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Chapter Text

“There’s nothing more I can do.”

Adrian, General Manager of Hinxworth Manor, and Ginny’s brand new nemesis, looked down his imperiously pointed nose as he shut the reservation book on the desk between them with a definitive thud.

“There has to be something,” Ginny tried, eyes wide and pleading, trying to appeal to a better nature that less than half an hour in Adrian's company had already assured her he didn't have.

What was that saying about doing the same thing over and over again and hoping for a different result?

There was a significant chance she was descending into madness.

Still, she flashed Adrian her most winning smile, the one she usually reserved for hordes of ravenous press photographers. “I’m the groom's sister, you can’t just turn me away.”

Clearly, being named manager of Wizarding Britain’s most exclusive wedding venue — or so Ginny had been assured by Percy on multiple occasions, most of them against her will — had gone to Adrian’s already-large head; he pursed his lips in an expression that betrayed not even a flicker of sympathy. “The groom was given plenty of notice to book the rooms required for family and friends.”

“But I’m here as a surprise,” Ginny explained. Hopefully, Adrian’s general haughtiness didn’t come with an ability to detect she was stretching the truth to its absolute limits with that statement; her arrival was as much a surprise to her as it was to anyone else.

“Heartwarming,” Adrian replied drily. “In future, however, I suggest you plan your surprises with a little more forethought if you want a room for the night.”

He flicked his wand definitively, sending a pile of papers on the edges of the desk whizzing towards various pigeonholes behind him as though Ginny’s presence was keeping him from the very important task of filing.

Her hands clenched on the desk; employing every last bit of her swiftly eroding restraint, she swallowed the growl of frustration building in her throat.

She’d been standing at the receptionist's desk in the grandly decorated lobby for what felt like an eternity. Her high heels were starting to pinch; the ache that had taken up residence in her shoulder yesterday, following a monumentally disastrous run-in with a bludger, was starting to scream for more of the prescription-strength pain potion waiting in the overnight bag at her feet, and the explosive argument she'd escaped only moments before apparating here was still ringing in Ginny's head; all of which had left with her very little patience for Adrian's condescension.

“It doesn’t have to be a nice room,” she said, forcing as much sweetness into her tone as possible (which, admittedly, wasn’t much). “Really, it doesn't even need to be a room at all… I'll take one of your more spacious broom cupboards – I can conjure a bed if that –”

“Miss Weasley, we are a seven-shooting star-rated establishment,” Adrian said, clutching his chest over his golden name badge in a very dramatic display of shocked horror. “We would never allow a guest to sleep in a broom cupboard.”

“But I'm not a guest,” Ginny countered immediately. “You won't let me be a guest, so what's the harm?”

“The harm?” Adrian repeated incredulously. “What would people say if they found out I let a Quidditch sensation sleep in a broom cupboard?

“I'm hardly a sensation,” Ginny waved a hand to dismiss both the compliment and the uncomfortable knot in her stomach that now tightened every time she thought about work.

“You're the top goal scorer in the league.”

For now, she thought.

“I didn't take you as a Quidditch fan,” she said.

Adrian snorted derisively. “You don't have to be a Quidditch fan to know who Ginny Weasley is.”

Something told her Adrian found Ginny's infamy about as charming as she herself did; her notoriety certainly didn't appear to be swaying him towards finding her somewhere to sleep tonight.

Unless it would…

“You know,” Ginny said, lowering her voice conspiratorially and leaning across the desk. “If you give me a room, I'll be sure to mention the fabulous amenities and… wonderful customer service here in my next interview.”

The mere suggestion made her feel dirty, but desperate times called for desperate measures and this was the very definition of desperate times.

“That would be excellent,” Adrian said; Ginny's heart leapt in anticipation of a victory, she could already imagine the simple bliss of sinking down on a soft mattress, her head hitting a plump pillow, release from the torturous heels she'd stuffed her feet into and, hopefully, some loosening of the tightly wound ball of stress forming in the pit of her stomach– “But I don't have any rooms available.”

The slow smile that had been spreading across her face fell in an instant.

“Please!” She cried desperately, not even bothering to throw a glance around the lobby and see if anyone was around to witness her humiliation.

Adrian merely shook his head. “I'm sorry, Miss Weasley, but –”

“Ginny?”

Her back stiffened at the sound of her name.

“No,” she whispered under her breath, but her denial did nothing to bend reality to her will; a hand, warm and gentle, landed on her injured shoulder. Ginny swallowed her gasp of pain before it could escape.

“Ginny?” Ron said again, leaning against the desk beside her. “What are you doing here?”

Ginny forced her smile back onto her face as she turned to face her brother. Even with the extra height afforded by her shoes, she had to tilt her head to look up at him.

“Ron,” she said, willing an air of casual nonchalance into her voice. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see me?” Ron repeated, frowning in confusion as his eyes studied her face. “You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Ginny protested, a little too quickly judging by the disbelieving way Ron's eyebrows shot upwards. “I'm here for Percy's wedding, obviously.”

“A day early?”

“Well, I wouldn't want to miss out on an opportunity for family bonding, would I?”

Ron's obvious incredulity at the statement shouldn't have hurt; Ginny had been forced to sacrifice a lot for her career, time with her family being top of the many items on the casualty list. Still, his sceptical grimace stung more than the ache in her shoulder, intensified exponentially by the fact that she knew his doubt wasn’t entirely ill-placed.

“Seriously, what's wrong?” Ron persisted, giving her no chance to recover from the blow.

“Nothing,” Ginny tried again, but she could feel Adrian still staring at her from the opposite side of the desk and Ron's nose scrunched in a silent show of brotherly concern that only added to the weight of everything else that had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours, and before Ginny could do anything to stop it she could feel heat pricking at the back of her eyes.

“Ginny?” Ron prompted.

She blinked furiously. She absolutely was not going to cry in public, in front of her brother. In front of Adrian: her archenemy. He'd bloody love that, and Ginny simply wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

She cleared her throat and pasted her smile back onto her face with renewed determination.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said once more, narrowing her eyes in a way she knew would make Ron think twice about questioning her again. “Except I can’t get a room for the night. I suppose I’ll just have to apparate home after the rehearsal dinner and come back in the morning.”

It was a solid plan for anyone who had a home; a distinguished group that, as of an hour ago, Ginny couldn’t count herself as part of, but Ron didn’t need to know that.

“You don’t want to be messing around like that,” Ron said, already turning to face Adrian with a smile that actually looked genuine. “Come on mate, you must have one room available, surely? What would you do if the Minister of Magic walked in here right now, you wouldn’t turn him away, would you?”

“I wouldn’t have to,” Adrian replied, his stern glare still fixed on Ginny. “Minister Shacklebolt booked his room weeks ago, unlike some people.”

Her head fell to the desk in defeat. “Fine,” she mumbled dramatically into the solid wood. “You know, this is quite comfortable, maybe I’ll just sleep here.”

Adrian's gasp of horror at the suggestion was immediately drowned out by a much louder gasp behind them, one that Ginny recognised instantly. Her head snapped upwards, a forced smile returning to her face in preparation for the onslaught she knew was barrelling towards her.

“Mum,” she said, allowing herself to be swallowed by her mother's all-encompassing embrace.

The effect was instant; instinctively, Ginny’s eyes fluttered close and she allowed herself only the luxury of a moment’s relaxation before she stepped out of the comforting circle of her mother’s arms.

Predictably, Mum didn’t release her entirely.

“You’re early!” she cried, holding Ginny at arm's length and giving her a thorough once-over. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprising you!” Ginny declared without elaborating further on her reasons for doing so.

“She says she was desperate for some family bonding,” Ron added.

Mum’s eyes narrowed in a familiar look of suspicion. “But what about Quidditch?”

Ginny’s stomach flipped at the reminder of where she should be right now, but she worked to keep any hint of her discomfort off her face. “Some things are more important than Quidditch.”

Neither Ron nor her mother looked entirely convinced by that. Ginny couldn’t really blame them; it certainly wasn’t a sentiment she’d ever professed previously.

“To sane people,” Ron agreed. “Not to you.”

Lacking any defence, Ginny gave him nothing more than an eye roll in response.

“Your sister is not insane, Ron!” Mum snapped, though she was too busy giving Ginny another once over to shoot him her customary admonishing glare. “Although I have to tell you, darling, I think you might have your head up in the clouds a bit too often. There’s more to life than quaffles and broomsticks, you know?”

“Right,” Ginny agreed, forcing every retort she actually wanted to make back down deep inside. It would be wasted breath, she knew from experience.

If it was up to Molly Weasley, Ginny would’ve given up Quidditch after her first league win — ‘you’ve made your point, sweetheart‘ — and embarked upon a life of domestic bliss with a husband and a gaggle of grandchildren for her to add to her growing collection.

Ginny could well imagine her mother’s reaction if she knew how close she was to getting her wish — as far as Quidditch was concerned anyway.

‘Hopefully not career-ending,’ and ‘we’ll see,’ weren’t the words she’d wanted to hear from the team healer after her mishap with the bludger yesterday. And they’d played on a loop in Ginny’s mind since the stomach-dropping moment she’d heard them.

“…and where’s that boyfriend of yours?” Her mother, who hadn’t stopped talking for long enough for Ginny to answer the myriad of other questions that had been thrown at her in the last few seconds, asked now.

Typically, now that Ginny absolutely didn’t want to give a response, Mum paused to wait for one.

“I told you I wasn’t bringing a plus one, remember?” She replied evasively. “I even checked the box for solo on the invitation.”

And really that had been her first mistake. Or, as she quickly coming to realise, her salvation.

To say that Ben, her live-in boyfriend of three months, had not taken her refusal to introduce him to her family well would be an understatement.

She’d assumed, when he’d asked about it when she’d been filling out the RSVP, back before she’d agreed to move into his flat, that he’d appreciate her giving him the out.

Who actually wanted to meet their partner's family?

Ginny had been completely blissfully oblivious to the resentment that had been building since then; that was until it all blew up in her face as she was attempting to leave the aforementioned flat with her wedding finery earlier that afternoon.

She refused to think over the uglier parts of the fight that had ensued, though she suspected her brain would be much more willing to cooperate with her plan of ignorance if she had somewhere to sleep tonight other than the flat she’d already assured Ben he’d never see her in again.

“You’re going to have to introduce him to us eventually,” Mum continued, happily unaware of how untrue her words were.

“Maybe in a few months,” Ginny lied.

She was going to tell her family about the breakup, obviously, but it didn’t need to be right now, when all Ginny wanted was ten minutes alone to get her head straight. What she needed right now, was a change of subject.

“I’ll have plenty of opportunities — it’s not like this is the only happy event taking place this summer.” She gave Ron a meaningful look and took great pleasure in the way his ears still turned pink at any hint of his recently announced engagement. “Where is Hermione, anyway?”

“Oh, she’s upstairs, in our room.” Ron’s blush spread from his ears to cover the entirety of his face. “I told her I’d get us some champagne.”

Adrian, still hovering at the desk, apparently not that busy, cleared his throat importantly. “I shall arrange for a bottle to be delivered to your room immediately, Mr Weasley.”

With a solicitude Ginny hadn't come close to bringing forth in him, Adrian gave a little bow before hurrying from behind the desk, evidently to fulfil Ron's request personally.

“Oh sure, he’ll help you,” Ginny snapped, rounding on Ron as though Adrian's lack of aid to her cause was his fault.

“What can I say?” Ron shrugged with affected nonchalance. “I'm naturally charming.”

“And you couldn't use any of that charm to get me a room?”

“I tried, didn't I?”

“A room?” Mum repeated. “You don't have a room?”

“No,” Ginny sighed. “The Manor's booked to capacity – something about a wedding…”

“Well, you'll have to stay with me and your father,” Mum said.

Ginny made a sound halfway between a gasp and a choke; suddenly, homelessness didn't seem like such an unattractive proposition if the alternative was a night stuck in a tiny hotel room with both her parents.

“That's not necessary,” she disagreed as soon as she regained her breath. Some prospects were too humiliating to contemplate. “I'll figure something out – either a room will become available or I'll –”

Ron slammed a hand on the receptionist's desk, fortunately cutting off Ginny's sentence which she'd had no end to at any rate.

“Harry's room,” Ron supplied with a bafflingly satisfied expression.

The tiny spark of hope Ginny had felt flare within her at Ron's expression quickly dimmed. “Excuse me?”

“You can stay in Harry's room –” Ron held up a hand to silence Ginny's obvious protests before she could make them. Lucky, as she wasn't sure she’d be able to speak with her heart suddenly lodged in her throat. “ – he's not using it – I didn't think until you said about a room becoming available – He got called into work. I checked him in so he didn't lose the room, but he sent a message to say he’ll be here tomorrow for the wedding.”

Ginny's heart descended back into her chest, and then, inexplicably, seemed to sink into her stomach; not at Harry's absence, of course. That would be ridiculous. She rarely ever saw him anymore; she definitely wasn't emotionally invested in his whereabouts. Any crush she might've once harboured for him was long dead.

“He definitely won't be here?” she asked, eyeing the key Ron had just fished out of his pocket and was now holding out to her.

Ron snorted derisively. “That would require him leaving work at a reasonable hour – he's almost as bad as you.”

Beside Ginny, her mother tutted in disapproval. “Ron's right, you both work too much.”

“And yet, here I am,” Ginny muttered under her breath, still not quite able to fathom how exactly that had happened.

“Take the room,” Ron said, thrusting the key into her hand. “There's no point in wasting it.”

“I suppose not,” Ginny agreed, but something about taking Harry's room felt odd.

There had been a time, a lifetime ago, in her fifth year at Hogwarts, when Ginny had naively allowed herself to believe that an evidently growing attraction between them was leading somewhere.

In the few short weeks between breaking up with Dean and the eventful Quidditch final (that had seen Ginny catch the snitch but at the cost of a bludger to the head and neck which had landed her in the hospital wing for two infuriating weeks), she'd genuinely believed there was a future where she was something more to Harry than his best mate's little sister.

It had been nothing but childish fantasies, ones that had been cruelly snatched from her shortly after in the wake of Dumbledore's death.

Since then, Ginny could probably count on her fingers the number of conversations she'd had with Harry. He'd been on the run for a year; she'd been busy running the resistance at Hogwarts and then, just like that, it was all over and there was nothing but a grief so loud no one could hope to be heard over it.

Harry had joined the Aurors; Ginny had gone back to school, and then to Holyhead for the Harpies and their silly little teenage flirtation seemed exactly that: silly.

Privately, Ginny thought she should probably be glad circumstance had ended whatever had been building between them before it could begin. It would only have led to heartbreak, and she'd experienced enough of that for a lifetime already.

Still, something about spending the night in Harry's hotel room, even without Harry there, seemed a little too close to the universe's idea of cruel irony for her liking and the small gold key felt deceptively heavy in her hand as she reluctantly accepted it from Ron.

“I'll see you at dinner,” Ron announced as soon as he was unburdened of both the key and Ginny's predicament. “I told Hermione I'd be right back.”

“You should go and rest too,” Mum said, turning her attention fully on Ginny as Ron retreated across the lobby. “You look dead on your feet, dear.”

“That's just the shoes,” Ginny said with a weak attempt at a smile. Now that the urgent predicament of securing a bed for the night had been resolved, the weight of everything else was beginning to settle on her.

Mum fixed her with an unhappy expression. One that betrayed her disbelief; fortunately, she didn't press Ginny for further details. “Dinner’s not for a few more hours – go and take a nap.”

By nature, Ginny’s first instinct was to protest at being ordered to nap like a toddler, but her exhaustion won out. A rest did sound tempting, and she'd need a clear head to face a full Weasley interrogation at dinner.

She'd managed to get through her first interaction with her family without having to dissect the painful details of her injury – or the less painful but equally inconvenient specifics of her break up – she doubted she'd be as fortunate tonight.

Any argument she might have made was swiftly silenced at the prospect. Instead, she bent to kiss her mother on the cheek and stooped to gather her bag from the floor.

She took her first step towards the staircase but was quickly halted before she could take any further ones by her mother's hand, grasping gently at her wrist. Ginny turned her head back quizzically to find an expression so unexpectedly soft on her mother's face that it caused a painful pang in the vicinity of Ginny's chest.

“I'm so happy you could make it,” Mum said quietly. “It's so rare that I get all of you together – well, most of you.”

For the second time in less than half an hour, Ginny felt her throat grow tight with the kind of emotion she usually avoided at all costs. The fissure in her heart that would never fully heal, the crack that contained all the people that she'd lost, seemed to gape open. Accepting that words were out of her reach, she swallowed thickly and hoped her nod said what she was unable to.

“Get some rest,” Mum said again, releasing her wrist.

Ginny stumbled back a step before regaining her composure. Once, a wave of grief like that would've threatened to drown her; now, she was practised at letting it wash through her, stealing her breath only temporarily before she broke the surface again.

Her legs steadied as she crossed the lobby. As she took the first step up the grand staircase, her chest loosened. By the time she'd reached the second floor’s East Wing and navigated to the room number etched on the key's golden fob, her breathing had returned to its usual even state.

The door slammed shut definitively behind her. Ginny kicked off the torture devices masquerading as shoes as she leaned heavily against it and surveyed her room for the night.

Seven-shooting stars were a rare honour, bestowed on only the finest of establishments, and Ginny could see immediately that Hinxworth Manor had earned it.

The room was spacious enough that the frankly enormous four-poster bed didn't make the space feel cramped. A staggeringly large mirror in a gilt frame was affixed to the far wall, giving the impression of additional space despite the ostentatiously carved dressing table in front of it.

On the way past, Ginny popped her head into the bathroom, noting the claw-footed bathtub and the double sink's gleaming golden taps.

She let her bag fall to the floor at the foot of the bed, giving no thought to the two dresses she'd stuffed inside it on her way out of the door earlier. Doubtless, she’d spend the better part of an hour trying to charm the wrinkles out later, only for Mum to sigh at her shoddy domestic skills and surreptitiously fix them when she arrived in the dining room.

Wincing against the movement caused to her injured muscles, Ginny pulled her shirt over her head and let it land next to her bag. She didn't pause to dwell on the ache; instead, stooping to retrieve the bottle of vibrant purple potion awaiting at the very top before she flopped onto the cloud-soft mattress with a groan of relief.

The potion slid smoothly down her throat, assuring her that an easement from the ache in her shoulder would find her shortly.

Her other issues couldn't be resolved so easily. There was no potion to cure her increasing list of problems, the weight of which seemed to be sinking her deeper into the mattress.

Ginny let the potion bottle slip from her grasp as she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax.

Despite the simplicity of the task, her mind continued to whir, whizzing incessantly through the series of unfortunate events that had landed her here, in Harry Potter's bed of all places.

