Wednesday, 31 July 2019

Harry Potter woke quietly in his bed and stretched gently before thinking, Wait, it's too dark, what woke me up? His hand snaked over to his bedside stand and touched his wand, and the silent Tempus spell told him it was quarter four in the morning. A quick recall and he knew it wasn't the dream, which involved all three of their children safely ensconced with their grandparents, an incredibly private beach on a Greek island holiday with his gorgeous wife of 17 years now, very little clothing, and strawberry flavoured yogurt.

It very definitely had not involved night terrors of any sort; in fact, recalling the interrupted dream reminded him that a certain part of him stood a bit proud...

He rolled onto his side, eyes still adjusted to the starlight and waning quarter-moon, to watch Ginny. Her coppery-gold hair, grown back since her professional Quidditch days, spread across her pillow. Right arm resting on her pillow raised around her head, at some point her left caught the sheets and duvet, pulling them down enough to reveal areolae darkened slightly from nursing three children. However, her easy, slow breathing and utterly relaxed face reassured him she still slept after their lovemaking when they retired yesterday.

Not Gin, then, he thought, followed with a Down, boy to himself. She'd returned from reporting on the Portugal — Italy 56 hour marathon Quidditch match on Monday. He didn't want to wake her yet; her portkey lag hadn't quite worn off. When did we become those married folk, for sleep to seem more important than sex, he wondered, though he knew it started with the six year stretch of time when at least two of their three were in nappies.

Taking a few slow breaths, he Listened to the rest of the house. All three children slept as well. So. Not nightmares, no impending household disasters, everyone except himself (and maybe the dog, or cat) asleep. What, then, awakened him?

Ah. It's past midnight. Later this afternoon I'll be 39 years old, he thought. Remaining on his side to enjoy the redheaded vision sleeping next to him, he sighed contentedly that he reached this milestone in his life. After all, his bones and muscles seemed to remember vividly when it appeared he wouldn't reach 18, much less 39. Relaxing he prepared to drift back into blissful sleep when a single word percolated through his awareness.

Podgorica.

Damn, he thought, today are the meetings with the Heads of Montenegro and Croatia's DMLE and Aurors. Why had Kingsley and Hermione scheduled this series of meetings with eight Eastern-European countries on his birthday week? Feeling any urge to sleep fleeing his brain, he rolled towards Gin and kissed gently the pulse at her temple, scent of cinnamon, flowers, Ginny filling his nose. Then, giving up on more sleep as a bad job, with stealth skills developed in those same Nappie Years he slid out from the covers.

Fingers wrapping around his wand, he slipped into their ensuite and placed a silencing spell on the door. A quick shower, quicker shave of the parts of his beard Ginny allowed him to trim, and then he silently dressed, today in a Muggle business suit he needed for the damn meetings. Checking his pockets for watch, enchanted washi paper, wallet, he let himself out of their bedroom and as silently, down the stairs.

Sir Dog lifted his head when he entered the kitchen, and he patted him as he slipped on his boots. 'Keep nose, eyes, and ears out, Sir, and I'll see you when I get home. If I get started early, I should be able to come home early.' Sir huffed back at him, and flopped his head back onto his bed pad. Rather than try to make even a small breakfast for himself, he let himself into the back garden and Apparated to the designated point closest to his favourite early-hours coffee shop near the Ministry.

The lights on and the 'Open' sign in the door, he stepped into an otherwise empty Deja Brew smiling at the waitstaff behind the counter. 'Good morning, Sam, how's the Sprog and Spouse?' he asked. Samantha looked up from wiping the counter and smiled back.

'Goodness, Mr. Potter,' she replied, her Yank accent still strong after a year in Great Britain, 'You're here early today. Second Favourite Order? And Bree and Darren are fine. How about yours?'

'Gin's back from her latest assignment Monday, and the Terrors are enjoying Summer Hols. All in all, we're doing well.' He stopped at the counter as Samantha started on a large triple-shot mocha. While she worked she tipped her head toward the pastries, and Harry nodded back.

'You eating here?' she asked, and he shook his head.

'No, today's shaping up to be under the cosh at work today, I'm for getting some things done before people get in. Sorry, I'd love to chat otherwise.' She shook her head at him while capping the paper cup, and bagging a croissant with a paper serviette. When he reached for his wallet she shook her head.

'Not today, Mr. Potter. Happy birthday.' Harry cocked his head slightly, looking at her. Even though she was American, he knew she was a witch married to a Muggle who worked in advertisements. He knew that because her mother hadn't approved, and followed them to England when his firm merged with a British agency, which transferred him as part of a plan to 'energise' the two agencies. Mother became involved in some 'incidents' that resulted in Harry ordering her brought in and impressed with the penalties for violating the Statute of Secrecy. Things quieted down after that. But he supposed, even with her always calling him Mr. Potter and never seeming to notice the scar, that she could recognise who he was.

