More Than Words

Bronwyn let herself into Charlie's cabin and hefted the canvas carrier bag of groceries to her shoulder. He often fell into bed the morning after a week of overnight shifts and went to sleep without eating breakfast. As for Bronwyn, she was bored. Ginny had gone home that afternoon. Her father was away at some conference, and she didn't care to cook solely for herself, and Charlie was certain to be quite hungry when he woke up. She set the carrier bag on the counter jabbed her wand at it. Potatoes and carrots floated to the sink. She scrubbed them, then set a small knife to peeling and cutting the potatoes into small cubes. While they boiled on the stove, she peeled the carrots and chopped them into pieces. She then peeled and cut up an onion, grateful she could use magic. Onions not only made her want to screw up her eyes until she couldn't see, and tears streamed down her face, she didn't like how they made her hands smell. When she could poke a fork through a potato cube with no resistance, she mashed the potatoes, while the chunks of lamb sizzled in a pan. She spooned some of the drippings into another pan with a little flour to make gravy, again, grateful she could use magic to keep whisking the roux so it didn't get lumpy, while she put the vegetables in with the meat. Peas completed the filling, making dots of bright green with the earthy colors of meat, onion, and carrot. Mashed potatoes lined a casserole, and she mixed the gravy with the meat concoction, spreading it over the mashed potatoes. Bronwyn topped the entire thing with more mashed potatoes, and slid the heavy casserole into the oven. Shepherds' pie. Just the way Charlie liked it.

A casual wave of her wand cleaned the kitchen, scouring it with the same meticulousness she employed in the infirmary. Faced with nothing to do until the pie was done, and she could wake Charlie, Bronwyn ran a finger over the line of black, cloth-bound sketchbooks on the top shelf of his bookcase. She'd seen some of his sketches before. Mostly the ones of his family and a few dragons he worked with in Romania, and even an occasional landscape of the reservation, but he preferred to draw people. She tugged a book from the shelf and folded herself gracefully to the braided rag rug on the floor. The first one was Ginny. It was dated just over a year ago. She was huddled on a patch of grass, arms wrapped around her shins, cheek resting against her drawn-up knees, strands of hair blowing unheeded across her face. She looked directly out of the sketch. His parents at his older brother's wedding two years ago, dancing as if they didn't have a care in the world. His younger twin brothers as small boys. Charlie might have presented himself as quite the loner, but the love he felt for his family was evident in the details of the sketches. In Ginny's small hands that managed to look strong in spite of their size. The way his father held his mother close, even after nearly thirty years of marriage. The mischievous sparkle in his brothers' eyes. They were intimate glimpses spoke of a longing to belong.

Bronwyn set the book back in its place, and picked up the next one. This one was filled with images from his last year or so in Romania. Several pages held images of one woman. She wasn't what Bronwyn would call pretty. Interesting, to be sure, but not ugly. Just sort of plain. She seemed to be a series of squares, angles, and straight lines. Her hair was straight, cut just below her strong jawline. Her eyebrows were straight and thick, bracketing oblong eyes. The irises must have been dark brown or black, judging by the amount of shading he'd used. They too, stared straight out of the sketch, in faint challenge. Calm. Like limpid pools of water that reflected the sky above until something broke the stillness. Bronwyn turned a page and the woman posed with her back to Charlie. Her shoulders were broad, as was her torso. She wasn't fat by any means, but she was the farthest thing from a waif as possible. She was nude and unashamedly so. Fascinated, Bronwyn turned a few more pages until she came to another nude drawing of the mystery woman. In this one, she lay on her side and Charlie had drawn her from head to toe. Charlie hadn't pulled any punches, or tried to make her more attractive than she was, but Bronwyn couldn't take her eyes of the woman. Again, it was intimate, and despite the woman's nudity, it wasn't remotely pornographic.

The bedroom door opened, and Charlie materialized in the darkened doorway, seemingly unconcerned about Bronwyn's presence in his cabin. He yawned, and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up over his ears. The hand dropped to the front of his boxers and he scratched himself thoroughly, yawning widely. 'What's cooking?' he grunted, crossing the room to join Bronwyn on the rug.

'Shepherds' pie.'

'Brilliant.' Charlie looked around the sitting room. 'Where's Ginny?'

'Presumably at home. Or Harry's flat if he accepted her apology.'

