(Third in the Armistice Series. Harry/Ginny. Established Relationship. Rated mature for adult content.)

Chapter One

"I'm sorry the ride is so long," Mrs. Granger says. "I'm sure you're used to much…faster methods."

Her voice is strained, and Harry imagines that has something to do with the way Molly has been saying well-intentioned but rather thoughtless things ever since they left the Burrow an hour ago. They still have two hours to go, the car packed tight between six people and their luggage.

"It's actually kind of nice," Ginny says. "You get to see so much more scenery this way. I think we tend to forget how much of the world is out here sometimes. Wouldn't you say, Mum?"

Molly glances back at her, clearly picking up on her daughter's pointed tone. "Yes, dear. Of course. It's very interesting!"

Mrs. Granger's shoulders relax, and Harry isn't surprised that Ginny knew the exact right thing to say, both to make Mrs. Granger feel better, and to remind her mum to be more thoughtful.

Hermione turns around where she sits between Molly and Mrs. Granger in the wide front seat. She shoots Ginny a grateful smile.

Ginny just grins in response, giving her a wink. With that, she turns her attention back to the book in her lap, her fingers tucked between the fluttering pages. To The Lighthouse, the cover says. Seems appropriate considering their destination.

After another few kilometers, Ginny stretches her back, her arm brushing against his. She isn't still long before she fidgets again, bending her neck and pulling at her seat belt.

"All right?" Harry says as she continues to squirm.

Shifting, Ginny kicks her shoe off, tucking her bare foot up under her knee. Which means that her bent leg is now lying across the top of his.

"Sorry, Potter," she said with a challenging glint in her eye. "You'll just have to put up with it."

He has absolutely no issue with it, but still does his best to look vaguely annoyed when Ron gives him a sympathizing look.

"I suppose that's what you get, trying to be all stupidly gallant by taking the middle seat," Ron says.

Ginny lets out a soft noise that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. Which, considering Harry's real motives for claiming this spot in the car, he can't really blame her for.

Besides, Ginny's the one who kept Molly from casting a subtle enlarging charm with a look meant to remind her that this is a Muggle vacation. The Grangers are always adapting to their world, she pointed out. It isn't much to ask them to do things the Muggle way for a week.

So here he is, wedged in between Ron and Ginny, and not minding one bit.

"Did you go on many beach vacations as a child, Harry?" Mrs. Granger asks.

"No. Not really," Harry says, not bothering to mention that he pretty much never went on vacation of any kind. Unless that one night on that horrid island when Vernon tried to outrun his Hogwarts letters counts.

"Your aunt and uncle aren't a fan of the seaside?" Mrs. Granger asks, aware enough of Harry's situation to know he's an orphan, but not enough to know how ridiculous that question is.

He tries to imagine it, the Dursleys sitting on a beach. With all that that sand and people running about. "Um, they went to Majorca a few times. But I always stayed behind with Mrs. Figg."

Ron snorts. "Better off, if you ask me."

"You never had to put up with her cats," Harry says.

They both laugh, and that feels better.

Ginny's knee presses gently down on his leg, and it takes a lot of control not to reach out and touch the soft skin so tantalizingly within reach.

Maybe taking the middle seat was a bad idea after all.

"We went sometimes as kids," Ginny says. "The whole lot of us. Building castles and dragons out of sand, throwing each other in the water. Building bonfires right there on the beach."

"Sounds fun," he says.

Her nose wrinkles. "Sand gets everywhere. I burn and peel and generally look a fright."

Harry tries to think of something safe to say, but Ron gets there first.

"When do you not look a fright?"

Harry barely registers Ginny's eyes narrowing dangerously before she practically lies on his lap as she leans across to wallop her brother with her book.

"Hey!" Ron says, indignant.

Ginny isn't particularly put off, the paperback smacking him a few other choice places much to Ron's continued howling annoyance.

"Children!" Molly says.

Harry bites back a smile, his hand on Ginny's arm as he doesn't try particularly hard to stop her from heaping abuse on Ron. Still, he supposes he should at least look like he is. This is not just an excuse to touch her.

Nope. Not at all.

"You're squishing poor Harry," Molly yells.

Harry catches Hermione's eye in the rearview mirror. "Honestly," she says, her lips twitching.

"Oh, look," Mrs. Granger says loudly over the squabbling siblings, "a cow!"

They all look up at the bizarre non sequitur, quietly watching the cow in question as they drive by.

It at least has the intended effect of distracting Ginny from smacking Ron. Climbing back off Harry's lap, she settles into her reading, her knee still firmly lying on his.

The car rumbles along, sunlight dappling through the passing trees. After a while, Ron's head drops onto Harry's shoulder, mouth agape as he sleeps. Ginny turns another page, the wind through the window lifting up a strand of her hair to tickle across Harry's arm.

So, he thinks, this is a vacation.

The beach house the Grangers rented sits on top of a bluff a few blocks from the ocean. The evening air is salty and cool, and brings with it the call of seagulls. Standing at the edge of the cliff, Ginny takes in the view, stealing a moment to breathe deep and enjoy the quiet after a long afternoon spent in a tightly packed car.

She finds it difficult to look away from the ocean, the drag and surge, the endless stretch of deep green water that feels a bit like home. It's different than Shell Cottage. No rolling dunes, but rather quickly dropping cliffs and crowded blocks of houses. Somewhere nearby a child is yelling for his mum. It feels a bit more…alive.

She takes several more long minutes to stare out at the ocean before finally returning to the house.

Walking up the drive, she sees Harry pulling a suitcase from the boot. He gives her a warm smile that has her wondering how long she'll have to wait to find a moment alone with him. Ron bursts out of the house complaining about something, Harry ducking his head.

