Chapter 1

Since Harry's very recent arrival at the Burrow (earlier that morning, to be exact), Mrs. Weasley had refused to speak about any specific point of contention that she had with Ron, though it seemed as though he was in more trouble with his mother than he had been in his whole life. More so even than the time that he and Harry had taken the Weasley family's flying car to school and crashed it into the Whomping Willow, whereafter it fled to the forbidden forest and is still running there today, for all anyone knows. Rather, upon Harry's questioning, she became misty-eyed, retreated from the dining room table into the kitchen and chose to manually dry the dishes, wiping them one by one with a towel and placing them in the cabinets. The only other person who seemed to know what was going on was Mr. Weasley, and even though he didn't appear to be as upset as his wife (in fact he looked downright amused while he was out of her view), he didn't speak to Harry at all about what had happened. Arthur Weasley, George, and Fred, all silent upon the subject of the conspicuously absent Ron, together with Harry ate a delicious breakfast of Belgian waffles with an aromatic strawberry and maple topping while soft sniffling from the kitchen interrupted the sound of their mastication.

After the company had all been fed and all of the dishes were done, Mr. Weasley asked Harry quietly if he would take a plate of waffles up to Ron, who was in his room. Harry solemnly agreed, trying not to appear too eager to see Ron while Mrs. Weasley was about.

Upon entering Ron's room, Harry found sprawled across one of the two twin beds a rather large version of his friend with whom he had attended school the previous year. Ron had grown more muscular, a definite shadow of stubble loomed on his face, and some length had been added onto his already lanky frame. Ron, sleeping with a soft snore, didn't stir as Harry shut the door behind him and crossed over to his bed, waffles in hand. He set the waffles down on the bedside table and, seeing Hedwig in her cage in the corner of the room, opened the cage door to let her free. Harry wasn't sure whether he should wake Ron, but he didn't really know what else to do. He was already too awake to try and go back to bed, and the mass amounts of waffles and maple syrup that he had eaten were roaming about his digestive system rather too disagreeably for sleep.

Harry stood next to Ron's bed and cleaned his glasses with the front of his shirt. Peering cautiously down at Ron, who had obviously been drooling on his pillow all night, he noticed that there was some kind of paper sticking out from underneath the pillow in question. Harry thought: this is rather odd, and, thinking that the paper might give him some clue as to what the big deal was between Ron and his mother, he gently pulled the paper out from under the pillow, only a quarter of which was currently used by Ron's snoring head. Ron sighed and rolled over as Harry crept over to the window to have a better look at the paper, which proved to be the back of a photograph. Harry, inquisitive, turned it over.

It was a muggle picture of a boy and a girl, both nude, bodies intertwined and faces frozen in expressions of shared erotic élan. Though they looked different in the photo than how they normally appeared, it was very clear to Harry that the boy and girl in the picture were Ron and Hermione.

Harry suddenly found it somewhat difficult to breathe normally. He felt the blood in his face travel quickly downward. He could not help himself from staring at the picture, burning the images unwillingly into his brain, until he heard Ron stir in his bed. Harry quickly turned around to face his friend, only too late in hiding the picture behind his back to have Ron not notice that he had been looking at it.

Ron, immediately upon waking, sat up in bed, wiped his eyes and regarded Harry carefully. He spied Harry's arm tucked behind his back. His eyes widened as he quickly looked under his pillow, and then he glared back at Harry.

"Give that back, Harry. I haven't got any clothes on, or else I'd snatch it from you myself." He urgently held out a beckoning hand.

Harry, still suffering from shock, obeyed, and Ron placed the picture carefully under his pillow. He then turned back to Harry, who was still standing with his hand outstretched and his mouth hanging open, and yawned.

"I've been seeing Hermione," he said in a half-hearted explanatory tone. He fell back onto his bed, sheets swarming about him, his legs shifting like tree trunks rolling in turbulent water.

Harry, feeling a bit weak at the knees, sank onto his own bed. He looked over at Ron, wondering if he should say anything.

Ron was staring at the ceiling.

