A/N: Ugh, sorry for the wait! See other Author's Note below.
For the next month Harry and I see each other as much as possible. Fred and George have me on a strict schedule: Mondays-Fridays, nine to five. The first week was absolute hell (probably on purpose) and it wasn't until I saw my paycheck that it suddenly became worth it. I now know why people work! Yes, I have to put up with their crap five days a week, but for what they're paying me, I'd put up with far more! I'll never let them know that, though. Oh hell no.
A few nights a week Harry and I would have dinner either with my family at the Burrow, or with Tonks and Remus at their house. We would sit through dinner, chatting with whomever we were eating with, help clean up after dinner and casually excuse ourselves for a walk. We'd then shag like there was no tomorrow wherever we could find. To be quite honest, we'd been rather careless about where we've done it more than once, but as we haven't been caught, it hasn't seemed too dangerous until later. We've almost been seen by Remus on more than one occassion. I can't even imagine what that would even be like. I'd like to not think about it much.
I've slowly stopped having insecurities, which has turned me into quite the hornball. All day at work as I'm cashing people out, or dusting the shelves, I'm having these wonderful little fantasies about Harry. One more than one occasion I've had to place a cooling spell over myself to calm me down. Fred and George think I'm coming down with a fever. I'm going along with it. Maybe I'll get a sick day out of it.
Our relationship seems to be on this wonderful cruise-control of absolute amazingness. I can't even find correct words to describe my absolute euphoria. Last year at this time I was a grumpy little bugger, tip-toeing around Harry in fear he'd run off and I'd never see him again. Now, I have to tip-toe around Harry so I don't wake him up and have him make another go at me when I'm trying to get ready. I wish I could go back in time and comfort myself. I'd say, "It'll be all right, Past Ginny, you'll see him naked." That little bit of information would have saved me a lot of tears, which I need to guilt trip my brothers.
Speaking of brothers, Harry admitted to me that he informed Ron about the level of our relationship. I was outraged.
"Harry!" I had cried, covering my face with my hands. "Why would you do something like that?"
"He kind of already knew, Ginny!"
"Well, I'm assuming he did. He was the one who brought it up, not me. His exact response was, 'I kind of figured. For all the walks you two take you sure as hell aren't losing any bloody weight.'"
I frown. "Oh."
Harry shrugs. "I don't think he cared that much."
I want to sigh in relief, but, as with Mum, I'm a little miffed that he didn't care either. Doesn't anyone care how I live my life? Gosh, what an awful, supportive family I have.
Well, tonight, Harry and I are having an actual date night after dinner. We are going to go out like a real couple before we shag. It makes me feel like such a lady. See, if it isn't obvious from above, all we've been doing lately is shagging. Lots and lots of shagging. Real dates have seemed to fall to the way side as opposed to shagging. And while it's not that I don't enjoy shagging Harry, I'd like to feel like a girl in a real relationship. Right now, I sort of feel...dirty almost. There's a part of me that knows Harry loves me dearly, deeply, but there's another part of me that is starting to get nervous. I feel that we might be talking less and less and soon we'll run out of things to say and we'll break up and...I can't even think about it.
As I am sitting on my bed, snapping the snap on my sandals, I hear a knock on my door. Fearing it might be Harry early, and he'll try and shag me before we go out on our real date, I cry, "Er...just a minute. I'm just about dressed!"
"When you're done, come up to my room. I want to talk to you," I hear Ron say.
"Oh. Um, sure okay. Be right there."
I sit back down on the bed and frown. What on Earth could that be about? I finish putting on my other sandal, stand up, check myself out in the mirror and then head up to Ron's room. He is pacing back and forth, rapidly, when I finally get up to him.
"Hey. What's up?"
Ron wheels around to face me and says, "Here" and thrusts a little velvet box in my hands. I stare down at it for a while before sucking in a deep breath and opening the top lid. Just as I expected, snuggled down in a silk cushion is a diamond ring.
"What do you think?" he asks.
"I think it's lovely, but I don't love you that way," I say before I can stop myself. I look up to see Ron giving me a look and quickly say, "It's really lovely, Ron."
"Really." I clear my throat. "Um, when are you planning on asking her?"
"Tonight," he says. "Do you think she'll say yes?"
"Of course!" I snap, giving him an incredulous look. I glance back down at the ring and shift it just a bit. The diamond catches the soft light from Ron's room and glints. "She'll love it."
"I'm a bit nervous." Ron takes the box out of my hands and stares down at the ring. "I've been saving up every spare coin to pay for this ring," he informs me. "That and a flat."
"You're getting a flat?" I ask.
