Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Copacetic	By : alecto Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Ginny Views: 8449 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money off of Harry Potter

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
--

He leaned forward across the footstool and played his hand.

“Goddammit,” she barked.

“Ha.” He was not quite triumphant, but smug enough to make her want to gnash her teeth.

“That’s two games you’ve won. Are you cheating?”

“Why would you first jump to that conclusion?” Lucius reshuffled the deck.

She exhaled through her lips. It was almost a derisive sound.

Lucius didn’t laugh, but wanted to.

“You look well-rested.”

She was well rested. She had wandered down to the main foyer at just past nine in the morning, and a house-elf had directed her to the dining room where still-warm food was waiting for her, and after she had crammed a piece of toast into her mouth, followed by about a pound of bacon, she had swilled a cup of tea and had wandered again. This time, she had ended up in the library, where Lucius had been writing.

Writing?

“Working, actually.”

Oh.

“Investments.”

I will not ask.

“Probably best.”

She had almost seen a smile from him, then. She liked to see his teeth, and he so rarely showed them.

So she had plunked herself down and within a few minutes she had coaxed him into leaning over a footstool and playing a game of cards.

“I am well-rested. That bed was divine.”

He knew it. He had put her in one of the best guest rooms they had, but he would never tell her that. And he had asked the kitchen to make an extremely good breakfast. He would never tell her that either. Judging from the trail of crumbs—pastry destruction—from the dining room to the library, she had enjoyed that. Immensely.

“I was surprised at how well I slept, to be honest.”

“Being in the devil’s den?”

“Something like that,” she said.

His smile was wry. “I know.”

There was a lot that was being unsaid. They both left it as was.

And that was when—

“Father?”

The door of the library banged open in a manner so like Draco that Ginny didn’t even need to turn—or hear father—to know that it was him.

“Father! Fath—Christ, Weasley, you scared m—Weasley?” Draco’s voice had changed from normal to completely perplexed in a manner of seconds, and Ginny laughed out loud at the comical nature of it.

From where Draco had entered the library, he had only been able to see her. Not his father.

He rounded the corner, staring at the two of them with an incredulous face.

“What the hell is going on here? Father, why was the Manor locked down? Did you call the Aurors?”

“Calm yourself, Draco.” Lucius didn’t look up from his hand. “I never call the Aurors.”

“I told you that you had to start doing that,” Draco said, almost angrily.

“They never come.”

“Well, that’s beside the point, Fath—what the hell is Weasley doing here? What are you doing here, Weasley?” He turned to look at her, frowning.

Ginny was watching Draco with a half-formed smile on her open mouth. Lucius was blinking heavily as though he couldn’t follow his son’s rapid-fire questioning.

“I’m sleeping with your father.”

Draco’s face went white, then purple. Ginny watched, her smile getting larger, as he opened and closed his mouth. Lucius shifted.

“Christ, Malfoy. I’m just joking. I was interviewing him for the paper, you prat, and the wards went off, so I spent the night in the guest room. You’re just as easy to ruffle as you were all throughout university,” she said, laughing, putting her cards down and rising and coming to stand in front of Draco. “How the hell are you, anyway? I haven’t seen you in months.”

Draco blinked once, twice, and his face returned to the same colour it had been before. Then he smiled back at her, looking a little dazed, and moved to embrace her firmly. Lucius was still silent behind them. When he pulled back, Draco pinched her cheek.

“Ouch. You know I hate that,” she groused, shoving his hand away. “How’s Asteria?”

“She’s good. Scorpius is making us tear our hair out, though. That age. You know.”

Ginny grunted an assent. “Oh, yes. Albus is the same, now.”

“That’s right,” Draco said. “The child with the two worst names in the history of child-naming.”

“Harry wanted those names,” she said, laughing. “I didn’t pick them. I like what they stand for, but not the names themselves.”

“Bloody awful,” Draco murmured.

