'Things You Shouldn’t Do at Christmas', Harry/Ginny, 18+
Title: Things You Shouldn't Do at Christmas
Ship: Harry/Ginny
Summary: Ginny reckons everyone sleeps with their ex once. Or twice. Don’t they?
Rating: 18+. Flagged for explicit adult content.
Word Count: ~10, 600
Notes: Thank you to pumpkinpasty for the best beta ever. Dedicated to all my watchers: whether you’re worshipping at the shrine of Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Midwinter, alcohol or Doctor Who this winter, I hope you all have an absolutely fantastic week. ♥ ♥ ♥ G, if you see this, please just don't read it.
Things You Shouldn't Do at Christmas
‘It’s been three months, Hermione.’
Ginny’s best friend purses her lips at her from across The Burrow’s kitchen table.
‘Three months since we’ve had a proper conversation,’ continues Ginny. ‘Three months since we’ve been in a room alone together for more than thirty seconds. Two and a half months since I’ve had sex.’
Hermione raises her eyebrows.
‘He was a Muggle.’
Her expression doesn’t change.
‘I think his name was Jack,’ Ginny adds irritably.
‘A one-night stand?’
‘What?’ snaps Ginny. ‘You’re just jealous because the only person you’ve ever slept with is my brother. Oh, don’t give me that complacent happy-couple smile -’ Hermione attempts to modify her expression. ‘Some of us prefer a bit of excitement in our lives - oh - oh, God.’ Breaking off abruptly, she slumps forwards onto the table; her wet hair falls out of the white towel she’d turbaned it in. ‘The only two people I’ve ever had sex with in my life: Harry and a Muggle called Jack.’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Ginny,’ says Hermione. ‘Dangerous, maybe -’ Ginny groans. ‘But not wrong. You and Harry are broken up.’
Ginny groans again.
‘If you’re regretting it so much, then why did you do it?’
‘Why do you think?’ Ginny asks the table in a muffled voice. ‘Because I was confused and angry and tired of all the post-break-up stuff. And because … well, even when me and Harry were falling apart, we were still … you know. Practically in silence, but still. It was still sex. Which I missed. Which I miss. And anyway,’ she says, looking up and changing the topic, ‘I don’t regret it. I know I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Hermione’s eyes are sympathetic. ‘But you still feel guilty?’
‘No!’
‘Then why didn’t you tell me about it at the time? Why haven’t you done it again?’
‘Because,’ says Ginny primly, sitting up, ‘one-night stands are icky.’
‘Then why haven’t you been on a date? Why did you turn down whatever-his-name-was - Bradley?’
‘Relationships with one’s team members are unprofessional.’
‘Ginny. The Holyhead Harpies is an all-girls team.’
‘Fine, he’s on the Falcons,’ snaps Ginny. ‘And he’s gorgeous. I walked in on him changing once. I don’t know why I said no, OK?’ she retorts over Hermione’s attempt at another question. ‘I do feel guilty, all right? Old habits die hard. I do feel guilty,’ she finishes morosely.
‘It’s only natural.’
‘No, it isn’t. I bet Harry doesn’t. I bet he’s shagging everything in sight.’
‘No, he isn’t.’
‘But he’s not being a monk, either, is he?’
Hermione pulls an awkward face. ‘Well …’
‘Don’t answer that. Oh, why does he have to be here?’
‘Because it’s Christmas.’
‘Why don’t we just disown him? This is my parents’ house. They should be on my side. He broke my heart.’
‘You broke up with him.’
‘Yeah, well,’ she says grumpily. ‘If I hadn’t done it, he would have. And it doesn’t mean that it hurts any less.’
‘Ginny,’ says Hermione kindly, ‘why, exactly, are we having this conversation? What was your point?’
‘My point is, that … that, both being in this house until the twenty-eighth, we’re bound to have to talk to each other at least once.’
Hermione drums her fingers on the side of her mug of tea. ‘What have you got him for Christmas?’
‘Nothing. And he hasn’t got me anything, either, so don’t worry.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I went and told him not to get me anything, that’s why. Oh, come on,’ Ginny adds defensively at Hermione’s incredulous expression, ‘you know what he’s like. I went and told him not to bother getting me one because he’s an idiot - he needs someone to take care of him - he would have got himself into a dither about it, otherwise.’
Hermione shakes her head. ‘I thought you were over him.’
‘I am! It was a two-minute conversation at most. I went over to his, I said that we shouldn’t do presents for each other this year, he said OK, and I left. The end.’
‘Ginny, you don’t need to take care of him anymore.’
‘Old habits,’ says Ginny wearily, rubbing her forehead. ‘I’ve gone out with him since I was sixteen.’
‘Seventeen,’ says Hermione softly.
‘Sixteen. I count the last year of the war.’
Hermione looks at her hopelessly.
‘I just …’ Ginny grimaces. ‘I just don’t want it to be awkward. Me and Harry - we should go beyond awkwardness. He’s been a part of my life for too long for us to act like a broken-up couple.’ She drapes her towel around her shoulders like a cape and fiddles with the ends of her hair. ‘I want to get to the stage where we can be nice platonic friends and do things like vet each other’s new partners.’
Hermione snorts.
‘It could happen,’ says Ginny with irritation. ‘Not right now, but maybe in the foreseeable future -’
‘Hermione, what did you want me to take back to Ron’s - oh.’
Ginny jumps, violently: Harry is standing at the door to the kitchen, holding his cloak.
‘Harry! Oh, that’s right,’ says Hermione, flustered. ‘We brought the present for the wrong Percy - my cousin, Percy Granger - if you could take it back to ours and tell Ron to bring the correct one - it’s the big blue one, on the hall table.’
‘Right,’ says Harry, slinging his cloak over his shoulders. ‘Is that all? Cause I might be there for a while, so -’
‘You and Ron are doing joint presents?’ interrupts Ginny, revolted.
