Fic - "such a beautiful blank (but smooth it)" | Harry/Ginny | NC-17
part one
iv.
There are some serious pluses to reliving the same day over and over, regardless of consequence. For one thing, no hangover, no matter how pissed you got the night before.
For another thing, no one remembers the spectacular arse you made of yourself. Also, waking up to a cacophony of pots and pans is starting to feel a little familiar, her own very loud, very annoying alarm.
She's up and showered, dressed in an old Hogwarts robe and out the door so quickly she barely catches the bleary hellos both Ron and Harry call to her. After being awake for less than twenty minutes, she decided to formulate a new plan, one that didn't involve spending all day yelling at trees and all night letting strange men grope her.
Apparating to Hogsmeade requires two stops along the way if she wants to be absolutely certain she won't Splinch herself, and then it's a thirty-minute walk down the well-worn path to Hogwarts' large, imposing gates.
When Ginny finally makes her way past the wards, past Hagrid, and past the front door - a process that eats up another hour of her morning - she doesn't even bother with searching out McGonagall, just rushes by the Great Hall, and down the dimly lit corridor to the library at the end.
Madam Pince retired last year (amidst a flurry of rumors when Filch retired a week later), so the new and possibly more stuffy looking librarian glares suspiciously at Ginny, but doesn't put up any protest at the sight of her. For once, Ginny's grateful for her small frame.
She makes a beeline directly for the rows of thick, leather-covered books on Elfin magic, pulls down a stack so heavy her arms ache immediately, finds a corner table, and sags into the chair. It's not even ten o'clock yet and she's exhausted. White light slants in from a window high above her, illuminating dust and a long stripe of the table. In it, Ginny's hands are pale and freckly. She pulls a book towards her, creaks it open and begins to read.
~
No one bothers her, shoved as deep as she is into a corner of the cavernous room, and she's hunched over, reading until the words swim before her eyes and her back aches.
Tomorrow she'll remember to bring a quill and parchment, but right now she's just grateful that the Elfin Queen didn't erase her memories along with everyone else's. According to the books, it's only on the new moon that high elves can be reached, when whatever borders between their world and this world fade enough to let communication occur, which means that Ginny will have to win Harry back in a matter of twenty-four hours or give up, to even reach the Queen again. And if she gives up -
Well, according to the book, aside from erasing memories and seriously screwing around with human perception of time, high elves are also capable of holding people captive - kidnapping them right from their homes in a number of cases.
It's the sort of thing that really should be taught in school, Ginny thinks. And she's got half a mind to scold McGonagall herself, though the headmistress won't remember it tomorrow, and anyway that's not the point. The point is, well, she's not giving up. She'll figure out a way to break this or die trying, and what the hell, she has all the time in the world.
~
Life is incredibly lonely when you're the only one living it. Her mornings and afternoons are spent in the same dusty library, and though she can change tables, read different books, comes to know that Madam Picket can read he Tale of Gwendolyn Howard: One Witch's Passionate Romance with Merlin in a single afternoon and likes her tea with three sugars and warm milk, her routine stays mind numbingly similar. The librarian never remembers her, and Ginny endures the same suspicious glare every morning, like clockwork, when she shuffles into the library. At one o'clock a young girl with a blue ribbon and a Ravenclaw patch slips into the back corner to find a book on House Elves, and sometimes, just for something new, Ginny takes the book from the shelf first, forcing conversation between herself and the girl.
She doesn't bother with taking notes, because they're gone when she wakes up in the morning, no matter where she puts them: under her pillow, in her desk drawer, folded up in one of the large, dusty books.
She writes letters, sometimes, to Hermione, telling her everything that happened during the day, to Ron or her mother, until it becomes habit, writing every night before she goes to bed, the scratchy nub of the quill a cold comfort to her. She never writes to Harry, never puts down into words how missing him is starting to feel like missing a limb, but one lost long ago, so that the ache is a constant but familiar tug in her belly.
Every morning the writing's gone from the parchment, like chalk marks erased on a blackboard.
~
She's got her broom and an old Snitch, and it's been a long time since she played, really played, just for fun. Even if it's just her and the cold air, she thinks it's exactly what she needs.
Ron and Harry are in the kitchen when she gets there, fastening a warm robe around her neck.
"Hello, my favourite sister," Ron says around a smile when he sees her. "What were you up to today?"
Ginny shrugs, thinking of the library and the now-familiar feel of old books beneath her fingers. "Not much."
Harry's there, of course, still wearing that ridiculous sweater. "We're heading down to the pub for a bite to eat if you want to come along," he says.
Ginny looks into his eyes, smiles. "I was thinking of getting outside, actually. Maybe finding a Muggle-free area and flying around."
"Oh." Harry glances longingly at her broom, then at Ron.
Licking her lips, Ginny says, "You two are more than welcome to come, if you want."
By the time Harry and Ron shove sandwiches down their throats and get themselves situated, buttoning up warm cloaks, searching out old Quidditch gloves, and they find a deserted patch of land to fly above, it's dusk. The air is crisp and cool, all creamy yellow light, the sun a slip-sizzle sinking behind the clouds in a wash of red and orange.
Light bounces off Harry's hair as he takes off, shoulders relaxed and a smile as wide as the English Channel stretched across his face.
They take turns, letting the Snitch loose and racing after it, Ginny and Harry laughing when Ron falls off his broom, Ron laughing when Harry does the same.
It's the first time in what feels like forever that Ginny's felt normal, free, and it's all she can do to stop the smile on her face from stretching her cheeks till they ache. The cold air smells new, and by the time they head in it's night-quiet and calm, the starlight reflecting off Harry's glasses.
Ginny wishes them goodnight eventually, knowing Harry will Apparate home and Ron will go to bed thinking of Hermione, and she hopes - futilely - that they will remember this come tomorrow morning.
~
The Burrow is quiet.
"Mum," Ginny calls after she lets herself in the front room. A fire's sparking in the hearth, and a family portrait rests above it; one taken years ago, before the war. Fred winks at her at she crosses by. Ginny looks away and calls again, "Mum, where are you?"
As Ginny's unwinding her scarf, she hears her mother's footsteps pad down the steps. "Oh, hello, dear." Surprise colours her voice.
"Hi, Mum." She unbuttons her cloak, lays it across the back of a chair, only to pick it up again at her mum's stern glare. After putting in the closet, she turns around.
"What brings you here?"
Ginny shrugs. "Not much, I guess, just wanted to see how you were."
Her mum's eyes are bright. "Well, it's a lovely surprise. Come, have a cuppa?"
"What were you doing?"
"Oh." She flaps her hands when she talks, pointing a wand at the kettle and starting a fire beneath it. There's a large pot cooking on the stove, already. "Cleaning the attic out. Mrs. Muguffy down in the village is holding a yard sale. I was trying to see if there was anything I could spare, and one thing led to another, and it felt like a good time to do a thorough cleaning."
Ginny pulls down two mugs. "Need any help?"
"Oh!" Her mum's brown eyes go wide and warm. "If you'd like. There's certainly some things you'd probably like put aside for your own children, some day. Biscuits?"
"I'll get it, Mum. You go sit down," Ginny commands, which earns her a small smile.
A small plate of biscuits and two steaming mugs sit between them on the low table. The kitchen smells like beef stew, hearty, warm. It bubbles in the silence of the room. Looking out the back window, Ginny can see the garden, a wild riot of fall colour.
She studies her mother. There are new lines around her eyes, a few more grey hairs peppered through her faded red. "It's quiet here today," Ginny remarks.
"Typical around here these days," Molly says. "Especially since it's just your father and I now."
Guilt flashes in Ginny's gut. It's been over three weeks since she's been to visit, though not for lack of her mother trying.
"How's Ron doing?"
Ginny's lips quirk. "Oh, you know. He's okay. Hermione's with her parents for the weekend, which means he's useless. But he and Harry went on their first mock mission with the Aurors last night, and they seemed to have had a good time."
"Well, that's nice. I do wish those two had chosen something less dangerous to do. They've already given so much, don't you think?"
"Well, they both really like it."
"Very true. And what about you? When will you play your first game?"
"Oh, probably not until next year," Ginny admits. "Unless Pully or McArthur are hurt."
