Chapter Text
Lingering in the pleasant glow of half-consciousness, Harry let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. The pillow beneath his cheek was lumpy, but comfortable, low light filtered through his eyelids, and a pleasant warmth was fitted against his chest. He tightened his hold around the soft skin and it—she—stiffened slightly.
It all came back in a rush. Their trade. The shouting. The kiss. And everything after that.
Harry squinted against the blurred gloom of the basement kitchen. He assessed his surroundings as discreetly as he could. Dark, fuzzy outlines indicated the table and chairs, and the out-of-focus glowing from the fireplace gave him an indistinct sense of morning. Then there was Ginny, curled on her side and her back pressed into his front. Her breathing was shallow, and her body a bit too tense to go unnoticed.
“You’re thinking,” Harry grumbled, readjusting his face so her hair would stop tickling his nose. “Loudly.”
Which was hardly fair, considering she’d insisted he not think only a few hours ago.
He felt more than heard her replying huff. She twisted in his arms and turned to face him. Her features were thrown into sharp clarity compared to everything else that was further than two feet away. Harry’s breath caught somewhere in his throat at her bright eyes, her freckled nose, her plush pink lips.
Her expression was searching, and when she didn’t speak right away, he felt a mild panic build in his middle. Did she regret it? What had she decided while he was fast asleep? Harry inwardly cursed himself for practically passing out as soon as they’d situated themselves beneath the blankets. Ginny clearly had more things to say, or work through, or—
She let out a long exhale, pulling him out of his spiral, and said, “I was thinking about Transfiguration.”
Harry’s thoughts came to a screeching halt and he frowned at her in complete confusion.
Ginny grinned at the look on his face. Her hand trailed a path up to his cheek and her thumb ghosted over his bottom lip. The light touch melted his spine into liquid.
“About exceptions,” she clarified. Which didn’t actually clarify anything at all. Vague memories of school lectures and textbooks flitted through his mind, accompanied by McGonagall’s (and Hermione’s) voice exhorting the importance of Gamp’s Elemental Laws.
“Exceptions?” he repeated. “Like…food and galleons and things?”
Again, Ginny didn’t immediately answer. The pads of her fingers drew featherlight circles over the short stubble along his jaw.
“I think you’re mine,” she finally murmured.
“Right,” Harry blinked a few times. “As happy as I am not to be turned into a steak and kidney pie…”
She snorted. “Don’t be a git!”
“Sorry,” he said, holding in his own chuckle. “I’m really not following.”
Groaning, Ginny buried her face in his shoulder. A solid weight dropped into his stomach at her unease and Harry instantly regretted his quip.
“Hey.” He nudged her ear with his nose. “Tell me?”
One radiant amber eye peeked up at him and he caught the slightest blush in her cheeks. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” she lamented. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling. Harry kept his eyes firmly fixed on her face, and not on the edge of the blanket that had crept down toward her exposed ribs. Ginny chose that moment, however, to chew on the corner of her lip, which was equally distracting. “I—I was thinking about how I have… rules for myself. About how important they are to me—and about how they don’t seem to matter at all when it comes to you.”
Harry pushed up on his elbow to see her expression better. Ginny’s jaw was tight and her eyes hard. He took a moment to measure his words. “What sorts of rules?”
“Oh, you know,” she crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him. “Normal ones. Don’t let them get you down. Don’t let them push you around.”
“Ginny…”
“I’m serious!” she cut across him. “Sort of.”
Harry didn’t grin along with her. Whatever she was refusing to say, it felt too important. The longer he held her gaze, the more Ginny’s face fell back into some indiscernible emotion.
“I made all these promises,” she began, her eyes sliding away to settle in the middle distance. “To protect myself, I s’pose...”
Harry’s whole body tensed. “I wouldn’t ever– I mean… not on purpose–”
“I know,” she replied patiently. Her throat bobbed and he could tell that she really didn’t want to say whatever was next. She said it anyway. “But I would still let you.”
Watching her closely, he felt on the cusp of some obvious realization. Except his brain seemed incapable of moving past the shock of considering such a statement. The silence stretched and he went several consecutive moments without thinking, or saying, anything coherent. The quiet crept in, and with it, Ginny’s expression contorted into something devastatingly sad.
“And that’s the stupid thing,” she breathed. Her brows pinched together and moisture clung to her lashes. “It’s just you. No one else.”
It sank in fully. How terrifying that must be. How brave she was for even admitting it. How desperate she was for him to never use it against her.
