FicWad

Harry woke while it was still dark. Last he remembered, Ginny had been curled up on top of the blankets while he was tucked beneath them, reading to him out loud from... something? The wizarding equivalent of fairy tales, maybe? He couldn't remember. Everything after their return to the Burrow was just a blur. But he was sure he recalled waking at least once in the night and feeling her curled against his side, and now she was gone, and he had no clue what time it was. Or, he realised with dawning anxiety, exactly what the hell we was supposed to do today. Get married, yes, but /how/? What was he expected to say? To do? Or... oh hell, to wear, even? Still... it couldn't be that bad, right? How many family members could they possibly have found to attend on such short notice? It was a comforting thought.

One quick, private little family ceremony, then cake or dinner or tea or whatever. Maybe a bit of dancing or singing. And Ginny would help, and then they could go away alone together with complete legality... but where the hell was she? He waved a hand at the candles, lighting them and giving him enough light to read the clock, but "Too early!" wasn't really much help. He knew that already!

"Ginny?"

"I'm here lo— OW! That hurt! Damn it, now I'm bleeding! Sorry, sorry, my fault, wasn't paying att— oh, gotta talk out loud, right." Her mental voice took on a strange echoey quality. "Sorry, Mum, wasn't paying attention. I'm still now, go ahead." Then, back to normal, "Right then. (stupid pins) I'm here, Harry. I've been up for hours, but I made them let you sleep. (poor, sweet, darling love, so precious when he's sleeping) How are you feeling?"

"Nervous."

"Poor darling. It'll be okay. And over soon," she sent. "Then we can get away. At least you don't have to wear this dress. I'm getting poked full of holes! (but I do look hot)"

Harry grinned. "Good. Er. You do know I have no idea what a wedding is like?"

"Well, since you're awake, I'll let her send my brothers in to help you." Her tone was full of mischief and amusement. "They'll be glad to get away from the various aunts, I'm sure."

He swallowed. "Is that such a good idea? Maybe Hermione would be better...."

"She probably would be," Ginny agreed cheerfully. "But it's tradition. They get to dress you and coach you (bwahahaha! I wish I could watch!) and then Ron's responsible for making sure you actually come out (instead of running away) and make it to the right spot, and in the old days, would have to marry me if you ran rather than facing the choice yourself. Mum and a couple of the aunts will be fussing over me in the meantime, then she turns me over to Dad, and he brings me out to you (like a prized cow, really) and then you can either accept or decline me. Hermione follows to carry part of this damned (but so pretty!) dress, and technically, if I were to, like, die on the way or something, she'd be legally bound to marry you, but hardly anyone remembers that old law anymore."

"Great. Maybe we should have eloped."

Her mental giggle sent a delicious tingle down his spine. "Maybe. But this is for Mum, and the rest of the family, for being so accepting (and for payment for and comfort in what is to come). We can give them this day, love. Tonight and every night after is ours."

"Well... I guess it's worth it," he sent. "Even if I'm terrified of what the twins might cook up."

"Don't worry. I've warned (terrified) them to behave (or else!). Just hold on and make it through, and it'll all be over before you know it. And they're on their way. Good luck."

"Is that possible?/" he asked. "Them behaving, I mean."/

"Of course. You just have to make them understand the benefits (like breathing) of doing so. I'll see you soon, love, I have to hold still to get my feet painted before I get dressed. Don't worry about anything, it will all be fine."

"Feet painted?"

His only answer was another delicious trill of laughter, and then his door opened and then all six (to his surprise, Percy included) of the Weasley boys came roistering into his room. He'd never really understood what roistering was up to that moment, but it came to him in a flash. That was the last calm, coherent thought he had all morning, in fact.

