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Ginny was restless in a way she didn’t know how to fix. She was back at The Burrow for her off-season break for the first time in years, and the familiar creak of the stairs and the scent of her mother’s cooking made her feel as though she had slid straight backward in life.
Last year she had been married, home in the cozy London flat she shared with her husband. She could admit now that she sometimes looked at that time through rose-colored glasses. The cracks had been there, and that summer had split them wide open. Her entire break consisted of shouting matches and slammed doors. They’d decided on divorce the day before she left for training camp.
Her divorce had only been finalized just over a month ago, and Harry had wasted no time. He was splashed across the Prophet nearly every week with a new witch on his arm. She’d stopped reading the papers after the fourth time he was spotted out with one. It wasn’t as if she had expected him to not date, but she wasn’t expecting a lineup of doe-eyed starfuckers. She hated not knowing if it was jealousy burning in her chest or the fear that maybe he had been carrying on like this all along, and just no longer had to hide it.
She could have had her own place, she’d toured over fifty flats and cottages, but none of them felt right. She couldn't articulate why she felt so hesitant, not even to herself. In the end she had packed her things and come home for the two-month break. She told herself next year would be different, next year she would have her shit together.
“Ginny, your father and I are going to Diagon today,” Molly said, bustling into the kitchen and pouring her a cup of tea without asking. “I’ve got someone coming to put in the new potions garden out back. Will you make sure he has everything he needs? Tools, water, whatever he asks for.”
Ginny nodded, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. “I will. You and Dad have fun, give George my love.”
Once her parents had Apparated away, the Burrow settled into a thick quiet that Ginny was sure she would never get used to, so different to the loud Burrow in which she had grown up. She made her way to her bedroom, intending to spend her day reading and writing letters, anything except dwell on what Harry might be doing with his latest ‘guest’ in the bed they used to share…
Only a few minutes later, a noise from the garden caught her attention, causing her to rise from her bed and look out the window. A man stood in the yard with his back to the house, surveying the plot Molly had marked out. He was broad-shouldered, his skin a sun-kissed tan, and his brown hair curled at the nape of his neck. He shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it over a nearby fence post, and Ginny gasped.
It was Neville.
She hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. He looked different. Stronger. Years of fieldwork had filled him out, defining the muscles in his arms and back as he knelt to examine the soil. Sweat gleamed along the line of his spine as he began marking out rows and setting out his trays of plants.
Ginny’s fingers gripped her windowsill as a feeling she had forgotten coiled low in her stomach. She knew she shouldn’t stare, that she should go downstairs and offer him lemonade like a proper hostess. Instead she stayed exactly where she was, watching his muscles flex as he worked, the way his trousers rode low on his hips when he reached for another plant.
An uncomfortable amount of time passed watching him work before she could take it no longer and tore herself away, cheeks burning. She walked to her bed on shaky legs and sat on the edge. The ache between her thighs had only grown more persistent. It had been such a long time…
She lay back against her pillows, one hand slipping under the hem of her dress, the other tugging her knickers aside. Her fingers found her slick center and she let out a shaky breath as she began to circle her clit.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
In her mind Neville was already there, having climbed through her window, vines trailing after him. She imagined him pinning her wrists above her head with gentle but firm magic and saying “Been watching me, Gin?” She thought of her own hand as his, shoving her dress up to her waist. She pictured him dropping to his knees in front of her, tasting her through her knickers before pulling them aside himself, dragging his tongue through her folds, tasting her completely. Ginny’s real fingers moved faster, matching the fantasy as dream-Neville licked and sucked her most intimate place.
Then, she envisioned him pulling back, leaving her at the edge as he sat up to remove his trousers. She pictured his cock thick and hard, precum beading at the tip. He wouldn’t say a word as he hooked her legs around his waist and pushed inside her in one deep thrust. Ginny thrust two fingers inside herself, rubbing her clit with her other hand, the pressure building as fantasy Neville drove into her again and again. She cried out as she came, clenching around her soaked fingers.
Then she opened her eyes.
Neville stood frozen in her bedroom doorway, shirt still off, eyes wide with shock.
Ginny yelped and pulled her hand away, scrambling to pull her dress down. “Neville!”
“I’m sorry!” he blurted, his face flaming. “Molly said I could come find you if I needed anything and the shed’s locked and I couldn’t get in and I called for you at the bottom of the stairs but you didn’t answer so I came up and your door was open and–” He swallowed hard. “Ginny… did you just say my name?”
