By Vivica Dawn
Harry/Ginny - NC17
Thanks to Lauren for the beta!
It happens the summer before my seventh year. The summer before the blood spots the stone walls of Hogwarts like the freckles along her neck, and the summer before what little we all have left of our innocence is lost.
The weather is unusual for this time of year; raining, and slightly cooler than normal, but Ron is as restless as ever. It isn’t long before he abandons the quiet of the room we both share, preferring to join in the boisterous party downstairs, along with Fred and George who have returned home for a weekend visit.
But I am content to lie there peacefully. A quiet night is something I have come to appreciate over the years. I lay on the bed in Ron’s room for hours; listening to the various movements of the inhabitants downstairs, reading, and then watching the sun go down behind Mr. Weasley’s garage. I am perfectly still, thinking about what lay ahead of me the next year in school, about how many lives Voldemort will claim, and somberly coming to terms with the fact that one of them is likely to be my own.
So when Ginny comes fumbling into the dark room, she isn’t immediately aware of my presence. I watch her for a minute, listening to her hum a tune I have never heard before.
I can’t imagine what I look like when she finally does notice me lying there, but my gaze must be saying more than I am aware of because the expression on her face changes from shock to calm to something else altogether.
“I thought you would be downstairs, passed out next to Ron.”
I smile. “Passed out?”
“Fred and George supplied him with butterbeer.”
Then she stands there, looking at me in wonder, not uttering a single word as I take in every detail of her: her eyes, her mouth, her hands. She looks tired.
Ginny opens the top drawer of Ron’s dresser and pulls out a Quidditch t-shirt.
“Mum always thinks this shirt belongs to Ron. You would think she’d notice it’s about three sizes smaller than all of his others.”
She sits down on the other bed. “Why aren’t you celebrating with them?” she asks me.
“I’m not in the mood. Why aren’t you?”
“Same thing, I suppose.” We smile stupidly, laugh suddenly. In this awkward moment between friends, there is nothing much to say.
“I’m worried about next year. It seems like everyone else has changed so much, even you. You’re so much taller, but I’m exactly the same,” Ginny says finally.
I can feel the heat rise in my face, and I find myself gazing at her absently, my mind racing. My hands are cold with nerves, and there is a pleasant fluttering in my stomach.
“You’ve changed, Ginny, and you have nothing to worry about. You’ve grown to be quite lovely.”
“Thanks, Harry, “she says quickly, bunching the t-shirt up into a ball and standing.
“It’s true,” I reassure her.
Ginny smiles; this time her eyes are sparking and her face is flushed. She leans over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, and something inexpressible moves underneath of my skin.
She leaves, but I catch sight of her looking back at me from the mirror above the dresser before she closes the door.
It’s stopped raining the next day, so Ron and I decide to talk a walk through the woods behind the Burrow. There is a creek there, and it’s a perfect late afternoon for breathing in the cool air and talking about things we can’t seem to do unless we’re alone.
He tells me about Hermione when we’ve reached the muddy path. It doesn’t surprise me, but I admit I feel the loss. It’s another change, something else to adjust to.
“It just sort of happened, Harry. We’ve been meaning to tell you, but we didn’t want you to feel left out.”
“It’s great, Ron. I’m happy for you. I always thought it would eventually happen between the two of you.”
His face remains serious, but I can see the joy in his eyes. He deserves it, and so does Hermione.
We sit down on a big rock near the rushing water, looking up at the sun beginning to peek through the trees. We talk about Quidditch, about life, and about love.
By the time we get back to Ron’s room, night has fallen. I am exhausted, and Ron is too. I can hear the endless muffled voices of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley downstairs, and the sound of Fred and George moving around in the room they used to occupy when they were still living at home. Every person in that house seems to have their own rhythm, and I can sort them out by their footfalls.
“Harry, have you decided what you’ll do when we graduate?”
“Not yet,” I say, silently musing that I’d be happy to just be alive at that point.
Ron rolls his eyes.
“Hermione wants to join the Ministry. Can you believe that? After all the screw ups they’ve managed over the years.”
“Your father works there, and he’s pretty great.”