The two of them had always had an interesting connection. If she didn’t know better, Ginny would have called it flirtatious. In fact, they had shared that kiss when they had been younger—she fourteen, he fifteen, pressing against each other in a frenzy. She had left him, laughing in his face, when she had felt his erection pressing into her abdomen. Secretly, though—years later—she thought about fucking him. It would have been good between the two of them, but it wouldn’t have lasted. But then he got engaged, and she had always had Harry.

“How’s Potter?” The question was asked grudgingly.

“Er—fine.” It was just easier to answer that way. Thankfully, Draco didn’t seem to notice the hesitation in her voice.

“Fucking wanker,” he retorted. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Charming as ever, Malfoy.”

“Sure, sure,” he said distractedly.

Ginny turned over her shoulder to look at Lucius, as if to roll her eyes again at him, but she was surprised by the look that was momentarily on his face. His eyes were narrowed, his brows creased, and there was a tightness to his mouth. When he saw her looking, the expression slid off of his face as though it had been butter, but Ginny had seen it.

It had looked like jealousy.

Draco brushed past her to get to his father, the back of his hand grazing her buttocks as he did so. He had always been like—totally unaware of other people’s space. Ginny frowned at Lucius and then faded back into the bookcases, letting Lucius talk to his son.

--

Draco left after punching Ginny in the shoulder—a muted ouch from her end—and after briskly embracing his father in that odd man-hug with the strange back-clapping. Ginny wanted to roll her eyes at the simian maleness of it, but at least they were touching each other. She never really pegged the Malfoys as a physical family, and so it was nice to see.

She thought perhaps that they might go back to their card game.

She was wrong.

Lucius was standing beside the footstool, and he had an odd, sour look on his face. She felt as though some whip-crack of thunder was about to happen. The air was thicker.

“What?”

“Have you ever had sex with my son?”

She had been expecting the question, on some level, so she didn’t balk at it. It was so incredibly blunt, so typical of what she had come to expect from him, that she only sighed.

“No.”

“I don’t believe you,” he replied, peevishly.

“Well, I haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business if I had.”

“It’s my bloody business. He’s my son.”

“Your grown son. I’m almost forty, Lucius.” Ginny frowned at him. “I’m not a teenager who can be reprimanded anymore. Don’t be idiotic. I snogged him once when I was fourteen.”

“I knew it.”

“That’s not fucking,” she said, barking out a laugh.

“You kissed my son,” he repeated.

“When I was barely pubescent,” she replied.

“That’s perverted.”

“No, you’re perverted for questioning me about this! Do you want to picture your fifteen-year-old son kissing a fourteen-year-old girl? Don’t be vile, Lucius.” She frowned at him. “Why does it matter to you?”

“It doesn’t.” His voice was tight.

“Obviously it does. Don’t lie.”

“It doesn’t,” he repeated, turning away from her.”

“Tell me,” she said, her voice raised.

“It doesn’t,” he yelled at her, turning around to face her.

He watched her face change a thousand times over. In a simple moment, she went from taken aback to a brief second of scared, and then her face settled into a mask that he knew well—rage. Indignation. A tempered anger that he knew she could wield expertly. He had seen Weasley rage on so many levels from so many people. At least she would fight him. In a sick way, he wanted it. He wasn’t sure why he was provoking her, but something within him had reared, and so he reverted, becoming something what he was like when he had been younger—following his basest emotions.

“No wonder your wife left you and Draco has moved away. You’re a blight,” she said, her voice rising to a full yell on the last few words. It was so rare for her to lose her temper as such, but if anyone deserved it, it was Lucius Malfoy.

She half-expected him to cast an Unforgivable on her, his expression was so fucking furious. Ginny hadn’t seen that face in a very long time—not since she had been fourteen and he had been running after her in the Department of Mysteries, and even then, his eyes had been partially occluded by the dark, the mask, his hair. Now, he was facing her straight on, and his pupils were completely dilated in pure rage.