The injury seemed less significant as the pain potion began to spread a relieving warmth from her neck, through her shoulder, down her arm, all the way into her fingertips. The dire warnings she'd received from Healer Thompson, however, seemed heavier now that Ginny really had the opportunity to focus on them.

Relax. She was going to relax.

Restlessly, she shimmied her jeans off and kicked them to the floor beside her already abandoned shirt while she tried to dispel her anxiety.

In a way, the break-up with Ben served as a preferable distraction compared to contemplating the risk to her career. The parting words he'd thrown at her were not easily dismissed, despite the hyperbole of them.

She wasn't emotionally unavailable. She simply valued her independence; something that men seemed absolutely incapable of respecting. That was hardly Ginny's fault, and she suspected the accusation was only lingering because she'd had no time to recover from their tension-filled argument before her run-in with Adrian, who had done nothing to help ease her stress levels.

And she still had a formal dinner with her family to get through, during which she'd need to ensure none of them got even a hint of just how thoroughly her life had come apart at the seams.

Ginny’s whole body tensed at the prospect.

Stressed wasn’t a strong enough word. She needed to let off some steam. She needed a release.

Her fingers stroked lightly at the spot on her shoulder that was now radiating a warmth so perfectly soothing it could only be magical.

Usually, when she was this tightly wound she’d grab her broom and spend a good few hours flying, but she was grounded until further notice. Healer’s orders.

Her hand slipped downward, fingers tracing lightly over her collarbone.

She and Ben had managed a solid six months — longer than most of Ginny’s ill-fated relationships — but she’d had to take matters into her own hands often enough during that time.

Her palm slid slowly, gently over the curve of her breast. Her thumb brushed over the thin lace covering her nipple and she felt it harden beneath her touch.

A wave of warmth, wholly unrelated to the potion, surged through her, setting Ginny’s nerves alight with anticipation.

Her breath shallowed as her fingers continued her slow exploration of her body.

Already, she could feel the ache beginning to build between her legs, growing more urgent as Ginny’s other hand began to slowly drag up her bare thigh.

Everything else began to fade away. The tumultuous thoughts battling for attention in her mind quietened to a whisper.

She pulled the thin fabric covering her breast to the side, gasping sharply as her thumb began to softly circle the sensitive peak now bare to the cool air.

Ben had completely slipped from her mind now, the last vestiges of him smothered by the heady fog of desire that had settled in his place.

Ginny’s hand moved torturously slowly to her other breast, making no further move towards the growing ache at the centre of her thighs.

It wasn’t surprising that he would be the first of her problems to slip into oblivion; she and Ben might have officially called it quits today, but really their relationship had been over months ago. Ginny had resorted to seeking her own release with increasing frequency of late.

She already had a reliable collection of fantasies to keep her company in moments like this. It was none of her usual imaginary companions that stepped forward in her mind at that moment again.

A small gasp escaped her at the vision of a familiar face. Her fingers stilled momentarily where they’d just reached the hem of her underwear.

Stubbornly, she attempted to dispel the image of Harry, his expression set in the look of quiet concentration she’d seen so many times before, the one that had always sent a tiny thrill up Ginny’s spine and was even managing to do some from within her own mind.

The Harry in her head refused to be evicted. The secret smile he usually saved for her slid onto his face as Ginny’s fingers slipped beneath the hem of her underwear and met the hot flesh beneath.

She touched herself slowly, so lightly she could almost pretend it was his hand stroking her instead.

In reality, he’d never touched her, not in the way she’d once craved, but that was part of the thrill of imagining what it might be like.

Would he give her the same intense concentration he applied to so many other parts of his life?

Her fingers dipped lower; edging with a maddening lack of speed to the spot right at her centre that was crying out for attention.

She was intensely aware of everything — the long strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder to brush against her still-exposed breast, the softness of the sheets that were supposed to be Harry’s, and the slow drag of fingers that could, with a little bit of imagination, be his over her most sensitive parts.

A low moan escaped Ginny as she slowly circled her clit, applying just enough pressure to make her body crave more.

What would Harry do if he was here? Would he take her hard and fast, releasing years of built-up tension in one explosive moment?

Or would he take his time, like Ginny was doing now?

Maybe he would slowly swirl his fingers over her, pulling a sharp gasp from her lungs as pleasure spiked up her spine.

He’d give her that secret smile again then, green eyes smouldering with a promise of more.

Ginny’s hips bucked as another moan escaped her. Her free hand moved to her exposed breast, but it wasn’t her hand; it was Harry’s.

Harry’s thumb pinched her tender nipple while his other hand worked over her centre, circling the increasingly sensitive collection of nerves in progressively rapid strokes that made Ginny’s breath hitch in her throat.

His rhythm never faltered as he applied more pressure to the throbbing ache between her legs until heat was radiating from every one of her nerves and she felt as though she’d been set alight

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling her release begin to build in her core, ripples of pleasure undulating throughout her. Ginny’s toes curled into the mattress. Her back arched. Harry’s name tumbled loudly from her lips as a wave of pure ecstasy broke over her.

Usually, a crescendo like that would be followed by a slow, hazy comedown, her body and mind both sated enough to finally relax while the echoes of Ginny’s orgasm continued to undulate through her body.

Usually, a very real, very not imagined voice wouldn’t loudly say, “What the fuck,” before Ginny had even caught her breath.

Her eyes flew open, but she was temporarily blinded by the sudden flare of light someone had just switched on.

“Oh my god,” Ginny squeaked, yanking the covers up to her chest at the evidence of someone else in the room.

“No.” Her eyes adjusted in time to see Harry, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “Just me.”

Chapter Text

Harry was dreaming. Or he’d been knocked out again. Or he’d died and ascended straight to heaven, no cryptic conversation with a dead headmaster required the second time around apparently.

“Oh my god!” Ginny cried again, pulling the covers with her as she leapt off the bed and wheeled around to glare at him.

Well, he definitely wasn’t dreaming; in his dreams, Ginny never glared at him like she was currently doing. And, if he wasn’t already dead — which the awkwardness beginning to swell in the hotel room suggested he probably wasn’t — she looked like she might kill him herself.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, hands clutched into tight fists around the white sheet swaddled around her.

“What are you doing here?” Harry returned, his voice several octaves higher than he would've ideally liked. “I mean I know what you were doing but –”

Ginny's horrified groan ended his sentence before Harry himself could discover where it was going. An enticing red flush spread from her cheeks, down her neck and further, contrasting starkly with the white sheet in a way that was impossible to look away from.

Until she lunged. One arm reached for a bag that had been dropped at the foot of the bed. There was a look of steely determination present on her face that could only bode unwell for him.

A lifetime of near-death experiences and seven years of increasingly advanced Auror training saved him.

Despite the sluggish speed of Harry's mind – which, after the day he’d had, had already not been at its best, and was definitely not performing to its full potential now, owing in no small part to the fact it was still stuck on the heartstopping image that had greeted him when he'd walked through the door – his wand was in his hand in an instant, intention more than any hastily thought incantation had Ginny's wand soaring from her still-closing fingertips into his awaiting palm.

“Give that back,” she demanded, awkwardly returning to her feet and attempting to straighten her sheet with some modicum of dignity. “I have to obliviate you.”

Harry’s responding laughter was rough, humourless. “Believe me, there isn't a memory charm in the world strong enough to erase what I just saw.”

He already knew it was seared into his memory for eternity.

Every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his life, he'd be greeted by the wondrous sight of Ginny, splayed on the bed, bright red hair spilling across the pillow, back arched, one hand disappearing beneath the black lace of her underwear…

“Stop it!” Ginny hissed. “Stop thinking about it!”

Harry blinked, bringing her scowl back into focus; starkly replacing the image of her face, eyes closed, full lips parted. He could still hear the sighs escaping from those lips and –

Harry inhaled sharply as another, more specific memory assaulted him.

“You said my name,” the realisation tumbled from his lips before he could really process what it meant.

His blood turned to fire in his veins even as he watched all the colour drain from Ginny's face.

“What?” She breathed, visibly tensing.

“You said my name,” he repeated, more for his own benefit than hers. He'd heard it. He'd definitely heard her cry out his name just before he'd realised exactly what he'd walked in and stupidly interrupted it.

“No,” Ginny said quickly. Too quickly. She shook her head in vigorous denial. “No. I didn't. I was thinking of someone else.”

That was her defence?

“Another Harry?” He asked sceptically.

Ginny lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes.”

He could hardly contain his disbelieving snort. “How many Harrys do you know?”

And why was he arguing the point with her when there were more important things to discuss? Like why was she saying his name instead of that prat of a boyfriend’s he hadn’t yet had the displeasure of meeting? And how, exactly, had Harry come to walk in on the real-life enactment of one of his many teenage fantasies? And, most importantly, what did he have to do to bring about such circumstances again?

Ginny's arms folded over her chest. “What is this, an interrogation?”

“Dodging the question –” Harry hummed thoughtfully, finding nothing to complain about in the way Ginny squirmed under the weight of his gaze. “The first tell of a guilty conscience.”

“I’m not guilty of anything,” she disagreed, stooping to collect her shirt from the floor beside her bag. In one fluid movement, she slipped it over her head and let the bedcovers drop to the floor. “Whatever you think you saw, you didn’t.”

“You just said you were thinking of another Harry.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ginny replied shortly.

Harry just caught the way her blush deepened, turning brilliant crimson, before she turned her back on him and crouched to retrieve her jeans.

Just like that, the impossible happened; the image of Ginny he’d thought burned onto his brain, disappeared, replaced with a much younger version of her, turning a similar colour as her elbow sank accidentally into a butter dish.

His desire to argue the point vanished in an instant.

Which seemed to be just as well, judging by the way her eyes narrowed to little more than slits as she turned back to face him once more.

How did she make jeans and a simple button-down shirt look like an impenetrable suit of armour?

“Ron said you were at work,” she told him, her voice dripping with so much accusation that, for a moment, even Harry forgot she’d commandeered his hotel room, not the other way around. “Why aren’t you at work?”

Well, there went the hopes he’d harboured of avoiding picking at that particular thread.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively, already knowing Ginny wouldn’t be satisfied with that.

Sure enough, the words had barely left his mouth before a tiny, almost imperceptible crease appeared between her eyebrows.”What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Harry said shortly.

It was true, nothing was wrong. So his colleagues were idiots, and his boss was a stubborn prick, wasn't that just the way of the world?

Suddenly aware that he was still hovering by the door, and unwilling to stand underneath Ginny's demanding stare another moment, he took a tentative step into the room, sights set on the plush velvet armchair beneath the window. He needed to sit down. He needed a drink. He needed to purge the Auror department and start over. Again.

He’d start with the seat, he supposed as he began to edge around the room. Thankfully it was large enough to keep a safe distance from Ginny; he needed to maintain at least a five-foot radius between them while the image of her sprawled on his bed was still etched on the back of his eyelids, greeting him every time he blinked.

Even with his carefully maintained distance, Harry could still feel her as he passed. He’d long ago stopped trying to figure out exactly what it was about Ginny that drew him in, he’d simply accepted that he’d always feel some sort of pull towards her whenever they happened to be in the same room – which, fortunately for his sanity, wasn’t often – and he'd learned to ignore it.

Until now.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, turning slowly to follow his progress across the room. “Trouble in the Auror —“

“What's that?” A flash of bright purple, vibrant against the white bedsheet caught his eye as he fell into the chair.

He leaned forward but Ginny was lunging again, snatching the small object from the mattress before Harry had moved more than an inch.

“Nothing,” she said, stuffing it into her bag.

But it wasn't nothing at all. “That's pain potion,” he said, recognising it on sight. He was no stranger to the more potent members of the St Mungo's medicinal potion collection. “A really strong one.”

Ginny kicked her bag under the bed, firmly removing it, and its contents from sight. “Are we back to the interrogation now?”

Her question was pointed, but it barely penetrated Harry's consciousness, so busy was he putting together the things that he'd been too distracted – by his own bad mood, and then by possibly the most attention-diverting scene he'd ever laid eyes on – to notice when he'd first entered the room.

“You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow,” he said, studying her face for any hint of reaction. “You have training today and a match on Sunday.”

A tiny twitch at the corner of her eye betrayed her even as Ginny's mouth pressed firmly into a neutral line. “I'm sorry, do you have a copy of my schedule tucked away in those ridiculous robes?”

He couldn't argue with her assessment of his outfit, the official scarlet robes of the Auror department were ridiculous and Harry usually avoided wearing them unless it was absolutely necessary, which, as it turned out, it hadn't been today.

But he didn't want to think about the disaster that he'd had the misfortune of landing right in the middle of at the Ministry, and the way Ginny was currently looking at him, like his uniform wasn't actually that ridiculous at all, served as an effective distraction.

“Your mum mentioned it,” he said, forcing his mind to stay on track. One accidental encounter and a handful of charged looks weren't a good enough reason to throw away what felt like a lifetime of caution where Ginny was concerned. “She was disappointed you weren't going to be here for the rehearsal.”

He suspected there were only a handful of people in the world who would’ve caught Ginny's flinch. “Yeah well, professional contracts aren't known for their flexibility.”

“But you're here anyway?” Harry pressed.

“I got injured, alright?” Ginny's arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I don’t want to talk about it — and you obviously don’t want to talk about whatever’s got your wand in a knot, so why don’t we just agree to leave it alone?”

Harry hesitated before agreeing.

He definitely had no interest in discussing what had happened at work any further, but his curiosity over what had happened to Ginny would not be satisfied with a three word explanation.

She’d been injured plenty of times in her career. He’d had the displeasure of bearing witness to some of her more gruesome scrapes when he’d attended her matches with Ron, but one thing had always been certain; if Ginny could get back up, she would get back on her broom. Harry couldn’t help but feel uneasy about any injury that had actually taken her out of a match.

Still, pushing the subject didn't appear to be an option, judging by the stern expression Ginny was fixing him with. One that made her look eerily similar to her mother, but that was another subject he wasn't stupid enough to pursue at that moment.

“Alright,” he agreed finally, tossing her wand back onto the bed between them in a show of contrition.

“Good,” she said, her tone holding a ring of finality that didn’t welcome any further questions. “I suppose, now that you’re here, you’ll be wanting your room back?”

“That was my plan,” Harry nodded. “I take it they didn’t have any free ones, that’s why Ron gave you mine?”

“Is there a mystery you can’t solve?” Ginny asked dryly.

Harry swallowed the urge to laugh. “Ask my boss, he’ll give you a rundown of my greatest failings.”

“Well somebody has to keep you humble.” She sighed as she climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged on the mattress in a significantly less compelling position than the one she’d originally been in, but the smile she was directing at him was enough to keep Harry's pulse thrumming. “Otherwise all those Witch Weekly articles are going to go to your head.”

Despite his earlier bad mood, Harry was unable to stop himself from returning her smile. “I’d actually have to read them for that to happen.”

Ginny's eyes dropped to the bed, the corners of her mouth twitching downwards as one slender finger traced absent-minded patterns over the white sheet. “I can't guarantee you the front page for it, but do you think you could solve the mystery of where I'm going to sleep tonight?”

“Home isn't an option?” Harry asked, frowning. It was unlike her to ask for help, and her refusal to meet his eyes only confirmed that she didn't like doing it.

Ginny's finger halted its slow path across the mattress. “It would be, if I had one.”

Harry's frown deepened. A sense of foreboding crept over him at her admission.“Since when don't you have a home?”

“Since about two hours ago,” Ginny replied, eyes still fixed downwards. “I ruined another relationship. It's definitely not front-page news, I know.”

“You broke up with Ben?”

Harry's stupid, foolish, idiotic heart leapt upwards at the news. A ridiculous reaction. There were a dozen good reasons he and Ginny would never work out, and the sporadic list of boyfriends that had been lucky enough to be on her arm over the years had never been one of them. Her newly single status didn't change anything.

“He might’ve broken up with me,” Ginny mused, a small smile breaking back onto her face as she finally looked up, assuring Harry that his first instinct, that she didn't need his sympathies, had been the correct one. “It's hard to recall the details, at first there was a lot of yelling, but he became pretty quiet after the bat-bogeys swarmed on him.”

Harry’s wince was involuntary, he'd seen enough of her handiwork with a bat-bogey hex that he could almost conjure some sympathy for the poor bloke. Almost.

“Forget you heard that, actually,” Ginny said, her grin growing wider. “You look very official right now, I feel like you might arrest me for illegal use of curses.”

“You're safe,” Harry assured her, his smile stretching to meet hers. “I'm off duty, and bat-bogey hexes are a bit tame for my department.”

Ginny's eyebrows rose as her head tilted curiously. “Exactly what level of crime do I have to commit to get your attention?”

It was that easy. In a moment, her eyes met his, and no amount of carefully calculated distance could dim the effect she had on him.

The truth, that she didn't have to do anything more than simply exist to get his attention, was so palpable that Harry knew she could read it in his eyes, which she was still staring into, leaning forward into the silence that was now stretching between them, thickening with every heartbeat that passed.

How long had it been since they’d been alone together? Had they ever been really and truly alone together?

There’d always been someone else around; the Quidditch team at school. Her brothers at The Burrow –

The thought was like a bucket of ice-cold water poured directly down Harry's spine. A reminder of one – or more accurately, five – of the reasons this was a very bad idea.

He jumped from the chair, crossing the room to stand by the door again.

“Where are you going?” Ginny asked, her brow furrowed in confusion as she twisted on the bed.

“To see Ron,” Harry blurted, hand already reaching for the door handle. “He can sleep in here with me, and you can stay with Hermione.”

“What?” He could hear Ginny's footsteps on the carpet as Harry yanked the door open. “No, wait –”

But Harry didn't wait. He needed more air than one room could ever hope to hold where Ginny was concerned.

She followed him out into the corridor, still barefoot and practically jogging to keep up with Harry's determined stride.

“Ron doesn't know,” she said urgently. “About the break-up, that is – none of them do – I was really hoping not to announce my latest disasters until after the wedding was over.”

“Fine,” Harry agreed, turning the corner to the staircase. “I won't tell him.”

“He doesn't know about the injury either,” Ginny said, keeping in step with him as they ascended.

“Why does he think you're here?”

“I don't know,” Ginny’s shrug was oddly lopsided. “Dodging questions is a very necessary skill as a little sister, he must be used to me giving him no information by now.”

They reached the landing of the next floor up. Harry took a quick glance at the golden plaque affixed to the wall and followed the engraved arrow that directed him towards the room number Ron had given him earlier.

“And you think you're going to get through a whole weekend without telling them anything?”

Doors whizzed past them on either side in little more than a blur.

“I've managed for twenty-three years, what's two more days?”

Harry couldn't think of any argument he could make in the face of Ginny's absolute confidence. It wasn't any of his business anyway. And, more importantly, they‘d reached their destination.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Harry knocked urgently on the door to Ron and Hermione's room.