'You're not going to get in trouble with E.J. about it, are you?' Samantha laughed.

'E.J. can get stuffed, isn't that the right phrase? Besides, I've seen him do the same for regulars. Go on, now, get to work so you can go home to your lovely wife. I'm sure she's something planned for you today, yeah?' Harry chuckled, gathered his packages, and nodded.

'Thanks, Sam. You're a keeper.' Then he turned and left, walking to the nearest entry phone booth.

'Harry Potter, Head Auror, please,' he spoke to the Voice, and then descended into the underground Ministry of Magic. He attached his ID badge to the jacket lapel as the lift descended, and stated his name clearly while walking through the security entry, nodding to the night officer. He hoped to get caught up on annual performance reviews for his senior staff before the diplomatic business started around nine.

Entering his office, he grinned at the diary parchment on his desk. Every work day, after he left, Abigail Baker, Professional Assistant deposited the next day's schedule on his desk. It didn't matter how late he stayed, and on multiple occasions he attempted to catch Baker in the act, but that projected schedule never appeared on his desk until he truly left the Ministry. Always, across the top of the otherwise very neatly done parchment, in her legible yet rough scrawl, the words: Pending F.U.N. Changes.

Everyone assumed when Robards announced his retirement that PA Emmerson, would carry on in the position of PA to the Head Auror. However, she told Harry on the day Robards told him he filed his retirement papers, that 65 years was long enough, and she planned to retire as well. One of the reasons Harry insisted on an Auror as his PA when Robards and Kingsley offered him the Head Auror position, an Auror understood that things could, and would change at a moments notice; could prioritise things as they happened.

So Harry posted the open position, interviewed a handful of candidates, then offered it to Abigail Baker, five year veteran with an impressive case closure rate. She'd accepted immediately, with one provision; she and her partner planned to get pregnant soon and her new boss needed to know. Knowing how important his own family was, Harry happily accepted the condition.

Twelve years later he considered it on the top ten list of best decisions. Once, to complement her about her work he mentioned that during a quiet debriefing after a major problem kept them all late. Baker looked at him sternly. 'I better be just barely on that list, Boss,' she said. He laughed and assured her Ginny and their children definitely outranked her.

He just sat down when his office door opened with a knock. Looking up, he watched Night Shift Auror Supervisor Fish enter. Much older than Harry, worry lines etched into his face, hair thinning, grey across the top of his head but still steely on the sides, Fish rarely smiled. This morning proved no exception. 'Uh, just coming in to add my note to the Plan of the Day, there, Boss,' he said, gravelly voice lubricated by endless cups of black tea he used to fuel his shift. Harry grins back, turns the parchment around and pushes it towards him.

'Wouldn't be the same without your comments, Phil,' he says. Fish picks up a quill from the desk, dips it into the inkwell, and scrawls underneath Baker's writing: Nothing to report. It wasn't F.U.N. Then he slid the parchment back to Harry.

'So who started that term, Phil?'

Fish straightens up, right hand unconsciously patting his wand which is in, of all things, a shoulder holster underneath his left arm, all exposed because he never wears his over-robe in the office. 'Believe it or not, Boss, it was your predecessor, back when he first came off Probation status.' He looked closer at Harry's eyes, knowing sometimes he didn't like talking about the War. Sometimes Fish didn't like talking about it either. But this seemed different; both of them are, after all, veterans even if Fish saw both parts of it. 'We just got back to the office after a bit of a dog's breakfast involving a dozen or so Death Eaters, and Gawain sat down to start writing his report. I looked over his shoulder when he set down his quill, said, “I'm done.” All he'd written was Fucking Ugly Nightmare. Sort of stuck with me.'

Harry nodded back, grinning. 'Good enough, Phil. I like nights that aren't F.U.N.'

'Me too. What brings you in so early? You've got those bloody meetings all day, don't you?' Harry shrugs.

'Woke up, couldn't get back to sleep. Figured I'd get some of the routine things done. Including your annual review. Be glad when this week's over, I don't mind saying.' Fish nodded, then waved, turned, and closed the door behind as he left the office

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall which said, 'Quarter Five.' With a sigh, pulled the Plan of the Day back towards himself, thinking Time to get to work. Glancing at the diary listing, he noted his meeting with Kingsley and Hermione started at eight. Two and three quarter hours to get some paperwork done. He pulled the first Annual Review off that in-box and laughed to himself at the name: Phillip K. Fish.