‘Yes. Why not?’ asks Hermione, unruffled. ‘We are living together, now. It’s far more practical. And cheaper.’
‘See you later, Hermione,’ says Harry. He turns to look at Ginny; suddenly, she is acutely aware that her hair is still wet and plastered to her head. ‘Hi, Ginny.’
She doesn’t comment on the ridiculousness of this belated greeting. ‘Hi, Harry.’
‘Well, see you later,’ he says, and turns and goes back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
‘How about,’ says Hermione after a second, ‘you make it a New Year’s resolution? You two will be completely un-awkward by … this time next year?’
‘Too optimistic,’ groans Ginny, letting her head flump back down onto the table.
‘So,’ says Hermione, curling her feet up under her and into her armchair, ‘who’s coming on Christmas Day?’
It is the evening, and those members of the second generation who are staying at The Burrow for Christmas are gathered in the living room.
‘Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Frances, various babies,’ reels off Ron from where he sits on the floor as he dips a quill into an ink pot with a flourish, ‘Andromeda and Teddy. Who’s this one for, again?’
‘Bill,’ she answers, rolling her eyes. ‘How about checking who the present’s for before you wrap it?’
‘Wait,’ says Ginny from the sofa, ‘aren’t Andromeda and Teddy coming to stay on Christmas Eve? So we can do Father Christmas together?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ says George, from where he’s reading a book called Making it Grande: Expanding Your Business into Europe and Beyond by the fire. ‘This Muggle book is absolute pants, Ron.’
‘Read chapter fourteen,’ says Ron without looking up from the big red-paper-wrapped box in front of him. ‘When you tag presents, do you write “Happy Christmas”?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake -’ says Hermione, lunging out of her chair.
‘Look, I can do it, I just want to know if -’
‘Surprise, surprise, Ron: it doesn’t matter what you write on the present, but if you’re going to spend half an hour on each one -’
‘No one else, then?’ asks Harry. ‘Is Kingsley spurning our company this year?’
‘You tell us, he’s your boss,’ says George. ‘I think Mum invited Neville, when she found out that his Great-Great-Aunt, or whatever she is, is going to be in Morocco, but apparently he’s going out to spend Christmas with her. Or he’s spending it with Luna, or something. I’ve forgotten.’
‘He’s going to Morocco,’ says Ginny. ‘I saw him last week. And I was the one who invited him. It’s a good thing he can’t come, though,’ she adds on the destructive impulse that led her to crash into Zacharias Smith after a Quidditch match and to hate everything Cho Chang does and to write back to a talking diary, ‘because I’m sure someone wouldn’t have been happy if he’d turned up here.’
As Ron and Hermione fall silent and stop fighting, Ginny realises that, as usual, she should have reigned in the impulse.
‘What do you mean, Ginny?’ asks Hermione. ‘What’s the problem with Neville?’
‘Yes,’ says Harry pointedly. Making the mistake of glancing up, she sees him glowering at her from the other side of the room. ‘What do you mean, Ginny?’
‘Nothing, nothing, I didn’t say anything,’ she says quickly. ‘I’m going to check on the mince pies -’ Leaping out of her chair, she darts into the kitchen, avoiding his gaze.
After a good ten minutes of leaning against the kitchen door and trying to calm down, she returns to the living room to find Ron labelling presents under the watchful eye of Hermione. George has gone back to reading.
‘Where’s Harry?’
‘Stormed off,’ says Ron. ‘Are you going to tell us what that was about, or -?’
‘Don’t, Ron,’ says Hermione.
‘What? I’m just wondering what Neville’s got to do with anything -’
‘Nothing,’ says Ginny tiredly. ‘Neville’s got nothing to do with anything.’ She leans against the doorframe. ‘Sorry. Sorry, that was - I shouldn’t have said anything -’
‘I thought you two were over months ago,’ says George, turning a page.
‘We were. We are. I just - it’s being in the same house as each other - I’ve barely spoken to him since September -’ She covers her face in her hands. ‘God. I’m sorry. That was stupid - it’s just that he gets me so angry - no. Sorry. Sorry you had to see that. Sorry it happened.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Ginny, it was nothing,’ says Ron, waving a hand; Hermione snatches up the inkpot before he knocks it over. ‘It didn’t even make any sense. Better that you get it out of your system now, rather than a huge, Christmas-dinner-throwing row in four days’ time in front of Mum and Andromeda.’
George snorts. ‘I wouldn’t tempt fate like that if I were you, little brother. Something is telling me you’re going to be the one who gets the pudding thrown in his face.’
‘No,’ snaps Ginny, ‘there’s not> going to be a huge row. At any point. We are over. I was just being silly.’
‘It seemed pretty silly,’ Ron says. ‘Although - Harry wasn’t intimidated by Neville, was he?’
She closes her eyes wearily. ‘No. Neville was just a symptom,’ she says, using Harry’s phrase of September, ‘not the cause.’
Ron shrugs; George goes back to his book.
‘I’m …’ she starts awkwardly. ‘I’ll go upstairs and unpack a bit more …’
‘Are you all right, Ginny?’ Hermione’s gaze is concerned.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’
‘Dinner’s at eight,’ says Ron. ‘I’m harnessing the heights of my culinary talents to cook you all my speciality.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Omelette.’
Ginny forces a laugh, leaves the room and starts to climb the dark stairs up to the first floor. She does need to unpack, as she’s going to be here for another six days - but not as much as she needs to lie down and clear her head. Stupid prick, she thinks as she crosses the dim landing towards her old bedroom door, storming off just because I made some tiny comment about -
‘You don’t seriously still believe that Neville had anything to do with it, do you?’
She spins around to see Harry standing in a shadowy corner of the landing with his arms folded.
‘Fucking hell, Harry, what the fuck was that for?’ she snaps, heart beating fast. ‘Why the hell are you standing in the corner like a vampire?’