The wait for an answer stretched on for long seconds, more than enough time for someone to cross the length of one of the rooms three times.

“Maybe they're not in,” Ginny suggested.

Harry ignored her. He knocked again, his knuckles rapping impatiently on the smooth wood.

“One minute,” Ron's muffled voice called from the other side of the door.

“Hurry up,” Harry called back.

“You need to relax,” Ginny mumbled under her breath, apparently conveniently forgetting it was her that had worked him into his current overstrung state.

Finally, the door cracked open. Ron’s body filled the small gap he'd created, blocking any possibility of entrance.

“Harry?” he frowned. “What are you doing here? What happened with the raid, you were meant to be –”

“Don't worry about that,” Harry waved away the question. “It doesn't matter, but I'm here and not there, so Ginny needs somewhere to sleep.”

The crease remained in Ron's forehead. “Yeah, but there's no rooms.”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “So you and Ginny need to switch – she can share with Hermione and I'll share with you.”

“I'd rather share with Hermione,” Ron said dubiously. His eyes darted between Harry and Ginny like he was trying to decide which of them was his biggest inconvenience.

“I know,” Harry agreed through gritted teeth. “But I can't share with Ginny so –”

“Why?”

He replied to Ron's question with little more than a splutter, through which a garbled ‘what?’ was just about audible.

“Why can't you share with Ginny?” Ron repeated, shrugging in a manner that didn't in any way befit the enormity of his question.

“Because –” Harry floundered for a moment, searching for a reason that would be acceptable to give. “Because she's Ginny.”

“How charming,” Ginny muttered under her breath. Harry ignored her.

“I know she's got a special talent for being annoying,” Ron said sympathetically, stepping behind the door to dodge the kick Ginny aimed at his shin. “But you're both grown adults, I'm sure you'll be fine for one weekend.”

Fine? Ron thought that Harry could spend two nights locked in a hotel room with Ginny and it would just be fine?

“Don't you think it's inappropriate?” Harry tried desperately.

“Why would it be inappropriate?” Ron asked.

“Yes, Harry,” Ginny chimed in, arms folded expectantly over her chest. “Why would it be inappropriate?”

“You shared a tent with Hermione for months, didn't you?”

Harry examined Ron's face for any subtle signs of madness but found none. “That was completely different.”

“Mate, you sound like my mum,” Ron told him bluntly, ignoring Harry's very good point entirely. “Which is a definite sign you need to lighten up a bit.”

“You do seem very tense,” Ginny agreed, enjoying herself far too much considering if they didn't convince Ron to switch, her fate was homelessness.

“Try and loosen him up,” Ron said to her as though Harry wasn't even there. “He could use a weekend off.”

“I’ll try,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head as she looked up at Harry. “But he seems a bit too far gone to be helped.”

“I'm not beyond help,” Harry snapped, shooting a glare between them. “I don't need help – which is good because apparently, if I did, I wouldn't be getting it from either of you.”

“I'll help when there's an actual problem,” Ron assured him, taking a step backwards into the hotel room. “Right now though, my fiancee's waiting for me. See you both at dinner.”

The door slammed shut with Ron on the other side before Harry could protest any further.

“What was that?” He demanded of Ginny who was already spinning on her heel, her hair fanning out behind her as she took off down the corridor towards the stairs. “You realise you don't have anywhere to sleep tonight?”

“Oh Harry,” Ginny glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression a mingled look of amusement and pity. “We both know you're not going to leave me homeless for the night.”

“You can't stay with me.” Even to his own ears, Harry's voice lacked any hint of conviction.

“Why? You've got Ron's blessing, what's the problem?”

“The problem?” Harry repeated incredulously as they reached the stairs. “The problem is that you’re you.”

And no matter what Ron thought, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that he couldn't be trusted around Ginny in a confined space for a prolonged period of time… especially not in a hotel room with a conveniently sized bed… especially not before he’d had a chance to recover from what he’d seen earlier.

Oblivious to the direction his mind had once again taken, Ginny paused on the second stair, turning to look up at him, her face set like stone. “If you keep saying that, I'm going to get offended.”

Harry didn’t let himself be cowed by her fierce glare; his gaze remained locked with hers as he said, “You know what I mean.”

It wasn’t even a question in his mind that she knew.

That they’d both made an unspoken agreement to never acknowledge the tension that existed between them, didn’t mean they weren’t both aware of it; that they weren’t both aware of the other’s awareness.

Ginny’s gaze held his, sparks igniting in the depths of her eyes. “Explain it to me.”

Why was she doing this now?

Harry shook his head. His lips parted; he wasn’t sure if a refusal or something else, something much more dangerous was going to come out, the kind of something he wouldn’t be able to easily take back, but when Ginny was looking at him like that he wasn’t really sure he wanted to.

It was as though the universe had turned on its axis the moment Harry had entered the hotel room earlier. Every good reason he had for keeping his distance — Ron; Harry’s lack of anything resembling free time; that he couldn’t give her what she deserved — all seemed suddenly insignificant.

He wanted her, and the fire blazing back at him from Ginny’s eyes only stoked the one beginning to burn through him.

Without consciously deciding to, he dropped down a step, shortening the distance between them.

Ginny didn’t move an inch to make way for him. The only indication that she'd noticed his movement was the slight tilt of her chin as she inclined her head to keep her eyes locked with his and the subtle, but glaringly obvious to Harry, shallowing of her breath.

He couldn't blame her; the ancient manor, which had seemed bright and airy only a moment ago, was suddenly thick with tension. Harry was finding it difficult to breathe through it too.

Neither of them moved. Harry suspected Ginny was just as reluctant to break the fragile atmosphere that had built around them as he was. Whatever action either of them took next would –

“Well, what do we have here?”

Harry jumped at the sound of the familiar voice coming from the landing above. Ginny gasped, her heel slipped on the stair she was standing backwards on, and her hand shot to the bannister to hold herself steady.

“Ow!” her hiss of pain echoed off the old stone walls.

“Are you alright?” Three voices asked at once, one of them Harry's.

“I’m fine.” Ginny shrugged off the hand he held out to her, but no attempt at nonchalance could disguise the stiff way her right arm fell to her side.

Two sets of footsteps rushing down the stairs behind them stalled the dozens of questions gathered on the tip of Harry's tongue.

“You just startled me,” Ginny said, turning to face George and Angelina as they reached her and Harry on the increasingly crowded staircase.

“You should probably pay more attention to your surroundings then,” Angelina suggested, throwing an amused glance between Harry and Ginny.

“Yeah,” George agreed. “Aren't you both supposed to have finely honed senses?”

“Obviously they're losing their edge,” Angelina said, a smirk in her voice that Harry assumed was directed at George, though he couldn't say for sure given that his eyes were still glued to Ginny.

More specifically, the odd angle at which she was holding her arm against her chest. She'd slanted her body away in an attempt to conceal it, but her discomfort was impossible to miss and his mind flashed back to the bottle of pain potion he'd seen the room.

“Is that why you're here?” George asked, apparently more oblivious to Ginny's current condition than Harry was. “You're both supposed to be at work aren't you? Did your bosses finally get sick of you and kick you out?”

Harry's lips pressed together, unwilling to let on just how close to the truth George had struck in his case.

Not that Robards, his boss, had kicked him out exactly, but his refusal to fix the mistake on the paperwork that had seen Harry barred from this afternoon's raid had felt pointed, and his parting suggestion (after a solid half an hour of protest from Harry) that he should ‘get a life for a change’ had only reinforced the feeling.

“Do you feel like we're interrupting something?” Angelina mused loudly when neither Harry nor Ginny answered George's question.

Harry forced his eyes away from Ginny just in time to see George, already bedecked in his black velvet dress robes, nod. “I'm getting that distinct impression.”

“You're not interrupting anything,” Harry said shortly.

“Of course,” George said, his amusement clear in both his voice and his smile. “It's just your regular, not-important intense conversation on the staircase that neither of you are supposed to be on.”

“Sounds very plausible,” Angelina agreed, both of them now sharing annoyingly smug grins.

“I suppose we should leave them to the thing we're definitely not interrupting,” George said as though Harry and Ginny were no longer there.

“I suppose we should.” Angelina's bottom lip tucked momentarily between her teeth in an obvious attempt to withhold a laugh.

George's hand fell to her lower back, steering her further down the staircase. “We’ll see you both at dinner,” he said, his eyes flicking to Harry's robes before he turned to follow Angelina. “Harry, you might want to change, I know it's a wedding but you're a bit overdressed, mate.”

“Thanks,” Harry called drily after him. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“And Ginny,” Angelina added just as the pair of them took the turn in the staircase. “You should probably consider shoes.”

“And they wonder why I don’t tell them anything,” Ginny said, shaking her head after them as she leaned back against the bannister.

Harry's eyes shot to her arm. She’d managed to slowly lower it to her side in the time he'd been distracted by George, but her shoulder was still tense.

Knowing he was taking his life into his own hands by asking, Harry inclined his head towards it. “Are you alright?”

Ginny's gaze flicked to her arm and then back to his face. The charged heat that had resided in her eyes before the interruption had died down now, replaced by a weariness that left no room for the anger Harry had braced himself for.

“I’m fine, just one sudden movement too many.” She pushed off the bannister and began to move downwards once more. “My own fault, really – Healer Thompson wanted to strap me up but I promised I’d be careful. I thought the bandages might ruin my look for the wedding tomorrow.”

Harry caught up with her three steps down. “I don't know, you might've started a new trend. One-armed bridesmaid dresses could've been all over Witch Weekly by next week.”

“Just what I need,” Ginny agreed, throwing him a half smile as they reached the landing for their floor. “More press coverage – Although I'm sure I'm destined for plenty of that anyway, once it becomes common knowledge I'm off Sunday's match roster.”

“Maybe they'll blame the wedding,” Harry suggested with an audible lack of conviction.

Likewise, Ginny's nose wrinkled doubtfully. They both knew it was unlikely. The media didn't tend to choose the least dramatic explanation where wild speculation could be so easily found.

“Do you want me to arrange for all of the morning editions of The Prophet to be destroyed tomorrow?” He offered as they reached the door to his room – their room, apparently – and unlocked the door.

“Thanks,” Ginny laughed, stepping through the doorway. “But I don't think even your powers stretch that far, and Adrian’s head would probably explode if his guests weren't provided with a morning newspaper.”

Harry had no idea who Adrian was, but the distaste that dripped from Ginny's voice as she said his name made him simultaneously confident he didn't want to find out and more than a little willing to incur his wrath.

“Anyway, the Harpies’ press liaison is usually pretty good with things like this – I think she can buy me time to sneak out of here on Sunday morning before anyone finds out.”

“Sneak out to where?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

“Luna’s,” Ginny answered easily. She’d gone straight to her bag upon entering her room and was now busy rummaging through it. “Her portkey from Indonesia arrives this evening. She’ll be here in the morning, so I can stay in her room tomorrow night and go home with her Sunday morning.”

Harry ignored the absurd pang of disappointment that resonated within him upon learning she wouldn’t be sharing his room tomorrow night.

It was good news, he told himself sternly. He didn’t even want her here tonight. He couldn’t want her here tonight.

Sidestepping the random articles of clothing Ginny had discarded from her bag, Harry followed her into the room.

She stood at the same moment he attempted to pass her, brushing against him as she did. Automatically, his hand moved to her waist, ensuring the momentum of his movement didn’t knock her off balance.

Even through her shirt, Ginny’s warmth radiated to Harry’s palm, soaking through his skin and spreading into his bloodstream. Fighting against every instinct, Harry dropped his hand as though the pleasant heat had scolded him.

“Sorry.” Ginny took a quick step backwards, the backs of her knees hitting the mattress which threatened to topple her. “I’ll be more careful.”

Despite Harry’s earlier self-admonishments, he suffered another pang of disappointment that she’d apparently decided to stop fighting him as she had on the stairs.

Still, even with Ginny’s full cooperation, he suspected the room wasn’t big enough to avoid further awkward mishaps throughout the course of their forced stay together.

“I’m going to…” awkwardly, he jerked his thumb towards the far side of the room with no real plan in mind once he reached it.

Ginny nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll be in the bathroom,” she said, taking a large step towards the door that separated the bathroom from the rest of the suite. “A soak will probably be good for my shoulder.”

“Good,” Harry nodded, trying very hard to ignore the vision that her words had summoned in his mind. He didn't need to think about Ginny in the bath, separated from him by what suddenly appeared to be a very insignificant door.

“Yep,” Ginny agreed. She took another step backwards, lingering on the threshold. “You didn’t need anything in here before I…”

“No.” Harry waved her away. “You go. I’ll stay here.”

And do what?

“Okay,” Ginny flashed him a small smile, the amusement glinting in her eyes suggested she was wondering the same thing.

Another beat passed before she disappeared into the bathroom and the door clicked shut behind her.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

This was exactly what he needed. Some time and distance to get his head straight; to forget what he’d seen earlier and figure out how he was going to get through what was sure to be the most difficult night of his life.

He didn’t know how he was going to do it yet, but he swore to himself he’d figure it out before Ginny re-entered the room.

All the progress Harry had made towards sanity (which, admittedly, wasn't much) vanished the instant Ginny stepped back through the bathroom door forty-five minutes later.

She emerged in a cloud of floral-scented steam giving the impression she really was appearing directly out of one of his dreams. Her jeans and button-down shirt had been replaced by a sleeveless light blue dress — the exact colour of the sky on a morning with perfect Quidditch conditions — that moulded perfectly to her curves before dropping at her waist in a loose, flowing skirt. She'd left her hair down, letting it cascade over her bare shoulders all the way down to her perfectly defined waist.

Harry wasn't sure if it was the sight of her or the thick fragrance of her shampoo in the air that was making it so difficult to breathe.

He was sure, however, a moment later, when she turned, that the vision presented to him of the bare curve of her spine was responsible for the sudden stutter his heart had developed.

“Can you help?” Ginny asked, pulling the long tendrils of her hair over her shoulder to reveal more of her uncovered back. “My shoulder isn't being very cooperative with reaching the buttons.”

Steeling himself, Harry moved slowly toward her. “You couldn't use your wand?”

“It’s over there,” Ginny said absently, waving in the direction of her bag, or rather where her bag had been before Harry had moved it while she'd been gone. “I don't like to do it with magic – I always miss a button, or my spell is too powerful and one pops off and then I can just hear Mum tutting in my head.”

Harry hoped she didn't hear the tremor in his laugh but there was nothing he could do to cover it as he took another careful step towards her, his hands similarly shaking as he reached for the pearlescent button at the base of Ginny's spine.

He'd woken up this morning prepared to raid a suspected hideout of former Death Eaters. He was in no way equipped for the stunning turn of events that saw him here, alone in a hotel room with Ginny, his fingertips scant inches from stroking the inviting freckled skin of her back.

“I think the steam got most of the wrinkles out though,” she continued as Harry concentrated on slipping the button through the awaiting gap in the fabric. “So she won't have to be confronted with my woeful domestic skills tonight.”

His throat too constricted to form anything resembling words, Harry responded with an indistinguishable grunt.

Two more buttons slipped into place, cinching Ginny's waist tighter in the dress. She straightened instinctively, shortening the arms-length Harry had been careful to keep between them.

He was barely breathing now but the heady scent of her shampoo was all around him, filling his nose, seeping into the dark corners of his mind and smothering his inhibitions until his fingers hovered exactly halfway up the long column of buttons and he couldn't remember why he was doing this anymore.

Much like it had been on the stairs, it was hard to remember so many important things when Ginny was this close.

Important things such as why Harry shouldn't forget the buttons altogether; why he shouldn't give in to his overwhelming curiosity and let the pad of his thumb stroke up the remainder of her exposed spine just to see how she'd react.

Would she make the same noises he'd heard earlier? The breathy moans that had haunted him while she'd been in the bath.

That would probably take a bit more effort on his part, but he was more than willing to try.

It wouldn't really be any work at all to let his hands fall to her waist, to pull her back until the distance between them didn't exist any more. Ginny's half-covered back moulded against his front.

Her head would tilt instinctively – she'd always been one step ahead – allowing him access to the alluringly delicate curve of her neck. His lips gently caressing over the spot where her pulse beat might just be enough to get her to say his name in the way she'd done earlier, the way he was desperate to hear her say it again –

“Harry?”

Ginny's actual voice, holding a great deal more confusion than the arousal he'd heard in his mind, jolted him back to reality.

His fingers were (fortunately) still hovering over the button he'd been about to fasten; his hands hadn't followed the same direction as his disobedient brain. He swiftly set about finishing the job he'd started.

“We're going to be late for dinner,” Ginny said, her smile audible in her voice. “And I'm going to use you as a human shield in the face of Mum and Percy's wrath if that happens.”

Harry laughed weakly. Three buttons to go. “And here I was thinking you'd protect me.”

Ginny shook her head, holding her hair out of his way as she did. “What's wrong? Didn't all that Auror training prepare you to face Molly Weasley?”

“No,” Harry answered honestly as he slipped the final button into place. “I've seen your Mum when she's angry – I don't want to get on the wrong side of that.”

Ginny turned as Harry's now-unoccupied hands fell to his sides. “You'd better not tell her where I'm sleeping tonight then.”

Despite the amusement still shining in Ginny's eyes, Harry's widened as the implication of her words settled upon him. Molly Weasley was going to kill him, and she didn't even know the sordid details of his imagination.

“You look terrified,” Ginny said through a laugh. “She's not going to be mad at you – she adores you. She’s probably going to give me a lecture about my flighty, irresponsible ways inconveniencing her beloved Harry.”

“You're not inconveniencing me.”

Torturing him, maybe.

Ginny shrugged her uninjured shoulder. “That's how she'll see it.”

The silky fabric of her dress clung to her legs as she crossed the room and slipped her feet into a pair of high-heeled shoes.

“Well, it's not true.”

He didn't really know why he was pressing the point. He'd already made it clear these arrangements weren't his preference, but he disliked the idea of Ginny thinking of herself as an inconvenience, especially to him.

“It is inconvenient, Harry.” Ginny fixed him with a stare that didn't invite disagreement. “For a multitude of reasons I don't actually need you to explain to me.”

She broke her gaze from his, retrieving her wand from her overnight bag and slipping it into a cleverly concealed pocket in her dress.

Harry swallowed the questions that had risen to the tip of his tongue. He knew his reasons, but a stupid part of him couldn't help but wonder at hers.

It wasn't the first time in the intervening years since the war that he felt compelled to ask her, but it was the first time they'd had enough privacy to really consider doing so.

What good could come of it?

Whatever Ginny's reasons were for never pushing, never pursuing, the attraction between them, she’d had enough time to think about them and had obviously decided they held merit.