"Mum's got you and Hermione in the attic," Ron informs her. He looks more than a little put out by that fact.

"Okay," she says.

Grabbing her bag out of the boot, she carries it into the house. Ron and Harry disappear into a doorway off the small sitting area.

There are two more bedrooms and a bathroom on the first floor. Molly and Mrs. Granger are huddled together at the foot of the last rickety stairwell up to what Ginny supposes is the attic.

"It's called a ward," Molly is saying. "It will keep anyone but the girls from going up to their room."

"Well," Mrs. Granger says, looking down at Molly's wand. "If you think it's necessary, I suppose a little magic won't hurt."

They've already put the boys on the ground floor with the parents' rooms on the floor between. But sure, why not ward it as well?

"Subtle," Ginny says, hefting her bag in preparation for heaving up another flight. "Like damsels in a tower."

Molly glares at her as she passes.

"Surprised you didn't bring a dragon along!" she yells back down the stairs.

"Don't tempt me," Molly bellows back.

The attic is cramped but brightly painted, the roof angling down sharply on either side, a twin bed tucked under each eave. Ginny drops her bag onto a chair, crossing over to the small dormer window above her bed. If she stands on her tiptoes she can just make out a small sliver of the ocean through the trees and buildings.

Leaving the window, she sits on the edge of her bed, leaning back on her hands and watching Hermione unpack her suitcase.

Ginny swings her foot over the edge of the bed, considering her brother's girlfriend. "Is it really possible our mums don't think you two are already hooking up?"

"Ginny," Hermione hisses, her face blushing a deep red.

She doesn't exactly deny it though, which is telling in its own way.

Well, Ginny thinks as she flops back on her bed, if she's going to be kept from snogging her boyfriend as often as she'd like, at least she won't be alone in her misery.

After a long day of traveling and the stress of preparing for the trip, they all go to bed rather early, Hermione and Ginny talking quietly in the dark. It reminds her of those summers past that feel so far away now.

Predictably, Hermione is just as obsessed with her NEWTs as ever, despite the fact that it's been over a week since they finished them. Ginny just doesn't see any point in stressing about it.

"There's literally nothing we can do but wait, Hermione," she says.

Hermione makes a dismissive sound. "Easy for you to say. You're not even going to use them anyway, are you? Playing Quidditch?"

"Yes," Ginny says, "because Quidditch is such a steady, lifelong career." Even if she does manage to get on a team, she could get injured, she could get cut, she could just...get old. There will always be an after at some point, no matter what happens.

There always is.

"I suppose," Hermione says, sounding thoughtful.

Ginny rolls over on her side. "You, on the other hand, are a nineteen-year-old with a bloody Order of Merlin. You'll probably have your pick of positions. Even if you don't pass a single NEWT."

"Maybe if I weren't a Muggleborn," she says, voice muffled in the dark of their room.

Ginny can't help but think that she may very well have a point. Just another reason Hermione's occasional...overzealousness to prove herself is understandable, even if still irritating.

"Need me to braid your hair?" Ginny offers in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Hermione laughs. "Go to sleep, Ginny."

Just as the sky starts to lighten with false dawn the next morning, Ginny dresses quietly so as not to wake Hermione and heads down to the beach. After a short stretch, she sets out running down the shore.

She runs for a few kilometers before turning back, finally stopping in a small cove just up from the town. Leaning forward to rest her hands on her knees, she tries to catch her breath, her thighs burning with the effort of the run. She let herself slip during the chaos of the NEWTs. And the distraction of having Harry around.

She'll just have to get back into her patterns as quickly as possible, she promises herself. She can't miss her chance.

Stretching her hands up over her head, she takes in the view. The sky is still rosy with the last of dawn, the beach deserted. It's really quite beautiful.

Ready to head back towards the cottage for a shower and breakfast, she almost passes the small pile of clothing without noticing it. Moving closer, she sees that there is also a carefully folded towel, and on top of that, a very familiar looking pair of glasses.

Ginny turns to the ocean, scanning the water until she locates someone smoothly pulling their body through the water, strokes sure and steady.

She smiles, finding herself thinking of the summer before her first year at Hogwarts. It seemed weird at the time, discovering that Harry didn't know how to swim. Only now does she understand that was probably because the Dursleys never though he was important enough to teach. But Ron, upon learning this, insisted that their dad make up for this gap in his education.

She remembers Harry standing on the edge of the pond, small and unnaturally gaunt to think back on it now, trying not to look terrified. Ron flicked him playfully with water until he looked less scared. Even when he eventually dared to get into the water, Arthur holding him as he taught him to float and kick his feet, Harry always looked like he was just waiting for him to let go, to sink down into water, like he knew better than to trust completely.

You wouldn't know any of that to look at him now. His arms arc over his head, reaching forward for the water and pulling it smoothly behind him. He looks like he's been swimming his whole life.

She gently stretches her protesting muscles while keeping one eye on his progress. When he finally seems to be heading back to shore, Ginny carefully moves Harry's glasses and settles herself down on top of the folded towel, legs stretched casually out in front of her.

He walks out of the water, a simple silhouette against the brightening sky. It takes him a moment to notice her, his eyes squinting as he tries to make her out.

"Hey," he says, giving her a pleased smile that makes her stomach do a little flip, and honestly, that should probably stop at some point. Right?

"Hey," she manages in response, sounding completely cool and calm.

Really.

They regard each other for a long moment, Harry still wet and dripping in the cool air, and Ginny not even trying to pretend she isn't staring.

"You're sitting on my towel," he points out.

"So I am," she says, rather distracted by the view. Yet another benefit of a beach vacation.

