TWENTY-FIVE
“They’re changing,” Hermione breathes, tone full of awe. She’s sitting in Harry’s office, cradling James; the infant accompanied his father to work that day because Ginny had her first day back with the Harpies and their arranged childcare — Molly, of course — had fallen ill. Luckily for Harry, there were more than enough interested individuals to come in and help him keep an eye on the baby throughout the work day, Hermione among them.
As for Harry, he’s seated at his desk, distractedly reading through some reports his trainees have sent in from their internships. The summer between the first and second years of training is an important one, since that’s when trainees first enter the field; they’ve been on assignment for a couple of weeks now, and Harry’s gone from arranging their dueling drills to telling them they should be more careful about the way they file paperwork. This part of teaching is decidedly less fun.
“Harry?” Hermione prods him gently. “Haven’t you noticed?”
Her voice snaps him out of his single-minded focus. “Sorry? Have I noticed what exactly?”
His friend rolls her eyes fondly, glancing back down at the child in her arms. “His eyes are changing color. They were greyish when he was born and now they’re…well, they could be turning brown, I suppose?”
“Ginny reckons they’ll be hazel,” Harry contributes before looking back down at the paperwork. This Trainee — Hainsby — is a bit sloppy. He’ll unfortunately have to take care of that.
“Interesting,” Hermione breathes. “There aren’t really any hazel eyes on the Weasley side, are there?” Hermione has a bit of an obsession with genetics these days, which seems to be prompted by James’ mere existence, and the fact that he’s only growing to look like more of a combination of his parents. She could spend hours — and she has — trying to place exactly where the little boy’s gotten each of his features; Harry suspects it’s in no small part because she’ll one day be mixing genes with a Weasley as well, though Ron turned sheet white the one time he commented on it out loud.
“Trying to determine if he’s really half Weasley?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, shooting Hermione a sarcastic grin. “Because you saw Ginny pregnant with him, I really think we know who his mum is.”
“Harry! Be serious.”
“I’m not Sirius, but that is James’ middle name.”
“Harry!”
“My dad had hazel eyes,” he finally reveals with a chuckle, before turning back to the report in his hand.
“Taking after your namesake, huh, James?” Hermione coos. The bundle in her arms gurgles in response. “Hitting all of his milestones, I see,” she comments approvingly. Leave it to Hermione to be a childless person who knows babies’ developmental milestones better than their parents do.
“Mmm,” Harry agrees, tone a bit distant. “Mary — Healer Macdonald, I mean — told us not to be concerned if he doesn’t, because he was so early and all. So we’re trying not to stress about it, y’know? It’s all right if he’s a little behind…”
“Oh, not to worry, I think he’s rather advanced,” Hermione comments, clearly delighted at the revelation. “Aren’t you, Jamesey? Already so clever, eh?” Because James tends to mimic the emotions of the person talking to him at this stage of his development, he smiles a gummy smile at his aunt. “Those smiles are the best.”
She’s right, of course; it gets old to say it, but Hermione usually is. Since James first smiled back at him last week, Harry’s gotten rather addicted to making it happen over and over again. There’s something about knowing that he brings his son some sort of happiness — whatever form of it an infant can feel — that fills him up with an unmatched sense of achievement. It seems that James is good at that, making his father feel more accomplished than ever, quite simply by existing.
Dropping his quill onto his desk, Harry leans back in his chair to observe his best friend with his son. Hermione is clearly besotted by the boy, but he can’t blame her; in fact, he’d probably be offended if she wasn’t. How could anyone look at this baby’s face — with his cheeks and ears and sparkle around his eyes so like Ginny’s — and not fall immediately under his spell? Besides, he knows it’s unlikely that Hermione and Ron will have children before their thirties; Hermione simply has too much she wants to do before she could fathom bringing a child into the mix. And while some people might think Hermione Granger immune to the charms of children, Harry knows better. She loves children, she just doesn’t want any for a good long while. If James is her outlet for those emotions, he’s all right with that; after all, he knows better than anyone the harm that a childhood without love can inflict. The more people who love his son, the better.
It’s maybe five minutes before Hermione notices him watching her; she offers him a sheepish smile as she meets his eyes. “You know,” she muses, “I had no idea when you came to me for advice on Ginny back in the fall that this is where we’d be come summer.”
Harry chuckles disbelievingly. “You and me both. But fate had other plans, didn’t it?”