He regards her coldly. ‘Do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Still think that Neville had anything to do with anything.’
‘You’re the one that had the huge problem with me and him spending time together over the summer. What the hell was I supposed to think?’ Crossing to her door and turning the knob, she thinks that she really can’t be bothered with this, right now, three months after the break-up; it’s a shame that the blood thrumming in her veins begs to differ. She pushes at the door. ‘You were - absolutely pathetic about Neville, so don’t even try and deny it - and anyway, this is months-old news, so - so get over it -’
He reaches over and grabs her shoulder; she freezes. ‘We broke up,’ he bites out, ‘because we weren’t talking anymore, because all you were doing was nagging all the time and because I didn’t know what I wanted and yes, because you were spending all of your time with other people - but that was more of a symptom than a -’
‘Than a cause, yeah, yeah, I remember,’ she says, bitter, now, that she had repeated this as the truth downstairs.
‘We would have fallen apart without any help from other people.’
‘Piss off,’ she snaps, shaking him off her and walking into her room; she’s suddenly desperate for him to be gone, away from her, out of this house - for him to not exist anymore -
‘Well, do you believe me?’ he asks, following her in.
‘Please go away.’
‘All I’m trying to say,’ he says fiercely, grabbing her arm again and making her spin around, ‘is that it had nothing to do with Neville Longbottom. But if you want to keep believing that we broke up because I was being childish and possessive, then fine, keep deluding yourself.’
‘Shut up,’ she mutters fiercely, wrenching her arm out of his grip and giving him a shove at his shoulders: in shock, he takes a step backwards and the back of his legs hit her mattress. Without a second thought, she pushes him again so that he falls onto her bed, slams the door shut, climbs up on top of him and straddles his chest.
‘Ginny - what -’
‘We’re going to do it. Just once, OK? Once more. Just a fuck. And then it’s over.’
His eyes are dark. ‘We are?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because you say so?’
‘I don’t see you complaining.’
‘This is stupid,’ he says, his brows furrowed and brooding. ‘Don’t be so -’
‘Shut up,’ she mutters again, leaning right over, and oddly enough, he does fall silent as her face draws close to his. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ducks down and kisses him lightly.
Her lips graze his, but before she can pull away, his hands cup her face and draw it closer. Angling his head, he pushes his tongue past her lips; she moans as his hands move into his hair. His kisses become lighter as his hands slide down her body and around her waist, smoothing over her hipbones and sweeping under her jumper and up her back. His fingers press into her shoulder blades and her back arches.
They break apart. His eyes are dark. ‘Ginny -’
‘Shh,’ she says. His gaze darts across her face but he says nothing.
Dropping back down, she kisses his somehow both soft and rough lips again; as she parts his lips, she feels herself shifting from his chest to his lap as slowly, he sits up.
Their kiss is messy, and slobbery, and horrible and perfect, but as she angles her head again, her brow bone bashes into his glasses frame, and his head jolts back - Oh God oh God I’ve forgotten how to kiss a boy with glasses -
I’ve forgotten how to kiss Harry.
They are disconnected; with an angry mewl, she grabs his glasses, gets them caught on his ear, finally wrenches them off his face and flings them onto the floor.
He looks at her, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to laugh.
‘Dinner’s in half an hour,’ she murmurs, wriggling against him a little ferociously in order to wipe the half-smirk from his face, ‘so we’ll have to be quick.’
‘I think I can manage that,’ he gasps. Sliding his hands up the front of her jumper, he cups her breasts over her bra.
‘I know you can,’ she whispers with a smirk of her own, before removing his hands from up her top and pushing him back onto the bed. ‘Lie still.’ Sitting up, she pulls her jumper and her t-shirt over her head and drops them on the floor with the debris of her unpacking. Shifting off him and onto the bed, she pulls her skirt up from her hips to her waist, where it flaps loosely, and with slightly trembling hands, tugs off her grey wool tights. ‘That’s better,’ she says, crawling back on top of him with bare legs, this time placing herself on his crotch.
‘Ginny -’ He tries sitting up, but she catches his shoulders again and pushes him back down onto the bed.
‘Don’t.’
His eyes are burning. ‘Don’t do this, Ginny.’
‘Do what?’ she asks with a salacious grin, starting to grind her hips against his.
He groans and his head falls back onto her faded flowery pillow.
‘Do you like that, Harry?’ she asks, trying not to laugh as his hips twitch. His Adam’s apple is protruding in his sweaty neck.
‘I hate you, Ginny,’ he rasps, and this time, she does laugh, delightedly, feeling oddly ecstatic. ‘Fuck,’ he hisses and God Ginny remembers how Harry rarely swears unless he’s with her, and then he does it all the time, and how gorgeous it is -
Arousal is starting to cloud her senses. ‘Why are you still dressed?’ she mutters. ‘Why -’
‘Considering,’ he says with a gasp, ‘that I’m not allowed to touch anything -’
She crawls off him again and tugs at the button on his trousers. On her hands and knees, her breasts trying to spill from her bra, she pulls his trousers and boxers down, freeing his erection. Shifting his legs to help get them off, he sits right up and reaches for her body again; his hand is almost on the catch of her bra before she notices. ‘No,’ she says, slapping his hand away; before he can protest, she pushes him back down onto the bed and climbs on top of him again.
Arching her back, she throws her head back as she starts to rock against him; with a muttered oath, he slides his hands up her thighs, under her skirt and onto her sweaty hips.
‘Take - take them off,’ he pants, plucking at her knickers.
‘In a minute.’ She grinds against his cock.
‘Fuck,’ he rasps. ‘Fucking hell, Ginny -’
He strains against her and she gasps with pleasure as his pubic bone hits her clitoris. Reaching behind her, she undoes her bra clasp and throws the bra off. Automatically, his hands reach upwards to cup her exposed breasts. She slaps them away. ‘No.’