“Come on,” she said, blissfully unaware of the battle raging within Harry. She was already striding towards the door and away from the one opportunity they'd ever had to broach the turbulent topic. “Dinner awaits.”

Chapter Text

They weren't late, but they were last to arrive at dinner.

A long table had been elaborately laid out on the hotel's terrace around which all of the Weasleys – and a much smaller collection of dark-haired witches and wizards that Harry assumed were Audrey's family – were already gathered.

“There you are!” Molly said, leaping from her seat as Harry followed Ginny through the glass doors and into the fresh evening air.

It was still early in the year for outdoor dining, spring had only just started to creep upon them, but some well placed heating charms provided an unseasonable warmth and the combination of a long row of candles across the crisp white tablecloth and an assortment of lit lanterns hanging from the trellis above them provided enough light to combat the deepening twilight.

“Ginny, you're over there — between George and Charlie.” Molly pointed authoritatively to an empty chair halfway down the table, right in the middle of the sea of redheads. Her star-spangled hat shimmered in the dimness as she turned her attention to Harry. “And Harry, dear, you're beside –”

“Me!” a small voice cried. “Harry, you're sitting next to me!”

A flash of bright blue became visible over the heads of the rest of the table as Teddy stood on his chair, waving his arms to catch Harry's attention. Beside him, Andromeda tugged on his elbow, directing him to retake his seat.

“Looks like you've got the better dinner companion,” Ginny whispered.

“I don't know –” Harry returned her smile. “– yours probably won't steal your dessert.”

Her eyebrows rose in mock disbelief. “Have you met my brothers?”

“Yeah – which is why I know you’ll be the one taking their dessert.”

Ginny's quiet laughter was drowned out by Molly's waspish voice. “Will you both sit – the food will be here any moment!”

With a final shared grin, the two of them separated. Ginny headed down one side of the table to the seat between George and Charlie. Harry went in the other direction, sidling down the opposite side of the table.

Both Arthur and Percy nodded in greeting as Harry passed them. Ron looked away from Hermione just long enough to wave at him, before glueing his eyes back to her.

Finally, Harry reached the seat Teddy had designated him beside Andromeda. A buzz of chatter rose around the table as people returned to their conversations, swiftly forgetting Harry and Ginny's late interruption.

Something in his chest loosened as Harry settled into his seat. She was only across the table, two seats further up, hardly out of his sight, but distance from Ginny was exactly what he needed to catch his breath.

“Wine?” Andromeda asked, holding up an already open bottle.

Harry nodded, tearing his eyes away from Ginny, who was already deep in conversation with Charlie, and resolving not to look her way for the rest of the meal.

“I'm having pumpkin juice,” Teddy added, reliably commanding Harry’s attention.

This day had gone remarkably off track, but he was determined to set it right now.

With this in mind, he reached over and fondly ruffled Teddy’s hair. “Well, that’s equally sophisticated,”

“Vic spilled some on her dress.” Teddy's attempt at a whisper wasn't quiet, and Victoire, who was occupying the seat on Teddy's other side, whipped her head around to frown admonishingly at him.

“Hold still,” Fleur commanded her daughter. She was frowning at the bright orange stain on Vic's pink dress, performing some complicated gestures with her wand in what appeared to be a futile attempt to remove it. “I'm putting an impervious charm on your flower girl dress tomorrow.”

“It won't help,” Bill chuckled from Fleur's other side. “She has a talent for getting into trouble.”

Fleur's lips pursed together; her pale eyes flicked between her daughter and her husband. “It is because she is a Weasley.”

“It's because she's six,” Andromeda said, laughing lightly. “I give it ten minutes before Teddy's covered in something.”

“I'm not six,” Teddy protested. His hair turned slowly from blue to purple.

“No,” Harry agreed, his tone suggesting he understood the very significant difference between the ages of six and seven years old. “But you also have a talent for trouble.”

More accurately, his Godson had a propensity for clumsiness that rivalled his late mother's, but Harry always made a concerted effort not to label it as such, committed to avoiding any wording Teddy might perceive as a criticism.

“And I wonder where he learned that,” Andromeda said, her tone taking a lot of the sting out of the accusatory expression she aimed at Harry.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” He picked up his wine, raising it innocently to his lips and taking a small sip. “I'm an excellent influence.”

At least, he tried to be.

Most of Harry's time outside of work was spent with Teddy, attempting to live up to the responsibility Remus and Tonks had left him. Not that it felt like a responsibility, Teddy was a wonderful child and being part of his life was just as much to Harry’s benefit as it was Teddy's.

“At least you're here,” Andromeda said approvingly. “I half-suspected I was going to have to drag you out of the office for the wedding.”

He didn't doubt she would've done it. Andromeda's insistence that he worked too much wasn't new, but it had been growing more persistent recently.

Fortunately, Harry was saved from trying to find an answer that would satisfy her by the arrival of a troupe of waiters, each of whom was dressed in identical white robes and levitating an assortment of plates before them.

The low murmur of voices around the table ceased for a moment while plates floated to their intended recipients and glasses were efficiently refilled.

As quickly as the waiters had appeared, they vanished once more leaving only a table groaning under the weight of a generous helping food as evidence they’d been there at all.

Ignoring his own food for the moment, Harry turned in his seat, prepared to help Teddy first. His wince, upon seeing the brimming bowl of tomato soup that had been placed in front of his Godson was unavoidable.

“Exactly why I didn’t bother with dress robes for him,” Andromeda muttered, shaking her head, but smiling fondly at Teddy's precarious attempt to spoon a mouthful of soup from the bowl to his mouth.

It wasn’t that Teddy was incapable of engaging his fine motor skills, it was simply that he was curious and, by extension, very easily distracted.

Just the sound of Andromeda’s voice caused him to look up; the spoon wobbled and a bright red puddle quickly formed in his lap, a few splatters flying with impressive accuracy to land on the white cuffs of Harry’s dress robes.

Perhaps he should’ve stayed in his Auror robes after all.

“What?” Teddy said, oblivious to the soup congealing on his t-shirt.

“Pardon,” Andromeda corrected while Harry surreptitiously removed his wand from his robes and vanished the worst of the mess from Teddy. “I said you should focus on your food and not what everyone around you is doing.”

Teddy frowned momentarily at the instruction before returning his attention to the bowl in front of him with a hefty sigh that forced Harry to smother his smile.

He turned to his own soup, a much paler leek and potato for the adults it seemed. His spoon had barely dipped into the awaiting liquid when a sound from across the table caught his attention.

He looked up in time to see Ginny’s head thrown back in laughter at something George had just said to her.The light from the lanterns overhead caught in her hair, causing the red to shimmer in hues of copper and gold.

Disobediently, Harry’s mind flashed back to the moment earlier today when her head had been thrown back against the pillows of his bed for an entirely different reason.

He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat; his grip tightened on his spoon —

Andromeda’s throat cleared pointedly beside him. “Perhaps you should be paying better attention to your food too.”

Harry’s eyes dropped instantly from Ginny’s face to his bowl, where they remained until every last trace of his soup was gone and the waiters had removed it once again.

He managed to keep his gaze from wandering to her during the small interlude between the starters and the main course by encouraging Teddy’s non-stop, incredibly detailed description of the walk he, Andromeda and Vic had taken around the Manor’s grounds that afternoon.

But such a distraction could only last so long; it was ended abruptly by another round of plates from the waiters. At which point, Teddy became a great deal more interested in his chicken nuggets than their conversation and Harry had no choice but to risk looking forward once more.

His risotto was fine, he supposed, but no amount of garnish was going to distract from the animated sway of Ginny’s hair across the table, moving vibrantly while she entertained those around with what he knew — though he couldn’t hear it — was a spot on impression of someone.

“So,” Andromeda said as the opposite side of the table broke into a round of laughter and Ginny allowed herself a bite of her dinner. “What happened to the raid?”

Harry’s eyes flashed quickly to Teddy, but he and Vic were too preoccupied squirting tomato sauce onto one another’s plates until their respective meals were drowning in a scarlet ocean to pay any attention to the boring conversations the adults surrounding them were holding.

Harry shrugged, his eyes stubbornly bypassing Ginny as he turned them back to Andromeda. “There was a mistake with the paperwork.”

Technically the inner-workings of the Auror Department were highly classified, and Andromeda, a civilian, should have no intelligence of where Harry was supposed to be this evening, but it had been her one condition to letting Harry into Teddy’s life.

He hadn’t really known what to expect when he’d apparated onto her doorstep a few short weeks after Voldemort’s final defeat.

If he’d been honest, he hadn’t thought that far at all, he’d been at a loose end, every day had seemed to stretch on endlessly, sleep rarely found him, and he’d needed something — anything — useful to do.

Without really planning it, he’d found himself apparating to the neat little house he’d taken refuge in the night he’d left the Dursley’s.

‘I won’t let him be blindsided,’ Andromeda had told him, arms folded in the doorway, before she’d even asked Harry why he’d arrived unexpectedly in the middle of that day. ‘I won’t put either of us through that again.’

She’d turned on her heel, reeling off a dozen other rules and expectations she had if Harry wanted any involvement with Teddy as she led him into the house.

Harry had agreed to them all without argument, finding Andromeda’s stern, no-nonsense approach to him infinitely preferable to the way most of the Wizarding population had fawned over him since the final battle.

In the intervening years since that fateful day, he’d never had a reason to deny Andromeda’s requests for information. Harry’s trust didn’t typically come easily, but if there was one person on Earth with as much reason to despise the remaining Death Eaters as him, it was the woman beside him.

“A mistake?” Andromeda questioned now, frowning at him over her fork. “What kind of mistake?”

Harry sighed heavily; just because he didn’t begrudge her the information, didn’t mean he wanted to discuss it right now.

“The trainee who filled out the authorisation request forgot to name me.”

Which had seemed like an extremely minor error when Harry had been informed of it ten minutes before the agreed apparition time. So he hadn't been named on the paperwork; he was a fully qualified Auror, he had all the clearance required to attend a routine raid. What did a minor paperwork mishap matter?

Quite a lot it had turned out.

“Robards wouldn't let you go,” Andromeda said.

It was more of a statement than a question but Harry nodded anyway. “I don't think he wanted to miss the chance to throw Kingsley's enhanced regulations back in my face.”

Officially, the stringent regulations that the various departments of the Ministry operated under after the war – the ones designed to ensure oversight and accountability that had been sorely lacking before – had been introduced during Kingsley's first term as Minister of Magic, but it was no secret that Harry was a strong supporter, a fact that hadn't earned him any fondness from most of the legacy Aurors, chief among them his boss.

Andromeda tutted in distaste. “Well, I suppose he's right – you can't only support the rules when they serve you.”

“I can only support them when they make sense,” Harry muttered.

He'd been gathering the evidence required to get this raid authorised for months.

The years immediately following the war had been fast-paced, it felt like they'd rounded up another Death Eater, or one of their associates every week.

Then the trails had started to go cold. Information began to dry up. The handful of Death Eaters still on the run were considered as good as gone by many, but Harry couldn't let it go that easily. He wouldn't let them go that easily.

Which was why he’d needed to be there today. He'd finally gotten the go-ahead to search the Cairns’ – a prominent Pureblood family whose dark reputation had never been formally linked to Voldemort – Estate and he'd been barred from doing so because the useless trainee had messed up the paperwork.

“At least you get to be here,” Andromeda said, giving him a warm smile. “Teddy was ecstatic when he found out – I’m trying not to take offence at how quickly he moved away from me to make room for you.”

Harry glanced at Teddy as he took another mouthful or risotto. He was still too occupied with Vic to spare a glance in Harry's direction.

“I suspect it's because he knows he’s more likely to con you out of your dessert,” she said.

Harry grinned. “I said the same thing to Ginny.”

“Oh, did you?” Andromeda hummed thoughtfully. “Would that be when you arrived with her?”

“I didn't arrive with her,” Harry lied, disliking the knowing look Andromeda was directing at him. “We just happened to arrive at the same time.”

The knowing smile remained annoyingly in place. “Convenient.”

In lieu of a response, Harry let his fork clatter loudly to his empty plate; the noise barely penetrated the low thrum of conversation circulating the table, but it did capture Teddy's sporadic attention.

“I’m finished,” he declared, eyes glued suspiciously resolutely to Harry and not Andromeda.

Harry pressed his lips together in a necessary effort to conceal his smile. “You haven't touched your vegetables.”

“I'll have one mouthful of peas,” Teddy offered graciously.

Thus began an intense round of negotiations that Harry suspected he would’ve given up on after Teddy pretended to drop a spoonful of sweetcorn on the terrace's stone floor if not for the heavy weight of Andromeda's eyes burning a hole into the side of his face.

Much to Harry's relief, their stalemate ended when the waiters appeared again, tasked with clearing away the plates, including the one bearing Teddy's now-cold vegetables.

Dessert passed without any further discord. Andromeda did not even pretend to disapprove when Harry surrendered his chocolate gateau to Teddy’s pleading face after only indulging in three bites for himself.

By the time the waiters came to remove the plates again, night had fallen fully; winking stars were visible through the gaps in the trellis overhead and the candle flames flickered in the evening breeze, casting long shadows over the table.

The champagne glass in front of Harry, ignored until now, magically filled itself as the waiters disappeared again and Percy stood from his seat at the very centre of the table.

“Hello everyone, as you're probably aware, I'm the groom.” There was no hint of humour in Percy's tone that suggested he understood a formal introduction probably wasn't necessary in the presence of no one but close family and friends.

Unbidden, Harry's eye found Ginny's across the table; she tilted her wineglass in his direction before lifting it to her lips to hide her smile.

“Of course, I'll be saving my full speech for the main event tomorrow, but Audrey and I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you all for being with us this weekend.”

His hand fell tenderly onto Audrey's shoulder where she sat beside him.

Usually, Harry was used to seeing her at the Ministry during business hours, where she was typically hunched behind a stack of parchment with her chestnut hair pulled back in a severe bun. Tonight, she looked transformed with her long, dark hair left to fall around her face, and a smile that Harry had only ever seen her wear in Percy's presence.

“It goes without saying that we're both exceptionally grateful to be able to spend this evening with those of you gathered around this table. In fact, there was a time, not particularly long ago when we both believed such a thing to be an impossibility.

“Pamela, David –” Percy inclined his head at a dark-haired woman and a bald man sitting opposite who could only be Audrey's parents. “– Audrey won't mind me saying how grateful she is to have both of you here, not just today, but everyday.”

A single tear ran down Audrey's cheek, mirrored on her mother's.

Harry lowered his eyes to the tablecloth for a moment, choosing to ignore the way Andromeda's knuckles tightened around the edge of the table; she, of course, knew Audrey's struggle only too well. While Andromeda had been separated from her husband, Ted, those long months of the war, Audrey, doubly unlucky as the daughter of two muggleborns, had been disconnected from both her mother and her father.

“You could take Teddy outside,” Harry whispered quietly to an increasingly-pale Andromeda while Audrey stood and added a few words directly to her parents that Harry privately felt he had no business hearing.

Andromeda shook her head subtly in refusal. “He has to know. It’s always going to come up – we can't shield him from it forever.”

At any rate, Teddy wasn't listening. Prepared, Fleur had conjured some parchment and inks the moment the speech had started and set Vic and Teddy to the distracting task of drawing.

Reluctantly, Harry returned his gaze to the centre of the table just in time to see Audrey retake her seat and Percy run a hand reassuringly through her hair.

“Audrey had no choice in her separation from her family,” he said, his eyes steadily on Arthur behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “I, however, did.”

Harry's stomach twisted uncomfortably. The silence around the table seemed to thicken; these were things that were typically left undiscussed. The kind of things where no words could ever capture the truths that remained unspoken.

“I had a myriad of choices,” Percy continued, eyes travelling down the long row of Weasleys surrounding the table. “And I made the wrong one every time.”

Silent tears flowed down Molly’s face. Ron’s knuckles were stark white where he gripped Hermione’s hand on the tabletop. George was staring off into the distance, pupil’s wide against the night’s gathering darkness.

Percy cleared his throat against an audible swell of emotion. “I’m exceedingly lucky to have all of you here with me. I’ve tried every day to be the son and brother I should have been back then, and you have all given me the grace to try, which is more than I could ever have asked for.”

A flicker of movement caught Harry’s attention; Charlie swung his arm around the back of Ginny’s chair. She, however, hardly seemed to notice.

Like George, Ginny had picked a spot on the trellis past Percy’s shoulder and was now staring at it as though it held the secret to every question she’d ever been hesitant to ask.

One of her fingers ran absently up and down the stem of her wine glass and Harry found himself mesmerised by the fluid motion.

Vaguely, he was aware of Percy’s continued oration.

“…several people around this table who not just we, but every member of our society owe a debt of gratitude to. I would be remiss not to acknowledge their sacrifices.”

Harry kept his gaze trained on Ginny, willing himself not to squirm under the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes swivelling to stare at him.

Moments like this one had been commonplace immediately following Voldemort’s defeat. Everyone and anyone wanted to thank Harry, to shake his hand, to congratulate him on a job well done.

Fortunately, such occurrences had diminished steadily in the intervening years. Now, Harry typically only had to bear up under the weight of such scrutiny once or twice a year, at dedicated occasions, which he spent a great deal of time preparing himself for.

He had not prepared himself for Percy to place a spotlight on him tonight.

Situations like this were exactly why, given the choice, he'd rather be interrogating suspected dark wizards right then.

Was it paranoia or was one of Audrey's bridesmaids peering curiously at him from the far end of the table? Harry might’ve found out if he’d been willing to pull his gaze away from Ginny.

Unfortunately, she chose that minute to look away from the trellis, her eyes meeting his. A smile crept onto her face as she mimed cursing herself in the head with her wand.

instinctively, a matching smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He was still vaguely aware of the eyes upon him, and of Percy’s droning voice, and Molly’s sniffles from further up the table but they all seemed to be of much less pressing concern now that Ginny’s gaze was locked firmly onto Harry’s.

Some time must have passed while he was lost in the rich depths of Ginny's eyes – though he couldn't begin to guess how much – distantly, he heard his name being mentioned, then Percy's voice ceased speaking and there was a flurry of movement as everyone gathered around the table lifted their champagne flutes in the toast.

Reluctantly, Harry dragged his eyes back to the table in front of him, managing to lift his glass only half a second after the rest of the guests. He felt Andromeda's piercing gaze on him as he lowered the champagne flute and drained it. The bubbles faded too quickly to be a useful distraction.

“What?” He asked, avoiding looking in Andromeda's direction.

“Nothing.” Her voice was heavy with a sorrowful wistfulness that forced Harry to look at her. “I was just remembering how lovely it was to have someone to share secret looks across the table with.”

“It's not like that,” he said quickly. Too quickly, judging my doubtful grin Andromeda directed at him. “She’s my friend.”