Somehow, in between the moments of crude teasing and stern warnings (when they suddenly remembered whose sister he was marrying), some rather good big-brotherly type advice from Charlie, some equally good how-to-handle-women advice from Bill, and general chaotic carryings on, the Weasley boys managed to get Harry poked and prodded through what was roughly explained as a ritual bath, scrubbed with "purifying herbs and salt", and garbed in a simple, elegant set of black velvet dress robes. He was a bit shocked that, according to "tradition" again, he wasn't given anything to wear under the robes, but a quick desperate plea to Ginny reassured him that this was a real tradition, and not just some horrible plot by her prankster brothers. It didn't make him a whole lot more comfortable, but at least it wasn't a sinister plan. He almost reconsidered the whole thing, though, when Bill casually cast a lockstep hex on his feet to keep him from twitching, and began drawing runes on the bottoms of his feet. It /tickled/. A lot. Still, it didn't take that long, and the boys ensured him it was completely necessary-- all grooms were inscribed with fertility runes, to ensure a good performance on their wedding night.

He wasn't entirely sure he wanted his future brother-in-laws ensuring he performed well on his wedding night, but he was pretty much at their mercy, so he didn't argue. It seemed like just a few moments (or possibly a few years) later that he was hustled down the stairs, to find the house literally stuffed with Weasleys. Weasleys everywhere. Red hair, red-streaked grey hair, white hair faintly tinted pink... He knew from talking to Ron that Ginny had been the only female born to the family in several generations, but Weasley men seemed to prefer redheads, and while there was a scattering of brunettes and blondes, by far the majority was red-headed with, apparently, tempers to match. There were lively discussions, arguments, and near-brawls going on everywhere, but jovial laughter beneath it all, and every single one of them seemed to want a chance to look him over.

Along with Weasley's, the house had also been invaded by flowers. Every flower he'd ever seen, plus even more he didn't recognise draped banisters, doorways, and even the walls with bright splotches of colour. Garlands of roses woven around red, gold, and green ribbons were hung everywhere. Then, most of the boys abandoned him, and Ron was left to escort him outside through the crowd of well-wishing but rather touchy-feeling relatives. Harry had his cheeks tweaked, his head patted, and once, at the hands of a particularly spry elderly aunt, his behind pinched before they made it out the door.

Outside were even more Weasleys. Hordes of Weasleys. A virtual red-headed army of potential in-laws. Harry felt faint, and Ron slapped him on the back. "Buck up. Nearly there, mate. Now, straighten up, and walk the path." He pointed to the ground, where a narrow, curving path had been traced out in flower petals and charmed to glow slightly. "Nothing to it."

"That's easy for you to say."

Ron grinned at him. "You got yourself into this," he said cheerfully. "Too late to complain now. Go on, I'll be right behind you."

Harry snorted. "You'll get yours, mate."

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Ron whisper, "I hope so," as he turned to step onto the glowing path. There was a sharp tingling in the bare soles of his feet, and when he looked down, he saw that he left a glowing trail of runes behind with each step. Apparently this was a good omen, or was at least supposed to happen, because it was greeted with a loud cheer.

"Ginny?" he asked. "Why am I trailing runes?"

"You are? Oh good! That's a sign of good fortune. What colour are they?"

"White and gold."

"Well, the gold means you want the match with all your heart," she sent.

"And the white?" he asked.

"Um. Well, let's just say if mine weren't white, my mother would faint. And neither of us would have white if Ron had been a bit later when he interrupted us."

"Oh," Harry sent, trying to fight down the blush that was creeping across his cheeks.

"Trust me, love, the boys may be snickering, but the girls are going to be looking at me with absolute total jealousy. Ah. That's my cue, you must be near the end. Don't run away now, I'll be there soon!"

"I'm not going anywhere," he sent.

He was, indeed, at the end of the path. It opened out into a little circular clearing, in the center of which was an elderly wizard who nodded happily at him as he stepped into the circle. Ron directed him to a position on the priest's right, and then stood beside and slightly behind Harry, as a long, low flute note stilled the crowd. The note was held for almost a minute, then the unseen flute player swept into a slow, rather sensuous rhythm, not quite a march, not quite a dance.

