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Harry tugged irritably at the uncomfortable collar of his dress shirt and checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. “Come on, Ginny! We’re going to be late!”
“Since when did that ever bother you?” She swept down the stairs to meet him in the hallway, already wrapped in her long winter cloak, a sliver of her electric blue evening dress peeping out just below the hem. “It isn’t like you even want to go to the gala anyway.”
“The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave,” he told her, grumpily.
Ginny laughed. “Just keep telling yourself it’s all for a good cause. Q.U.A.B.B.L.E.’s charitable foundation has a really positive impact on disadvantaged wizarding communities, and this is—
“—their biggest fundraiser of the year,” he finished for her, with a sigh. “I know, I know.”
“And then there is the fact that I’m contractually—”
“—obliged to go. Yeah, I know that too.” Harry pulled a face.
“So cheer up!” she cajoled him. “All you have to do is walk up the red carpet with me and pose for a few photos, then you can skulk in whatever dark corner takes your fancy for the rest of the night. You don’t even have to smile. Broody smouldering will work just as well.”
“I do not smoulder!” he protested. “Broody or otherwise!”
Ginny laughed again, that full-throated, uninhibited laugh that he loved so much. “You do too! Especially dressed like that. Muggle dinner suits are so much hotter than dress robes.” Her eyes raked up and down him leaving him under no illusion just how much she meant that particular statement, but before he had a chance to respond, she took his hand and pulled him out of the front door.
The apparition point for the gala was just at the end of the red carpet, next to the cloakroom. Harry could see the line of journalists and photographers, eagerly waiting for them. Sighing with resignation, he handed his cloak to the beaming young wizard behind the cloakroom desk.
As he did so, Ginny leant in and whispered in his ear. “Thanks for doing this. I know how much you hate it, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while later.”
He opened his mouth to ask her if that meant what he hoped it meant, but the words died in his throat as Ginny removed her own cloak and he got his first look at the dress she was wearing - though ‘wearing’ seemed like something of an overstatement. The top half was constructed from two flimsy strips of fabric that plunged in a deep v down to her navel while the lower half hugged her hips before spreading out as it spilled down to the floor, highlighting every curve of her incredible figure. She smirked at his dumbstruck expression then turned around, and Harry got another jolt when he realised that the dress was completely backless. Her freckled skin was exposed from the point where the straps tied at the nape of her neck right down to the curve at the base of her spine. It was, he noted, so tight fitting across her bum that she couldn’t possibly be wearing anything underneath it.
Ginny glanced back at him over her shoulder and winked as she sashayed towards the red carpet. Harry stood back and watched her go, admiring her as she posed coquettishly for the assembled photographers in a hail of bright flashes and shouts for her attention. Somehow, the barely-there straps of her dress that just about covered her stayed in place as she twisted and turned (surely a charm of some sort had to be involved?), while the heavy satin skirt flowed around her lower half like water. She looked stunning, and it was no wonder the press pack greeted her so enthusiastically.
Harry loved seeing her like this, in the spotlight, exactly as she deserved. She’d earned every moment of adulation, whereas his own celebrity, conferred by an accident of birth, still made him deeply uncomfortable. He smiled as he watched her work the crowd; confident, beautiful and sexy as hell. Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe that she was actually his. It made him feel like the luckiest wizard alive - especially since he was pretty sure he’d be getting up close and personal with her without that stunning dress later in the evening. Just the thought of it had him adjusting his trousers, and watching her strike another pose was not helping his predicament.
He lingered close to the cloak desk for as long as he could, wishing that he’d bought his other cloak with him, while he attempted to get himself under control; it wouldn’t be long before someone realised that if one Potter had arrived, the other one must be close by, and he was in absolutely no state to be photographed. Fortunately, he’d just about managed to get a grip by the time the photographers spotted him. He made his way over to join his wife, accompanied by a chorus of ‘Harry! This way!’ and ‘Go on, Son! Give her a snog!’, all of which he resolutely ignored.
