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SIYE Time:1:22 on 29th March 2024
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The Room of Lost Things
By Deadptarmigan

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Drama
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Disturbing Imagery, Intimate Sexual Situations
Rating: R
Reviews: 11
Summary: Alternate Universe. Harry and Ginny. Please enjoy this screwed up little story. Photography credit goes to Daniil Kontorovich on Behance. Editing credit to Andrea Gonzales.
Hitcount: Story Total: 9599; Chapter Total: 1307







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1.

They slept in the same bed that night.

Ginny could count on one hand how many times they had done so. The first time was about a month after they arrived here, confused and bewildered, and all unknowing that they were going to stay here for years. Ginny'd crawled into his bed, and soaked it with tears. The second time, Harry'd surprised her with a Christmas party, they'd found a dusty old bottle with a fizzy drink that made everything funny until the room started to spin, and they'd passed out next to each other. The last time had been about a year ago, after Ginny'd started bleeding between her legs, and she'd remembered her mother telling her that would happen. That night she'd missed her mother so badly she was sick about it, and Harry'd stayed with her.

"Remember when we had to use chamber pots?" Harry murmured sleepily. "And all our puking had to be done in a chamber pot?"

Ginny winced. "Yes." Once the bleeding had started, a real, true bathroom had sprung up near their camp. It had a toilet, a deep bath the size of a small swimming pool, and a shower room. It almost made it worth it to bleed every month.

They were curled up together like kneazles. Neither of them said a word after that, but Ginny knew he didn't fall asleep for a while. But eventually his breathing deepened, and Ginny followed after him into sleep.

She woke up some time later. Her eyelids were still heavy, and she was still tired... it wasn't time to wake up. Something had woken her.

Harry curled around her. His hand was on her stomach, and Ginny thought this might have been what woke her. Her skin felt very hot and sensitive where his fingertips rested. Warmth radiated outward from that contact. Ginny rested her hand next to his, enjoying the sensation of his hands on her. Then her eyes fell closed again and she slept.

2.

The next couple of days were very quiet. Eventually, they went to the spot where it had happened. Ginny remembered wondering if the room would take a body away, if that would be part of its magic.

It wasn't.

The body was already swelling, and the smell wafting up from it made bile rise to the back of her throat. Instead of vomiting, she forced herself to walk a protective circle.

"What're you doing?" Harry asked.

"We need to burn the body. I'm not going to touch it, are you? I don't want to move it anywhere. I don't even want to float it." Ginny swallowed hard and tried not to breathe.

"But we can't just let flames go wild in here. Can you — can you imagine an inferno?"

"You're definitely the brains around here," Harry teased.

She gave him a half-smile.

It had occurred to her that the only thing he hadn't refuted that thing saying was the fact Ginny teased him with her body. It was miserable to think about — she had used every opportunity to get him to touch her, and to touch him. She'd bent the truth. It hadn't felt like being manipulative. And she also couldn't forget how good the wrestling felt, even though she'd thought she was hurting him.

What kind of friend did that?

He was creating a pyre, using his wand to chop up furniture, and placing the wood around the body still mangled in the giant trap. It did not even seem to bother him that fresh waves of stench rose up whenever the body was touched.

The meanest thing he'd done was tell her she made it hard all the time, and it was her fault. Harsh, but maybe true. The meanest thing she'd done was try to smash his privates.

"Let me help," Ginny said. "Let me do it."

"Ginny, you–"

"No, I want to."

She finished the pyre, and stood back. Her hands were shaking, and it hit her that this was a person. This was horrible, mad Gilderoy, a man who'd used magic to steal the success and fame of others. A man who had surely been going to do something terrible. A man who'd been the only other person aside from Harry she'd seen since Tom Riddle had forced her into the Chamber. It was for that that tears pricked her eyes.

They lit the body on fire together.

3.

That night, they sat side by side on the sofa in their common area. Ginny had to force herself to keep a little distance. Harry's body was radiating warmth, and all she wanted to do was lean into it. To have him wrap his arms around her and hold her.