“After you left my flat that first time, I went to go see Ginny and that’s when she told me she was pregnant,” Hermione explains with a slight wince. “I don’t know if I told you that before?”
“You didn’t,” Harry agrees with a shake of his head. “Mad how that worked out. I know there was a decent bit of stuff that happened in between, but it’s hard to imagine it happening any other way than how it did.”
Hermione’s appraising stare focuses in on his face intently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, Harry.”
“Like what?” He and Hermione have been friends for more than a decade, and have been through a number of experiences that most friendships will never encounter. Which is, of course, to say that Harry is hard pressed to think of a single state Hermione hasn’t seen him in, ranging from blissfully in love to so incredibly angry to being on the precipice of fulfilling a literal prophecy.
“At ease,” she answers immediately. “Content. It’s like after all this time, your mind has finally quieted.” She pauses meaningfully, looking back down at James.
Harry wrinkles his long nose. He’s never thought of his lack of contentment as a negative thing. In fact, he often thinks of contentment as the opposite of vigilance. Once you get comfortable, that’s when others can take advantage of your weakness.
“Don’t do that,” Hermione admonishes him, predictably reading his thoughts.
“Do what?” It’s not going to fool her if he plays dumb, but he does it anyway, possibly out of habit.
“You’ve got that self-flagellating look about you,” she scoffs. “Punishing yourself for being happy. Honestly, Harry, aren’t we quite past that by now?”
Color creeps up his neck and into his cheeks. He’s at the very least conscious that he should be embarrassed by it when he’s called out.
“It suits you.”
“What does?”
“Being his dad.”
And just like that, Harry accepts that maybe he is content to be James’ dad. That doesn’t need to be a weakness. In the right light, it actually might be his greatest source of strength.
…
Being back on the pitch is good for Ginny. Everyone told her she’d miss James dearly while she was at work, but she can’t exactly say that’s true. It’s uncomfortable to reconcile with the commonly held conceptions of what motherhood should look like, but Ginny is finding that she needs the time away from him to be her best when they’re all together. Harry has mused more than once that he wouldn’t mind being a stay-at-home dad (though the idea of Harry cooking and cleaning and homeschooling in this state of the world is laughable), but personally, she could never entertain the idea of doing that long enough to voice it aloud. She doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with that — needing something to fulfill her outside of being a mother to James and a partner to Harry — and her mum doesn’t even voice her disdain for it much anymore.
Of course, Molly can hardly complain about something that ensures she spends ample time with her grandson. Every day, Harry stops at the Burrow on a roundabout path to the Ministry to leave James with his grandmother; Ginny picks him up every day after she leaves the Harpies facility. The benefits that exist in addition to childcare are plentiful: James is usually tired, fed, and happy when he gets picked up, but more importantly, her mother always has tea ready for her when she arrives and a meal for her to bring home. Sometimes, she’s even lucky enough to catch her dad or one of her brothers before heading home. Because she scarcely needs to waste much energy making decisions about food under this arrangement, she and Harry can spend their nights perfecting their parenting and — once James is asleep — getting reacquainted with each other on most surfaces of the house.
She’s at her parents’ so often, in fact, that it seems superfluous to attend the customary Sunday lunches, but she does anyway. For one, it’s another meal she and Harry blessedly do not need to put effort into; for another, it’s important to Harry that James grow up surrounded by family as often as possible. It’s important to Ginny, too, of course; she’s come to realize since becoming a mum that she often takes her loving, supportive family for granted. It never occurred to her that James would go anywhere but the Burrow during the day while she trains and yet, she also knows that Harry would do anything to be able to share his son with his parents as well. It’s not like she didn’t know that she’s lucky to have her family — even when her brothers are making crude jokes at her boyfriend and her mum is serving her dinner with a side of guilt — but giving Harry a family all his own has shown her just how properly grateful she needs to be.
On Sundays, Ginny seldom holds her own son, because his uncles and aunts are always eager to cradle him instead. Harry always hovers close by, of course; he has issues letting James out of his sight, even though the baby is a far cry from the tiny newborn who needed so much oversight and attention by now. James has gained weight — is covered in fluffy, delicious rolls of baby fat despite being long like his father — and is babbling, laughing, and grabbing for his mummy's hair or daddy’s glasses nearly constantly. If the baby is a handful, it isn’t because he’s particularly fussy; instead, it’s because he’s clearly curious and playful and delighted by attention. Like the namesakes Healer Macdonald loves comparing him to, James Sirius Potter is already a ham and loves being showered with affection from his many admirers.