Collecting his thoughts, Harry heaved an over-dramatic sigh.
“I don’t want it.”
Ginny blinked the tears from her eyes and shot him an offended scowl. “What?”
“Take it back,” he asserted. “I don’t want some power to hurt you… or whatever…”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. You already have it.”
“Well, that’s lousy,” he concluded. “I don’t want any of it. I just want you.”
Her mouth twisted as if she was biting back a smile. “You’ve got that, too.”
His feigned petulance had the desired effect. Ginny matched his position, propping herself up on an elbow, and his chest loosened at the return to her normal, wry countenance.
This also had the very unintended effect of revealing her bare upper half. Harry thought he should be nominated for some award at maintaining his earnest demeanor.
“You're my exception, too, you know,” he declared. In fact, to him, it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But I think my rules are different.”
She tilted her head in curiosity, and Harry tried to come up with words for how she brightened a room simply with her presence. How hers was the only touch that steadied, instead of distressed. How he’d yet to find a replica of the feelings only she could ignite in his chest.
Words failed him.
Perhaps he was trying to communicate in the absence of speech. Perhaps he was looking for inspiration. Perhaps he was stalling. Either way, Harry closed the short distance between them and sought out Ginny’s lips with his own.
If she had any protest about his lack of oration, she didn’t show it. Leaning into him, Ginny kissed him without restraint. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat; it sent every one of his nerve endings into hypersensitivity. Like his body was straining for more. More closeness, more connection, just… more.
More of this. More of her. Only her.
He moved his hand to her hip, where the coverlet ended and her waist began. His fingertips brushed the smooth softness of her skin. Ginny pressed even further into him, her chest meeting his, and it sent another shock through his system.
“I don’t know how I deluded myself into thinking I was immune to this,” she murmured between brushes of her lips and hands.
Harry scoffed, “I didn’t even try.”
Before he could embarrass himself by dictating out his list of Ginny Guidelines, a rattle of locks sounded from the floor above, followed by the distinct creak of a floorboard.
They broke apart, horror seeping into Harry’s bloodstream.
Another creak, then a very loud thud, and the whine of the staircase door opening.
“Ron–” He choked.
Ginny’s eyes widened and she hissed, “What? Why??”
Harry didn’t have the time, or the mental faculties, to explain. Especially considering their clothes were strewn throughout the room… and they were both naked… and in the same bed.
“Get under here!” He yanked on the edge of the blanket.
She balked. “Have you lost your mind?”
The thump of footsteps on the stairs grew ever closer. “Do you have a better idea?”
Muttering a litany of curses, Ginny at least had the forethought to grab her knickers from the floor before diving beneath the covers. Harry heaved an extra pillow at her silhouette to hide the blatantly obvious outline of her bum.
It was hardly faultless, if Ron came closer than six feet, he would definitely notice the lump of extra legs under the fabric. Harry’s only hope was to get him back out the door as quickly as possible.
Said door opened with a squeak of hinges, and Ron lumbered into the room looking windblown and drenched.
“Bloody pouring out there.” He shrugged out of his cloak and looked around the room. “Where’s Ginny?”
“Er–” Harry stammered, unbearably cognizant of her knee currently pressed into his thigh. “Bathroom.”
Ron nodded, then did a double take at Harry’s horizontal position. “Were you still sleeping?”
Harry squinted in the absence of his glasses, attempting to discern the muddled twist to Ron’s features.
He held in a cringe. “Yeah…”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
That was news to Harry, but an idea struck him and he feigned a loud yawn. “Can you run to the shop on the corner? Grab us a few coffees and scones?”
Ron did the exact opposite of this request and slumped into a kitchen chair. “Did you not hear me? It’s coming down in buckets.”
“Conjure an umbrella?” Harry replied impatiently.
“I haven’t got any Muggle notes.”
“I think I’ve got a few quid.” Harry reached for the billfold in his knapsack.
Ron’s sulk was palpable, even through Harry’s blurred vision. “Between Mum and Fleur we’ll have enough baked goods to last us weeks. What do you need corner store scones for?”
“I just figured Ginny would go for a cappuccino,” Harry shot back.
Glowering, Ron snapped, “No, she wouldn’t. She doesn’t even like them.”
Harry’s stomach sank. “Doesn’t she?”
“No?” Ron sat up a little straighter. “And neither do you.”
“I don’t mind them,” Harry answered lamely.
Ron wasn’t placated. He eyed Harry closely, and Harry resisted the urge to squirm.