Ginny’s expression was sympathetic as Harry took up a position next to her, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. She lifted up onto her tiptoes and whispered to him. “Come on then, Handsome - time to smoulder.”
Focusing on Ginny’s encouraging face helped, and she guided him through a few poses. The next celebrity victims arrived mercifully quickly, leaving Harry and Ginny free to head inside. Harry hoped he’d get a few minutes alone with his wife before the main business of the evening began, but it was not to be. As soon as they stepped through the doors into the ballroom, Ginny was monopolised by a constant stream of other people - several of her teammates, Harpies backroom staff and board members, Q.U.A.B.B.L.E. representatives, Quidditch League reps, and assorted lackeys and hangers-on, the list was never ending. As Ginny had predicted, Harry decided that he’d be far better off skulking in a corner, while his wife dazzled everyone within fifty paces of her.
His chosen position, shadowed by a large potted palm, did have some advantages. Without anyone’s eyes on him, he undid his uncomfortable bow tie and collar, ditched his dinner jacket, and rolled up his sleeves, entertaining himself by tracking Ginny’s progress around the room as he nursed a suspiciously purple cocktail. Occasionally, someone spotted him and attempted to engage him in conversation, but he just grunted at them until they left him alone to stare at his wife again. Merlin, but she looked amazing. All he could think about was wrapping himself around her, murmuring in her ear about how incredible she looked and demonstrating exactly what effect she had on him simply by virtue of existing in the same universe as him. If she drifted close enough to him, perhaps he’d even be able to persuade her to seek out somewhere more private, if only for a few minutes. Surely even grand hotels like this one had stairwells and storage closets?
Unfortunately, Ginny was so caught up in the social whirl of the occasion that he didn’t get near her again until the dinner gong sounded, and the guests took their seats. Initially, Harry was thrilled that they’d be back in close proximity, but sadly it just heralded fresh torture. Ginny was so close to him, but with eight other people at their table, there was absolutely no way in hell that Harry was going to say any of the things that he wanted to say - or, indeed, do any of the things that he wanted to do. Instead, he resigned himself to his own personal idea of hell: making small talk with a table full of complete strangers.
However, as it turned out, the whole thing passed by in a blur. Harry thought that he probably did make at least some effort to talk to the couple seated to his left. He knew he must have eaten the meal served to him, because the plates that were cleared away were empty. However, exactly what he said and what he’d eaten were both a complete mystery, because he couldn’t remember a single thing about either. The fact was that all through dinner, Harry simply mesmerised, far more concerned with the way that Ginny’s hair tumbled over her shoulders, how her dress draped across the swell of her chest, and imagining running his lips over that creamy skin. He was so fascinated with her that his cup of coffee sat untouched, cooling in front of him. He didn’t notice when the lights throughout the room dimmed as the tables were cleared. He barely even registered when music began to play, beckoning the guests towards the dancefloor.
Ginny clearly noticed his scrutiny. As the band struck up a sultry rhythm, she dropped a hand to his thigh and tilted her head towards him. “See something you like, Potter?” she teased.
He raised an eyebrow. “When I look at you? You know I do.”
She smiled, a small, sultry quirk of her lips, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a request, it was a command. Harry really wasn’t any sort of dancer at all, but it never crossed his mind to refuse. Instead, he simply followed her when she took his hand and pulled him to his feet, leading him towards the dancefloor, already crowded with other couples.
As soon as they reached the centre of the floor, his grip tightened on her wrist and he snapped her back towards him, spinning her hard against his chest. She tilted her chin to look up at him, her eyes alight with amusement and her lips curling dangerously.
“Well, hello there,” she purred.
“Hi,” he replied, his voice much lower than even he’d anticipated. He ran his hands down her spine, noting with satisfaction that she shivered at his touch, allowing them to settle against the naked skin at the small of her back as he took her in his arms. Meanwhile, Ginny’s palms slid up his chest and around his shoulders, wrapping herself sinuously around him as she began to move against him. Harry allowed his hips to match the rhythm that she set, gently swaying to the beat of the music.