'When did she leave?"

'Around three or so. I took her to King's Cross.'

Charlie looked relieved. 'Oh. Good. I could have sworn she came in and said something about it. Thought I was dreaming. Nearly panicked when she wasn't in here.'

Bronwyn looked down at the book once more. 'Who's this?' she asked.

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face, squinting at the picture. 'Masha.'

'Masha?'

'Marya Nikolayneva Tvardovskya. Masha. She was from some village in Siberia.'

'Was she... your... girlfriend?'

'No.' Charlie took the book from Bronwyn and leafed through it. 'What did Bill call it...? Friend with benefits? Yeah.'

'So you slept with her?'

'Sometimes,' Charlie admitted guilelessly. 'We were comfortable with each other, and she knew I didn't love her, and she didn't love me.'

'How do you know?' Bronwyn challenged. 'She could have been pining for you.'

Charlie laughed. 'Not Masha. She wasn't sentimental about anything. Or anybody. She'd been kicked around as a kid, so she didn't form strong attachments to people. She said she was found in a train station by a soldier when she was just a baby. He took her to an orphanage. She stayed there until she went to Durmstrang. She always held people at arm's length. And I had spent my entire life surrounded by either my rather large family, or other Hogwarts students. I liked that she didn't demand anything of me. And it was fine. Until I saw what Bill had with Fleur.' Charlie closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. 'Let's go eat, yeah? I'm starving.' He got to his feet and ambled toward his bedroom. 'Just let me put on some jeans or something.'

Driven by an impulse she didn't want to question, Bronwyn stood up and fingered the topmost button of the gauzy cotton blouse she wore. Charlie walked back into the sitting room, zipping his old jeans, and Bronwyn deliberately slipped the first button through the buttonhole. 'Draw me,' she implored softly. The next two buttons followed the first, and Bronwyn was able to pull the loose garment over her head. Charlie's hands slid into his pockets, and he stood in the middle of the rug, looking at his bare feet. Bronwyn dropped her blouse and reached behind her back with one hand, unhooking her bra with a deft, practiced flick of her fingers. She shrugged her shoulders and it fell off her arms, landing on top of her discarded shirt. 'Draw me.' Charlie swallowed hard and glanced up, dark blue eyes hooded with indecision. Bronwyn unfastened her own jeans and pushed them and her knickers down her full hips with one fluid motion. 'Charlie... I want you to draw me...'

Charlie exhaled with a shudder and yanked his wand from his back pocket. It shot red sparks from the tip and he swore softly before jabbing in the direction of the kitchen. 'Don't want dinner to burn.' Another flick of his wand brought the pouch with his charcoal to his hand, along with his current sketchbook. 'Erm. Just...' Charlie looked wildly around the Spartan surroundings. He grabbed her hand. 'Come on...' He led her into his bedroom, and gestured to the messy bed. 'Lie down...' He crossed Bronwyn's ankles, then uncrossed them, his touch suddenly impersonal. 'No... That won't work.' Charlie bent one knee a little to the side so the sole of her foot rested against the opposite ankle, then raised her left arm to curl around her head, and draped her right one over her stomach. 'Spread your fingers a little,' he muttered, nudging her right hand. He dragged the chair in the corner of the bedroom around to the side of the bed and sat down. 'Turn your head this way,' he commanded. 'More. Your cheek ought to rest on your arm... Yeah, that's it. Close your eyes.' Charlie sat back and let his eyes travel over Bronwyn one last time. 'And relax... Just... go limp... like you're sleeping...'

'I'll try...' Bronwyn blew out a breath and settled into Charlie's bed, inhaling the mingled odors of Charlie, his laundry soap, and the faint, yet unmistakable whiff of the bitter aroma of the fireproofing charms he put on every last article of clothing he wore. Her eyes drifted shut and she felt the rough skin of his fingertips arrange a few locks of hair into place and feather gently over her cheek before it was gone, replaced by the scratchy sounds of his stick of charcoal moving over the thick, textured paper. She shifted a little after several minutes.

'Don't move,' Charlie said sharply.

'My arse is getting numb,' Bronwyn murmured.