The result was absolutely awesome—was stunning. Ginny was rendered momentarily speechless because she could swear that she could see electricity snapping from the white ends of his hair, that she could see static surrounding his head like some sort of deviant halo.

He looked phenomenal and terrifying.

“Apologise.” He spoke only one word, and his voice was controlled and low, but there was such undiluted anger behind it that Ginny shivered visibly. This was what Lucius Malfoy was like as a Death Eater—she knew it, could feel the waves of his control and his rage radiating from him as though he were the sun.

“No,” Ginny barked.

He stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders so hard that the next morning she would look at her skin and see long-fingered bruises in clouds of purple and red.

“Apologise,” Lucius hissed at her, some of his spittle flying onto her face.

“No,” Ginny hissed back, just as angrily. He looked livid. She was livid. She ostentatiously wiped the back of her hand across her face, glaring at him. “I am not apologising to you, you fucking ponce.”

Lucius shook her once, very hard. “I hate it when you slight me!”

“Then you know how I felt for all those years,” Ginny yelled back into his face.

“Good lord, Mrs. Potter.” His demeanour changed like quicksilver—he became smug and smarmy. “You’re sounding a bit uptight, really. No need to yell. It does sound like you need to get fucked.”

Ginny Weasley wrenched her arms from his loosened grip, reared back, and slapped Lucius Malfoy’s face as hard as she could.

It was only a few seconds of a pause—after she did it—just a quick pause, faster than a breath. But Ginny thought that she would remember the way he looked, in that one moment, for the rest of her life. His eyes were on fire, widened and yet narrowed at the same time, the whites showing, and her long-fingered handprint was tattooed onto his left cheek, stark white and then flushing red as the blood rushed back into his face. Lucius’ nostrils flared—once, twice—and then he smiled.

The smile terrified her.

Her right hand ringing, tingling, trilling, she inhaled once—deeply and harshly—and then she went into action. Ginny put her long-limbed strength into use, pushing off of him, relishing the breathless sound he made as she connected with his stomach, moved away from him, and—

Ginny ran.

She exploded out of the room, hearing the mahogany door crack satisfying against the wall as it flung open. Ginny hoped that she cracked it, that she damaged it. And then she was off, flying down the carpeted corridors of the Manor. She hadn’t run like this since she was a small child, and even in her anger, there was still something exhilarating in whipping face-first down the hallways of Malfoy Manor.

Until she realised that Lucius Malfoy was running behind her.

She only looked back once, and her breath caught. Lucius was sprinting, his long limbs a threat to hers, his legs long and horse-like and tensely muscled, moving. His hair had half-come out of his hair tie, and it was flying around his head in a mock halo. When he noticed her looking he snapped his teeth at her in that one split second, and she saw saliva fly from his mouth, an animalistic thing. He looked like an archangel and yet so like Lucifer that Ginny whipped her head back and tried to run faster.

She thought she would be faster than him. She was younger, had played sports, had to run after her children throughout their entire lives, still had the muscle memory of riding a broom imprinted into her bones. And maybe, on even ground, in a place that Lucius Malfoy didn’t know like the back of his hand, like the veins of his cock, like an extra limb, she would have been. But she slowed around the corners, not knowing if she was going to run into a family ghost, a remnant of a Death Eater past, a prisoner, a priceless artifact.

And so, when she came to her fourth turn, and when she began to run down a corridor that she had, just as the others, never seen before, Lucius fiercely sped up.

His arms clamped around her waist, and he pulled back on her body so sharply that her stomach leapt into her throat, and she was afraid, for an irrational moment, that she was going to vomit all over his beautiful runner rugs. Then she realised what was happening, and Ginny fought. She screamed as loud as she could, trying to get as close to his ear as possible, trying to burst his damn eardrums.