Or, at least, she had been once, before life had typically gotten in the way.

Andromeda's lips pressed together, giving the distinct impression she was restraining herself from saying something Harry wouldn't want to hear, a fact that never usually stopped her from speaking any opinion that came to her mind.

Finally, she released a heavy sigh, and pushed her chair back from the table. “Teddy, come on, it's bedtime.”

Teddy, who had been whispering seriously to Victoire, looked up sharply. “Five more minutes?”

“No,” Andromeda said sternly. “We have to be up early tomorrow, and I don't want you to be grumpy all day.”

“But Vic isn't–”

“Vic is going to bed too,” Fleur announced, already scooping Victoire out of her seat. “Flower girls need their beauty sleep.”

Sensing that he was fighting a losing battle, Teddy changed tactice. Wide blue eyes turned on Harry, blinking up at him pleadingly. “Will you read me a bedtime story?”

Harry opened his mouth, prepared to agree to the request at once, but Andromeda spoke before he could.

“Harry's off-duty tonight, Teddy.” Her tone left no invitation to argue. “Auror and Godfather duty.”

Teddy's lower lip wobbled precariously. Harry once again prepared himself to speak, to reassure Andromeda that he could take half an hour out of his night to read a bedtime story, a pastime which would, at any rate, be preferable to subjecting himself to the curious attention of the blonde bridesmaid who was still staring at Harry from the far end of the table.

Fleur, however, had other ideas. “Teddy, why don't you come and have a story with Vic?” She looked up at Andromeda, speaking over the cries of delight Teddy and Vic were both giving in response to her suggestion. “Bill can carry him back to your room when he inevitably falls asleep.”

“Very well,” Andromeda agreed, reaching out a hand for Teddy to take. “I'll walk you up there and summon your pyjamas. Then I'm going to bed – much like flower girls, Grandmas need their beauty sleep.”

No longer hesitant, Teddy hopped from his chair and slipped his hand into his grandmother's awaiting one. He paused in front of Harry’s chair, and Harry leant forward to kiss the top of his head. “Goodnight, mate.”

“Goodnight,” Teddy replied, already set on his path to follow Fleur and Vic.

Andromeda, however, did not move immediately, instead she stood imperiously above Harry and fixed him with a shrewd stare that was much more aligned with her typical demeanour. “All I'm going to say is that you're allowed to be happy sometimes. You're here, living and breathing, and this is supposed to be a celebration. Try and enjoy yourself for once.”

She didn't wait for a response; Harry wasn't sure what he might have said to such a declaration even if she had. He stared after her and Teddy, feeling slightly dumbfounded, as they walked around the terrace and disappeared through the glass doors into the Manor.

He did enjoy himself. Sometimes. When he wasn’t working, or making sure Teddy never felt too much of a lack from the things he’d lost.

It was hardly Harry’s fault that his work was never quite done. Or that he was personally acquainted with the void he was trying to fill for Teddy and he knew just how vacuous it was.

Harry was still sitting stupefied when Andromeda's recently-unoccupied chair was suddenly filled once more, this time by the unknown woman Harry had noticed staring at him during Percy's speech.

“Hi,” she said confidently, extending a hand in Harry's direction. “I'm Cassandra Crane – one of Audrey's bridesmaids.”

“Harry Potter,” Harry replied, taking her hand and briefly shaking in the name of politeness. Though she was objectively pretty, there was a determined gleam in Cassandra's blue eyes that made him reluctant to be anything more than courteous.

Andromeda had told him to enjoy himself, but he knew he wouldn’t find any enjoyment down this particular avenue.

“No introduction is necessary, of course.” She allowed Harry to release her hand but let it fall to the back of his chair, providing support as she leaned in towards him. “I recognised you as soon as you walked in. You're even more handsome than your Witch Weekly pictures.”

Silently, Harry thanked whatever mechanism had magically refilled his wine glass since he'd last drained it. He lifted it from the table, taking a large sip.

“Well, their photographers usually catch me off guard… I'm not very photo-ready.”

Cassandra's laughter was in no way proportionate to Harry's weak attempt at humour. It rang loudly through the night air, causing those nearest to them to turn and stare. A few feet up the table, Ron was watching with a look of silent amusement; Harry widened his eyes, sending a silent distress signal he hoped Ron would pick up on.

“Well, even without any preparation, you look good,” Cassandra said, lifting her hand letting her fingers trail down Harry's bicep.

Unthinkingly, his gaze moved from Ron, searching the assortment of redheads surrounding the table for one in particular, but Ginny was nowhere to be seen. Harry's heart sank, though he couldn't explain it even to himself, it felt as though his chance of rescue had disappeared with her.

“Audrey said you wouldn't be here tonight. She said you were working… I think it's so brave that you're still chasing dark wizards after everything.”

Harry hummed neutrally. “Most of the time, I'm just doing paperwork.”

Cassandra laughed again. “You don't have to be so humble. Percy was right in his speech, we all owe you our appreciation.”

As subtly as he could manage, Harry slid his chair a few inches away. “Well, Voldemort was trying to kill me so my motivations were quite selfish, when you think about it.”

As he'd expected her to, Cassandra drew a sharp intake of breath at the sound of Voldemort's name. Her hand stilled its slow exploration of Harry's arm.

A very welcome voice broke the silence that had swelled between the two of them.“That's what I've been saying all along.” His smile bloomed without his permission as Ginny appeared in the small gap between his and Cassandra's chairs. “There's no such thing as a selfless act.”

Ginny returned his smile with a wink, placing a bottle of firewhiskey on the table in front of him. “Sorry to intrude, but you looked like you could use something stronger than wine.”

“There's a wedding tomorrow,” Cassandra reminded them, eyeing the bottle doubtfully. “We need to be the best versions of ourselves.”

Ginny's eyes found Harry's. The corners of her lips twitched, making it obvious she was trying to suppress another smile. “I’ve never been the best version of myself, have you?”

“Never on purpose,” Harry agreed, looking away to keep his own expression in check.

Ginny withdrew her wand and conjured two squat whiskey tumblers before filling both of them with generous measures from the bottle.

“Well, I'll leave you both to it,” Cassandra declared, rising from the chair with a dignified huff. “Harry, it was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Harry returned, out of a sense of politeness rather than any true sentiment.

Her heels clicked against the terrace's stone floor as she stalked away. Harry spared her less than a final glance before turning his attention fully to Ginny, who was falling into the seat Cassandra had just vacated.

“Cheers,” she said, holding up her glass.

Harry clinked his against the rim. “Cheers.”

They both threw their heads back, draining their glasses in one swift swallow. Harry took a moment, allowing the familiar burn of the firewhiskey to dispel some of the chill that had settled into his bones with Percy's speech.

He placed his glass on the table. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“I had no choice.” Ginny leant forward, avoiding his eye while she topped both of their glasses back up with more firewhiskey. “I thought she might be threatening my bed for the night.”

“There was definitely no threat of that.”

The assurance spilled from Harry’s mouth before he could stop it. The mere mention of the hotel bed had brought to mind the scene he'd witnessed when he'd walked into the room earlier, a memory that was never far from the surface of his mind now. The idea of another woman being there after he'd seen that was so unsatisfying, he'd rather not contemplate it.

Ginny pushed the glass back towards him. “Drink up. I don't think the best version of me can get through this whole weekend.”

Dutifully, Harry drained his glass again. “So which version are you planning to be?”

Ginny swallowed her own measure of firewhiskey before answering. “We'll have to see, but I'm placing my money on whichever version gets me into the most trouble.”

Harry flicked his wand at the bottle, wordlessly charming it to refill their glasses each time they were emptied. “Getting into trouble with you doesn't sound like the worst way to spend a weekend.”

Ginny's fingers flexed around her glass, but her gaze remained steadily fixed on Harry. Her eyes shone, reflecting the candlelight, and the liquor in her glass, the exact same shade as her irises. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“Why? Are you going to make it come true?”

The faint pink blush that bloomed on Ginny's cheeks left no doubt that she'd caught the charged edge to Harry's tone. An edge that he would usually deem completely out of bounds where she was concerned, but the firewhiskey was blazing through his veins and they’d already crossed so many boundaries today that another seemed inconsequential at this point.

Of course, when it came to Ginny nothing was ever inconsequential.

The look she gave him over the top of her whiskey glass smouldered with heated promise. “I guess you’ll have to see where the night takes us.”

Chapter Text

By the time the lights illuminating the terrace began to dim, the bottle of firewhiskey had been drained and a new one had joined it; Harry’s chair had slowly shuffled so close to Ginny’s that there was barely an inch separating them, and their heads were bent together, their laughter mingling in the night air.

“Oi!” Ron’s loud yell penetrated the buzzing fog that had settled over Harry’s brain. “What’s so funny over there?”

Harry looked up, his eyes flicking to Ron before returning to Ginny. She was grinning back at him, and the moment their eyes met, they fell back into a renewed round of loud laughter that Harry couldn’t even remember the cause of.

Ron shook his head, turning back to Hermione with an exasperated expression. She shrugged and took another sedate sip from the glass of sparkling water in her hand.

“Another?” Ginny asked, already reaching for the bottle beside her.

Harry’s charm to refill their glasses had ended when they’d replaced the bottle, and the alcohol had placed a serious dent in his non-verbal spell-casting abilities.

He was already nodding his agreement when a sensible voice very deep in the back of his brain raised an excellent question he couldn’t ignore.

“Should you?” He asked, his eyes wandering to her bare shoulder and becoming momentarily stuck on the light dusting of freckles there. “The pain potion you’re taking is—“

“A secret.” Ginny nudged his leg with her foot beneath the table.

“Strong,” Harry countered, fighting valiantly to ignore the jolt in his stomach as her foot ran up the length of his calf.

“It’s fine.” Ginny waved the hand of her uninjured arm unconcernedly in the air. Her foot continued to stroke up and down Harry’s leg, so slowly he could almost convince himself she didn’t realise she was doing it. “I haven’t had any since this afternoon. The alcohol is doing an excellent job of numbing the pain.”

An amused snort escaped him. “Physical or emotional?”

“Physical.” Ginny grinned, her eyes momentarily flicked to Percy, who was sitting between Audrey and Molly at the top of the table, deep in conversation. “It’s going to take more than firewhiskey to dull my emotional pain after that speech.”

Harry shrugged, taking another sip from his glass. He had stopped shooting whole measures several glasses ago. “It's doing the trick for me.”

But he knew it wasn’t the firewhiskey, not really. It was Ginny; her proximity, her warmth, that was dispelling the cold chill of the ghosts that would usually haunt him after a speech like Percy’s earlier one had made.

Ginny leaned closer, so that the small gap between them was all but eradicated. “And here I was, thinking I was going to have to resort to more extreme measures to comfort you.”

She must have heard his sharp intake of breath; with so little distance between them, it was impossible not to. Ginny pulled away slightly, and the knowing smile on her face confirmed it.

The expression, however, lasted for only the briefest of moments before it was replaced by a rather more haughty countenance that looked entirely out of place on her usually relaxed face.

“Come now, Harry,” she said, in a voice that was eerily close to Percy’s unwittingly pompous tone. “Don’t you know this is a celebratory occasion? It would be utterly unthinkable to make it through the whole evening without bringing up your most traumatic memories. What kind of uncouth revelry do you think we’re trying to encourage at this party?”

Her impression had become increasingly less accurate as it went on, owing in no small part to the renewed bout of laughter they’d both fallen into.

It was hard to believe that a few short hours ago, Harry had arrived at the hotel irritated and on edge. Now, with Ginny leaning against his side, her forehead resting on his shoulder as her laughter faded and she regained her breath, everything that had happened at work seemed like a bad dream.

Like, for just a few short hours, he’d stepped into someone else’s life. One where his stress had been replaced with a lighter, dizzying tension that came from having her close.

Some of that earlier agitation returned in short order when the shimmering bubble of privacy that seemed to have enveloped the pair of them was burst once again by an intrusive voice, this one belonging to George.

Harry had not noticed him approaching, too wrapped up in Ginny and the musical sound of her laughter, to pay attention to trivial things like their surroundings, but his complacency had evidently been a mistake. George was hovering over them, his hands braced on the back of both of their chairs.

“What do we have here?” His eyes sparked with mischief as they bounced between Harry and Ginny.

Angelina appeared at his shoulder. “Two drunk fools by my estimate.”

“We're not fools,” Harry argued, sharing an indignant look with Ginny.

She lifted her half-empty glass, contemplating the amber liquid within it. “We're not drunk either, just tipsy.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. Tipsy was the perfect word to describe the pleasant buzz fizzing in his veins.

“Well, I'd ease up, if I were you,” Angelina advised. “You're not going to want a hangover tomorrow.”

George shook his head. “You're not going to want to incur Mum's wrath tomorrow.”

“Don't worry.” Ginny's voice held no hint of concern. One of her hands slid from the table, her slender fingers curled around Harry's forearm. “We're going to be the best versions of ourselves tomorrow, aren't we?”

He found himself nodding in agreement, matching her conspiratorial smirk with one of his own regardless of the fact that the mere act of her touching him made him want to throw caution to the wind and be the most reckless version of himself.

“Merlin, you're even drunker than I thought.” George turned his eyes skyward in a show of exasperation.

Angelina released a humourless laugh. “They're even blinder than I thought.”

“You know, I think that's our cue to leave.” Ginny's fingers tightened on Harry's arm, pulling him with her as she stood. With her other hand, she waved her wand, vanishing the bottle of firewhiskey and their glasses.

“Where are you going?” George demanded, his eyes narrowed on the spot where Ginny's hand clutched Harry's arm.

“Somewhere less crowded,” Ginny replied, still tugging Harry along with her. “Somewhere with fewer sickeningly happy couples.”

George snorted, shaking his head as he turned to Angelina. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the cauldron black?”

Harry remained silent, feeling that his safest course of action was to draw as little attention to himself as possible until they'd left the presence of Ginny's abundance of brothers.

“Goodnight,” George called pointedly, putting a definitive end to Harry's plan as he and Ginny moved around the table towards the exit. A dozen heads whipped around to look at them.

“Are you both leaving?” Molly asked.

“Yes,” Ginny didn't pause their path towards the door. “Wouldn't want to stay up too late.” Her eyes fell on Cassandra, who was sitting with two women Harry guessed were also Audrey's bridesmaids. “We need to be the best versions of ourselves tomorrow.”

“What a refreshing attitude, Ginny,” Percy said approvingly.

Certain he would not be able to contain his expression if he looked at Ginny, Harry averted his gaze, trusting her to guide him out of the terrace. Unfortunately, his eyes landed on Ron. He was watching them intently, his face devoid of any readable emotion, but the sight of him caused a twinge of guilt in the region of Harry's stomach.

There was no time for the feeling to settle or grow; Ginny was still moving, pulling Harry along with her as she passed through the glass doors and back into the Manor's ostentatious interior.

Ginny set an impressively swift pace, given the amount of whiskey they'd both consumed. In no time at all, they'd traversed two corridors and crossed the brightly lit lobby. She released Harry's arm in order to waggle her fingers in a taunting wave at the severe-faced manager manning the reception desk.

“Friend of yours?” Harry asked while the manager shot Ginny a disapproving glare.

“Yeah, can’t you tell by the sour grimace on his face?” She tapped her finger thoughtfully on her chin as she turned to face Harry. “That’s how you know someone likes you, right? Or is that where I’ve been going wrong all this time?”

“You’re asking the wrong person for advice with that one… I’m — how did Witch Weekly put it?— ‘too tragically traumatised to recognise an opportunity for meaningful connection.’”

Harry had been forced to endure over a week of pity-filled stares from everyone, from his fellow Aurors to the sweet elderly witch who served tea in the Ministry canteen, after that delightfully intrusive article had made the press.

Ginny, however, did not look at him with anything resembling pity. Her head fell back in laughter, possibly too loud for the quiet surroundings of the lobby, but Harry didn’t care. He could listen to her laugh like that, so unrestrained, for the rest of the night and consider it time well spent.

That said, he found nothing to complain about in the way her eyes returned to his as her laughter died away. She took a step towards him, forcing him to tilt his head to keep his gaze locked with hers.

“Well, apparently I’m emotionally unavailable, so you’re in good company.”

“You’re not—“ Harry began, failing to see how anyone with eyes could find Ginny’s emotions, so easy to read in every movement of her body, unavailable to them.

“I think I'm growing on him, anyway,” Ginny said, before Harry could begin to articulate his feelings on the matter. With her heels on, she was just tall enough to shoot a wink over Harry’s shoulder at the still-glowering manager. “By the end of the weekend, I reckon I'll have worn him down.”

“Well, he's only human.” Harry's tone remained light, but there was no joke in his next words. “And you're not easy to resist.”

Her eyes swept back to Harry; something dangerous crackled in the darkest depths. “Maybe one day, you'll stop trying.”

Harry took another step forward, and Andromeda's words from earlier circled in his mind through the thick haze of firewhiskey and the thrum of anticipation that sang through him when Ginny was looking at him with that blazing intensity. “Maybe I already have.”

Ginny moved again, closing the gap between them further. Every nerve Harry possessed tensed, desperate to know what her response would be. Her lusciously full bottom lip curved seductively and –

“No loitering in the lobby!”

The manager's voice slammed into Harry with the force of an unanticipated bludger.

“Come on.” Ginny threw a glare across the lobby before promptly turning on her high heel and beginning her ascent of the staircase.

Harry followed. He was barely aware of where he was walking, so captivating was the view in front of him. He was so mesmerised by the sway of Ginny's hips beneath the sky-blue silk of her figure-hugging dress that he didn't immediately notice when they left the staircase and turned onto the hallway containing their room.

Ginny leaned against the doorframe. Harry could feel the weight of her stare, watching him intently as he fumbled in his pocket for the heavy gold key that would open the door. His hand trembled as he lined the key up with the lock, and he hoped Ginny would attribute his lack of coordination to the alcohol and not, as was actually the case, to the sudden onslaught of nervous energy gathering in the pit of his stomach.

He'd skirted a line he didn't usually dare to approach tonight, but charged looks and innuendo-dripped comments could be easily forgotten in the morning. They were about to cross a boundary more significant than the threshold of the hotel room; Harry couldn't shake the sense that their path had already been set, and once they took this step, it would take them in a direction neither of them could control.

His alcohol-addled brain was still turning this over when the door swung open with a creak and Ginny stepped through it. Harry, of course, followed.

Ginny's shoes were quickly discarded just inside the room. She dropped onto the bed’s thick mattress, angling so her uninjured side took the brunt of her weight and lifted one slender leg into the air, wiggling her glitter-painted toes, which shimmered in the dim light from the lamps glowing beside the headboard. “Whoever invented heels owes me a personal apology.”