'Too bad.' Charlie reached over and replaced a lock of hair over her cheek. 'Just a little longer,' he promised, sounding vague. He was lost in shaping lines and shadows into a form that resembled Bronwyn, half-aroused already. He'd never drawn anyone that he might love in the way his parents loved each other. Every motion of his charcoal aroused him even more. The way her hair spiraled into curls that were just this side of wild. Slim shoulders and a narrow torso that tapered to her waist, then flared abruptly into wide hips, her thighs, calves, and finally her long feet with long toes and high arches. Breasts that just barely filled his palm. Eyebrows that slanted slightly over wide eyes, prominent cheekbones, a scant curve to her chin that saved it from being pointed. Thin upper lip, full lower one. He used the edge of his thumb to soften the shadows between her breasts and thighs, then his smallest finger to smudge the line of her jaw. He signed and dated it in the lower right corner, then waved his wand over the paper, murmuring a spell that would keep the charcoal from smudging. 'It's done.'

'Can I see it?'

Charlie hesitated, then handed the book to Bronwyn. She studied it with a frown. 'I don't look like this,' she said flatly. Charlie had drawn her the way he had Masha, without alteration. But there was something about it that didn't let her tear her gaze away.

'It looks just like you,' Charlie offered. 'The way I see you, at least.'

Bronwyn sighed and closed the book. 'At least you didn't want to draw me from the back,' she huffed. 'You'd need more paper to accommodate my bum.' She glanced over her shoulder scornfully. 'More like a bum and a half.'

'I like your bum.' Charlie lunged forward, joining Bronwyn on the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head as he did so.

'Aren't you hungry? I'm sure the dinner will spoil if we don't...'

'To hell with dinner.' Charlie's head lowered and he nuzzled the slope of her breast. 'It'll keep...'

xxxxxx

Hermione cradled Ron's hand in hers as they walked the quiet streets of Oxford. The broom calluses on his hands were fading a little, but new ones were forming on his right middle finger and thumb from using a quill so much. She had a similar one on hers. The cuticles of his nails were stained bright orange, and no amount of scrubbing or Scouring charms could help. It would just have to wear off, he had told her with a resigned shrug. 'You look tired,' she commented.

'Summer holidays,' he replied, stifling a yawn. 'Always busier than when the school term starts. At least that's what George tells me.'

Hermione started guiltily. She had taken the last week to do absolutely nothing. She slept late, read Muggle books by the score, even watched a few football matches while her father attempted once more to explain the rules to her. 'Do you need some help? I don't start with the Ministry until the beginning of August.'

'Nah. We've got David and Sasha. They're quite good at keeping the front in some semblance of order.'

'I could help in the back.'

'We've got it, Hermione,' Ron said sharply. 'Sorry,' he added, seeing her head duck slightly. 'It's not you.' He drew in a deep breath and stopped walking. 'How much did you want to live in the flat over the shop?' he asked anxiously. 'I know we talked about it last Christmas.'

'How much do you want to live there?' she countered.

Ron dragged her over to an empty bus shelter and dropped to the bench inside. It was starting to rain. He sat quietly for a moment, watching the steady drizzle grow heavier until he could hear it pattering on the pavement. 'I really want to get out on my own,' he admitted. 'And I don't fancy having to Floo or Apparate on a regular basis. I'm afraid I'll Splinch myself or end up in, oh, I dunno... Yorkshire. George pays me well. More than what we agreed on in February. It's very generous. And I looked at flats in London, even the dodgy parts, and I'd spend all my gold on the flat. And Diagon Alley is... Well, someone has to die to get a flat there.' He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the shelter. 'Harry really does have it so easy sometimes,' he muttered.

'Ron, you don't mean that!' Hermione gasped softly.

'I know,' Ron said shamefacedly. 'Look at what he had to lose, but blimey, Hermione, he doesn't have to worry about paying his landlord. He told me when he was packing up his things he could buy brooms for all the House Quidditch teams, and it wouldn't make a dent in his Gringott's account.' He sheepishly looked at Hermione. 'Bit silly to be jealous over it, innit?' Hermione shook her head. Money was a touchy subject for Ron, given how little of it his family had when he was younger. 'I never want to inherit that kind of money the way Harry did,' Ron added, a little defensively. 'George won't let me have the flat over the shop,' he blurted. 'Katie said she'd help me persuade him, but he's not going to budge any time soon.'

