"... Ginny, I promise, I can explain..." Hilarious misunderstanding?
A/N: I hope you like!! flirty, fluffy, a little sultry.
It’s late, when Ginny gets home. The kitchen light is on, a dish covered with foil and a messy little note on top, because Harry can be as much of a mother hen as Molly Weasley when he’s in the mood.
Bone tired as she is, Ginny also hasn’t eaten since 11:30 lunch with her agent. Demelza’s always a laugh, but business is still business and it feels like her mind has been whirring since four this morning.
Still, there’s no reason she can’t multitask. So she grabs a fork and tucks in, moaning around a mouthful of mashed potatoes while she kicks off her shoes, works her trousers down her legs, releases her hair from its braid. By the time she’s finished with her double portion of cottage pie, Ginny’s ready to swallow a glass of wine, cuddle up in her pajamas, and drift off to sleep next to her adorable husband.
She’s checked off goals one and two and thrown in a quick face wash and tooth brushing, when a gasp sounds from the bedroom.
Even this long since the war, it’s not unusual for either of them to wake up gasping for air, phantom loved ones just out of their reach. And Harry, well it’s not as if dark wizards and death are ever far from his mind, given his chosen career.
But when she enters the bedroom, it’s not quite as dark as she expected, or as…sleepy. Instead of Harry’s curled up form resting cozily beneath the covers, their bed looks like a - tent?
Something’s glowing from the inside, probably Harry’s wand if she’s guessing.
Padding around the bed softly, Ginny finds a break in the sheets and pokes her head in. Harry drops his book and nearly his wand - probably best that he’s overcome that impulse, given his profession - “You’re home.”
“You, young man, have work in the morning.”
“Gin, I promise I can explain.”
With a grin, Ginny gently crawls into the fort and settles in next to him. “I’m listening.”
“So I - what time is it?”
Ginny fumbles around for Harry’s bookmark - World’s Best Reader, a gift from Hermione when she discovered his New Year reading resolution - and slips it in place before setting it aside. “Late. It’s very late.”
“Emma is totally not picking up on Mr. Knightley mooning over her and it’s like the stress of Ron and Hermione all over again,” Harry moans, “I mean, the personalities aren’t a match but damn.”
Humming thoughtfully, Ginny snuggles into his side. “It’s a lot. People should just snog in front of their entire house instead of all this will they won’t they business.”
“Some pining is good though,” Harry says, soft.
“Within reason,” Ginny amends, “Sometimes you have to put a poor bloke out of his misery before he gets brain damage from bludgers to the head.”
“Excuse me, who put whom out of their misery?”
“The leaper - not the leapee,” Ginny asserts, “Also you still haven’t explained the fort.”
“Forts are fun,” Harry shrugs, “And that was a hug until I snogged the daylights out of you.”
Ginny sits back with a grunt. “Until you?”
Harry quirks his brow. “Yes. And forts are not for fighting, they’re for fun.”
As he leans in, Ginny tilts her head so Harry can work his way down her neck, nipping and teasing. But she’s not about to let the subject get changed. Playful arguing is one of her top favorite methods of foreplay.
“That,” Ginny sighs, “Is absolutely false. Forts are specifically for fighting.”
“These are - ah - sheets.”
Ginny rolls over, grinning down at him. “These are sheets, we’re under them, it’s late.”
“And I’m on administrative leave,” Harry adds, mostly a moan.
Pulling back, lips red and face flushed, Ginny squints. “Front page worthy?”
“A given, but not the main headline,” Harry answers, lifting her top off.
“We’ll discuss later - usual?”
“Arsehole potential suspect, long week, grinding wheels of justice.”
She kisses him, long and lingering and pulls away with barely a whisper. “Yum. I love bad-boy Potter.”
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