Harriet Weasley.

She was Mrs. Weasley now.

And as smitten as she was with the thought, she was completely intoxicated with the way it sounded coming from George's lips as he trailed them down her body; stopping between open mouthed kisses to say it in pants and breathless pleas as she squirmed against him.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said, the words coming out as an exhale against her hip bone. He was partial to a mole she had there and always paid it a madding amount of special attention. "Is there anything your husband can do for you tonight?"

Husband, wife, Mrs. Weasley.

There was something different about being made love to as Mrs. Weasley.

Something different in the way George made love to her. As a husband does to a wife.

Something more tender, more soft.

He touched her as though she were silk, he said her new name as though it were a prayer.

And she thought she might go positively mad by being Mrs. Weasley.

"Please," she whined, her body aching as he teased her. "Please, George."

The room was dark, save for the light that spilled in from the moon through the window, and the sounds of their breathes - hitched and ragged - mixed in with the ocean waves. Harriet thought that if she only had to rely on the way his breath felt against her skin, and nothing more that she would always be able to recognize him.

"Hmm," he hummed against her, right against her, and the sheer vibration of it caused her hips to buck. "What was that, darling?"

"I can't take it anymore." She was undone, unbound."I need you."

Through the madness, her mind somewhere buried underneath, Harriet recognized a hand being placed on either side of her head as he climbed over top of her. Her eyes, though blind with the intensity boiling up inside of her, recognized his hazel hovering just above hers.

Two fingers, she registered, tilting her chin upwards just slightly to place a kiss on her lips. "Darling, you've had me."

Foreheads pressed together, mouths parted just slightly so that Harriet wasn't sure where her breath started and his lingered, he pushed himself inside of her; slowly, gently, rocking his hips ever so slightly, as though he was trying his hardest to memorize the way the motion felt. As though he would never get to do it again.

"George." The tenderness of it all was causing a fog inside her mind, making her sanity slip, and she wasn't sure that she wanted it back.

"That's it, love." The slow pace seemed to be causing him to become even more unraveled. His voice was gruff and he fisted his hands against the sheets. "Keep my name on your lips."

It was something akin to diving in midair on her broom, she thought. That same pulling in her stomach as though something spectacular was about to happen. As though she were about to see stars. As though, at any moment, she was going to plummet into the ground.

"God - yes!" Back arching, eyes rolling back. George's fingers found her own, intertwining with them. Pressing her wrists down. Anchoring her so that the only way out was through. "Right there!"

The bursting came in the same fashion as the rest of his movements. Slowly, racking, in waves. Building up in her stomach, and rolling over her as she felt George tense inside of her.

And Harriet felt herself grow hoarse from crying out George's name against his own lips.

They lay there, their panting being the only thing in the silence, the rapid beating of their hearts pressed tightly together being the only thing Harriet could wrap her mind around.

And then as soon as she had enough air in her lungs, laughter bubbled up, spilling out of her until she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

"What?" asked George, amused. He rolled off of her, pulling her towards him so that she was giggling into his chest. "What's so funny?"

"I think I prefer being made love to as Mrs. Weasley," she said before kissing him fully on the lips and rolling over top of him. "Let's do it again."