He blinks owlishly at her, and she can tell he's trying to figure out this little game she's playing. "Are you going to give it to me?"

Her eyes trail down his body, noting especially the way his skin puckers with cold. The way his trunks are clinging to his legs. "I'm sorry?"

She manages to drag her eyes back up to his face and he's watching her with his eyebrows lifted.

She shrugs, feeling her face warm. "Can't blame a girl for looking."

He gives her a crooked little smile, moving closer. He leans down towards her, his hands bracing on his knees, and she watches water drip down his arms and chest. She licks her lips.

"Ginny," he says, voice pitched low.

"Yes?"

He leans in even closer, Ginny feeling something hot and tight rise in her chest as she pulls her legs up under her to sit taller. His lips part, her heart rate speeding up in anticipation.

The only warning Ginny has is the slight sparkle in Harry's eye, and then he's shaking his hair like a dog.

Ginny shrieks as the cold water hits her, scrambling to her feet.

Rather than reclaiming his now liberated towel, Harry runs after her, the two of them laughing and stumbling over the sand. Harry eventually catches her, picking her up from behind and giving her a big, wet hug.

"Oh, you'll pay for this," she promises as she feels cold seawater seep into her shirt.

Harry steps back with a laugh, spinning her around until she's facing him. "I look forward to it."

Then he's kissing her, his lips salty and cool against hers.

Honestly, Ginny's opinion of the beach is improving by the moment.

Harry is feeling supremely content. He's sitting on a beach with his best mates, waiting for his girlfriend to show up. There's absolutely nothing pressing. There's no homework, no tests, no work, no looming doom of any kind.

Just sun and sand and water.

He closes his eyes, thinking about his dawn run-in with Ginny the day before. They hadn't had much time together since then, everything being a flurry of exploring the town and picking up supplies, and Ron dragging them to a nearby boardwalk on the shore. Today, they have decided to do nothing more than sunbathe and swim. To relax and decompress. Not that Hermione doesn't have a paperback tucked under her towel.

Harry shifts, wondering when Ginny is going to show up.

"I can't believe how hot it is," she says from behind him as if his thoughts have summoned her. "Anyone else ready for a swim?"

Harry turns to look at her, his response dying in his throat.

Holy fucking god.

Ginny wears a pale pink bikini that is really little more than a few scraps of cloth tied together with string, as far as he can tell. Acres and acres of fair skin are bare to the sun. Harry feels every last drop of blood drain out of his brain as he gapes at her.

"Merlin's balls, Ginny!" Ron nearly shouts, startling Harry enough for him to remember himself.

"What?" she asks, casually twisting her hair up on top of her head in a bun like she somehow has no idea what he is talking about.

"Knickers would be more covering!" Ron sputters.

Ginny's lips quirk. "Clearly you've never seen my knickers."

Oh, and there is a visual Harry doesn't need right now. He closes his eyes in pain. It's official. Ginny Weasley is the most evil person to ever live.

"I'm ready for a swim," Hermione says, no doubt attempting to defuse the situation before Ginny jinxes Ron in front of all these Muggles. That might be hard to explain to the Ministry.

Hermione pulls her shirt off to reveal a much more covering bathing costume, but it apparently still derails Ron enough that he just nods along and jumps to his feet, his sister's attire forgotten.

"Harry?" he asks, distractedly glancing back at him as he drops his shirt to the blanket.

"I'm good here," Harry somehow manages to say, even though freezing cold ocean water would probably be a good idea right about now. He's just not sure he can trust himself within 20 yards of Ginny.

She smirks back over her shoulder at him as if she knows this, and then follows Ron and Hermione down to the water. She seems to be swinging her hips more than usual (not that he's looking), and it's only then that he remembers her promise of revenge.

"Damn," he mutters.

Her laughter sweeps up behind her as she jogs down to the water's edge.

Harry remains sitting, watching Ron and Ginny get in a splashing fight, Hermione darting with a squeal between them. The bikini isn't any less bothersome at this distance.

It's maybe fifteen minutes, even if it feels far longer, before Ginny heads back up towards him, leaving Ron and Hermione treading out in the water, only their heads visible over the swell of the waves.

She stops directly in front of him, pulling her hair over one shoulder. She twists it, seawater drizzling into the sand.

Harry thinks if it were possible for a person to spontaneously combust, he'd have already done it.

Spreading a towel next to him, Ginny stretches out on her stomach. This close, he can see drops of water working their way over her skin, the fine sheen of goose bumps on her arms.

"Not fair," he mumbles, painfully aware that Ron and Hermione can see them.

Ginny turns her head so she's looking at him. "It's not about fair, Potter, it's about winning." She gives him a fierce look, one that shoots straight down his belly, and god, he loves that she can be just as stupidly competitive as him sometimes.

"Somehow," he says, "I have never wanted to snog you more than I do right now."

Her grin is nearly blinding. "I suppose there's no reason we can't find a way for both of us to win."

He dares to drag a finger from the tie at her hip up to the strap of her top, her skin cool under his touch. She shivers, dragging her lower lip into her mouth.

"Cold?" he asks.

"Or something," she murmurs, a flush spreading down her neck towards her chest.

He leans closer. "Just so you know, I'm about two seconds from kissing you, damn who might see."

She licks her lips. "Then I suppose you'd better go take a nice cold swim," she says, her fingers catching his.

"Harry!" Ron shouts.

Harry sighs, closing his eyes. "Yeah!" he says, heaving himself to his feet with a curse.

He can feel her eyes on him as he goes.

Over lunch, Ron pulls out the thick information binder that came with the cottage rental. He has sworn off the beach for the day, rather wisely after waking up with his back looking like it's covered in Chinese fireball scales.