(“He’s actually going to want to talk to the press one day,” Harry mumbled with fond exasperation after the previous Sunday’s dinner. Ginny laughed, mostly so that she wouldn’t have to admit that she agreed.)
Since growing a bit more, James has also taken to nursing. It’s still not his favorite way to have a meal, but he’ll take her breast if it’s offered. It’s also not her preferred way of feeding her son, if she’s honest — it’s uncomfortable — but nursing provides a great excuse to slip away for some quiet time amid the chaos. That it gives her the chance to stare at her son’s perfect, fluttering almost-hazel eyes and stroke his soft black hair is merely a bonus.
They’ve just finished a session in Percy’s old room — it has a desk chair that transfigures nicely into an armchair, making it a comfortable spot — and James lies contentedly against his mother’s bare chest when the door bursts open to reveal Audrey. The American witch immediately looks away.
“So sorry,” she stammers, reverting her eyes respectfully. “I should have knocked. I’ll just go…”
For obvious reasons, Ginny has grown rather fond of Audrey, which is probably why she feels compelled to make sure the other witch doesn’t remain embarrassed. “Why don’t you stay?” She offers, gesturing to Audrey to close the door. “If I really required privacy, I’d have locked it and, anyway, you literally held one of my legs back as I gave birth. I reckon we’re beyond caring about you seeing me breastfeed.”
Audrey responds with a nervous chuckle, closing the door and perching on the edge of the single bed in which her boyfriend once slept. “You’ve got a point,” she admits. She lets her gaze wander down to the baby. “I’m so proud of how chubby he’s getting,” she tells Ginny with a sigh. “I hope it’s not weird of me to say that. It’s just that it’s hard to remember that we were so worried about him being too small, now that he has some yummy baby fat on him.”
“Not weird at all.” Especially now that Ginny has distance from the fear and all-consuming anxiety that surrounded James’ birth, she recognizes that getting him here safely was a team sport. Audrey had been a crucial player — maybe the beater, fighting the obstacles and complications off with her bat. “He may not be, if not for you.”
Audrey smiles shyly at that, reaching up to tuck a lock of straw-colored hair behind her ears. Her hair is down today, and Ginny realizes with a start that it’s only the second time the witch hasn’t been wearing a bun, ponytail, or plait; like this, she looks really rather pretty. “When I told my mom that I was going into magical obstetrics, she warned me that the highs are high, but the lows are really low. And she was right. Even with magic — which she doesn’t have — pregnancy and childbirth can go very wrong, and I’ve seen a lot of cases I wish I could forget. But then I look at James and he reminds me why I love my job so much to begin with.”
“He does?” Ginny isn’t quite sure she understands, really, but she has a feeling that Audrey is going to tell her exactly what she means.
“It’s just that — this is why I went into this field. This is why I devoted so many years of my life to training and studying. Because it can absolutely go wrong. But when it goes right — and it does go right, more often than not — you get the chance to be a part of the happiest moments of people’s lives. And when it goes right when it could have easily gone terribly wrong? That’s the happiest outcome of all.” She pauses. “That you and James are both healthy and safe is one of my biggest professional achievements. I will always feel proud of what we did to get him here, and that would be true even if I’d never been involved with your brother.” After she finishes, Audrey reaches up to rub her eyes and it’s only then that it becomes apparent that she’s started crying. It’s sweet.
“You really do care, don’t you?” Now that she’s had Audrey as a healer, she knows how deep the witch’s concern for others can run; though she can’t quite find the words to articulate it just yet, it’s becoming apparent that all of the times Audrey came off too strong, it was simply a sign of genuine interest and care.
“Of course I do,” Audrey chuckles, a hint of self-deprecation in her tone. “I’m a Virgo sun and a Scorpio moon, unfortunately. It’s written in the stars.”
“August Virgo or September Virgo?”
“August 30th.”
“I’m August 11th,” Ginny offers with a smile, happy for the common ground.
“A Leo,” Audrey notes astutely.
“Harry is, too,” Ginny admits. “July 31st.”
“And James is an Aries?” Audrey wrinkles her nose and giggles. It’s a bit surprising, really, that she clearly ascribes great meaning to astrology; Percy absolutely thinks it’s a rubbish system. As similar as Percy and Audrey seem, there are clearly a lot of differences there, too. “Could be a fairly explosive household. Might want to try for a Libra next time, someone who will keep the peace.”