'Oh. I see.' Hermione traced the freckles on the back of Ron's stiff hand. Indignation radiated from him, almost in a visible aura - if one believed in such rubbish, that is. 'I thought I'd stay with my parents for a while,' she confessed.

'Still feeling guilty for sending them to Australia?' Ron inquired.

'A little.' Hermione leaned into Ron and he wound an arm around her shoulders. 'What Harry's doing,' she began, 'being on his own...?' She felt rather than saw Ron's nod. 'I don't want to do that yet,' she admitted. 'I'm sorry...' she whispered.

Ron heaved a sigh. 'No use worrying about it now,' he said finally. 'I'll just keep looking for something...' He rose to his feet, pulling Hermione with him. 'Let's get you home, eh?'

Hermione dug her heels in. 'Ron?' she asked, pulling on his hand.

He glanced over his shoulder. 'Yeah?'

'It doesn't have anything to do with you,' she explained. 'We grew up so fast. Too fast. And I missed having my mum fuss over me.' Hermione took a step toward him. 'It sounds completely ridiculous out loud.'

Ron shook his head. 'I get it, hen,' he said gently. 'If I can't find something before George relents, then we'll come back and see where we stand, all right?'

'What if I still don't want to live with you?'

'Then I'll live there by myself,' Ron snorted. 'I can look after myself, you know. I can even wash my own pants,' he grumbled.

'You can do laundry?'

'Always the tone of surprise with you,' Ron grumbled. 'Yes. Ickle Ronnikins can wash his own pants and socks. And most of the time, they don't come out in spots or different colors.'

'Most of the time?'

'Remember my Chudley Cannons boxers?'

'Yes...'

'They're not so orange anymore. Kind of a muddy sort of color, actually. And my white socks turned pink.'

'Did you throw them out?'

'Of course not!' he said aghast. 'They're still good socks. And Mum showed me how to fix it. They're still a bit on the pinkish side, but it's not too bad.' He dug the small umbrella from his jacket pocket. It fit in the palm of his hand, but when he pressed a sparkling purple button, it expanded to a diameter of nearly four feet. 'Prototype for the shop,' he said proudly when he saw Hermione astonished expression. 'Worked on it with George. Got an Impervious charm, too. Keeps your feet from getting wet.'

'It's brilliant.'

Ron didn't blush, but the tips of his ears turned pink. 'Thanks.' He stepped out of the shelter into the steady rainfall. 'I wonder how Ginny did with her trial,' he mused, as he held the umbrella over the two of them.

'She ought to be back by now. Unless...'

'Unless what?'

'Unless she's decided to just stay with Charlie until training starts.'

'Hmmm,' Ron grunted. 'We'll find out Sunday, then.'

xxxxxx

Ginny rolled over and encountered something strange in her bed. Only it wasn't her narrow bed at the Burrow, and the something was Harry, sprawled over the top of the quilt, bundled into an afghan. Ginny didn't recognize it from the things he'd brought into the flat when he moved in, but it bore the unmistakable stamp of having been knitted by Molly. It had been knit in shades of green - from the palest celadon to the deep green of towering trees in the Forbidden Forest. Molly always liked Harry in red or green. She blew her hair from her face and frowned. That was odd. When she'd gotten into bed the night before, her hair had been neatly plaited. She turned her head on the pillow, and spied the elastic, peeping from between Harry's fingers. When did he do that?, Ginny wondered, easing a lock of her hair from under his loosely curled hand. She stealthily turned back the edge of the afghan. The last year had wrought several changes on him. The shadows that ringed his eyes were slowly disappearing. His face was fuller, and no longer so pinched. Even the scar that blazed so prominently on his forehead was lighter and smaller. And he slept. The faint movements of his eyes beneath his eyelids told her he dreamed about something, but he continued to sleep peacefully, with no visible signs of a nightmare.

The alarm clock began to buzz softly, then grew louder. Ginny tried to reach over Harry to shut it off, but he grimaced, and blindly reached for it, slamming his hand on top of it, silencing the annoying sound. He slowly opened his eyes and smiled, quite like the Kneazle with the canary. 'Morning,' he muttered rustily.

'Good morning.'