Ginny cranes her neck to look as he flips through pages of restaurants and local attractions.

"What's an arcade, Hermione?" he asks.

Hermione glances over at the page. "Oh, a video arcade. It has games."

"What kind of games?" he asks.

"You play them on things that are kind of like television sets," Harry says. "Like Pac-Man."

Ron looks like he has no more idea than Ginny what a Pac-Man is. "That sounds like fun. Can we go?"

"Sure," Harry says.

Ginny glances at him. He's been a little weird this morning, clearly a bit distracted but also strangely focused. Almost like his old Harry-on-a-mission look. She tries to catch his eye, but he isn't looking in her direction.

"Do you want to come, Ginny?" Hermione asks.

Before Ginny can open her mouth, Molly speaks over her.

"I need your help this afternoon, Ginny."

Ginny sighs, knowing the look of her mum when she can't be derailed. "Maybe I'll catch up?"

Hermione gives her a commiserating look.

And so Ginny gets roped into helping her mum with the dishes after lunch while Ron, Hermione, and Harry head off for downtown. She looks longingly after them, barely catching sight of the top of Ron's head as they disappear down the sidewalk.

Molly frowns down at the sponge in her hand. Her mum has not adapted to household chores without magic at all gracefully.

"Honestly, how Muggles get anything at all done, I will never know."

"Mum," Ginny chastises, looking back over her shoulder to where Mrs. Granger is on the tellyphone with her husband. "She'll hear you."

Molly makes a dismissive sound. "Grab the last of the dishes, will you?"

Ginny crosses back over into the dining room. The downstairs bathroom door opens on her way past, a hand sneaking out to grab her and pull her in.

Ginny lets out a squeak of surprise, reaching for her wand. Before she can cast a hex, she realizes it's Harry.

She barely catches a glimpse of his face before he's swinging the door shut and kissing her. It's no timid, cautious kiss, but hot and open-mouthed as he backs her against the wall, his hands settling firm and warm on her waist.

It's like that look he gave her out on the beach yesterday made solid, only so much more, her entire body flaring with heat. She can't remember him ever being quite this assertive before.

She really, really likes it.

She very nearly drops her wand as she grabs his shoulders, kissing him back as best she can.

His hands slip under her shirt. But rather than moving up, he pulls down just far enough for his thumbs to drag against her hipbones.

A low sound escapes her throat, her entire body feeling like it's going to melt.

Far too soon for her taste, he pulls away.

"Harry," she says, feeling breathless.

He doesn't look much better himself, face flushed and breathing heavy.

He leans forward, his mouth near her ear. "Your move, Weasley." Then he's stepping back and disappearing out the door, leaving her weak and shaky and wondering what just happened.

It takes her a long time to collect herself enough to leave the bathroom. She almost forgets to collect the dishes in her distraction.

"Are you alright?" Molly asks, giving her a critical look.

"Fine," Ginny mumbles, hoping the heat of the water in the sink can explain away any lingering flush in her cheeks.

Focusing on the dishes, she forces herself to consider the challenge Harry just administered. It's a bad idea, this little competition that seems to be developing. Then again, she knew full well what she was doing with that bikini. She was playing with fire; it's her own damn fault.

Biting her lip, she feels the lingering tingle of Harry's kiss and can't really bring herself to regret it.

One morning Mrs. Granger takes them out to an empty dirt lot and teaches them all to drive. Molly begs off, and Harry can only imagine how much Arthur would have loved it.

Ginny nearly leaves the clutch in a ditch behind them a few times, the car groaning in protest, but she just laughs with glee, bites down on her lip, and tries again.

"Oh Merlin," Ron complains. "We are all going to die."

Harry thinks there are far worse ways to go. Later when everyone is distracted, he whispers in her ear about the Muggle practice of parking.

"Maybe you should buy a car," she says, her eyes sparkling.

It's been two days since he set out his challenge without any sign of a response from her. He would assume that meant she had no interest in playing if he didn't know her as well as he does. He seriously doubts Ginny Weasley knows how to step back from a dare, no matter how much of a cautious person she pretends to be. She's clearly just biding her time, like she knows the anticipation is only making him jumpier. The ways she smiles at him sometimes tells him she knows exactly what she's doing.

He and Ron are out on the back deck when she finally strikes.

"I need more potion on my back," she says, standing over Ron with a bottle in her hand, back in that pink bikini, but this time at least with a pair of ripped off jean shorts as well.

Small mercies.

"Good for you," Ron says, not even looking up at her, too interested in the huge sandwich he just tucked into after spending an indecently long time constructing it.

Her timing would seem like a bizarre coincidence if Harry didn't also know that Hermione and the mums just left a short while ago.

"I'm going to burn!" Ginny presses.

Ron just lifts his sandwich, muttering something unintelligible at her.

She sighs. "Fine, you prat," she snaps. Turning to Harry like he's somehow a last resort, she holds out the potion. "Do you mind?"

Of course he bloody well doesn't mind, other than the fact that her brother is sitting right there and he is very well aware that this is finally her answer to his little stunt. (One that backfired spectacularly because now he can barely look at her without thinking about that kiss, the one that was supposed to leave her breathless and shaky but affected him just as badly.)

"Um," he says, knowing he really needs to say no.

"For goodness' sake," she exclaims, dragging an ottoman over in front of him and dropping down onto it, clearly not giving him a choice. He's impressed how disgruntled she manages to sound, despite the sparkle of mischief in her eyes as she turns to shove the potion bottle at him.

Her hair is piled up on top of her head, leaving her entire back bare except for the strap across her back and the bow at the base of her neck. It's just…a lot of skin. A lot of Ginny's skin.