"Well, we can't be a newlywed couple here, Gin!" He shakes his head. "To be quite honest, I started putting money away for a ring after our first date." He shrugs a little. "We've talked about it a few times, and we seem to be on the same page."
"Well then," I say. "I'm happy for you. Where are you taking her?"
"Where we went for our first date," Ron says. He is looking down at the ring. "She's been kind of distracted lately, swamped with work, you know. We barely get to see each other anymore." I don't mention that they seemed to see enough of each other the other night when I walked in on them shagging. We'll just let that go to the back of my brain and DIE.
"She's going to be very happy, Ron," I say, rubbing his arm.
A few weeks ago I asked Hermione if she thought Ron would propose to her soon. She had played it off really cooly at first and said, "I don't know. I don't think so." She looked over at me and then suddenly said, hurriedly, "Why? Has he said something to you?"
"No," I had replied. "I was just curious. You'd say yes, though, right?"
"Oh, Ginny, of course," Hermione replied breathlessly. We were setting the table for dinner and she had a cloth napkin in her hand, which she suddenly clenched. "Of course I'd say yes." We finished setting the table and said said, "You really haven't heard anything?"
"No," I said.
"Oh." Her shoulders sagged down in disappointment,
"You know," I say to Ron, "she's going to be very excited."
"Oh, yeah," I reply. "I asked her about marrying you a few weeks ago and she seemed pretty excited about it."
"Can I tell you a secret?" Ron asked.
"Sure!" He was, after all, trusting me with the secret of his ring.
"I overheard you that night," Ron says. He places the ring back in his pocket and shrugs.
"You were eavesdropping?" I snap.
"No," he snaps back. "I was coming downstairs and I happened to hear what you were talking about. I hadn't even really been planning to ask her until this winter, but when I heard her...I wanted to ask her as soon as possible. I took my last paycheck, as well as what I had already saved and went to get the ring. I hope she likes it."
"I'm sure she will," I say.
"Harry helped me pick it out," Ron says. "He told me Hermione pointed it out to him last year and mentioned it was her 'dream ring' or 'fairy tale ring' or something fruity like that." He shakes his head and turns back to the mirror to brush out his hair.
"Harry's known about this?" I snap.
"Yup," Ron replies. "And before you get your knickers in a twist, he was sworn to secrecy."
I feel like saying, "SO!" because I've gotten stuff out of Harry rather easily. It's a good thing none of the Death Eaters found that little spot on his neck, or he would have given up all types of secrets. Though, I never did really ask him about it.
Ron finishes with his brush and places it down on his dresser. He then begins fiddling with his hair with his fingers. I sit on the edge of his bed, my eyes fixated on the little velvet box that he had taken out of his pocket and placed on the dresser.
"So, what are you and Harry doing tonight?"
"He's taking me out on our first real date in over a month," I say, somewhat distractedly. I briefly wonder if Harry managed to glance around a ring shop for me, before realizing how foolish that would be. We've only been dating for about three months. Crazier things have happened, though.
"I thought you guys went out after dinner last night," Ron says.
"Yeah, but all we did was sh--" I break off, my eyes widening as they slowly come back into focus. I forgot who I was talking to for the briefest of seconds. This was not Hermione or Luna or even a perfect stranger. This was Ron. And now he is giving me a rather disgusted look. "We didn't really go out, or anything, I mean, we just--"
"Stop speaking," he says, giving me a firm look before averting his gaze from mine.
"I'm going to finish getting ready," I say. "If you hear Harry Floo in, send him up to my room, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ron says, and grumbles something else I don't quite catch before the door closes behind me.
I am just starting on my hair when I hear distant voices from downstairs and know Harry must be here by now. I study myself in the mirror and decde I look alright, I might need to do something else with my hair, though.
Like I said to Ron, this will be the first time Harry and I have actually gone out in public together in a while. Harry is more content to stay in, and thought 'in' isn't always somehwere inside, it is inside me. I am starting to fear that all he wants from me is sex, though I'm sure it isn't true. It's just, the more we shag, the more concerned I get about it. However, I'm sure tonight will go on without a hitch and everything will be fine. I suck in a steadying breath.
Harry comes to stand behind me as I am finishing my hair. I finally get it controlled so that it doesn't look like a rabid possum. I see Harry fling his cloak onto my bed, and turn towards me, a smile on his face.
"You look beautiful," he says softly.
"Thank you," I reply. "I'll be done in a second."
As I am studying myself in the mirror, I feel Harry's hands come and slide around my waist. I break out into a slight shiver and smile at his reflection. It slides off my face when Harry's mouth suddenly finds my neck. I immediately react, my teeth coming over my bottom lip, my eyes falling closed. He is anything but a bad kisser, I'll say that much.