He began dragging her backwards, and she kicked her legs, thrashing powerfully in his arms, and when she began to twist her body, she felt his arms loosen for a brief moment, and she nearly choked on her own tongue in elation until his forearms tightened around her middle again. Ginny bent her head, trying to bite the skin of his arms, his hands. She yelled obscenities at him, trying to stomp on his feet with her heeled boots. She tried to knock at his knees with her own knees, her toes.

She tried to elbow him in the stomach, and he grabbed her moving arms as hard as he could, trapping first one and then the other in his circled grip around her waist.

When he had both her arms in his iron hold, Ginny screamed in frustration. She was still facing away from him, her back pressed tight to his front, and she hadn’t yet seen his face throughout the entire exchange. She took immense pleasure, however, in the fact that he was panting just as heavily as she was, each of his fast, rasping breaths hot against the nape of her neck.

She wasn’t still. Even as he began stepping backwards, she was thrashing back and forth in his arms, trying to butt back against him with her lower back, her buttocks.

The fact that he wasn’t speaking—wasn’t making any sound except for his breathing—was scaring her, but she wasn’t giving up. She turned her head, tried to bite at his chin and jaw, snapping her teeth at him just as he had snapped his teeth at her. She spat at him, and when she did so, he shook her briefly and violently, as if to wordlessly discourage her.

Lucius had backed up to a door, and he had to loosen an arm to use the doorknob. Ginny sensed the change in his body, and waited until he had un-looped an arm from around her waist. The moment he did so, she bucked so hard that she came half-free from his grasp just as the door swung open. The momentum of the movement brought her falling to the ground and brought him down to one knee, a startled and deep sound escaping his chest.

Ginny was on her hands and knees in Malfoy Manor, and she began trying to crawl away, scrabbling to get up to her feet.

Lucius made a snarling sound from behind her, and she knew he had grabbed her ankle with both hands before she even felt it. She knew it would happen even as she had tried to escape from him.

She made a preternatural shriek, and he yanked so sharply that she fell properly to her hands and her knees. He was a foot into the room, and she dug her fingers into the plush material of the rug as he began to pull on her ankle. Ginny kicked with the other leg, but he caught it after she had landed a few sharp kicks to his torso, and he heaved her calves up under his biceps, trapping them to the sides of his body.

Lucius was up on both knees, and Ginny was now down on her forearms, her fingertips still dug into the carpet—as if that would help her.

He only had to pull twice, and she was dragged back into the room, the door swinging shut as soon as she was inside, right in front of her face.

--

As soon as the door shut, Lucius lunged up from his sitting position on both knees, and Ginny yelled out, once, as she was suddenly trapped beneath a body broader and stronger and angrier than hers.

Lucius was straddling her midsection, his hands clamping down on her outstretched wrists. Ginny tried to buck her body up to dislodge him but he was too strong, too heavy for her.

“Christ, you fight a good fight.” Lucius’ voice was just the slightest bit amazed, and breathless, and deep.

“Let go of me, you perverted old man,” Ginny yelled.

Lucius laughed, then, the harshness of his chuckle amplified by the hoarseness of his breathing. Ginny yelled out again, wordlessly, and thrashed below him. Her chin was digging into the carpet pile.

Lucius lowered his chest to her back, widening his legs, pressing his body against hers, and the next time Ginny moved, flailing, she felt that—

“Oh, you fucking pervert,” she yelled, face-forward. “You’re hard. You’re hard, you’re hard, you’re hard!” She twisted her face. “You’re in your sixties. How is that even possible? Hasn’t it fallen off by now?”

He was hard. His erection was pressing into her rear end, and Ginny gritted her teeth at the feel of it, because it was thick and long, and slotted between her buttocks as he lay pressed against her.

When he spoke, he was so much closer than she had anticipated. His fingers were tight around her wrists, his breath wet on her ear. “And you’re not?”