Instead, she kept up a stream of nervous conversation about the outside world.

Harry seemed distracted, and was scratching idly at his arms, chafing them.

"I wonder if Ron and Hermione are together," she said. This seemed to startle him.

"Together?"

"Yes, together. Mum said she thought Ron might fancy Hermione — you know, because she bugged him. I don't know how that makes sense, but I always liked to think Mum was right. I like Hermione."

Harry leaned his head back against the sofa, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "The others — life outside — you give it so much movement when you talk about it. I try, but I can't — I can't see them older than thirteen."

"Well, we know they went to some sort of ball together," Ginny said. "Maybe they danced? Maybe he kissed her at midnight, like some of the old stories?"

"Is that what together means?" Harry murmured. He sounded very sleepy, and was moving his hands restlessly over his chest, scratching. He yawned. "Sorry, Ginny... I think I maybe – maybe I got bit by some mites. I'm itchy, and – and so tired."

Ginny dragged a blanket over him.

"No, don't leave," he said when she got up. She plopped back down. "Tell me more."

So she told him stories about how she thought their lives were going, starting with painting a picture for him of how long and hard they'd worked to make a patronus. "They bickered the entire time," she told him. "Dumbledore – who gave them a private lesson or two – found it very amusing."

"Why'd he give them lessons?"

"Because they love you, and Dumbledore knows it," Ginny said promptly. "Aren't they theorizing we've got our memories taken away? Maybe he's hoping they'll jog your memory, too. Or maybe he didn't give them lessons at all. Maybe they tried to figure it out on their own. Maybe they've been working on it for years, just like us."

"So dancing and kissing," Harry said, apparently no longer listening to her, and sounding on the verge of sleep. "Dancing and kissing, that's what together means..."

He did fall asleep then. Ginny watched him at it for a while, then tried a spell on him that would help with the mites.

4.

That night, she had the strangest of dreams. First, she'd tossed and turned, then finally fell into restless, shallow dreams she didn't remember, except that she was in a warm, warm cocoon. Then, still in the cocoon, it segued into something that felt like... wrestling. Something pressed and pressed and pressed on her until the most extraordinary feeling happened. It woke her straight from sleep. She gasped for air, disoriented, feeling pulses and tremors of pure pleasure from between her legs. Gradually, she grew aware that her hand was between her legs, clutching a wad of sheets, and it had been those things providing the pressure that had sent her over an edge she hadn't known existed.

5.

"The dust mites still biting?" Ginny asked Harry sympathetically.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I did a spell, and it got a little better. But I'm itchy where they bit me."

Ginny could see that.

"That must've been a bad infestation," she said.

"Yeah," he said, distracted.

Ginny watched him for a while, for some reason reminded of when they were looking for more games, and he'd started chasing her. She squirmed a little. Up until she'd fallen, it had given her a sort of... breathless happiness. There was no guilt there.

She drew her wand.

Harry got up and wandered over to the table. Food began to appear, and Ginny watched as he took a bite of toast.

Her yew wand was warm in her grip. Ginny ran through the entire memory. Harry chasing her through the alleys, fingers tickling at her sides when he got close enough.

She held that image at the very forefront of her thoughts and said: "Expecto patronum!"

Silvery wisps poured out of her wand. Ginny gaped. The most she'd ever produced was a silvery blue spark, but this – this. It wasn't corporeal, but it was so much closer. She laughed, delighted. Harry was staring at her, shocked, and she launched herself at him.

"I almost did it!" she crowed.

She'd just landed in his arms when he kissed her. It was a quick, hard peck on the lips. All thoughts of her almost-real patronus flew out of her head. Harry's arms were around her, his lips had just touched hers...

And then he kissed her again. Gently. Ginny tilted her head, and kissed him back. He licked at her lips, and Ginny opened them, letting him in. It was then the kiss got truly brilliant... blood thundered in her ears, and every place their bodies were touching began to tingle.