Harry's response came in the form of an unintelligible grunt, which was all he could manage given the sudden dryness in his throat, a direct consequence of the way her skirt had slipped up her leg as she'd lifted it, revealing an expanse of well-toned thigh that begged for closer inspection.

Whoever managed the Harpies’ training regimen owed Harry an apology… or perhaps he should send them a thank you note.

He kicked his shoes off, letting them fall next to Ginny's before heading deeper into the room. She shuffled upwards on the bed, resting against the pillows with her legs crossed in front of her. Her skirt was still draped dangerously high, allowing an uninterrupted view that further exacerbated the drought in his throat.

Fleetingly, he eyed the chair beside the bed, knowing it was the sensible option, but the siren that was Ginny beckoned him away from safety. He settled on the mattress beside her, though he did take the vaguely measured precaution of positioning himself the opposite way, so that her feet were crossed beside his chest, and her ruinously tempting mouth was several feet away.

Ginny eyed his position with a raised eyebrow, but did not comment. Instead, she grabbed the two plush pillows beside the ones she was leaning on and tossing them down to Harry, giving him a surface to lean against.

He busied himself for a moment, arranging the pillows behind his back, and when he turned forward once more, Ginny's wand was out, summoning the half-consumed bottle of firewhiskey she'd vanished from the table downstairs.

“Nightcap?”

“You're not done leading me into trouble then?” Harry leaned forward to accept the glass she offered him, letting their fingers brush momentarily.

Ginny released him, placing the bottle on the floor beside the bed before falling back against her pillows, but the look she gave lingered on his skin like a touch. “I'm only just getting started.”

“Don't let me stop you. It's been a while since you led me into trouble… I've missed it.”

As soon as the confession escaped, Harry wished he could recapture it. He was as bad as Percy, reminiscing on things better left in the past. He was worse than Percy; Harry was still stuck on things that had never even happened, on a girl he'd never so much as kissed.

But the girl in question was currently smiling at him through the dim light of the hotel room in a way that made his heart stutter in his chest, and Harry knew he had no chance of turning away from her now.

“You were the Captain,” Ginny reminded him, poking him in the rib with her bare foot. She left it there, resting lightly against his side and making Harry hyper aware of the way his chest brushed against it with every breath. “You were the one leading me into trouble.”

“You were my star player,” Harry countered. His hand lifted from the mattress, his fingers curled around the curve of her ankle, and his thumb began to trace slow circles around the delicate joint. “I would've followed you anywhere.”

“Your star player, is that all I was?” Ginny didn't give him a chance to try and formulate a response to that before she spoke again. “It seems my days as a star player are over now. I guess I'm back to just being plain old Ginny Weasley.”

Her leg tensed, whether from Harry's touch or the prospect of losing the career she'd worked so hard to create, he wasn't sure.

He also wasn't sure where to even begin responding to what she'd said. That she'd never been plain, old anything seemed so obvious that the statement hardly seemed worthy of acknowledgement.

He would need access to one of Hermione's dictionaries to even try to articulate how bright she was, how bold, how brilliant. The task seemed impossible to accomplish, especially after indulging in almost a full bottle of firewhiskey.

“Is that really a possibility?” He asked instead. “Is your shoulder that bad?”

She didn't answer right away, but her silence spoke volumes. Harry's stomach twisted into an uneasy knot. They might've grown apart, but the passion Ginny had always had for Quidditch didn't just fade away with time, and even now, Harry knew it would be tearing her apart to potentially lose it. He couldn't blame her for not wanting to talk about it.

“To bludgers,” Ginny finally exclaimed, lifting her glass as though in a toast. “Ruining my life since 1997.”

Harry clinked the rim of his glass against hers. “I know you were in the hospital wing for a few weeks, but you still won the cup… definitely not life ruining.”

He hadn't witnessed Ginny's spectacular catching of the snitch due to being stuck in Snape's dungeon in detention, but Harry had heard several detailed retellings of the moment, and the one which had followed, in which a bludger, aimed just before Ginny's fingers had curled around the snitch, had smashed into the base of her skull and rendered her unconscious.

Ginny released a breathy sigh. “This probably sounds mental, but I had this naive teenage fantasy that if I could win the cup for you, you'd be so happy something would finally happen… with us.” Harry caught a glimpse of the pink tinge blooming on her cheeks as she turned her face away under the guise of placing her empty glass on the floor beside the bottle of firewhiskey. “And then that bloody bludger hit me, and I missed all the victory celebrations, and by the time I was finally out of the hospital wing, everyone had moved on and I felt like we'd missed our chance.”

“It doesn't sound mental,” Harry said as she settled back onto the pillows. “I felt the same.”

His thumb was still rubbing tenderly over her ankle; slowly, Ginny shuffled, careful not to dislodge his grasp as she settled her feet into his lap, angling herself to better look directly at Harry. “It felt like fate.”

“Maybe it was,” Harry shrugged with a great deal more nonchalance than he felt while discussing his greatest regret. “Even if we had acted on it, it never could've worked out anyway. Not with everything that happened after – Dumbledore dying, the horcruxes, the war…”

He had replayed this very question in his head a hundred times before and always reached the same conclusion.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed. Her toes flexed as Harry's fingers stroked slowly up her calf. “It's probably a good thing. It's easier this way.”

“No point in trying to fight fate,” Harry said, a reminder to himself as much as an agreement with Ginny's point.

Both his eyes and his fingers were tracing the pattern of freckles on her leg, but he could feel her eyes burning into him. “Maybe fate brought us here tonight.”

He looked up sharply to find her staring at him with a blazing look.

“The universe has never really been on my side.” He knew he should remove his hand from her calf. He knew he definitely shouldn't slide it further up, letting his thumb stroke slowly over the inside of her knee.

Her lips parted slightly around a quiet gasp. “Maybe for just one night it is.”

“Just one night?” Harry repeated. His blood had started pounding in his ears, and he was no longer sure he was hearing her correctly.

Ginny nodded slowly. The knee beneath his hand shifted, parting her legs just enough to force her skirt to slide scandalously higher. “After all, there's no point in trying to fight fate, is there?”

There was really no point in trying to fight anything at all when it came to her. He’d been trying for years, and now he was here, trying to control his shaking breath while his fingers continued to dance across Ginny’s smooth skin as if she were inevitable.

“And after tonight…” he let the unanswered question hang in the air between them. His hand stilled, waiting for her response.

Ginny shrugged, but the gesture was too full of tension to seem nonchalant. “We never have to wonder again.”

“Is that what you were doing when I walked in earlier? Wondering?”

Wondering what it would be like between them.

Harry had done the same plenty of times before. His wondering had started with a series of explicit, but naive, teenage dreams and had only grown more detailed in the years since.

“Maybe.” Harry, who was well-trained in eliciting a confession, suspected this was as close as he would ever get to one from Ginny. He found himself uninterested in pursuing the matter when more pressing ones required his attention, such as the way her feet shifted just slightly in her lap, letting her legs fall further open in invitation. “But right now, I'm waiting for you to stop making me wonder.”

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to stop himself from surging forward, to give into the ache beginning to build within him, but the only outward show of his desperation he allowed was his fingers tightening around Ginny's ankle.

“Just tonight?” The question came out low and gruff.

Ginny nodded slowly in response. Her breath hitched as Harry lifted her leg and pressed a light kiss to the arch of her foot.

He lifted his gaze, letting it meet hers across the dim room. This time, when he spoke, his lips brushed against her soft skin. “No more wondering?”

Ginny watched Harry’s slow movements with burning eyes. He sat forward, guiding her foot to rest on his shoulder before running the tip of his nose up the length of her calf and letting his lips land on the underside of her knee.

“No,” she breathed. “No more wondering.”

His blood had turned molten in his veins; Harry was sure the sheer heat must've burned away any lingering firewhiskey, but a heady fog settled in his mind that he knew had nothing to do with alcohol.

Apparently not content to wait, to wonder, another moment, Ginny shuffled further down the pillows, letting her knee come to rest on Harry's shoulder instead, and allowing him unrestricted access to her freckle-dappled thigh.

Her impatience battled with his own, but Harry maintained his slow tempo, letting his fingertips map every inch of her before following with his lips. If this was all he had with her, just one night, he was going to savour every second of it.

He continued onwards, one hand gripping her hip to hold her in place. Ginny's muscles quivered beneath his mouth as he reached the spot at the apex of her thigh where the hem of her dress draped tauntingly, providing the last real barrier between caution and the reckless path they had already started to venture down.

His fingers practically itched to remove it, to curl around the thin fabric and push it roughly aside, revealing more of her than he'd ever dared to hope for. As though she could read his mind, Ginny's hips bucked, forcing the hem an inch higher and revealing a glimpse of tempting black lace underneath.

Lips resting on her hot skin, Harry glanced upwards until her eyes met his. Ginny was still watching him, propped up on her elbows with her hair spilling over her shoulders in fiery red waves. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps that mirrored the quick movements of Harry's chest.

Briefly, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply in a futile attempt to keep his nerves intact, but he was on the edge of combusting, and he no longer wanted to avoid it. He wanted to burn. With her.

He leaned further forward, letting Ginny’s leg fall gently to the thick bed cover. She sat up straighter; a small furrow appeared between her arched eyebrows when Harry bypassed the hem of her dress entirely.

His fingers slid over the silky smooth material until his hands met the mattress on either side of her, and he used the leverage provided to push forward, moving slowly up the bed, watching her breath leave her in shallower and shallower gasps as he approached.

Harry lowered his head again, letting his lips ghost over a patch of freckles on her collarbone that had always fascinated him. A quiet sigh escaped Ginny. It was like no sound he’d heard her make before, but he was on a mission to make sure he heard it as many times as possible before the night was over.

With this goal in mind, Harry continued his slow exploration of Ginny’s body.

His teeth scraped gently over her collarbone until his lips found her neck. His tongue swiped over the spot where her pulse beat frantically, and he was rewarded with a soft moan, not unlike the ones he’d walked in on this afternoon.

He’d just reached her jaw when her hands found the front of his dressrobes.

Her head was thrown back, but even without visibility, Ginny’s fingers worked with impressive speed, unhooking each of the silver fastenings until Harry could feel a rush of cool air against the heated skin of his chest.

He pulled back, letting his eyes find hers. They were fogged with the same desire currently swirling through his brain.

“Impatient?” He asked, his voice deep and husky.

“Always.” Ginny’s mouth curled sinfully. “And I’ve waited long enough.”

It was a simple statement. It was enough to snap Harry's tenuous hold on his restraint.

They moved at the same time, both surging forward to meet the other and then Harry’s lips were finally, wonderfully, miraculously, on hers.

It was blissful oblivion, better than firewhiskey. One night, or one lifetime, it suddenly seemed irrelevant; time had stopped the moment he’d finally kissed her.

Ginny kissed with the same passion she brought to every other part of life. Her lips met Harry’s stroke for stroke, parting when his tongue ran experimentally over them. His hands found their way into her hair as the kiss deepened, fingers running through the glossy lengths.

She sighed directly into his mouth. Harry groaned in response. The noise seemed to embolden her further; no sooner had it escaped him than Ginny was moving, her hands pushing desperately at the shoulders of his robes, tugging them down his arms.

Her lips didn’t leave his as she pushed onto her knees and crept forward until she was straddling Harry’s lap.

Any foolish notions about restraint and taking his time promptly flew out of his mind with the speed of a Firebolt.

His hands dropped from her hair to her waist, revelling in her curves as they went. Her hips rocked over him, causing his already half-hard cock to strain against the tight confines of his trousers, desperate for more of her than he could get with the layers of clothes currently separating them.

As usual, Ginny seemed to be of a mind with him. She let out a victorious sound halfway between a moan and a sigh as she succeeded in freeing his arms from his robes. Harry lifted his hips, hissing against the friction as his groin rubbed against her, but freeing the robes enough for Ginny to toss them thoughtlessly to the floor.

He was bare to the waist now, his eyes closed against the heavenly sensation of Ginny’s fingers exploring his chest with a featherlight touch, but Harry’s trousers and her torturous dress still formed too much of a barrier to provide any real relief to the ache building within him.

His grip tightened on her waist, pulling Ginny with him as he lay back on the bed. Her hands pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, holding her up as she hovered above him. Her hair fell in thick curtains, surrounding him, enveloping him in the intoxicating floral scent that had haunted him since he'd smelt it in the cauldron of Amortentia long ago in Slughorn's dungeon.

“Ginny….” Her name slipped from Harry's lips on a sigh as her lips moved feverishly along his jaw. He couldn't quite believe this was real, that she was really so close after so many years of careful distance.

He needed her closer still.

Reaching around her back, his fingers slipped over the tiny buttons running up the column of her spine that he'd had the displeasure of fastening earlier that evening. Harry closed his eyes against the overwhelming sensation of Ginny's warm breath against his neck, willing his fingers not to tremble as he set about undoing them.

The task was complicated by Ginny's unwillingness to stay still, and the distracting jolts in his groin that accompanied every press of her lips against his skin. First she was at his shoulder, then his sternum, and then her lips were gliding down his abdomen, leaving a trail of blazing fire in their wake.

Somehow, though Harry could not say exactly how, when his brain was utterly lost in a haze of desire, he managed to slip her final button from its hook just as Ginny's tongue trailed down the expanse of skin leading from his navel to his belt.

Every nerve in his body tensed. He might have exploded then and there if Ginny had not removed her mouth from him long enough to straighten up and tug her unfastened dress impatiently over her head, throwing it unceremoniously to the floor with Harry's discarded robes.

“Fuck.”

It was the only word remaining in his vocabulary; all others had been knocked cleanly out of his head by the sight that now greeted him. Ginny, balancing on her knees above him, was naked aside from a thin pair of black lace underwear.

She was more perfect than Harry's inadequate brain could ever have imagined. Her lips were swollen from their kisses, slightly parted to accommodate her laboured breath. Her hair fell in a messy tumble, cascading over her shoulders until the ends brushed against the lusciously pink tips of her perfect breasts.

His mouth watered to taste one, but Ginny was already moving again, and he could do little more than watch her as her hands moved to his belt, pulling it free of the buckle. He inhaled sharply when she moved to the zip, her fingers brushing against the hardness beneath.

A sharp gasp filled the room as Ginny hooked her fingers in the waistband of Harry's now-unfastened trousers and his underwear, pulling him free of confinement. He kicked them off, letting them follow the rest of their clothing off the edge of the bed.

He had less than a second to recover before Ginny’s fingers curled around him, stroking up and down in an unhurried tempo that stole his remaining breath. She sped up, swiping her thumb over the sensitive tip and sending a shockwave through his entire being.

For a moment, Harry lost himself to the rhapsodic sensation of her touch. His fingers dug into her thighs, clinging on to the last solid thing in the world, and his hips jerked in time with her strokes until a pressure was building at the base of his spine, a tightly coiled spring ready to –

No.

He forced himself to still. His fingers wrapped around Ginny's wrist, gently removing her grip from him before she could end this night far too soon.

Harry had meant to be savouring every inch of her, but she'd managed to make him forget all his best intentions and bend the whole situation to her will.

Determined to get back on track, his grip tightened on her waist, pulling Ginny flush against him while pushing himself off the mattress, flipping them so that their positions were reversed and Ginny was lying, almost naked, beneath him.

Without wasting another second, he peeled her underwear from her, eyes widening at the glistening curls now revealed to him.

Ginny’s legs fell open with little prompting from him. Harry could tell without even touching her how ready she was; he could see the wetness gathering between her thighs and smell the sweet scent of her arousal, making his own need that much more urgent.

“Harry,” Ginny pleaded, hooking a leg around his back to bring him closer.

He let himself be guided towards her until his weight settled over her, relishing the press of her breasts against his chest and the tight grip of her legs around him.

“Done waiting?” His voice was little more than a ragged whisper, but she was so close, the tip of his nose brushed against hers when he spoke.

In the far recesses of his brain, where Harry was still capable of thought, he’d expected her to smirk in response, to throw some witty retort back at him, but Ginny did neither.

One of her hands cupped his cheek. Her eyes held his, but the fire within them had burned down now, allowing him to see clear into their depths in a way she never usually allowed.

“I need you,” she said softly. “All of you.”

It was a command Harry was powerless to defy.

He didn’t look away from her as he manoeuvred into position, using one knee to push Ginny’s legs further apart. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look away from her again; he felt caught, utterly trapped, in her honey and chocolate gaze.

Blindly, he reached between them and positioned himself at her entrance.

Fleetingly, he wondered if this might not be a dream, but when he pushed forward, gently letting himself slide into her, Harry knew he’d never be able to conjure a dream that felt this good.

He would never be able to create the melodic sound of Ginny’s loud moan, or the exquisite warmth that enveloped him, as he buried himself fully within her.

“Fuck.” She breathed, her vocabulary apparently as lacking as Harry’s now. “Yes.”

Harry managed nothing more than an ecstasy-filled groan. His hips moved, tentatively at first, watching Ginny for any sign of discomfort, and finding nothing but his own hunger mirrored on her face.

Instinctively, they fell into a rhythm, their bodies moving with a synchronisation that left them both breathless.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow above her, using the leverage to drive himself deeper. Ginny’s head fell back on the pillow. Her eyes were closed, and her lips formed the most sinful sounds he’d ever heard, but her hips continued to meet his with equal fervour.

The room filled with the mingled sounds of their pleasure. Ginny’s nails scratched lightly down Harry’s back, sending ripples of pure bliss undulating through him.

She was arching off the mattress. One of Harry’s hands slid from her hip, forcing into the non-existent space between their bodies until his thumb pressed against the tight bundle of nerves between her legs.

“Harry!” She cried his name like a prayer.

His movements took on a more frantic pace. He was no longer in control; everything was Ginny. Harry’s thumb and hips kept up their relentless movements as his head fell to her shoulder and he was enveloped once more in the floral fragrance that clung to her, mixed with the arousing scent of the sweat rolling down her neck. The litany of his name spilled from her mouth, and her hot breath filled his ear. The feel of her hands sliding over his flushed skin and the fluttered tightening of her muscles around him assured she was as close to the edge as he was.

This was worth waiting a lifetime for.

He’d been stumbling around in the dark, not even knowing how truly lost he was until that very moment, when Ginny tensed around him, and his head snapped up, determined to watch as the pleasure overtook her, but the sight was too much. She was too bright, too beautiful, too perfect, and he could hold on no longer.

With her name on his lips, Harry tipped over the edge into an incandescence that could only be caused by her.

Chapter Text

In an act of desperation so cowardly Ginny half expected the sorting hat to apparate before her and loudly declare her unfit to bear the title of Gryffindor despite being well past school age, she crept from the comfort of the hotel bed, and the warmth of Harry's arms while he was still sleeping.