‘Gin, stop - oh,’ he breaks off with as she starts to rock in earnest. ‘Oh - oh - fuck.’
‘Mmm, that feels nice …’ She closes her eyes and smiles.
‘Damn it, Gin, take them off -’
‘Patience,’ she gasps, ‘is a virtue -’
‘And what your family will do to me if they - God - catch us doing this - oh fuck fuck - fuck!- will not be virtuous -’
‘Are you scared, Harry?’ she asks, grinning down at him as she twitches her hips into a figure of eight.
‘There are - brothers - downstairs -’ He trails off into unintelligible muttering as his eyes shut and his hips start to pump against hers.
Oh, that feels good, Harry thrusting up against her, and it makes her all the more desperate to get him inside her - but no. Not yet. With a slow sigh, she tosses her head back again and reaches up to touch her own breasts: testing their weights, she cups them and flicks her thumbs across her nipples -
‘Gin - let me -’
‘No, Harry,’ she says softly. ‘Mmm -’ She works her hips as fast as she can, making him swear even more violently - ‘God, that feels good -’
‘Please -’ His hips are bucking frantically now, his hands twisted into the covers -
‘Yes, Harry …’ She’s panting now and her hips and thighs are moving completely of their own accord; she’s dimly aware of a bead of sweat making it’s way down the side of her face. ‘Yes …’
‘I swear to - if we don’t - I’m too close -’
Without saying anything, she kneels up and pulls her knickers down; by sitting down on his thighs and kicking her legs to the side - side-saddle, she thinks deliriously - she manages to get them off.
Flinging them across the room, she grabs his cock and positions herself in silence, but as she sinks down onto him, she gasps.
‘Fuck,’ he groans.
‘Fuck,’ she agrees breathily.
For a second, they are still, breathing heavily, completely together.
With her hands on his waist, she pushes herself up slowly and lets herself sink down again. Then, with a mingled groan, they’re gone -
They rediscover the old, familiar rhythm in a matter of moments, Ginny working her hips as he strains beneath her. With a shuddering gasp, she leans forwards and he catches her hands with his so she has something to put her weight on -
‘If you -’ she gasps as his thrusts grow even clumsier, ‘come first -’
‘Won’t -’ he manages, face screwed up, hands gripping hers fiercely.
‘You better not - oh …’ His pubic bone hits her clit again and she moans. ‘Harry …’
‘Are you,’ he pants, ‘close?’
‘Mmm …’
He pushes her upright again and she lets go of his hands and tosses her head back; before she can protest, one of his hands is toying with her right breast, thumb flicking the nipple, and the other has crept between them to rub at her clitoris.
It does the trick: under his ministrations, she comes, and with a shriek and huge shiver, she collapses on top of him.
He doesn’t say anything, but with a groan, he speeds up his hips until she’s bouncing against his chest limply and all she can do is hang on until he finds his climax. It doesn’t take long: after another minute, he clutches at her back and his irregular thrusts stop.
Sated, they lie still. She wonders for how long she can get away with sprawling on his still-t-shirt-clad torso.
His eyes are closed and his breathing deep and even; she would think he were asleep were it not for the hand stroking light circles onto her lower back.
Her eyes close against his shoulder. She could fall asleep right now, she thinks drowsily as her thoughts drift off; just curl up in the curve of his angular body and sleep the whole night through …
‘Oi! You two!’ shouts Ron from downstairs. ‘Dinner!’
‘I had sex with Harry last night.’
Hermione, leaning against the kitchen counter, freezes in the act of stirring her morning mug of tea.
The birds’ chirping outside suddenly seems very loud to Ginny.
‘When?’ asks Hermione eventually.
‘Before dinner.’
Hermione’s eyebrows once again shoot up into her hair. ‘When you went up to … unpack?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ Hermione blinks. ‘How …’
‘Messy,’ says Ginny. She clears her throat and looks down at the table. ‘It was a bit messy.’
She glances up to see Hermione looking slightly repulsed. ‘That wasn’t what I was going to ask.’
‘Oh.’ With a blush, Ginny looks back down at the table.
‘So … are you two … back together?’
Ginny shakes her head vehemently. ‘Not in the slightest.’
There is a silence in which Ginny desperately wishes she had a different best friend.
‘Oh, Ginny.’ Hermione is somehow managing to look more distressed than Ginny feels. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I don’t know. We just did. You’re not - you don’t -’ Ginny doesn’t know how to phrase it. ‘You’re not disappointed, are you?’
‘What for?’
‘That we’re not … back together.’
‘I think I finally worked out that it would be better if you and Harry didn’t work it out the night you threw all those coins at his head. In that pub in Wimbledon, remember?’
Ginny cringes. ‘Yes.’
‘Why was that, again?’
‘I think …’ Ginny casts her memory back. ‘Because he was insisting we go home and I wanted to stay, but he was so drunk he needed to be Apparated home, but he was getting all arse-y about me staying without him, so I told to get a cab home, and then he asked to borrow some money, as he was doing all the time, because he didn’t think it mattered, even though it did, so I threw all my coins at his head and screamed at him to get the Muggle bus.’ She cringes again. ‘Must have been a bit of a party killer.’
‘A little bit,’ Hermione concedes. ‘So … what happens now?’
‘Nothing. It was a one-time-only event. And now, we are completely and utterly finished. Right?’ Ginny looks up for a response. ‘I mean, people have sex with their exes all the time, right?’
Hermione stirs her tea. ‘The Americans call it “closure”.’
‘What’s the British equivalent?’
‘There isn’t one.’
‘So what do we call it?’
‘“Closure” with inverted commas?’
Ginny puts her head in her hands. She’s getting used to staring at this table.
‘Does it feel like closure?’
‘Yes,’ says Ginny. ‘Me and Harry are now very much closed.’
‘Good.’
‘And now we can all get on with our lives. And Christmas.’