They finally broke apart.

"Ginny, I–"

But whatever Harry'd been about to say was lost, as his eyes rolled back in his head, and he toppled over in a faint.

Ginny caught him before he hit the ground, but it was several seconds before her brain began to work. She touched his forehead, and winced. He was burning up. Aghast, she realized he must've had a fever last night, as well. That's why he'd fallen asleep so early

"...Ginny..."

She laid him on the ground, knelt over him, and pulled up his shirt. Her eyes grew round with shock. "Oh, God, Harry."

"Ginny?" His eyes were open and glazed.

What she could see of his chest was covered in tiny, glowing embers. As she watched, they began to smoke. She sniffed, smelling faint sulfur. "Oh God," she said again.

"What is it?"

Ginny panicked. "Oh, God, it's dragon pox. Harry, you have dragon pox." People died from dragon pox. Her Grandmum Cedrella, Granddad Septimus... oh God. Oh God, she couldn't lose Harry. Not Harry.

"Dragon pox?" His lips, which had just been on hers, were cracked and dry. "I can't have dragon pox. I already had chicken pox..."

This was the last lucid thing he said for quite some time.

6.

Ginny couldn't make herself move.

They'd been sick before, of course. They'd both gotten a lung ailment some time ago — that had been the most serious. Ginny's cough had lasted months. But dragon pox… dragon pox was something else entirely. It started with tiny embers growing on the skin, itching, burning, and causing a fever as the body tried to fight it. Then it could go in the body. Then the embers would grow on the inside, would leap like flames from organ to organ.

She was breathing in fast, hard pants.

"Please, please, please," she begged the magic of this place. She didn't even know where to begin…

Three potions, two thick books, an ewer of water, and clean, white towels appeared.

Ginny moaned.

She tipped the first one into his mouth. The glowing embers dimmed, and Harry moaned.

The books turned out to be written in a language so dense, that it took her a very long time to untangle the words. While she did this, she kept providing Harry with cool compresses. "Dragon pox victim needs… charmed oatmeal bath? Poultice of sugar and cool sap? Tea of willowbark?"

Ginny floated him to the loo.

A single bowl of oatmeal was her granted prayer. Ginny dumped out the bowl in the bottom of the giant bathtub, and used her wand to multiply it, and then muttered the charm the book had required. Once the tub was full of now green glowing oatmeal, she undressed him with shaking hands. She left him in his pants, knowing he would not appreciate her violating the rule he was so strict about, and drew him down into the tub with her. Ginny held him in the strange bath, holding his head up above the oatmeal, and soaked him.

The fever potion had worked, but his body was still unnaturally warm.

After a long soak, Ginny floated him to the shower. The oatmeal had pulled some of the embers out, and more washed away with water from the shower.

It was then that he started to shiver.

Ginny ran with him back to the common area, and put him on the sofa. She placed a warming charm on it. His full body shudders did not abate, and she threw a blanket over him, and got under there with him.

This entire time, she'd been terrified each breath would be the last.

Ginny had never seen a dragon pox victim. The minute word had come from her dad's oldest brother, her mother had bundled all of them off to St. Mungo's to start a series of potions that would — theoretically — leave them immune to the disease. Ginny'd only been five, but she remembered that whole time period vividly. "I'm not risking a single one of our children, Arthur," her mum'd said. "I don't care what it costs." The potion had been vile, like burning, rotten eggs. The funerals had been even worse.

Ginny held Harry as he shuddered. "You don't get to leave me here by myself," she whispered. "I need you."

Her wand chimed the alarm that it was time for him to drink more of the potion. Ginny rolled off the sofa, grabbed it, carefully measured it onto a spoon, and tilted it into his mouth.

Harry mumbled something, and his clenched, shuddering muscles relaxed.

7.