Time blurred as he read over the forms, reviewing notes appended by Baker from his records to support his checks in boxes — Exceeds Expectations, Meets Expectations, Needs Improvement, Comments. He kept focus on what he did, yet a small part of his mind seemed to sit behind him making observations. When did this stop being actual fun, not F.U.N.? When did it start being work?

Tracking down the Death Eaters that escaped the Battle of Hogwarts certainly brought memories of thrilling times; not necessarily pleasant, yet oddly enough in memory seemed to feel fun. Certainly the reunions with Ginny after some separation of a field mission or other led to blissful intimate moments, but he knew she felt better about his work the times he'd been assigned to training while on light duty after one injury or another. That knowledge coupled with his need to make her happy led to more training assignments, then Assistant Head Auror, and eventually to today. Some-when in there, what he did became more like work than fun.

He felt proud of reforms he'd championed as a new Auror, and then more he'd put in place after becoming Head Auror. New forensic spells requested from the Department of Mysteries, to match modern forensic science procedures used by Muggle law enforcement. Stricter recruiting guidelines that led to more qualified candidates for hire. And after completing training, all Aurors now underwent annual reviews, and even that those annual reviews must include an evaluation by a Mind Healer. Those improvements led to this week's series of meetings with representatives from foreign Magical governments that wanted to implement them.

Completing the tedious, boring work of completing, or reviewing and approving, annual evaluations, he took off his eyeglasses and rubbed his closed eyes.

'What the hell are you doing here so early? I didn't expect you for another half-hour.' Harry chuckled as he picked up his glasses and slipped them back on.

'Good morning to you, too, Baker,' he said, looking up at his PA, standing in the door. Grinning ruefully she shook her head.

'Sorry, but I learned quite quickly when I started this position, you are not a morning person. So what are you doing here, now?'

Harry shrugged. 'Woke up, couldn't get back to sleep, decided to get some things done so I could leave as soon as today's meetings are done.' he replied, pointing to the stack of completed evaluations. Baker looked at the stack.

'That's all of them?' He nodded.

'Don't get used to it, I expect you'll still need to nag about getting my paperwork done.' He pointed to the copy of the daily as she started picking up the forms. 'Any other updates? Phil already caught me up.'

'No. You meet with the Minister and Head of DMLE at eight to review today's goals. Montenegro in the morning, luncheon with everyone, and then Croatia in the afternoon. Both delegations are primarily interested in the forensic photography and analysis spells you've been pushing.' She hefted the stack. 'I'm actually proud of you, Mr. Potter, for getting these done.'

He nodded to her, picking up his empty coffee and with a slight grimace dropping it in the bin. Then he spotted the folded card that hadn't been on on his desk before she took up the finished work. 'What's this?' he asked as she grasped the doorknob. She turned and grinned at him.

'Happy birthday.' And she closed the door. He picked up the parchment, flipping it over to find a photograph of him rather diligently and repeatedly signing something at this very desk. Opening the fold, he read: Happy Birthday to one of the Best Boss' Ever.

Then, in a smaller font: At least when I can keep him busy...

Setting the card aside, chuckling, he picked up the single page listing that outlined which of O'Lochlainn's scene analysis forensic spells they believed the two Middle European departments to be most interested in acquiring.

At eight o'clock Harry stepped into the office of the Minister for Magic. Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up from the Daily Prophet he'd been reading and smiled. 'On time for a change, Harry. Hope that doesn't mean you got called in for something overnight.' Harry grinned, shaking his head.

'No, but I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep thinking about all this work you lined up for me. So I came in to keep the slave driver happy. Where's Hermione?'

'The Slave Driver is right behind you. What are you doing here before me?' asked Hermione, closing the door behind her. 'Happy birthday, Harry.'

'That's right, it is your birthday,' said Kingsley. 'Many happy returns.' Harry nodded at him while settling into the second chair before the desk, Hermione into the first.

'Thanks. Now, can we get to work? I've been informed by my wife that if I'm late this evening I'll be sleeping with Sir the Dog.' They all chuckled over that one; perhaps only Harry believed he really would be, if he got home late.

The overall agenda for these meetings that Shacklebolt organised covered greater international cooperation between law enforcement agencies, and to that end promoting sharing progress in various magical techniques to solve magical crimes. Both Hermione and Harry prepared lists of various new charms, spells, and analysis techniques adapted from Muggle forensics processes. The previous two days, meeting with representatives from Cxechia, Hungary, Slovakia, and Bosnia-Herzegovina proved interesting.

'So far, they're all interested in the crime scene photo reconstruction process,' Hermione told Kingsley. Harry nodded. 'I'm quite certain that Friday this will be the most attended demonstration.' Kingsley jotted a note on a parchment.