"And any new young men in your life?"
Ginny studies her cooling mug of tea. "No." She shakes her head. "No one new."
A cool, dry hand touches her own. She looks up into brown eyes very much like hers. "You'll find him some day, sweetheart." A smile. "How about you and I go up to the attic for a bit. Would you like to stay for dinner? Your father would be pleased to see you."
After a quiet meal with her parents, all but stuffing her face with stew and crusty, home baked bread, Ginny makes an effort to knit a striped scarf while her mum knits a large maroon sweater and her dad reads the paper. The fire crackles, and the wireless plays, and a sort of yellow, dim light infuses the room, while outside the window, night lays heavy over the ground.
"Do you think I could spend the night?" Ginny asks after her she watches her father give a wide yawn.
He aims a pleased smile her way. "You're always welcome to stay the night here, sweetie. There's no need to ask."
Ginny feels warmth crowd her chest. She smiles down at the half-knit scarf in her hand.
"In the morning we'll make a big breakfast," her mum says, patting her knee. "Pancakes and sausage, maybe. How does that sound?"
Ginny nods. "Sounds perfect," she answers quietly.
After brushing her teeth, Ginny finds an old pair of pyjamas and slips between the cool sheets her childhood bed. She pulls the comforter up to her chin.
She knows she won't wake up to the sound of her mother making breakfast, but for now, it's nice to pretend that she will.
~
She tries very hard not to lose track of the days, but with no real way of marking off the time, it becomes a bit difficult. On what she guesses is day fourteen, she leaves the library early, about three, and tries to feel like she's not giving up. Words run through her head, lists and facts about Elves and time and magic, but she's no closer to figuring anything out.
The small yard behind the flat is square, with leaves turned brown and a bench wide enough for two. The white sunlight nuzzles up to her cheek when Ginny takes a stack of parchment out there. She plants herself on the bench, lost in the familiar scratch of quill on paper, when a Harry-shaped shadow falls across her.
"Here," he says.
Ginny looks up. "Here, what? Oh, thanks." She takes the mug of warm cider from his hands. "What's this for?"
Harry shrugs. His eyes are squinty in the afternoon sunlight. "Just woke up from my nap and saw you out here. You looked cold. Just thought - "
Ginny inhales deeply, the scent of apples brightening the air. "Thank you," she says sincerely.
"It's no problem. What're you doing?"
"Nothing. Just thinking."
Nodding, Harry says, "Don't let me interrupt then," and he turns to go.
"No," Ginny answers. "Stay." Harry pauses, looks skeptical. "Really, I could use the company."
Smiling, Harry relaxes beside her. His thigh is warm pressed against hers, and she can smell him, his Harry-scent, like sleep and warm sandalwood. His stubble shines in the sunlight.
"Here." Pulling out her wand, Ginny conjures a separate mug, and spills half her cider into it.
"Thanks." Silence, as they both watch a leaf dance on the wind. "What were you thinking about?"
Ginny shrugs. "Not much, really, just how - how strange life is, I guess."
She looks at him from the corner of her eye. Sunlight glints off his hair, making it shine.
"Strange," he repeats. "How so?"
Ginny laughs, feeling stupid. "I dunno, does it ever just feel...pointless?"
"Are you having some sort of - of...existential crisis I should know about?"
Laughing loud and bright, Ginny turns to look fully at him. "Existential crises?" she parrots, eyebrows raised.
Harry grins, tongue between his teeth and eyes bright. "Hermione forces me to read."
The cider is warm on her tongue, sugar-sweet. "No. I just - I just sometimes wonder what the point of all this is." She waves her hand around the square patch of yard.
Harry nods. "Maybe it is pointless," he says. "But I guess that means we should take advantage of it while it's here."
Just then, Ron walks into the lot, his bright red hair covered by an orange knit cap.
"You look ridiculous," Ginny tells him affectionately.
He grins at her. "I look adorable. You two look to be having some quality bonding time out here, but what d'you say we go bond with some food at the pub?"
Ginny catches Harry's eye. She looks back at Ron. "Sounds great."
~
Thinking about Harry's words leads her to the small garden out back nearly every day. She waits for him now, as he brings her a fresh mug of cider and she splits it with him, inviting him to sit down. He always smells the same, the light hits his hair and bounces off in exactly the same way, and they watch the same leaf catch on the wind, watch it dance past them.
"This is my favourite time," he comments to her one day.
She looks sharply at him. The wind blows against her cheek. "What do you mean?"
Shrugging, his cheeks go a little pink, and Ginny hides a smile.
"Just, you know, the way the light is, and how - I dunno." He shifts on the bench. "How pretty everything is."
"I like that you have a favourite time of day."
"It's so fragile, you know. Like, oh, I don't know - fleeting, or something."
Ginny frowns. "But, that's just, kind of sad, don't you think? It doesn't ever last long enough."
He meets her eyes. "Maybe, but it always comes back."
Ginny looks away, takes a sip of her cider. It rests in her belly, candying the hot little ache there, and when Ron comes out to ask them to go to the pub, Ginny lets out a quiet sigh.
~
One day, Ginny just reaches up, and presses her lips flush against Harry's. His cheeks are cold, and he tastes like cider and sour sleep. She can feel his jerky intake of breath as he opens his lips, sticky, hot, under Ginny's mouth, his chin prickly. She licks into Harry's mouth, tongue scraping against his teeth. Hands come up, blunt nails scrape against Ginny's scalp, and Harry's tongue traces her lips. His familiar Harry-scent, warm sweat and sandalwood, rolls over Ginny, and when Harry makes a sound, undignified, all needy and quiet, it spreads heat through Ginny's body. Makes her heart thump thump in her ears.
When she finally pulls back, he stares at her with bright eyes, runs his tongue along his lips. "What was that for?"
Ginny shrugs. "Just...wanted to do it."
"Oh."
Ginny stands, offers a smile and watches him blink owlishly up at her. His lips are swollen. "I'll see you later, Harry."
When she gets to the door, she turns and casts a quick look at him. His fingers are pressed against his lips.
v
"Here."
Ginny looks up, not surprised to see Harry's hand extended, the steaming scent of apple cider fresh on the air.
"Thank you," she says, automatically reaching to take the mug from him. She sits on one side of the bench; there's plenty of room for another beside her. "What's...um, what's this for?"
Harry shrugs. He scratches the back of his neck, and squints down at her. "You looked cold."
"Here." Ginny pats the space next to her. "Have a seat."
"Oh, I don't want to interrupt."
"If I didn't want you to interrupt I wouldn't have told you to sit, Harry."
He sinks down to the bench. "You want half?" Ginny asks, already conjuring a second mug out of the air before waiting for his reply. Next to her, his thigh is warm and solid.
"Thanks."
"No problem. How was your nap?"
"Oh, you know..."
"Restful?" Ginny supplies, as Harry says, "Nap-like."
"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Harry asks. "Isn't it a little cold?"
"It's not too bad, though I guess my hands are a little numb. I was just, you know, thinking."
"What about? Quidditch?"
"Nope, Hagrid's knickers, actually."
"Ah, that was going to be my second guess."
"You can see why I was glad for the interruption."
Harry grins at her, sunlight bouncing off his glasses. "Glad I could provide a distraction."
"Yes, well, you're plenty distracting, Potter," Ginny admits. It's funny, how her filters come off when she knows he won't remember this the next day.
Harry's eyes are on her. "You're not so bad yourself, Weasley," he comments. Ginny bites the inside of her cheek to keep her smile in check. She feels heat blossom across her cheeks.
Harry's still watching her. "Wow," he murmurs after a moment.
Ginny meets his gaze directly. "What?"
His eyes skip away from hers, and one long pale hand pulls at a thread in his trousers. "It's nothing...just - it's been awhile since I've seen you blush."
Ginny laughs, and feels her face grow hotter. Harry grins at her again. "I - don't even know what to say to that."
Harry's grin turns into a smirk. "My stellar conversation skills leaving you speechless again?"
"That must be it. Or, you know, your gift for completely random conversation."
"Either way, I'm obviously very talented."
"And humble."
She meets his eyes again, crinkled at the corners, and his teeth are white and straight. Ginny can't quite stop the ridiculous grin spreading across her face.