“Where’s your shirt?” Ron finally asked.
A large mass lodged itself in the back of Harry’s throat. “Oh, erm–”
“For fuck’s sake!” Ginny sat up in a rush, clutching the comforter to her chest in some last ditch effort at modesty. “Would you please get out?”
Ron stood so quickly he lost his balance, knocked his chair sideways, then tripped over the upturned legs. The resounding crash would have been enough to disturb the neighbors if the house hadn’t been warded from foundation to shingles.
The silence in the aftermath was worse, though.
Harry clapped his hands over his face, like if he could physically block out reality, then he wouldn’t have to face it.
Then Ron was swearing. An extraordinary sequence of offensive language poured into the room while Ginny interrupted with things like ‘Stop being dramatic’ and ‘Are you quite finished?’
“You didn’t waste any bloody time, did you?” Ron accused harshly.
Harry peeked through his fingers to see Ron glaring at him.
“Mate,” Harry faltered, his arms dropping into his lap.
“Just–” Ron cut across him. “Just give me a damn minute.”
And with that, Ron grabbed his cloak and stormed back up the basement stairs.
They listened to him stomp all the way up to the ground floor and slam the front door so forcefully, it rattled the plates in the cupboard.
“Merlin’s tits,” Ginny sighed. “That went well.”
Guilt and mortification sat heavy in Harry’s stomach, and breathing out a few curses of his own, he scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Where the hell are my glasses?”
Ron was true to his word. He returned to Grimmauld Place within a quarter of an hour, looking even wetter and crosser than before. Or maybe that was just because Harry could finally see in full clearness thanks to Ginny summoning his specs from a heap of clothes across the room.
Harry had attempted to tidy. At least, he’d attempted to clear away any evidence of the frenzy from the night before. He supposed he’d set the kitchen to rights in some vain attempt at contrition; undergarments were shoved back into duffle bags, uneaten food was tossed in the bin, bedding was straightened.
The look on Ron’s face, however, made it quite clear he would not forgive the original state of things so easily.
“Where’s Ginny?” he fumed. He didn’t bother taking his cloak off this time, and instead pulled his wand from an inside pocket. Ron was clearly ready to get this over with as fast as possible.
Harry grimaced. “Bathroom.”
Ron’s face flushed scarlet. “Do you think this is funny?”
“No!” Harry raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “She really is in the loo this time.”
Turning on his heel, Ron marched a few steps away.
“We’re not just messing around,” Harry blurted. He sounded more irritated than he’d intended. Downright prickly.
“You think I don’t know that?” Ron wheeled back around to face him. They sized each other up for the space of several seconds before Ron swore again and dug his fingers into his eye sockets. “Robards is going to kill you—I’m going to—”
Harry was honestly expecting a punch in the nose, and he hadn’t decided if he would duck or take the hit when Ron flung both his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him into an off-kilter hug. It took a couple of stunned moments for Harry to comprehend what was happening, and when he did, he gave Ron a very clumsy, very awkward pat on the back.
“Don’t ever—“ Ron released him, looking serious. “Ever… make me walk into something like that ever again.”
“No, yeah,” Harry rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Not if I can help it.”
“Please,” Ron continued. “I can’t cope–”
Harry held in a snort of laughter, only for a different, more urgent emotion to overtake it. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just… I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
Ron winced and Harry wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have brought up Ron walking in on Ginny hiding in his bed so soon.
But Ron surprised him.
“You can’t tell anyone else,” he urged.
Harry frowned, not following in the slightest.
“Can’t tell anyone what?”
Ginny appeared halfway down the staircase. She wore a silk blouse tucked into a matching flowy skirt with a black velvet waistcoat overtop. Her hair fell in a flaming curtain around her shoulders which only made her eyes that much brighter. Harry thought she’d never looked more magical. Both literally and figuratively, as she was undeniably dressed like a proper witch.
She descended the last few steps and shot Harry a sly grin, effectively letting him know she’d caught him staring.
“You can’t tell anyone that you two are…” Ron gestured between them. “Whatever you are.”
Her incomprehension apparent, Ginny turned to Ron sharply. “I know Harry likes his privacy, but did you miss the Prophet last week? It isn’t something they don’t already think they know.”
“Robards doesn’t know,” Ron said quickly. His gaze turned to Harry, his expression imploring. “If he finds out, he’ll take you off the case. You know he will.”
Harry’s stomach sank.
