Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing.**

_Yes, well. Victoire has always been a bit of a bitch, hasn't she?_

Ginny stills her tongue between her teeth before the thought flies out loud into the open. She loves her niece, but facts are facts. Proof positive is Teddy, slumped, sullen and absently fingering his balled-up socks in her breakfast room at 10:42 on a Friday night.

"I'm sorry," he says, straightening under what, Ginny realizes, must have been quite a hard stare. "She's your blood kin. I shouldn't…" He shifts. Through the glass table, she can see his toes curl against the polished oak floor. She's a poor substitute for Harry, knew she would be when she invited him in. She feels the familiar pang of disappointment that the two of them have never been better friends. But that doesn't mean she can't try one last time to put him at ease.

She rises from her chair. "Actually, I was just thinking this probably calls for something a bit stiffer than the old chamomile, yeah?"

"Yeah." Teddy says, and then adds, "I mean, if you say so."

Ginny turns in the doorway, props her hand on the jamb. "You're an adult, now, Teddy. What do _you_ say?"

And that's all it takes. A bit of even footing. He raises his head, squarely meets her eye. "I say, yes. Something a lot stiffer, please."

Hours later, Ginny tries to remember the last time she talked with anyone like this; actual give-and-take, adult conversation. Lily talks at her, an endless flow of words. And Harry, when he's home, talks _to_ her, but it's not the same as this. After one last, long bout of laughter, Ginny pushes her hair back from her face. She looks across the empty glasses to Teddy, his dark, roguish eyes still on her, and feels the final shift. Something inside rising up to shake off the dust.

"So," she says, unfolding herself from her chair. "Eggs on toast? I'm feeling… peckish." Her voice wavers.

Teddy never blinks. He says, "Yeah, I think so."

Moving to the kitchen, she's already accepted what's going to happen as he follows too close behind. Even the sight of Lily's family portrait on the icebox can't stop the anticipation trilling through her skin, and she lets him pull the egg carton from her hand and pin her against the counter.

She should stop him. She should put her hand on his chest and say they're both just lonely. She should step away and remind him of who he came to see in the first place. She should be the responsible adult and tell him that this cannot end well and so it shouldn't even begin. But before she can do any of these, his mouth is moving with hers in sweet, new ways, and he tastes like the very best whiskey Harry's money can buy, and it's all utterly futile. All the words in the world won't talk this need away, so she drags him closer. She pulls her stomach in as he reaches down, then rolls onto the outer soles of her bare feet, opening up, letting him touch her like the nineteen-year-old he is. And, finally, after he's tugged her jeans to her ankles and tongue-flicked every last reservation from her body, when she gathers enough strength in her spine to move her head forward, she looks down at him on his knees, promises herself she'll make him leave before Lily wakes in the morning, and says, "Let's go to bed."

It's only one night, then never again.

Until the Sunday at the Burrow, when he skives off the pick-up Quidditch game and disappears into the house. Ginny makes sure Lily is well engaged picking pears with Molly, then goes to find him waiting in her old room.

"This is bad," she says as her feet leave the floor. He lifts her up onto the dresser, spreads her knees apart, and shoves her knickers to the side. He grabs her hips, pulls her forward.

"Yeah. I'm terrible," he groans out, sliding inside. "But you're so fucking amazing I can't help myself."

And now, it is twice.

She's glad she only ever buys white bed linens. The rapid fading would be a tell-tale sign, otherwise.

Five weeks in, she's draws her fingers through his dark turquoise hair. Teddy lifts his lips from her hip bone and says, "I'll do anything you want. I'll be whoever you want me to be. Just say it, and It's done."

And, though intrigued, Ginny politely declines.

"'S allright." Teddy grins. "I'll figure it out."

And he does.

He learns how firmly to grasp her hair, and where to bite her shoulders. He learns how far to slip his fingers past her lips, when to pull them away, and just where to touch her after. He learns how hard, how soft. When to lick, scratch, or nip.

Things Harry won't do to her, can't do to her. Teddy figures it out.

"All right. Professor Longbottom, then?" He offers, and then morphs when she bites her lip and doesn't say no.

"You realize most of this is just wild conjecture," Teddy says, gesturing below his waist, before leaping on top of her and muffling her squeals with his mouth.