“Well, nothing about James was intentional,” Ginny admits. She’s sure Audrey’s figured it out — that she and Harry hadn’t planned to become parents when they did — and she’s explicitly said as much to her family. Still, it feels weird to say it aloud, now that James is here and thriving and resting on her breast. She remembers how intentional Harry has been with the language they use to describe James from the very beginning, conscious that he never wanted his son to feel unwanted. It isn’t that she plans to lie to James, should he ever ask if he was planned; she simply wants him to know he was a surprise and not an accident. “If we manage to plan anything about a second child — including their existence — it’ll be a minor miracle. Harry and I are terrible planners.”
“Well, I can help,” Audrey offers. “Again, not trying to be weird. But just so you know, regardless of what happens between me and Percy, I will always be here for you — as a healer, as a friend. You know, whatever you need.”
“Thanks.” Come to think of it, Ginny feels a bond with Audrey similar to that she feels with some of the members of the DA — battle-forged and filled with a profound sense of gratitude. “Does that mean that — sorry. Do you…do you think that you and Percy will, er, end things?”
Audrey shrugs. “I hope not. I don’t think so? It’s been less than a year, though, and if there’s anything I know about relationships, it’s that anything can happen. I am a planner, but there’s a certain, like, freedom in accepting that not everything can be planned. So I’m trying to take it as it comes.” She pauses, laughs a little self-deprecatingly. “It doesn’t come naturally to me. But Julie — she’s my best friend from Ilvermorny — always says it’s about the process, not perfection. So I’m trying and I’ll get it eventually.”
Ginny can relate to that bit about the liberation you can find in letting go. She’s always been impulsive and willing to roll with the punches. There are plenty of people in her life who would consider that a weakness, and she would confess that there are times when having a more fully-fleshed out plan would have benefitted her. And yet, she thinks that conversely, taking life as it comes has been a feather in her cap. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here now, and despite the stress of balancing quidditch and motherhood and a relationship, she can't recall ever being happier.
“What about you and Harry?” Audrey deftly changes the subject. “Are you already talking about more children?”
Ginny offers her wry smile. “Did my mum put you up to this?”
Heat creeps up Audrey’s cheeks. “No. To be honest, I don’t know that your mom likes me very much. You just suggested that a second baby is something you’re planning on — but, actually, I work with fertility patients. I know how sensitive these questions are. I shouldn’t have asked it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Ginny waves her off. She might have thought it was rude of Audrey to ask a few months ago, but now she likes the older witch, which means she doesn’t mind. Anyway, they’re finding the boundaries of their tentative friendship; it’s process, not perfection. “We know we’re in this forever. I think Harry would like to get married before we have a second child, and I would like to wait another four or five years to have another baby, frankly, so I think that timeline makes sense. But, again, we’re dreadful at planning.” She pauses, feeling like she needs to reassure the part of Audrey that is Healer Larsson that she doesn’t intend to take unnecessary risks. “Don’t worry, we’re being very careful about birth control. Healer Harris was rather fatalistic about the risks of getting pregnant again too soon.”
Audrey laughs and Ginny wonders if she may have said too much about her sex life right then. After all, she and Audrey aren’t quite friends yet, even if her brother’s girlfriend did see a baby come out of her vagina. “If you wait another four or five years, my research should be much further along. I’m working on some first and second trimester interventions; I’m optimistic other witches in your position will be able to carry to term. But, yes, spacing out the pregnancies would help with that, even with early interventions.” She winces. “Sorry, you must think I’m such a condescending know-it-all.”
“Not really,” Ginny shrugs. “Percy’s my brother and I’m friends with Hermione, so this is really very mild in comparison,” she teases lightly. “At least your information is relevant.” James takes this opportunity to stir in his mother’s arms. The squirming could very well be gas, but Ginny offers him to Audrey anyway. “Why don’t you hold him for a few minutes? I would love to button my shirt.”
“Gladly,” Audrey agrees, expertly transferring the baby boy into her arms. “I don’t think I’ve held him since he was in the hospital, actually. He's much more solid now.” She bounces James lightly and adds in a baby voice: “Snitch is so big!”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled he’s thriving. But I wish I could freeze him here for a bit,” GInny admits guiltily. “I wasn’t doing very well when we first brought him home and I don’t feel like I really properly enjoyed him until a couple of weeks ago. Now that I’ve hit that point, I wish I could savor it before he grows more.”