He glances at Ron, and he just gives him an eye roll that seems to say, Bloody little sisters, what can you do?

Suck it up, Potter, he tells himself. Just spread it on and don't think about it. You can do this. It's just a potion. You are not going to let her make you squirm.

Determinedly, he dumps some potion on his hands and tries to briskly and matter-of-factly spread it across her shoulders.

Of course, it turns out to be somehow even worse that he anticipates. Ugh, what right does her skin have to feel so good? He glares down at the fine scattering of freckles across her shoulders as he forces his hands to move down the plane of her back.

He focuses on his annoyance to get him through the task at hand.

It takes him far too long to realize that he's listing forward, his face lowering towards those freckles he has sworn to hate for all time but still really, really wants to press his lips against. In punishment for the lapse, he forces himself to watch Ron working his way through his sandwich, anything to keep him from thinking about the feel of his hands sliding across the warm skin of her back.

It doesn't help as much as he hopes. He still wants, more than anything, to wrap his arms around the front of her body and drag her back against him, to lean into her neck and kiss his way across her shoulder. His thumbs press slow circles into her skin.

Dropping his eyes out of fear that Ron will look up and see it in in his face, Harry notices that Ginny's hand is curled into the cushion on the ottoman. Her breathing is a little unsteady too, and he isn't sure if it's better or worse that she is clearly just as affected by this as he is.

He carefully lifts the strap across her back, sliding his hand underneath, and she shudders, a fine sheen of goosebumps rising on her arms.

"All done," he says, forcing his hands to drop away when he realizes he's recovering areas he's already done.

"Thanks," she barely mumbles before scrambling to her feet and fleeing, not even bothering to take the bottle with her.

Harry warily looks up at Ron, amazed to see him still paying more attention to his crisps than to either of them.

He lets out a breath, sliding his hands down his legs, thinking it's probably time for another freezing cold ocean swim again.

They avoid each other the rest of the day. Nothing obvious, really, just Ginny always having something else to do that is not wherever he is.

He's thankful and annoyed all at the same time, mostly because he can't stop replaying the entire event in his mind. Needless to say, by the time the house settles down for the night, Harry is not in the best of moods. Not helped by returning to his room after brushing his teeth to find Ron pulling on his trainers.

"Where are you going?" Harry asks.

"Took me nearly all day, but I finally convinced Hermione to…take a stroll with me."

Harry bites back an irritated sigh. It's not that he doesn't appreciate Ron keeping Harry well free of any details about what he and Hermione get up to. But the lie is so transparent as to be insulting.

"Right," Harry says.

"Don't stay up," Ron says with a wink and then slinks out the door.

"Git," Harry complains, falling back on his bed and covering his face with a pillow.

Less than five minutes after Ron disappears, there's a knock on his door.

Harry glances at Ron's clearly empty bed in alarm, wondering at the chances that Molly came to tuck them in or something.

Before he can come up with some sort of plan, the door pushes open just a crack, Ginny's voice floating in as barely a whisper. "Harry?"

He sits up. "Yeah?"

Her face appears around the edge of the door. "Do you mind if I…?" She gestures her hand inside the room.

Quickly glancing down at his rumbled pajamas, he says, "Uh, no. Come in."

Despite everything, he's happy to see her. Not that it keeps him from watching her warily as she closes the door behind her. She can't possibly be here for another round of revenge. Can she?

Keep it together, Potter, he tells himself.

Ginny lifts her hands as if in surrender, clearly picking up on his expression. "I think we need to call a truce."

Harry lets out a breath, nodding eagerly. He's relieved to hear that she thinks that little stunt she pulled with the sun potion went over a line too.

"I'm sorry about this afternoon," she says, folding her arms across her chest. "I clearly didn't think that through."

"You've been killing me," he says, hearing the frustration and yearning in his voice, but finding himself incapable of embarrassment over it.

She smiles, crossing over to sit down at the foot of the bed as he pulls his legs into his chest to make room for her. "For the record, you started it."

"How exactly did I do that?"

"Swanning about in swim trunks. And seawater."

He feels his lips twitch. "Hard to swim without doing that," he says. "Besides, you're hardly one to talk, that dratted bikini and all."

Her expression is prim. "Proportional response."

"There is absolutely nothing proportional about that bikini. Trust me."

Her forced composure breaks, a soft laugh escaping her. She looks at him fondly. "Look, I know it's your turn and you're probably already planning something…"

"Honestly," he says, "my brain hasn't quite recovered enough yet to plan." It's still far too stuck in an endless replay loop of this afternoon. Besides, most of his so-called plans up to this point could be at best described as half-formed impulses.

She holds her hand out. "Truce?"

"Truce," he agrees.

The moment he takes her hand, it all seems to spike between them again. It's not like there is ever a moment he doesn't want to kiss her, but it's started feeling like if he doesn't touch her, he's going to crawl out of his skin.

He places the blame squarely on that ridiculous bikini, ignoring the fact that she is pretty much completely covered at the moment. Though not really, he notices, taking in the light, cottony tank top and pajama bottoms she's wearing.

It unexpectedly makes him think of the early birthday visit she paid him right before he left for Australia. Ginny sitting so close, but completely out of reach.

Maybe it's the thought of that painful night, or the months afterwards they spent apart, but before he knows what he's doing, he's tightening his grip on her hand and drawing her closer.

"Ugh," she says as she climbs up the bed, her knees pressing up against his thigh as she settles next to him. "Clearly I didn't think this through either."

"I suppose I probably shouldn't kiss you," he says, shifting towards her and reaching for her waist.

She grips the front of his shirt. "Definitely not."

