Ginny hadn’t felt this excited in a long time. She had waited and waited, for almost two months, for this evening. And finally it was here. Harry was coming home.
She hadn’t quite believed it when Harry had told her that he’d be going on his first professional away mission. He had only just completed his Auror training. What in Merlin’s name was the Ministry doing, sending him on an away mission so soon?
”Because he’s Harry Potter, obviously,” Ron said, biting into his fifth biscuit in as many minutes. “They’ve probably been aching to send him on one since we won the war.”
Ginny sniffed. “So why are they sending you too?” she asked.
“So that I don’t feel bad?” Ron suggested, shrugging.
“Or, because you got top marks in all of your final exams and are more than ready,” Hermione said, taking a seat next to her husband on the smaller of the two couches in their living room and handing him a coffee.
Harry shook his head. “I still can’t believe you beat me in Defence Charms.”
“Well, I was gutted when you slogged me in Antidotes.”
“How weird was it that we tied on the second obstacle course—“
“How long is this mission going to be?” Ginny interrupted them. She knew they were best friends and all, but she still found it somewhat disturbing that her husband and brother were always so eager to stroke each other’s … egos.
“Eight weeks,” Ron answered, so casually that Ginny first thought she had heard him wrong.
“Sorry, I thought you said eight weeks.”
“I did,” Ron confirmed as he dunked biscuit number six into his coffee.
“Wow,” Hermione breathed, clearly impressed at the fact that her husband was being trusted on such a long away mission so soon.
Ginny felt tears spring into her eyes. Merlin, she was hopeless sometimes. It was not as if anything else made her cry, but Harry not being around for one day was bad enough for her. Eight weeks would be unequivocal torture.
She looked at Harry, who was resting one arm across her shoulders and threading the fingers of his other hand through the long red hair that he always told her was far too beautiful to cut off.
“Eight weeks?” she asked him.
Harry gave her a look; that special look he’d developed solely for her. It was a look that told her, quite plainly, that he understood. He knew that she wasn’t happy with this news, and that she was currently thinking about the long, lonely nights she would be spending without him by her side. He knew, because it was exactly what he was thinking too.
“I’m sorry, Gin,” he said.
But it was over now. Ginny had seen through those long, lonely nights. She’d kept herself busy with work and with visiting Hermione or George or Percy. She’d ignored the increasingly relentless pangs of sadness, frustration and, more often than not, horniness, that had plagued her during the day and more than once during the night. She’d managed to avoid going completely crazy, and now she would be rewarded by her husband’s return. In typical Weasley-esque fashion, Harry and Ron were returning just in time for a sumptuous Congratulations-On-Making-It-Back-Alive-You-Big-Manly-Dark-Wizard-Catchers feast.
Ginny arrived at her childhood home in the early evening to find her mother stirring what appeared to be at least five enormous pots on the stove simultaneously.
“Hello, dear,” said Molly, not needing to turn around to see who it was.
“Hi Mum. Are they here yet?”
“Just joking.” Molly looked away from the stove and offered her daughter a smile. “They shouldn’t be too long. Why don’t you go outside and help Hermione and George set up?”
“All right.” Ginny carefully meandered her way through the rest of the cluttered house and out the back door, where Hermione and George indeed were. They had placed two large outdoor tables side by side in the middle of the backyard and were currently laying out cutlery. Or rather, Hermione was laying out cutlery, while George flittered around, picking up glasses and putting them down again. Ginny wondered if he was replacing them with those Muggle dribble glasses he’d lately gotten quite attached to.
“Hi Gin,” Hermione greeted Ginny as she approached. “You look very nice.”
“Thanks.” Ginny had decided to wear her favourite black dress for the occasion. It was a short number with a halter-neck and folds of material falling at different lengths along the bottom, giving it a waterfall-like appearance. Ginny was reasonably confident that it was Harry’s favourite piece of clothing on her.
Hermione, Ginny noticed, was also looking lovely. Hermione was pretty, but she was hardly the flashiest of dressers. She normally opted for jeans and blouses over the shortish skirts, loud and often low-cut tops and high boots that Ginny liked to wear. But that evening she had made an effort and put on a dark red cocktail dress that finished just above the knee, with matching red heels. She had even tamed her hair and applied a small amount of make-up, which was quite unusual.
