Ginny Weasley could not pinpoint an exact moment when her dormant crush on Harry Potter deepened into something more. It crept up on her during the summer after her fifth year, when everything had changed. She told herself that it was just because she was worried about him, because Voldemort was after him. But she'd happened to glance his way at Bill and Fleur's wedding - he'd been sitting at a table with her Auntie Muriel of all people - and it was as though her feelings for him tapped her on the shoulder and said "We're back, just in case you didn't notice."

All through that year, they'd just grown stronger. Once, after the Carrows had been particularly harsh in their punishment, she'd actually pretended that it was Harry who'd applied the salve on her face, instead of Neville. And Harry's hands had been gentle and tender, not perfunctory and comradely. She never told anyone this; it was a little embarrassing that she was that crazy about someone who barely noticed her.

Ginny didn't realize that it was love, and not just a silly, schoolgirl crush until she saw Hagrid carrying Harry's body out of the forest. Seeing him dead had almost killed her, and even though he'd only been pretending, it still haunted her sometimes. When he'd pulled off the invisibility cloak in the center of the Great Hall, and dueled Voldemort, she'd screamed right along with everyone else. But she liked to think that her scream came from a different place than anyone else's. And she'd thought, rather dazedly, that it wasn't really possible to feel that much for someone.

The relief had been almost frightening in its intensity.

After the battle, after Fred's funeral, Ginny kept thinking to herself that maybe her feelings had been borne of the intensity surrounding all of that. The summer that followed the war quickly disabused her of that notion. If anything, they just grew as she watched Harry awkwardly accept praise, offer sincere condolences, and just be a steady presence at the Burrow just after they'd lost Fred.

It had also been quite apparent that Harry had no idea what she felt. Mostly, she thought this was a good thing. They had an easy friendship - Harry was very kind and attentive - and she knew that if he somehow managed to figure it out, he'd be embarrassed and guilty. At least she wasn't sticking her elbow in the butter dish around him.

It wasn't so easily hidden from the rest of her family, however. They'd all figured it out after (or during) the Final Battle, and, once things had calmed down a bit, had offered their advice. "Just wait and see what happens, love," her mother had said. Ginny didn't much like this advice - patience wasn't her strong suit - but gritted her teeth and set out to being patient. "Date ozzer people," Fleur had offered. "You do not want to be lonely while you're waiting, do you?" So Ginny dated. Nothing at all serious, that wouldn't have been fair, but she didn't refuse to go to Hogsmeade just because she was in love with her brother's best mate, who also happened to be Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World.

"I think you need to take more direct action," George told her after she graduated from Hogwarts. But since Ginny didn't want to just grab Harry and snog him like George told her to, she decided to ignore that little gem.

"Harry's a nutter," Ron said, plenty of times. "I know he likes witches, but he avoids them like the plague. Cho really screwed him up, I think."

Hermione always smacked Ron on the head whenever he said this. "I just think Harry's going through a rough patch, romantically," she told Ginny on her nineteenth birthday. "He'll notice you. He just needs to be in the right place."

It was frustrating. And the only indulgence that she gave herself was doing stupid, silly little things. When Harry bought his new Firebolt, she decided that she'd polish it for him. It was a simple thing, but she hoped it made his life a little easier. And when Kreacher died two years after the war, Ginny took it upon herself to keep the front of Grimmauld Place clean and tidy. It was easy to do. She was there often enough, hanging out with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and it wasn't any big deal to cast a few charms to keep Harry from having to do it.

It was really the only thing she could do.

Ginny was just fine with things the way they were. Or so she told herself often enough. True, life would be a lot better if he actually returned her feelings (and she only imagined what that would be like every day). But she was all right with not being the one for him (although she had to admit that it would've hurt her more than it should if he actually met someone; thankfully, Harry didn't date). She had a job she loved, lots of friends, people liked her, her family was warm and supportive. Everything else was wonderful.