‘All right, then.’
Concluded in Part Two
Ship: Harry/Ginny
Summary: Ginny reckons everyone sleeps with their ex once. Or twice. Don’t they?
Rating: 18+. Flagged for explicit adult content.
Word Count: ~10, 600
Notes: Thank you to pumpkinpasty for the best beta ever. Dedicated to all my watchers: whether you’re worshipping at the shrine of Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Midwinter, alcohol or Doctor Who this winter, I hope you all have an absolutely fantastic week. ♥ ♥ ♥ G, if you see this, please just don't read it.
Things You Shouldn't Do at Christmas
‘It’s been three months, Hermione.’
Ginny’s best friend purses her lips at her from across The Burrow’s kitchen table.
‘Three months since we’ve had a proper conversation,’ continues Ginny. ‘Three months since we’ve been in a room alone together for more than thirty seconds. Two and a half months since I’ve had sex.’
Hermione raises her eyebrows.
‘He was a Muggle.’
Her expression doesn’t change.
‘I think his name was Jack,’ Ginny adds irritably.
‘A one-night stand?’
‘What?’ snaps Ginny. ‘You’re just jealous because the only person you’ve ever slept with is my brother. Oh, don’t give me that complacent happy-couple smile -’ Hermione attempts to modify her expression. ‘Some of us prefer a bit of excitement in our lives - oh - oh, God.’ Breaking off abruptly, she slumps forwards onto the table; her wet hair falls out of the white towel she’d turbaned it in. ‘The only two people I’ve ever had sex with in my life: Harry and a Muggle called Jack.’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Ginny,’ says Hermione. ‘Dangerous, maybe -’ Ginny groans. ‘But not wrong. You and Harry are broken up.’
Ginny groans again.
‘If you’re regretting it so much, then why did you do it?’
‘Why do you think?’ Ginny asks the table in a muffled voice. ‘Because I was confused and angry and tired of all the post-break-up stuff. And because … well, even when me and Harry were falling apart, we were still … you know. Practically in silence, but still. It was still sex. Which I missed. Which I miss. And anyway,’ she says, looking up and changing the topic, ‘I don’t regret it. I know I didn’t do anything wrong.’
Hermione’s eyes are sympathetic. ‘But you still feel guilty?’
‘No!’
‘Then why didn’t you tell me about it at the time? Why haven’t you done it again?’
‘Because,’ says Ginny primly, sitting up, ‘one-night stands are icky.’
‘Then why haven’t you been on a date? Why did you turn down whatever-his-name-was - Bradley?’
‘Relationships with one’s team members are unprofessional.’
‘Ginny. The Holyhead Harpies is an all-girls team.’
‘Fine, he’s on the Falcons,’ snaps Ginny. ‘And he’s gorgeous. I walked in on him changing once. I don’t know why I said no, OK?’ she retorts over Hermione’s attempt at another question. ‘I do feel guilty, all right? Old habits die hard. I do feel guilty,’ she finishes morosely.
‘It’s only natural.’
‘No, it isn’t. I bet Harry doesn’t. I bet he’s shagging everything in sight.’
‘No, he isn’t.’
‘But he’s not being a monk, either, is he?’
Hermione pulls an awkward face. ‘Well …’
‘Don’t answer that. Oh, why does he have to be here?’
‘Because it’s Christmas.’
‘Why don’t we just disown him? This is my parents’ house. They should be on my side. He broke my heart.’
‘You broke up with him.’
‘Yeah, well,’ she says grumpily. ‘If I hadn’t done it, he would have. And it doesn’t mean that it hurts any less.’
‘Ginny,’ says Hermione kindly, ‘why, exactly, are we having this conversation? What was your point?’
‘My point is, that … that, both being in this house until the twenty-eighth, we’re bound to have to talk to each other at least once.’
Hermione drums her fingers on the side of her mug of tea. ‘What have you got him for Christmas?’
‘Nothing. And he hasn’t got me anything, either, so don’t worry.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I went and told him not to get me anything, that’s why. Oh, come on,’ Ginny adds defensively at Hermione’s incredulous expression, ‘you know what he’s like. I went and told him not to bother getting me one because he’s an idiot - he needs someone to take care of him - he would have got himself into a dither about it, otherwise.’
Hermione shakes her head. ‘I thought you were over him.’
‘I am! It was a two-minute conversation at most. I went over to his, I said that we shouldn’t do presents for each other this year, he said OK, and I left. The end.’
‘Ginny, you don’t need to take care of him anymore.’
‘Old habits,’ says Ginny wearily, rubbing her forehead. ‘I’ve gone out with him since I was sixteen.’
‘Seventeen,’ says Hermione softly.
‘Sixteen. I count the last year of the war.’
Hermione looks at her hopelessly.
‘I just …’ Ginny grimaces. ‘I just don’t want it to be awkward. Me and Harry - we should go beyond awkwardness. He’s been a part of my life for too long for us to act like a broken-up couple.’ She drapes her towel around her shoulders like a cape and fiddles with the ends of her hair. ‘I want to get to the stage where we can be nice platonic friends and do things like vet each other’s new partners.’
Hermione snorts.
‘It could happen,’ says Ginny with irritation. ‘Not right now, but maybe in the foreseeable future -’
‘Hermione, what did you want me to take back to Ron’s - oh.’
Ginny jumps, violently: Harry is standing at the door to the kitchen, holding his cloak.
‘Harry! Oh, that’s right,’ says Hermione, flustered. ‘We brought the present for the wrong Percy - my cousin, Percy Granger - if you could take it back to ours and tell Ron to bring the correct one - it’s the big blue one, on the hall table.’
‘Right,’ says Harry, slinging his cloak over his shoulders. ‘Is that all? Cause I might be there for a while, so -’
‘You and Ron are doing joint presents?’ interrupts Ginny, revolted.
