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Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement intended.
Title: Just Ginny
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Rating: R (Fluff)
Word Count: 880
Status: Complete
Summary: Harry doesn't know what makes him feel that way.
It's the way she runs to his arms after they've been apart. Her body aligns with his perfectly as if they were made for each other — moulded together and then wrenched apart only to find one another again. Harry remembers their first kiss then, and still it feels like the sun is falling down on him, and the world might be ending, but he just doesn't care.
Harry has no choice but to hug her back tightly and bury his face in her hair, inhaling that sweet flowery scent that fills him when she's near and haunts him when she's away.
When she lifts her head to look at him, her hard blazing gaze scorches his soul and compels him to lean down and kiss her.
He doesn't care about the wolf-whistles that break out around them; he hardly hears anything when Ginny fills all of his senses.
Harry doesn't know what makes him feel that way.
Maybe it's just memories.
It's the way she plays Quidditch. Her expression is one of deep concentration, her eyes are alight, and her cheeks flushed. He knows how she feels — excitement of the competition overwhelming her, all her being focused on winning. Because with Ginny it's not about the game — it's about victory, and when the Quaffle leaves her hand and falls through the hoop, her face brightens and it seems to Harry that the whole pitch shines along with her.
She greets him afterwards, her hair still damp from the shower, her body still tingling from excitement, but now her focus is solely on him.
Harry has no choice but to pull her away from the curious gazes, somewhere dark, where he can fall on his knees and taste her.
She clutches his hair and parts her lips to moan out his name, and her face is as bright and open as it is when she scores. He can feel nothing but pride that he's allowed to worship her.
Harry doesn't know what makes him feel that way.
Maybe it's just Quidditch.
It's the way she sucks on her Sugar Quill. She frowns as she considers what to write next and trails the feather over her lips. Her tongue peeks out every once in a while, making Harry anticipate its next reappearance. She wraps it around the sweet substance and closes her lips around the quill, only to release it suddenly as she figures out what to write down.
Harry has no choice but to kiss her, tasting the sweetness on her lips, and smoothing the frown between her eyebrows with his thumb. She moans, giving his tongue the same treatment as the quill a minute before.
They usually end up tearing their clothes off with Ginny lying down on the table, her papers beneath her, and the still wet ink leaving imprints on her skin. He teases her with the quill, and Ginny giggles and squirms, telling him to hurry up. He does — his movements becoming fast and urgent and he feels like he's flying but without the fear of falling down.
Harry doesn't know what makes him feel that way.
Maybe it's just sugar.
It's the way the sun catches the fairer strands of her hair and falls on her face as she lies down next to him. Then, even without his glasses, her face is clear and he can count the freckles on her skin.
Harry has no choice but to touch her bare shoulder and trail her fingers along her upper-arm. She wakes up, looks up at him blearily, scrunching her nose at the harsh light, and blinks the sleep away with her dark-red lashes.
Harry decides right then to kiss every freckle on her body — luckily for him there are loads of them. He pulls the sheets away, and the sun illuminates his goal, helping him not to miss a single one. Ginny's body is warm and flushed beneath his lips and he dedicates himself to his sweet, self-imposed task fervently.
Harry doesn't know what makes him feel that way.
Maybe it's just the sun.
It's the way her gaze burns when she yells at him about something stupid he has done. She glares and huffs and fingers her wand threateningly, but Harry knows it's an empty threat because for all their years together she's yet to fling a curse at him.
There is something about that knowledge — that Harry alone is spared from her curses even when she's furious and screams nasty insults at him. He's reminded suddenly that Ginny is on his side, and no matter how much they fight, that will never change.
Harry has no choice but to say that he's sorry and that next time, he'll try to think about consequences in advance. He knows it's a lie and she must know it to, because she gives him a long-suffering look, and sighs.
Soon they're on the floor, and their clothes are rumpled and torn. Perhaps they're still fighting or they're making up, sometimes it's hard to tell, but it doesn't matter as long as Ginny is pressed close to him, alive and forceful and real, and he just wants more.
Harry doesn't know what makes him feel that way.
But he thinks that maybe ... it's just Ginny.