THE UNSTOPPABLE GIN

Harry Potter was many things to many different people. To the Wizarding world as a whole, he'd saved them from the menace of Voldemort. To the members of the Order of the Phoenix, he was their beacon (not his word — Molly'd said it many a time, much to his discomfort). To the dark wizards and Death Eaters, he was a menace. To Ron and Hermione, he was a somewhat beleaguered witness to their romantic ups and downs (whoever said the first year of marriage was the hardest had been right when it came to the Granger-Weasleys).

To Ginny, Harry liked to think he was husband, lover, best friend, flying partner, and most attractive bloke she knew. But there was one area in which he failed: gift-giving. Oh, he knew he'd given some good ones. Anything Quidditch related, and he was golden. But he'd grabbed practically everything off the shelves in Quality Quidditch Supplies back in August for her birthday, and now he only had a month to figure out what to do.

Harry leaned back in his chair, flung a cursed Remembrall up in the air, and caught it as it came down. It was a souvenir from the Tinsworth case, and Harry liked to play with it when he was required to do some hard thinking, like about how to solve the latest case, or what would wow his wife for Christmas.

Ginny was generally happy with whatever he got her — she liked him, presents, and Quidditch — but Harry didn't want to take advantage of her easy-going nature.

Harry put the cursed Remembrall back in its enchanted case (it would get up to mischief and destroy his office if he didn't store it properly) and wandered down to the lunch area. Harry grabbed a sandwich from the sideboard, and sat down at a table with Robards, Hamish, and Quentin. They were discussing nothing serious, as was usually the case during lunch.

During a lull, Harry asked, "So what are you giving your wives for Christmas?" He directed this at Hamish and Quentin. Robards was unmarried, and Harry thought, quite single.

"Tickets to see the Bent-Winged Snitches during their European tour," Hamish said immediately. "Had to jump through all sorts of hoops to get 'em, too."

Harry mulled this idea over and discarded it. Ginny was not particularly attached to any band, and he didn't think she'd be excited to see one live.

"I'm giving the wife a gift of myself," Quentin winked. Harry raised his eyebrows. "We give each other coupons, you see. Some of them are stuff like, 'Redeem this, and I'll take care of all the household charms for one week'. Well, this time, I'm making a coupon book for all the... things she likes, to be redeemed whenever she wants."

"You mean in bed?" Hamish asked.

"Yeah, you know," Quentin shrugged. His cheeks turned faintly pink. "For different... positions. Or... mouth stuff."

Harry thought this one over as well. He imagined himself writing "REDEEM FOR THE POSITION OF YOUR CHOICE" or "REDEEM FOR ORAL", and didn't really like it. He hoped Ginny knew that she could choose whatever position she wanted whenever she wanted, and as for oral, well. Harry did not at all mind when she gave him clues like spreading her legs wide, rumpling his hair, and moving restless hands on his shoulders. He liked her signals, liked that he could read her body and know what she wanted. He did not like the idea of her thinking she had to give him a coupon in order for him to do that.

He loved doing that, actually.

Harry was still thinking about that when he got home that night, and this is probably what led him to tugging up her robes, tugging down her knickers, and burying his face between her thighs.

"Harry!" Ginny squealed. Harry couldn't blame her. He'd given her hardly any warning. His thumbs stroked the delicate bones that connected her thighs to her most intimate parts. She shivered.

"I missed you," said Harry.

She softened and relaxed back into the chair, sprawling out. Harry stroked her clit with the tip of his finger, and watched her grow aroused. "That's right, Ginny," he said quietly. When she was wet for him, Harry replaced his fingertip with his tongue. Her hands came up to twine in his hair. Harry knew, without even having to look, that his wife's face was flushed, her lips were parted, and she was looking down at him.

Even though he didn't have to look, he still peeked up at her anyway. He looked past where the smooth cream of her stomach met red curls, past the undersides of her (regrettably) clothed breasts, and up into her eyes. They were warm, and excited. She was smiling, uncomplicatedly happy, just like him.

Harry closed his eyes again, and focused on that sweet little nub that brought her so much pleasure.

Later, he told her about Quentin's coupons.

"So that's what that was about?" Ginny laughed. She was digging into the steak and kidney pie Kreacher'd made. "You were pretending I'd redeemed an invisible coupon?"