And then, the day after Ron and Hermione's wedding, everything changed.

xxxxx

The morning after Ron and Hermione's wedding, Ginny sat much closer to Harry than she normally would have done. Perhaps it was the hangover, or the fact that it was freezing outside, and Harry was warm. Or maybe it was just that she couldn't really hide the fact that she was in love with him. But after telling him, through a secret code of patting, that she loved him, she nestled next to him.

And they were talking about sex.

Her body reacted to the conversation. She was human, after all. She wasn't capable of thinking about Harry and sex without finding herself very warm. It's not usually in front of him, though, she thought. His arm moved slightly and pressed against hers. This didn't help.

She cast a desperate look at Ron, who, bless him, seemed to realize that she couldn't quite handle it.

(Green)

At least he's never had sex before, said a traitorous little voice inside her head. She immediately felt guilty. Everyone knew that Harry - aside from being the Savior of the Wizarding World (named so by both The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly), and a top-notch Auror - led a rather lonely life. His name had been paired with countless witches (every time she read a blasted article about him, her stomach plunged), but Ron and Hermione always assured her that Harry hadn't had a serious date since his fifth year.

She glared at George, who had an openly sly look on his face. I'm going to hurt you, she mouthed at him.

Then, turning her head, she looked at Harry. "Why is it you put up with that git again?" she asked, gesturing toward George, who was not suitably cowed by her threat to maim him.

Harry chuckled. "Oh... you know, I feel like I have to," he answered cheerfully. "Technically, he's my business partner."

"You should buy him out," Ginny informed him. "You could do it, too. I read that Prophetarticle about the five tonnes of gold you have at Gringotts," she added, winking.

"Yeah, the Prophet knows a lot about my personal life," Harry said sarcastically, grinning at her. "You should believe every word about me that they print."

Ginny snorted.

"But didn't you just get done telling us that you haven't-"

"George!" Hermione interjected.

Harry reached up and ruffled his hair, his cheekbones staining red. "Must you keep talking about that?" Harry muttered.

"I, for one, think you ought to take the lot of them outside and show them what you do to dark wizards," Ginny said staunchly. Her annoyance with the press only seemed to grow with each article. It was bloody annoying the way they thought they could publish every little fact about his life - and embellishing and flat-out lying whenever they thought it necessary.

"Er," said Harry. "I don't think my boss would like that much..."

Ginny grimaced and fiddled with the frays on her dressing gown. Harry took an awful lot of rubbish without complaining, and while she respected that, it just wasn't right that he was like an animal in a zoo to some people. Harry had always been a very private person... "Maybe I'll just do it for you," she said staunchly.

Harry moved his leg, and she was suddenly very aware of the way it rested against hers. Her entire thigh tingled. Damn it, Ginny thought glumly. She turned away, letting her hair fall into her face, so Harry couldn't see how damnably red her entire face had gotten. It seemed she'd reached new heights of color in her cheeks, due to her embarrassment and arousal.

It didn't help that everyone - even Percy of all people! - were giving her pointed looks and winks, obviously noting the fact that she'd been sitting very close to Harry for the last ten minutes. Ginny rolled her eyes, stifling a sigh. Why did I tell them? she thought desperately for what felt like the millionth time.

The attention her family paid to her nonexistent relationship with Harry had only increased through the years. And last night - after they'd danced awkwardly together - had obviously caused a reaction from her family. Ginny was just waiting for her mother to pounce, and tell her that it was only a matter of time before Harry realized what was right in front of him. While this used to bolster her spirits, Ginny couldn't quite believe it anymore.

If Harry was ever going to notice her, it would've happened a long time ago.

"Does anyone want to go play Quidditch?" she asked quickly, forgetting that it was January, and obviously too bloody cold to go flying. Could I be any more of a moron?she thought, giving herself a mental kick.

"Er," said Ron, gesturing at the pile of presents still surrounding him. "We've still got these to go through."

"Right," Ginny said. "I was just... feeling cooped up."

Harry shifted and rose slowly to his feet.