Ron steps outside then, says, "What are you two so smiley about?"
"How stupid you look in that hat," Harry tells him, not missing a beat when he turns towards Ron.
Ron's smile turns into a mock-frown. "I look fabulous in this hat."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Anybody up for some dinner at the pub?" Ron says, ignoring Ginny's remark.
"Actually," Ginny says, "I think I'm going to stay in tonight." She meets Harry's eyes, runs her tongue along her top row of teeth. "But you two have fun."
"You sure?" Ron asks, and Ginny nods, inhaling deeply, and pressing her lips together. She smells apples and Harry's cologne.
Harry watches her. He turns to Ron, looks back at Ginny. "You know, Ron," he finally says, eyes still on Ginny. "I think I might stay in tonight, too."
Ginny nearly chokes on her cider. She watches some sort of look pass between Harry and Ron, and it makes her ears burn. Ron nods slowly. "Sure thing. I'll just pop by George's, see if he's up for a roaring good time with his brother. See you both later."
After he's gone with a grin and wave, Harry looks back at Ginny. "You don't mind if I stay here with you for a bit, do you?"
Ginny shakes her head. "I was thinking about maybe making some dinner, though. Do you want any?"
Harry's stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and he laughs.
"I guess that's a yes," Ginny comments.
"I guess so, if you let me help."
Harry stands, and his spine pops as he stretches back, the front of his shirt riding up to reveal the pale skin of his stomach.
Ginny looks down at her knees before standing. "How are you at reheating tinned soup?"
"Very good, actually."
He holds the door for her as they go inside, and it's not long before they're seated at the small table pushed up against the wall in the kitchen, facing each other with a pot of chicken soup between them.
"I am kind of envious that you get to play Quidditch and actually make money for it," Harry admits around a mouthful of soup. The one window above the sink is too high for Ginny to see anything but sky from her spot at the table. It's dark now, looks calm and quiet.
"So why didn't you play?" Ginny asks. The light in the kitchen is warm and glowing.
Harry shrugs. "Dunno. I guess, people kind of expected me to be an Auror after Voldemort, yeah?"
"I guess so," Ginny allows, "but I doubt anyone would think less if you did something else."
"Maybe."
"Maybe? Harry, you defeated Voldemort. I think we can safely say you did enough for the wizarding world."
Harry smiles at her.
Ginny continues, "All that matters is if you're happy. I mean, do you want to be an Auror?"
Harry nods, slowly. "I do. It feels important, you know. Good. It would be nice to get out and play some Quidditch every now and then, though."
Ginny smiles softly at him. "If you want, you and I can go out once a week. And I promise not to be too hard on you."
"You'd go out and play Quidditch with me once a week, just so I won't miss it?"
Meeting his eyes, Ginny shrugs. "Of course."
Harry's eyes crinkle. He looks grateful, as if he can't quite believe that she would do something nice for him, just because. "I guess I'll have to take you up on that," he says after a moment.
Ginny looks down at her bowl. Warmth spreads across her chest. "I guess you will," she says around a smile.
Later, while standing at the sink, Harry comments, "You're really easy to talk to," like he's surprised about it. He's drying the last of the dishes.
Ginny feels her eyebrows rise. "Are you just figuring this out now?"
"No. I just thought maybe you should - er - know?" he says, hands clutching the dishtowel.
"Well, then, thank you," Ginny says. Fleetingly, she feels a stab of guilt, as if she's somehow taking advantage of him, but Ginny pushes the feeling away. His glasses are crooked. Ginny smiles, stretches right up to him and straightens them, hands brushing against the cool skin of cheeks. He's holding his breath, and Ginny feels the room go warmer. Her chest tightens.
She pulls the towel out of his grip, puts it on the counter, looks up into his eyes. They're dark. He smiles down at her, tongue flicking out against his bottom lip for a moment.
Of course it feels natural to her, to lift up and press a kiss to his wet mouth. He tastes like chicken soup, and when Ginny goes to pull away, damp hands hold her in place, one touching the crown of her head, the other on the small of her back. Ginny goes to him willingly, pressing herself against him. He licks into her, tongue touching the roof her mouth, and it's swift, the way the heat rises inside her, leaves her panting and wanting more.
He breaks away first, eyes wide with surprise. "Ginny, what was that - "
Ginny tips on her toes, still crowded next to him. She's so close she can see the different flecks of green in his eyes, the blown pupils. "Shhh," she whispers. His hand rests on her back, heavy and warm. "Don't - don't talk," she says. He smells familiar, and he feels familiar, and Ginny shuts her eyes, leaning into him again.
His mouth opens above hers, wet and warm, and his tongue flicks inside, deep, sure. In no time at all he's got her pressed against the counter, hips pinning her against it. Half-bitten nails scratch at her scalp, making her shiver and her insides go liquid.
She pushes up his jumper, the t-shirt underneath it, and traces her fingers against his belly button, where she knows he's sensitive, feeling it jump beneath her fingers. It makes her feel powerful.
"God." His hips falter forward, and he breaks the kiss again to hang his head low between them, eyes shut and breathing strained.
"I - I want - " Harry stutters, and Ginny wonders, briefly, who he's been with in this reality, but she pushes the thought aside, bending up to nip at his stubbled chin, to run her tongue along the edge of jaw, pulling away salt and warmth. He makes a sound, needy, a little desperate.
"I know, Harry," Ginny soothes, slotting their mouths together again. His glasses press against her. And she's not playing fair, she knows, when she runs her hands up under his shirt, presses herself against him and bites into his mouth. But it feels good and she goes with it, pushing him back slightly, before taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.
He follows, willingly, and only stops once they're at her door. His eyes are wide, nervous, but dark and aroused. Ginny can see his cock, half-hard and pressed flat against his thigh. "Ginny, I don't think - "
"Shut it," Ginny whispers. She lays one hand on him, pressing against his dick, and his hips snap forward, his eyes drop shut. She touches her lips to his.
"D-damn," he stutters, and Ginny grins against his mouth. "Your brother..."
"Isn't here - "
"No, but he trusts me, and - " His hips are still straining towards her palm.
Ginny pulls back slightly, moving her hand away, and bites back a smile when Harry's lips automatically move into a pout. His eyes are glassy, heavy.
"Harry," Ginny says, moving into the room. Harry follows. "We're both consenting adults." She flicks on the lamp; it spills yellow light in a wide circle. The light catches on Harry's lips.
"I know, but - "
"Shut the door, Harry," Ginny commands gently, hands already moving to pull her jumper up and over her head.
Harry does as she asks, turns back around to look at her, and watches her.
"Ginny," he says, voice strained. She's still wearing her trousers, but her shirt is missing now. Briefly, she wishes she had planned for this, put on a pretty bra, or even lipstick, but his eyes are too aroused for the thought to stay long, and every place his gaze touches makes her burn. She knows she must be red.
"Harry, can you - can you touch me, please?" she begs, insides thrumming with anticipation.
He gives a jerky nod, closing the distance between them with two long steps. He kisses with more confidence this time, lips opening automatically and licking into her. One large, warm hand presses against her back, and the other cups a breast. The air rushes out of Ginny's lungs. "Oh," she says against his lips, pushing up into his hand. Fingers slip beneath the cotton, rub against a nipple, where it goes diamond tipped, hard, while everything else inside her goes soft.
A hand brackets her hip as he pushes her back against the bed. His weight is warm against her lower half, pressing her down, and she drags both his pullover and shirt up and over his head, as he lifts first one arm and then the other.
When he emerges, hair sticking up and glasses knocked off, he smiles at her, eyes going slightly unfocused. He keeps his chest lifted, weight held up by his arms. Ginny runs her nails along his back, watching his head dip forward again, the muscles in his neck straining.
Lips press against her collarbone, wet, and his tongue runs smoothly along her skin. Ginny's toes curl against her comforter. His mouth touches everywhere he can reach, warm breath tickling the sensitive spot behind her ear, dampening her white bra, making it go translucent.