“I thought I’d have to twist your arm to get you onto the dancefloor,” she teased him.
“I wanted to get some time alone with my wife,” he explained, “And I wanted to scare off anyone else who might have thought they were in with a chance.”
“I might have known I could rely on you to do the noble thing.”
“There’s nothing noble about it,” he confessed. “I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you all night. You look incredible.”
Ginny spun away from him and let her eyes run up and down him. “I could say the same about you. I thought you looked good in that dinner suit, but you look even better half out of it.”
Harry whipped her back towards him, turning her around in time to the music. This time, she landed with her back against his chest. She lifted one arm so that it wrapped around his neck, and he trailed his fingertips down it, letting them find a path down her ribcage. Ginny let her head fall back against him as they swayed together, and it was all he could do to stop himself lowering his lips to the curve of her neck, so perfectly exposed to him.
“Want to get out of here?” she whispered.
“Hell, yes,” he muttered, thickly, voice gravelled by arousal.
He’d have apparated them both right back home on the spot, but Ginny wasn’t done torturing him just yet, insisting on collecting their cloaks from the desk beforehand. She positioned herself directly in front of him as they waited for the attendant, and he instinctively stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind. She leaned into him, and he felt the warm skin of her naked back against his chest. He breathed out the quietest groan, and in response, she pushed back a little harder, lifting her hips almost imperceptibly as she did so. There was no way she missed his cock twitch in response, but before either of them could react, the attendant returned. The split second he handed over the cloaks, Harry twisted them both on the spot, landing them cleanly on the top step of Grimmauld place.
Unwilling to wait even a moment longer, Harry pressed his wife back against the front door, hidden from view by the protective enchantments, and kissed her, a demanding and hungry kiss that signalled his intent as surely as the hard pressure against her hip bone.
She responded greedily, fumbling behind her for the door handle, and together they stumbled back into the hallway. As soon as they were inside, Harry pushed her urgently against the wall, fingers eagerly exploring the line where the waistband of her dress gave way to the skin of her back. Ginny’s mouth was hot against his neck, as she arched against him, lifting one leg to wrap around him and pull him closer. Harry dropped a hand to her calf, pushing up her skirt and sliding his palm up her leg, when to his surprise, Ginny pushed him back. “No. Not here. I told you I’d make it worth your while and I will, but you need to take me upstairs.”
She didn’t have to ask him twice. On reflection, he thought she probably expected him to apparate them again, but instead, Harry growled, bent low, wrapped his arms around her thighs and lifted her over his shoulder. Ginny shrieked, then dissolved into giggles as he carried her up the stairs.
“Holy shit, Potter! Feeling a bit worked up, are we?”
“I swear, Weasley,” he grunted, kicking the bedroom door open, “you have no idea.”
As soon as they were inside, Harry tossed Ginny unceremoniously onto the bed, and reached for his belt, but again she stopped him.
“The caveman thing was really, really hot, and you can definitely do that again, but now it’s my turn.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows, and cocked her head to one side. “Though this won’t do at all, you’re nowhere near ready.”
“I promise, I am extremely ready,”
She shook her head. “Nope. You’re wearing way too many clothes for what I have in mind.” She paused, then frowned slightly, though her eyes were dancing. “Well, what are you waiting for, Potter? Strip!”
He laughed softly, and obliged her, quickly discarding his clothing until he was naked in front of her.
“That’s better.” She stood up, and placed both her palms on his chest, tilting her face up towards him. Harry dipped his head to kiss her, but instead, she pushed hard. Caught by surprise, Harry staggered backwards, sitting down with a bump when his calves made contact with the red velvet armchair behind him. For a moment, she stood still in front of him, her eyes dark and dilated, her red painted lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in an exaggerated, slightly erratic way that he found fascinating.
Then she crossed her ankles and twisted on the balls of her feet, so that she had her back to him. One hand reached slowly behind her neck and took hold of the knot holding the straps of her dress up, while the other settled at her waist. With perfect timing that strongly suggested she might have practised it, she pulled the tie loose and shimmied her hips. The dress slithered down her body, pooling on the floor at her feet and Harry groaned at the sight of her, gloriously exposed to him.
His first thought was that he had been correct in his assessment that she wasn’t wearing underwear under her dress. His second thought was that his wife really did have the most gloriously perfect arse. His third thought was lost entirely as his libido devoured all other brain activity, because contrary to his expectations, she wasn’t actually completely naked after all. No, her legs were encased in a pair of sheer black hold-up stockings, satin bands around the tops of her thighs at one end, and disappearing into her black, spike heeled stilettos at the other, and it was hands down the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life.
She stood, still as a statue, letting him drink her in. Then, she slowly looked back at him over her shoulder, a smirk lifting her lips, and her eyes practically black with lust. Harry was so hard it was almost painful, and he automatically dropped his hand to grip himself, searching for some relief.
“Don’t touch yourself,” she snapped, and he whipped his hand away at her command. Slowly, she paced towards him, her eyes fixed on his, her expression leaving him wondering how the hell she had the nerve to accuse him of smouldering. “That’s my job.”
“Fucking hell, Gin,” he muttered. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Not exactly,” she smirked. “Though I do fully intend to send you straight to heaven.”
Harry grinned at her. “How long did it take you to come up with that line?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Call it divine intervention. Speaking of which…”
With one last white-hot glance, she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. There was no coy teasing, no gradual progression, she took him whole, and Harry’s field of vision flashed white for a moment with the unexpected intensity of it. He fumbled his glasses back up his nose and stared in breathless fascination as his wife slid her lips smoothly from base to tip, flicking her tongue around his head as she reached the top. She hollowed her cheeks as she slipped off him before sinking back down and repeating the action with devastating, rhythmic purpose. Within minutes, he could feel warm pressure begin to build in his lower belly and the onset of that familiar tingling sensation converging on his balls. “Uh, Gin? You’re going to need to stop that or this will be over embarrassingly quickly.”
Ginny paused, hovering her lips just over his tip and looking up at him through her painted lashes. “Do I look as though I'm going to stop?” And then she took him again, never breaking eye contact as she sank down once more.
It just about ended him. “But I haven’t… I mean, you…” he stuttered, before it was suddenly all far too much and he absolutely exploded. She continued to suck him, lapping and kissing him through it as he pulsed in her mouth. He collapsed against the soft velvet, letting his head drop back and his eyes close. “Gin. That was… incredible,” he murmured.
“That was the general idea.” He felt her straddle him and press kisses along his jawline. “Thank you for tonight.”
He opened one eye and looked at her suspiciously. “You know you never owe me anything for supporting you, right? I know I don’t love those things, but I will always be there when you need me.”
“I know,” she told him lightly. “And you know that I’ll never do anything I don’t want to. You made me feel fantastic tonight, and I wanted to make you feel the same.”
Harry’s brows pinched. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t need to. The look on your face was enough.”
Harry pressed his forehead against hers. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”
“I try,” she smirked.
Harry grinned at her, slipping his arms under her thighs. “I love you, Ginny Potter.” Then he stood up abruptly, and Ginny shrieked as he carried her across the room and threw her onto the bed. “I think it’s time I reminded you just how much.”
“That’s the second time you’ve done that tonight, Caveman,” she giggled. “Don’t you need a bit of recovery time before round two?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “But I reckon we might as well fill it productively.”
Ginny fell back against the pillows with a satisfied sigh as Harry settled between her legs with her calves over his shoulders. “I like your thinking.”
He smiled softly to himself as he admired her laid out in front of him. Yeah. Definitely the luckiest wizard in the world.