Any response he may have come up with is lost as she pulls his mouth to hers. It's no gentle, teasing kiss either, but more like the four days since they last kissed all layered into a single moment. Her hands slide into his hair as the kiss deepens, her lips parting under his.

In search of a better angle, for getting closer, Ginny ends up lying on her back, Harry stretching out next to her. The kisses linger, stretching longer and longer in the uninterrupted quiet of the room.

Her shirt, Harry discovers as he spreads his hand across her side, is made of an incredibly thin cotton, thin enough that he can tell that she definitely isn't wearing anything under it, and this may just be worse than the dratted bikini. Only then Ginny's hands find their way under the back of his shirt, and the feel of her hands on his skin makes his brain completely fizzle out.

He ducks his head, pressing kisses down her neck and over the smooth plane of her sternum, the smell of the potion still lingering faintly on her skin. It all seems to pile up on him in that moment, the bikini and the amazing kiss and his hands slick on her back and all the parts of her he wants to touch and kiss and never has.

Resisting any of his impulses is completely beyond him, being here with her in the dark of his room, lying with her in his bed. He puts his hand up under her shirt, sliding up higher and higher, finding her completely bare to his touch.

Ginny lets out a sound like a soft gasp, her fingers pressing into his back as he cups the gentle swell of her breast, making tentative circles with his thumb. She presses back up against him, her breathing heavy, and Harry feels pressure building in his chest, like he's being filled up with too much air, like he just needs to do.

Ginny lets out a garbled sound that might be a word and then she's tugging him closer, kissing him deeply, and his leg slides between hers as he angles down over her. She is soft and warm under him as he settles his weight, his elbow braced just on the other side of her chest, and god it feels amazing.

Amazing enough that he realizes with a jolt that she must be able to feel it the way he's plastered against her, feel what she is doing to him, but when he tries to pull back away, she doesn't let him, hands still warm and restless against the skin of his back, and he can't find it in him to resist. Everything is just touch and the pressure of her leg, her mouth insistent against his as they press together in the dark, their movements restless and grasping.

There's a sound like an angry cat somewhere in the distance, and Harry is more than happy to ignore it—to ignore anything and everything except Ginny—only for the sound to repeat. And then again. He frowns, still not prepared to stop kissing Ginny, when a loud voice finally breaks through the haze.

"RONALD WEASLEY," comes a furious shout from the stairs. "What do you think you are doing outside at this hour?"

Harry jerks back from Ginny, looking down at her in alarm as his heart thuds in his chest, his thoughts not for the apparent current troubles of his best mates who are getting yelled at by Molly, but figuring out how the hell he is going to get Ginny out of here without anyone noticing. He's been too busy snogging her to even give the chance of getting caught a passing thought.

Ginny doesn't look particularly concerned though, and he nearly gets derailed by the way her eyes seem almost black in the dimness of the room, her lips parted and glistening and just right there.

"I thought we could use some warning, just in case," she murmurs.

It takes him a moment to even realize what she means, but before he can respond she is lifting up to kiss him, deep and searing.

She pulls back, Harry unable to stop the groan of protest at the loss of her. She smiles, her thumb dragging along his bottom lip, and he fights back the inexplicable urge to draw her thumb into his mouth, imagines running his teeth along it, tasting her skin with his tongue.

He thinks something in his expression must give him away because she lets out a shaky breath, her eyes widening. There's the sound of thumping footsteps on the stairs—Hermione returning to the girls' room no doubt.

"Pleasant dreams, Harry," Ginny says, voice rough.

With barely a shift, she disappears with a pop, the sound covered by the continued furious voices of Ron and Molly. Harry falls face first into the covers with the loss of her body. He'd thought it a rather comfortable bed until he's left lying there on his own with nothing but the rather insistent ache of his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, wanting Ginny back immediately. Wanting a lot really.

Ron slams into the room a few moments later, muttering under his breath about overprotective mums and a bloke not being able to properly say goodnight to his bloody girlfriend without a scene.

Harry tries to rouse some sympathy for his mate, he really does, but he's too busy trying not to look like he's thinking about Ron's sister and dealing with a rather uncomfortable situation himself.

It seems to take forever for him to finally fall asleep.

"Good morning," Ginny says as she walks into the kitchen.

She barely gets a round of grumbles in response.

The table is noticeably frosty, no one really looking at each other. Ginny thinks everyone is being rather ridiculous honestly. Not that she isn't careful to sit on the other side of Ron at breakfast, her brother serving as a nice buffer between herself and Harry.

Maybe there's more than enough ridiculous to go around.

Her mum is clearly still on a rampage, setting plates down with far more force than required, glaring at Ron and refusing to meet Hermione's eye. On top of that, she is overly warm and friendly to Harry as if to highlight that at least he is above reproach.

Of course, if Molly had any idea what Harry had been up to while Ron and Hermione were out on their stroll, she would probably feel quite differently.

She only manages to catch Harry's eye once during the entire meal, and all she gets is a strained smile in return. Fair enough. She can't imagine he's enjoying her mum's attention all that much.

Ron's ears are getting redder and redder and Hermione looks like she's close to either crying or dying of shame.

Mrs. Granger, Ginny notices, just makes stilted attempts at cheerful morning chatter, her hand under the table as if she's squeezing Hermione's hand.

"Mum," Ginny says. "We should go to those little shops on the shore to pick out some things for the boys, don't you think? You know how they'll pout if we come back empty-handed."

"I don't know," Molly says.

Ginny turns to Hermione's mum. "Mrs. Granger, wouldn't you like to come?"

Maybe Mrs. Granger can see through this attempt to remove Molly from Ron and Hermione's sphere for a while, or maybe she just really loves shopping, Ginny doesn't know, but either way she quickly agrees.