"If you tell me your fantasies," he says. "I'll make them come true."

Eight weeks, and he asks "What about this?" His stature shudders down on itself while other parts bloom. "Would you like a go with this?"

Hermione, ten years younger and a fair bit curvier, stands at the foot of the bed. Small ripples roll down her throat. "I can even sound like her, if you want."

Ginny stares, breathes through her lips. Beneath the sheet, a white hot ache pounds in her thighs. She crosses her ankles and shakes her head 'no'.

"You _do_ like it," Teddy says, stepping forward in a bang-on mimic of Hermione's walk. "You've thought about it, yes? At least a few times, over the years." He reaches for the night stand and grabs the hair brush, eyes never leaving Ginny's. He leans over her until their lips almost touch. "Don't you want to know what it's like? I can be soft and sweet," he drags Hermione's lips over Ginny's jaw. "Or I can be very stern, indeed." He steps back, slaps the flat side of the brush to his palm. "So, tell me, what's your pleasure?"

This is insane and so very, very wrong. The words "Scarlet Woman" scream through her mind.

_But it's all just a game_, Ginny thinks as he slides Hermione's body over hers. _Everything, all of it, nothing but a game_…

There's not a moment in the day he's not in her mind. As she's bathing Lily, or chopping onions, or sorting laundry. Anytime she's on her hands and knees, he's behind her in spirit. She's not sure what she means to him, or even what he means to her. He doesn't see other girls, and she's taken to feigning sleep when Harry finally comes home. She hides her left hand from herself, tucking it below tables, plunging it deep in the bubbles of the dishwater, tucking it under her pillow at night.

"Have you seen Teddy around, recently?" Harry asks over his plate of rashers and eggs.

"No, not lately," Ginny lies, over-pouring the coffee. "Why?"

"Just found a pair of his old socks under the icebox. Hand-knitted ones, with his name stitched in the heel. No telling how long they've been rotting, there. It's been, what? Since the beginning of summer he last came round?" He shakes his head, pushes his fork through the golden yellow yolk. "That's pitiful. I should invite him round. What about Friday? Is Friday okay for you?"

When Harry is home, he's so sweet and sincere. Ginny kisses his head, lets her fingers linger over the stubble on his cheek.

"Yeah. Friday works for me."

"Good," Harry says. "Good."

Teddy comes early for dinner. Four hours early.

She kisses him long and slow. She pulls his shirt over his head and says, "I want you, today. Just you. No games. No disguises."

He tilts his head back and looks in her eyes. And he seems to feel exactly what they're getting at, because he's gentle as he lays her down. He touches her like it's his last chance, and she doesn't realize until they are done and he's dressed and he's kissing the inside of the ankle sticking out from the sheet, that it was just that: The very last.

That night, they sit at a table with Harry and Lily. Ginny keeps her left hand on her glass all night, her wedding ring shining in the candle-light.

Victoire returns to her senses.

Molly's a bit too excited about the rumours of wedding bells.

"Oh, it will be beautiful, dear." Molly says, folding the serviettes, and sending them flying into the drawer." Just like yours and Harry's. And they will be happy, won't they. Just like you."


	2. Chapter 2

One More Night

_So I cross my heart and I hope to die,_

_That I'll only stay with you one more night…._

The witch flipped her umbrella closed. There was still a strong breeze, but it had finally stopped raining. The road from the train station to the town wasn't particularly long, but it wound steadily uphill, so that she was slightly out of breath by the time she passed the rickety road sign that welcomed her to the small coastal village. The streetlights were twinkling on in the setting gloom as she rounded the main square and made her way to the inn that had become her weekly haunt.

"Evening, Amanda," the woman at the door said.

Ginny smiled sweetly at her, ignoring the distaste that dripped from every syllable of her assumed name. In the beginning, she'd been "pet" or "love", but obviously old Miss Jones had an idea of what went on in her inn every Friday night, and Ginny was "pet" no more. "Evening, Miss Jones. Room 21?"

"As always." The woman flung the key down on the counter and went back to reading the evening paper without another glance at the redhead.

"Cheers!" Ginny said anyway. She didn't care. They'd picked this place out of convenience, but if the woman proved to be too much of an annoyance, they could find somewhere else.

