Future Plans

The heavy Quaffle struck Ron's chest with a thud, knocking the air out of him. "That's enough, mate," Ron gasped. He dove down to the ground on his Cleansweep, landing quietly. "Good, show, Harry! You sure you don't want to go pro? We need a new Seeker, you know. You're not too bad with that Quaffle, either."

"Nah, I've got too much to worry about," Harry replied.

"Harry, you've been worrying as long as I've know you about this or that; you need to lighten up." He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his towel.

"Voldemort, I'm sure, would have loved being referred to as 'this or that'. Besides, Ron, I've had a lot on my mind the last few months."

"Or someone?" Ron asked coyly, referring to his sister.

Harry blushed. "I guess so. We don't get to see each other much when she's at St. Mungo's and I'm away with Auror training. She's got three years left and I don't think I can handle things going on like this anymore." Ron looked at his friend quizzically.

"She's got you that frustrated?" Ron looked at Harry, waiting for an answer.

"Ron..." Harry shook his head. He was nearly twenty years old, a virgin, and he was desperately in love.

"What are you waiting for, man?" Ron answered automatically. Seeing the look on Harry's face suddenly made him remember he was encouraging his best friend to shag his sister.

"Ron there are, believe it or not, some things in life worth waiting for until the right time, and this is one of them. Just because the two of you go at like dogs in heat, doesn't mean everyone else does." His scowl deepened his brow, and Ron could see his anger growing.

"Sorry, Harry." In fact, it made Ron feel a lot better about the two of them, knowing that Harry wanted to wait. "So what is it that's got you all serious?"

"Well, I've been thinking a lot in that big old house. I get lonely and there's nothing else to do. Think and go to classes." Harry stared at the dirt on his new trainers and kicked a rock out of the way. "I want to get on with my life and not have to worry about saving the world, sending Dark Wizards to Azkaban or fulfilling any stupid prophecies. I want to be just plain old Harry Potter. I want to be normal."

"Harry, you'll never be normal. I don't mean to be condescending, but even if you were 'just' Harry Potter, your personality wouldn't allow you not to do anything but help people and be a hero. You don't seek it out; it just happens." Ron understood Harry's frustration about this, perhaps better than anyone else did. He'd known Harry for almost half his life: they'd taken all their classes together, played on the House Quidditch team, spent their summers together, fought wars side by side and lived in the same cramped dormitory room for seven years at school with each other. He knew so much about him, he could write a book about Harry. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know, Potter."

"I know. " Harry paused to collect his thoughts. "I'm not sure that I want to be an Auror anymore. Oh, close your mouth, Ron. There's more to life than a job and I'd rather think about making a decent future for myself and having a family. Life's too short to dwell on negatives."

Ron stared at his friend in disbelief. Marriage was never a subject he and Harry felt all that comfortable talking about. Yes, he wanted to marry Hermione, but he also wanted to play Quidditch for a while yet. They were having fun, staying either at her place or at Grimmauld Place, where he lived with Harry. They never talked about making plans for a future yet.

"I'm heading back. You coming?" asked Harry, even though he already knew the answer.

"I'm going for a walk," Ron said as a smile grew on his face. "See ya!" Ron took off down the hill they used as a practice pitch, heading for the little river he and Hermione liked to skinny dip in after a workout.

*****

The porch swing swung easily on the chain as Ginny Weasley pushed it with her foot while she held the newspaper. She was working a crossword puzzle with a Muggle ink pen she found in Hermione's bag, and was only frustrating herself in the process. Throwing the pen on the floor, she set the paper next to her on the swing, and let her thoughts drift to Harry Potter. She loved him terribly and had since she was around thirteen. Thinking about him made her smile. As she twirled her hair on her finger, she couldn't help but think about a future with him and that thought alone sent tingles through her body.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. Why are you being such a gentleman?" The words fell off her tongue into the surprisingly warm summer air of southern England. Gods, she thought, I want him so badly! He's acting all noble again. We stopped being gentle with each other a long time ago.

Their sexual escapades were nothing compared with her brother's. She and Harry had done almost everything BUT have sex whereas Ron and Hermione, well, they could write a self-help book for sexually frustrated witches and wizards. The Masters and Johnson of the Magical World. She took a deep breath and told herself that sex wasn't everything. Not that she would know, of course.

Nevertheless, the fact that she loved him and wanted to grow old with him was undeniable. She'd spent countless hours planning an imaginary wedding to him, thinking of what their children would look like, dreaming of how she'd decorate their babies' nursery. Her lazy hours, as she called them, when she wasn't studying medical texts or working on practicals, were filled with thoughts of Harry. Those thoughts had taken too much of her time last term and her marks showed it, resulting in a lengthy howler from her mother. Her father knew what was going on with her and respectfully told Ginny to focus her energy on her studies.

"I'd like to focus on your body, Harry," Ginny told him one Saturday afternoon after telling him what her father said. Harry very nearly spat out his pumpkin juice as she said that.

Always the gentleman, he was, and that was one of the things she loved about him. He protected her, made her laugh, made her cry, warmed her heart with his words of love, and turned her body into molten lava by touching her in ways only he was allowed. She never felt as happy alone as she did when she was with Harry, and that scared her, just a little bit, to know that she was so vulnerable to one person. But that's how love is supposed to be. Not hiding anything from the other person, willing to put yourself out there, warts and all, to one person and have them do the same. Complete and utter trust in one person is what makes love worth having. That's why I want to marry you, Harry. I trust you with my heart.

She picked up the paper and pen and set to work on the crossword once again, pushing the swing back and forth with her foot.

*****

Ginny looked up from her newspaper and saw Harry striding towards her. Even from this distance, she could see he was sweaty from Quidditch and that his tank top clung to his chest. She smiled as she remembered the last time she touched his chest, making him flinch and suck in his breath. His springy black, chest hair felt glorious as she swept her hand across it and then drifted down the little trail before he stopped her. Ginny shook her head to get the memory out of her mind.

"Hey, you." Ginny looked up and saw Harry standing in front of her, his hair damp with sweat, and for once, was lying flat against his head. "Anything good in the Prophet?"

"Hmmm...?" She couldn't get the sensation of his chest hair out of her mind.

"Anything good in that?" he asked again.

"Oh...oh...not really." Why was she so flustered? She set the paper down on the floor of the porch and slid over so he could join her on the swing. Harry flung his broomstick to the side and dropped onto the seat next to her, sending the swing, and them, backwards, nearly hitting the wall of the house.

"Sorry," said Harry as he reached over and grabbed Ginny's shoulder as they swung forward. "Where is everyone?"

"Dad's at work. Mum went to London to clean Fred and George's flat, and Hermione is out reading somewhere."

He pulled Ginny across his lap. He lazily played with her hair, twirling it around his finger. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, feeling her insides swirl as she did.

"So we're all alone, then, right?" His voice trailed off into nothingness while a wicked grin flashed across his face, making his eyes look even a more brilliant green.

"Where's Ron?" she asked off-handedly.

"Changing the subject?" His hand moved from her hair to the sun-kissed skin of her shoulder, rubbing it gently, and loving the feel of it.

"Mmmm...That's nice," Ginny said dreamily. She turned her head and kissed the palm of his hand and gave each long, rough finger a quick lick with her tongue. "Where's Ron?"

Here he was, Harry Potter, with his girlfriend lying seductively in his lap and all she wanted to do was talk about her brother. "Oh, yeah, Ron. Dunno. He took off..."

"...looking for Hermione," Ginny finished for him. "He gets randy after playing, you know." She smiled, knowing Harry did, too. "What do you think they're doing?"

He could just about imagine, after all. This thought brought about a deep ache in his stomach and a twinge in his groin. "Ginny..."

"Huh?"

"Can you please sit up?" He closed his eyes, as if in pain and tipped his head back against the swing.

"Oh, sure...," she replied as she sat next to him on the swing. Her face began to feel hot and was glad he hadn't noticed. She had, however, noticed the effect she was having on him. "So what are they doing, you think?"