However, I am suddenly reminded that we had a date tonight. And damn it, I want my date!
"Harry," I say, even as my hand reaches back and slides up his cheek into his hair. "We can't do this now. We're going out."
"Let's stay in," he says, his hands sliding lower down my hips.
"No," I say firmly. I push back against him and shove him off of me. He seems caught off guard and stumbles back slightly. "Sorry."
"What's the matter?" he asks.
"Nothing," I say immediately, but change my mind. "It's just...I'm not just a vagina, Harry!"
He looks at me in disbelief. "Excuse me?"
"I'm not just a vagina! I'm not just this...this shaggable plaything for you! I'm your girlfriend! And I deserve a real date and I deserve intelligent conversation! All we do is shag, Harry! I'm getting mushy, over-sexed brain!" I try not to get hysterical. "I'm afraid that all you want from me is sex." There I said it. I shouldn't have, but I did.
"Are you crazy?"
"No! I'm not crazy!" I snap. "What did we do yesterday? We shagged! What did we do the other day? We shagged! What did we do seven times last week? We shagged!"
"We didn't shag on Tuesday," Harry informs me.
"It's the same thing!" I cry. "Mouths were places, orgasms were had! The point is, I want to be treated like a lady! You treating me like this is something I do not appreciate!"
"Treating you like what?" he snaps angrily.
"Like...a prostitute or something!" I yell. "I deserve to be treated to a date, and to be treated better, okay?"
Harry stares at me for a long time before I drop my gaze. My breathing is coming in quite rapidly and I know what just happened was completely unacceptable. I try to steady myself to look up at him.
"I'm sorry," I say, my voice sounding unevened. "I shouldn't have...Like I said, mushy sex brain." I try to smile at him, but he seems rather unamused with me at the moment. "I just want less touching, less affection sometimes. You know? I just...I just want my date."
"Fine." His voice slices through the awkward silence and I cringe.
"Are you...Are you mad at me?"
"Are you sure?" I ask, just as he snaps, "I'm sure. Let's go."
We make our way downstairs in awkward silence, passing Ron, who glares over at Harry as he eats some leftovers Mum made up.
"Going out?" he asks Harry.
Okay, if even Ron can pick up on the way Harry's voice sounds, then it isn't just me, and Harry is still furious.
"What's the matter with you?" Ron asks him.
"Nothing," Harry snaps, glaring over at Ron. "I'm fine."
"Good luck Ron," I say.
"Oh, yeah, good luck, Ron," Harry says. His features soften considerably. "Where are you taking her again?"
"O'Malley's," Ron says. "It's where we had our first date." He chews some, and then says, "I hope she comes without her work..."
"I'm sure she will," I say. "It's Saturday."
"You'd be surprised," Ron replies.
"We should get going," I say. "We have reservations for seven-thirty."
"Right." Harry turns back to me, softness gone.
We floo into Diagon Alley and make our way through the streets in absolute silence, until we get to the Muggle streets of London. It is only then that I turn to Harry and say, "It's a lovely night."
His reply? "Mhmm."
I look away from him and sigh. I think I've honestly mucked up.
Harry and I make our way into the restaurant and take our seats. He holds out my chair for me and then sits across from me. He immediately flips open his menu and, after a seconds pause, I do the same. It doesn't matter what he said earlier, he's mad. I swallow thickly and look down at the words that swim before my eyes, not seeing any of them.
A part of me wonders if I should have stayed silent and let him shag me as much as he wants. Because, as I've come to know, I'm a thousand times more miserable without him, than with him. And haven't I dreamed about Harry wanted a relationship with me? Haven't I bargained and dreamed and prayed that Harry would kiss me again, that Harry would want to be with me forever? So, logically, what is the first thing I do? Complain. Ugh.
I shift the menu so that is lowered. I stare at Harry as he reads the menu. His eyes are scanning back and forth, from what I can see through the glare in his glasses. The fireplace and half the table in back of us are illuminated in the glass. His right hand comes up to scratch his nose and then goes back onto the table.
I clear my throat loudly, significantly, and look back up at him. He's still reading the menu, a slight frown on his face. I clear my throat again, louder. Still, he continues reading the menu, though, I swear I see the corners of his mouth turn up in the briefest of smiles. I fight a small smile myself and clear my throat so loudly and so clearly that it not only hurts my throat, but causes the woman at the table next to ours to look over at us briefly. Harry is definitly fighting a smile.
"Yes?" he says, not looking up. "Can I get you some water?"
"Can you look at me, please?" I say.
"Is that allowed?"
"Yes," I snap.
He does so. "Okay, just so I know, I am allowed to look at you. Wonderful. Talking to you is also acceptable, correct?"