The next days were a repetition of all of that. Harry remained asleep during his oatmeal baths — at this point, Ginny would pull down his pants once they got in, just to be sure all the embers were properly covered. "I'm not going to tell you about this when you wake up," Ginny told him, as she peeled his pants down. "I just wanted to promise you that I'm not looking."

Ginny's nerves were stretched tight, her brain was numb but for what she needed to do to help Harry, and when she dozed, she dreamed of dust mites burrowing into her skin.

8.

Harry woke up.

She was showering off the oatmeal and the embers when he cracked his eyes open. "Ginny," he said faintly. "I'm sick?"

"Yeah," she said, tears started streaming down her face, so she ducked under the running water with him. "You're really sick. But you're going to get better. You have to get better, Harry."

"Most stubborn person… I've ever met," Harry murmured. "'Course I'll get better. I'd never…"

He was asleep before Ginny could hear him reassure her he'd never leave her.

"And you won't," she told him fiercely.

9.

The next time Harry woke up, Ginny was asleep. Her head was on his chest, and when she felt fingers stroking her hair, she startled awake, leaving a damp spot.

He was awake and alert.

"Oh, you're awake," she said weakly.

"I'm awake," said Harry. "I thought I wasn't supposed to get dragon pox," Harry said weakly. "I had chicken pox the same time Dudley did…"

"Chicken pox?" Ginny said, bewildered. He'd said that before, but it still didn't make very much sense.

"You're supposed to not get any pox if you get the chicken pox," Harry explained.

"The only thing that works against dragon pox is drinking this vile potion every three months for a year. Mum made all of us do it when Grandmum Cedrella got sick… I was five," said Ginny. She laid a cool cloth on his brow, and stroked his flushed cheek with her fingertips. His fever was not entirely gone.

"It always feels so damn good when you touch me," Harry sighed, closing his eyes.

"I like touching you," Ginny admitted softly. "I like it when you touch me. But–"

"But what?" He cracked his eyes open.

"The — the horcrux…" Ginny said. Her face flushed. "It was in my head… it knew exactly what to say to — to hurt me. It said I was teasing you… manipulating you." She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "I didn't mean to," she told him. "It just… felt good."

Harry was shaking his head back and forth. "No, Ginny. I didn't — I don't know what he meant by that. I thought you were just showing me how to — to treat you. And it feels so good."

"I thought I was hurting you, do you remember? When we were so angry at each other, and the chair fell apart? I landed on you — I, um, wrestled with you."

"It didn't hurt," Harry said. "It felt better than anything."

Ginny nodded. Her hands were shaking when she reached for a water glass, and filled it with water. "Here, your voice is still all raspy." As soon as he took a few sips, she gave him a hunk of willowbark to chew. She watched him chew. "It felt good to me, too," she said. "And I felt bad because I knew whatever you had in your pockets was… smashing it." She gestured at his groin so he could not mistake her meaning.

He did not break eye contact. "I don't carry anything in my pockets, Ginny," he said.

This flustered her. "Well — and then, we had that fight, and you said I made your life hard all the time, and I figured it was because I was so — so demanding of — of–"

"You don't make my life hard," he said. "Listen, I… something happens… I told you, it feels really good when you touch me, when I touch you. And even just looking at you feels good. It… something happens to my… when we touch each other… I get hot. And when I get hot, I get hard. Not my life. My, er, privates."

Ginny stared at him. "So when I landed on you…"

"Yeah."

"So the thing that feels really good is us…?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's… brilliant."

Ginny was quite surprised. She mulled it over in her mind, thinking of all the times she'd seen the lump in his trousers, all the times she'd wondered what it was. Despite her worry about him, despite her tiredness, despite everything else, Ginny felt that now familiar trickle between her legs. She stared at his lap, thinking.

"I don't think it'll come up if I'm sick," Harry said hoarsely, as though reading her thoughts.

Ginny flushed. "So it… you like wrestling?"

He nodded.