Moonlight slants through her window; it makes his hair shine blue. This, Ginny thinks, struggling to get her bra off and still keep his lips connected to her flesh, this is what she's missed. His hands, pale and long, as they press against the well at the small of her back, and his mouth wet and smooth. She smiles when she finally unzips him, hand touching his hot flesh, and he doesn't bother biting back the groan or the yeah, yeah please that rumbles out his mouth.
When he slips his fingers into her, he gasps low, and she's so wet that his fingers move easily, though without much confidence. It's been so long since she's had this, had him near her, over her, and Ginny's whole body aches with greed, with want. She kicks off her trousers, guides his hand inside her, hips moving in steady circles as she leads him to her clit, watches the way his brow furrows in concentration and how he bites his lip.
"Ginny, you're so - "
"For you," Ginny tells him, as his eyes go dark and possessive. He moves his fingers, more surely this time, and Ginny's eyes shut. The room is unbearably warm. Harry slips lower, tongue flicking against her navel before he bites her inner thigh, and presses his tongue flat against her. Ginny writhes and squirms, contorting the slick comforter beneath her, whole body taut and thrumming with need. It threatens to tear her apart. "Harry," she whispers, his name caught somewhere low in her throat.
Then he stops, and Ginny can't quite control the whimper that forces its way out of her throat. Harry mouths his way back up her body, briefly bending to kiss a nipple, heat in his gaze. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks, his pupils blown wide and his shoulders tense. Ginny lifts her head, presses her lips to his.
"I'm sure," she promises. Opening her thighs wider, feeling his dick press hard against her, Ginny lifts her hips off the bed.
When he kisses her this time she can taste herself there, and when she licks into him he moans, low and deep. His face is indecipherable when he pulls back, whole body shaking. Heat sweeps across her shoulders, and lower, thrumming through her body.
When he pushes into her, Harry's mouth falls open on a silent groan. Ginny pants as his hips stutter forward. Her hands clutch at his naked, slippery back, and she leaves her eyes open, watching the tendons in his neck tighten as he bends his head.
It's jerky and imperfect, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Halfway through, his arms give out, and he lands with an oomph. Ginny laughs, cants her hips slightly, and presses him against her. Sweat beads across his forehead. She bites at his neck, and moves her hand back between their bodies, fingers rubbing her clit and hand knocking into him.
"God," Harry pants. "God. Ginny..." and his voice is surprised, low, almost panicky.
"It's okay," Ginny whispers. Her toes curl, hips faltering. "It's - Oh..." Ginny whimpers and bites down too hard when she comes, body shattering apart. She watches Harry's eyes slide shut on a groan, holds on, as his hips go jerky, and he buries his face against Ginny's neck, her name on his lips.
~
When it's over, Ginny laughs.
Harry grunts and sits up. His face is shiny with sweat. "Something funny about that?"
She looks at his scowling face, and laughs harder, shoulders shaking with it. "Oh, no," she tries to explain, nearly choking on her laughter. "It's not - it wasn't funny, I just. I'm just really relieved."
"You're so - you're not laughing at me?"
Ginny tugs on his hand, pulling him down beside her. Moonlight slants blue through the window, highlighting his collarbone. He smells like chicken soup and cologne, sweat. "No, Harry, I'm not laughing at you."
Harry squints at her. "You're just relieved? Can you hand me my glasses?"
Ginny bends over the side of the bed, rummaging around and saying, "Yes, relieved." She settles on her back. "Here."
"Relieved why?" With his glasses on, Harry's eyes focus fully on her. She smiles at him. Everything about this is comforting, familiar, even when it's not.
"Just - if you knew how long I've wanted this."
Harry smiles down at her. "How long? I mean, I certainly wouldn't have turned this down. Ginny, you are a pretty fit girl - "
"Well, thank you - "
"You're quite welcome." Harry grins. Ginny's lying naked on the bed, as Harry's hand traces smoothly along her ribs. "I mean, you're - well, I - all you had to do was say something."
"If only it were that easy."
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Ginny licks her lips. She watches Harry's eyes follow the movement. "You'll think I'm crazy," she tells him.
He looks at her. "So tell me anyway."
"Okay."
"Okay."
~
"An elf," Harry repeats.
Ginny nods. "Elfin Queen, actually." She's wearing his pullover, the sleeves cuffed back, and she sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, her back pressed against the headboard.
Sitting in front of her, Harry says, "And you were my girlfriend?"
"Yep."
"For how long?"
"Um, well, a little over two years, I guess, though you ditched me for awhile, but that was - well, it wasn't a real breakup, just -. " She stops. Harry's silent, just looking at her like he's trying to figure out a puzzle. "I told you," she says awkwardly to fill in the silence. "Crazy."
Finally, Harry says, "If you were my girlfriend, did we have sex?"
Ginny blinks at him. "Um, yes?"
"Whenever we wanted."
"Sure."
Harry's silent for a moment. Then he says, "Wow, I wish I remembered that."
Ginny's laugh is loud, quick. "You're such a bloke, Harry."
Harry's eyes shine, but he says to her, "I'm sorry you've had to go through that."
"So you believe me?" Ginny asks. Her toes are pressed against his calf.
He shrugs. "I don't not believe you."
"I guess it doesn't matter anyway. You won't remember this in the morning."
"So I was the most important person to you?"
"What?"
"You said that the elf told you she would take away the most important person. That was me?"
"I don't - I guess."
"Did you love me?"
Ginny meets his eyes. "I do - er, I did, or. Yes."
Harry's lips press together. He picks at a thread on the quilt thrown across her bed. Quietly, he murmurs, "Wow."
Ginny tucks her hands into the sleeves of his pullover and thinks, yeah. Wow.
~
Blinking her eyes open, the first think Ginny notices is the silence.
"Morning," says Harry. He's propped up on an elbow, studying her.
Ginny glares. "I hate it when you do that. It's creepy."
Harry smiles at her. "I know. I'm sorry. You just look so innocent; it's hard to believe."
"Ha ha," Ginny mumbles. "How would you like it if you woke up to find me staring at you?"
Harry shrugs. "Payback, I guess." His cheeks are cut through with pillow creases, lips red and molten. Ginny stares. Something about him looks different. Light streams though the window. Which means it's daytime, but Harry -
Ginny starts and lets out a squawk. "Harry, what are you doing here?"
Harry blinks at her. "Er, I don't - I spent the night, remember?"
"Spent the night?"
"Yes."
"Okay, what did we do last night?"
"Ginny, are you feeling - "
"What did we do?" Ginny interupts.
Looking at her like she's mad, Harry answers, "We stayed in. Made dinner and then went to bed."
"Went to bed," Ginny parrots. "So we shagged?"
"Well, yeah."
"What did we talk about?"
"I don't know. Quidditch, my Auror stuff, just normal stuff."
"No, after sex, what did we talk about?"
His eyes go squinty. "I don't - I don't remember, I guess nothing."
"Are you my boyfriend?"
A pause. "Aren't I usually?"
"No - I mean, yes, I mean - of course." Ginny's cheeks stretch in a smile. Warmth crowds her chest. "Of course you are, I just - "
"Are you feeling okay?" Harry asks again. His breath is sleep-sour against her cheek.
Ginny looks down. She's swadled in his green jumper, and the sunlight shining through the window is bright and clear. Ginny laughs, loud and strong. "I'm feeling great. Amazing, actually. What are your plans for the day?'
"I don't kn- "
"We should get up, and go wake Ron up, maybe. And then go to my parents, because I'm certain they'd love to see us, all of us, for breakfast, and then later, when Hermione comes home, maybe we could all go play Quidditch somewhere. How long has it been since you've played?"
Harry blinks slowly at her. "I don't think I've ever seen you so happy this early in the morning," he remarks. His hair is insane, and Ginny sighs, running her fingers through it.
"I'm just - it's a new day, yeah? Lots of happy possibilites. But you know what I want to do first?" Ginny leers at him, waggles her eyebrows. "First I want to make up for lost time."
Harry looks fondly at her. "You're kind of crazy," he says around a smile, pushing his head against her hand.
Ginny says, "I know I am," and she leans in for a kiss.
End
Author's Note, part the second: It's been brought to my attention
that the scene where Harry and Ginny discuss the dying light is very
similar to a scene from Chapter 43 of
After the End by Arabella and Zsyena, and while I adore that
story, any similarities were entirely unintentional.
iv.