Harry felt like he ought to say something, like ask a question, but he couldn't seem to formulate any words well enough to process from his brain to his mouth, much less coherent phrases. He felt all sorts of conflicting emotions upon viewing his two best friends in the midst of a sexual encounter. Questions like 'how long has this been going on?' and 'what was it like?' were accompanied and obscured by feelings of shock, jealousy, the pain of betrayal, curiosity, and a congratulatory happiness for them both. He was also having some difficulty getting the image of Hermione's breasts out of his mind.

"It's been since June, " said Ron, as if responding to an unspoken question. "We first got together in June." He sat up and looked at Harry, his face bearing a guilt-ridden, confessional expression. "Mum listened in on a conversation we had last night on the telephone." He sighed. "I refused to tell her who I was talking to."

Harry noticed that Ron's voice had become much deeper since he last saw him, only two months ago. It seemed to Harry that Ron seemed, well, more like a man than he had ever seemed before. In fact, Ron struck Harry as being downright handsome. Harry wondered if he himself had gone through any physical changes. "Why don't you just tell her that you've been seeing Hermione?" he asked.

"What, and show her the picture too?" Ron snorted. "I can't do that to Hermione. You didn't hear the conversation. She'd never be able to show her face around here again, and I want her to come over before the end of the summer."

Harry sighed. "You don't think your mum would let you have guests over in the state she's in, do you?"

Ron shrugged. "I guess Ginny could invite her." He exhaled with great force, leaned on his elbow, and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked very seriously at Harry. " I just, you know, sort of need to see her."

Harry coughed uncomfortably. "Er... I was wondering... you know, what was it like? The, um, sex, I mean."

Ron stared at him, making Harry feel ever more aware that there was a great gap of maturity between them. Then a grin broke out over Ron's freckled face. He sat to the side of his bed and pulled on some shorts that had been lying nearby. "It was... brilliant, Harry. Like nothing else I've ever even imagined." And with a smile, Ron left Harry for the bathroom. Harry's eyes began to glass over as he pondered what Ron might possibly be talking about.

During the course of the day they avoided Mrs. Weasley. Ron became increasingly, vociferously worried that Hermione wouldn't end up visiting him at the Burrow. They both sent her an owl discussing plans to at least meet in Diagon Alley, if not hang out at the Burrow for a few days. "As soon as possible," Ron had written heatedly in a scrawl at the bottom of the parchment.

After an afternoon of playing a variation of Quidditch that involved only two people, the sun began to sink lower toward the horizon and the two boys headed back to the Burrow from a neighboring hill. Harry was feeling quite exhausted. Upon reaching Ron's room, he placed his Firebolt '97 into his trunk with a satisfying "clunk," headed toward the door and murmured to Ron something about a shower. As he closed the door to Ron's room, towel and toothbrush in tow, he saw Ron lay on his back on his bed, reaching under his pillow. Harry smirked as he felt his privates involuntarily quiver. He walked quickly and quietly to the bathroom, covering the growing bulge in the front of his pants with a towel. Upon reaching the lavatory, he thanked the powers that be that he'd met no one in the hallway. He found himself reaching into his pants even as he closed the bathroom door and tossed his towel and toothbrush downward. He turned to the shower with a soft, sighing moan, and, lo and behold, there was Ginny standing in the shower, nude and dripping wet.

Harry froze. Ginny blushed as her eyes flickered down to his left hand, which was very obviously enclosed over his hard penis inside of his undone pants. She smiled at him with what seemed to Harry as a very naughty twinkle in her eye.

"Well, hello, Harry. Could you hand me a towel," she asked, gesturing with her eyes to one that hung in midair, near the wall.

Harry, letting go of the grip on his privates, quickly covered his eyes with his right hand and reached for the towel with his left, handing it out to her. Her fingers brushed his softly as she took it from him.

No matter how tightly Harry squeezed his eyelids together, he could not erase from his mind the sight of Ginny: her long, lithe, tan and freckled legs, the tuft of hair the sat between them, and her full breasts with their deep red nipples that had become hard from the draft of cool air disturbing the hot shower steam. He cursed under his breath. It was as if his mind had taken a permanent photograph of Ginny's beautiful body, lit by the setting sun shining through the window and reflecting off of the billion tiny beads of water that clung to her wet form.

"Thanks," she said.