Harry kissed the tip of her nose, then thrashed for a moment, freeing himself from the afghan. To Ginny's surprise, he grabbed a pair of football shorts and a t-shirt from his bureau. 'Some of the blokes in the Aurors like to run a bit in the morning,' he told her muzzily. 'Helps keep 'em fit.' It was only after he had hauled the shirt he'd slept in over his head, and was on the verge of pushing his pajama bottoms to the floor did he realize he would have to change in the bathroom. He didn't think Ginny would appreciate being faced with his nudity first thing in the morning. Plus, the white briefs he clutched in one hand weren't his favorite choice of undergarment, but they kept everything where they were supposed to be. The first time he'd gone on a run with the other Aurors, he'd worn his customary boxers, and his bits had jounced around in a most painful manner. After that, he wore pants that kept everything snugly in place.

Ginny sat up, pushing her hair from her face. 'Can I come?'

'Why?'

'Quidditch players need to keep fit, as well, gumby,' she said, tossing her hair. She vaulted from the bed, reaching into the wicker laundry basket sitting at the foot of the bed, and grabbed the clothes Charlie had given her a few days before and darted into the bathroom. 'Give me five minutes!' she called.

'Okay...' Harry replied in bemusement. What just happened? Shrugging, he doffed the pajama bottoms, and shimmied into the pants, carefully arranging them - and himself - into place. He pulled on a pair of baggy football shorts and pulled on socks and his trainers before yanking a clean shirt over his head. Ginny emerged from the bathroom, dressed in her jog pants and race top. She retrieved the elastic from her pillow and bound her hair into a high ponytail.

'Let's go,' Ginny said, hopping on one foot, as she drew a sock over one foot, then the other.

'You're not very cute this early in the morning,' Harry observed.

Ginny froze with a trainer dangling from one hand. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Too bloody perky,' Harry grumbled, as he headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

'So what made you take up running in the morning?' Ginny called after him as she tugged on her trainers.

Harry stood in the doorway of the bathroom, handle of his toothbrush poking from his mouth. 'They invited me at that do at Peter's house last month,' he mumbled through a mouthful of foam. He spat noisily into the sink. 'Figured it couldn't hurt to be social,' he added, before cupping his hand under the tap and rinsing his mouth. 'And it helps take the edge off.'

'The edge?'

Harry slid his wand into the pocket he'd sewn into his shorts and gestured for Ginny to precede him out of the flat. 'Work stress... And other stress... You know.'

'You have no idea,' Ginny retorted.

xxxxxx

They approached the group of Aurors, chatting softly in the early-morning mist. 'Is this a cocks only party or can a hen join?' Ginny asked, propping one foot on a bench to stretch.

'Are ye sure ye can keep up wi' us, lass?' asked a man roughly Arthur's age.

'I just signed officially with the Harpies,' Ginny offered.

'Och, aye?' he retorted skeptically. 'What position?'

'You'll have to read the paper today and find out,' she said cagily.

Peter Wilson, Harry's supervisor, chuckled. 'Arthur Weasley's youngest, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Well, you can't do any worse than Harry the first time he joined us,' Peter said.

'Oh no...' Harry whispered in horror, covering his face with his hands.

Peter smirked. 'Poor lad kept up for a mile. Never seen him so red in the year I've known him. Thought he was going to collapse after the second mile. Tottering so badly after the third, we took pity on him and Side-Alonged him back home.' Peter slapped Harry genially on the back. 'Of course it didn't help nobody ever told the lad he had to wear something a little binding or Willy and his two compadres would be displeased.'

Ginny smothered a smile with her hand. Harry was the nearly the shade of a tomato. He looked as if he hoped the earth would open beneath his trainers and swallow him whole. 'Been running five or six days a week since the end of March,' she said. 'I ought to be all right.'

'Let's get going,' one of the Aurors called. 'Sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get home to the missus.'

'Didja let her have a lie-in this mornin', Garry?'

Garry gave the laces of his trainers a final tug and straightened. 'Erm. Yeah. Sure.'

'She probably told him to get his lazy arse out of bed and leave her alone,' another Auror teased.

'Get on with you,' Garry huffed, striking off down the path.

The others followed him. Ginny stayed to the rear of the group, just behind Harry. Subtlety, four of the Aurors formed a perimeter around Harry. Ginny's brow rose slightly and she inclined her head toward him, while glancing at Peter, jogging steadily next to her. 'Old habits die hard, lass,' he murmured. 'There's still a few that would give their eyeteeth to have a go with the lad.'