There are some serious pluses to reliving the same day over and over, regardless of consequence. For one thing, no hangover, no matter how pissed you got the night before.
For another thing, no one remembers the spectacular arse you made of yourself. Also, waking up to a cacophony of pots and pans is starting to feel a little familiar, her own very loud, very annoying alarm.
She's up and showered, dressed in an old Hogwarts robe and out the door so quickly she barely catches the bleary hellos both Ron and Harry call to her. After being awake for less than twenty minutes, she decided to formulate a new plan, one that didn't involve spending all day yelling at trees and all night letting strange men grope her.
Apparating to Hogsmeade requires two stops along the way if she wants to be absolutely certain she won't Splinch herself, and then it's a thirty-minute walk down the well-worn path to Hogwarts' large, imposing gates.
When Ginny finally makes her way past the wards, past Hagrid, and past the front door - a process that eats up another hour of her morning - she doesn't even bother with searching out McGonagall, just rushes by the Great Hall, and down the dimly lit corridor to the library at the end.
Madam Pince retired last year (amidst a flurry of rumors when Filch retired a week later), so the new and possibly more stuffy looking librarian glares suspiciously at Ginny, but doesn't put up any protest at the sight of her. For once, Ginny's grateful for her small frame.
She makes a beeline directly for the rows of thick, leather-covered books on Elfin magic, pulls down a stack so heavy her arms ache immediately, finds a corner table, and sags into the chair. It's not even ten o'clock yet and she's exhausted. White light slants in from a window high above her, illuminating dust and a long stripe of the table. In it, Ginny's hands are pale and freckly. She pulls a book towards her, creaks it open and begins to read.
~
No one bothers her, shoved as deep as she is into a corner of the cavernous room, and she's hunched over, reading until the words swim before her eyes and her back aches.
Tomorrow she'll remember to bring a quill and parchment, but right now she's just grateful that the Elfin Queen didn't erase her memories along with everyone else's. According to the books, it's only on the new moon that high elves can be reached, when whatever borders between their world and this world fade enough to let communication occur, which means that Ginny will have to win Harry back in a matter of twenty-four hours or give up, to even reach the Queen again. And if she gives up -
Well, according to the book, aside from erasing memories and seriously screwing around with human perception of time, high elves are also capable of holding people captive - kidnapping them right from their homes in a number of cases.
It's the sort of thing that really should be taught in school, Ginny thinks. And she's got half a mind to scold McGonagall herself, though the headmistress won't remember it tomorrow, and anyway that's not the point. The point is, well, she's not giving up. She'll figure out a way to break this or die trying, and what the hell, she has all the time in the world.
~
Life is incredibly lonely when you're the only one living it. Her mornings and afternoons are spent in the same dusty library, and though she can change tables, read different books, comes to know that Madam Picket can read he Tale of Gwendolyn Howard: One Witch's Passionate Romance with Merlin in a single afternoon and likes her tea with three sugars and warm milk, her routine stays mind numbingly similar. The librarian never remembers her, and Ginny endures the same suspicious glare every morning, like clockwork, when she shuffles into the library. At one o'clock a young girl with a blue ribbon and a Ravenclaw patch slips into the back corner to find a book on House Elves, and sometimes, just for something new, Ginny takes the book from the shelf first, forcing conversation between herself and the girl.
She doesn't bother with taking notes, because they're gone when she wakes up in the morning, no matter where she puts them: under her pillow, in her desk drawer, folded up in one of the large, dusty books.
She writes letters, sometimes, to Hermione, telling her everything that happened during the day, to Ron or her mother, until it becomes habit, writing every night before she goes to bed, the scratchy nub of the quill a cold comfort to her. She never writes to Harry, never puts down into words how missing him is starting to feel like missing a limb, but one lost long ago, so that the ache is a constant but familiar tug in her belly.
Every morning the writing's gone from the parchment, like chalk marks erased on a blackboard.
~
She's got her broom and an old Snitch, and it's been a long time since she played, really played, just for fun. Even if it's just her and the cold air, she thinks it's exactly what she needs.
Ron and Harry are in the kitchen when she gets there, fastening a warm robe around her neck.
"Hello, my favourite sister," Ron says around a smile when he sees her. "What were you up to today?"
Ginny shrugs, thinking of the library and the now-familiar feel of old books beneath her fingers. "Not much."
Harry's there, of course, still wearing that ridiculous sweater. "We're heading down to the pub for a bite to eat if you want to come along," he says.
Ginny looks into his eyes, smiles. "I was thinking of getting outside, actually. Maybe finding a Muggle-free area and flying around."
"Oh." Harry glances longingly at her broom, then at Ron.
Licking her lips, Ginny says, "You two are more than welcome to come, if you want."
By the time Harry and Ron shove sandwiches down their throats and get themselves situated, buttoning up warm cloaks, searching out old Quidditch gloves, and they find a deserted patch of land to fly above, it's dusk. The air is crisp and cool, all creamy yellow light, the sun a slip-sizzle sinking behind the clouds in a wash of red and orange.
Light bounces off Harry's hair as he takes off, shoulders relaxed and a smile as wide as the English Channel stretched across his face.
They take turns, letting the Snitch loose and racing after it, Ginny and Harry laughing when Ron falls off his broom, Ron laughing when Harry does the same.
It's the first time in what feels like forever that Ginny's felt normal, free, and it's all she can do to stop the smile on her face from stretching her cheeks till they ache. The cold air smells new, and by the time they head in it's night-quiet and calm, the starlight reflecting off Harry's glasses.
Ginny wishes them goodnight eventually, knowing Harry will Apparate home and Ron will go to bed thinking of Hermione, and she hopes - futilely - that they will remember this come tomorrow morning.
~
The Burrow is quiet.
"Mum," Ginny calls after she lets herself in the front room. A fire's sparking in the hearth, and a family portrait rests above it; one taken years ago, before the war. Fred winks at her at she crosses by. Ginny looks away and calls again, "Mum, where are you?"
As Ginny's unwinding her scarf, she hears her mother's footsteps pad down the steps. "Oh, hello, dear." Surprise colours her voice.
"Hi, Mum." She unbuttons her cloak, lays it across the back of a chair, only to pick it up again at her mum's stern glare. After putting in the closet, she turns around.
"What brings you here?"
Ginny shrugs. "Not much, I guess, just wanted to see how you were."
Her mum's eyes are bright. "Well, it's a lovely surprise. Come, have a cuppa?"
"What were you doing?"
"Oh." She flaps her hands when she talks, pointing a wand at the kettle and starting a fire beneath it. There's a large pot cooking on the stove, already. "Cleaning the attic out. Mrs. Muguffy down in the village is holding a yard sale. I was trying to see if there was anything I could spare, and one thing led to another, and it felt like a good time to do a thorough cleaning."
Ginny pulls down two mugs. "Need any help?"
"Oh!" Her mum's brown eyes go wide and warm. "If you'd like. There's certainly some things you'd probably like put aside for your own children, some day. Biscuits?"
"I'll get it, Mum. You go sit down," Ginny commands, which earns her a small smile.
A small plate of biscuits and two steaming mugs sit between them on the low table. The kitchen smells like beef stew, hearty, warm. It bubbles in the silence of the room. Looking out the back window, Ginny can see the garden, a wild riot of fall colour.
She studies her mother. There are new lines around her eyes, a few more grey hairs peppered through her faded red. "It's quiet here today," Ginny remarks.
"Typical around here these days," Molly says. "Especially since it's just your father and I now."
Guilt flashes in Ginny's gut. It's been over three weeks since she's been to visit, though not for lack of her mother trying.
"How's Ron doing?"
Ginny's lips quirk. "Oh, you know. He's okay. Hermione's with her parents for the weekend, which means he's useless. But he and Harry went on their first mock mission with the Aurors last night, and they seemed to have had a good time."
"Well, that's nice. I do wish those two had chosen something less dangerous to do. They've already given so much, don't you think?"
"Well, they both really like it."
"Very true. And what about you? When will you play your first game?"
"Oh, probably not until next year," Ginny admits. "Unless Pully or McArthur are hurt."
"And any new young men in your life?"