Years of rigorous Quidditch training had honed her body to move stealthily across the room despite the throbbing ache in her shoulder, which had returned in full force now the pain potion and the firewhiskey had worn off. She retrieved her wand and her bag with all her bridesmaid essentials, before retreating to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

The door fell closed and she locked it with a definitive click. Fully naked, she slumped back against the cool wood and tried to quell the swirling nausea in her stomach.

We'll never have to wonder again…

Ginny's own stupid, idiotic words span on a loop in her head.

It was the firewhiskey's fault. And Harry's for the way he'd been looking at her across the dinner table – like he'd wanted to devour her instead of the food.

God, she'd wanted to be devoured by him.

We'll never have to wonder again…

But wondering had been safe. It could be dismissed as idle fantasy, the kind of thing reality could never live up to.

What the fuck was Ginny supposed to do now she knew he surpassed her fantasies in every single way?

The question was too big to contemplate with her head pounding from the firewhiskey and her shoulder aching incessantly. Action had always been Ginny's refuge from her own racing thoughts, and so, she took one last fortifying breath before pushing off the door.

She flicked her wand at the shower, letting the water warm while she extracted two potion bottles from her bag. The vibrant purple pain potion had the dual purpose of relieving the ache in her shoulder and attacking the worst of her hangover symptoms.

The second vial, this one containing a cool blue potion, was equally necessary to ward off the repercussions of her – their – behaviour. True, the imagined image of Ron's face upon hearing Harry had impregnated her was amusing enough to bring a small smile to Ginny's face. The lifetime of consequences, however, probably weren't worth five minutes of Ron's discomfort, and so, she threw back the contraceptive potion without hesitation.

The shower beckoned her; some desperate part of Ginny hoped the hot water could wash away the memory of just how inadequate all of her idle wondering had been.

Plenty of men had told her how attractive she was; that she was gorgeous. More than once in the throes of passion, they’d exclaimed upon her beauty, but Harry had actually made her feel beautiful. Not with his words, but with his touch, and the wild way he’d looked at her and the silent communication that had always passed so easily between them.

Deep down she knew it wasn't fair to compare any of her past experiences with the one she’d shared with Harry.

He knew Ginny in ways no one else did – he'd saved her in ways no one else could ever compete with. Last night, she hadn't known where she ended and where Harry began, and, for the first in her life, the possibility of losing herself in another person hadn't filled Ginny with that familiar sense of impending dread.

The realisation made her blood run cold despite the torrent of warm water sluicing over her.

It was exactly the kind of thought that a love struck eleven-year-old, writing poems about eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad might have, imagining some grand emotional connection where it didn't truly exist.

But Ginny wasn't a love struck eleven-year-old anymore.

Chin held high, she turned the tap and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in one of the hotel's plush white towels.

She'd had one night stands before — of course, they hadn’t been with her brother's best friend, who was a regular at family dinner, and who had once occupied her mind as she'd written ‘Mrs Ginny Potter’ over and over again in her homework planner, but that was completely irrelevant. Obviously.

Still, the fact remained, Ginny knew better than to dwell on it, than to think of it as anything more than a moment in time, to be enjoyed while she was in it and then remembered fondly, but distantly.

Distance, at least, would be easy to achieve. She was expected in Audrey's suite imminently; the rest of Ginny's day would be taken up with a steady stream of bridesmaids duties, and Luna would be arriving shortly, providing Ginny with a Harry-free refuge until she left the cursed manor the following morning.

She gave herself a stern look in the fog-obscured bathroom mirror, fingers curling around the biting edge of the marble countertop, and silently commanded herself to make it through the rest of the wedding without another Harry-related mishap.

In fact, she simply wouldn't think about him at all.

When Ginny was confident she could heed her new mandate, she turned her attention to the equally difficult task of guiding her injured arm into the monogrammed, silk ‘bridesmaid’ pyjamas Audrey had gifted her, no doubt expecting Ginny to have worn them last night, rather than spending it naked in Harry's arms.

She dismissed that particular thought with a growl of frustration as she yanked her legs into her shorts and stuffed her feet into the same torturous heels she'd worn yesterday.

She wouldn’t think of Harry.

She would not think of Harry.

They clicked against the tile floor of the bathroom and his name seemed to echo with every click.

Ginny seized her wand from beside the sink. Ignoring the disapproving voice in her head, and bringing her total count of cowardly actions this morning up to a record-breaking two, Ginny conjured a door in the wall beside the shower, providing her with an exit that avoided the possibility of Harry altogether.

Gratification at her own ingenuity warred with a new prickling sense of guilt up her spine as reached for the newly-conjured door handle.

She couldn't leave like this. Without saying anything. Fleeing like Harry was something to run away from.

She couldn't stay and face him. She couldn't watch his face as he woke and realised what a mess she'd led him into. She couldn't stand to see the covetous way he'd looked at her last night replaced with awkwardness, or worse, regret.

For several long moments Ginny froze, paralysed by indecision, before inevitably turning away from the door as she rolled her eyes at her own absurdity.

Perhaps she wasn’t a love struck eleven-year-old anymore, but a totally clean break from Harry was apparently more than any version of Ginny could achieve.

With more force than was strictly necessary, she plonked one of her purple vials of pain potion on the counter. Quickly, before she could think better of it, she summoned a quill and a scrap of parchment, just large enough to scrawl a short note on.

To help with the consequences of the firewhiskey… some of them, at least. - G

She stepped back, re-reading the words as she laid them beside the potion, and then she turned and walked determinedly through her purposefully conjured door.

It wasn't staying, but it wasn't leaving without a trace and that would have to be good enough this morning.

“Is something wrong?” Were the words her mother greeted her with when she reached Audrey’s bridal suite a short while later.

The question had been brought on by Ginny’s wince of pain as Audrey took her by the shoulders and guided her inside.

A ludicrous laugh bubbled in Ginny’s throat as she imagined her mother’s reaction if she actually bothered to answer truthfully.

‘Everything’s great, Mum, except I’ve ruined another relationship —I know, shocking isn’t it? — also, I have nowhere to live and my career is quite possibly over. Oh, and Harry —you remember Harry? He’s basically another son to you — well, last night he gave me the most mind blowing orgasm of my life, and I fear all other men have been ruined for me so please don’t ever expect any grandchildren from me.’

No, the truth, would probably result in Mum or Ginny —likely both — being sent directly to St. Mungo’s.

“I’m fine,” Ginny said instead, swallowing the absurd laugh before it could escape.

The door closed softly behind her. The suite she found herself in was easily as large as the locker room at the Harpies training facility, though it was infinitely cleaner. The walls were covered in flowery wallpaper and the carpet was a startling white; the mirrors that lined the back wall, providing a dressing area, were gilded gold, and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling dripped with shimmering crystals.

Ginny allowed Audrey to guide her past a plush velvet sofa to a dressing table that was barely visible beneath a mountain of makeup, hair pins and delicate glass perfume bottles.

The pain potion was already working its magic, and the ache in her shoulder dulled to a barely-noticeable throb as she stepped out of Audrey's grasp and took her seat in front of the mirror. The twisting anxiety in her stomach as she considered what that pain meant for her Quidditch career, could not be so easily dispelled.

And that was only a portion of the issues that made her mother’s question so laughable. The list of things Ginny was now trying to avoid thinking about had grown too bloody long.

She fidgeted restlessly, confused thoughts of her potential loss of livelihood, loss of purpose, mingling with even more confusing thoughts about Harry. It was really no surprise the stylist witch currently slathering her face with Merlin knew what WonderWitch products kept tutting impatiently at her.

Finally, after what felt like hours, during which her face was hidden under several layers of makeup; her hair was twisted back into a low bun with only a few facing framing curls left free, and Ginny broke her own decree not to think about Harry more times than she could count, the stylist shoo’d her out of the chair, declaring her ‘adequate’.

Hoping a bacon sandwich might cure the tumult within her, she headed straight for the breakfast table beneath the window. Mum, who was helping Audrey's sister with her bridesmaid gown, followed Ginny's path with her eyes, which were narrowed in a clear show of her suspicion.

Ginny pretended not to notice, becoming the very picture of innocence as Audrey, who was taking dainty bites from a slice of toast in an effort not to disturb her lipstick, engaged her in conversation.

“I didn't get to see very much of you last night,” she said, while Ginny selected a sandwich from the tray. “How are you?”

“I'm fine,” Ginny replied, trying to ignore the flash of dark, desire-filled, memory that had surfaced in her mind at the mere mention of last night. “Had an early night–” her gaze flicked to Cassandra at the far end of the room where she was glaring daggers at Ginny while she sprayed a frankly outrageous amount of perfume on herself. “ – wanted to be the very best version of myself, like I said.”

Oh, the irony.

“I hope you're still enjoying yourself even though Ben isn't here.”

Ginny's eyes flew back to Audrey as the mention of Ben's name sent a jolt of recollection through her.

Apparently there was one thing that had been easy for her to forget; she hadn't thought about Ben once last night. He certainly hadn't been the one occupying her thoughts this morning.

Even as Ginny muttered a vague assurance that she was perfectly happy without him here and some feeble excuse about him being at work, she still wasn't really thinking about Ben. No, her thoughts were overtaken by the reminder of her impending homelessness.

That, she reminded herself, would have to be tomorrow's problem.

Today's problems were already piling up. Most of them centred around the way, stubborn even in her imagination, Harry simply refused to be evicted from Ginny's thoughts.

One of the other bridesmaids handed her glass of champagne as Ginny swallowed the last bite of her sandwich. The slow fizz of the bubbles rising in the flute, brought back to mind the way he'd stared at her during the toast last night, eyes dark and haunted in the flickering light. She'd desperately wanted to do something, anything, to expel those ghosts, even if it was just temporary. Even if Ginny knew those ghosts always, inevitably, returned.

“Are you sure you're alright, dear?” Mum asked, pulling Ginny back to the present. “You seem distracted this morning.”

Ginny threw back the whole flute of champagne in one swallow. She had to get her head together. Distractions were something she simply didn't allow, not on the Quidditch pitch and certainly not in front of her family.

“I'm great!” She declared, placing the empty champagne flute on the white tablecloth as she arranged her face into an enthusiastic smile. Ginny stepped towards her mother, clapping her hands together. “Let's get my dress on, shall we?”

Mum returned her smile but there was an obvious flicker of scepticism in the lines around her mouth. Thankfully, she didn't question Ginny further as she summoned a dark garment bag from the wardrobe.

They fell into silence for a moment, Ginny too focused on the task of guiding her arm out of her pyjamas and into the silky, sage green gown without revealing a hint of her discomfort to attempt conversation.

Mum, as usual, was suitably occupied fussing. She didn't utter anything more than quiet mutters to herself as she fixed the ribbons that tied the dress’ thin straps at the shoulders, and arranged the square neckline in a such manner that Ginny knew she would have to lower as soon as her mother's back was turned.

As though she could read Ginny's mind, Mum released a loud gasp as she stooped to arrange the gown's flowing skirt.

“Ginny!” she hissed. “What have I told you about modifying your bridesmaid dress?”

Ginny's eyes dropped, already knowing what she'd find. It had taken more than a few galleons to persuade the seamstress to add the slit that ran from the top of the skirt, revealing a gap in the flowing silk through which her leg now peeked.

What Ginny had not expected, however, was the memory that threatened to overwhelm her of Harry's hands, so maddeningly unhurried as they'd explored that very leg just a few short hours ago.

Her mother was still lecturing her but Ginny was hardly aware. Her heart was racing, remembering the warmth of Harry's breath as his mouth had followed his hands, and the current that had coursed through her when his lips had brushed the sensitive side of her knee–

“It's alright, Molly!” Audrey's arm, winding around Ginny fondly, jolted her out of the reminiscence. “Ginny asked me if she could change the dress. I said it was fine.”

This was an outright lie. Ginny had consulted no one, choosing instead to employ her preferred mentality of asking for forgiveness, rather than permission. Her eyebrows narrowed, shooting Audrey a questioning look and received a wink in response before Audrey squeezed her once more and stepped away. “All I want is for everyone to feel their best when we're standing at the altar.”

“Well, I would like for you to show a little bit of decorum,” Mum sniffed, pulling Ginny’s skirt together so that the slit was not visible, at least until the next time she moved.

“I need to give you your gift,” Audrey said in a very obvious bid to change the subject before Ginny could let her leg peek out again for the sole purpose of agitating her mother further.

“My gift?” Ginny repeated.

“Yes, your bridesmaid gift.” Audrey summoned a small wooden box from the table in front of the couch. “To say thank you for being part of my day.”

The box landed securely in Ginny’s hand. She frowned at it momentarily, unsure what she’d done to receive any kind of gratitude from Audrey. Certainly, Fleur hadn’t seen fit to gift her anything at Bill’s wedding.

“Open it,” Audrey prompted.

The hinge squeaked as Ginny flipped the lid. The delicate silver chain laid within shone on a bed of midnight blue velvet, but it was the two pendants attached to it that caught Ginny’s eye… and stole her breath.

“We got all the girls their birthstone,” Audrey explained. “Yours is peridot.”

“I know,” Ginny breathed.

What she’d failed to appreciate until that very moment was that peridot was the exact colour of Harry’s eyes when he laughed, when they were alight with the kind of amusement Ginny was so skilled at coaxing from him.

“And we got the rest of the girls their initials,” Audrey continued, oblivious to the onslaught of memories Ginny was trying, and most definitely failing, to fight off. “But Percy and I agreed you’d appreciate your jersey number more…”

Realisation hit her like a punch to the gut as Ginny’s eyes snagged on the silver charm worked into the shape of a tiny ‘5’ nestled next to the peridot stone.

Her jersey number, for as long as she’d been playing professionally. So integral apparently even Percy saw it as the cornerstone of Ginny’s identity, completely unaware that she was on the brink of losing it.

The box trembled in Ginny’s hand. The green depths of the stone blurred as her eyes filled with tears no amount of blinking would be able to dispel.

“Ginny?” Mum’s voice was laced with concern.

“Don’t cry.” Audrey laughed nervously. “You’re going to ruin your makeup.”

“I’m not crying,” Ginny said, stubborn despite the wet tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m just —“

Whatever lie she’d been about to tell proved to be unnecessary. The door to the suite threw open with a loud bang, diverting everyone’s attention towards it.

Ginny’s hand had barely clasped around her wand before she released it, relaxing immediately as she recognised Ron’s lanky form, inexplicably holding a newspaper under his arm.

He was closely followed by George and Charlie.

“What on Earth are you all doing?” Mum demanded as Percy followed them, walking backwards with his hands thrown comically wide behind him. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Percy bumped blindly into the breakfast table, sending a tower of toast tumbling towards the floor, but Ginny hardly noticed the commotion.

Harry, watching Percy’s bizarre movements with obvious amusement, had followed him into the room.

The reality of him, solid in front of her, was much more disarming than the intrusive thoughts that had plagued Ginny's morning. Her mouth went dry, and her eyes swept over him of their own accord, cataloguing the lean form she now knew with intimate certainty existed beneath his black velvet dressrobes.

“Percy!” Audrey cried. Ginny forced her eyes away from Harry in time to see Audrey holding her hands in front of her in a futile attempt to cover her ivory gown. “You’re not supposed to see me until the ceremony!”

“That’s why I’m standing backwards,” Percy explained, as though this made his position any less irregular.

It was instinct that forced Ginny’s gaze back to Harry, a secret smile spreading on her face. For a moment, Harry returned it, his eyes the same bright colour as the jewel in Ginny’s hand, but then the light within them flickered out. His smile was replaced with a grimace of silent warning as he shook his head subtly at her.

A cold tingle of apprehension slid over her.

“But what are you all doing here?” Mum demanded again. “We’re supposed to meet you in the library just before the ceremony.”

“Yeah, but that was before we read The Prophet!” Ron brandished the newspaper he was holding over his head. “Ginny’s headline news.”

Her apprehension morphed into full-blown panic.

Without thinking, she launched for the paper in Ron’s hand and was immediately felled by the white hot sting in her shoulder. She stifled her cry as best she could, but a quiet whimper still escaped her clamped lips.

“So you are injured?” Charlie eyed her pained grimace with a pity she couldn’t stand to look at.

“Are you really out for the rest of the season?” George added.

She felt the weight of half a dozen stares falling upon her.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Percy asked the wall he was facing. She wished everyone would turn in the same direction, that, for once, she could have a minute to compose herself.

But since when had Ginny's wishes ever come true?

“Oh sweetheart…” Mum’s tone was full of a sympathy she simply didn’t want to hear. The mere sound of it confirmed the desperation of Ginny's situation.

“It’s not that dramatic,” she said, more for her own benefit than that of her unwelcome audience. The emotions she’s been struggling to wrangle into submission when her brother’s — and Harry — had barged into the room threatened to swell and explode beneath her ribs. “I got hit by a bludger. No one knows what the long lasting effects are yet so there’s no point speculating.”

Ron snorted derisively. “Well, The Prophet’s speculating.”

Finally, he handed the paper over to her. It was open to the sports section; a photograph of Ginny zooming around the goal hoops with a quaffle tucked under her now-useless arm took up the top third of the page. Beneath it was a headline, unavoidable in large bold font:

Harpies Heartbreak: star chaser, Ginny Weasley’s, season ends in catastrophe.

The article beneath was exactly as salacious and inaccurate as Ginny had come to expect. The rather mundane accident she'd suffered in training had become a possible malicious hit from one of her teammates, the result of a speculated feud that didn't actually exist. The short fall Ginny had experienced upon being hit had become a death-defying plunge to the ground, and the extremely complicated and delicate state of her muscles and ligaments had been simplified to the, unfortunately true, loss of full arm motion.

“Well?” George prompted as Ginny wordlessly handed the paper to her mother who had been reading over her shoulder. “How much of it is true?”

“Hardly any of it.”

“As usual,” Harry muttered darkly from the wall he was leaning against.

“I'm missing tomorrow's match,” Ginny continued, trying to distract herself from the way his dressrobes pulled tight over his broad shoulders as his arms crossed over his chest. “Once the inflammation has settled next week, the team healer will assess the extent of the damage and we'll make a recovery plan. Hopefully, it's just minor muscle damage and I'll be back in the air in a few weeks.”

She did not voice the other possibility, the one Healer Greenwich had tried to broach before she'd left – or, more accurately, fled – the training facility. This wasn't Ginny's first shoulder injury. She'd been the Harpies first chaser for three seasons now, That she was a threat on the pitch was widely acknowledged, and more than one opposing team's strategy included making her a favourite target of their beaters. Magic could reverse a lot of damage, but injuries still left marks, scars, that no potion or enchantment could heal, and there was no guaranteeing that this wasn’t the injury that had pushed her mistreated body too far.