‘Yes. Why not?’ asks Hermione, unruffled. ‘We are living together, now. It’s far more practical. And cheaper.’
‘See you later, Hermione,’ says Harry. He turns to look at Ginny; suddenly, she is acutely aware that her hair is still wet and plastered to her head. ‘Hi, Ginny.’
She doesn’t comment on the ridiculousness of this belated greeting. ‘Hi, Harry.’
‘Well, see you later,’ he says, and turns and goes back into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
‘How about,’ says Hermione after a second, ‘you make it a New Year’s resolution? You two will be completely un-awkward by … this time next year?’
‘Too optimistic,’ groans Ginny, letting her head flump back down onto the table.
‘So,’ says Hermione, curling her feet up under her and into her armchair, ‘who’s coming on Christmas Day?’
It is the evening, and those members of the second generation who are staying at The Burrow for Christmas are gathered in the living room.
‘Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Frances, various babies,’ reels off Ron from where he sits on the floor as he dips a quill into an ink pot with a flourish, ‘Andromeda and Teddy. Who’s this one for, again?’
‘Bill,’ she answers, rolling her eyes. ‘How about checking who the present’s for before you wrap it?’
‘Wait,’ says Ginny from the sofa, ‘aren’t Andromeda and Teddy coming to stay on Christmas Eve? So we can do Father Christmas together?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ says George, from where he’s reading a book called Making it Grande: Expanding Your Business into Europe and Beyond by the fire. ‘This Muggle book is absolute pants, Ron.’
‘Read chapter fourteen,’ says Ron without looking up from the big red-paper-wrapped box in front of him. ‘When you tag presents, do you write “Happy Christmas”?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake -’ says Hermione, lunging out of her chair.
‘Look, I can do it, I just want to know if -’
‘Surprise, surprise, Ron: it doesn’t matter what you write on the present, but if you’re going to spend half an hour on each one -’
‘No one else, then?’ asks Harry. ‘Is Kingsley spurning our company this year?’
‘You tell us, he’s your boss,’ says George. ‘I think Mum invited Neville, when she found out that his Great-Great-Aunt, or whatever she is, is going to be in Morocco, but apparently he’s going out to spend Christmas with her. Or he’s spending it with Luna, or something. I’ve forgotten.’
‘He’s going to Morocco,’ says Ginny. ‘I saw him last week. And I was the one who invited him. It’s a good thing he can’t come, though,’ she adds on the destructive impulse that led her to crash into Zacharias Smith after a Quidditch match and to hate everything Cho Chang does and to write back to a talking diary, ‘because I’m sure someone wouldn’t have been happy if he’d turned up here.’
As Ron and Hermione fall silent and stop fighting, Ginny realises that, as usual, she should have reigned in the impulse.
‘What do you mean, Ginny?’ asks Hermione. ‘What’s the problem with Neville?’
‘Yes,’ says Harry pointedly. Making the mistake of glancing up, she sees him glowering at her from the other side of the room. ‘What do you mean, Ginny?’
‘Nothing, nothing, I didn’t say anything,’ she says quickly. ‘I’m going to check on the mince pies -’ Leaping out of her chair, she darts into the kitchen, avoiding his gaze.
After a good ten minutes of leaning against the kitchen door and trying to calm down, she returns to the living room to find Ron labelling presents under the watchful eye of Hermione. George has gone back to reading.
‘Where’s Harry?’
‘Stormed off,’ says Ron. ‘Are you going to tell us what that was about, or -?’
‘Don’t, Ron,’ says Hermione.
‘What? I’m just wondering what Neville’s got to do with anything -’
‘Nothing,’ says Ginny tiredly. ‘Neville’s got nothing to do with anything.’ She leans against the doorframe. ‘Sorry. Sorry, that was - I shouldn’t have said anything -’
‘I thought you two were over months ago,’ says George, turning a page.
‘We were. We are. I just - it’s being in the same house as each other - I’ve barely spoken to him since September -’ She covers her face in her hands. ‘God. I’m sorry. That was stupid - it’s just that he gets me so angry - no. Sorry. Sorry you had to see that. Sorry it happened.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Ginny, it was nothing,’ says Ron, waving a hand; Hermione snatches up the inkpot before he knocks it over. ‘It didn’t even make any sense. Better that you get it out of your system now, rather than a huge, Christmas-dinner-throwing row in four days’ time in front of Mum and Andromeda.’
George snorts. ‘I wouldn’t tempt fate like that if I were you, little brother. Something is telling me you’re going to be the one who gets the pudding thrown in his face.’
‘No,’ snaps Ginny, ‘there’s not> going to be a huge row. At any point. We are over. I was just being silly.’
‘It seemed pretty silly,’ Ron says. ‘Although - Harry wasn’t intimidated by Neville, was he?’
She closes her eyes wearily. ‘No. Neville was just a symptom,’ she says, using Harry’s phrase of September, ‘not the cause.’
Ron shrugs; George goes back to his book.
‘I’m …’ she starts awkwardly. ‘I’ll go upstairs and unpack a bit more …’
‘Are you all right, Ginny?’ Hermione’s gaze is concerned.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’
‘Dinner’s at eight,’ says Ron. ‘I’m harnessing the heights of my culinary talents to cook you all my speciality.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Omelette.’
Ginny forces a laugh, leaves the room and starts to climb the dark stairs up to the first floor. She does need to unpack, as she’s going to be here for another six days - but not as much as she needs to lie down and clear her head. Stupid prick, she thinks as she crosses the dim landing towards her old bedroom door, storming off just because I made some tiny comment about -
‘You don’t seriously still believe that Neville had anything to do with it, do you?’
She spins around to see Harry standing in a shadowy corner of the landing with his arms folded.
‘Fucking hell, Harry, what the fuck was that for?’ she snaps, heart beating fast. ‘Why the hell are you standing in the corner like a vampire?’