"Yes." I glare over at him, but he takes no notice. He has the cockiest look on his face, which is so infuriating. I find any amusement with him from earlier quickly evaporating. "I don't need you to mock me," I snap.
"Mock you? I'm not mocking you," Harry says, sounding aghast. I can see that it is fake, however, and the surprise in his voice and face is an act. "I just want to make sure I'm not making any unwanted advances on you."
"You're being a prat," I snap. "You're taking what I said and twisting into something else. I didn't say I wanted you to stop talking or touching or looking at me. All I said was I wanted to do something once in a while that didn't involve you inside of me."
"Are you ready to order?" a voice asks, interuppting us.
Harry and I both jump and turn to see the waiter in front of us. I immediately feel my cheeks ignite and drop my gaze back down to my menu. We both rattle off our orders and the menus are taken from us. We no longer have any shields, anything to distract us from each other. So, we mostly sit in silence. Not comfortable silence, not awkward silence. Angry silence.
Finally, he breaks his silence.
"I would just like to state for the record that I am not one who initiated sex all of the time. That would be you," he says, breaking some bread apart onto a plate, not looking up at me.
"OKay," I say, rolling my eyes. I fold my arms over my chest and shake my head, looking away from him.
"So maybe you should have had that talk with yourself before taking out all of your frustration out on me," Harry continues. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard, to stop words from spilling out. I focuse my attention on a picture on the wall and try to ignore everything he is saying so I don't explode in anger.
"Okay," I spit out.
"Just some things you might want to think about before you unleash your PMS on me," I hear Harry say and I suck in a deep breath and then let it out again. I think all of my anger is gone, until, "You think you can try and do that, sweety?"
"Okay, you know what?" I snarl, turning to face him, my blood boiling. "You can have dinner here by yourself tonight. I'm really not in the mood for this! My brother is ready to propose to his girlfriend, and my boyfriend won't even take me out to dinner!" I cry.
The woman next to us looks over at us again, and Harry does not look impressed by my outburst. He opens his mouth to respond, when our drinks are placed in front of us and we are assured our meals will follow shortly. The waiter leaves.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I beat him to it. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to make it seem like it was all your fault, because it isn't. But then you started...making fun of me, and I just got angry." I shrug. "I just wanted dinner."
Harry is silent for a moment before he says, "Fine. Let's have dinner."
I nod over at him and we slowly and awkwardly begin conversation. By the time our food comes ten minutes later I have managed to get a small smile out of Harry, though he does so begrudgingly. By the time we are finished with our food, Harry is no longer giving me the look at all and helps me out of my chair and into the warm air.
"Thank you, Harry," I say happily. "That was so lovely. Exactly what I wanted!" I smile over at him fondly as he leads me down the cobblestone streets. We round a corner and my mouth starts to water. My nostrils are assualted by the smell of chocolate and ice cream and pure, blissful sugar. Even as my stomach protests and begs me not to, I say, "Ice cream?"
Harry looks over at the small shop and shrugs. "OKay."
We go in and make our selections. As soon as we come out of the cool shop and hit the warm air, my ice cream begins to melt. It is now a race to finish it before it turns into liquid. Harry and I settle onto a park bench and people watch. It is about eight o'clock and the park is still filled with people. I manage to get most of my ice cream gone before melting becomes a real problem.
My eyes wander along the various couples on blankets, families with babies and owners with their dogs, throwing a toy through the air. Some are down by the lake, while others are further up on the grass. I turn my attention to a young couple, probably not much older than Harry and I. They are in their swim trunks and are watching the sunset. As I watch, the boy leans over and plants a kiss on the girl. The delight in her face is evident and I am forcibly reminded of the first few weeks of our relationship. All it took was a look or a kiss and I felt like the luckiest person on the planet. And now where am I? Sitting on the bench with my grumpy boyfriend. A grumpy boyfriend who I've hurt and offended. Oh, how times have changed.
"Harry," I say softly, turning to him. He has ice cream in the corner of his mouth and I wipe it off with my thumb. "You should take me home now."
"Why?" he asks.
"Because I want to shag you."
There is a brief second of silence, in which he simply stares at me. He finally breaks it with, "Ha!" before going back to his ice cream without another word. I stare over at him before glancing back at the kissing couple. I miss that new, exciting feeling, but I can't help but love the comfortable feeling with Harry. I mean, only two people in love could act like we are acting with each other right now. Had I not known how much I loved Harry, and how much he loved me, the fact that he just laughed in my face when I asked for sex would have crushed me.
"What was that for?" I ask a moment later.
"Ha!" I snap. "What was that?"