Ron laughs. “Yeah, he’s not bad. But look what happened to Percy.”
Percy is a ghost in the house now. Someone the Weasleys occasionally write to about important family matters, but rarely see in flesh and blood.
“Hermione is not like Percy, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I know you’re right. At least, I hope you’re right.”
We each climb into our beds, and Ron falls asleep quickly.
But I’m restless.
I toss and turn for an hour. There is a good deal on my mind that night, and I can’t seem to quiet my thoughts enough to lie still. I decide to get up and get a glass of milk, hoping that will help.
I’m standing by the fridge when I hear her footsteps descending the stairs.
Suddenly, strangely, I feel shy. I gulp down my glass of milk.
“Hey, Gin,” I say.
“I was coming down for the same thing,” she tells me. “You aren’t having nightmares, are you?”
“No, you’d have to actually be able to fall asleep for that to happen.”
Her eyes are sympathetic. She opens the fridge and pours herself a glass.
“I was awake thinking about school, mostly, “she confesses, “and writing an owl to Luna. But if you want help relaxing, I read in a book somewhere that you should focus on your favourite color, pretend it’s all around you, and it will help you get to sleep. It works for me, but not all of the time,” she said, “obviously.”
“I don’t think I really have a favourite color,” I say, “but thanks”.
We’re quiet for a few moments, and she avoids looking at me directly in the eyes until she finishes her drink.
She puts the glass in the sink, and comes towards me. I’m surprised when she kisses me on both cheeks, and even more surprised when she kisses me quickly, but fully, on my mouth.
My body shivers.
“Ginny…” I start to say, but she is walking away before I can speak.
“Good night, Harry,” she says, and then heads for the stairs.
I look down at my empty glass, and say nothing.
I’m lying in bed again, tired, but still unable to sleep when I hear the shower across from Ginny’s bedroom running. When it stops, I listen to the delicate movements of her toweling herself off. The sound of hair being brushed. Then the soft rustling of a robe being pulled on.
There is tension now, and guilt to go along with it. Listening to her, thinking about her in this way is both titillating and tormenting.
I can hear her footsteps across the carpet, so slowly that it seems they will take forever. Then the sound of her bedroom door being opened.
I sit up in bed and pull on my trousers. Ron is sound asleep and the house is quiet except for my hesitant steps. I put one foot after the other until I find myself standing in front of her room.
Ginny’s door is open. When she sees me standing there, she says nothing.
“I still couldn’t get to sleep,” I manage to say, hesitantly stepping inside.
Ginny stands and shuts the door behind her. Then she pulls me towards her, gently embraces me.
“Do you want to talk?” she says, but I don’t let her walk away this time.
There is a moment there where neither of us knows exactly what to do. I search her eyes for some clue, but they are oddly hazy.
So I kiss her.
A light moan. And I’m not certain who it’s coming from, because when Ginny begins to nibble gently on my tongue, the heat from her body pressed against mine floods me.
Then there is an ache in my lower body that reminds me that I need to pull away, to leave the room before something happens that Ginny isn’t ready for, that I’m not ready for.
I look into her slightly teary eyes and she knows what going through my mind. She smiles.
“Stop thinking,” she says.
“Yes you can.”
So many reasons to leave now assail my mind, but they go blank when she kisses me again.
Our lips only separate as we gasp for air and I am frustrated at my body’s betrayal of me. I close my eyes.
She pulls away and steps back, flicking off the small lamp on her desk. But I don’t let her go completely. I hold onto one of her hands, run my fingers up and down her arm and torso, and then pull her to me again.
We kiss fiercely this time.
Ginny unties the sash of her robe and shrugs out of it quickly, like from one of those tales sailors tell where the dolphin sheds its skin and becomes a woman. The light from the moon is making her body into a ghostly outline.
I lean down to kiss her neck and she moans. When I tense up, she swallows self consciously.
“Don’t you want this, Harry?”
“I don’t know.”