Harry turned quickly and vaguely realized that he was hyperventilating as he grabbed his towel and toothbrush. He stopped as he faced the door opposite where Ginny was standing. "I... I am so sorry. I didn't know you were in here..." He grabbed the doorhandle and turned it.

He felt a wet hand close firmly over his wrist and close the door. He opened his eyes in shock. Ginny, who had donned a towel, had placed herself between Harry and the door.

"Wait," she said. "Don't go. I..." She bit her lip and grinned at him, her eyes glittering mischievously. "I think I am entitled to see you naked now, since you got to see me."

Harry took a breath. He studied her face, which told him only that she was quite serious. She let go of his wrist and took a step back. She raised her eyebrows and looked at his clothes.

"Strip," she commanded softly, her voice quaking with nervousness. She sat down on the edge of the toilet, looking up at him expectantly.

Harry looked down at his shoes. He couldn't help but wonder if this situation was real. He had never been nude in front of anyone, to his recollection, and he had certainly never seen a girl naked, despite how many times he had tried to envision Cho's body underneath her robes. Plus, he wasn't sure why, but he really didn't want to show Ginny that he had an enormous erection. Harry wasn't sure what to do, but he knew that Ron wouldn't like this at all.

"I... Ron..." he stammered.

Ginny's smile grew a little bigger. She stood in front of him, meeting him eye to eye, as she was exactly his height.

"If you don't take off your clothes, I'll tell Ron that you were spying on me deliberately." She looked at him meaningfully as he slowly debated over her words, and then, with an "oh, come on!" she started unbuttoning his shirt.

He grabbed her hand as she was halfway down.

"Wait, I'll do it," he said resignedly. "It's fair, I guess," he said flatly, not wanting to expose his uncertainty. She sat back down as he made his way down to his pants, dropping his shirt to the floor.

When he was down to his boxers, he stopped and looked at her. She was gazing at him with a happy, dreamy expression on her face. Harry was reminded of his first visit to the Burrow, when she had harbored such a crush on him that a mere glance from him at dinner made her forget herself to the extent that she had stuck her elbow in the butter dish when he had merely looked at her. He saw her frown, assuming that she'd noticed that he still hadn't gotten around to taking off his boxers. He grinned. His penis swelled even more.

"Why have you stopped, Harry?"

"Well, it just doesn't seem right, now that I think about it."

"What's not right? You saw me naked, now it's my turn."

"Well, yes, but my, erm, yes well, you know... is rather more... conspicuous than yours is, if you know what I mean." He looked at the obvious bulge in his boxers, glanced at the towel that lay over the tuft between her two legs, and looked into her eyes. The expression he saw there assured him that he had earned the right to put his pants on. He leaned down to retrieve them from the floor, only to have them snatched away.

"All right, Harry Potter. You win. But," Ginny glanced pointedly down at the bulge in his pants, stood, and leaned in towards him so that her lips brushed his ear softly as she spoke. "If you show me yours I'll show you mine," and she put her hand on his boxers, right on top of his hard penis that pulsed into her warm palm.

Harry gasped. Ginny's eyebrows shot up questioningly as she put her hand to the elastic of his boxers. Harry nodded assent. She pulled, and they fell to the floor. Ginny's eyes grew large as she fully viewed his now enormous erection and touched him there again. Harry groaned and clamped her hand to him firmly.

"What should I do?" she whispered excitedly.

Harry looked at her and fathomed the situation: this very attractive, sixteen year old girl was holding his penis as they stood in a bathroom. Her parents were downstairs. Her large, overprotective brothers were closer. Harry really didn't want to act foolishly, out of respect for her family. Sighing heavily, he gently took her hand off of him and sat her on the toilet again. Her expression revealed confusion and potential hurt. He sighed again and knelt down next to her, fully meaning to tell her something to get them out of this situation, but as he knelt the smell of her warm body made him forget the words that came to his mouth and he just stared at her, dumbfounded.

An expression of understanding came upon her face. She let her towel fall to the floor and, as Harry knelt before her, she placed her knees on either side of his shoulders, so that he was staring directly into her sex. She smiled down at him and moved her hand over the outer folds, which were covered in downy red hair, to reveal two shiny, wet red lips that smiled vertically at Harry.