The crowd craned around to see, so Harry did as well. At first, all he was aware of was brightness. Polished white silk caught the light, and tiny crystals sewn to the fabric shattered it into rainbows. Then she came closer, and she looked like nothing he'd ever seen before. Flower petals swirled around her bare feet as the path unmade itself behind her, leaving only a double trail of white and gold runes slowly fading. The white silk trailed behind her in a long train, gathered up by Hermione, who wore a simple green robe that matched Ron's and the priest's. The dress Ginny wore was even simpler, the fabric gathered at each shoulder and pinned by a gold and green brooch and allowed to drape from there, but it clung softly to her body at each step. That, combined with the filmy veil draped over her long, flame red hair and secured with a simple, twisted gold band, and the glowing gold runes that covered her bare feet and seemed to go up her trim ankles, made her look like some ancient earth goddess, come to be worshipped and adored. Unreal. Ethereal. Incredible.

She stopped on the edge of the circle, and her father stepped up, taking her hand in his and stepping into the clearing with her. Hermione followed, and the swirling petals settled, neatly sealing the circle behind them.

Harry was only vaguely aware of the ceremony. Of her father offering her into his care, his own firm acceptance. Of kneeling, and rising, and the words of the priest. The slight, sharp pain of a knife against his palm jolted him back to reality, and he looked down to see her eyes sparkling up at him through the thin veil as the priest carefully made a small, matching cut on her own hand. The old man pressed the two small wounds together, then bound their wrists about with green, red, and gold cords... green for life, red for blood, gold for spirit, he said. Her hand felt slick and warm in his, and a deafening cheer went up from those watching as the priest declared the ceremony complete, the bride to be his forevermore. A soft mental nudge from Ginny reminded him of a custom shared by Wizard and Muggle alike, and the crowd's cheer grew even louder as he folded the veil away from her face and kissed her tenderly. Brilliant white light flared, and then their clasped hands were just warm, no longer slick, and flower petals swirled dizzily around them, caught up by white-gold wisps of magic and swept into the air. The petals fell like soft, scented rain as he slowly drew back, and her delighted laughter rang out in the sudden silence before she wrapped her free hand around his neck and pulled his head down to kiss him again, breaking the stunned quiet and prompting another loud cheer.

"Pick me up," she whispered in his mind, along with an image of how to turn her just so, bend just this way and manage it despite the awkward dress and their bound hands.

He bent to do so, and was surprised at how easy it was. Hermione, smiling and blinking back tears, but obviously prepared for this, gathered the excess material and piled it on top of Ginny's stomach. Ginny stretched up, kissing the other girl's cheek, then tilted her head so Hermione could tug the filmy veil out of the headband. Once that was done, she directed Harry to carry her to the edge of the crowd, where she released it into the wind, accompanied by the delighted squeals of the handful of young girls in the crowd, who leapt and fussed in their attempt to capture the bit of drifting silk. Ginny smiled, cuddling against his chest. "Through the arch there, love," she murmured, drawing his attention to a flower-bedecked trellis through which her immediate family waited. Things got blurry again after that.

There were gifts, and food, and a white wedding cake with tiny animated golden doves. There were jokes, and wine and toasts, and Ginny's parents both cried, and she snivelled a tiny bit herself. There were fireworks, and laughter, and music. And after several hours, their wrists were unbound, and the ribbons tucked away in a tiny gold chest that her mother had presented to Ginny as having belonged to her grandmother. And then there was dancing, and perhaps he should have felt awkward, but he didn't... it wasn't what he remembered. It was more like flying, or dreaming, with his hands around her waist and her eyes looking up at him as if he were the most wonderful thing in the world, and the precious, cherished touch of her mind echoing every promise those eyes made.