“Are you excited?” Ginny asked.
Hermione smiled pleasantly. “It has been a long time,” she admitted.
“I don’t know how can be so calm,” Ginny said. “I feel like jumping up and down like some six-year-old about to go to Witches Wonderland.”
“A wizard theme park.” Ginny smiled coyly. “Do you not know about it?”
“After EuroDisney I’ve tried to stay as far away from theme parks as possible,” Hermione said.
“So, ladies,” Gorge cut in, approaching them with a smile on his face that Ginny could only describe as ‘disturbingly sinister’, “I see you’re both looking stunning for your husbands. I hope they appreciate it.”
“I doubt they’ll notice, actually,” Hermione said, showing that she possessed that rare type of pessimism that made her unmistakably British. “You haven’t done anything to the glasses, have you?”
“No,” George answered, turning back toward the house, “well, not the glasses, anyway.”
He entered the house with a swagger in his hips as equally disturbing as his sinister smile. The two young women looked at each other.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Hermione asked.
Ginny frowned. “I have no idea, but I expect we’ll find out soon enough.”
When Ginny and Hermione went back into the house some fifteen minutes later, they heard Mrs Weasley talking in the kitchen.
“… absolutely drenched. Were you standing in the rain for half an hour before Apparating? And Harry, dear, you really must let me cut your hair …”
Harry. Ginny actually did jump up and down at the sound of his name. She tore her way through the house, knocking over the hat stand in her haste, and stampeded into the kitchen to the sound of many hats and coats falling onto the floor behind her. Harry barely had time to turn around before she had flung her arms around him.
“Well, hello to you too, Gin,” she vaguely heard Ron say somewhere to her right. She didn’t even bother flipping him off as she normally would. All that mattered right then was Harry.
“Harry … oh Harry,” she murmured. He was exactly the same; tall, lean but not skinny, smelling clean and soapy (although he did indeed currently look as though he’d jumped fully clothed into the Great Lake), and irresistible to her. He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her close, making her dress wet.
“I missed you,” he said, speaking in a low, growling voice that sent shivers down her spine. Had they not been surrounded by family she would have taken him right there on the breakfast table…
“Dinner’s ready,” Mrs Weasley chirped. “Harry, can you and Ron take these pots outside for me.”
“All right, Molly,” Harry agreed, relinquishing his grip on his wide. But just before he turned away he whispered in Ginny’s ear “you’re going to get it tonight.”
Ginny bit her lip and involuntarily pressed her legs together.
It took everybody a while to get seated, and what with her father needing to give an all-important speech about how happy everybody was that Harry and Ron had made it back safe and sound, it took a while longer for them to get started eating. As usual, Ginny’s mum had really outdone herself. The meal included but was not limited to chicken legs, potato bake, green salad, peas, corn-on-the-cob, baked ham, sausages, coleslaw and cheesy cauliflower. Not to mention the ten or so litres of ice-cold pumpkin juice that she had made from scratch. Ginny downed a glass of it immediately, knowing that if she didn’t get to it quickly it would all be gone and she would be stuck with water. She refilled her glass and poured some out for Harry, who smiled at her before also downing it in one go.
About five minutes into their meal, Ginny realised to her mild surprise that she had started to sweat. Odd, she thought. She wasn’t much of a sweating person, and even if she was, it was refreshingly cool outside and she was dressed in what really didn’t amount to much. Yet she was definitely sweating. She reached up and swept her hair over one shoulder, vaguely thinking that the air on her neck would cool down her flushed skin.
She looked over at Harry and saw that he was sweating too. It was difficult to tell, since he was still wet from the rain at his previous location, but there was a distinct sheen and flush to his cheeks that she was certain he hadn’t been sporting before.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“Hmm?” Harry asked, wiping at his brow and glancing over at her. “What do you mean?”
