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They arrive at Grimmauld Place six weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, funerals behind them, chased by ghosts. Ron and Hermione are in Australia.
Harry and Ginny, the both of them, are war heroes, but in the Muggle world, they aren’t adults yet. their shoulders sagging with grief and their nights haunted by battle cries, they might as well be eighty-year-old war veterans, Harry thinks
Grimmauld Place is cool and ancient, like the inside of a cave. It is dusty and dark, and standing in the foyer, the dirty carpet beneath her neon sandals, Ginny looks so out of place. Her inherent brightness, her shiny red hair and her sheer brilliance isn’t bedimmed by the gloominess of the place where his dead godfather lived.
Lots of work to do here, Harry. sure you don’t want to empty your vault and find a fancy apartment in say, London or Cornwall or someplace else? she asks, hands on her hips, brown eyes assessing the place, Molly Weasley’s daughter through and through.
Harry just shrugs and says, I own a wand, so do you. plus, your Mum agreed to lend me her copy of 26 Household Charms.
*
We need more color in here, Ginny declares on evening. With Kreacher’s help and occasional aid from Mrs. Weasley, they manage to clean and dust the place. Currently, they’re seated on the same side of the dining table, eating Chinese noodles from plastic tubs.
You think so? he asks. Harry reaches forward to wipe away gravy from the corner of her small mouth. Then, he sucks it off his thumb without thinking. It’s so natural, neither of them notices.
Don’t you? she asks. He shrugs.
You can’t shrug every time you have to make a decision Harry, she complains. This your house for..well, for the foreseeable future.
Haven’t I made enough decisions for a lifetime? Pretty tough ones, too, he mutters irritably.
Stop being dramatic Harry, she rolls her eyes.
Fuck you, he sighs.
Sure, after dinner though, she agrees nonchalantly. Her smirk is mischievous around a spoon of wet noodles.
*
They decide to paint his bedroom first. It’s the same one he shared with Ron in their fifth year. They choose to cover the walls in sage green Muggle paint that smells like ammonia. Ginny reads the instruction on the back of the bucket sitting on her toes, and Harry admires her backside from the door. Then, she ties a piece of old cotton over her fiery hair like a scarf, paintbrush in hand, and turns to him.
Well? she raises an auburn eyebrow. His dark ones arch in reply.
Get busy, Potter. She throws the paintbrush at him. Like a true seeker, he snatches it easily.
Good reflexes, Ginny says, already dipping her paintbrush in the color bucket.
You bet, Weasley.
Later, they collapse on the floor, tired. She’s already falling asleep.
Hey Gin, wanna move to the bed?
We’re not sleeping here. The smell is disgusting. He carries her to the bedroom that she and Hermione shared. When he returns from the loo, she sleepy murmurs,
That summer, I was so horny for you, I’d finger myself several times a day.
Standing at the edge of the bed, she looks down at her face lit by the candlelight, looks through her pretense of being sleepy.
He gets into bed and spoons her from behind. His erection fits perfectly in the cleft of her cute little bum.
And now? Are you horny now? he whispers hoarsely into her ears.
What d’you think?
Only one way to find out, innit?
When he slips his hand inside her underwear, she is soaking wet.