He regards her coldly. ‘Do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Still think that Neville had anything to do with anything.’
‘You’re the one that had the huge problem with me and him spending time together over the summer. What the hell was I supposed to think?’ Crossing to her door and turning the knob, she thinks that she really can’t be bothered with this, right now, three months after the break-up; it’s a shame that the blood thrumming in her veins begs to differ. She pushes at the door. ‘You were - absolutely pathetic about Neville, so don’t even try and deny it - and anyway, this is months-old news, so - so get over it -’
He reaches over and grabs her shoulder; she freezes. ‘We broke up,’ he bites out, ‘because we weren’t talking anymore, because all you were doing was nagging all the time and because I didn’t know what I wanted and yes, because you were spending all of your time with other people - but that was more of a symptom than a -’
‘Than a cause, yeah, yeah, I remember,’ she says, bitter, now, that she had repeated this as the truth downstairs.
‘We would have fallen apart without any help from other people.’
‘Piss off,’ she snaps, shaking him off her and walking into her room; she’s suddenly desperate for him to be gone, away from her, out of this house - for him to not exist anymore -
‘Well, do you believe me?’ he asks, following her in.
‘Please go away.’
‘All I’m trying to say,’ he says fiercely, grabbing her arm again and making her spin around, ‘is that it had nothing to do with Neville Longbottom. But if you want to keep believing that we broke up because I was being childish and possessive, then fine, keep deluding yourself.’
‘Shut up,’ she mutters fiercely, wrenching her arm out of his grip and giving him a shove at his shoulders: in shock, he takes a step backwards and the back of his legs hit her mattress. Without a second thought, she pushes him again so that he falls onto her bed, slams the door shut, climbs up on top of him and straddles his chest.
‘Ginny - what -’
‘We’re going to do it. Just once, OK? Once more. Just a fuck. And then it’s over.’
His eyes are dark. ‘We are?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because you say so?’
‘I don’t see you complaining.’
‘This is stupid,’ he says, his brows furrowed and brooding. ‘Don’t be so -’
‘Shut up,’ she mutters again, leaning right over, and oddly enough, he does fall silent as her face draws close to his. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ducks down and kisses him lightly.
Her lips graze his, but before she can pull away, his hands cup her face and draw it closer. Angling his head, he pushes his tongue past her lips; she moans as his hands move into his hair. His kisses become lighter as his hands slide down her body and around her waist, smoothing over her hipbones and sweeping under her jumper and up her back. His fingers press into her shoulder blades and her back arches.
They break apart. His eyes are dark. ‘Ginny -’
‘Shh,’ she says. His gaze darts across her face but he says nothing.
Dropping back down, she kisses his somehow both soft and rough lips again; as she parts his lips, she feels herself shifting from his chest to his lap as slowly, he sits up.
Their kiss is messy, and slobbery, and horrible and perfect, but as she angles her head again, her brow bone bashes into his glasses frame, and his head jolts back - Oh God oh God I’ve forgotten how to kiss a boy with glasses -
I’ve forgotten how to kiss Harry.
They are disconnected; with an angry mewl, she grabs his glasses, gets them caught on his ear, finally wrenches them off his face and flings them onto the floor.
He looks at her, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to laugh.
‘Dinner’s in half an hour,’ she murmurs, wriggling against him a little ferociously in order to wipe the half-smirk from his face, ‘so we’ll have to be quick.’
‘I think I can manage that,’ he gasps. Sliding his hands up the front of her jumper, he cups her breasts over her bra.
‘I know you can,’ she whispers with a smirk of her own, before removing his hands from up her top and pushing him back onto the bed. ‘Lie still.’ Sitting up, she pulls her jumper and her t-shirt over her head and drops them on the floor with the debris of her unpacking. Shifting off him and onto the bed, she pulls her skirt up from her hips to her waist, where it flaps loosely, and with slightly trembling hands, tugs off her grey wool tights. ‘That’s better,’ she says, crawling back on top of him with bare legs, this time placing herself on his crotch.
‘Ginny -’ He tries sitting up, but she catches his shoulders again and pushes him back down onto the bed.
‘Don’t.’
His eyes are burning. ‘Don’t do this, Ginny.’
‘Do what?’ she asks with a salacious grin, starting to grind her hips against his.
He groans and his head falls back onto her faded flowery pillow.
‘Do you like that, Harry?’ she asks, trying not to laugh as his hips twitch. His Adam’s apple is protruding in his sweaty neck.
‘I hate you, Ginny,’ he rasps, and this time, she does laugh, delightedly, feeling oddly ecstatic. ‘Fuck,’ he hisses and God Ginny remembers how Harry rarely swears unless he’s with her, and then he does it all the time, and how gorgeous it is -
Arousal is starting to cloud her senses. ‘Why are you still dressed?’ she mutters. ‘Why -’
‘Considering,’ he says with a gasp, ‘that I’m not allowed to touch anything -’
She crawls off him again and tugs at the button on his trousers. On her hands and knees, her breasts trying to spill from her bra, she pulls his trousers and boxers down, freeing his erection. Shifting his legs to help get them off, he sits right up and reaches for her body again; his hand is almost on the catch of her bra before she notices. ‘No,’ she says, slapping his hand away; before he can protest, she pushes him back down onto the bed and climbs on top of him again.
Arching her back, she throws her head back as she starts to rock against him; with a muttered oath, he slides his hands up her thighs, under her skirt and onto her sweaty hips.
‘Take - take them off,’ he pants, plucking at her knickers.
‘In a minute.’ She grinds against his cock.
‘Fuck,’ he rasps. ‘Fucking hell, Ginny -’
He strains against her and she gasps with pleasure as his pubic bone hits her clitoris. Reaching behind her, she undoes her bra clasp and throws the bra off. Automatically, his hands reach upwards to cup her exposed breasts. She slaps them away. ‘No.’
‘Gin, stop - oh,’ he breaks off with as she starts to rock in earnest. ‘Oh - oh - fuck.’
‘Mmm, that feels nice …’ She closes her eyes and smiles.
‘Damn it, Gin, take them off -’
‘Patience,’ she gasps, ‘is a virtue -’
‘And what your family will do to me if they - God - catch us doing this - oh fuck fuck - fuck!- will not be virtuous -’
‘Are you scared, Harry?’ she asks, grinning down at him as she twitches her hips into a figure of eight.
‘There are - brothers - downstairs -’ He trails off into unintelligible muttering as his eyes shut and his hips start to pump against hers.
Oh, that feels good, Harry thrusting up against her, and it makes her all the more desperate to get him inside her - but no. Not yet. With a slow sigh, she tosses her head back again and reaches up to touch her own breasts: testing their weights, she cups them and flicks her thumbs across her nipples -
‘Gin - let me -’
‘No, Harry,’ she says softly. ‘Mmm -’ She works her hips as fast as she can, making him swear even more violently - ‘God, that feels good -’
‘Please -’ His hips are bucking frantically now, his hands twisted into the covers -
‘Yes, Harry …’ She’s panting now and her hips and thighs are moving completely of their own accord; she’s dimly aware of a bead of sweat making it’s way down the side of her face. ‘Yes …’
‘I swear to - if we don’t - I’m too close -’
Without saying anything, she kneels up and pulls her knickers down; by sitting down on his thighs and kicking her legs to the side - side-saddle, she thinks deliriously - she manages to get them off.
Flinging them across the room, she grabs his cock and positions herself in silence, but as she sinks down onto him, she gasps.
‘Fuck,’ he groans.
‘Fuck,’ she agrees breathily.
For a second, they are still, breathing heavily, completely together.
With her hands on his waist, she pushes herself up slowly and lets herself sink down again. Then, with a mingled groan, they’re gone -
They rediscover the old, familiar rhythm in a matter of moments, Ginny working her hips as he strains beneath her. With a shuddering gasp, she leans forwards and he catches her hands with his so she has something to put her weight on -
‘If you -’ she gasps as his thrusts grow even clumsier, ‘come first -’
‘Won’t -’ he manages, face screwed up, hands gripping hers fiercely.
‘You better not - oh …’ His pubic bone hits her clit again and she moans. ‘Harry …’
‘Are you,’ he pants, ‘close?’
‘Mmm …’
He pushes her upright again and she lets go of his hands and tosses her head back; before she can protest, one of his hands is toying with her right breast, thumb flicking the nipple, and the other has crept between them to rub at her clitoris.
It does the trick: under his ministrations, she comes, and with a shriek and huge shiver, she collapses on top of him.
He doesn’t say anything, but with a groan, he speeds up his hips until she’s bouncing against his chest limply and all she can do is hang on until he finds his climax. It doesn’t take long: after another minute, he clutches at her back and his irregular thrusts stop.
Sated, they lie still. She wonders for how long she can get away with sprawling on his still-t-shirt-clad torso.
His eyes are closed and his breathing deep and even; she would think he were asleep were it not for the hand stroking light circles onto her lower back.
Her eyes close against his shoulder. She could fall asleep right now, she thinks drowsily as her thoughts drift off; just curl up in the curve of his angular body and sleep the whole night through …
‘Oi! You two!’ shouts Ron from downstairs. ‘Dinner!’
‘I had sex with Harry last night.’
Hermione, leaning against the kitchen counter, freezes in the act of stirring her morning mug of tea.
The birds’ chirping outside suddenly seems very loud to Ginny.
‘When?’ asks Hermione eventually.
‘Before dinner.’
Hermione’s eyebrows once again shoot up into her hair. ‘When you went up to … unpack?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ Hermione blinks. ‘How …’
‘Messy,’ says Ginny. She clears her throat and looks down at the table. ‘It was a bit messy.’
She glances up to see Hermione looking slightly repulsed. ‘That wasn’t what I was going to ask.’
‘Oh.’ With a blush, Ginny looks back down at the table.
‘So … are you two … back together?’
Ginny shakes her head vehemently. ‘Not in the slightest.’
There is a silence in which Ginny desperately wishes she had a different best friend.
‘Oh, Ginny.’ Hermione is somehow managing to look more distressed than Ginny feels. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I don’t know. We just did. You’re not - you don’t -’ Ginny doesn’t know how to phrase it. ‘You’re not disappointed, are you?’
‘What for?’
‘That we’re not … back together.’
‘I think I finally worked out that it would be better if you and Harry didn’t work it out the night you threw all those coins at his head. In that pub in Wimbledon, remember?’
Ginny cringes. ‘Yes.’
‘Why was that, again?’
‘I think …’ Ginny casts her memory back. ‘Because he was insisting we go home and I wanted to stay, but he was so drunk he needed to be Apparated home, but he was getting all arse-y about me staying without him, so I told to get a cab home, and then he asked to borrow some money, as he was doing all the time, because he didn’t think it mattered, even though it did, so I threw all my coins at his head and screamed at him to get the Muggle bus.’ She cringes again. ‘Must have been a bit of a party killer.’
‘A little bit,’ Hermione concedes. ‘So … what happens now?’
‘Nothing. It was a one-time-only event. And now, we are completely and utterly finished. Right?’ Ginny looks up for a response. ‘I mean, people have sex with their exes all the time, right?’
Hermione stirs her tea. ‘The Americans call it “closure”.’
‘What’s the British equivalent?’
‘There isn’t one.’
‘So what do we call it?’
‘“Closure” with inverted commas?’
Ginny puts her head in her hands. She’s getting used to staring at this table.
‘Does it feel like closure?’
‘Yes,’ says Ginny. ‘Me and Harry are now very much closed.’
‘Good.’
‘And now we can all get on with our lives. And Christmas.’
‘All right, then.’
Concluded in Part Two