“I know.” Unlike her, Harry did sweat a lot, so it wasn’t so unusual for him. But even so, these were hardly ideal sweating conditions. It was as though they had just eaten spicy food, but none of the food on the table was spicy. Unless the pepper in the pork had gotten the better of them.
“I’m sweating too.”
“Really?” Harry looked at her more seriously this time. “Are you okay?” He brought his hand up and his fingers lightly grazed her temple.
Suddenly she felt an incredible jolt of … she wasn’t sure what it was, but it was strong, and it ran through her body, from the point where Harry was touching her, down her neck, her back, and then, alarmingly, straight to her groin. Judging by the look on Harry’s face he had felt something very similar. Now what remained was the same feeling of missing and wanting her husband that she had felt for the past eight weeks, but at least ten times stronger. Without her realising it, her hands were reaching for Harry’s belt…
…and he caught them. His Seeker’s reflexes had not lessened as the years had gone by.
“Ginny, don’t!” he whispered urgently.
“Why?” she asked, not hearing the moaning, needy quality in her voice.
“Your family are here.” His eyes looked frantic, and the sweat on his face was increasing, causing his glasses to slip down his nose. “You’d scar them for life.”
“They’d get over it,” Ginny hissed. She wasn’t listening to herself. “I want you…”
“I know,” Harry said, his eyes looking no less urgent. “Your hands are shaking, in case you hadn’t noticed. And you just had to wear that dress tonight, didn’t you?”
“Can we get out of here?” she growled, trying to wrestle her quivering upper limbs out of his grasp.
“You know we can’t,” Harry said, his grip remaining true. “For one thing, George’s grin would stretch so far it would probably mar him.”
“George?” With immense effort, Ginny tore her eyes away from Harry’s to the other side of the table, where her brother was sitting calmly, sipping his glass of pumpkin juice. Pumpkin juice…
“George,” Ginny addressed him through gritted teeth, “Will you help me get a jug of water for the table?”
“No problem, sis.” George slid calmly out of his seat and headed toward the house. Ginny stormed in after him, pushing damp tendrils of hair away from her face.
As soon as she had shut the door and faced her brother, he opened his mouth.
“I told you it wasn’t the glasses I did something to—“
He was cut off by Ginny, who after emitting a furious “Arrrgghhh!” ran at him head-on. She tackled him to the ground and sat on his thighs in a way that was cute when they were children but now probably looked disturbing, and raised a trembling hand, determined to slap his face raw. George blocked her just in time, then grabbed her other hand as it came flying from the other side. With the strength he was male enough to possess more of than his sister, he sat up and pushed Ginny to the ground, slamming her captured hands above her head, out of harm’s way.
“I don’t think I’m the one you want to be in this position with,” he puffed out. Ginny’s eyes widened and she writhed underneath him. He allowed her to scramble away and they ended up crouched, breathless, on opposite sides of the living room.
“What … the fuck … is this?” Ginny at last managed to growl.
“Language, Gin,” George scolded her. “It’s just a little something I’ve been working on.”
“For what? Your mail-order only Adult Potions store?” Ginny placed a hand on the wall and lifted herself unsteadily up. “This stuff can’t be legal.”
“Oh, pish. Even Muggles have an equivalent. It’s pretty good, isn’t it?”
“I’m going to kill you,” Ginny snarled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not going to be able to leave for another hour, at least. Does it wear off?”
“If by ‘wear off’, you mean ‘get stronger’, then yes.”
“It’s only as intense as your, er, sexual appetite.” George looked his sister up and down. “Come to think of it, the fact that you’re reacting so much to it is probably going to haunt me for life.”
“Oh, I feel so bad, for you,” Ginny bit back. An alarming thought occurred to her. “You didn’t give this to anybody else, did you?”
“Just Ron and Hermione,” George said. “They don’t seem to be reacting to it at all.”
“That figures,” Ginny snorted. She tottered towards the kitchen and tried to get a jug out of the cupboard above the stove. Due to her shaking hands, however, the jug slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a loud crash!
“I guess I can list ‘involuntary hand-shaking’ as one of the side effects, then?” Ginny turned around to see George standing at the doorway.
“Do you fancy a clipboard?” she snarled, “if you’re so keen on observing me.”