Ginny watched him, dismayed. "I didn't mean cooped up on the sofa," she said. Damn it, Ginny! "You didn't have to get up. You should sit back down..." She determinedly kept her eyes away from any member of her family, who probably thought she sounded about twelve years old. Any minute now I'll stick my elbow in the butter dish, she thought darkly.

"That's all right," Harry said, glancing at his watch. "I've got to go into the Ministry anyway..."

Five minutes later he was gone, after a flurry of goodbyes and bantering comments to Ron.

"Well," Hermione said, as soon as the fire died down in the hearth, and the flames changed back to their normal color. "He's very comfortable around you," she said sympathetically.

Ginny shrugged a shoulder. What was the use of Harry being comfortable around me?She wanted him to feel the way she did. Every nerve in her body had been on high alert last night while they'd been dancing, and then again today, when they'd just been sitting next to each other. How was it even possible that that kind of intensity could be so one-sided.

"I still think he's going to wake up one day, and it'll just smack him over the head that he fancies you," Ron announced. "The way it did for me with Hermione."

Ginny appreciated the support, but the more time went on, the more it became apparent that she wasn't ever going to be to Harry what he was to her. "You don't have to keep saying that," she told him. "It just makes it worse."

"And I still think you should just grab him and snog him," George said, juggling wadded up balls of wrapping paper. "That'd be a nice wake up call."

Ginny hated to admit it, but George's advice had a certain appeal.

What've I got to lose?

Just his friendship.

xxxxxx

After practice, Ginny Apparated to Diagon Alley and walked the cozy, crooked little street, pretending she didn't have a specific destination in mind. She wandered into Off the Pyre and goggled at the strange and expensive furniture; she bought a singing peppermint candle from Floating Posies; and when her footsteps finally carried her to Weasleys's Wizard Wheezes, she could tell herself it was an accident.

George was closing up shop, and Ginny stopped in the doorway, looking at him. His public facade — even around family — was that of a cheerful man, the classic prankster. But alone like this, he looked tired and careworn.

For some reason, this made her blurt out: "You really think I should just grab him and snog him?"

George looked around at her. "Yes," he said steadily. "Don't get me wrong — I'm grateful not to see you snogging some bloke. I'd relent for Harry, but still. But," his tone softened, "you've been pining after him. I think you should just lay it out there. What could you lose?"

Ginny swallowed. "His friendship? His comfort with me?" She scratched a spot behind her ear. "I mean, I know this has gone on a long time. But Harry doesn't seem happy with romantic attention."

"Yeah, let me show you why," George said briskly. He led her around the back, to a tiny office filled with paper, paper airplanes, and the scent of gunpowder. He rifled through the stacks, finally alighting on a scroll.

"What is it?" Ginny asked.

"Harry's been the victim of a love potion or two — nothing serious happened, but he is paranoid. Rightfully so, I think. You'd be amazed how many witches want to see that bloke's bits."

Ginny felt a swell of irrational possessiveness. At least she had never once, her entire life, considered using a love potion on Harry. Taking his will away, forcing him to feel things he didn't? That crossed a line, and it reminded her of what Tom Riddle had once done to her. Ginny stared at the list. "All of these women tried to love potion Harry?" she said in a hard voice.

"No! No," George said hastily. "No, he just gets a list of the women who buy love potions here, just so he can avoid them."

That made her feel better. She slumped down into a chair, and put her hands in her hair. "Did I ever tell you I polish his Firebolt for him?" Catching the look on his face, Ginny added, "His actual Firebolt, George. Merlin. Pay attention, will you? So I polish his Firebolt, and he knows it, and he's never once said anything. He lets me do it, though. Merlin knows, I'm not — not subtle. I tell him I love him pretty much every time I see him."

"But not in words," George pointed out. "Or kisses. Either one of those would give Harry a better indication of what you're thinking."