Harry had an irrepressible urge to put his face right into the middle of them, which he did, and the sound of her pleased laughter encouraged him to put his hands where her fingers were and explore the body that was... his best friend's little sister. He looked up at her.

She was leaning sexily against the wall behind the toilet and was looking down at him with half-lidded eyes. She smiled, and he continued to watch her expression as he let his tongue travel the regions of her redness. As he let his fingers wander from the wet cave of her vagina to the upper part of the vulva, she moaned his name softly and ran her fingers through his hair. He noticed that if he ran his tongue repeatedly over specific places he drew enthusiastic responses from her, and her whole sex continually grew more and more wet. He slowly entered his index finger into her vagina, and her hips gave a small thrust in reception. He drew it out and entered her again, keeping his tongue active at the same time. He did this at an increasing rate, until her pelvis thrust so hard it knocked him flat on the floor.

Ignoring the pain in his jaw, he sat back up from the floor to do more, but she put her hand on his chest and shoved him, gently, on his back. She lay partially on top of him and circled his penis with her fingers and ran her tongue over the head. Harry clenched his teeth in fear of crying out. She let go and moved over his abdomen and torso with her tongue, reaching his nipples. He let out a groan of pleasure and drew his right hand from her inner thigh to her breast, cupping it and feeling the soft malleable flesh, warm and tender and pale against his hand. She straddled him and sat up, looking him in the eyes as he traced his fingers over her chest, stopping at her breasts and lingering along the clavicle bone that stood out from her neck.

Neither of them said a word. Harry leaned on one elbow, placed a hand behind her neck, and pulled her mouth on top of his. He was aware that she was tasting her sex that still lingered on his tongue. He felt her wet vulva resting just over his testicles, and as she leaned over to kiss him, she shifted so that she was right over his shaft. He moaned and moved his hips so that his penis slid between the two swollen, wet lips. He closed his mouth over her nipple, softly sucking. She muffled her cries of pleasure with her hand.

They kissed, mouths open and tongues moving together with the same undulating rhythm that flowed through their entire bodies. He slid his arm around her lower back and, turning her, lowered her to the floor. He moved over her, kissing her and spreading her legs open with his knees as she put her hands on his back and slid them down to just over his buttocks, encouraging the thrust that he so longed to perform. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her in the eye. He knew that he was just on the verge of losing control of himself. She looked up at him hungrily.

He realized, vaguely, that he was about to lose his virginity, and that he was about to take hers, and it occurred to him this might actually be a painful process for her. He noted with some surprise that his breath had turned to panting. Summoning some reserve, he stroked her fiery hair that spread wildly over the green tiled floor. She moaned and he felt her hands grasping and sliding over his shaft, willing him to lose it completely. He lay flat on top of her, kissing her gently. Must retain composure, he said to himself.

"Ginny," he said. She looked at him with wide eyes. "Ginny... Are you sure..." he whispered. She nodded and smiled.

"Harry... yes, please I can't wait anymore!" She raised her mouth to his fervently and their tongues danced slowly around each other.

Harry moved a hand to the sensitive top of her vulva and moved his fingers in a slow, gentle, circular motion. He put his lips to her ear, kissing the lobe softly.

"I'll go slow, all right?" he whispered. She kissed his jawline, moving her hands over his back. He caressed her cheek with his free hand. "Don't hesitate to stop me, if for any reason..." She kissed him again, and he slid his hands under her knees, drawing them up and farther apart.

He knelt back before her, witnessing her red wetness lying in wait for him, wondering what the hell he was doing.

She whimpered out his name longingly.

He grabbed the towel that lay folded next to him on the floor and quickly tucked it under her lower back, kissing and tickling her vulva with his tongue as he did so. She sighed and squirmed impatiently. He kissed up her stomach, over her breasts, up her neck and into her mouth as she wrapped her arms around him. Then he drew back, parting the lips of her sex with his fingers, and placed the tip of his penis just within the folds. He shivered slightly as he felt a hot moisture wrap the tip, enticing him to move forward, teasing him with a promise of what lay deeper within.

They smiled at each other and laced one hand together as Harry slowly pushed forward into her.