“We’re so close,” Ron continued. “You said so yourself. And we can’t blow the whole investigation just because you can’t keep your wand in your pocket.”
“Mate,” Harry sighed at the same time Ginny burst, “Oi!”
Ears flushing scarlet, Ron held both his hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”
Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, a hard look on her face. However, Harry’s brief indignation cooled. Because, unfortunately, Ron was right.
A dozen different thoughts tumbled through his head, each one more panicked than the last. He could stare down the inevitable upbraiding, even stomach the likely administrative leave. The fallout with Robards he could handle. What he couldn’t endure was losing his designation as the lead Auror on her case. He’d come too far, knew too much, had too many pieces in play. As Harry locked eyes with Ginny, his throat closed up at the prospect of her being forcibly removed from his protection. At her life in the hands of someone else.
He knew he couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t lose her.
But… she wasn’t something to be kept hidden either. Like a shameful little secret.
The longer their gazes held, the more Ginny’s expression settled into one of understanding. Almost as if Harry had just said every errant thought out loud. Or perhaps he was a complete loon and she’d reached some wildly different conclusion all on her own.
As she tossed Ron a weighty glance, Harry saw the tension in her shoulders, and it was completely obvious to him that she was waiting for his decision. Whether she liked it or not, whatever Harry concluded, Ginny would comply. She would see it through. Because he would be the one asking it of her.
It’s just you. No one else.
It clicked in a violent assault of understanding, and Harry knew what he had to do.
Swallowing thickly, he rasped, “It’s your call.”
She blinked, her face clearing of emotion.
Ron shifted from one foot the other, but Harry kept his attention focused on Ginny and the flurry of choices unfolding before her.
“I—“ she hesitated, and a tightness gathered in her posture that Harry couldn’t quite place. “I want this over with. The letters. The hiding. I want it done. I...”
“We’ll get them,” Ron answered quickly. “We’ll–“
“No, I want to get them,” Ginny interjected. Her eyes sparked, but she still had that same furtiveness to her bearing. A lingering reluctance. Harry realized too late that she was nervous. Nervous about telling him. Nervous that he’d say no. “I don’t want to be tucked away in a safe house. I don’t want to be left out of this. I want to help.”
Something inside Harry’s chest imploded, a silent panic chanting a chorus of Lose her! Lose her! Lose her!
Meanwhile, Ron erupted. “Bloody hell, Ginny! Have you forgotten there is a psychopath on the loose? Exploding letters and love potions and fucking curses flying in your locker room! You aren’t going anywhere near–”
Harry let out a resigned sigh. “Okay.”
He spoke quietly, but it was enough to pull Ron’s tirade to a screeching halt. In fact, Ron looked at Harry like he was just mad as the nutter after Ginny.
Maybe he was. It went against every instinct and sensibility he had, but to him, it seemed his only recourse. Because while, yes, letting Ginny actively participate increased the odds of her being in danger ten-fold, the other option was a certainty. He would lose her. Maybe not right away, maybe not for years, but he would.
Again.
Gulping back the gigantic lump in his throat, Harry reasoned, “She knows the story better than any of us anyway. She can help—she should help.”
Muted betrayal shadowed Ron’s face, but he didn’t try shouting again. Even though Harry was fairly certain he wanted to.
“Right, okay,” Ginny continued, her voice trembling slightly. “So if telling people about us means we all get thrown off the case then… then we keep it to ourselves. For now.”
Harry’s answering expression was more of a grimace, but he nodded.
“For now.”
Ron swore under his breath and paced away from both of them like he could hardly stand to be in the same room. Harry hoped the festering fear threatening to eat him from the inside wasn’t outwardly showing.
“And who knows?” Ginny tried for an air of playfulness. “It might be sort of fun to sneak around?”
One corner of Harry’s mouth stretched into a reluctant half-smile. Ron gagged.
“You want to what?”
“It’s a tether,” Ron insisted impatiently.
Ginny recoiled as the reason behind Ron’s sudden appearance was finally shared with her.
“It’s a precaution,” Harry added as an attempt at reassurance.
She was not placated. “It’s what Mums use to keep their toddlers from wandering off in Diagon Alley!”
Ron raised his eyebrows, tossing her an obvious expression. Ginny answered with a disgusted noise.
“It’s only for the day,” Harry continued. “Just to make sure we can somehow find you in a worst case scenario. We’ll take it off first thing when we get back–”
“It’s so demeaning,” she cut in.
Ron scoffed. “And you accuse me of being dramatic.”