“My mom always said the days are long but the years are short,” Audrey contributes. “I wouldn’t know if that’s true, but it seems like it is.”
“Do you have any siblings?” It’s a basic question, but Ginny realizes it’s one she’s never asked. She knows that Audrey’s mom is a muggle doctor, but she knows nothing else of the witch’s family.
“I’m the youngest of three girls,” Audrey explains. “Lizzie — my middle sister — followed in our mom’s footsteps and became a no-maj doctor. She’s in neurology — um, like, the brain. She treats diseases of the brain, I guess is the easiest way to explain it. She lives near Boston which is about two hours driving from Ilvermorny, to give you a sense of geography. And Jillian, our oldest sister, is a lawyer in Chicago, which is pretty close to where we grew up in Minnesota. She does — well, her work is actually very similar to Hermione’s except instead of magical creatures, she works on protections for women and children in the no-maj world.” She states this all very matter-of-factly, like she cares but is somewhat distant. Ginny guesses that happens, if you’re the only witch in a family. Maybe that’s why Audrey came to the UK, to be able to find her own place in the magical world without being so tethered between it and the muggle one. “Jillian has two kids — a boy and a girl, Ryan and Emily. I — I miss them a lot,” she admits. “I don’t want to tell Jill before I’m entirely certain, but I think Emily is beginning to show signs of accidental magic. I don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking. It would be nice, having another witch in the family.”
It’s easy to take for granted that, for Ginny, magic has always been the norm and not the exception. Being a witch would never make her feel out of place — except in that she’s a witch when her other siblings are wizards . If they had a muggle or squib in the family, that would be the odd one out, though she likes to think that hypothetical person would be treated the same regardless. There’s just difficulty, she supposes, when you stand out from the people who created you in such a big way.
“Well,” Ginny starts, biting her lip. “Regardless of what happens with you and Percy — though I hope it works, Audrey, I really do — you can always consider me your sister who’s a witch.” She laughs self-deprecatingly to clear the wave of sentimentality that washes over her, quite without her consent. “You’re just as much my sister as Fleur or Hermione. Neither of them cheered me on while I gave birth.”
Audrey will always be able to tell James that: she was there when he entered the world. She watched and breathed a sigh of relief right alongside his parents when he took his first breath. And if that doesn’t make her family? Well, Ginny isn’t sure what does.
…
As the summer wears on, Harry spends more and more time in his office due to there being fewer classroom sessions with his trainees. Formal training takes place only on Monday and Thursday, between ten and noon; at all other times, the trainees are in the field. This could be a chance for Harry to dip a toe back into fieldwork himself, but every time he considers it, he decides against it quickly. He’s no longer suited to missions — the risk and adrenaline and long periods of time away from home; he can’t do anything to put himself in danger anymore, because James needs him and Ginny needs him. And he doesn’t want to be away from them for so much as a day, even if he could bear the idea of leaving them forever if it meant serving the greater good.
At the end of the anniversary event at Hogwarts, McGonagall had pulled Harry aside and told him that she heard he was teaching the trainee aurors. When he’d nodded his agreement, she had proposed a counter offer: come teach Defense Against The Dark Arts at Hogwarts instead. “Even just the NEWT students,” she’d coaxed him gently. “I can talk to Robards about letting you split your time between the department and Hogwarts, if that’s what I need to get you teaching here. I think you’ll find I can convince him.”
The offer was, truthfully, tempting — more than he ever thought it would be, and he thought about it a lot. Transitioning slowly from the role of Auror Who Happens To Teach to that of Professor Potter, too, made the offer more appealing. It would give him a chance to test the waters before devoting himself fully, to explore the side of himself that feels ready to give up chasing dark wizards before he commits to being that person for the rest of his life.
Taking the position would have many benefits, too. He’s pretty sure he could Floo to Hogwarts rather than living at the school, but if he and Ginny ever did want to move there, he can’t imagine a more perfect childhood for James. And speaking of James, the boy would have a dad who was never in danger (or more than a reasonable amount of it, anyway, because he’s still Harry Potter), and his parents would always be nearby during his school years. Actually, it does occur to Harry that this possibly wouldn’t be seen as a benefit by James, but he chooses not to dwell on that. That part, he recognizes, is more of a benefit for him and Ginny.