Slowly, languidly, like the waves of an incoming tide, like the spasmodic muscles of a snake encircling its prey, the folds of Ginny circumfused Harry's erection as he slid forward on his knees, holding himself aloft with one hand pressed against the floor, the other entangled in her fingers. A low, involuntary growl escaped his lips as he, shaking with the effort of restraint, inched his whole shaft all the way into her. As the head of his penis reached her cervix, pausing, she gasped and clasped his body firmly, desperately to hers, their sweat mingling and evaporating into the already steam-condensed air.

Ron was right, thought Harry, kissing underneath her earlobe where her jaw met her neck. It's like nothing else I've ever felt... And he wasn't sure exactly what to do next. Were they done? Was she finished? No, she was whispering hastily in his ear to "keep going... please"! Harry took off his glasses, setting them on the floor gently.

He raised himself up off of her, pulling out an inch or two, and overcome by that feeling of moist friction (they both moaned, sotto voce), he entered her again, ever so slowly, hesitant. He could feel Ginny's pelvis rise off the floor to meet his: he put his hand in the small of her back to assist her.

Oh, god, he thought. It's happening. He seemed to have an instinct for what he was doing, for although he felt an insecurity about his inexperience and the suddenness of the situation, the sensations that he was feeling told him that he was doing it right. He settled into a thrust-and pull, in-and out kind of movement that appeased his mingling excitement and apprehension.

They formed a rocking, flowing rhythm of thrusts and pulls, gentle and moist. Harry kept his eyes closed for the most part, concentrating on the sensory experiences of his body. He ran his tongue over her breasts and neck as flashes of memory came to meet him in the darkness under his eyelids: the picture of Ron and Hermione (the recollection of her breasts seemed particularly vivid), Ginny standing in the shower, Cho Chang chasing him on a broomstick, Fleur kissing him after the second task of the Triwizard tournament... He was growing more and more aroused. The feeling of Ginny's hot little wet cave of Vulnax was all-consuming. He suddenly was overwhelmed by a great desire to see it all.

He opened his eyes, panting, smiling at Ginny, and peered down at their ambulating privates. Harry felt that he could have exploded right then and there: he saw his own body, engorged by concupiscence, swiveling into a wet, red flower like a loose, cock-jawed piston, slick and shining from the friction of their bodily fluids. He felt a hot throb violently shake his whole body. He cried out softly and his thrusts grew more urgent, no longer hesitant or testing the bounds of gentility. Her back arched to meet him, hungrily, she squealing with delight, and he sat up, pulling her up with him and meeting her with a deep kiss: tongues exploring the deep recesses of each other's mouths, chests smashed together, bodies pulsating with the rushing flow of blood and heat. Ginny climaxed, somehow, he continued his drilling, she rode with great fervor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry wondered, briefly, if he had done something wrong.

He was sweating profusely, heavily breathing. Their undulations paused. She, panting, placed a finger to his scar, tracing it slowly: he shivering at the sensation, she laughing at the reaction. He could feel her laughter resonating through her body onto the head of his throbbing penis that still lay entombed within her, coaxing him to resume the motions of desire, to finish what he knew he must, one way or the other...

Ginny, not disregarding the turgidity that lay buried in her flesh, kissed him and pushed him back on the floor. He felt her insides, now even wetter with the residue of orgasm, squeeze him. He groaned as she settled onto him, straddled, and forced him to lie flat on the floor. She rose and lowered over him, squeezing and releasing him, pulling him in and pushing him out, gasping, again, and again, her breasts softly rising and falling in the flux. He rocked with her, now viewing in full the dance of creation, he giving out little gasps and guttural quips with each movement. His hands rested on her hips, urging her on; she was looking up at the ceiling, mouth open, hands traveling over her own breasts and small, curved belly, writhing in rhythmic, vertical throes. She whined and again started to weep as he laid his hands on the sensitive spot at the top of her wet opening. She bounced, she writhed, she swiveled, she circumnavigated, she was water and fire... Then Harry forgot everything about what he was doing: both he and Ginny lost themselves in the urgency of the motion, surrendering to passionate kisses, embodying all manifestations of passion, bending their limbs in unthinkable ways to reach the most pleasure possible. She was slick as rain, an animation of cream and freckles, a smorgasbord of tastes and pleasures, and he could do nothing but pump her, slam her, to ceaselessly ram her with his swollen, throbbing penis, as though if he could do anything else in his life he could not stop doing that!

Harry thought that he was quite literally going to explode. His scar was throbbing with each thrust of his loins. His eyes closed with his crying out, as he heard her do, his head flew gleefully, off, and they together became a torrent of water, an explosion of nerves, a trembling, ululating tribe of popping, preapic balloons, swelled with Eros and bursting with joy.

Then it was over, and Harry collapsed, chest heaving, onto the floor, Ginny falling on top of him. He felt himself withdraw from her as she must have climbed off of him. He must have lain there for five or ten minutes, thoughts of various things wafting ambiguously through his consciousness, until he came to one recognizable thought: did she like it? He ventured to open an eye.

In his blurred vision, he saw that she lay next to him on the floor on her side, her arms tucked under her head, eyes shut, her knees together and bent towards her chest. Her hair was pasted to her forehead and sticking out in various places. He wondered if he should say or do something. He felt tired, shaky, and light-headed, and he couldn't really fathom what had just happened, although he felt that the event must have been of some consequence and that he should definitely think about it later. He felt for his glasses behind him, found them, put them on and cleared his throat. Ginny opened her eyes and peered at him, a salacious smile spreading over her closed lips. He smiled back, uncertain.

They both spoke at the same time:

"Harry, do you..."

"So, what d..."

They both stopped and giggled. She sighed. He felt uncomfortable.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, grabbing the towel from behind him and draping it over his exposed genitalia.

Ginny pulled the towel away from him. "What do you think I think?"

"Er... what I mean is... was I alright?" He propped his head up on his hand, elbow pointed into the floor. He could feel himself blushing as she laughed at him, loudly.

"Harry! You silly! 'Was I alright?' Ha!" Her eyes grew large as he frowned and, lying facedown on the floor, covered his head with his hands. With a hand pulling his chin up, she forced him to look at her, his glasses askew. "Harry Potter, you mean to tell me that you have no idea that you just gave me two orgasms in a row?" She snorted. "Were you alright? Yes, yes, of course, you were more than alright! You were positively brilliant, marvelous, fantastic... I'd really like to do it again! Are you mad?"

Harry sat up, setting his glasses straight with a swat of his hand. "Oh. I was? You would?" He beamed. Then he thought of Ron, and of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley downstairs. "Oh, god, what about your family? Ron's going to skin me alive!"

She cocked an eyebrow at him and smirked. "Well, we just won't tell him, then, will we?" She smiled and moved to stand up. "Come on, then, I need another shower after all this."

Harry stood up slowly, noting that since he was quite sore now, he would be doubly so in the morning. He saw that Ginny was experiencing similar afflictions about the thighs. He offered his hand to her, which she took, and they made their way to the small tiled shower. With a wave of her wand, she made the water turn on (it fell like rain, not from a showerhead but as if from the ceiling) to a deliciously warm degree, and stepped in. He followed, after, again, removing his glasses.

"I've never done any of this before," he offered, after standing mutely in the shower and watching her lather her hair with the shampoo that hovered nearby.

She smiled and peered at him from under a great bolus of foam. "Aren't you going to wash yourself?" She grabbed the shampoo and squeezed a knut-sized amount onto her hand. "Come here. I'll do your hair." The falling rush of water destroying her tower of lather (which seemed enchanted not to fall in the eyes), she gingerly stepped forward and rubbed the stuff, which smelled of cloves, onto his wet head. As she stood very close to him, he could feel her smooth, moist skin rubbing against his, her nipples red beacons of heat sliding gently against his chest. Her eyes, inches away from his, were focused intently on the task at hand. Her fingers massaged their way over his scalp, waves of relaxation falling over him. He put his face in the crook of her neck, feeling very comfortable.

"Mmm, that's nice," he whispered, his voice echoing against the tiles. He wanted to be closer to her. He wound his arms around her back and pulled her to him, his breath coming softly back to him from bouncing off her neck. He felt her hands move down his back, lathering his skin with shampoo. He did the same to her, and they began shampooing each other's whole bodies, laughing, tickling, exploring and kissing through it all. They stayed in the shower until their skin became pruny, and even then stayed on until the shower itself began scolding them irritably about wasting water.