Room 21 was at the end of the hall. From the sound of it, the other rooms were unoccupied that night. There'd be someone waiting for Ginny, though. She smiled as she went to put the key in the lock. The door opened before she could, and she was pulled roughly inside and pinned against a wall. Lips came crashing down on hers as she tossed her bag to the floor.

"Hello to you too," she said when they broke apart.

"I'd prefer not to spend the hour or so I have with you by talking, Weasley."

"We've got all night. I told Harry I was courting some big shot Quidditch players in Liverpool tomorrow, so I wouldn't be home."

"Is that true?"

"Me and Liverpool? What do you think?"

There was a snigger, and Ginny waved her wand, lighting the fire in the room's tiny fireplace . Shadows danced along the walls as her lover pushed her onto the bed. It didn't matter that they had all night – there would always be this sense of urgency. Of needing to go as many times as they could, as fast as they could, because maybe this time Ginny really would change her mind. And that, Ginny suspected, was what was so addicting about this – the feeling of being truly, physically, wanted. The ripped clothes and scratched skin and bite marks she had to mend and hide every Saturday morning were the only things she looked forward to anymore. It was the thrill of not being good for a change – the thrill of being undone.

As the two of them moved together in the shadows of the quiet room, Ginny felt a sort of vicious joy in finding that she didn't care about the consequences at all. She was happy.

_And I know I said it a million times,_

_But I'll only stay with you one more night._

The house was quiet when she got in the next day, but she knew Harry was home. He was always home for a little bit on Saturdays, even though he'd rather be out chasing Dark wizards. He felt, even though the kids were gone, that he should put in an appearance at least once a week. Even after everything, Ginny didn't really hate him, but that superficial sense of duty really irked her.

"Morning," Harry said as she came into the kitchen. He nodded at the stove. "There's brunch."

"Cheers." She poured a mug of tea and scooped some of the eggs and sausages onto a plate.

"Where was it you were again?" Harry asked in a nonchalant way.

Ginny had to stop herself from snorting. She knew this game – he liked to try to catch her out. "Liverpool. The Lightning's manager and publicist wanted to talk."

"You hate Liverpool."

"With the burning passion of a thousand Cruciatus Curses, but I like my job and I'd like to keep it," she said dully. "My boss wants to metaphorically blow the Lightning, I get out the flavored lube."

"Do you have to be so crude all the time?" he asked, giving her a disgusted look.

"You're best friends with my brother, it shouldn't bother you by now."

Harry huffed and went back to reading his paper. "I don't even know if I believe you anymore," he said quietly.

"At least I bother to make my lies believable," she shot back. "You keep asking because you want to check. I don't have to ask because I know you'll tell me compete bullshit."

He sat still behind the paper, and the only sign that he wasn't reading was where the edges of the paper were bunched in his fists.

She let her mind wander, trying to decide what errands were absolutely necessary for that day. She was tired. Nothing sounded better at the moment than a nice leisurely afternoon reading in the hammock in the back garden.

"Who is it?"

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she turned to stare at Harry. "Sorry, what?"

"Who is it?"

They stared at each other. It was out of the blue, but she wouldn't insult his intelligence by saying something stupid like, "I don't know what you're talking about" or "What do you mean?"

"Why does it matter?"

"You're unbelievable."

"You want to tell me every girl you've shagged since we got married?" Ginny asked, smirking. "I imagine the list is quite long now."

A look of panic stole over Harry's face, then it was replaced by shock, then amusement. "Point taken, I suppose," he said, resigned to the fact that he was caught. He folded his paper and stood, taking his dishes to the sink. "I'm going to the office."

"As expected. Have a good day, dear."

He kissed her on the head as he passed.

_Try to tell you no,_

_But my body keeps on telling you yes._

_Try to tell you stop,_

_But your lipstick got me so out of breath…._

Lips pressed against her neck as she shuddered. She could feel her nails break skin from how hard she was grasping at the arms holding her.

"Oh my god…stop….I can't anymore." Ginny fell back against the pillows, breathless. She smiled as she felt tiny circles traced on her skin.

"Good," came the equally breathless reply. "I can't either."