"Or maybe I was the one who redeemed the coupon," Harry said smugly. His lips were still slightly swollen from his activities. There was nothing quite like making Ginny come. It always gave him a surge of his own excitement, listening to the sounds she made, tasting the moment her body climaxed. It was brilliant, and not something he took for granted.

Ginny pushed her pie away, then came over to straddle his lap. She kissed him, playfully, and lightly. "Who knew the first third year of marriage was going to be so great?" she said. "It's been wonderful... I get to spend as much time with you as I want."

Something twinged in his thoughts, but then her kisses were less playful and light, and he forgot the thought nearly as soon as he'd had it.

The next week, it came back to him. Harry stood once more in the lunch room the Aurors used, and looked curiously at the brochure in his hands. Twisted Cedars and Gin, it read. It was the "gin" that caught his eye, and he smoothed the crumpled paper. It was a gin distillery that doubled as a couples retreat. One eyebrow raised at the combination, but Harry read on:

Have all your fantasies come true during a private getaway.

It was a tantalizing prospect.

Harry stared off, remembering the early days of navigating their relationship after the war and everything that followed. Mostly, it had been wonderful, and the perfect balm. But there had been pockets of tension here and there, and it wasn't until they'd gone away with each other — no family, no Ron and Hermione, no distractions — that they realized they needed private time together that stretched out longer than a few hours here and there. They'd gone up to visit the boreal forest in Scandinavia on almost a whim, and discovered something magical: they loved being together without the pressure of having anything to do (except each other) the next day or the next. They'd stolen many more weekends after that, and their belated honeymoon had been a particularly wonderful time.

And Harry'd found the perfect Christmas gift.

He sent off his owl with his reservation — under a false name, it was never pleasant when the press discovered where he and Ginny were staying — less than ten minutes later, feeling the pressure of trying to find the perfect gift release from where he'd been keeping it around his shoulders. Suddenly, he couldn't wait for Christmas.

Not only did Harry and Ginny enjoy a good, stiff drink, but they valued their alone time together. It was, he decided, the perfect gift.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The Weasleys took present opening seriously. Paper flew, packages were ripped open, squeals of delight were uttered. Baby Victoire looked around at all the adults with wide, astonished eyes. Ginny sat in between Harry's legs. He was stretched out on the floor, leaning on his hands, looking around, a bemused look on his face.

"You should be used to us by now," she grinned at him. The spangled witch's hat from Ron and Hermione hung down into her eyes. She flipped it back.

"I am," he smiled at her. "I'm just not used to George in a dress."

"You should be," said Ginny. George had worn a dress to their wedding. Both of them.

"So it usually means it's a special occasion," Harry pointed out. He leaned forward and gripped her around the waist. "And we're usually only a couple hours away from having sex," he whispered in her ear. It made her shiver.

"Play your cards right, and you might be," Ginny told him. It would be tricky. It was Christmas tradition for the lot of them to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas night at the Burrow, and there was almost always some prank involved that made it difficult for Ginny and Harry to have sex.

Difficult, but not impossible.

In reply, Harry handed her an envelope. Her eyebrows flew upward. Usually Harry just bought everything she might like in Quality Quidditch Supplies — from dragon leather gloves, to luxurious seat cushions that had quite honestly changed Ginny's life for the better. This was a departure from tradition.

She opened the fancy envelope, and found a reservation under the names Hortense and Gerald Porter. She flashed back to the first time they'd done fake names to escape the press; James and Lily had been the obvious choice, until Harry realized how odd it was to be called his dad's name during a sex-drenched weekend getaway. Hortense and Gerald, Ginny chuckled. "This is perfect, Harry, thank you," she said. She turned and managed to kiss his lips, giving him a lingering little promise.

"What'd he get you, dear?" her mum asked.

"A weekend getaway at"— she reread the reservation —"Twisted Cedars and Gin. Looks like there's all sorts of things to do." For couples, she added silently.

"Did you say Twisted Cedars and Gin?" This was from Charlie, who normally was the brother least inclined to bother to care about his married little sister's sex life. Some weird mood had come over him, and his voice sounded a little faint.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I think Robards might have been dating someone he never told us about, because I saw him bin this. Poor bloke." Robards's single status was legendary, and Ginny chuckled to herself at the idea of him having a girlfriend.

Bill was eyeing her, wrapping paper forgotten. "Everything okay, Gin?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" Ginny asked, exasperated. "Harry got me a lovely gift. I happen to like going to new places."