I stand still, because I’m not sure what else to do, and she presses herself against me again, her body warm against my bare chest. I feel her breath on my neck, her lips moving as she mouths an incantation with the word ‘protection’ into my skin. When her teeth find purchase onto my nipple, a frisson of energy shoots straight to my groin. She has plucked a string in me, the vibrations growing louder as I give in to her, as the sensation of her mouth on my skin streaking through my brain like a white hot light. She kisses her way up to my mouth again, and then whispers into my ear.
“Don’t you ever wonder about this, Harry? Don’t you want to know what it feels like?”
Her voice is soft and low. I hold still. Hold my breath before I let myself go, my whole body rigid but resisting nothing, my fingers moving up her stomach and over her chest, over the silky material of her nightgown, then sliding under it.
I feel shame heating up in my face, but she kisses me again, and I can’t help but touch her, circle her nipples with my thumbs.
She pulls away and sits down onto her bed. She is staring at me. I go to her, and it happens like it is happening to someone else, like I am watching some slow motion movie.
I sit beside her and my hands touch hers. My eyes gaze down at the smooth skin between her breasts. She looks up at me, her lips very close to mine again. Our mouths part slightly, then open, hungrily. Tongues tease, taste. She finger combs my hair and my hands move around to cup the back of her head, then trace down her neckline.
“What if someone hears us?” I murmur.
“We’ll be quiet,” she whispers.
“I’ve never done this before,” I confess.
“Neither have I.”
“Should we stop?”
She moves her hand to my thigh, and then over my erection. I close my eyes. Her hand is trembling, but she doesn’t stop, gliding the warm skin of her palm over me. And suddenly, I can feel my entire body from the inside, know it exactly, perfectly.
My erection presses against her thigh as I guide her down onto her back. I move my hands over her breasts, whisper her name as my mouth reaches her neck. I kiss her, searching her eyes again, but she closes them, baring more of her neck to me.
I take it, my fingers finding her hair again as I clasp my hungry mouth to her skin. Her hands dance across my chest, down my stomach, finding me even harder as she presses her hips against me. I move both of my hands to her face now, re-learning the features with my fingers as a blind man might. I want to know her.
She writhes beneath me.
“Please,“ she gasps, and when I move one hand downward, probing the soft, moist folds between her legs, she raises her buttocks to meet it. The longing sends a tremble through me when my finger penetrates her, dances along her clit. She cries out, muffling the sound against the skin of my shoulder.
Ginny opens herself up further as she tugs at the waist of my trousers. I press myself against her entrance. The desire to push into her is so strong, but I hold back.
I wait for her.
She sucks in her breath, her legs grow tense, and she arches up against me.
I plunge inside of her, groaning with the force of it. She wraps her legs around me, grimacing, and I feel the tension of her muscles. I wait again.
“Ginny?” I whisper, uncertain.
“Please, Harry. Don’t stop.”
I begin to move slowly, in and out of her, careful not to move too forcefully, until I can hear her breathing, tiny gasps of pleasure. Her hair is fanned across the pillow and I bury my face in it as I pump her, in and out, moaning with each gentle thrust.
I lift my head in time to see her come, and the expression on her face is so beautiful, so desperately unique that I know I will never see anything like it again. Her mouth is wide and her cheeks are flushed a deep, burning, beautiful, red. She says my name, over and over again, and I feel the hot orgasmic energy pounding through her body and rising up, pulling me into the warm river of sensation with her, until it overwhelms me.
When I explode, it is like a rebirth. I can immediately feel my body relax, and the tension draining from my muscles.
She presses the warm skin of her lips onto mine again, and there is a long, sweet silence, before she slowly eases out from under me. The clock on her wall says it is past midnight.
“Shh… we’ll talk tomorrow, Harry.”
We kiss again, and I get up. I don’t want to leave her, but I don’t want to risk what might happen if someone were to find me in her room. I shut the door behind me.
The house is still quiet, and Ron is still snoring.
I get back to the room and climb into my bed. The soft sounds from the insect choir amassed outside rock me, pull me in. I breathe gently, resting my head back onto the pillow, and letting the moon bathe me in its soft light.
I wonder if the colour from her cheeks has faded.
“Red,” I whisper before tiredness overtakes me and I drift into sleep, “red is my favourite.”