"I just think it's funny that you think I'm going to shag you tonight after all you said," Harry replies, finishing up his cone and wiping his hands on a napkin. "You're crazy."
"Excuse me?" I snap. "All you did all night was pout because we weren't having sex every second of the time we were together, and now that I offer it to you, you don't want to do it?"
"That's right," Harry says.
"Fine," I snap. "And maybe we don't do it tomorrow, either."
"Wonderful," Harry says jovially.
"Or the next night," I snarl.
"Great. When we get home I'll write it in my date book," Harry says.
"You're being such an arse!" I snap at him. "And a baby! I don't know why I even bother!"
"Oh, don't even," Harry replies. "You love me."
"For what reasons I don't know," I reply angrily. He is looking over at me in an amused manner.
"Probably because of the amazing sex and orgasms all you do is complain about," Harry replies. "You seem to like that very much."
It is my turn to cry, "Ha!" Harry gives me a side eye, and I can see he doesn't really believe me all that much. I can't really blame him, as every time we've ever had sex involves a lot of me informing him of how amazing he is. And it's not all fluff, either. The only way I can really achieve orgasm is with him, or thinking of him. It's always been like that.
I roll my eyes and shake my head, turning away from him again. The boy and girl are sitting together. Her back is to his chest and his right arms is dangling over her shoulder. Their fingers are intertwined. I frown at them angrily. Stupid couple.
"Do you see them?" I ask Harry, nudging him. He looks over at me and I point at the couple by the lake. "You never do that with me."
"What are you just staring at people out here?" Harry asks. "Want me to grab you a pair of binoculars?"
"Stop joking," I snap angrily. "Do you see them? She looks so happy, you know why? Because her boyfriend dates her."
"I date you, Ginny," Harry says in exasperation. When he sees the seriousness in my expression, he looks over at them. He looks back at me. "You know what I see? I see two people in that awkward stage of their relationship where they still aren't comfortable with one another. I remember how much I hated that part of our relationship."
"But that was when it was new and exciting!"
"Not for me it wasn't," Harry replies. "For me, it was scary and my palms sweated and I was always red in the face. I didn't like not feeling comfortable around you. I like where we are now. I like that you can have a complete meltdown, accuse me of treating you like a prostiture, and it doesn't make me hate you. I find it rather amusing, actually." My cheeks turn red.
"You didn't look amused earlier," I say.
"I was," he assures me. "Once I got over being infuriated."
"I said I was sorry," I say.
"And I accepted it," Harry replies.
"Fine," I say, sighing. "Take me home?"
"Sure, I'll take you home. Shag you? No effing way," he says, tossing his napking into a wastebasket. He turns to look at me expectantly and says, "Floo or Apparate?"
The heavyness in my stomach informs me that it is too far to walk back to the entrance of Diagon Alley to Floo home.
"Piggy-back," I say, tugging at his shirt and nudging closer to him. He scans our surroundings and jerks his head towards an alleyway to our left. I let him lead me to it, his hand around mine until we make our way into it. Thought it was dusk out, and still had some light, as soon as we enter the alley, it is an immediate darkness. I shiver slightly as Harry holds onto my hand tighter.
"Ready?" he asks and waits for my nod.
A moment later I am being sucked through air until I land shakily on my feet. Without even thinking about, without any prompting, Harry's arm stiffens, his hand clenching onto mine almost painfully. The result is that even as I jerk forward to fall on my face, I only get so far before he pulls me back up again. It has become second nature to him, something he has learned to do.
I give him a grateful smile and lead him into the house. Though there is soft lights from a few candles in the corner of the living room, the house is mostly dark. Mum and Dad will return in the morning from Romania where Charlie is packing up from. He plans to move back here before getting married and Mum and Dad went over to lend a hand. Well, Dad went over to lend a hand. Mum went over to fuss over his hair and weight, and to get a good look at the woman Charlie has been hiding away. They asked me to come along, but I declined, for good reason. I can't very well see and shag Harry if I'm all the way in Romania!
"Do you want to come upstairs?" I ask, turning to him.
"No thanks," he says. "I'm going to get going."
"Why?" I ask.
"You said earlier--"
"Oh, forget what I said earlier!" I snap. "All I asked from you was that you take me out on a date. You took me out on a date and now we're back."
"You were right, though," Harry says. "Maybe I was putting too much 'physical pressure' on you. I'll just see you in a couple of days and we'll discuss how we're going to go about the relationship from there. Now, I forgot my cloak upstairs, I'll just--"
"I'll get it," I snap. "You stay down here."