Ginny studies her cooling mug of tea. "No." She shakes her head. "No one new."
A cool, dry hand touches her own. She looks up into brown eyes very much like hers. "You'll find him some day, sweetheart." A smile. "How about you and I go up to the attic for a bit. Would you like to stay for dinner? Your father would be pleased to see you."
After a quiet meal with her parents, all but stuffing her face with stew and crusty, home baked bread, Ginny makes an effort to knit a striped scarf while her mum knits a large maroon sweater and her dad reads the paper. The fire crackles, and the wireless plays, and a sort of yellow, dim light infuses the room, while outside the window, night lays heavy over the ground.
"Do you think I could spend the night?" Ginny asks after her she watches her father give a wide yawn.
He aims a pleased smile her way. "You're always welcome to stay the night here, sweetie. There's no need to ask."
Ginny feels warmth crowd her chest. She smiles down at the half-knit scarf in her hand.
"In the morning we'll make a big breakfast," her mum says, patting her knee. "Pancakes and sausage, maybe. How does that sound?"
Ginny nods. "Sounds perfect," she answers quietly.
After brushing her teeth, Ginny finds an old pair of pyjamas and slips between the cool sheets her childhood bed. She pulls the comforter up to her chin.
She knows she won't wake up to the sound of her mother making breakfast, but for now, it's nice to pretend that she will.
~
She tries very hard not to lose track of the days, but with no real way of marking off the time, it becomes a bit difficult. On what she guesses is day fourteen, she leaves the library early, about three, and tries to feel like she's not giving up. Words run through her head, lists and facts about Elves and time and magic, but she's no closer to figuring anything out.
The small yard behind the flat is square, with leaves turned brown and a bench wide enough for two. The white sunlight nuzzles up to her cheek when Ginny takes a stack of parchment out there. She plants herself on the bench, lost in the familiar scratch of quill on paper, when a Harry-shaped shadow falls across her.
"Here," he says.
Ginny looks up. "Here, what? Oh, thanks." She takes the mug of warm cider from his hands. "What's this for?"
Harry shrugs. His eyes are squinty in the afternoon sunlight. "Just woke up from my nap and saw you out here. You looked cold. Just thought - "
Ginny inhales deeply, the scent of apples brightening the air. "Thank you," she says sincerely.
"It's no problem. What're you doing?"
"Nothing. Just thinking."
Nodding, Harry says, "Don't let me interrupt then," and he turns to go.
"No," Ginny answers. "Stay." Harry pauses, looks skeptical. "Really, I could use the company."
Smiling, Harry relaxes beside her. His thigh is warm pressed against hers, and she can smell him, his Harry-scent, like sleep and warm sandalwood. His stubble shines in the sunlight.
"Here." Pulling out her wand, Ginny conjures a separate mug, and spills half her cider into it.
"Thanks." Silence, as they both watch a leaf dance on the wind. "What were you thinking about?"
Ginny shrugs. "Not much, really, just how - how strange life is, I guess."
She looks at him from the corner of her eye. Sunlight glints off his hair, making it shine.
"Strange," he repeats. "How so?"
Ginny laughs, feeling stupid. "I dunno, does it ever just feel...pointless?"
"Are you having some sort of - of...existential crisis I should know about?"
Laughing loud and bright, Ginny turns to look fully at him. "Existential crises?" she parrots, eyebrows raised.
Harry grins, tongue between his teeth and eyes bright. "Hermione forces me to read."
The cider is warm on her tongue, sugar-sweet. "No. I just - I just sometimes wonder what the point of all this is." She waves her hand around the square patch of yard.
Harry nods. "Maybe it is pointless," he says. "But I guess that means we should take advantage of it while it's here."
Just then, Ron walks into the lot, his bright red hair covered by an orange knit cap.
"You look ridiculous," Ginny tells him affectionately.
He grins at her. "I look adorable. You two look to be having some quality bonding time out here, but what d'you say we go bond with some food at the pub?"
Ginny catches Harry's eye. She looks back at Ron. "Sounds great."
~
Thinking about Harry's words leads her to the small garden out back nearly every day. She waits for him now, as he brings her a fresh mug of cider and she splits it with him, inviting him to sit down. He always smells the same, the light hits his hair and bounces off in exactly the same way, and they watch the same leaf catch on the wind, watch it dance past them.
"This is my favourite time," he comments to her one day.
She looks sharply at him. The wind blows against her cheek. "What do you mean?"
Shrugging, his cheeks go a little pink, and Ginny hides a smile.
"Just, you know, the way the light is, and how - I dunno." He shifts on the bench. "How pretty everything is."
"I like that you have a favourite time of day."
"It's so fragile, you know. Like, oh, I don't know - fleeting, or something."
Ginny frowns. "But, that's just, kind of sad, don't you think? It doesn't ever last long enough."
He meets her eyes. "Maybe, but it always comes back."
Ginny looks away, takes a sip of her cider. It rests in her belly, candying the hot little ache there, and when Ron comes out to ask them to go to the pub, Ginny lets out a quiet sigh.
~
One day, Ginny just reaches up, and presses her lips flush against Harry's. His cheeks are cold, and he tastes like cider and sour sleep. She can feel his jerky intake of breath as he opens his lips, sticky, hot, under Ginny's mouth, his chin prickly. She licks into Harry's mouth, tongue scraping against his teeth. Hands come up, blunt nails scrape against Ginny's scalp, and Harry's tongue traces her lips. His familiar Harry-scent, warm sweat and sandalwood, rolls over Ginny, and when Harry makes a sound, undignified, all needy and quiet, it spreads heat through Ginny's body. Makes her heart thump thump in her ears.
When she finally pulls back, he stares at her with bright eyes, runs his tongue along his lips. "What was that for?"
Ginny shrugs. "Just...wanted to do it."
"Oh."
Ginny stands, offers a smile and watches him blink owlishly up at her. His lips are swollen. "I'll see you later, Harry."
When she gets to the door, she turns and casts a quick look at him. His fingers are pressed against his lips.
v
"Here."
Ginny looks up, not surprised to see Harry's hand extended, the steaming scent of apple cider fresh on the air.
"Thank you," she says, automatically reaching to take the mug from him. She sits on one side of the bench; there's plenty of room for another beside her. "What's...um, what's this for?"
Harry shrugs. He scratches the back of his neck, and squints down at her. "You looked cold."
"Here." Ginny pats the space next to her. "Have a seat."
"Oh, I don't want to interrupt."
"If I didn't want you to interrupt I wouldn't have told you to sit, Harry."
He sinks down to the bench. "You want half?" Ginny asks, already conjuring a second mug out of the air before waiting for his reply. Next to her, his thigh is warm and solid.
"Thanks."
"No problem. How was your nap?"
"Oh, you know..."
"Restful?" Ginny supplies, as Harry says, "Nap-like."
"What are you doing out here, anyway?" Harry asks. "Isn't it a little cold?"
"It's not too bad, though I guess my hands are a little numb. I was just, you know, thinking."
"What about? Quidditch?"
"Nope, Hagrid's knickers, actually."
"Ah, that was going to be my second guess."
"You can see why I was glad for the interruption."
Harry grins at her, sunlight bouncing off his glasses. "Glad I could provide a distraction."
"Yes, well, you're plenty distracting, Potter," Ginny admits. It's funny, how her filters come off when she knows he won't remember this the next day.
Harry's eyes are on her. "You're not so bad yourself, Weasley," he comments. Ginny bites the inside of her cheek to keep her smile in check. She feels heat blossom across her cheeks.
Harry's still watching her. "Wow," he murmurs after a moment.
Ginny meets his gaze directly. "What?"
His eyes skip away from hers, and one long pale hand pulls at a thread in his trousers. "It's nothing...just - it's been awhile since I've seen you blush."
Ginny laughs, and feels her face grow hotter. Harry grins at her again. "I - don't even know what to say to that."
Harry's grin turns into a smirk. "My stellar conversation skills leaving you speechless again?"
"That must be it. Or, you know, your gift for completely random conversation."
"Either way, I'm obviously very talented."
"And humble."
She meets his eyes again, crinkled at the corners, and his teeth are white and straight. Ginny can't quite stop the ridiculous grin spreading across her face.