“One would be nice, actually,” George said, ignoring her sarcasm. He stepped in to the kitchen, picked up the jug and proceeded to fill it at the sink.
“I don’t think the hand-shaking is a side-effect,” Ginny said after a moment of silence. George looked curiously over at her. “My hands tend to shake whenever I’m, er… well, when Harry’s around and I, kind of…”
“Your hands shake when you’re horny?” George raised his eyebrows at Ginny’s unusually bashful nod of confirmation. “Blimey. I’ve never heard of that happening before.”
“Yeah? Well we all react to that sort of stuff differently, I guess.”
“Hmm.” George turned off the tap and hoisted the jug out of the sink. “Well thanks for telling me. That helps, actually.”
Ginny glared at him. “I’m still going to kill you. I suggest you enjoy this evening while you can, because by tomorrow morning you’ll be dead.”
George was completely nonplussed by her threat. “Believe me, Gin,” he said, “by tomorrow morning you will be erecting a shrine, complete with jewels, beautiful, bikini-clad women, and a one-hundred foot statue of me carved in solid gold, in my honour.”
Ginny longed to hit him, but managed to restrain herself. She led the way back outside, where she could clearly see Harry fiddling nervously with his jacket collar. Merlin, she thought. Why did George have to use the word ‘erecting’?
Ginny didn’t think she’d ever felt so uncomfortable. She honestly believed that there could be a fourth Unforgivable dedicated to the discomfort she was experiencing. She would never have believed, even after these long eight weeks, that the need for sexual satisfaction could be so strong, magically or otherwise. Yet here she was, living it. She was half a foot away from Harry, practically able to feel his body heat, and every time he moved her nose detected a whiff of … something. Hormones, maybe. Whatever it was, it made it frustratingly difficult to ignore the itching in her quivering fingers and the wetness in her pants.
She could tell that Harry wasn’t handling the situation much better. His hands were gripping his knife and fork so hard that his knuckles were turning white, and there was so much sweat running down his face that she was amazed nobody else had noticed. She imagined that his cock was positively straining to get out of his trousers. Not that she could tell. He seemed to be making an effort to hide it from her, shifting in his seat and the like.
By the time they’d all finished dessert (a superb treacle tart), Ginny felt about ready to explode. All she was thinking was that if her parents so much as tried to make them stay longer –
“Shall I make us all a coffee?” Molly asked the table.
“That sounds good Mum,” Ron answered, stretching him arms above his head. “Hermione? Did you want one?”
“When have I not wanted coffee?” Hermione patted the hand that Ron had just placed back on the table. Ron looked curiously at her.
“How about you two?” Molly asked Harry and Ginny.
“Actually, Molly,” Harry said, noticeably struggling to keep his voice from squeaking, “If it’s all the same to you, I wouldn’t mind having an early night. Big work day tomorrow and everything. Is that all right?”
“Of course, of course. On your way then.” Ginny’s mother rushed around the table to give her son-in-law a hug.
“I’ll just go to the bathroom first.” Harry gave Ginny a wink and headed into the house. Ginny, remembering just in time not to run, started following him in when her mother called her.
“Ginny, dear? Can you help me clear the table?”
“Okay, sure.” Ginny took her wand out and held it above her head, ready to charm the plates to the kitchen, when her mother stopped her.
“Honey, we have to do it the non-magical way,” Molly said to her. “Everything on this table is sensitive to magic. It will all break if we use magic on it.”
Ginny cast her eyes around the table, which had more plates, bowls, platters and silverware on it than she had seen since Hogwarts days.
“Does all of it need to be hand-washed?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, dear. It won’t take that long. We can do this while your father prepares the coffees. Come on.”
Ginny knew she didn’t have a choice. She tensed up her most private of inner muscles and picked up a few plates. As she turned around to head back into the house, she swore she saw George looking at her sympathetically. Hmph, she thought. If he was really sorry he’d offer to do this instead.
It took at least another hour to be done with all of the hand-washing, drying, stacking and ‘oh-there’s-no-hurry-dear’-ing, and it took so much out of Ginny that she was having trouble breathing by the end of it. She had no idea how she had managed to dry all of those plates without dropping any of them, with her hands shaking so hard.