Ginny barely had time to understand what he said before he moved, rearing back, sitting on her lower back, his calves on either side of her buttocks. He let go of her wrists, one of his hands wound into her hair, the other in front of her. He pulled back sharply on her hair, on her head, and Ginny made a strangled sound as he forced her spine up into a curve. His other hand came up to grab her left breast, and Ginny’s mouth dropped open.

She hadn’t thought that he would go so far.

Her nipples were sharply hard. She clenched her jaw, refusing to acknowledge her body’s arousal. Ginny waited for the gloating to come.

It didn’t.

Lucius said nothing, but his breathing increased as his hand cupped her full breast aggressively, kneading at the flesh, his fingers pinching sharply at her nipple. Ginny stifled a cry.

She still hadn’t seen his face. He hadn’t allowed her to turn around yet, her head fixed in place by his hand.

He released her abruptly, and she fell face-forward at the surprise of it. He had moved off of her, but she didn’t try to run. He had shoved his hands underneath her body, adroitly opening the buttons of her trousers, and now he was yanking them off of her, pulling her boots off, throwing her clothing to the side.

Ginny looked stalwartly ahead, moving forward slightly on her forearms.

“No,” he said, his hand coming back to twist in her hair. “No. You’re not going anywhere.” Lucius moved back to lie on top of her, and the tweed of his trousers pressed into the smoothed skin of her buttocks, only her underpants separating them because—

She realised that he had released the stays of his own trousers, and that they had slipped down enough to let his cock free, because the heat of it was pressing into her buttocks. Her hips moved up to his like a fucking magnet.

“I want to fuck you.” His words were hissed into her ear, and Ginny moaned, low, for the first time since they had started. “I’m going to fuck you.”

She said nothing, but when he started to ease up off of her body, she moved back with him, coming up onto her hands and knees, still staring stoically ahead at the mahogany door. It was an action of partial submission and partial agreement, and there was a snarled sound from behind her, and then he was bent over her back like a heated curve, a parenthesis, and two large hands were palming across her breasts, his breath along the nape of her neck, her hairline, as though they were two animals rutting. He paused for a moment, his fingers sliding between the buttons of her shirt, and then he moved suddenly, tearing her shirt from her body.

She didn’t even flinch.

Lucius didn’t even take the time to unclasp her bra, instead tugging it down, off of her breasts, and his hot palms were across her nipples. He made a grunt of pleasure behind her, his forehead touching between her shoulder blades for a brief moment, and then he released her chest, and she could hear him shrugging out of his own shirt.

That was the moment that Ginny chose to look back at him, peering out of the corner of her eye.

Lucius was staring at her, his eyes wild, his mouth damp and open. He was wearing only his trousers, and they were partially down his thighs, his erect cock exposed. She could smell him—salty and sweaty—and then Ginny looked back, her head straightening, her gaze ahead. The whole exchange of glances took a few seconds, a breath-worth of time.

His hands were at her bottom immediately, and he tore her underpants off with such a practiced and violent twist of his wrist that she nearly had second thoughts. Lucius inhaled deeply, and Ginny could feel how wet she truly was. She could almost hear him smiling but only for a second because then the head of his cock was pushing into her, and he surged his hips forward, forcing his way completely inside of her body.

She gasped for a moment. It had been so long since she had had sex, and he was so large, that the pain was clear and twinging, ringing between her legs. He was so thick, so broad, and it felt as though he were breaking her apart.

But she relished it.

Ginny snarled wordlessly, and pushed back against him as hard as she could, forcing him to bottom out, forcing the weight of his scrotum against her labia, and Lucius didn’t quite moan but made a sound that was so close, so close, and so Ginny laughed out loud.

He didn’t reply but one of his hands grabbed her hair so roughly and so cruelly that she cried out, his fingers twisting into the red, pressing into her scalp, and then he began to ride her, his back arched, curled, as he bent over her body, his teeth sinking into her shoulders, one of his arms looped around her lower belly.