Ginny did not want to admit that polishing his Firebolt gave her more hope than anything else. She knew he knew she did it for him. And sometimes she thought it explained the more lingering looks he gave her. It suddenly struck her that she was wooing him, and it might even be working, except it was going so slowly. She thought about how comfortable he'd been with her on the couch the day after the wedding.

"I don't want to rush it, George," Ginny said quietly. "I can't stand the idea of making him uncomfortable with — because of my feelings."

"He's what, twenty one?" George scoffed. "He shouldn't be uncomfortable with you having feelings for him. Even if he doesn't return them — and in my mind, that's a big fucking if — he's an adult. He isn't going to run off and leave the country because Ginny Weasley loves him."

Ginny jabbed her finger at the list of witches who'd bought love potions.

"They aren't you," George said. "Ginny." His face was suddenly more serious than Ginny'd seen since the funeral. "Fred died, and it was the worst thing that ever happened. But he knew we all loved him. But remember how terrible Mum felt for ages because the last thing interaction she had with Fred was pushing him aside to get to Percy? She wanted one more chance to have that last memory be a good one. Harry's got a dangerous job, Gin. How do you think you'd feel if — Merlin forbid — something happened and you never, ever got up some Gryffindor courage and told him how you felt?"

Ginny's stomach sank at the idea. "I just don't want to ruin anything — for him," she said feebly.

"What are you, a Hufflepuff?" George taunted.

Ginny sagged at the accusation. And wondered if all her reasoning boiled down to cowardice, after all. That the careful, cautious wooing was done out of fear, not Harry's feelings. "George, I'm afraid to tell him," she whispered. "He matters."

"So tell him."

Nerves quivering, Ginny finally nodded her head. "All right," she said. "All right. I'll tell him."

George gave her no time to prepare, but grabbed the floo powder, and gave her an evil grin.

"George! That's not—"

"Grimmauld Place!"

"—necessary," Ginny finished glumly.

"Act like you don't know what I just told you about the love potions," George ordered.

Her head was spinning by the time Harry arrived. Was she really going to do this? She was intensely aware of Harry's arrival, and what she had to do now that George had goaded her into it. And somehow Harry'd been maneuvered into asking her out for ice cream, and Ginny was walking beside him. His shoulder kept brushing hers.

They ended up ordering hot butterbeer instead of ice cream, for which Ginny was grateful. And in the little ice cream shop, Ginny eased into a conversation with Harry. A part of her had always wondered if he felt she was frivolous for choosing Quidditch as a career. That eased when she saw he respected her for her career choices.

He was so easy to talk to, Ginny forgot her nerves. It helped that she now knew he went to her games. She would tell him that she polished his broom because she liked to do things for him because she fancied him. And then he'd tell her he went to her games because he fancied her, too—

It was Neville of all people who dashed her hopes.

"Did you know that you don't even have to polish them?" Harry said enthusiastically, speaking of his Firebolt, just as Neville announced he'd bought a Cleansweep.

Whatever he else he said after that, Ginny heard as though through a tunnel. She looked down at her hands. He didn't even know she was polishing it for him? He thought it just... did it by itself? Her chest felt very tight, and it was all she could do not to do something horrible and burst into tears. How was she going to tell him now?

Blindly, she reached for her cloak, stood up, and pulled it on. If she didn't know any better, she'd say Harry gave her a stricken look as she left. She couldn't even bring herself to tell him wordlessly that she loved him. Instead, she walked out into the cold, trying not to cry.

xxxxxx

"We went out for ice cream," said Ginny. "And then Neville came and sat with us, and Hermione! Harry doesn't even know I polish his broom."

Hermione made an outraged sound.

"Honeymoon," said Ron for at least the twelfth time.

Ginny soared a fleeting glance at the rather tropical and decadent surroundings. "Yeah, we know you're on your honeymoon."

"There are more important things I could be doing than listening to you bitch about Harry for six hours," said Ron.

"It hasn't been six hours," Hermione said fairly. "It hasn't even been one hour."