Then, finally, she was tugging him into the house, and Hermione and Ron were running interference with the relatives, and she left him briefly to slip out of the white gown and into a more normal green travelling robe. And the next thing he knew, she was hustling him towards the fireplace, and handing him the Floo powder and saying "Gallagrin's" and urging him through, and when he stumbled out of the grate, with her close behind, he found himself staring at a long, elegant marble desk, with animated statues on either end, and one of the snootiest looking clerks of any sort he'd ever seen hurriedly coming from behind to brush at his robes and steady him.

"Er... Ginny?" Harry asked. "Where are we?"

Ginny blushed as she took his hand, looking at him a bit worriedly. "Well. I thought you might like to stay somewhere nice, and there aren't too many places on Diagon Alley, other than rooms over taverns, so I thought Gallagrin's would do fine, so I made the reservation in your name, but I should have asked, and if you don't want to stay here, that's alright, we can go somewhere else..."

"Actually," Harry said slowly, "I'd expected we'd have to stay at the Burrow. This is lots better."

She looked up at him anxiously. "You're sure? I didn't really think about it..." The attendant stepped back, staring down his nose at them.

"Is there a problem, Miss?" he asked.

"I'm positive," Harry said. "I have no idea have you managed to make the arrangements so quickly, though."

"I... well." She looked away. "Ah, no problem, I guess. And it's Mrs., actually. Um. Lady, I suppose. Potter. We had a reservation?"

The man's manner changed immediately. "Oh! Of course!" He smiled. "The girls had you down for a regular room, though, and of course that couldn't possibly be correct. I've kept both the Merlin suite and the bridal suite open for you, which would you prefer?"

Harry looked at Ginny blankly. "Your choice."

Ginny blanched, the tiny spray of freckles across her nose coming into sharp contrast. "Do you have any idea what a place like this costs?!" she sent, horrified. "A regular room is one thing, but a suite would be ridiculous! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess of things, I'd just heard it was nice!"

"Ginny, did you forget I'm the Black Heir as well as what I got from my parents?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but... but..." She took a deep breath and smiled weakly at the hotel manager. "What would you recommend?"

"If milady feels unable to decide, the suites can be merged," he suggested helpfully.

Ginny made a little squeaking sound, and looked at Harry helplessly.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said. "Why don't we take the bridal suite?"

"Certainly, Sir!" The man drew his wand and shook it, and a bell jangled in the distance. A servant in a tailored robe showed up immediately. "Lord and Lady Potter's trunks are in the holding area, Henry. Deliver them to the bridal suite, and be quick about it." After the young man scuttled off, he turned to Harry and Ginny again and bowed, handing Harry a small gold key on a string. The key tugged against his grip, seeming to want to fly up the nearby spiral staircase. "Your key, milord. It will lead you straight to the room, where your things should have already been delivered. Please ring the desk if you need anything, anytime day or night. We pride ourselves on our service here, and appreciate your patronage."

Harry nodded. "Thank you."

The bedroom was bigger than the entire house at Number Four, Privet Drive. The suite was bigger than the entire lot. The bed itself was half the size of the room Harry had slept in at the Dursleys'. The tub, in the utterly hedonistic bathing room, was the size of a small pool. Everything was the very height of luxury and indulgence, from the thick, soft carpets to the enchanted fireplace, to the ancient bottle of wine and basket of exotic fruits on the table by the couch.

Soft gold lights floated about the chamber, shaped like tiny flowers. Quiet music played somewhere in the background. Magical bells were on a shelf on each wall, labelled "maid", "kitchens", "courier", and "management". Their trunks had indeed arrived before they did, and also somehow, in the few seconds available, been neatly unpacked, the clothes hung and pressed, other items laid out neatly in the bedroom.

Frosted glass doors were open to a private balcony than was a lush, hidden little garden. Jasmine bloomed on the walls, scenting the air sweetly, and a little fountain sprayed water that danced and played across a small pond, forming the glistening shapes of dolphins and mermaids.