“Ginny, are you all right, dear?” her mother asked. “You look a bit peaky. Maybe you should spend the night here?”
No! “I’m all right Mum. Just a little bit tired. I think I’ll wash my face then I’ll be on my way.”
“All right dear. Thanks for your help.”
Annoyed though she was at her mother right then, Ginny felt her heart swell just a little with happiness at having assisted her. “You’re welcome,” she said, turning toward the stairs.
Once inside the bathroom, Ginny turned on the cold tap and splashed water onto her face. She breathed in and out, and looked at her hands, which were trembling as though independent from her arms. There was no way she would be able to Disapparate in this condition. But what else could she do? The potion George had given them would only get stronger, and basic instinct and not-so-basic knowledge of George’s branch of magic told her that she would need Harry to cure it, so masturbation was out of the question. So what else was there? She had to admit, her options did not look good. Maybe if she snuck into her old bedroom, wrote Harry a quick note and got Hodgins, her parent’s new owl, to fly it over to him? Yes, that would work. She could just stay in her room until then.
Ginny opened the bathroom door, looked around for any sign of someone walking up the stairs or down the hallway, and, seeing no-one, sprinted down the hall and flung upon the door to her bedroom. What she saw was enough to almost give her a heart attack.
Harry was lying flat on his back on her old bed. He was completely naked minus his glasses, and his right hand was fisted firmly around his cock, which was more erect than she’d ever seen it. The sight was almost comical, had the situation not been so surreal.
“Harry?” Ginny asked tentatively, not sure if, in her lust-filled mind, he was a mirage.
In response Harry jumped off the bed, strode across the room, grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her against the wall.
“Ow!” she managed to gasp before her mouth was covered by his hungry lips. OK, she thought, definitely not a mirage. I could not imagine him kissing this well. She kissed back with equal, desperate vigour. She wanted to hold him, to squeeze him close to her, but was unable to thanks to him holding her hands away. When they finally broke apart she could feel fresh sweat running down her face. She’d never sweated this much before.
“What the fuck kept you?” Harry demanded, letting go of her wrists and tugging frantically at her dress.
“Mum made me do the wash—wait, what are you still doing here?” Ginny lifted her arms up as Harry yanked the dress above her head, nearly taking off her nose in the process. “Why didn’t you go home?”
“I waited for you first,” Harry explained, now reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra. “I figured you would follow me. But then you didn’t come, so I tried to Apparate, and I couldn’t. I was too distracted.”
“Oh right.” Ginny kicked off her shoes, wincing slightly as one of them smacked hard against her window. “So why did you … why were you …”
“I thought that maybe if I relieved myself I’d be able to Apparate,” he said, now pulling down her underwear, “and I knew your old bedroom would get me there fastest. I mean, after all, it’s where you and I first shagged.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“So I tried, and I thought I made it, but… it didn’t go away.” Harry thrust Ginny against the wall again and she, acting instinctively, hooked one leg over his hip, then the other. Harry kept her balanced. “It kind of got worse. But there was nothing else I could do, so I’ve just excited myself more.”
“You clearly haven’t learnt about George’s magic. He wouldn’t make the cure so easy to come by.”
“I think I’m going to kill him.”
“You and me both,” Ginny puffed, “But whatever. Just… relieve yourself now. I’m begging you.”
“Okay, okay.” Without another word Harry clenched one buttock in each hand and thrust savagely into her. After hours of the worst horniness she’d ever felt, it was an enormous relief to finally have him inside her, filling her up like never before.
And then he started to move, working his way in and out of her, and oh, Merlin, if it wasn’t the most incredible pleasure she’d ever felt. With every thrust it felt as though a sonic boom of pure pleasurable energy was radiating from the point where they connected, throughout her entire body. In less than five seconds her every breath was coming out in not-so-quiet shrieks. Her hands clawed desperately at Harry’s back as he picked up his pace.
“Fuck, Gin,” he grunted, his own hands digging into her arse cheeks. “You know I like to wait, but I’ve waited, and this is … I’m so close—“
“It’s okay,” Ginny interrupted him breathlessly, “so am I.”
“Thank Merlin for that.” He thrust into her once more, and that was it. As he shot his load into her, she clutched him so hard that she knew she would leave bruises. Her pussy spasmed relentlessly as the most intense of intense orgasms overwhelmed her. It was unlike anything she’d felt before and probably would feel for some time after. She couldn’t believe that George had given this to them, had let them experience something so amazing. If she could have afforded it, she would indeed have been erecting a shrine in his honour tomorrow morning.
As the waves subsided and she felt herself coming back to Earth, Harry slid out of her and she sank, exhausted, to the floor. Harry sat next to her and took her hand in his. She smiled and offered him a quick kiss.
“That wasn’t exactly the night-long love-making period I had planned,” he said.
Ginny managed to let out a quiet snort of amusement. “Neither. I was thinking once in every room, each time on some strange surface, before ending it all in bed with scented candles and some of Honeyduke’s finest.”
“Well, we might still be able to do that,” Harry said, “if you just give me a… few minutes.”
“Ginny patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’m spent too.”
“What in Merlin’s name was that stuff your brother gave us?” Harry asked. “Because I take back everything I said about him. I now think we ought to bulk-buy. Making sure we only take it at home, of course.”
Ginny let out another tired chuckle. “I’ll let him know you approve. He gave it to Ron and Hermione as well, but they didn’t seem to take to it.”
They sat quietly for a few moments, still breathing heavily, each enjoying the other’s company, when suddenly they heard a loud thump from somewhere above them.
“What was that?” Harry asked. “Is the ghoul playing up again?”
“He could be.” Ginny hoisted herself up and picked up her dress. “We’d better check it out. If it’s mucking around up there it could break something, which would do mum’s head in.”
“Right you are.” Harry scrambled into his shirt and trousers, swinging his jacket on as Ginny opened the door. She nearly fell over something lying right in front of her.
“Hello?” Harry picked up the offending object; a glass bottle roughly the same size and shape as a wine bottle, and dark purple in colour. Attached was a note written in the scrawled handwriting that Ginny knew instantly was George’s. She pulled the note off the bottle and read through it.
Gin and Harry,
I would be sorry I put you through that, but I’m sure you’ve already forgiven me so it would be a redundant action. Here’s enough of the stuff to last you for ages. Just use half a teaspoon each any time you, er, feel like it, and yeah, enjoy yourself. Welcome home, Harry.
PS – For the love of Merlin, PLEASE use Silencing or Imperturbable Charms next time. I could just about hear you from the backyard.
“How, er, nice of him?” Harry said once he’d read the note as well.
“He’s damn lucky his product delivered, is all I’m saying.” Ginny waved Harry toward the stairs and together they climbed, hearing another loud thump on the way up.
“It sounds like it’s coming from Ron’s room,” Harry said. “Maybe the ghoul’s taken a liking to that room since the whole Spattergroit thing?”
“It’s possible.” They walked across the hall and Ginny was just about to open the door to Ron’s room when a loud moan stopped her. She raised her eyebrows at her husband.
“Did you do that?” she asked.
“Seeing you about to open a door doesn’t turn me on that much,” Harry said. “I think it came from inside.”
Ginny looked quizzically at the offending door and pressed her ear against it. Harry came closer and did the same.
For a moment they heard nothing, and then, suddenly, a mild shriek. And then, some of the most disturbing dialogue either of them had ever heard.
“Oh, yes, Ron, yes!”
“You like that?”
“Oh Merlin, yes! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
“Never! Oh, Hermione, you’re so hot!”
“Keep going! Harder! Faster!”
“I’m close, Hermione! I’m so close!”
Ginny and Harry pulled their faces away from the door, their faces now a sickly shade of green.
“That’s going to haunt the very worst of my nightmares,” Ginny said weakly.
“I guess this stuff worked pretty well on them after all,” Harry added, holding up the purple bottle.
The pair of them looked at the bottle for a moment, then at each other. A slow smile spread on each of their faces.
“Care to go home for a drink?” Harry asked.