Charlie scrutinized her, then shrugged. "Well, I'm not going to judge."

"Nor should you," said Ginny. Her temper was starting to surge. Perhaps it was the fact they were celebrating Christmas all together as a family, and that made them think of her as a child again, but she was not going to tolerate them embarrassing her. Bill and George were eyeing her oddly — and that was a bit rich, coming from George, who was wearing a dress that would not look odd on Neville's grandmother! "Do I need to explain to you lot that our business is none of yours?" Ginny asked. Her hand went to her wand. Only Ron and Percy did not seem to think she was suddenly twelve years old again, for which she was grateful.

"No," Bill held up his hands in a placating gesture. "No, I just — sorry." For some reason, his face was bright red.

"Children, settle down," her mum said belatedly.

Ginny was still a little irritated by the whole exchange a few hours later, and she let Harry know it.

"I'm not a child!" she said indignantly.

"No, you most certainly aren't," said Harry. He sighed.

"They shouldn't try to embarrass me on Christmas morning, what's wrong with them?"

"They're blighters," Harry confirmed. His fingers spawned against her hips. "Let's hex the lot of them after we—"

Ginny decided he was right, and leaned down to kiss him. The air inside the treehouse was stuffy, but this was not why Harry was sucking in deep breaths. Their bodies were melded together in such a way that Ginny decided Harry was right: any discussion about hexes could occur later.

She adjusted her position, and sank down onto him. Her eyes rolled back in her head the moment he filled her completely. "Oh, God, Harry, you feel so fucking good," she rasped out. His fingers dug into her hips. Ginny began to ride him, slowly, not wanting to end things too quickly. She'd just used her lips and tongue to work him up, and he was nearing the point at which there was no stopping his climax.

She put his hand up his shirt, and toyed with his flat nipples. He moaned and arched against her. The pleasure of that movement made her cry out. God, I love how he feels, she thought. So full, so good. She started riding harder, and he helped. Little sounds came out of her mouth, and he was babbling at how good she felt, how tight she was, how she was going to make him come—

And then she felt him do just that, and she pressed herself down tight, making tiny, fierce motions, and she shattered too. Pleasure surged, just as he was shooting into her, and yelling her name.

Ginny collapsed on top of him. They were both still quivering and panting. She was exceedingly grateful for cushioning charms, the ones that had made it so easy to ride Harry like that, despite the uncomfortable wood floor.

"As much fun as this was," Ginny said once she was able to talk, "I am looking forward to having you all to myself for three days."

"And we can do this all day," Harry said blissfully. "We can do it all day, and talk all night, and not worry about being interrupted."

Ginny moved up his body to kiss his lips. She rumpled his hair, and cupped his jaw with both hands. His eyes closed when she kissed his chin. "Great idea for a gift, Harry, did I say thank you yet?"

"I was hoping you'd like it," Harry said quietly.

The moment ended much too soon, and pretty soon they were casting freshening charms, cleansing charms, and every other charm they knew that would help them obscure what they'd just been doing. Ginny tugged on her robes, and watched a little wistfully as Harry's backside disappeared under his clothes.

Oh yes, she thought. We're going to have so much fun.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It started off so wonderful, too.

They even did Side-Along Apparition — not because Apparating was in any way a romantic way to travel, but because Ginny told him she didn't want to let go of his arm, so she Apparated the both of them to their destination.

It was, Harry had to admit, quite impressive. It was an estate, and a giant mansion — the kind the Dursleys used to drive to on Sunday afternoons and goggle at, while Harry sat in Miss Figg's cat pee-smelling living room. The image was complete when an old, old wizard in rather resplendent robes materialized out of thin air to greet them.

"Greetings!" he said in a whispery voice. "What would you like to partake in first?"

"Erm... maybe we can put our stuff in our room?" said Harry. It was a long walk up the drive. He gripped Ginny's hand and twined his fingers with hers. "Actually... I think we'll just go up to our room for the evening."

Ginny squeezed his hand.

The lobby area was covered in different sized bottles of gin. Some of them even floated like magical, boozy balloons. One in particular caught his eye — two shadows, male and female, chased each other around the label, pausing every once in a while to — to do, well, what Harry wanted to be doing with Ginny for the rest of the night.