“I think I’m going to say yes,” he tells Ginny in late June, having taken nearly two months to think it through.
Of course, by then, it’s been long enough that Ginny’s quite forgotten what he’s saying yes to. “Thank Merlin,” Ginny laughs. She’s sitting on their bathroom counter in nothing but an oversized nightshirt, kicking her feet back and forth as Harry brushes his teeth. “I was really worried that you wouldn’t let me seduce you tonight.” He looks over at her and notices she’s got that blazing look in her eyes that he loves so much; he’s half hard almost instantly and nearly forgets his own name, let alone what he’s trying to tell her.
“Not to that,” Harry responds as he spits out a mouthful of toothpaste. Then, thinking better of it: “Well, I mean, yes, also to that. I will always say yes to being seduced, just so we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” Ginny agrees with a cheeky grin. And Harry’s already survived the killing curse twice, but he knows that Ginny Weasley will be the death of him.
There’s a moment where Harry is reasonably sure he would rather leave the conversation here, pull down his pajama bottoms, and fuck Ginny where she sits right on the edge of the counter. It would be too easy, really. She wouldn’t even need to take off her shirt and his wand is nearby, so he wouldn’t have to skip the charm — which they’re trying hard not to do.
“But what you were referring to is?” Ginny interrupts him.
The stupid, randy look on his face morphs, cycling through confusion before finally reaching understanding. “Right. I think I’m going to tell McGonagall that if she can convince Robards to let me split my time between Hogwarts and the Ministry, I’ll teach the NEWT students. And then, if it goes well and if I like it, I think I’ll switch to teaching full time.”
Ginny raises an eyebrow. “You think you’ll be able to give up your saving people thing?”
Harry shrugs. “I’ve done all right since the fall. And that’s why I’ll start small. A few sections of NEWT students.”
“Ironic,” Ginny grins. “Professor Potter didn’t finish his NEWTs, but will exclusively be teaching to them.”
“What I’ve got is better than NEWTs,” Harry retorts, flashing a lopsided, cocky grin. “Even Hermione said so.”
“Did not!”
“Did so. When I started teaching the trainees, she told me she always assumed I’d teach at Hogwarts after we caught the last Death Eaters and I said I’m not qualified. And her response was that I’ve got experience and that’s more valuable than NEWTs anyway.” His smile grows more arrogant by the second. It’s fucking sexy. She returns his grin.
“Professor Potter,” Ginny singsongs. “That’s unbelievably hot, you know?”
“Is it?” Harry inches closer to her. “You think me being a professor is hot, do you?”
“Mm,” she nearly growls in agreement. In response he pushes her legs apart and stands between them, placing his hands on her thighs. “Also, it opens up a whole world of possibilities.”
“What sort of possibilities?” He breathes, bringing his mouth closer to hers.
“Well, we have shagged in the castle, but we’ve never shagged in a professor’s office, have we?” Ginny widens her eyes, her stare holding him captive. It nearly takes his breath away. “I feel like you might want to put me in detention, Professor.”
“Oh, you’d be in detention constantly,” Harry agrees, literally and metaphorically rising to the occasion for this particular fantasy. “You were always rather naughty, weren’t you Miss Weasley?”
“Such a troublemaker,” Ginny agrees, her heartbeat speeding up. “I reckon you ought to teach me a lesson.”
“My pleasure,” Harry growls before capturing her lips with his own and pushing her nightshirt up until it bunches around her hips; at the same time, she wiggles forward and spreads her legs more to give him better access.
As Harry undoes his own pajama pants, she reaches for his wand next to them, using it to cast the contraceptive charm. “That took, right?”
Harry nods, before returning to the task at hand. In this position, with Ginny at the edge of the counter, she’s lined up perfectly with him. That wasn’t an explicit goal when Harry redid the bathroom — Ginny never shagged him at his place at the time — but it seems serendipitous, that he got the height right anyway.
He pushes forward roughly, impatiently, and she bites down on his shoulder to stifle her own scream of pleasure. Harry likes when she’s loud, of course, but the biting is also something that does it for him, so he continues the motion of his hips and lowers his lips to her ear. “Trying to be quiet?”