Ginny looked around, her eyes getting wider and wider, and finally turned to face him. "I... you know I didn't mean to... to take advantage of you. I just wanted someplace private. Someplace quiet and calm, in a neighbourhood where Mum wouldn't worry."

"I like it," Harry said. "Ginny, don't worry about the money. Have you ever seen my vault?"

"Well, no, but this is just... scandalously wasteful!" she said, looking around the room, her hands on her hips. But he noticed her eyes lingering on the doorway to the luxurious bathing room, then again on the sumptuous looking bed. "People will think I married you for your money."

He shrugged. "So?"

She cocked her head, then nodded thoughtfully. "Good point. After all, anyone who matters will know that I really married you for your body."

Harry snickered. "Yeah. Right."

She smiled slowly. "I promise you, you won't be so sure I didn't before the night is through," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed the side of his neck. "But right now, I'm all sticky from dancing and being outside, and your robes are heavier than my dress was. Do you want to shower first, or shall I?"

He swallowed. "Um. Maybe... together?" he asked, nervously.

She grinned up at him. "Traditionally," she began, the sparkle in her eyes telling him that she knew exactly how many times he'd heard that word today, "a bride takes the time to bathe and prepare herself for the first time her new husband undresses her. So as to be clean, and powdered, and sweet smelling and form a good impression. I think perhaps sweaty, sticky, and stinky isn't the impression they had in mind..."

Harry smirked. "Well, I've already undressed you once."

She peeked up at him through red-gold lashes. "Not quite," she murmured.

"Almost."

"Almost," she agreed, softly, with a little shiver of remembrance. "I wasn't nearly so fortunate." She kissed his neck, then his jaw. "Whatever you want, love. Today was for the family. Tonight... is for you. Whatever you want..."

"I want you," he said. "I want you to teach me all those wonderfully naughty things you know."

She nibbled at the skin beneath his ear. "You have me. However you want me," she whispered against his neck. "You can have me slow and sweet... I'll put on the frilly white thing I brought just so you can take it off of me, and we can lay down and love each other in front of the fireplace... or wet and hot, on my knees in the shower. We can take our time, teasing and playing... or you can tear this robe off of me, shove me against the wall and take me hard and fast, right here. Right now. Whatever you want."

"I want them all," he said.

"Then you'll have them. You just have to pick what you want first..."

He struggled. "I-- I don't know. I want them all...."

Ginny nuzzled against him. "I want you. Anyway I can have you," she whispered. "I want it all. And I'll have it all. But the first time... that's my gift to you. Your first time, however you want it. However you've dreamed. Nothing getting in the way of that. Just tell me what to do, lover."

He looked away. "I haven't. Not really."

She cupped his face in her hands, raising up on her toes to kiss him long and sweet, before pulling away and running her thumb over his cheekbone. "Then dream now, my love. It's safe... I'm here, and I love you, and there's nothing I'll refuse you."

"What's your favourite?" he asked.

"Oh god!" She shuddered against him, and he could feel the passion that she held a tight grip on. "I want it all. Anything. Everything. You touching me... that's what I dreamed of. Sweetly seducing me or overcome with passion and not willing to take no for an answer, either way and every way in between!"

"But what's your /favourite/?" he repeated. "That's what I want to do."

"I want you to want me so bad you can't help yourself, can't stop yourself," she whispered. "I want to feel what you're like when you lose control."

"Then let's do that."

He felt her smile against the side of his neck. "It means waiting until you just can't stand it anymore," she warned. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Are you sure it's what you want?" he said.

She shivered, and he felt her sudden stab of pure lust, and just a flash of an image: her on her back, pinned beneath him, his hand wrapped in her hair as he kissed her savagely and thrust hard into her soft, yielding body. "Yes," she whispered hoarsely. "I... I want the rest, too. I'll need it. But I want this, too. Don't hold back. Hold off as long as you can, but then let go completely."

"I will. I promise," he said.