She chuckled and turned to face her lover. They listened to the waves crash against the shore outside for a long while. Ginny had almost fallen asleep when she heard,

"Not that I'm complaining, but what's got into you tonight?"

Ginny shrugged. "Harry and I are getting a divorce."

"About bloody time."

"We sort of…vaguely admitted our transgressions to one another over eggs last weekend."

"Should I flee the country?"

"We avoided the gruesome details, so now. He doesn't want to know who you are, really, and I definitely don't want to know about his…outer source of relief."

There was a laugh that sounded far too loud in the quiet inn. "Wait, him too?"

"What? You think he's too Gryffindor for this sort of thing?" Ginny asked, leaning up on her elbow.

"He just…didn't strike me as the type. Way too uptight for this."

"Allow me to dispel a few myths about the Famous Harry Potter for you –"

"That's quite alright. There are about fifty things I'd rather be doing with you right now, and not even one of them has to do with discussing your husband or the simmering – wait, no, at this point, _boiling_ cauldron of dysfunction that is your marriage. You two are worse than George and Angelina."

"No one's worse than George and Angelina."

The chip shop's light flickered out across the street and Ginny sat up. "That's my cue."

"Don't be daft, you just got here."

"Three hours ago."

"And it's not like you have to keep up the charade anymore. Stay."

Ginny sighed, staring down at her shoes. "I can't. I have to…I just can't."

"You really mean that this time, don't you?"

"What do you want from me? Did you expect us to get married, have a couple of kids, and spend our weekends at picnics and the zoo?"

"Not in the slightest. In fact I may need to go vomit in a minute. But I thought maybe we could be miserable, selfish assholes together. Isn't that what we've been doing for the past two years?"

Ginny was still for a moment, then she smiled. She winked and blew a kiss as she left for the night.

_So I cross my heart, and I hope to die_

_That I'll only stay with you one more night._

_And I know I've said it a million times,_

_But I'll only stay with you one more night._

Hogsmeade was covered in a blanket of fluffy white snow. It was still coming down, but Harry and Ginny could see the Hogwarts students clearly as they passed. They spotted their children coming toward the Hog's Head and glanced at each other.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Ginny said. "We should let them at least finish the year without this looming over them."

"They never come home for Christmas anymore," Harry said. "And they deserve to hear it from us before they hear it from the Prophet. It'll be out soon enough, we went to the Ministry today."

The bell jingled and James, Albus, and Lily trooped in, knocking the snow off their boots. They didn't greet their parents, but sat down, looking somber.

"Who's died or what's wrong?" Albus asked, cutting right to the chase.

Ginny and Harry shared another glance before Harry spoke.

"Kids…this is hard for us to tell you but…. Your mother and I are getting a divorce."

There was nothing. No shock. No cries of rage or anguish. Nothing.

"These past few years have been difficult," Ginny cut in. "But we'll still all be together at Christmas, and –"

"Is that all?" Lily interrupted.

"Merlin, I thought Granddad had come down with some weird Muggle virus again," James said, sagging with relief.

"About bloody time," Albus summed up for the rest of them. "Though, you could've waited until the end of the year. I owe Scorpius ten galleons now. I said you'd make it through James' graduation."

Ginny and Harry sat looking shocked.

Lily got up and hugged each of them. "You hate each other. The whole world knows it. For Merlin's sake, go be happy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with Randy Finnegan."

"Oi!" Harry yelled, but Lily kept walking.

"You two okay?" Ginny asked the boys.

"Fine," Albus said, standing and putting on his coat.

"Yeah…what Lily said and all that. See you at Easter!" James said.

"Well…that was…." Ginny started.

"Yeah…" Harry finished.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

Harry broke first, pulling her into a one-armed hug. "Take care of yourself, Weasley."

"You too, Potter." She knew him – knew he needed to be the one to walk away first. So she waited until he was out the door and out of sight before gathering her things and Disapparating.

When she appeared again, it was in the alley near the inn she'd spent so much time at these past two years. She didn't go in, however, but kept walking father into town. The sounds of the waves grew dimmer as she wove her way to the edge of the village. She made her way up to one of the smaller houses and rang the bell.

"You're late, Weasley."

"But blissfully unattached now, Parkinson."

The older witch stood aside to let Ginny in out of the cold.

_Baby, give me one more night._


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama