid enough to believe the rumors, they won’t now.” Not after he had publically declared that he knew she had never been with anyone else.
“Yeah, I just... Harry, you know I never—”
“Don’t even finish that thought,” snapped Harry, quelled rage surfacing in an instant. How dare anyone make her believe she needed to justify or prove her purity to him? “I’ve never doubted you, love. Only jealous and bitter gits would believe any of that rubbish.” In a daring move, he untangled their right hands and slid his down to cover her crotch. “I know this is all mine,” he breathed in her ear.
Ginny trembled in his arms and pushed her hips up, grinding herself into his hand. “Yes, it is.” Her head fell to the right against his chest and his lips attached themselves to her neck. An overwhelming urge to visibly mark her possessed him, and he caved without any resistance. She was his, and he was damn pleased about that fact. Besides, he wasn’t unaware of all the eyes that followed her; she wasn’t beautiful to him alone—but she was attainable to him alone, he thought smugly.
“Ginny.” He groaned as she rocked against him, pushing her crotch into his hand and then rubbing back against his prick.
“Please, Harry. Touch me.” She whimpered, and the sound when straight to his cock.
Instead of slipping his hand up her skirt, which was now rucked about her thighs—and fuck, they were just as smooth and creamy as he had always imagined—he inched his hand away from her heat and up her jumper. He didn’t want to touch her fully until he could taste her as well, and she had complained just a while ago that his hand never ventured up her jumper.
Grinning wickedly, brain fogged with desire, Harry brushed his thumb along her bra. It was soft at first, but edged in lace that was a little scratchy. His imagination happily provided him with several mental visuals of what color and style it was, and how she would look in nothing but it and her knickers.
He pushed the cup out of the way, and then caught her breast in his palm. All his fantasies were right: she filled his hand perfectly. Her breast was warm, soft, and the skin was at least as smooth as her face. Her nipple pebbled for him when he rolled it gently, and the sigh it won from her lips let him know she liked it as much as he did.
“Harry.” Her fingers tightened around his as she lounged languidly against him. “That’s so...”
When he moved his hand to her other breast, giving it the same treatment, she brought their joined hands down and rubbed them against herself.
“Fuck, Gin!” Her knickers had the same smooth and slightly scratchy quality as her bra, but they were hot and damp. Barbaric delight swept through him when he realized that he had caused that need within her. And he suddenly knew that it would always be like this—take away all the polite bits of society, send them back thousands of years, and he would still want to claim her heat as his own.
“I-I need—Harry!” She moaned wantonly, head thrashing against his chest and hair whipping his cheeks as she writhed against him.
Mindful of his promise to himself that he wouldn’t actually touch her with his bare hand until he could take her fully—and he would not do that on the blasted train—he guided a spark of magic down into his hand and skipped it from their joined hands to her crotch.
“Harry!” She came apart instantly, shuddering against him, chest rising and falling rapidly, which had the added bonus of pushing her breast into his hand. Her bum rubbed against his erection multiple times as she thrashed in his arms, and he followed her over the edge moments later. “That—that was...” Ginny twisted a bit and leaned up to claim his lips.
“Yeah,” he croaked, fingers stroking her soaked knickers. He had done this.
“Next time, let’s do this without clothes,” she said. “I want it all, Harry.”
So did he. After today, after their conversation earlier and what had happened between them, he finally acknowledged that they were both ready for this. She wasn’t overcome with grief anymore, and she knew he wasn’t going to up and leave her again—not ever.
“Once I make love to you, I’m never going to let you go,” vowed Harry, more serious than he had ever been in his life. He was starting to understand the references people had made about his parents: how his father refused to give up on his mum. He couldn’t bear the thought of Ginny being with anyone else, and he imagined his dad had felt the same.
“And what have I ever said or done that makes you think I want you to let me go?” asked Ginny, lips kissing along his jawbone.
Harry fixed her bra back into place and withdrew his hand from her jumper. He cradled her chin in his palm. “Nothing.” He leaned down and claimed her lips gently but insistently, working his tongue into her mouth to taste her. She tasted as she always did, like licorice and him.
He pulled back reluctantly, but had to kiss her again when her lips followed his as if magnetized. “Gin, let’s save this for later,” Harry whispered. If they got started again, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop without taking her fully, and he would not claim her virginity anywhere but a bed; she wasn’t a quick fuck and he wouldn’t treat her like one. In fact, Ginny was about as far from a quick fuck as a girl could get.
“Only if you promise me there’ll be a later.” Her white teeth sank into her puffy lower lip, and he groaned.
“There will definitely be a later,” he promised.
Ginny grinned victoriously and twisted back around so she could lean against his chest. “Good.”
The air in the compartment smelled different from before, the scent of sex having tainted it. Harry inhaled deeply, loving the combination of sex, Ginny, and himself. Then, sighing at the necessity, he drew his wand and muttered, “Scourgify.” A moment later their clothes were clean and unwrinkled and their hair was smooth and straight. Banishing evidence of what they had done felt wrong, but he wouldn’t let anyone see her like that.
They didn’t need new rumors about how they had shagged on the Express.
At that moment, Harry felt what amounted to a magical knock against the wards he had erected earlier. Grinning, Harry canceled the spells he had cast. The door opened to reveal Hermione and Ron, who was facing the other direction and had his hand over his eyes. “Hello!”
“Is it all right to look, mate? I really don’t want to see anything I shouldn’t,” Ron muttered.
As Hermione and Harry laughed, Ginny said, “You’ve shared a room with him for almost a decade, Ron. I’m sure you’ve seen most everything by now.”
Harry dissolved into helpless sniggering as he clutched Ginny against him. Ron should have expected that; Ginny always seemed to get the better of him. “Oh, Gin.”
“Oi!” Ron’s ears began to turn a deep crimson. “I was talking about you, Ginny!”
“Do you really think Harry would have canceled the wards if they had been shagging or snogging?” Hermione asked as she rolled her eyes and dragged her boyfriend into the room. Her hair was messier than usual and her robes were wrinkled. At least Harry had been kind enough to save Ron’s peace of mind.
“My sister is not shagging anyone!” Ron hollered, eyes still averted. “Isn’t that right, mate?” Harry grinned as Hermione pushed Ron down on the opposite bench.
“I’m not anyone,” Harry answered.
“Mate, you’re supposed to let me live in denial!” Ron finally lowered his arm so that he could glare at Harry.
“And how long are you going to live there?” asked Ginny. “Even after I’ve given birth to our children?”
Harry distantly heard Ron squawking the word “kids” but it drifted in one ear and out the other. His hand moved to cover Ginny’s flat, toned stomach. Obviously, sex resulted in children—well, not always, but it was a possibility. He had never actively thought about giving her children before, or her bearing him children. It was part of the dream fantasy he left alone for fear that it would all burn down to smolders around him.
But he wanted it. God, he wanted it so badly. He wanted to marry this feisty witch and make a family with her: little girls with her hair and his eyes, little boys with her smile and his hair. Not now, they weren’t ready for it yet, but in a few years...
Without thinking about what he was doing, Harry tugged up the bottom of Ginny’s jumper, much to Ron’s vocal horror. He stared at her muscled abdomen as if a baby already hid inside it, just starting to grow and live. His eyesight, which was never particularly sharp, blurred further. His chest felt tight and breathing was more difficult than it should have been.
Ginny’s hand joined his over her stomach and pressed it down against her warm skin. She craned her neck and the smile on her face was beatific. “Yes, Harry,” she whispered, “a family.” Love shone from her eyes in invisible ribbons and wrapped him safely in their grasp.
“Oh.”
Harry leaned down and kissed her hungrily, more deeply than earlier, but this kiss was for love and dreams, not lust and desire.
“Er, mate?”
Their joined hands continued to pet her stomach as he ceased his loving assault and turned to face Ron. “What?”
Hermione sighed with a watery smile. “That’s lovely.”
“Um,” Ron started and then cleared his throat, “I can handle the kissing, I suppose, but could you please keep her clothes where they belong when I’m around?”
“You’re ruining the moment,” Hermione said as she smacked him on the arm. “Emotional range of a teaspoon, I swear!”
“Oi! I think I’ve graduated to at least a tablespoon by now!” Ron replied. He shook his head, as if he could force erroneous thoughts to not distract him. “And I let them have their moment for almost a whole minute!”
Ginny giggled, kissed Harry one last time, and then tugged her jumper back down. “Better?”
“Much, thanks,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to, um...” Ron gestured between her and Harry, waving his hand and making weird gestures that Harry couldn’t decipher.
Groaning, Hermione said, “What he’s trying to say is that he’s happy you’re happy and that you love each other. He didn’t mean to intrude on a private moment.”
Ron snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that!”
“It’s okay, mate. I forgive you,” Harry said. The blurriness had all but vanished, returning his vision to its usual level of clarity. “Just try to avoid it in the future, yeah?” His smile felt somewhat brittle, because he was still embarrassed that he had pretty much forgotten Ron and Hermione were even present. What he and Ginny had just shared was intensely private, and the still way she held herself against him told him she felt the same.
They didn’t want witnesses to moments like that—not even ones they trusted.
“Right,” Ron agreed. “I’ll do that.”
“Now,” said Hermione, “what’s this I heard about a fight with Malfoy?” She pinched her lips and stared at Harry with disapproval. “The war’s over, and you should really know better than to let him get to you, Harry.”
“He cal—”
“I’m the one who hexed him,” Ginny said, lips stretched in a mutinous line.
“What did the evil Death Eater do?” Ron asked, jaw clenching. “If he touched you, I swear—”
“If he had touched her I would’ve thrown him off the train,” Harry muttered, “no matter how fast it was going.” He didn’t like the thought of anyone else’s hands on her, but especially not Malfoy’s.
“Ginny?” Hermione’s eyebrows moved so high that they almost melted into her bushy hair. “I figured you’d be the voice of reason in something like this.”
“Well I wasn’t,” she said defiantly. “After Harry canceled the hex, I punched Malfoy in the face.” She didn’t sound the least bit apologetic, and she had no reason to. He had deserved what he got. Bastard.
“Did you break his nose?” Ron asked, leaning forward excitedly. His legs were jumping up and down, as if he were preparing to go several rounds with Malfoy in a boxing ring.
“Of course I did,” Ginny said.
“Ron, stop encouraging her!” Hermione snapped at the same time.
“Leave it,” Harry interjected before Hermione could start on a rant about responsibility and being the better person. She was one of his best friends, but sometimes she didn’t know when to back off of an issue—now was one of those times.
“No, Harry, we have to—”
“Silencio.” Harry ignored the affronted glare on her face as her lips moved and no words escaped. “Hermione, listen to me, because I’m only going to say this once. Malfoy deserved what he got and more. Suffice it to say that you would have reacted exactly as Ginny did and leave it at that.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, disagreeing with him without saying a word. Harry considered that more than ridiculous and somewhat hypocritical, considering she had punched Malfoy in the past.
“He said I was a diseased whore,” Ginny ground out, muscles tensing all along her body.
“That fucking wanker! I’m going to—”
Warm laughter echoed through the compartment as Ginny shook against him. Her hair trailed across his neck and the scent of vanilla flooded his nostrils. “That’s—it was in Parseltongue, so I can’t be absolutely sure—but I think that’s what Harry said.”
He laughed along with her, seeing the humor in the situation. Ron and he really did think alike on occasion, didn’t they? “Yeah, that’s basically what I said.” He flicked his wand at Hermione, muttering a soft “Finite,” since their point had been proven.
“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions,” Hermione said. “I’m trying to break that habit, but it’s stubborn.”
“Like you,” Ron said with a cheeky grin.
Hermione huffed and nodded. “You’re right, Harry. I would’ve punched him, too.”
“Apology accepted,” Ginny said. She withdrew her wand from her skirt pocket and flicked her wrist, casting Tempus. “We’ll be at Hogsmeade Station in about ten minutes; it’s time to put on our robes.”
“See you at the feast,” Hermione said as she and Ron got to their feet.
Harry Levitated both his and Ginny’s trunks down from the overhead racks so that they could don the black robes. It didn’t take long, but it did annoy him that they were putting on even more clothes when he dearly wanted to be taking them all off. We only have to make it through the blasted feast, and then we can be together. It wasn’t as comforting of a thought as it could have been; minutes felt like days after all the waiting.
“Well, let’s do this,” he said, gaze focused out the window. He could just see the turrets of Hogwarts’ towers from here, rising up against the dark sky. It wouldn’t be the same as it had been before the war, not with so many people missing and memories of fighting and death. But it still stood, despite Voldemort’s best efforts, and Harry could never regret that.
Ginny nodded, still staring at the castle. “It never felt right when you weren’t there,” she whispered. “It felt haunted—empty.” Her small hands clutched at his robes. “I hated it.”
Wincing, he hugged her tightly. He didn’t like to dwell on thoughts of what had happened while he had been out hunting Horcruxes and running from the Death Eaters. During that time, she had been stuck at Hogwarts while Death Eaters acted as instructors. It hadn’t been a good year for either of them. “So did I.”
She clasped her hand around his as the Hogwarts Express stopped at Hogsmeade Station. They walked out of the compartment and off the train in mutual silence. Students old and new bustled about, talking animatedly and yelling to their friends. Maybe this was the first sign that life would go on, regardless of what had happened months before.
It felt too soon, like clothing rubbing the scab off a wound that hadn’t healed yet despite its owner’s best intentions. The war hadn’t touched the majority of these kids how it had touched Harry and Ginny; they were still raw around the edges, and he didn’t expect that feeling to fade any time soon.
“Do you have to do anything?” he asked, gesturing at their huddled peers.
“No. I just had to patrol the train. My other duties don’t start until the school year officially begins,” she said. “We can just grab a carriage and go.”
“Good.” So they did just that. The ride up to the school dragged on forever, or so it seemed. Even Ginny snuggling against him couldn’t eradicate the memories of dying screams, spell light, and the sickly-sweet scent of blood. He could taste it in his mouth now, thick and coppery.
“I wonder if they’ll fade?”
“Maybe, but we’ll never forget.”
“No, we won’t,” she agreed.
When the carriage finally halted, Harry stepped down and then lifted Ginny out of it, letting her body slide all the way down his until her feet met the ground. “I love you.” Her face lit up, as he had hoped it would.
“I love you too, Harry.” She kissed him gently, and then stepped away and headed toward the castle, her hand trailing along the thestral that had pulled their carriage. Harry mimicked her and followed her inside.
Hogwarts was, disturbingly, the same as it had always been. The portraits and paintings were there, darting along to follow his progress and shouting greetings, which he returned. The suits of armor were polished and shining, and the flagstones were free of dust and dirt. The house ghosts floated past on their way to greet the first years, no doubt, and everything seemed to be business as usual.
However, Harry couldn’t help but think of all the differences. The population was down, for sure, with at least one-fourth of the students (mainly Slytherins) having died or been convicted and sentenced to Azkaban. Snape wasn’t going to be harassing him in Potions or Defense, spewing vitriol at every perceived error he made, though he had since learned the truth about that. And Dumbledore wasn’t going to be sitting at the staff table, that knowing twinkle in his eyes.
It was so similar and yet entirely foreign all at once.
He returned the greetings sent his way as he and Ginny took their seats at the Gryffindor table. The entire Welcoming Feast felt surreal, from the Sorting, to the food, to McGonagall’s speech, and then the singing of the school song.
Ginny stood after McGonagall dismissed them and ordered the prefects—he only recognized Dennis Creevey—to take the first-years up to the common room. “Come on, then,” she said, “let’s get the password to the Head Girl’s chambers.”
“I didn’t know the Head Girl got her own chambers,” Harry said, already thinking about how miffed Hermione would be when she found out. Then again, maybe that was why she was so pissed off right now.
“It’s optional. I could have chosen to stay in the dorm with the other girls.” She shrugged. “But all things considered, I think we’d like to have our privacy.” She winked at him, lips curling in a naughty smirk.
“Yes, that makes total sense, Miss Weasley... all things considered.” Harry patted her bum and then came to a stop, letting her take the few extra steps to speak with McGonagall herself. He didn’t technically have any reason to be here, and he didn’t want to aggravate the Headmistress his first day back. There was a reason, after all, that he had chosen to return to Hogwarts instead of entering Auror training immediately on Minister Shacklebolt’s offer: Ginny.
She was only a minute or so, and then she all but dragged him from the Great Hall, eyes alight with wickedness. “This way, Mr. Potter,” she teased. “This way. Please follow me.”
“As if I’d want to be anywhere else. The view is brilliant,” he replied, eyes firmly fixed on her bum. He almost tripped more than once along the way, but she didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she actually chuckled huskily each time it happened.
They finally halted before a portrait of a little girl picking red poppies in a sea of flowers. Her hair was golden-blonde, shimmering beneath the rays of the sun and plaited in pigtails down her back. She blinked baby blue eyes at them and giggled before blushing. “Password?”
“Mirror reflection,” Ginny said, lips twisted in a moue.
Harry didn’t have time to contemplate why she disapproved of the password, because the portrait had opened to reveal a large sitting room. He didn’t get a chance to note the presence of more than a comfortable looking couch and several bookcases, because Ginny tugged him through it and into the bedroom. Whatever might have been in there didn’t matter once his eyes landed on the giant four-poster bed.
“Ginny.” He gulped, unable to tear his eyes away from the mound of pillows and pile of blankets. The room was warm and he could hear the crackling of flames, so there was obviously a fireplace, but he had no idea where it was. It didn’t matter. He swallowed roughly, mouth suddenly parched. “Ginny.”
“You promised, Harry. It’s later.” She turned and yanked her robes over her head, letting them fall to the floor. Her jumper and skirt quickly followed, as did her socks and shoes. She stood before him in nothing but her bra and knickers, and he had been right about the lace. They were both white, the cups and straps made of lace on the bra with a green bow nestled between her breasts, and the knickers had lace ruffles that made them resemble a mini-skirt, with a large green bow front and center.
He decided it was the wrapping and trimmings to the best and most valuable gift he would ever receive.
Light flickered across her skin, casting shadows that writhed and then vanished. Her skin alternated between pale white, warm cream, and golden honey. He wanted to discover them all.
Harry didn’t remember moving, but the next thing he knew he was standing before her in nothing but his boxer shorts. His hands ghosted over her skin, feathering along the top of it, barely touching. “So beautiful.” Even he could hear the awe in his voice, but it didn’t shame him. Raw truth and her beauty should never run parallel; he would gladly volunteer to let his tongue force them to intersect for the rest of his life.
Blushing, Ginny reached behind her, but Harry caught her hands before she could unhook her bra. “Can I?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
The air felt heavy with emotions, weighed down with intangible proof of exactly how important this step was for them. He undid the hooks one at a time and then curled his fingers around the lace straps, easing them off her shoulders and down her arms. The cups held onto her breasts for what was surely a century, and then surrendered to him. The bra hung from his hand for a moment, before his fingers twitched greedily and it tumbled to their feet.
They were high and perky, nipples peaked and reaching out for his touch. Harry granted their silent demand and rolled them between his fingers, before pausing to weigh each breast in his hands. In answer to his long-standing question, he finally knew the color of her nipples: pale pink.
“Are they all right?” she asked brashly, though the strong tone couldn’t mask the quaver underneath.
“They’re perfect,” he whispered. Harry leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against them, extending his tongue to lap at a nipple before sliding to his knees before her.
“Oh, that’s—good.” Her hands knotted in his hair. “Harry, what’re you—?”
He nuzzled her knickers, delighting in the gasp of shock that sounded above him. Her legs began to shake, and he grasped them tightly in his hands in case her knees gave out. Harry guided her legs farther apart and buried his nose against the heat of her, inhaling the scent of musk and desire. “God, Gin, you smell so good.” He licked along the damp material and she spasmed against him.
“Harry!” She yanked on his hair. “Bed, please.”
Bed? Yeah, that sounded brilliant right about now. He sank his teeth into the top of her knickers and pulled them down, freezing when bare skin met his eyes. Oh, fuck! Harry slammed a hand down around his cock and squeezed roughly, staving off the orgasm that had been about to rocket through him. “God, that’s just...” He closed his eyes and wrestled with the need to throw her on the ground and mindlessly claim her.
“You like it?” asked Ginny, more confidence in her voice than before.
“Yeah, I like it.” He sounded like he had spent all night under the Cruciatus, voice rough and torn. The feel of her nails scraping his scalp let him know that was the right answer. He released his erection and tugged her knickers all the way down her shapely legs, which he hoped to have wrapped around him very, very, very soon.
She stepped from them, almost daintily, as if she were a ballet dancer, and then walked toward the bed, swinging her hips and leaving him kneeling on the floor. Her bum was as gorgeous as the rest of her, light smatterings of freckles across the creamy skin. Once she climbed onto the bed, he shot to his feet, pushing his boxers off to join the rest of their unneeded clothing in a puddle of fabric.
He clambered after her, joining her on the bed just as she settled back against the pillows, legs slightly spread. His breath left him in one fell swoop, a gust stronger than the mightiest of hurricanes. This was his every fantasy come to life. He was one lucky bloke, that’s for sure.
“Harry?” Ginny held her hand out to him, teeth worrying her lower lip. She glanced down at his arousal, but the expected question didn’t come. She just said, “Go slow, please?”
As if it had been a magical command, the burning need faded from an inferno to a simmering warmth, like a banked fire on a bitterly cold night. He knew that he was larger than average, though not excessively so, but she was small-boned, slender and fit. The top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder when they were standing side-by-side, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her—especially like this.
“Of course.”
He gentled her with stroking hands and tender kisses, lingering licks down her body and deep massages for tense muscles. Ginny relaxed beneath him bit by bit until he won her surrender. Then, in reminiscence of what he had done earlier, Harry swiped his tongue across her smooth crotch.
“Harry!” Her hands tunneled into his hair, clutching tightly as he lapped and laved.
Harry worked her open with his tongue, mindful of his teeth, and then wriggled one finger up inside her. Ginny was molten hot and wet as she clenched around him. “Oh, fuck.” Harry ground his hips into the mattress as the banked desire began to heat up. He knew he didn’t have long before it turned into a conflagration—as unstoppable as Fiendfyre.
A second finger joined the first as he continued to tongue her, and she rocked her hips against him, moans spilling endlessly from her lips. “Now, Harry. Now!”
He didn’t even consider arguing with her; he was beyond ready to fulfill her request. Harry withdrew his fingers and licked them clean before covering her body with his own. Her legs curled around his waist and her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he settled fully between her thighs.
Harry held himself up on his elbows, forehead leaning against hers and fingers tangled in her silky red hair. “You’re sure?” he panted, as he nudged the head of his prick against her entrance.
Ginny leaned up and sank her teeth into his earlobe. “Do it.”
He pushed inside slowly, pleasure stampeding up his spine and through his nervous system as the burning heat enclosed him. She squirmed beneath him, but didn’t object, so he kept going until he met an obstruction. Even though he had expected it, known it was there, vicious delight still sank its claws into him. She was going to be all his—only his.
“Do it,” she repeated.
Harry inhaled deeply and then arched his hips, thrusting forward sharply and tearing her barrier as she welcomed him to the root. “Oh, God—Ginny,” he groaned. This was so much better than anything else, even the feel of her hand stroking him to completion. It was solidarity; they were one.
She whimpered, and Harry’s eyes snapped open to lock on her closed eyelids, which were leaking tears. That sight registered at the same time as the stinging pain that informed him her nails had broken the skin on his shoulders. It was a fair trade for what he had received.
“Gin? Love?” Harry peppered kisses all over her face, holding his hips still as he licked the tears from her streaked cheeks. “You all right?” The longer she kept silent, except for the hiccupping sobs, the more worried he became. Had he hurt her? “Did I hurt you?” he asked. Disgust clogged his throat and his desire dropped like a body off the London Bridge. Ginny wasn’t weak, and she wouldn’t be crying like this unless he had really hurt her.
He tried to pull himself back, remove himself from her, but she tightened her legs around him and held him tight. “Ginny?”
“Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please don’t go. All last year, I didn’t know where you were”—her chest hitched with wracking sobs and tears poured down her cheeks—“or if you were alive. I thought... I thought I’d never have this.” She released her grip on his shoulders and smoothed her hands down his back.
“Shh,” Harry soothed, shifting his weight so that he could feather his fingers through her hair. “It’s all right, I’m here.”
“Don’t leave me, Harry—”
“I won’t!”
“—I’d die without you,” she said, gaze locked with his, brown eyes shining brilliantly in the flickering firelight. It should have sounded ridiculous and melodramatic, but it didn’t. He felt the same way. Love was a dangerous emotion, and they had already lost themselves in it. There would be no escape, not that he wanted one; he didn’t.
Harry concentrated, sweat breaking out on his brow, but his wand dutifully floated through the air and landed beside them. He wrapped both their hands around it and then said, “I, Harry James Potter, swear that I will never leave you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, of my own free will.” She repeated the vow, voice ringing strong through the room, defeating the lingering shadows and fears that haunted them.
Once the magic ribbons sealed the vow in place, Ginny took the wand from him and slid it under a pillow. “Make love to me, Harry,” she whispered, fingers skipping along his lips. “Please.”
He withdrew partway and then froze. “Uh, I forgot to cast a contraceptive spell.”
Ginny chuckled and proved how very fit she was by using her legs to pull him all the way back inside her. “I didn’t.”
“Oh, all right.” Practicalities finally out of the way, he set to fulfill her request, sinking into her repeatedly. Light danced along their skin, painting them in aureate hues as they sought completion. For once, they were each first in another’s eyes. It was a heady and powerful thought, and a privilege they would not abuse.
What started slow and tender soon became quick and rough as need overwhelmed them. And then they were flying through the air, feeling better than if they had just caught the Snitch at the Quidditch World Cup.
After, when they were clean and Harry was spooned behind her, he found himself wondering if this was how every Potter won his bride: a lot of determination and a healthy dose of luck.
“Harry, stop thinking and go to sleep,” Ginny said, jaw cracking as she yawned.
He obeyed her.
The sound of knocking awoke him not much later; at least he was assuming not much time had passed. Except for the fire the room was dark, and the sky through the windows was a deep navy and still held stars prisoner.
Grumbling at the interruption, he carefully untangled himself from Ginny. She mumbled and reached for him in her sleep, but the knocking grew more insistent, so he merely kissed her wandering hands and tucked the covers around her.
Harry removed his wand from under the pillow, shimmied into his school robes—not bothering with any of his underclothes—and shut the bedroom door as he stepped into the sitting room. There was a large fireplace along one wall, still lit, revealing a writing desk and chair, and a wide gilt-framed mirror he hadn’t noticed before. The furniture was all in good condition, unlike the motley assortment of chairs and tables in the Gryffindor common room. The suite certainly had its benefits, and made him even more grateful Ginny had chosen to room here instead of with her year-mates.
Sighing, Harry opened the portrait, bending backward to avoid the fist that was about to hit him in the face. “Whoa!” Luckily, he caught himself on the edge of the frame before he fell. “What?”
“Are you quite all right, Mr. Potter?” asked McGonagall.
“I’m fine, Professor, just fine,” he said as he righted himself. Then his brain caught up with his location; he thought he had an idea of why she was here at... however disgustingly early it was. “Would you like to come in?” He opened the portrait wider.
“Yes, thank you.” She stepped inside and then sat on an armchair that was made of the same blue material as the couch.
Harry closed the portrait and then walked over and collapsed on the couch, forgoing proper posture. He felt drained. When McGonagall cleared her throat he sat bolt upright in an instant, and then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.” That had been disrespectful of him, and while she wasn’t Dumbledore, he did respect her.
McGonagall’s lips pinched together as her eyes ran from his—no doubt—messy hair to his bare feet. “Mr. Potter, I remember having found myself in an identical position about two decades ago.”
“Oh?” he asked with only vague curiosity. He would much rather be in bed with a warm, naked Ginny than listen to a history lesson.
“Indeed. Your father was no better at staying out of the Head Girl suite than you appear to be,” she said wryly. “In fact, that sprawl you just displayed was a near perfect mirror reflection of his.”
Suddenly, Harry got it. He understood exactly why the password had irked Ginny. Such comparisons had flattered him in the past, but now—
“I understand that you have feelings for Miss Weasley,” she said as she peered over her glasses and down her nose at him. “However, you belong in the Gryffindor dorms, Mr. Potter.”
He wouldn’t tolerate the assumptive comparisons anymore. “I bet that worked on him, didn’t it?”
Headmistress McGonagall blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“My father,” Harry said, gesturing at her as if her words had Summoned James Potter’s ghost. “You told him that and he tucked his tail between his legs, proudly, of course, because he didn’t want to get expelled—regardless of his rebellious streak.”
“I don’t quite understand where you’re—”
“I’m not leaving, Professor,” Harry said flatly, shoulders straight and jaw firm. “Nothing you can say will make me leave here.”
Her pursed lips tightened, sending wrinkles all along her face. “Can’t I? Would you like to be expelled, Mr. Potter?”
He snorted at the weak threat. “Like you’d really expel me. The wizarding world would crucify you. Even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. Ginny and I would just leave together and join the Aurors or try out for professional Quidditch teams.”
McGonagall stared at him with a slack jaw.
“I’m not my father, Professor, and Ginny isn’t my mum. Superficial physical similarities have nothing to do with personality or strength of character. How would the wizarding world survive if every fair-haired pureblood was just a copy of Draco Malfoy?” Harry sneered and fought down a wave of nausea.
“I understand that they meant a lot to you, and they mean a lot to me too, but we’re not the same. My parents had privileges growing up that I didn’t, and they faced trials I never will. Yes, we’re Gryffindors, but Ginny doesn’t hate Quidditch and love to read. She doesn’t have a secret best friend in Slytherin. I’m not a pureblood, and I didn’t grow up with loving parents who gave me everything I needed and wanted.”
Harry inhaled deeply, doing his best to keep the flood of emotions away. He had already waded through too much in the past twenty-four hours. “With all due respect, Professor McGonagall, Voldemort’s a hell of a lot scarier than you are. Nothing you say will make me leave.”
The smile on her face was barely there and hinted at a wealth of pain. “He said you’d say that.”
“Who?”
“Headmaster Dumbledore.” McGonagall smoothed her robes and got to her feet. “Since you’re staying, I’ll have the house-elves move your trunk up here.”
“Thank you,” Harry said. She had talked about this with the Headmaster’s portrait; why didn’t that surprise him as much as it should?
McGonagall paused, hand curled around the open portrait frame. “Mr. Potter,” she said, waiting for his eyes to land on her before she continued, “I know you’re not your father, but I still expect you to treat Miss Weasley with the same courtesy James gave Lily.”
“Neither of us would accept anything less,” he assured her. Harry would never treat Ginny poorly or ignore her wishes, and he knew she would give him the same respect, courtesy, and love.
“Very well, then. Goodnight, Mr. Potter.”
“Goodnight, Professor.” The portrait closed.
“Harry?” a soft, sleepy voice called.
He turned, grinning at the sight that met his eyes. Ginny was leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, a golden sheet wrapped around her and drooping down to reveal more of her breasts than it covered. Her hair wasn’t smooth as usual, but tangled a bit from where his fingers had been. “Yes, Ginny?”
She pouted and rubbed her eyes before yawning. “It’s cold. Come to bed.”
“Yes, love. I’m coming.” Harry got to his feet and tugged his robes over his head, throwing them on the couch as he left it behind. He circled her body with his arms and then picked her up, relishing the shriek of delight as he carried her toward the rumpled bed.
The only appreciable similarity between them and his parents, and the only important one, was that they were also going to be Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Grinning, Harry tumbled them both onto the bed and kissed the mother of his future children.