"Is it something we can do again?" Ginny asked. It was a bold question, but she needed to know it wasn't going to fall under his "privates are private" rule. She would respect the rule as much as she could, but they'd already wrestled, and nothing terrible had happened. "I mean, when you're better," she added. "It doesn't break any rules. You know that."

"I'm tired of rules," Harry murmured.

Ginny looked at him. His color was high, and the embers on his chest looked very painful and fiery.

"I think you need to rest," she said.

10.

It was a long, hard road to recovery for Harry, and Ginny stayed at his side the entire way. The days and nights melted together, and Ginny had lost all track of their calendar. Patronus messages came at sporadic moments, but no one mentioned the date. All Ginny's energy went into caring for Harry. But he was recovering, and that was all that mattered.

11.

Ginny sat cross-legged on the old blue rug, leafing through a collection of old records. The old victrola they'd found was in front of her, and she was determined to find something to listen to. Something familiar. But not Celestina Warbeck. Anything but that. She pulled out several likely ones, but kept digging.

"The Dursleys never listened to much music," Harry said. He was reclining on the sofa behind her. It had been almost a week since he'd last had a really bad fever, and all the embers were gone from his body. "They just watched the telly. Had it tuned to either one of Dudley's programs, or the Muggle news."

"Awful people. We used to listen to music all the time in the evenings," Ginny said. "Even the twins would sit still for it. Dad said we ought to be paying a monthly stipend to whoever figured out how to enchant these, for that alone."

She felt his touch at her back, fiddling with the ends of her hair. At that moment, she found a record that made her crow with delight: it was more a story than music, but it was Ginny's favorite from the time when she was a little girl. "Oh look," she said softly, smoothing the battered cover with reverent fingers. "It's a tale from Beedle the Bard. They put it to music. Oh, Harry... I loved this one."

She got up on her knees, tugging down her robes as she did. She slipped the record out, and placed it where it needed to go. To her absolute delight, when she tapped the needle with her wand, she heard the introductory strains of music.

"It works?" Harry murmured.

"Yes," she breathed. She turned to him and grinned.

"Come sit with me," Harry invited, patting the sofa.

Instead, Ginny lay down next to him. Before she could even articulate that it was slightly chilly, Harry was draping a large, soft blanket over them. They snuggled each other. This was one good thing that had come of Harry's bout with dragon pox: he touched her nearly as much as she wanted him to.

They listened in mostly silence to the start of the story. It was Ginny's favorite from Beedle the Bard. A wizard called a star down from the night sky, but for messing with such forbidden magic, was doomed to wander the earth until the star burned out its fire. She listened, or she tried to, but Harry started stroking her arm, and then Ginny's thoughts turned to wrestling. Was that something they were going to do again? Was it something she could ask for them to do? It felt like she could. And it felt like he wanted to, the way his hard privates were pressed against her bum.

This was not the first time during his recovery that she'd felt it. But it was only now that Ginny truly felt that he was up for wrestling. It was quite the exercise; the last time they'd done it, they were both out of breath within seconds. Ginny'd not wanted to chance giving dragon pox an opening to leap from his skin to his lungs.

But now… now, Ginny felt like he might have recovered enough.

Ginny shifted so she was facing him. Her toga-like robes rode up. There was an intensity in the look he gave her that made her shiver. It seemed he was ready, too.

Then, without her having to ask, he rolled her over onto her back, climbed on top of her, and settled between her thighs.

Ginny sighed to feel him pressed up tight against her. "I was hoping we'd be wrestling again soon," she said, even though this did not quite feel like the wrestling they usually did.

"You can tell me when you want to wrestle," Harry said. He slid against her, and then winced.

"Did that hurt?" Ginny asked, concerned. They'd never wrestled with him on top, maybe it was different.

"A little. It's the zipper on my trousers," Harry answered.

A pause. "You can take them off."

Harry didn't reply, but the pressure against her disappeared, and he fumbled around under the blanket. "I still have my pants on," he assured her. Then he was back on her.