I turn on my heel and hurry up the stairs angrily. Is he going to punish me for what I said for the rest of our lives? I know a part of him is teasing me, but the other part is angry with me. I can't blame him. I reacted like a lunatic earlier, accusing him of crazy things. I realize how he could have been hurt by what I said. And maybe I'm being a little hypocritical in his eyes, but I never said I never wanted to have sex with him again. I was just so high-strung with what I allowed my brain to cook-up, that Harry bursting in immediately wanting sex seemed to confirm my worst thoughts. And I feel badly about it, but he won't allow my apology to sink in.
I grab his cloak off of my bed and sigh heavily. I am about to leave the room when I stop short. I think hard for a second before coming to a conclusion. I can do one of two things: Cry hysterically and hope that it makes him feel bad, or seduce him. Both would work just fine, but number one would probably leave him a little angry with me.
I hurry over to my top drawer and pull out a pair of knickers I bought last week. Knickers he has not seen yet. I quickly pull them on and then put my shirt and skirt back on. With his cloak in my hand and a bottle of firewhiskey that I swiped from Ron's room earlier, I head down the stairs. Harry looks up at me and seems rather surprised to see me.
"I thought you had fallen asleep," he says, accepting his cloak from me. "Well, good night, then..."
"Harry," I say, touching his arm, "you don't really have to go, okay? I get it, you're angry at some of the things I said. You...don't have to act like this, though. I'm still your girlfriend. Your girlfriend who comes bearing gifts." I hold up the bottle of firewhiskey (which I know for a fact is the one thing that really gets Harry to shut down all barriers). Harry looks at it for a second before slowly putting his cloak on the chair in front of him.
We settle onto the couch after I grabbed two shot glasses from the cupboard. They aren't traditional shot glasses, as Mum would never allow it. But they are small enough to do the job, and I think Mum uses them as a measurement when cooking.
I pour us each a shot and we down them. It burns the back of my throat like crazy and I make a series of faces before I calm down. Harry has a better poker face than I do, and can take the shots without much emotion. We do not do much talking, but after the third shot Harry is quite eager to go, and I know why. I can barely stomach three shots without being compeltely smashed, but Harry is only tipsy by the third shot. Tipsy and completely vulnerable to any advance I might like to make.
With two shots in me, and with four shots in Harry (two regular, and two reluctant), I find myself placing the bottle on the table and settle back into the couch. I can feel the heat in my cheeks and the slight spin the room seems to be in. The couch is so comfortable, I could sink right through the cushions. I smile over at Harry a huge, wide smile and he gives me a cautious look, his resolve weakening by the second.
I turn my head to the left and let it rest slightly against the soft cushions. Harry is looking at me intently and I pick my head up and slowly start edging closer to him until our lips are almost touching. I can smell the firewhiskey on his breath, which I'm sure he can smell on mine. Before I can do anything, he reaches out with his left hand. Four of his fingers slide into my hair, causing goosebumps, as his thumb rests against my temple. We stare at each other for a moment.
"You hurt my feelings," he says into the silence.
"I'm sorry," I say desperately.
"I forgive you," he replies and closes the gap between us, kissing me.
It's all quite fuzzy. I can't help but display that silly little grin on my face as Harry pulls me onto his lap. I'm not a mean drunk, or a sloppy drunk. I'm a smiley drunk. I will smile at anything, but it isn't a happy smile. It's simply a huge, goofy, drunken smile, the only way to describe it.
I languish Harry's neck with kisses, which makes him elicit the sexiest sounds into the silent house. They're the only sounds, really, besides our slight movements or a breathed command from either of us. He lets his head rest against the couch and I continue to kiss all around his neck, up to his ear. I take his earlobe between my teeth for a brief second before releasing it and heading north again. When I reach his scar I plant a small kiss on it. Harry told me that he doesn't really have any feeling in it anymore, but the first time I ran my tongue along the length of it he nearly exploded. It wasn't really that the sensation was so great, but rather the fact that I'd even want to touch him there. The only time Harry says he gets any real feeling in his scar is when he's feeling intense amounts of fear, joy, sadness, etc. Like now, I suppose. I run my tongue along the length of it and his hips buck against mine. He brings my lips down to his.
As we kiss, I bring my hands inbetween us and get his belt unbuckled. I impatiently pull his zipper down and reach inside his jeans. I take ahold of him and watch an immediate change come over Harry. His breathing starts coming quicker and faster, in the same tempo as my strokes. His eyes fly open and look at me in such a startled, awe-filled way.
After a few moments of this, in which his moans fill the house, I stop and lean back slightly. Harry's eyes fly open and look at me as I yank my knickers to the side and settle back down on top of him. We both cry out and begin rocking in two different rhythms. We both laugh and stop, and he begins to move my hips and then moves with me.