"And I haven't even told you about the article!" Ginny said, outraged. An article in the Daily Prophet had revealed their date had not gone unnoticed. It had painted her out to be a money-grubbing bitch who was trading on her heroic older brother's connections to score a date with Harry. She told them all about it. Ron was rather gratifyingly angry.

"Fine, I'm going to talk to him when I get back," Ron finally said. "I'll sort this out." He looked at Hermione. "If Ginny's right he didn't even know about the broom-polishing, you're going to have to take back every time you've called me the most oblivious bloke on the planet." Then he jabbed a finger at Ginny. "Now, I want some time alone with my wife."

"All right, fine," she said. "Hermione, floo me in five minutes when he's done." Ginny withdrew from the flames, smirking, as Ron made a rude gesture at her.

Ginny lived in a tiny house in Wizarding London. The group of homes was collectively called the Birdhouse, as they were perched in the sky above Diagon Alley. She leaned out her window, observing the bustling city below, and her eyes lit on the offices of the Daily Prophet.

Harry was off on a case, fighting to protect wizards and Muggles alike, and they were more interested in whether or not he was tugging Ginny's knickers down behind an ice cream parlor.

Ten minutes later, Ginny was striding through the front doors of the Daily Prophet, hand on her wand. "Ginny Weasley, here to see the editor," she said in a firm voice. She'd pinned on the badge that proclaimed her a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class, and the wizard manning the front desk gaped at her.

She was led into the editor's office. It was plush and opulent, and Ginny didn't care. "I read your article about my love life," she said in a hard voice.

The placating smile on his face made Ginny want to smack it. Instead, she raised her eyebrow.

"Miss Weasley, while I am sure it wasn't comfortable for you, I assure you, we—"

"Need to do better," Ginny interrupted. "Harry Potter is an Auror. Right now, he is in the middle of a case, doing what he can to protect us. You, me, everyone. You need to do better than to drag his love life in the mud every three days." She let the portly editor know exactly what she thought of him and his writers.

When she finished, the smirk was off his face. "See here, girl, we're just—"

"Trying to sell papers. Yes, I know," Ginny said coldly. She was quite angry now. "And I know it was fruitless to come down here. I just wanted to tell you, face to face, that it wouldn't hurt you or your readers to take a page from Harry's book. To be a better man. To protect, instead of drag down. To spend your energy serving others. To rebuild, not try to tear apart." Ginny's speech finished, she gathered her dignity like a cloak, and whirled out of the office. It was silent as she walked out.

Over the next few days, after her impromptu meeting at the Daily Prophet, she began to pull it together. She'd put too much importance on him knowing she'd been polishing his broom, obviously. Whatever her wooing had been, it was time to make it more obvious. Because George — damn him — was right. She needed to tell him, and he needed to know.

First, she made the best tart she could and brought it to his office.

Then, she bought a new outfit and dressed up when he knew he was going to be at the Burrow. She stood next to him as much as possible, did not let self-consciousness get in the way of making eye contact, and in general, let it show that she couldn't care less what the buzzards over at the Daily Prophet said about her.

The tension between them — or at least, the tension on Ginny's end of their friendship — kicked up a notch. She could barely sleep, her dreams were so fevered. She'd wake up aching and wanting, and it was driving her mad. The morning after a particularly detailed dream, in which Harry did things to her that made her blush in the light of day, she realized she couldn't keep living like this.

It was the day the Holyhead Harpies went up against the Wimbourne Wasps. Ginny prepared for it mechanically. She knew he'd be at the match, and while that made her nervous — and also devoutly grateful he was not a legilimens, and couldn't see all the things she imagined him doing with her — she was determined to drag him aside after and lay everything out for him.

It was time. It was beyond time.

xxxxxxx

Ginny hovered over the pitch, breathing in the cold air, and preparing herself for the match. High up in the stands were her parents, most brothers, a couple sisters in law, and Harry. Ginny'd already done three fly-bys. The match was barely a concern. Most of her energy was spent thinking of what she intended to tell Harry after the match.