"Do we have to talk about that?"

"So what do you think it's like?" Ginny asked.

"What's what like?" He asked with a sheepish grin. He knew what she was talking about but wanted her to say it, since the thought embarrassed her so much.

"Harry..." He noticed the flush in her cheeks this time.

"How am I supposed to know? The only time Ron tells me anything is if he's had too much to drink. He has no desire to hear anything I may have to add to the conversation, so we don't have a lot to say to each other on the subject." He put his arm around Ginny and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then Harry looked down at her, noticing the sweat glistening on her forehead and temples; her hair was stuck to her scalp from sweat; her full lips surrounded her white teeth with a luscious shade of soft pink. Her skin was now a tawny colour and the outline of her swimsuit left tan lines that showed from underneath her tank top; the valley between her breasts that played host to little rivers of perspiration. She's beautiful and she is sitting here with me, Harry thought. Why was he the one she had chosen above the others? Why did she make him melt every time she came near him, touched him or looked at him? Did he do the same to her? Was she thinking about this, too? His stomach began to ache again, along with the return of the twinge in his groin.

"Harry?" Ginny turned her face to him as she spoke, noticing the way his lightening bolt scar stood out from his exercise-flushed face. "Where are you?" She combed back his thick, black hair with her fingers, savouring the wonderful texture of it.

"Lost in you," Harry replied, his eyes blazing an intense green that told her what was going through his mind.

He leaned over and kissed her gently, guiding her towards him with his hand on her shoulder. She let out a sigh, which heated his insides even more. He explored her mouth with his tongue, chasing hers and finally captured it, circling it with his.

"Yummy," Ginny groaned and opened her mouth to him again, this time chasing his tongue. She moved her hands under his shirt and caressed him gently along the sides of his body, feeling the ribs, skin and muscles that drove her crazy. She could feel his nipples harden as she moved across them, all the while kissing him with a fever that she had never felt before.

Harry quickly removed his sweat-soaked shirt and threw it carelessly to the side. He loved what her hands could do to him and wanted it to go on and on. Her hands slid down his abdomen and reached the waist of his trousers, hesitating, as if asking permission.

His eyes popped open and saw a look on her face that thrilled him and scared him all at the same time. "Ginny..." was all he could say before she covered his mouth with hers.

Harry's hands wandered down the front of her shirt, which felt like a second skin. He pulled down one strap of her tank top and slid his hand down to hers, wrapping it with his own. He bent down, kissed her shoulder, her neck, that little ditch at the base of her throat, then rested his head on her chest.

Ginny knew what she wanted, and she wanted Harry. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the way the porch swing moved along with them. Maybe it was supposed to happen and she didn't want it to stop.

Her hands began to fumble with the snap and zipper of his jeans.

"Oh God..." Harry muttered as he felt her hands release him from that uncomfortable pressure. "No..."

"Please, Harry." Her voice had never sounded like that before, so raw, so passionate, and so desperate.

Harry felt his stomach do back-flips from what she said, as he remembered how it felt the last time. His mind was arguing with his body and he didn't want to have to choose. This felt too good and too right to stop. But how could he keep going? How could he not? If he let her do what she wanted, he'd never be able to control what would happen next.

"No, Ginny. Not here!" He stood up with his back to her and Ginny watched with wide eyes. Harry's breathing slowed after a fashion and he sat back down, his jeans still open. He smiled at her in spite of himself.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked after an awkward silence.

"Yeah, I'll be all right. Come here." She leaned back and he put his arms around her. He pressed his face into her hair and smelled the familiar scent of her flowery shampoo, which made that twinge start all over again.

"Harry?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you." He never tired of hearing those words from her. The first time she said them, he was so scared, not knowing what he should say next but after all they had been through together, it was the only thing he could say. He had saved the world for her and if given the chance, he would do it over again in a heartbeat. Each second he spent with her reminded him that the real reason Voldemort was gone was because he loved her.