When we're finished, I collapse against him. My shirt is slightly damp and I am out of breath. Harry nudges his nose against mine and I smile down at him before kissing him. He shifts my hair to the side and kisses at my neck before his head flops against the back of the couch. He looks completely sated and sleepy.
"Don't fall asleep," I say, running a hand through his hair.
"Hmm?" he asks, his eyes still closed.
"Come upstairs with me," I say.
"I'm tired," he insists.
"We'll get a sobering charm and you'll be as good as new," I say, nuzzling his neck. I jerk my hips for emphasis and he moans. "Plus, you can't very well sleep on this couch, can you?"
"No," he says and cracks an eye open. "I guess I can't."
He follows me up the stairs and as soon as we get to my bedroom and close the door over, he plops onto my bed. I reach for my wand and press it against my temple. I mutter the sobering charm and immediately feel the warm, liquidy feeling leave my body. I haven't thought this clear in a long time. I then press my wand against Harry's temple and do the same. He shakes his head and then smiles at me.
"You're pretty good at this," he says.
I smile happily at him and lean over and kiss him.
We lay together on the bed, kissing, for I don't know how long. He pulls back from me and sweeps some of my hair behind my ear. I smile. This is what I really wanted. Hot, rushed sex is always nice. It's straight to the point, you're both happy and it's all over within five to ten minutes. However, it doesn't leave time for this, lounging around on my bed, kissing, touching, nuzzling. I miss having an hour to make love. It isn't Harry's fault, and it isn't my fault. The fact remains that because we do not live together, and, most importantly, we live with other people, sometimes it comes down to: shag now, and quickly, or do not shag at all.
"Take your trousers off," I breath in his ear, though I am already furiously working the buckle of his pants. "I want to give you something." He suddenly springs into action and gets his trousers off in less than a second. I fight off a smile.
I can still remember how nervous and frightened I was to do this the first time. I was convinced I was doing it wrong, and it didn't help that Harry is nearly silent during sex. I didn't realize until he told me, that he was completely embarrassed and nervous, just like me, which is why he pretty much kept his mouth closed for the first ten minutes. It wasn't until I kept pulling back to ask him if I was doing alright, or if he wanted me to try something else, that he finally spoke up.
"Ginny," he finally said, sitting up on his elbows and looking at me. "Either talk to me or...do that. You can't do both, and I can't do both."
"Well, just tell me this: Does it feel okay?"
I guess I couldn't tell from his flushed face and damp skin how much he liked it. So, he said, "Ginny, it feels bloody fucking fantastic."
"Really?" I asked, delightedly.
After our little chat, he started making some noise, and his hand found its way into my hair, giving me the confidence to continue. All I needed to know was that I was doing it right, or at least doing something that felt vaguely good.
I slide up the bed and am about to plant a kiss on him, when we hear the front door slam so hard, it vibrates all the way up here. Harry and I suddenly spring apart as we hear shouting coming from downstairs. He looks around bewildered as I yank my skirt back up.
"What is all that bloody racket?" he snaps, smoothing down his hair. He catches the shirt I toss at him and quickly puts it on. "How do I look?"
"Like your shag got interupted," I snap, opening my door and peeking out. I can't see anyone, but I can't certainly hear them. "For the love of Merlin," I say to Harry, "it's Ron and Hermione."
"Go tell them to shut up," Harry says.
"Listen, we'll just go down, difuse the situation, come back up and continue with what we were doing," I suggest. "Come on."
We head down the stairs and the shouting gets louder and louder until we are finally in the kitchen. Hermione and Ron are squared off at one another, each red in the face. For a second I am forcibly reminded of their Hogwarts fights, but quickly stumble during my trip down memory lane when they start yelling even louder. I can barely get the gist of what they're screaming.
"What is going on?" I snap. "You...woke us up!"
They seem not to hear me because Ron shouts, "You can't go without work for ten bloody seconds! All I asked from you was a night out that didn't involve talking to you through a manilla folder!"
"I said I was sorry a million times, you prat!" Hermione shouts. "But my work is important! What I do has an impact and I can't just slack off!"
"Slack off?" Ron snaps. "It's nine o'clock on a Saturday night! You get the weekends off! Just admit that you fancy your stupid job more than me."
"Don't be such a baby! And stop calling my work stupid! I put a lot of time and effort into my job, and I will not be ashamed to take pride in it!"
"Take pride! Make bloody shirts for all I care! Oh, and as for making a difference, let me say this for the last fucking time: Those bloody elves want you to leave them the hell alone! They don't want socks being hidden in their cleaning supplies, they don't want money as weekly payments and they don't want to be liberated. How about you put all your time and effort into something that will actually matter!"