The warm summer air between them felt heavy and strange. Ginny sat up, her heartbeat wooshing in her ears, mortification and desire fighting inside of her. She expected him to bolt, instead he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. When she felt brave enough to look at him, Ginny was shocked to find his eyes darkened, his gaze full of lust.
Before she could overthink it, she stood, meeting him in the middle of her room. Their mouths crashed together in a desperate kiss. The yearning and quiet longing that they had suppressed in their youth for Harry’s sake finally unleashed. His hands slid down her back, cupping her arse and pulling her flush against him. She could feel how desperately hard he was already.
“Neville…” she whispered against his lips.
“Ginny… wait.” He pulled back from her, breathing hard, and her heart sank.
Here it comes… She thought. We can’t do this, it wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be fair to Harry…
“Ginny… I’m so sweaty. I’ve been working for hours. Let me–”
Ginny’s heart shot right back into her chest as a grin spread across her face. She grabbed his wrist and tugged him down the hall, toward the bathroom. “Shower. Now.”
They barely made it inside before clothes started coming off in a frantic rush. Ginny turned the shower on, and stood, staring at Neville's body while the water warmed up, her naked chest rising and falling with her breath.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Neville asked in a low, wrecked voice. “Ginny, I don’t want to assume…”
She stepped under the spray and pulled him in after her. “I’m sure.” Her hand slid down his wet chest. “What did you just watch me do, Neville?” She stood on tiptoe, pressing her chest against his as she moved her mouth close to his ear. “Whose name did I say while I was touching myself?”
Something in him snapped. A low, almost feral sound escaped his throat as he spun her around and pressed her front against the shower tiles.
“Mine,” he growled against her ear. “You said my fucking name.”
His hand moved between her legs, fingers stroking her roughly before he pushed two fingers inside her, much thicker than her own two fingers which had just occupied the space. She moaned, pushing back against him as he fingered her, biting and kissing at her neck.
It wasn’t long before he gripped her hips, lined himself up, and thrust into her in one deep stroke, just as her fantasy Neville had. He stretched her perfectly, better than she could have imagined. He fucked her hard, like he knew that’s what she needed, like he knew that she needed someone to not treat her as if she would break.
He braced one hand up beside her head as the water slapped between their bodies, his other hand gripped tightly at her waist.
“Fuck, Gin,” he panted, his hips snapping faster against her. “You have no idea how I used to think about this. Hearing you moan my name like that… shit…”
Every thrust pushed Ginny closer to the edge, her brain no longer able to think properly. “Harder,” she gasped. “Neville… please…”
He groaned and gave her exactly what she asked for, pounding into her until her legs shook. She came hard with a cry, clenching around him as he continued to fuck her through it.
He lasted only a minute longer before he pulled out suddenly with a groan, coming in hot streaks across the shower floor and the back of Ginny’s thighs.
She turned in his arms, still breathing hard. “I wanted you to fill me up,” she said, her voice teasingly pouty.
Neville held her as he worked to catch his breath, his eyes still dazed from the effort. “Shit… sorry,” he panted. “I didn’t want to… without asking…”
Ginny pressed a kiss to his wet shoulder. She wasn’t really complaining, her body felt loose and satisfied in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Next time.”
They stayed under the spray for a few more minutes, lazily washing each other. Neville’s hands were rough on the surface, but surprisingly gentle on her skin as he soaped her back and her thighs. At the same time, Ginny ran her hands over his chest and arms, enjoying how solid he felt. The steam and the intimacy felt almost as good as the sex.
Eventually the water started running cold, and they reluctantly got out, toweled off, and got dressed. Ginny pulled on a clean sundress, and offered him one of her oversized shirts that had once belonged to Charlie. Every few seconds their eyes would meet and they would share a giddy smile.
They headed downstairs together, his fingers lightly brushing her back as they moved. Once they got to the kitchen, Ginny leaned against the counter, and Neville bent down to once again capture her lips in a soft kiss.
Or he would have if he hadn’t jumped back when the door flew open.
“Ginny?” Molly’s voice rang out as she and Arthur stepped inside, shopping in hand. “Have you seen Neville? His tools and plants are still outside, and we don’t see him anywhere—oh! There you both are!” Molly spotted them as she shut the door, both looking every bit as if they had been hit with a stunning spell.
Arthur smiled “Oh, good. We were worried something might have happened to you, son.”
Ginny and Neville remained frozen, trying and failing to keep the horrified expressions off of their faces. Molly stopped mid-step and studied them closely.
“Wait… Why do you two look like you’ve been caught stealing biscuits?” Her eyes narrowed as she considered them both more closely. “And why on earth do you both have wet hair?”