If Ginny had been refusing to fully contemplate such possibilities since they'd been brought to her attention – which she resolutely had – she certainly wasn't going to do so now, with her brothers all staring expectantly at her; Audrey's bridesmaids sharing awkward glances between one another, and Mum's arm winding consolingly around Ginny in a way that was simultaneously comforting and altogether too restrictive.

“Is this why you've been so distracted this morning?” Mum's arm tightened around her.

Heat flooded Ginny's cheeks; her eyes wandered disobediently to Harry. “I haven't been distracted,” she muttered, but his smile was knowing, and his eyebrows lifted in a silent inquisition.

It was a challenge she couldn't, she wouldn't, back away from.

Her eyes locked on his. The rest of the room and everybody in it faded into obscurity. There was only Harry, and the dark, smouldering look in his gaze that made her pulse quicken because Ginny knew he was remembering it too; the feel of them, skin against skin, and the sensuous sighs that had filled the room, and the taste of a kiss so long awaited–

“Oh great–” George's voice broke the spell that had fallen over them, jolting Ginny back to the present. “It's the intense staring thing again – where's Ange when I need her?”

“What intense staring thing?” chorused the rest of Ginny's brothers.

“It's nothing,” she and Harry replied simultaneously, causing a ripple of confused expressions throughout the room.

“Ginny, are you sure you're well?” Mum released her, instead placing the back of her hand on Ginny's forehead. “You do seem rather warm, darling.”

She stepped backwards out of her mother's grasp. “I'm fine. Can we just drop it?”

None of her family looked particularly impressed by the suggestion.

“I just don't see why you didn't tell anyone?” Ron said, though his concern was greatly undermined by him wandering over to the breakfast table and helping himself to one of the remaining bacon sandwiches.

“Because I didn't want to cause a fuss,” Ginny replied through gritted teeth. “It's Percy and Audrey's wedding. Shouldn't we all be focussed on that?”

“That's very thoughtful of you, Ginny,” Percy told the floral patterned wallpaper. “But, of course, we're more concerned with your wellbeing than anything else.”

Her eyes rolled to the glimmering chandelier hanging above her. “My wellbeing is fine.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie pressed. Ginny's hands balled into fists at her sides.

“She said she's fine,” Harry replied while she was still trying to find any scrap of her remaining patience. “No doubt she'll be back to embarrassing you all at Quidditch at The Burrow before we know it.”

Despite her agitation, a smile slipped onto Ginny's face. “I embarrass you too,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but I can take it.” Harry shrugged easily, returning her smile with one of his own. “Someone has to keep me humble.”

Ron laughed as he swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. “And who's keeping Ginny humble?”

“Being related to you humbles me every day,” Ginny replied, finding her mother’s glare a worthy price to pay for the retort.

Any further chastisement she might have received was diverted by Audrey.

“Oh Ginny!” Her hands flew to her cheeks in dismay as her hazel eyes flicked between Ginny and the necklace still held loosely in her grasp. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Of course you were upset when you saw the necklace!”

“Necklace?” Ron and George asked simultaneously.

“I wasn’t upset,” Ginny said at the same time, willing a smile onto her face that she knew was too wide to look truly sincere. “I like it. It’s a lovely gift.”

A ripple of understanding moved through the room as all eyes fell on the jewellery box. The significance of the number to Ginny doubtless needed no explanation for her brothers or Harry.

“You don’t have to wear it…” Audrey said, wringing her hands awkwardly. “I’m sure I have something else silver you can—“

“No, I want to,” Ginny assured, still with that same fixed smile. “I’ll just need help putting it on — my shoulder doesn’t want to bend that way right now…”

Whether from shock at actually hearing her ask for help aloud, or because no one believed her insistence that this was what she wanted, it was hard to say, but everyone hesitated, looking at one another nervously.

Finally, Harry stepped forward. “Turn around.”

It took a second to will her legs to work; every nerve Ginny possessed tensed as he walked slowly towards her. When she did manage to turn her back to him, she could still sense Harry’s presence. Her skin tingled from the anticipation of his touch.

When his fingers grazed hers as he took the box from her grasp; Ginny felt the small contact ripple through her like a shockwave.

Her eyes found a spot on the wall in front of her where the seams of the wallpaper met, and the delicate pink rose printed upon it was just slightly misaligned. Ginny forced herself to focus on the barely-perceptible imperfection, and to regulate her breathing, which was becoming shallower by the second.

There was a quiet thud as Harry, having removed the necklace from it, returned the box to the table with a flick of his wand.

He was so close, Ginny felt his movements even before he touched her. He lifted the silver chain over her head, holding it by both ends. Ginny's eyes fell closed as his fingers brushed the side of her neck.

Somewhere, far away, back in a universe that contained more than just Ginny and Harry, and the place where their skin met, her mother had started to speak again, but Ginny couldn't concentrate on the words.

The tense anxiety that had been building within her all morning relented finally, replaced by the overwhelming urge to sink into Harry's touch and let him make her feel as good as she had last night.

There was no time to act on the impulse, no sooner had it overtaken her, than the cool metal of the necklace was settling against Ginny's flushed skin and with a final, trailing finger down the nape of her neck, Harry stepped away.

He cleared his throat as Ginny turned back to face the room but made no further comment.

Her mother was still speaking, rattling off orders in an effort to get everyone back on track, oblivious to Ginny's deep desire to stop time, to delay any more distance between last night and the present.

“You lot, get back to the library, we'll meet you there shortly.”

Ron moved first, gathering up George and Charlie. Percy edged cautiously to the door, careful not to make any movement in Audrey’s direction. Harry gave Ginny one last, lingering glance before following.

For all of Hinxworth Manor's ostentation, the library was a surprisingly modest room on the ground floor, placed directly next to the conservatory where the wedding ceremony would be taking place.

Two large windows on the back wall let in an abundance of sunlight, and the rest of the walls were lined with dark, mahogany shelves, groaning under the weight of hundreds of leather-bound books. Two fabric-upholstered sofas and a matching armchair had been arranged around a coffee table in the centre of the room. A large, freestanding globe stood proudly in the corner.

It was by far the most charming area of the hotel Ginny had seen thus far. Typically, she didn't get to spend more than five minutes in it.

The revelation of her injury had set them back significantly. No sooner had the bridal party reached the library than they were being hustled into a line at the door, ready to make their entrance for the ceremony.

In what was, in Ginny's opinion, an impressive show of restraint, she didn't send a bat-bogey hex at Cassandra's smug face when she was paired to walk down the aisle with Harry. An act of discipline Ginny knew she only managed because, while Harry's arm may have been imprisoned by Cassandra's talonesque grip, his eyes were most definitely glued to Ginny.

The strength of his stare was so acute it almost achieved the impossible feat of distracting her from the round of salacious whispering that broke out among the rows of guests when Ginny entered the rose-covered conservatory, a few steps ahead of him and Cassandra, her hand tucked securely into Charlie's arm. Almost.

She held her head high, keeping her gaze fixed on the point at the end of the aisle where Percy and George, as his best man, were waiting for them. Charlie squeezed her arm in silent reassurance as they walked, but there was nothing he could do to change the fact that the news from The Prophet had clearly reached an audience wider than just her brothers.

The whispering, thankfully, stopped once Ginny took her place in between Sophia – Audrey's sister – and Cassandra at the front of the room. Harry's eyes, however, continued to wander to her from the opposite side of the altar throughout the ceremony. A fact that Ginny couldn't help but notice, given that she found her attention drawn to him with a similar frequency.

It was hard not to let the familiar pang of longing in her chest surface as the vows began. Ginny's fingers tightened around the silk-wrapped stems of her bouquet.

Usually, she could at least assure herself she had her career in moments like this, that all her childhood fantasies of having that one person who was with you no matter what were, exactly that: fantasies.

But in that specific moment, when her shoulder was throbbing painfully, and she wasn't entirely sure where she was going to call home tomorrow, and the tiny silver ‘5’ was searing her skin where it rested on her chest, the fatigue that enveloped Ginny was enough to make her wish that she had someone else to carry some of the weight trying to crush her.

It was unsurprising, given the circumstances, that Harry’s stare should fall so heavily upon her.

It was deeply concerning, given the circumstances, that when Ginny let their eyes meet across the altar, she knew she was strong enough to bear all of it.

She was still looking at him as the elderly wizard performing the ceremony declared, “I now pronounce you bonded for life.”

A round of applause erupted around the room. Ginny forced her eyes away from Harry and a smile onto her face, becoming the very picture of a doting sister. Percy and Audrey sealed the ceremony with a kiss, and then she was free.

She needed to get out of this rose-covered conservatory, with its softly playing string music and promises of forever.

The dangerously romantic atmosphere was going straight to Ginny’s head, making her forget the fundamental truth that none of this — the flowers, the confetti, the unwavering feel of someone else’s hand in yours —was worth compromising her true self for.

She needed fresh air, and possibly an obliviation charm to remove the memory of the previous night which was surely at least partly to blame for this sudden onslaught of romanticism.

She only made it halfway down the long painting-lined corridor that led to the hotel’s lobby before Ginny heard her name being called through the crowd.

Her first instinct was to keep moving, to find a place to hide while she recollected herself, but the dreamy voice that had called for her was enough to halt Ginny’s path forward.

She turned, breathing a sigh of relief when Luna floated out of the crowd, unmissable in bright yellow robes and bearing a fan of vibrant turquoise feathers sticking out of her pale hair. The effect was so eyecatching, Ginny almost didn’t notice the tall man trailing behind Luna.

He was her opposite in every way; where Luna's attire gave her an eccentric aura, the man's carefully pressed dressrobes and neatly combed auburn hair would even meet Percy's approval. The slightly faroff look that was permanently in place on Luna's serene face was in direct juxtaposition with the man's astute expression. Even his sedate walk was the contrary to Luna's light, floating steps.

“We’ve been trying to catch you since you ran away from the ceremony,” Luna said as she and the mysterious man reached Ginny.

“I wasn’t running away,” Ginny protested, though that had been exactly what she was doing. “I was just…”

Her sentence trailed off uselessly with no explanation forthcoming, but Luna did not seem to notice the lack of conclusion. She was flourishing her hand in front of the man beside her with an even dreamier than usual (which was certainly saying something) expression on her face. “This is Rolf Scamander. We met in Indonesia. We’re lovers.”

Ginny almost choked on the breath she’d been inhaling. Rolf, however, did not seem to find anything strange or mortifying in being publicly described as someone’s lover.

On the contrary, his broad face softened into a smile as he looked down at Luna, his hand coming to rest on her lower back. “She is the most fascinating woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

A fuschia blush that Ginny had previously been unaware Luna was capable of experiencing, spread across her pale cheeks.

Fantastic. Just what Ginny wanted to see, another sickeningly happy couple.

No sooner had the thought surfaced in her mind before it was followed by searing hot shame. She wanted nothing but the best things for Luna. One of the few people Ginny had ever met that really deserved them, that didn’t change just because Ginny was having an extraordinarily challenging day.

“Ginny Weasley.” Ginny held out her hand to Rolf, letting a genuine smile slip through her stress. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Rather than shaking it, as she’d expected, he lowered his head and kissed the back of her hand. “The pleasure is all mine. I’ve heard many wonderful things about you from Luna.”

“Well, I hope I can live up to them,” Ginny said honestly.

“Of course you will,” Luna’s tone was that of a person conveying a confidently held fact. “We saw The Prophet this morning — Rolf reads it for the book reviews — would you like me to examine your shoulder? I learned the most restorative healing ritual from a village elder in the rainforest that I think could help.”

It was a testament to Ginny’s desperation that for one irrational moment, she considered letting Luna try. A path that would probably lead to her shoulder sprouting a second head, or some other such regrettable consequence.

“No, thank you,” Ginny said definitively. “It’s really not as dramatic as the papers make it sound. We can save the mysterious healing rituals for when I’m in dire need.”

“If you’re sure…” Luna’s voice was laced with the same skepticism that was usually directed at her. “Let me know if you change your mind and want my help.”

“I did need your help, actually,” Ginny said through a sigh, as realisation of the new problem she was facing dawned upon her. “But it looks like you won't have space in your room for me tonight after all.”

“My room?” Luna repeated with the vaguest hint of a frown. “I thought you were going home tonight… oh but, of course, you're not playing tomorrow.”

“And I don't have a home to go to,” Ginny added.

The secret, which she'd only told Harry so far, could no longer be contained now she was confronted with Luna's soothing presence. Ginny's trust was not easily earned, but Luna had been an unwavering companion during one of the worst periods of her life and there wasn't usually anything Ginny held back from her at this point.

“You broke up with Ben.” It wasn't a question. Apparently Ginny's romantic failure was so inevitable Luna was able to draw the conclusion with only minimal information. “What happened?”

“What always happens?” Ginny shrugged, casting her eyes around for a drink, but there was only sporadic smatterings of guests making their way to the portrait gallery, where cocktail hour was currently being held. “He wanted more than I was willing to give.”

“I didn't like him for you anyway,” Luna pronounced with the same tone usually reserved for commenting on the weather. “He was too sweet.”

“Are you saying you think I should be with someone not-sweet?”

“I'm saying,” Luna replied patiently. “You should be with someone who can handle the woman you are, not the one they want you to be.”

Ginny squirmed under the weight of Luna's uncomfortably perceptive comment. Briefly, she looked to Rolf, but he had wandered over to a painting on the far wall, depicting a circle of nymphs dancing in a wildflower glade, and was studying it intently.

Luna's next words made Ginny infinitely more grateful for Rolf's lack of interest in their conversation. “You've been with someone though.” Her pale eyes narrowed, studying Ginny's face with an intensity that had her fighting the urge to cover it with her hands. “Your aura is glowing,”

“I am not glowing,” Ginny replied emphatically. Although she was certain she was now turning a shade of scarlet that could be described as luminous.

“You are,” Luna insisted. “And it must have been good – you're always a bit shiny, but I've never seen you glow like this.”

What did that even mean? Of course she wasn't glowing. Especially not because of Harry. She refused to glow for anyone. As Ginny had just reminded herself, she was a strong, capable woman. And glowing was some made up Luna nonsense that meant absolutely nothing.

She'd been right earlier, this bloody wedding and its stupid soft, romantic atmosphere was going to everyone's heads.

She was about to say as much when Ginny's name was called from the far end of the corridor. She looked over to find Hermione waving at her through the crowd. “You're needed for the photographs – everyone's gathering in the rose garden.”

Finally, some fresh air, just what Ginny needed to clear her head.

“I'll see you later,” she said to Luna and Rolf, who had rejoined Luna's side.

“Let us know if you can't find a bed,” Luna said. “You're more than welcome to share ours.”

“That might be a little too cosy, even for me,” Ginny smiled. “I'll figure something out.”

Something that didn't involve peridot green eyes, unruly black hair and the most addictive touch Ginny had ever experienced.

Merlin, she definitely needed fresh air.

“Come on,” Luna pulled Rolf along in Ginny's wake as she began to make her way down the hallway in the direction Hermione had indicated. “I'll introduce you to some of the others… oh look, Harry is glowing too.”

Ginny paused midstep, her hands bunched into fists at her side. “No one is glowing!”

Her voice was several octaves higher than she'd planned. A flurry of heads turned to stare in her direction, Harry's amongst them.

He was standing next to Hermione, looking at Ginny with a half-puzzled, half-amused expression. She had half a mind to march straight up to him and wipe the stupid look off his face.

The vision of exactly how she might achieve such a feat overtook her before Ginny could stop it… Her fingers would ball into the front of his robes, pulling him closer. He'd look at her with that same hungry desire he had last night, and she would guide his face to hers and –

“I need to get out of here,” she declared to no one in particular, gathering the flowing skirt of her gown in her hand and giving her heeled feet an unencumbered path straight down the hallway and out the glass doors into the gardens.

An hour of forced photographs, punctuated by Mum's frequent admonishments that Ginny's smile wasn't genuine enough – a reminder that only resulted in making Ginny's face increasingly stiff and unnatural – did not improve her mood.

“Let's get the bridesmaids with the groomsmen," The squat, round-faced photographer suggested after what Ginny estimated to be the millionth identical photograph of her and her brothers in front of a tall marble fountain.

“Here.” Mum thrust Ginny's bouquet back into her hand. “Hold it in front of you.”

“Can you all pair up?” The photographer peeked over the top of his camera. “We'll have the groomsmen in the back, holding the bridesmaids at the waist.”

“We should pair up with who we walked down the aisle with.” Cassandra was already making a beeline for Harry who quickly looked over his shoulder as though searching for an escape through the thick hedge behind him.

“No.” Audrey stepped in Cassandra's path before she could claim Harry as a victim. “That doesn't make sense. The rest of the groomsmen are Ginny's brothers, it's going to look strange if one of them is holding her by the waist.”

“It's almost like the pose is unnecessarily intimate,” Harry muttered.

Ginny's smile broke free against her will, as did her eyes, which met his across the fountain. She forced herself to look away immediately. Fresh air, as it turned out, was overrated.

“Ginny, you stand with Harry,” Mum commanded, effectively wiping the smile from her face.

The brief reprieve caused by the momentary chaos as everyone was directed to their places was the only opportunity Ginny had to gather her nerves.

She tried for a light, untroubled expression as she stepped into the awaiting circle of Harry's arms. “Unnecessarily intimate seems to be our brand this weekend.”

Her back met his chest and Harry's hands fell lightly to her waist. “Is that what you're calling last night? Unnecessary?”

His head was bent close to her, ensuring they weren't overheard by George and Sophia beside them. Harry's breath caressed Ginny's ear as he spoke and she had to fight to keep her smile on her face or risk the desire flooding her from just that simple gesture being immortalised on camera forever.

“It's not the first word I'd used to describe it,” she admitted in a ragged whisper.

Harry's fingers tightened on her waist; his thumbs circled slowly over her ribs through the silk bodice of her dress. She knew he could feel the shallow movement of her ribs. “What words would you use to describe it?”

“Foolish,” Ginny breathed as the camera flashed.

“Reckless,” Harry added, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear.

“Incredible.” The confession slipped from Ginny's mouth before she could stop it.

Harry's hands stilled; she felt his body tense around her.

Ginny's heart hammered against her chest, but she forced herself to continue smiling for the camera. She wished that she could go back thirty seconds and cast a silencing charm on her idiotic mouth.

It was exactly as she'd feared, her witless brain had elevated their night together into something far more than Harry would ever consider it to be. What she had considered to be lingering looks and yearning-filled touches in the bridal suite this morning had simply been her projecting her own feelings onto Harry. The pull that she had imagined between them during the ceremony was a figment of her imagination–

“I was going to say amazing, but incredible works too.”

Relief flooded her, along with another wave of desire. “Its a shame we agreed to only one night.”

“Those are the rules we set.” Harry's arms moved imperceptably, pulling her more flush against him. “But you know what they say about rules, don't you?”