'You think he doesn't realize you're doing it?' Ginny scoffed.

'He does. Watch.'

Harry scowled and deliberately slowed until he was lagging a little behind Ginny. Peter continued to jog next to her for several paces, or so it seemed. He moved over an inch at a time until he was alongside Harry. A few others dropped back to surround him once more.

'Voldemort's been dead for a year, you know,' Harry groused. 'And the rest of his lot's been captured. And the Malfoys haven't left their house in weeks.'

'Can't be too careful,' Peter reminded him.

'I've been running with you lot for almost two months,' Harry stated. 'Don't you think if someone wanted to hex me, they'd have done it by now?'

Peter snorted. 'Don't forget Mad-Eye was my teacher.'

'Constant vigilance!' Ginny piped up.

'Exactly,' Peter agreed. He grinned at Harry. 'I like her.'

'Can we stop talking and run?' Harry panted. Ginny thought she saw a hint of a smile play on his mouth. She only hoped she could find that level of camaraderie with the Harpies.

xxxxxx

Percy carried a laden tray into the bedroom of his flat. He set it on the bureau and surveyed the figure currently sprawled across his bed in disheveled repose. Penny's long hair spilled over her pillow and draped across her shoulders. He picked up one of the cups of tea on the tray and carefully waved it under her nose. 'Penny...'

'It had better be past eight in the morning,' she rasped, peering between her curls.

'Erm...' Percy glanced guiltily at the clock. It was just eight. 'It's not before eight,' he temporized.

Penny sat up and piled the pillows against the headboard, examining Percy. Every hair was in place, his pajamas were as crisp as the moment he'd put them on. His collar wasn't even the tiniest bit askew. Even his slippers looked as if they were brand-new. 'Saturday's for having a lie-in, you know,' she said grumpily, accepting the tea.

Percy slipped his hands into his neatly tied dressing gown. 'I slept until seven-thirty,' he told her. 'That's rather late for me.' He turned to the bureau and picked up the tray, holding it carefully as he slid onto the bed next to her.

Penny ruefully surveyed the breakfast tray. 'You make me feel like a lazy git,' she remarked.

'You ought to try living with my mum,' Percy said slathering a slice of toast with strawberry preserves. 'She makes a dead body feel lazy.' He chewed his toast for a moment, feeling for the slight lump in the dressing gown pocket. 'What are you doing a week from Tuesday?'

'Working, as far as I know.'

'Can you take a few days off?'

'Why would I need to take a few days off?'

Percy pulled a small box from his pocket. 'Unless you don't care for a honeymoon...' he said, holding it out to her.

Penny took the box and set her cup on the tray and carefully opened the black velvet box. A ring nestled in a slot. A larger round diamond was set between two smaller ones, on a white gold band, blazing in the light from the lamp next to the bed. 'Oh. I...'

'Penny, you wouldn't abandon me, even when everyone else did. I didn't like who I was without you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.' When Penny didn't reply, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the ring, Percy added. 'Most of your clothes are here as it is. Might as well move the rest of your things in here as well.'

'Oh, Percy...' Penny's fingertips covered her mouth. 'It's lovely.'

'Well?'

Penny took the ring from its slot and slid it on her finger. She cupped Percy's face in her hand, and gently kissed him in reply.

xxxxxx

Harry used the neck of his t-shirt to swab the sweat from his upper lip. 'You're pretty good,' he said to Ginny.

'Thanks,' she replied smugly. 'I thought Gwenog was mad when she told me I had to start doing that, but it did help during the trial,' Ginny said grudgingly. They walked past a bakery and she sniffed the air appreciatively. 'I'm starving.'

Harry eyed Ginny's clothing. 'I don't have any money with me,' he began, 'and I'm not sure where you could fit any in there... But I can come back and get a few of those rolls.'

Ginny gave the pastries a last, longing glance, and kept walking toward the deserted alcove where they could Apparate. 'I said I'm starving, not peckish. I want real food.'

'I can do that,' Harry said, winding his arms around her waist. 'Eggs, bacon, sausages, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast?'

'Read my mind.' Ginny rose on her toes. 'Thank Merlin I only eat like that on weekends. I'd have to wear a marquee if I did that every day.' She brushed her mouth over Harry's, hands resting on the angle of his hips. They slowly slid around, meeting at the small of his back, fingertips just barely brushing over the slope of his bottom.