Ginny’s barks of pleasure were in time with his ricocheting thrusts. She could feel the skin on her knees melting, burning with the carpet, and she dug her palms in, feeling the skin on the heels of her hands rasping along with the metronome of his hips.

Lucius was breathing heavily behind her, and she could hear the moist slap of his testicles against her, of his thighs against her buttocks, and the sharpness of his incisors pressing into the skin of her back. She raised her bottom, arching her spine, and he adjusted with her, knowing what she was looking for, moving along with her, the thickness of him partially burning, partially stinging her as he stretched her with his violent rhythm. She arched her sacral spine in first one direction, and then the other, and then she froze, yelling as the head of his cock finally was in the right place, pressing perfectly into her muscular walls, and Lucius grunted again, his hand tight in her hair, tighter around her stomach.

They were rutting. Ginny forgot about the softness of her thighs, about her unshaven legs, about her frustration with her article, and concentrated instead on cataloguing the cacophony of sounds that she and Lucius were making. She was surprised that the elves hadn’t come running. The symphony of their grunts was rattling off of the high ceiling corners of the sitting room they were in, the groans crawling along the carpeted floor, slinking out underneath the door, into the hallway. One of the windows was partially open, and she wondered if there was anyone in the garden, and if they could hear the beat of their flesh.

Ginny growled as Lucius sped up his pace, unholy sounds—almost like barks, almost undulating baying—coming out of his mouth. She came suddenly around his length, her thighs shaking as she roared out, her body snapping with intense pleasure, her thighs wet.

Lucius pulled out of her suddenly, his hands slapping down on either side of her thighs. He pressed her legs together, sliding his wet cock between her tight inner thighs, the length of it rubbing along her raw clitoris, the head coming out between the seam of her thighs, just beneath the triangle of her crotch. Ginny straightened up, standing up onto her knees, and he wrapped his arms around her chest, making her breasts jut out between his forearms, pulling her body back so that his chest was to her back again. His arms were everywhere, clasping her chest to him, wrapped around her stomach, hands sliding up and down her legs. His hair was sticking to her cheeks, her neck, the sweat rolling down between her shoulder blades, lubricating his chest, making their bodies come together with a deep, sticky sound.

He was fucking her between the thighs, his cock sliding in between her tightly closed legs, his progress aided by her own come, which had dripped down her legs, and all of a sudden his hands came to the middle of her thighs, and he thrust forward once, twice, three times, and Ginny looked down, could see the streams of white semen roping out from the swollen head of his cock, some of it landing on her legs, most on the carpet.

Lucius roared behind her, his head thrown back, and Ginny darted a look behind her, seeing only the tensed length of his neck, painted completely wet with sweat, the harsh lines of his chin. His head was tilted all the way back, his hands still gripping at the flesh of her thighs, his cock softening between her legs.

His head rose, and Ginny didn’t look away. She swayed slightly, and Lucius dropped his buttocks back to his heels, keeping his eyes locked to hers, and her body came with him, her own buttocks resting back on his hard thighs.

Her chin was resting on her own shoulder, and she was staring at him. His cock was still between her thighs, his come sticky on her skin, and then Ginny raised her arm, wound a strong hand into the hair at the base of his neck, and she kissed him—scorching, sloppily, at an awkward and wet angle—tasting him, roughly shoving her tongue into his mouth, making him accept it. Lucius’ palms came up to either side of her face, and he kissed her back just as bluntly.

When she pulled away from him, he stared at her mouth, and then her eyes, and then over her shoulder at the come all over the carpet.

“Look at that,” he murmured thoughtfully.

Ginny followed his gaze. “There’s quite a lot,” she said, and then she smiled crookedly at the oddness of her statement.

“Thank you,” he said absentmindedly, patting a palm against her flank.

Ginny was amazed at how mild they were being to each other in their post-coital haze.