"Most of these labels are custom made," said the sepulchral butler. "Our patrons often commission one to commemorate their time here."

Harry's eyes widened when he saw another shadowy label, with a wizard with the broad build of Charlie Weasley slapping the rump of one witch, while another —

"Right this way, please," said the butler.

A lift brought them up to the top floor. Harry had not spared a single expense on this trip. He wanted Ginny to have the best — and most private — room possible. And it was luxurious in a way that Harry could swear it took her breath away. It looked like a sultan's tent, with dark red hangings, and floating candles. The bed filled a quarter of the giant room, and while a door led off to what Harry assumed was a washroom, there was a giant, black bathtub the size of a small swimming pool. Unlit candles were all around, awaiting the moment a witch or wizard flicked their wand to light them. It was perfect.

"I trust the room is to your satisfaction?"

Harry nodded. Then realized the butler was waiting for a reply. "Yes, this is perfect."

"Have you decided what you want to do tomorrow?"

"Erm," said Ginny.

Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and saw she was doing the same thing. He smothered a chuckle.

"Am I right in guessing this is your first time here?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Most couples choose to do a private tour. We have a glass lift that brings you through each area of the estate."

These people take their gin-making seriously, thought Harry. It seemed only polite to agree to the tour; the butler seemed to think it important. "Sure, sign us up for the private tour," Harry said agreeably. Another glance at Ginny. Another smothered chuckle.

"Very well," said the butler.

Harry handed him a galleon, and he finally left.

Finally, they were alone.

Ginny pulled him to her, kissing him fiercely, and within what felt like seconds, they were undressed and hurtling toward the bed. Harry took a moment to appreciate how decadent the bed felt, all slippery silk and softness. There were two sashes hanging from the headboard, artfully draped over the pillows. Harry's eyebrows winged upward — this place had thought of everything a couple might like — but then he was propping himself up on one arm, tracing circles on Ginny's stomach, then dipping lower to get her ready for him.

They made love his favorite way, slowly and thoroughly. Harry took his time, pushing in, easing out, bringing them both to the brink, and then easing back.

"I love you," he told her at least thirty times. They were as close as two people could be, and God, did he love this witch. Her arms stroked his back as he slid in and out, speeding up, slowing down, finding sweet spots for both of them, and prodding them both to completion. He came, finally, in long bursts of pure pleasure, feeling her own climax urging him on.

After, they took advantage of that huge bathtub. They soaped each other. Harry ran his hands all over her body, enjoying the closeness.

They kissed, often.

The bath water did not get cold as long as they were in it, and they experimented with all the scented soaps. Harry grew hard again before too long, and then they made love all over again, just like that, enjoying the buoyancy of the water, and the way their bodies fit so well together.

It was very late, and they were cuddled up in the huge, soft bed. Harry thought she might be drifting off to sleep, so was surprised when she spoke.

"I was thinking this next year might be my last with the Harpies," she said dreamily.

"Yeah?" said Harry. He hoped this meant what he thought it did. Her next words elevated that hope, instead of dashing it.

"I think... I think by then I — I mean we — might be ready," she said.

Harry pressed a kiss to her shoulder, smiling. "Ready for little James or little Lily, you mean?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Harry kissed her until they both fell asleep, Harry's last coherent thought being how wonderful it was to be thinking of starting a family with Ginny.

Their private tour was scheduled at nine, and Harry, still sleepy, wished they hadn't been committed to it. Instead of the sepulchral butler, it was a businesslike, middle-aged witch who babbled at them as they were led to a glassy lift.

"They all know there is a chance they are being watched," she said. "So feel free to do with that what you make of it."

Harry's eyes widened when he saw the bed inside of it. He exchanged a startled, confused glance with Ginny. Then the doors were shutting, and they were alone. "So why do we need a bed in here?" He asked. Then, lower, because his voice echoed oddly: "Why do we need a bed if we're just touring some gin distillery?"

The lift hurtled them through doors that opened magically in front of them.

And Harry had his answer almost immediately. His mouth opened in absolute shock as he saw what was going on, and he heard Ginny's voice catch.

"Oh, Harry," she said with a mortified giggle. "I don't think this is a gin distillery."

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Author's Note: More Christmas gifts! From me to you (expected), and from Harry to Ginny (totally unexpected). Harry is going to wish he'd had a Wizarding form of google. LOL

Love,

Ella