She unlocks her teeth from his muscle; she didn’t bite very hard, but it’ll leave a bit of a mark. He loves that, too, knowing that the reminder that she’s all his will be in his skin for at least another day to come. Panting, she grabs his chin and turns his head back toward her, until their faces are inches apart and their eyes are locked. Opportunities to stare into another person’s eyes — into the very deepest part of who they are — are so rare; in fact, they often only present themselves when you’re shagging.
“Practicing,” Ginny tells him after a soft moan finally escapes her lips. “For when we actually get to do it in your office at Hogwarts.”
“Good shout,” Harry grunts, making no effort himself to rehearse the silence Ginny seems to think is required by such an endeavor. “That’s what silencing charms are for, but good shout.”
Even as she throws her head back and grips the countertops, thoroughly overwhelmed by pleasure, she rolls her eyes at him. A surprising thing about relationships like theirs is, no doubt, how the comfort they feel with one another translates into this: teasing one another even when they’re actively having sex. It’s not all dirty talk and gasps and moans these days — and for that, they are both grateful.
They’re both getting close when a wail penetrates the monitoring charm and echoes around their bathroom. James’ good timing, it seems, is not fated to continue forever. Harry stills — though, Ginny is relieved to realize, he hasn’t pulled out — and looks dejectedly to the door. “He’s been spending too much time around Ron,” Harry comments drily.
“Ew, don’t bring up my brother while you’re inside of me.”
Harry winces. “Sorry.” He glances back to her apologetically. “Should I go…take care of that?” He doesn’t want to, of course. The only thing he has any interest in doing, really, is finishing what he started with Ginny. He feels badly about that, because if James needs him…well, he doesn’t want James to feel neglected ever. He knew there’d come a time where he’d have to accept blue balls for himself in order to care for his child. He only hoped it wouldn’t come so soon.
“He can cry for, like, three minutes,” Ginny insists, hurriedly, trying to urge Harry to continue.
“Trying to rush me?” Before the crying started, he probably only had another minute or two in him. Now, he’s on edge, and not in a good way. Not only is he further away from an orgasm, but his erection is beginning to deflate rapidly. It’s annoying, really.
“You know what you’re doing,” Ginny quips. “Three minutes is all you need.”
But the crying only grows louder, and Harry softens without finishing. Reluctantly, he pulls back. “I’m sorry Gin — I just, I can’t focus on. It’s not you. It’s the crying. The crying is driving me mad,” he explains, not wanting Ginny to think that she did anything. Of course she didn’t. The pair of them have been sleeping together for six years, and this is the first time they ever haven’t finished. “I’ll go get him back to sleep and then I’ll make it up to you, yeah?”
Ginny tries not to feel just as deflated as Harry’s erection. It’s not as though she feels rejected. The truth is that the crying was getting to her as well, so it’s not like she would have finished anyway; she finally understands why Fleur was so insistent that they’d need childcare to shag properly. They’ve been back in the game for nearly two months and this is the first time James has actively cockblocked them. She doesn’t really fancy it.
“You’ll use your mouth?” She asks it like a child might ask for an extra serving of pudding. And if James weren’t screaming still, the coy act would absolutely help him get back in the mood.
“Whatever you want,” Harry agrees, pulling his pajama pants back up and heading to the nursery.
Normally, they turn the monitoring charm off once one of them reaches the baby’s cot, but Harry seems to have forgotten tonight. It suits Ginny fine. She sits in their en suite bathroom, still on the marble countertop and listens to Harry sing sweet songs and tell silly stories to their son. When that fails to coax him to sleep, Harry moves on to pleading with the boy to give them just until he’s next scheduled for a bottle. Finally, Harry seems to recognize that they’ve reached the dreaded four month sleep regression that Healer Macdonald warned them about.
“Well, that means it’s just a phase then, I suppose,” Harry’s muffled voice sighs, sounding like static through the charm. “We’ll just rock and have a chat then.”
So Harry tells James that he’s going to try teaching at Hogwarts, and warns James that he can’t be too upset to have his dad as a professor when it’s his turn to go to school. This shifts into stories of Harry’s time at Hogwarts, only it’s not any of the exciting and adventure-filled stories James will want to hear when he’s old enough to understand. Instead, he tells James about how he first began to notice Ginny, how they fell in love during stolen moments around the castle and near the lake.
And then, an idea dawns upon Harry, and Ginny can’t believe her luck that she gets to hear it.
“It would be nice to take back Hogwarts for myself, actually. Make good memories there again. So you know what, Snitch? It’s so simple, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. That is where I need to ask your mum to marry me.”