She looked at him. He was looking at her, and her breath caught. For a long moment, she couldn't bring herself to look away. I'm going to tell you I'm in love with you today, she told him silently. I can't keep it in anymore. I have to tell you. Right after the match.

xxxxxx

Instead, Ginny was glaring at the healer who'd taken off all Harry's clothes for a head wound. "Explain to me, again, why he needed to be undressed," she said through gritted teeth.

"Ginny, just let it go," her dad advised.

Ginny continued to glare, and the healer finally scuttled off.

Her dad and Bill had to run interference between her and the press. She knew they were thinking she would go after them, and part of her wanted to, but she kept reliving the moment she was dangling off her broom, and seeing Harry plummeting off the top box after a fancy bit of wandwork that saved her life. If Ginny'd been three seconds later in casting a cushioning charm, he would've—

Her throat closed up.

Ginny wanted to go sit in his room so badly that she had to sit on her own hands to keep herself from marching in there. But she didn't want to be like that healer, or the women who tried to use love potions, or anything. Harry valued his privacy.

Harry was importuned enough.

Harry didn't need her goggling at him.

Her mum came to sit down with her. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Ginny mumbled something, she didn't even know what.

"And I already told you, you don't need to do that. You could just thank him—"

Harry was walking right toward her, wearing a blanket and a fierce look on his face. The reporters began to shout.

"Mr. Potter!"

"We have a few questions—"

"It's good to see you awake and alive after that fall—"

"You're all right," Harry said directly to her.

Ginny felt like pleading with him, but for what, she didn't know.

"Is it true that you saved Miss Weasley at the possible expense of your own life because you love her?"

"Yes."

Ginny's face heated, and she felt disoriented, and then she was shouting at the reporters who were taking advantage of Harry's vulnerability to try to pry secrets out of him. She threw her own self off the flying carpet, and shouted her deepest insecurities, wanting to protect him—

"Don't you dare twist his words," she said loudly. "If I see one more article that prints lies, I'll hex the lot of you. Everyone knows that Harry's always willing to sacrifice himself for his friends. He took the bloody Avada Kedavra from Voldemort, didn't he? He did that—"

"Mostly for you."

"You're in love with my sister?" Ron asked, sounding absolutely stunned.

"I told you that you should've just grabbed him and snogged him," George said. He was obviously trying not to laugh.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley said. "Be quiet."

"Don't be — he doesn't even notice me —he's obviously just—"

Harry interrupted her. "Ginny, I get that we're just friends. That's what the pat-pat-pat is about," he added, patting his own chest three times. "We're-just-friends." He did it again, this time to Ron, who looked distinctly uncomfortable and still quite stunned. "And that's fine... But that doesn't change the fact that... wait, you think I don't notice you?"

Ginny's entire body was quivering. Tears were stinging at the back of her eyes, and there was a bowtruckle dancing in her belly.

He said other things, then, but Ginny could only stare at him, lips parted. Her mum squeezed her hand, and then pushed her toward him. Toward Harry.

"Put that poor boy out of his misery, Ginny," Mr. Weasley said implacably.

And she reached out—

"Don't," Harry said warningly.

She did it anyway. Pat-pat-pat. "I-love-you," she said. Pat-pat-pat. Her voice trembled a little, but when she finally looked up at him, she was beaming. "Harry, I've been in love with you for ages..."

Ages.

"Thank Merlin," Harry said earnestly.

And Ginny, not caring that her entire family and the press (and therefore the entire Wizarding world) tilted her head up and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and melted into him. She heard the sound of cameras going off, and could see the flashes behind closed eyelids, but she ignored them.

They finally broke apart, and Harry rested his head against hers. "I have to go lay back down," he murmured. "And I'm only wearing a blanket... will you come with me?"

"Of course," she said. Her face was still split in a wide smile.

"And you'll stay?"

"Yes," she said. "I wanted to earlier, but I didn't know if you'd want me to..."