She shivered again, then looked up at him. "Then... do you still want to bathe with me?" she asked, with a teasing smile.

"Oh yes," he whispered.

"Then come on..." She slid her hands down his arms, twining her fingers with his, and tugged him towards the open door.

She led him, unresisting, into the marble-floored, gold-trimmed, stained-glass-windowed monument to sybaritic pleasure that was the bathroom. The loo was a little separate room, off to one side. One wall was taken up by a huge shower, with multiple heads and levitating benches and knobs that he'd never seen before. A shimmer of magic along the front took the place of a door or curtain. Another wall had a floor to ceiling mirror and a dressing table, covered by a bewildering array of tiny jars and bottles and pots. Soft towels, thick, sheet-sized towels hung on racks on either side of a huge fireplace. Taking up by far the most room, though, was the huge sunken tub. It could easily have held a dozen people, and ornately tiled stairs led down into steaming water that fizzed and bubbled and sparkled with multi-coloured mage-lights that danced beneath the surface. Ginny smiled as she examined a row of bottles along the edge of the tub, then popped the cork on her selection and dumped it in the water. The lights shifted to soothing blues and greens, and the bubbles started to chime a soft melody as they burst on the surface of the water. The other lights in the room dimmed, leaving them in a soft, ethereal glow.

She took a moment to kiss him lingeringly before moving away again, and then moved to the dressing table. She piled her long red hair up on her head and secured it there using one of the clips the hotel provided, then casually started unbuttoning her robe, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

He was watching, unable to tear his eyes away, and she smiled slightly, though her cheeks pinkened a bit, as well. Shrugging out of the robe, she let it fall to the floor.

Apparently, tradition also dictated the bride be as bare beneath her garments as the groom was beneath his, and she hadn't bothered to change that when she changed out of her dress.

He swallowed. "You're beautiful."

She walked gracefully to the tub, the silvery scar on her stomach gleaming in the lights, and dipped her fingers in the water. She smiled up at him as she perched on the side of the tub, watching the mage lights follow her trailing fingers as they slid through the water. "Aren't you coming, too?" she asked softly.

"Oh," he said, jerking out of his trance. "R-right."

She walked around the low wall and down the steps into the water. The lights moved to surround her, swirling constantly around her, and despite the bubbles in the water, nothing obscured his view. She slid into the deeper side of the pool, the water barely lapping over the tops of her breasts, and gave him an encouraging smile as her legs moved idly beneath the water, and tiny lights washed over her skin, clinging briefly to the peaks of her breasts before falling back into the tub.

His hands shook as he began undressing. He could feel her eyes on him, almost like a physical touch, but when he glanced at her, she'd lowered her gaze and was merely peeking at him demurely from beneath her lashes. He could still feel it, though. And when her little tongue darted out, licking her lips, he wondered what he'd got himself into.

She laughed, then stopped making any pretence of doing anything but watching him hungrily. Instead, she leaned against the side of the tub closest to him, her chin on her folded arms, her legs floating behind, and watched him with hot gold eyes as he slipped out of the black velvet robe. Then she moved back to make room for him, and held out her hands in invitation.

He stepped into the water, nervously, but even his nerves couldn't derail his reaction to her naked body, and his face was so red he was afraid he was going to burst into flames.

She took his hands and drew him deeper into the water, then set them on her bare hips. Careful not to touch more than that, she cupped his face in her hands and stretched up to kiss him, the tip of her tongue sliding teasingly across his lower lip.

"Teach me how to kiss you," he whispered.

Ginny pulled back with a low, throaty laugh and led him to one of the seats built into the side of the pool. Pushing him down, she sat on his lap, sideways across his thighs. "You know how already... but a few lessons never hurt. And practice makes perfect." She wrapped a hand in his hair and drew his head down to hers. She licked at his lips, teasing, then nipped gently, and groaned when he followed her lead and ran his teeth lightly over her lower lip. She explored his mouth gently, lightly, then opened her lips and coaxed his tongue between them, her breathing growing fast and harsh. Her nails grazed the back of his neck, and a hard nipple grazed his chest as she squirmed on his lap.