Ginny tickled his back as he moved slowly against her. She wanted to get back to their conversation just a moment ago. "Harry, you said I can tell you when I want to wrestle?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah," he said.

"You can tell me, too, you know," said Ginny, privately thinking it would be nice if he initiated it every once in a while.

He stopped moving. "I... I would, but..."

"But?" Ginny said.

"We'd be wrestling all day," Harry admitted.

This did not sound so bad to Ginny, and she told him so. He pushed against her with renewed vigor. Ginny widened her legs, feeling a low throb between them, feeling herself grow slippery. They did not talk much after that. The only sounds in the room came from the victrola, and the quiet gasps and sighs from the sofa.

There came a point that Harry pressed against her particularly hard. His hips jerked against her, no longer moving in a rhythm. Ginny did not think he was even aware that his hand had slid over her bunched up robes, and was cupping her breast.

Then he moaned low in his throat, and something hot and wet landed on her bare stomach above her knickers. His privates were throbbing. Ginny could feel that even through the thin fabrics that separated them. More warm wetness landed on her.

The pressure lessened by degrees until Ginny was certain that whatever had happened made Harry's privates go soft.

This left her feeling quite bereft. Ginny could not help but remember the dream she'd had, where she'd experienced a — a sort of bursting, when the throb sort of… exploded. Like Harry's just had.

"What… what just happened?" she asked breathlessly. "What was that?"

"I call it finishing. I just finished."

"Oh," said Ginny. She was still throbbing, and her hips were still sort of twitching, even though there was no longer anything to rub herself against. It took a while for her body to stop wanting it. Harry was asleep long before she could calm herself down.

She got out of bed several hours later, and for the first time in weeks, went to her own sleeping area. She was restless, hot, and it was those feelings that had her on her back in her own bed, using her own hand to rub at her area. Pulling her robes up, she spread her legs, and touched where it was throbbing. It was her nub, she knew. It'd always felt good to touch it, but never quite as good as this. Ginny closed her eyes and sighed, pressing harder, imagining Harry above her. The little nub was — itchy. So itchy she couldn't stop rubbing it through her knickers. She moaned.

"Ginny, are you-?"

Ginny sat up so fast she felt light-headed.

Harry'd parted the curtain, and was staring at where Ginny's hand was. "What — what are you doing?"

"I — I — I… it was itchy," said Ginny. This was the wrong thing to say.

"Itchy?" He said, alarmed.

"Not because–"

"Is it dragon pox?"

"No!" said Ginny.

Harry strode toward her and sat down at the edge of her bed. There was an urgent, feverish gleam in his eyes. "Are you sick again?" Ginny asked.

He shook his head. "But I need to make sure you aren't. I started itching before I even got a fever."

"Harry…" she sighed. "It's not that."

He was leaning over her now. His hand covered her wrist, which was, Ginny realized with some surprise, still between her legs, caught between her thighs, which she'd slammed together as soon as Harry'd come into her room. The look in his eyes made it difficult to think, difficult to breathe.

"Ginny," he said quietly. "I need to see you." His green eyes burned into her. Ginny could tell they trembled at the verge of something, and Ginny's instincts told her it was something she wanted — something she needed.

"All right," she whispered.

The tenderness with which he touched her belied the urgency in his eyes. He stroked her legs, seeming not to mind that she kept them shut. His palm ghosted over the hair on her calves. Ginny slowly let her thighs fall apart. It was a little difficult to believe that he was breaking the rule… he'd said he was tired of it, but that was at the worst of his fever. She supposed it was the fear she had dragon pox that did it, but that look in his eye…

She was fairly certain she recognized it, was fairly certain he was hard.

"Where is it itchy?" Harry asked.

She flushed, and tapped at it.

His fingers tugged at her knickers, pulling them down all the way, and tossing them to the side.

"I love the color of your hair," he said.

And then he was looking at her, and their rule was irrevocably broken. He adjusted his shoulders against her thighs, opening her totally. Ginny could not even find the energy to be embarrassed; all she could feel was the low throb, and a strong sense of anticipation.