She was the first to move, standing creakily, letting his cock fall out from between her legs. She stood, stretching up and over, hearing her back crack satisfyingly.

Lucius stood. He was close to her—so close that if she jutted her chin out she could touch the skin of his chest. She could feel the softness of his pubic hair against her lower abdomen, and Ginny shuddered slightly.

He didn’t kiss her. She didn’t say anything. He merely stood, watching aloofly down his nose at her, and she pulled her hair back from where it was stuck to her shoulders, and then stepped around him, grabbing her clothes and pulling what pieces she could find whole and un-marred back onto her body.

“I’ll be back next week, Mr. Malfoy. To start the next portion of the interview.”

He didn’t gape, but his eyes widened slightly at the use of his formal name. Ginny hid a smile, pleased that she had startled him by reverting to formality and professionalism, pleased that her handprint was still blazing across his face, pleased that her clitoris sang with each step she took out of the Manor.

--

Ginny had to pick up her children from Harry’s flat at 5 o’clock that afternoon. James was grumbling in the foyer, angry at his mum for being so late—Ginny was only seven minutes behind time, and only because she had had to mend her shirt before leaving the Manor—and Albus was sitting and reading a book. Lily was talking animatedly with Harry.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry I’m a little late,” Ginny mumbled as she blew into the apartment, grabbing Lily’s travelling cloak off of the peg by Harry’s front door.

Harry stood up properly and nodded at her, ushering Lily forward.

“Hi, lovey,” Ginny said, kissing Lily on the cheek. Lily, in turn, rolled her eyes and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, but took the offered cloak, and let Ginny help her into it. James was practically dancing around her in his anxiety to get back to Ginny’s house, and Albus was eyeing her in a very disconcerting way.

Harry was watching her. She saw his nostrils flare slightly, and she wondered if he could smell Lucius on her, across her body, between her legs. She probably smelled different—like salt and lime and spunk and musk and saline arousal. Ginny shivered a little at the remembrance of Lucius Malfoy’s thick cock rammed inside of her as he rode her into his carpeted floor.

She tugged down on the cuffs of her shirt, trying to make sure that all of the carpet burn was covered. She hadn’t thought to superficially disguise it before she had come.

“You look—lively.” Harry’s voice was flat and questioning.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. She wondered if he was jealous, angry that she wasn’t moping around her house on the days she had off from the children, pining over him. “I had a good day today.” Her answer was tart and matter-of-fact. Her children were watching the exchange curiously.

“Working for Lucifer Malfoy?”

Ginny’s eyebrows went higher. “That’s not the nicest name, Harry. Especially because Albus is somewhat acquainted with his grandson.” Albus exhaled softly behind her. She hated when Harry made any sort of disparaging comment about the Malfoys, as tolerant as he was sometimes, because she knew that her middle son was on friendlier terms with Scorpius than Harry had ever been with Draco. “Yes, it was a good day for my article today. But James seems to be eager to go home—” here Ginny looked at her eldest son “—probably to Floo-call his girlfriend.” James had the decency to turn red. “All right, out the door with you. All of you.” Ginny hustled them out the door, and turned to leave herself, but Harry closed the door softly behind his children and stood near to her body. He looked at her thoughtfully, inhaling deeply.

“You smell different,” he said.

Ginny was good at lying, and was good at keeping her face immobile and blush-free, even in stressful situations.

“That’s interesting,” she said, and reached behind her, turning the doorknob. “We’ll see you in three days, Harry.” She slipped out.

---

She felt alive. That was the main thing that she realised when she was taking a shower later on, after the children had been bundled off to their respective rooms. Her hands had strayed between her legs, tracing between her labia, and when she had washed herself, she had winced. He had cleaved her open—it felt irrevocable, irreversible. When she had wiped after going to the bathroom, there had been light pink on the tissue—diluted blood. She was bruised on the inside. But for the next six days, she was in a constant state of arousal, always wet.

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