"Yes, there are a few things I would like to pick up myself. If it wouldn't be too much of an imposition, Molly."

"Of course not," Molly says, overly polite as if keen to show that the Weasleys are not so hopelessly uncouth as Ron's behavior would lead anyone to believe.

Honestly.

"Great," Ginny says, pushing to her feet. "Ron can take care of the clear up. Right, Ron?"

He is peevish enough this morning to look like he might refuse, but Ginny gives him a pointed look (and a quick kick to the ankle) and he ends up agreeing.

"Sure. Whatever."

Somehow, Ginny manages to make it out of the house and down the lane with the two mums without another fight breaking out or Hermione bursting into tears.

They stroll through the little seaside shops filled with postcards and tiny knick knacks and lamps made of seashells. Ginny spends most of her time keeping Molly from saying anything too suspicious around all the Muggles.

"You know, Mum," Ginny says as they peer down at a case full of earrings. "Ron and Hermione were in Australia for almost nine months. And the year before that on the run. They've been best mates for nearly a decade. They've saved each other's lives and been through more than we will probably ever really understand. You can trust them. Especially just to take a nice moonlit stroll together."

Molly huffs. "When you have children one day, then you'll have the right to say that to me."

"Mum," she says, voice stern. She won't be dismissed. "They've earned it."

Molly turns to look at her, hands on her hips. "And what exactly is it that you think they have earned?"

Ginny thinks she has never before quite appreciated just how intimidating her mother can be when she's in a temper. Especially when she is convinced she has the moral high ground.

"Mum," Ginny says, voice deliberately dismissive. "You don't need to worry. We have very good sex education at Hogwarts these days."

Molly's eyes nearly bug out, her mouth dropping open in pale-faced shock. "What?!"

Ginny strolls off to where Mrs. Granger is flipping through a small turnstile of postcards, trying to remind herself that their very public location will lend her more protection than she would get in the beach house. But Molly needs to let her temper go, and better here with her than with Ron.

It's not that Ginny feels guilty for getting Ron and Hermione in trouble so much as she knows she owes it to them to at least mitigate the impact. Even more than that, Mum honestly needs to grow up one of these days.

Ginny peers at a postcard of a crab waving with the words Wish You Were Here! inscribed above. "Did you know that Muggle contraceptive methods are actually ineffectual with wizards?"

Molly gives Mrs. Granger a horrified look, as if she's going to think poorly of how ungovernable the Weasley children are. "Ginevra Molly Weasley," she hisses. "We are not talking about this."

But Mrs. Granger only looks curious. "Are they really? Even barrier methods?"

Ginny frowns. "What's a barrier method?"

Mrs. Granger looks very concerned. "You don't know?"

Ginny shakes her head.

Mrs. Granger loops her arm through Ginny's. "Well…" she says, going on to explain the intricacies of Muggle birth control.

Despite the blush Ginny can't quite keep from her face, it's a very interesting half hour to say the least.

Molly pretends not to be paying them any mind, but Ginny isn't fooled for a second.

When they get back, her mum disappears upstairs to lie down while Mrs. Granger makes some tellyphone calls. Ginny finds everyone out in the backyard. The boys are making another attempt at ping pong.

Ginny settles next to Hermione where she's reading a book on a bench. "I had a chat with our mums today. They should give you two a little more room from now on."

"Oh, Ginny. I wish you hadn't," Hermione says, looking mortified.

"I promise I didn't make it worse." She settles back on the bench, watching the boys struggle with the light little white ball.

Hermione only makes another pained sound of protest.

"Your mum is pretty great by the way," Ginny says. "We had a really interesting conversation. I thought my mum would combust with embarrassment, but your mum was delightfully matter-of-fact."

"She believes in the power of knowledge," Hermione says.

Ginny nods. It explains a lot about how Hermione is.

Harry glances over at her, something furtive in his glance. The first time this happens, she chalks it up to lingering embarrassment, but when he does it again, she realizes he actually looks a little worried. She frowns. She thought things were going rather well. Especially after…

"Oh, bollocks," she mutters.

"What?" Hermione asks.

"Nothing," Ginny says, wanting to kick herself because of course Harry's going to jump to the wrong conclusion in the face of her deliberate absence this morning.

Getting up, she crosses over to the table. "Can I play a round?" she asks Ron.

"Feel free," he says. "This game is barmy."

Ginny takes the paddle, giving it a few experimental swings.

Harry is still watching her warily.

They knock the ball back and forth between them a few times, the light little ball more often than not dribbling off the edge of the table or hitting the low net in the middle. Hefting her paddle to judge its weight, she hits the ball hard the next time it comes towards her. It bounces erratically, disappearing up over the fence behind Harry.

"Whoops," she says.

Ron laughs gleefully. "Clearly got a great skill for that, Gin."

She flips him off and crosses over to the gate, letting herself out into the front yard. The ball is lying in the dirt between two flowerpots.

Ginny leans over and picks up the small white ball, counting to fifteen in her head.

"I can't find it," she calls out.

"Accio ping pong ball would be real useful right around now," Ron says, laughter in his voice, his mood, as ever, never kept down for long.

"I'll help," Harry predictably says, edging around the gate a moment later.

He immediately notices the ball in her hand, but only looks confused for a moment before what she can only call a look of resignation crosses over his features. She motions him closer, the two of them stepping under a tree that should keep them out of sight from the road.

"Hey," she says, voice low.

"Hey," he says, hands shoved in his pockets. He seems to be having a hard time meeting her eye.