Harry's breath caught and he pulled away slightly. 'Stop,' he ordered. 'I'll Splinch us if you keep on like that...'

'Wouldn't want that to happen,' Ginny murmured. She moved her hands, so they were laced together in the middle of his back. 'Let's go.'

Harry groaned softly, and pulled his wand from the pocket of his shorts. Home... he thought to himself, picturing the landing at the top of the stairs just outside his flat. Hmmm. Home... Ginny in my bed this morning... Stop thinking about Ginny in your bed! Merlin, how pervy can you be?

'Erm, Harry?'

'Yeah?'

'Are you all right?'

'Yeah. Just... Give me a minute...' Harry drew a deep breath and forced himself to picture the landing, keeping his thoughts firmly away from the unmade bed that was sure to have the lingering scent of Ginny on the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated harder than he ever had to Apparate. When the suffocating sensation died away, he cautiously opened his eyes, and nearly sagged in relief that they had managed to appear on the landing. 'Are you all right?' he asked quietly.

'Never better,' Ginny said, bright brows drawing together briefly. 'You?'

'Just amazed I didn't Splinch one of us...'

'Maybe I ought to have done the Apparating,' Ginny teased.

'Can't,' Harry said off-handedly. 'Charmed so only I can Apparate to the landing.' He brushed loose hair from Ginny's face and bent to kiss her properly, groping blindly for the doorknob behind them. Ginny was driving him to distraction, having worked her hands beneath his shirt. Hands that slipped and slid over his sweat-slick skin. Frustrated at his inability to manually open the door, Harry jabbed his wand at the door, and it blasted open. He began to walk forward, still kissing Ginny, then kicked the door shut once they were inside. Ginny's mouth moved from his long enough to yank the shirt over his head. She delicately licked the hollow of his throat, tasting the salty tang of his sweat. She felt him gather her in his arms as he lifted her to the cool counter in the kitchen. The contrast of the chilled surface on her heated body made her gasp aloud. She deliberately wrapped her legs around Harry's hips, pulling him tightly against her, fingers digging into the rigid muscle of his bottom, grinding against him, his body's arousal making itself highly evident. The fullness of his boxers had never let her feel him quite like this and the thin fabric of his football shorts was a laughable barrier between them. Harry's hands slid from her waist to the underside of her breasts, the backs of his hands brushing over them. Her nipples hardened in response and Ginny moaned against his collarbone.

Quite without warning, Harry pulled away, spinning on his heel. He yanked open the refrigerator, chest heaving. 'Go get washed,' he told her raggedly, clenching the handle of the refrigerator so hard, his knuckles were white.

Ginny flinched slightly. She greedily gulped air into her lungs, on one hand grateful that Harry had the presence of mind to put a stop to things before they truly spiraled out of control and they both did something they would regret, but on the other hand, deeply disappointed they had stopped. She slid off the counter and went into the bathroom, peeling off her sodden clothes. She got into the bath, turning on the taps without waiting for the water to heat up. Ginny quickly washed her hair and her hand hovered over her soap, sitting in its case before it grabbed the cake of sandalwood-scented soap Harry used. She ignored the face cloth draped over the edge of the tub and worked up a lather between her hands and ran her hands over her body. Spending the better part of an hour running behind Harry, watching the flex of his bottom as he ran made her more than a little lightheaded. Removing his shirt made an ache pool between her thighs. It wasn't the first time she'd felt like this. She'd felt something like this hen she'd kissed Michael or Dean, but that was like comparing a trickle of water to a roaring river.

She finished her ablutions and shut the water off, bundling her dripping hair into one towel, while winding another around her body. Ginny gathered her clothes in one hand and forced herself to walk slowly into Harry's bedroom, where her clothes were. She dressed quickly, and left her hair loose to dry. She padded from the bedroom, and stopped in mid-stride. Harry had ducked into the bathroom to wash. The door was ajar and he had his back to the mirror. He slid the football shorts and pants down his legs and let them fall to the floor. Ginny felt her cheeks burn and she turned away quickly from the sight of Harry's bum.

Staring at his naked body wasn't going to get breakfast cooked any faster. And she was hungry. She would take the food for now.