“Oh, don’t start,” she snapped.
“Ginny,” Harry implored, interrupting their spat before it could really begin. His voice broke around her name and his eyes widened with the force of his appeal. “Please?”
And how was that fair? How was she supposed to deny him anything after the stunt he’d just pulled. Letting her decide, letting her help, she’d only just admitted that she was completely malleable to this idiot and now there he was making sure she had a say every step of the way.
Her answering sigh was more of a growl. “Fine.”
The tension in Harry’s shoulders eased in an instant and one corner of his mouth twitched in gratitude.
Ron blinked several times in quick succession, looking between Harry and Ginny like he wasn’t quite sure what just happened. Ginny wasn’t about to explain it to him.
“So,” she drawled derisively. “What do we do?”
“Right, yeah–” Ron seemed to shake himself out of his stupor. “You’ll need to… take each other’s hands.”
She held out her left, palm up. Harry shifted uncomfortably and gave Ron a furtive look before slotting his fingers around hers. Ginny rolled her eyes.
They presented their clasped hands and Ron tapped his wand against their knuckles three times while whispering, “Una Ligare…”
A thin wisp of blueish-white light wrapped around their wrists, braiding itself into a knot and reaching up to their elbows. Ginny watched its progress curiously, and with a fair amount of chagrin. It glowed for several long seconds before sinking into her skin. She felt the intrusion immediately, a thread of magic scurrying up her arm and tunneling into the space between her lungs.
An involuntary shudder ripped down her spine as she let go of Harry's hand. “Oh, I don’t like that.”
“It worked?” Ron asked, turning to Harry. Who nodded. “Great. Guess I’ll see you at Bill’s, then.”
Ron gave her a stern look, which was completely undercut by a brief squeeze to her shoulder as he passed on his way toward the stairs.
Ginny decided her brother really needed to sort out his mood.
Next to her, Harry rolled his shoulders as if he was trapped in a too tight jumper.
“Feels weird, yeah?” Ginny scrunched her nose, contemplating the hours ahead and the lingering tug in her ribcage.
“It's not so bad.”
Narrowing her eyes, she grumbled, “Liar.”
“It’s not!” Harry persisted.
Ginny replied with a disbelieving scowl.
“I’m not saying I’d like it all the time,” he confessed. “But I don’t mind ‘cause it’s you.”
His words washed over her, and she had to chew on her tongue to hold back the cloying grin threatening to take over her face.
The sentiment behind such a statement reached Harry gradually, and she fully expected him to respond with something sardonic. But he didn’t. Instead, he held her gaze, their proximity growing more charged by the second.
Harry’s eyes softened around the edges. “Almost like an exception.”
With a snort, she shook her head and moved to grab her cloak from across the room. However, she only made it half a step before a hand caught her elbow and pulled her back around.
His lips were on hers in a flash, the light press morphing into something eager and unhurried with each passing second.
Harry’s hands were at her waist, and at some point hers had clenched into his collar. Moments collided to the point where time was no longer linear, just a constant pursuit of feeling—a perpetual awareness of connection. Ginny could drown in him and enjoy every second. She was fifteen again, getting tugged behind tapestries in between classes and stealing moments beneath willow trees when she was supposed to be revising. And Harry kissed her with just as much abandon now as he did then. Like her closeness was an undying need. Or a deliverance.
In addition to this exhilaration, the knot of tension in her chest loosened immediately at his touch. Which was just ridiculous. Because of course the invisible string tying them together would only relent with physical contact… right as they were about to attempt to convince her entire family there was nothing amorous going on for an entire day.
Little bursts of realization sprung to the forefront of her mind. The warmth of Harry’s neck beneath her palm. The firmness of his chest where it met hers. The skim of his hand as it crept toward her bum.
She also realized that if they didn’t stall this collision soon, there was no chance they would make it to dinner.
With a slight push to his shoulders, they separated.
“Sorry,” Harry huffed, resting the bridge of his nose against her forehead. “Didn’t think I’d get to do that for a while…”
Ginny snorted to cover her own shortness of breath and leaned away enough to take in his expression. “Needed something to hold you over?”
His grin widened. “Something like that.”
“You can't make it a few hours?”
"I don't know how I'm going to make it a few minutes."
She laughed, pure and unbridled. "You're such a bloke."
His eyes sparked with false affront. "Thanks?"
Both of them chuckling, she slipped from his embrace to gather up her cloak and parcels, only for the incessant tug next to her heart to resurface at full force.