Tackling things head-on has worked well so far today, so she decides to jump right into it. Besides, sometimes Harry is best served with a Bludger straight to the head. "About last night," she says, and he only looks more wary, his shoulders tensing. "We promised to talk about what we're comfortable with, what we like."

He nods, looking down at his toes as if they are suddenly fascinating.

"Harry," she says, waiting for him to look up at her. She takes a step closer, lowering her voice. "I liked every single thing we did last night. I am very much looking forward to doing them all again. Okay?"

He blows out a breath, clearly not expecting this from her. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

His hand reaches out to brush her hip. "I did too," he says, only to slightly grimace, as if still embarrassed about how obvious his enjoyment had been.

"Good," she says, feeling her cheeks heat up. "But this is exactly why I don't trust myself around you right now."

"Oh," he says, as if it her sudden absence all finally makes sense.

His hand is still on her waist, and does he have to stand so close? Merlin, being away for a morning apparently has done nothing to dispel anything.

She swallows. "Let's just keep to the truce, shall we? No more sun potion."

He nods. "Or ambush kisses."

"Or dratted bikinis."

"Am I allowed to be sad and relieved about that?" he asks, a smile playing at his lips, and yes, this is much better.

She laughs, very relieved to have Harry back to being more himself. "Found it!" she calls out, loud enough for Ron and Hermione to hear. Lingering out here is a bad idea. She turns to return to the backyard.

Harry catches her fingers, pulling her back to speak in her ear, his chest brushing against her back. "Would it break the truce to tell you that I did have pleasant dreams last night? And that they were all about you?"

Ginny feels heat streak through her body, amazed how quickly he can go from barely looking at her to this.

"Yes," she says, hoping her voice is steadier than it feels. "It definitely would."

"Then I'll be sure not to," he says, voice smug.

"Prat," she says.

He lets go of her, stepping around her so he can smile back over his shoulder as he heads back for the gate. "Now we're even."

She should be put out by that, but she only feels a swell of affection for him.

She is so completely doomed.

They easily hold to their truce for the last few days of the trip. Helped, no doubt, by the arrival of Mr. Granger and Mr. Weasley at the end of the work week. Ginny spends a lot of time with her father. Not that Harry minds, seeing how happy it makes her to be around him.

She's dutifully started wearing a more covering suit, claiming to be tired of burning. He probably mourns that more than is appropriate.

As a group, they spend lazy mornings walking on the beach and playing games in the yard, hot afternoons on the beach. They even do another round of driving lessons, this time with Arthur grinning madly in the backseat. One night they build a giant bonfire down on the beach after the sun sets.

Ron's mood has improved again, and Harry's stomach nearly hurts with laughter as they sit together in the sand. Ron is rather animatedly reliving their supposed near-death experience today with Ginny and Hermione behind the wheel of the car.

Harry glances across the fire to look at Ginny, watching the flicker of light over her face as she leans into her father, the two of them deep in discussion about something.

She catches him watching, smiling at him, and Harry grins back.

Far too soon it is the last evening of their trip. Ron ropes Harry into helping him escape with Hermione for a few hours, apparently sufficiently recovered enough to risk his mum's wrath again.

They all pretend to head out for a last trip to the boardwalk while the parents attempt playing bridge.

While Harry has already agreed to make himself scarce for a few hours, he doubts Ron has tried to get Ginny's agreement yet judging from the way he keeps giving her flinty looks as if figuring out the best way to approach her.

They are halfway down the bluff before Ron even attempts to lay out the plan.

"You want me to what?" Ginny says.

"All I'm asking is that you don't mention it to Mum. You can do whatever you like."

"Except go back," she says, folding her arms over her chest and looking genuinely cross. "Am I supposed to wander about the boardwalk by myself?"

"Harry will keep you company," Ron declares, looking at him hopefully. "Right, Harry?"

"Er, sure," he says, knowing he probably shouldn't sound eager or anything.

"Fine," Ginny snaps. "We'll go that way." She grabs Harry's arm, pulling him around towards a different path. "And you owe me."

Harry lets her lead him away. "Didn't realize what a chore it is to be alone with me," he says once his best mates are out of sight.

She smiles at him, slowing her pace and winding her arm through his. "No reason I can't get a future favor out of this as well."

"Always looking for an angle, aren't you," he teases.

"Don't forget it," she says, giving him a wink.

They quickly abandon any plans involving the boardwalk, instead wandering down to the beach and finding a small cove against the cliffs where they can watch the sun set over the water.

Harry sits down against a rock, arms resting on his knees, but rather than sitting next to him, Ginny settles between his legs, leaning back against his chest and stretching her feet out. He wraps his arms around her waist, and yes, this is much better.

Pulling her wand, Ginny sets a charm that will keep the casual observer from even noticing them.

"So much for a Muggle vacation," he teases.

She laughs, shifting a bit and relaxing back into his embrace. "What Mum doesn't know can't hurt her." She glances back at him. "Is this comfortable for you?"

"It's great," he says.

They watch the sun settle down into the ocean in silence, just the gentle swell of waves and their breathing. He's not sure he's ever felt more content than at this moment.

He trails a finger down her shoulder, the skin red and beginning to peel, just like she promised.

He pulls her hair to the side, lowering his face into the curve of her neck. She smells like salt and sun potion, and who knew how alluring that could be? Her head falls to the side in implicit permission, and he presses a gentle kiss to her skin.

She hums, her hand finding his knee and squeezing gently.

"Best vacation ever," he murmurs.

She turns her head, meeting his gaze. "So far," she corrects.

He considers her, fingers brushing her jaw as he thinks about the possibilities stretching ahead of them. Of other vacations and other places and more moments like this. Moments with her.

"So far," he agrees, dipping his head to kiss her.

He can't wait.