"I'll always want you there when I wake up," he told her, softly enough so that no one else could hear.

xxxxxxx

Harry came home with her the next morning.

After a long night in which they'd done nothing except hold hands, Ginny was ready to take George's advice, grab him, and snog him. Instead, she led him to her small sofa, sat down, and curled up next to him. His arm came around her, and for a few moments, Ginny just reveled in how happy she was.

"I wish—"

"I should have—"

They broke the silence at nearly the same moment. Ginny broke off with a smile.

"I should have told you a long time ago," Harry murmured. "I just... didn't think I'd get to be this happy." His eyes met hers. "After everything, after Voldemort, I guess I just didn't think it would be so easy. That the witch I was in love with loved me back without me even having to do anything."

Ginny suddenly realized that she just wasn't close enough to him, so she made a bold move and straddled his lap. She nestled into him, and his arms gripped her tightly. "I didn't want to ruin anything between us," she said. She pulled back a little so she could look at him. "I know how much you care about my family... I didn't want you to start avoiding the Burrow because of me."

"Never," said Harry. He was no longer looking into her eyes, but was staring as though fascinated by a lock of her hair he'd twined in his fingers.

Ginny pressed a kiss to his jaw, then his chin, then his lips. If she'd thought the kiss at St. Mungo's was brilliant, this one was even better. It was long, slow, and sweet. Ginny could feel his heart beating, could feel it when it sped up. She was so close to him, she felt him grow hard beneath her. They parted. His eyes were asking her a question, and she flushed and nodded.

He reached down between them and adjusted himself. When he kissed her again, it was different. It was as though they'd unlocked some door, and passion came tumbling out. His hands were restless, moving on her thighs, her back, her bum. Ginny explored him just as much.

Then he was tugging at her shirt.

Ginny leaned back, continuing to rock against him.

He pulled her shirt up halfway, then stilled. "Ginny, I — is this okay?" he asked. She could feel him pulsing against her.

Ginny nodded, and lifted her arms so he could get her shirt off.

Harry looked his fill, and Ginny caught a look in his eyes that made her shiver. "You're so beautiful," he said fervently. Then he cupped her face, and kissed her. Light, lingering things. Slow, deep ones. He gave her lips every kind of kiss, and then he laid her back, and did the same to her breasts.

Harry learned her by touch. She touched him, undressing him slowly, trying to memorize how he felt under her fingertips. Smooth and strong.

Long, slow kisses later, Ginny was naked and quivering in his arms. His underpants were on, but they weren't hiding anything at all. His hand was on her stomach, his fingers just barely grazing her curls.

At the same moment, they touched each other. He was hard and smooth, and pulsing. Ginny rolled over onto her side, lifting her leg. Harry's touch was tentative at first. He lightly grazed her folds, opening her, spreading the wetness there. All the while, he was looking into her eyes. His were a dusky green, dilated, and when she gripped him in her fist, and pumped, they rolled back into his head.

They spent what felt like days on that sofa. Ginny got just as much pleasure learning his body as she did from his touches.

"Teach me," he told her at one point.

So she showed him how to use his fingers, and he was as delighted to make her come as she was. "Oh God, Harry," she panted. Her own hand fell away, and he was rubbing at that sweet spot with his thumb, while his fingers were—

"Oh God, yes, right there," said Ginny. Little moans kept escaping her mouth, and her hips moved of their own accord. Then with one great gasp, she came apart.

Then Harry was kissing her. Deeply and fervently.

"I don't think I've ever been happier," he told her. They were sweaty and sticky from their activities, but Ginny didn't want to move. Who knew how fantastic her couch would be?

"Me either, Harry," she told him. "Me either."

xxxxxx

Author's Note: Your second Christmas present! This was actually tough to write. I am not in a romantic comedy headspace right now, but I hope you still enjoyed it.

I am curious, have you ever reread a story of mine?

Merry Christmas!

Love,

Ella