His hands slid down, caressing her arse, and he bit her lip gently, tugging on it. She groaned, wriggling, and her skin was slick and silky against his. She started to turn to straddle him, but froze, taking a deep breath instead. She looked at him, then kissed him again, her entire body quivering. Then she slid out of his lap, the soft skin of her hip brushing tortuously against his cock on the way.

He made a pitiful whimpering sound, and reached for her, trying to pull her back. She looked over her shoulder, her smile a challenge despite her own trembling, and slowly, so he could stop her if he really wanted to, slid out of his grasp.

He swallowed, clenching his hands into fists. "It's hard...."

She grinned, her eyes glittering in the dim light. "I should certainly hope so..."

Harry whimpered.

"I'm yours," she said. "Whenever you just can't wait anymore." Then she reached for the soap and a sponge and proceeded to run it all over her body. Slowly. Thoroughly. She even sat down on a ledge so she could raise each slim, curvy little leg out of the water to soap it thoroughly, then ran a depilatory-charmed stone over every inch of slick skin. Over the tight little calves. Up and around the soft, round, white thighs. Then up further, along the edges of the startlingly red patch of hair clearly visible through the cooperative bubbles, until his hands were clenched into fists and his forehead was creased as if from pain. Then she looked up at him and smiled, and set the stone on the side of the tub again, and slid down in the water to rinse away the clinging soap bubbles. "Don't you want to get clean?" she asked innocently.

Harry closed his eyes and started counting to a thousand.

By sevens.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice quivering with amusement. "Are you still tired? Do you want me to wash you?"

He whimpered.

"Hmmm?" she asked, from just beside his ear. He could feel her breath on his skin.

He shivered. "Right. Clean," he said, thickly.

"Mmhmm," she murmured against his ear, and her tongue flicked out, the tip running along his skin. "Nice and clean and... sweet. Do you need help?"

"H-help?"

"To get all... clean?"

He made a sound like a small, doomed animal.

She just laughed and reached for the soap again. It took everything he had to stand still as she slid it over his body. He lost all ability to think when she moved behind him and slid her slick breasts along his back. Eventually, though, she directed a warm cascade of water over him, rinsing away the soap, and then turned and waded away towards the stairs, without even a backwards glance. "Coming?" she asked, her hips swaying hypnotically as she climbed from the tub.

He swallowed, so hard he ached, and followed her. He wanted... but he'd promised. He'd wait until he couldn't.

He didn't think that would be much longer.

She turned to face him, smiling, and as far as he could tell, she didn't even glance down. She just handed him one of the large towels and raised her arms up. "Dry me?" she asked.

He shuddered, taking the towel, and began to gently rub her. He didn't even try to pretend he was doing anything but what she'd done to him, that he wasn't trying to drive her crazy, like he already was.

He knelt in front of her, drying her legs, and his head was level with her hips. The position reminded him of something he'd seen in her fantasies, and slowly, hesitantly, he leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss at the top of her pubic mound.

She gasped and grabbed for the wall, all of her calm composure destroyed in an instant. "Ohhh..." She closed her eyes and shivered.

He kissed her again, lower, the red-gold curls tickling his hair, and slid his hands up to cup her ass. With a thought, he made her weightless, and pulled her feet out from under her, so that she was laying in mid-air in front of him.

Ginny squealed, then wrapped her legs loosely around his neck, her hands pressed against the wall behind her. At first, her arse was tense in his hands, as she unconsciously tried to close her legs, then she relaxed and let them fall gently apart, lying open and trusting to his gaze.

He kissed her a third time, her labia warm and moist against his lips, and he could smell her. It was heady, intoxicating, and he brushed the tip of his tongue against them, tasting her for the first time.