He inhaled. "I don't smell any sulfur… it smells good. And there's no smoke, just… wetness." He glanced up at her, curious.

"It gets… slippery," she admitted. "Like when you get hard."

Harry sucked in a breath. "And you were touching it?"

"Yeah, I… it felt so good last night, but I didn't — there's something that happens at the end, and I didn't get there," said Ginny. "I had a dream once, and it happened."

"I — I understand," he said. "I totally understand. I have something I do too, when we aren't wrestling… But Ginny. I can do it, if you show me."

Ginny paused for three seconds, then said, breathlessly: "Yeah, okay. But I don't really know what I'm doing either."

"We'll learn together," Harry said. "We'll do it together like we've done everything else these last years. It feels right, doesn't it?" There was a hint of a plea in his tone.

Ginny nodded.

Then he touched her, gently, on her folds. Just like every other time, it felt different with his hands on her. And when she showed him where her nub was, and he began to rub, it was… like nothing she'd experienced. Not even wrestling. It'd felt good, pressing hard against him, but this, this was… "Oh God," Ginny moaned. "Oh, God." His touch was light, rubbing her nub, rubbing around it, the sensation was almost too much. Something built inside her; she writhed against his gentle rhythm…

And then she burst.

Ginny was still feeling radiant tremors when Harry climbed up her body, covered her with his, and kissed her. "I did that before, didn't I? I kissed you? We kissed? That wasn't a fever dream like the dancing, was it?" He pulled an inch away from her.

"No, you kissed me. Then you fainted," Ginny said. "I don't know what you mean about the dancing."

He kissed her again, and his hands roamed everywhere. It was as though once he decided to break their rule, he wanted to break it all at once. He propped himself on one arm, and tugged her shirt up. Ginny covered her breasts with her forearm, feeling suddenly shy.

But when he looked at her, a question in his eyes, she moved it and let him look. She knew what he saw: pale, round curves with pink tips.

"God, Ginny, I don't know how or why you're so perfect, but you are," he said fervently. He was hard and hot, pressing insistently against her. Then she was tugging at his pants – if he was going to shatter the rule in a thousand pieces, Ginny was going to as well.

He didn't let her get much of a look, but the small glimpse she had made her stomach flutter. But then he covered her again, kissing her, and they were wrestling... he was rubbing against her, insistent, breathing in harsh gasps.

His hips moved, it shifted, and it stopped rubbing her... started poking.

Some instinct made her squirm, made her lift her legs up, made Harry rock against her more insistently. That anticipation feeling began again, brought on by all the fluttering, and the way Harry'd been moving against her.

And then it disappeared when Ginny felt a felt pressure and fullness, and Harry's penis pushing inside her, accompanied by a sharp pain, like a bee sting. "Ouch!" she cried out, eyes flying open. She caught a look of intense pleasure and concentration on his face.

The next second, Harry jerked his hips, moaned, and she felt liquid heat shooting into her in bursts. He buried his face in her neck, his entire body trembling with the strength of his finish.

Ginny felt it slip out of her, along with a trickle of liquid. That white stuff, she supposed.

The sharp pain had only lasted a second, but it was still sore. Ginny winced. Harry opened his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I – it only hurt for a second," said Ginny.

"I tried to stop, the second I heard you," Harry said earnestly. "It just – I finished, instead."

"I know," Ginny said. Then she was chuckling. "We just – shattered – the rule."

Harry rolled over onto his back, bringing Ginny gently with him. His hands were still on her body, stroking her, tickling her back. She liked how affectionate he was after he finished.

"Did you like it?"

"Not so much the bit at the end, but we can try again since you liked it so much. It just stung. Maybe it won't next time." Ginny was filled with restless energy, but did not want to move. Instead, she chattered. "But Harry... that part before. That was brilliant. I think – I think I've been needing you to make me finish for months."

She looked up at him to see what he made of that.

He was asleep.
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