Ron steps outside then, says, "What are you two so smiley about?"
"How stupid you look in that hat," Harry tells him, not missing a beat when he turns towards Ron.
Ron's smile turns into a mock-frown. "I look fabulous in this hat."
"Keep telling yourself that."
"Anybody up for some dinner at the pub?" Ron says, ignoring Ginny's remark.
"Actually," Ginny says, "I think I'm going to stay in tonight." She meets Harry's eyes, runs her tongue along her top row of teeth. "But you two have fun."
"You sure?" Ron asks, and Ginny nods, inhaling deeply, and pressing her lips together. She smells apples and Harry's cologne.
Harry watches her. He turns to Ron, looks back at Ginny. "You know, Ron," he finally says, eyes still on Ginny. "I think I might stay in tonight, too."
Ginny nearly chokes on her cider. She watches some sort of look pass between Harry and Ron, and it makes her ears burn. Ron nods slowly. "Sure thing. I'll just pop by George's, see if he's up for a roaring good time with his brother. See you both later."
After he's gone with a grin and wave, Harry looks back at Ginny. "You don't mind if I stay here with you for a bit, do you?"
Ginny shakes her head. "I was thinking about maybe making some dinner, though. Do you want any?"
Harry's stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and he laughs.
"I guess that's a yes," Ginny comments.
"I guess so, if you let me help."
Harry stands, and his spine pops as he stretches back, the front of his shirt riding up to reveal the pale skin of his stomach.
Ginny looks down at her knees before standing. "How are you at reheating tinned soup?"
"Very good, actually."
He holds the door for her as they go inside, and it's not long before they're seated at the small table pushed up against the wall in the kitchen, facing each other with a pot of chicken soup between them.
"I am kind of envious that you get to play Quidditch and actually make money for it," Harry admits around a mouthful of soup. The one window above the sink is too high for Ginny to see anything but sky from her spot at the table. It's dark now, looks calm and quiet.
"So why didn't you play?" Ginny asks. The light in the kitchen is warm and glowing.
Harry shrugs. "Dunno. I guess, people kind of expected me to be an Auror after Voldemort, yeah?"
"I guess so," Ginny allows, "but I doubt anyone would think less if you did something else."
"Maybe."
"Maybe? Harry, you defeated Voldemort. I think we can safely say you did enough for the wizarding world."
Harry smiles at her.
Ginny continues, "All that matters is if you're happy. I mean, do you want to be an Auror?"
Harry nods, slowly. "I do. It feels important, you know. Good. It would be nice to get out and play some Quidditch every now and then, though."
Ginny smiles softly at him. "If you want, you and I can go out once a week. And I promise not to be too hard on you."
"You'd go out and play Quidditch with me once a week, just so I won't miss it?"
Meeting his eyes, Ginny shrugs. "Of course."
Harry's eyes crinkle. He looks grateful, as if he can't quite believe that she would do something nice for him, just because. "I guess I'll have to take you up on that," he says after a moment.
Ginny looks down at her bowl. Warmth spreads across her chest. "I guess you will," she says around a smile.
Later, while standing at the sink, Harry comments, "You're really easy to talk to," like he's surprised about it. He's drying the last of the dishes.
Ginny feels her eyebrows rise. "Are you just figuring this out now?"
"No. I just thought maybe you should - er - know?" he says, hands clutching the dishtowel.
"Well, then, thank you," Ginny says. Fleetingly, she feels a stab of guilt, as if she's somehow taking advantage of him, but Ginny pushes the feeling away. His glasses are crooked. Ginny smiles, stretches right up to him and straightens them, hands brushing against the cool skin of cheeks. He's holding his breath, and Ginny feels the room go warmer. Her chest tightens.
She pulls the towel out of his grip, puts it on the counter, looks up into his eyes. They're dark. He smiles down at her, tongue flicking out against his bottom lip for a moment.
Of course it feels natural to her, to lift up and press a kiss to his wet mouth. He tastes like chicken soup, and when Ginny goes to pull away, damp hands hold her in place, one touching the crown of her head, the other on the small of her back. Ginny goes to him willingly, pressing herself against him. He licks into her, tongue touching the roof her mouth, and it's swift, the way the heat rises inside her, leaves her panting and wanting more.
He breaks away first, eyes wide with surprise. "Ginny, what was that - "
Ginny tips on her toes, still crowded next to him. She's so close she can see the different flecks of green in his eyes, the blown pupils. "Shhh," she whispers. His hand rests on her back, heavy and warm. "Don't - don't talk," she says. He smells familiar, and he feels familiar, and Ginny shuts her eyes, leaning into him again.
His mouth opens above hers, wet and warm, and his tongue flicks inside, deep, sure. In no time at all he's got her pressed against the counter, hips pinning her against it. Half-bitten nails scratch at her scalp, making her shiver and her insides go liquid.
She pushes up his jumper, the t-shirt underneath it, and traces her fingers against his belly button, where she knows he's sensitive, feeling it jump beneath her fingers. It makes her feel powerful.
"God." His hips falter forward, and he breaks the kiss again to hang his head low between them, eyes shut and breathing strained.
"I - I want - " Harry stutters, and Ginny wonders, briefly, who he's been with in this reality, but she pushes the thought aside, bending up to nip at his stubbled chin, to run her tongue along the edge of jaw, pulling away salt and warmth. He makes a sound, needy, a little desperate.
"I know, Harry," Ginny soothes, slotting their mouths together again. His glasses press against her. And she's not playing fair, she knows, when she runs her hands up under his shirt, presses herself against him and bites into his mouth. But it feels good and she goes with it, pushing him back slightly, before taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.
He follows, willingly, and only stops once they're at her door. His eyes are wide, nervous, but dark and aroused. Ginny can see his cock, half-hard and pressed flat against his thigh. "Ginny, I don't think - "
"Shut it," Ginny whispers. She lays one hand on him, pressing against his dick, and his hips snap forward, his eyes drop shut. She touches her lips to his.
"D-damn," he stutters, and Ginny grins against his mouth. "Your brother..."
"Isn't here - "
"No, but he trusts me, and - " His hips are still straining towards her palm.
Ginny pulls back slightly, moving her hand away, and bites back a smile when Harry's lips automatically move into a pout. His eyes are glassy, heavy.
"Harry," Ginny says, moving into the room. Harry follows. "We're both consenting adults." She flicks on the lamp; it spills yellow light in a wide circle. The light catches on Harry's lips.
"I know, but - "
"Shut the door, Harry," Ginny commands gently, hands already moving to pull her jumper up and over her head.
Harry does as she asks, turns back around to look at her, and watches her.
"Ginny," he says, voice strained. She's still wearing her trousers, but her shirt is missing now. Briefly, she wishes she had planned for this, put on a pretty bra, or even lipstick, but his eyes are too aroused for the thought to stay long, and every place his gaze touches makes her burn. She knows she must be red.
"Harry, can you - can you touch me, please?" she begs, insides thrumming with anticipation.
He gives a jerky nod, closing the distance between them with two long steps. He kisses with more confidence this time, lips opening automatically and licking into her. One large, warm hand presses against her back, and the other cups a breast. The air rushes out of Ginny's lungs. "Oh," she says against his lips, pushing up into his hand. Fingers slip beneath the cotton, rub against a nipple, where it goes diamond tipped, hard, while everything else inside her goes soft.
A hand brackets her hip as he pushes her back against the bed. His weight is warm against her lower half, pressing her down, and she drags both his pullover and shirt up and over his head, as he lifts first one arm and then the other.
When he emerges, hair sticking up and glasses knocked off, he smiles at her, eyes going slightly unfocused. He keeps his chest lifted, weight held up by his arms. Ginny runs her nails along his back, watching his head dip forward again, the muscles in his neck straining.
Lips press against her collarbone, wet, and his tongue runs smoothly along her skin. Ginny's toes curl against her comforter. His mouth touches everywhere he can reach, warm breath tickling the sensitive spot behind her ear, dampening her white bra, making it go translucent.
Moonlight slants through her window; it makes his hair shine blue. This, Ginny thinks, struggling to get her bra off and still keep his lips connected to her flesh, this is what she's missed. His hands, pale and long, as they press against the well at the small of her back, and his mouth wet and smooth. She smiles when she finally unzips him, hand touching his hot flesh, and he doesn't bother biting back the groan or the yeah, yeah please that rumbles out his mouth.