"Tell me how," he sent.

"Oh god..." She whimpered, arching up against him. "Anything... please touch me, please!"

He ran his tongue along her labia, then again, feeling her shudder. The lips fell apart, exposing her clit to his tongue, and she gave a little scream and stiffened, holding her breath as she pressed up towards him. He could feel her thighs pressing against the sides of his head, and could also feel the aching need that was building within her and that she was rapidly losing control of.

He repeated the motion, then lower, and then... he hesitated, but they'd just gotten out of the bath, and he remembered how she'd reacted in her fantasy, and so his tongue ran lightly across her arse.

She screamed again, shocked, but he felt her jolt of pleasure like liquid fire down his spine, and her hands left the wall to wrap themselves in his hair instead.

He did it again, his cock so hard it ached, and brought his tongue back up. He could feel... something, he didn't know what, just out of her reach, getting closer with every lap of his tongue, and he devoted himself to bringing it to her.

She whimpered and tugged at his hair. "Oh god... no, wait, wait. I want to wait for you!"

"No," he said. "Let me. Please?"

She craned her head up, staring at him. He felt her almost involuntary touch in his mind, then her shock. "Oh god, you've /never/? Ohhhh!" She shuddered, letting her head fall back and closing her eyes. "Please, love, please... I can't... you're going to push me over, and I wanted to wait for you!"

He licked at her again, then sucked gently at the slick, tight little nub that sent pleasure shooting through her mind. She screamed piercingly, and locked her legs around his head, bucking her hips up hard against his mouth. Faintly, he tasted blood as sensitive skin was pressed too hard against his teeth, but the sensations pulsing from her and tearing through him were unmarred by even the tiniest perception of pain. Overwhelming, intoxicating. Irresistible.

She squirmed and spasmed in his hands, and he pressed her down, sliding above her, and into her. He felt the momentary resistance, and the pain, and the way the pain drove her over the edge again, the pain and the way he filled her. He felt her tight, hot wetness around him, and the way it felt to be filled by him, the need to drive himself deeper within her, and the need to feel him as deep within her as possible. The sensations built, spiralling up, his pleasure upon hers, hers upon his, and then her nails dug into his back, adding just a bit too much to the intensity, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He drove harder, faster, and lost himself in the pleasure, no longer able to tell where he ended and she began, which feelings were his and which were hers. As magic swirled around them, ebony tendrils and glowing white strands surrounding their entwined bodies, there was only the pleasure, and one scream torn from two throats as their bodies climaxed in, and around, and with each other.

They collapsed together onto the warm marble floor, still intimately tangled about each other.

Slowly, leisurely, her mind unwound from his, and the ability to form coherent thoughts began to return to them both. She stroked his hair as she cradled his body on top of hers. "Thank you," she whispered against his ear.

"Thank /you/," he said. "I love you."

She tightened her legs around his hips. "Do you want to get up off the floor? It was an awfully nice looking bed..."

"I don't want to let go," he said. "I want to stay like this, forever."

"Mmmm. Fine by me," she murmured, nestling against his chest. "But we'd probably get awfully cold, eventually. You're on top, though, and make a nice blanket."

"I know," he said. Concentrating, Harry levitated them over to the bed. "There."

"Mmmmm!" she said again, squirming against the luxurious softness. "Oh /nice/." She squeezed him again with her legs. "This is nicer though."

"Why don't we rest a while first?" he said. "We've got the rest of our lives, after all."

She wriggled under him, then winced slightly in pain, but stubbornly pressed up against him anyway. "Not long enough. Not long enough at all."

"Isn't forever time enough for love?"

She smiled up at him, her eyes sad. "You really think we'll live forever, love? Or even past this next year?" she asked softly.

"We may die, but we'll still be together," he said. "Forever."

Her gold eyes seemed swirled with darkness as she stared up at him, her expression unreadable. "Promise?"

"I promise," Harry said.

"Forever."