Harry and I turn to look at each other. I can literally feel the seconds counting down before Hermione explodes. I see that her hands are clenched into fists at her side, her knuckles a bright white. Her fists are shaking and she's glaring over at Ron with such an intensity that I expect if she had her wand in her hand there would be balls of fire shooting out.
"Take. It. Back," is all Hermione says half a minute later.
Ron cocks his eyebrow at her and then says, just as evenly, "No."
"Ron, if you ever want to see me again, you will take back every word you just said!" Hermione snarls.
"Who says I want to see you again?" Ron counters. "The past few times we've actually been together have included a dinner for three: Me, you and a nice stack of paperwork. I haven't been enjoying your company lately."
"I'm leaving," Hermione spits out and begins walking around the table towards the fireplace.
I open my mouth to say something, to stop her from leaving, for I do not know what will happen if she does, when Ron snaps, "Oh, here. I got this for you, but seeing as you've ruined the whole night and I can't get my money back, you mine as well have this--" He tosses the little velvet box across the room. Hermione catches it cleanly, though looks slightly surprised.
She stiffens when she stares down at the box and it takes her a moment or so to collect herself and flip the top of the box open. When she sees what is inside of the box she presses the fingers of her right hand to her lips. She looks up at Ron and then bursts into tears.
Ron, to his credit, looks horrified at her reaction. He turns to Harry, seeming to notice us for the first time and silently calls for help with his eyes, which Harry instantly shoots down. Ron sighs.
"Don't cry, Hermione," Ron says softly. He inches closer to her.
"Well, what did you expect, you prat?" Hermione snaps. "Are you giving this to me? Are you...are you asking me to marry you?"
"Erm...yes. I planned to do it better, properly..." Ron inches closer and closer until he is standing right in front of her. "I had some very nice things to say, but I can't really remember what they are."
Hermione sniffles. "It's okay!"
"I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life," Ron says. "And, despite the bloody awful proposal, if you would be willing to, I'd like to marry you." He sighs. "I'm cocking it all up, aren't I?"
Hermione shakes her head and laughs. "No. You're doing just fine!"
Ron takes the ring from the little box in her hand and holds it up to her. "Hermione, will you marry me?"
Hermione laughs nervously and says, "Yes! I can't believe this is actually happening," she says softly as the ring slides onto her finger. She looks down at it and then Ron wraps her into a hug.
When he places her back down on her feet he says, "I promise to never talk to you like that again."
"And I promise to not bring my work home with me anymore," Hermione comprimises and kisses him. She stares down at her ring.
"Let's leave them alone," I mutter to Harry and we begin to inch up the stairs.
It isn't until we are back in my room with the door shut, that we turn to each other and burst into laughter. We just witnessed the fight, dissiloution, make-up and engagment in our friends' relationship, all in the span of seven minutes.
We lay back down on my bed and Harry pulls me over until I am half laying on him, my cheek pressed against his chest.
"So," I say.
"So," he says.
"I guess they're engaged," I say softly. It seems so unreal still, so grownup. I wonder if it would seem different if I hadn't seen it happen, or, rather, how it happened. However, the way it happened is exactly how it should have happened. It reflected their relationship perfectly. They fight and scream and nearly break-up, but forgive each other within seconds. That is how you know their relationship is strong. Some may argue that a strong relationship is one without any conflict, but I disagree. You need fights sometimes. There are times when you can only say things in the heat of the moment. Harry and I have only gotten into one fight so far, and I'm glad that we did and then moved past it. Now I know we can fight and yell and scream at one another, but that he still loves me all the same.
"They're engaged," Harry confirms. There is a beat of silence. "We should have congratulations sex."
"I was thinking the same thing," I say, leaning up to kiss him.
A/N: Okay, much more to come. This was kind of a fluff chapter, but I'll have better chapters later. There will definitly be more plot, as this story will follow Harry and Ginny up until (and one-shots after) they have Roe, from Growing Up Potter.
Sorry for the wait. I wrote a non-fanfiction story as a present to a friend for her birthday, so that took up much of my time. And my muse (the whore that she is) seems to have lost her patience and gone elsewhere. Hopefully I'll be able to concentrate. I have everything worked out and it is all just a matter of getting it done.
I don't know if anyone cares (or if this is allowed) but I recently got addicted to blogging. If anyone wanted to check out my blog that would be amazeballs. Follow this link:bighairbigmouth (dot) blogspot (dot) com
Also, any and all thoughts/comments/bitching about the story would be lovely. I hate to shamelessly beg for reviews, but it's the only thing that seems to work, and it simply gets me motivated. :) Hope everyone is having a lovely end of the summer. I, however, am already back in school. Blah.