When he slips his fingers into her, he gasps low, and she's so wet that his fingers move easily, though without much confidence. It's been so long since she's had this, had him near her, over her, and Ginny's whole body aches with greed, with want. She kicks off her trousers, guides his hand inside her, hips moving in steady circles as she leads him to her clit, watches the way his brow furrows in concentration and how he bites his lip.
"Ginny, you're so - "
"For you," Ginny tells him, as his eyes go dark and possessive. He moves his fingers, more surely this time, and Ginny's eyes shut. The room is unbearably warm. Harry slips lower, tongue flicking against her navel before he bites her inner thigh, and presses his tongue flat against her. Ginny writhes and squirms, contorting the slick comforter beneath her, whole body taut and thrumming with need. It threatens to tear her apart. "Harry," she whispers, his name caught somewhere low in her throat.
Then he stops, and Ginny can't quite control the whimper that forces its way out of her throat. Harry mouths his way back up her body, briefly bending to kiss a nipple, heat in his gaze. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks, his pupils blown wide and his shoulders tense. Ginny lifts her head, presses her lips to his.
"I'm sure," she promises. Opening her thighs wider, feeling his dick press hard against her, Ginny lifts her hips off the bed.
When he kisses her this time she can taste herself there, and when she licks into him he moans, low and deep. His face is indecipherable when he pulls back, whole body shaking. Heat sweeps across her shoulders, and lower, thrumming through her body.
When he pushes into her, Harry's mouth falls open on a silent groan. Ginny pants as his hips stutter forward. Her hands clutch at his naked, slippery back, and she leaves her eyes open, watching the tendons in his neck tighten as he bends his head.
It's jerky and imperfect, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Halfway through, his arms give out, and he lands with an oomph. Ginny laughs, cants her hips slightly, and presses him against her. Sweat beads across his forehead. She bites at his neck, and moves her hand back between their bodies, fingers rubbing her clit and hand knocking into him.
"God," Harry pants. "God. Ginny..." and his voice is surprised, low, almost panicky.
"It's okay," Ginny whispers. Her toes curl, hips faltering. "It's - Oh..." Ginny whimpers and bites down too hard when she comes, body shattering apart. She watches Harry's eyes slide shut on a groan, holds on, as his hips go jerky, and he buries his face against Ginny's neck, her name on his lips.
~
When it's over, Ginny laughs.
Harry grunts and sits up. His face is shiny with sweat. "Something funny about that?"
She looks at his scowling face, and laughs harder, shoulders shaking with it. "Oh, no," she tries to explain, nearly choking on her laughter. "It's not - it wasn't funny, I just. I'm just really relieved."
"You're so - you're not laughing at me?"
Ginny tugs on his hand, pulling him down beside her. Moonlight slants blue through the window, highlighting his collarbone. He smells like chicken soup and cologne, sweat. "No, Harry, I'm not laughing at you."
Harry squints at her. "You're just relieved? Can you hand me my glasses?"
Ginny bends over the side of the bed, rummaging around and saying, "Yes, relieved." She settles on her back. "Here."
"Relieved why?" With his glasses on, Harry's eyes focus fully on her. She smiles at him. Everything about this is comforting, familiar, even when it's not.
"Just - if you knew how long I've wanted this."
Harry smiles down at her. "How long? I mean, I certainly wouldn't have turned this down. Ginny, you are a pretty fit girl - "
"Well, thank you - "
"You're quite welcome." Harry grins. Ginny's lying naked on the bed, as Harry's hand traces smoothly along her ribs. "I mean, you're - well, I - all you had to do was say something."
"If only it were that easy."
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Ginny licks her lips. She watches Harry's eyes follow the movement. "You'll think I'm crazy," she tells him.
He looks at her. "So tell me anyway."
"Okay."
"Okay."
~
"An elf," Harry repeats.
Ginny nods. "Elfin Queen, actually." She's wearing his pullover, the sleeves cuffed back, and she sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, her back pressed against the headboard.
Sitting in front of her, Harry says, "And you were my girlfriend?"
"Yep."
"For how long?"
"Um, well, a little over two years, I guess, though you ditched me for awhile, but that was - well, it wasn't a real breakup, just -. " She stops. Harry's silent, just looking at her like he's trying to figure out a puzzle. "I told you," she says awkwardly to fill in the silence. "Crazy."
Finally, Harry says, "If you were my girlfriend, did we have sex?"
Ginny blinks at him. "Um, yes?"
"Whenever we wanted."
"Sure."
Harry's silent for a moment. Then he says, "Wow, I wish I remembered that."
Ginny's laugh is loud, quick. "You're such a bloke, Harry."
Harry's eyes shine, but he says to her, "I'm sorry you've had to go through that."
"So you believe me?" Ginny asks. Her toes are pressed against his calf.
He shrugs. "I don't not believe you."
"I guess it doesn't matter anyway. You won't remember this in the morning."
"So I was the most important person to you?"
"What?"
"You said that the elf told you she would take away the most important person. That was me?"
"I don't - I guess."
"Did you love me?"
Ginny meets his eyes. "I do - er, I did, or. Yes."
Harry's lips press together. He picks at a thread on the quilt thrown across her bed. Quietly, he murmurs, "Wow."
Ginny tucks her hands into the sleeves of his pullover and thinks, yeah. Wow.
~
Blinking her eyes open, the first think Ginny notices is the silence.
"Morning," says Harry. He's propped up on an elbow, studying her.
Ginny glares. "I hate it when you do that. It's creepy."
Harry smiles at her. "I know. I'm sorry. You just look so innocent; it's hard to believe."
"Ha ha," Ginny mumbles. "How would you like it if you woke up to find me staring at you?"
Harry shrugs. "Payback, I guess." His cheeks are cut through with pillow creases, lips red and molten. Ginny stares. Something about him looks different. Light streams though the window. Which means it's daytime, but Harry -
Ginny starts and lets out a squawk. "Harry, what are you doing here?"
Harry blinks at her. "Er, I don't - I spent the night, remember?"
"Spent the night?"
"Yes."
"Okay, what did we do last night?"
"Ginny, are you feeling - "
"What did we do?" Ginny interupts.
Looking at her like she's mad, Harry answers, "We stayed in. Made dinner and then went to bed."
"Went to bed," Ginny parrots. "So we shagged?"
"Well, yeah."
"What did we talk about?"
"I don't know. Quidditch, my Auror stuff, just normal stuff."
"No, after sex, what did we talk about?"
His eyes go squinty. "I don't - I don't remember, I guess nothing."
"Are you my boyfriend?"
A pause. "Aren't I usually?"
"No - I mean, yes, I mean - of course." Ginny's cheeks stretch in a smile. Warmth crowds her chest. "Of course you are, I just - "
"Are you feeling okay?" Harry asks again. His breath is sleep-sour against her cheek.
Ginny looks down. She's swadled in his green jumper, and the sunlight shining through the window is bright and clear. Ginny laughs, loud and strong. "I'm feeling great. Amazing, actually. What are your plans for the day?'
"I don't kn- "
"We should get up, and go wake Ron up, maybe. And then go to my parents, because I'm certain they'd love to see us, all of us, for breakfast, and then later, when Hermione comes home, maybe we could all go play Quidditch somewhere. How long has it been since you've played?"
Harry blinks slowly at her. "I don't think I've ever seen you so happy this early in the morning," he remarks. His hair is insane, and Ginny sighs, running her fingers through it.
"I'm just - it's a new day, yeah? Lots of happy possibilites. But you know what I want to do first?" Ginny leers at him, waggles her eyebrows. "First I want to make up for lost time."
Harry looks fondly at her. "You're kind of crazy," he says around a smile, pushing his head against her hand.
Ginny says, "I know I am," and she leans in for a kiss.
End
Author's Note, part the second: It's been brought to my attention
that the scene where Harry and Ginny discuss the dying light is very
similar to a scene from Chapter 43 of
After the End by Arabella and Zsyena, and while I adore that
story, any similarities were entirely unintentional.