'That unpleasant bit of business in Washington this January gave us some good material on the Tabula Subscriptio charm,' Harry added, 'so I expect that one is on for Friday also. Thing that bothers me is that even though we've been emphasizing that Extremum Visionis is highly subjective and therefor not admissible as evidence, there's still a lot of interest.'

'Well, we can keep that one to talk only,' Kingsley shrugged, 'and not provide any other material. They're free to have their own Unspeakables research it. Be happy to share Tabulu; just not any of the details from that case, Harry. I'm quite sure MACUSA won't be sharing those details either.' They all looked over their notes from this meeting, comparing to what showed on their Planners for today. 'Right, are we all ready then? It's almost time for the joint breakfast meeting with Montenegro.' Hermione and Harry nodded to Kingsley. They bundled their folders and stood. Harry opened the door for them all as they started out to being the actual work of the day.

Harry hated crowds, and he knew that sometimes a crowd could be defined as no more than three people. A lot of it involved the hero-worship he felt so strongly he didn't deserve. More involved the lasting imprint that Rita Skeeter left on him from her writing during the Tri-Wizard years ago. Even more than those, he knew his early years, trying to stay alive while Riddle or Death Eaters attempted to kill him provided the most reason to hate crowds. The only times he didn't feel paranoid while in crowds involved his family, and sometimes his friends. He didn't count the years he pranced and capered in the Family Box during Harpies games. Then it was his persona as Ginny Weasley's (later Potter's) Number One Fan.

And, occasionally, gatherings that could only be referred to as work related. Like walking into the Ministry meeting room set up for a continental breakfast, knowing that the still relatively social interactions began the working sessions. Everyone in the room worked in Law Enforcement in some capacity.

Kingsley joined them for the breakfast, which included Marija Ruzic the Foreign Minister from Croatia with Josip Babić DMLE, and Head Auror Željko Jurić, and Foreign Minister Nikola Jovanović, Minister for Magical Law Enforcement Zora 'Zorka' Borozan, and Head Auror Theodophilus Kojac from Montenegro.

'Call me Theo,' he greeted Harry with a huge jovial smile when introduced by his Foreign Minister. He stood as tall, an obviously strong man but completely bald and with a large, wide nose that looked to Harry as if broken several times and not healed using Episkey.

As Kingsley, Ruzic, and Jovanović left the room, Harry felt the enchanted washi paper in his breast pocket vibrate, pulled it out and opened it.

You left too soon for
Your early-hour birthday gift
Quiet, quite intimate

Theo looked at the paper curiously. 'What is that?' he asked.

Grinning, he folded the paper and returned it to his pocket. 'It is an enchanted piece of paper we obtained in Kyoto; my wife wanted a secure means to communicate with me and the mirror phones weren't quite so widely available then. We could have used a simple pair of mirrors, but she wanted something which could be silent so if I was working it wouldn't alert anyone else but me. Basically, we text each other with it, short messages.'

Theo nodded. 'I understand. My own wife would love something like that; particularly early in my career. Do you think I could acquire one? You said Kyoto, did you not.'

'Yes, we went because she just started playing with the Holyhead Harpies, and the Ministry sent all the British-Irish League teams on a goodwill tour in '99. I'm not sure if you can get some; there are multiple spells, rather complex, and the wizard we got them from indicated part of the reason they work for us is our unique relationship.'

'Ah, well, one could try, I suppose. Shall we get started to the meeting room then?' He motioned for Harry to proceed him, and they started towards the door. The washi vibrated again, and Harry pulled it out as he started down the hall to their meeting.

Meant to wake you up
By kissing all of your scars
From head to belly

Cheeks flushing slightly, he cleared the page quickly and returned the washi to his pocket. Time to go to work, Potter he reminded himself. He followed Hermione, Zorka, and Theo into the conference room set up for them. Looking over the assembled group, he nodded to Hermione and sat.

'So, which items would you like to discuss first?' she asked the group. Zorka nodded to Theo.

'We are particularly interested in the photographic technique for creating a three-dimensional projection of a crime scene,' he said. Harry nodded, and started describing the process.

Three primary spells set up the groundwork for the process, quite literally. The first measured the perimeter sides of the scene. The second measured the area and determined the exact center, regardless of the shape of the scene. The third established true north (incorporating Point Me), and then defined the pentagram around, and centered upon, the center.

With this completed, the process now became physical. Ten photographs needed to be made, each with the center of focus...

'It's a technical term,' said Harry, pre-empting Herminone who started into a detailed explanation about how optics and lens design affected the process, 'I'm not sure what it is exactly, but our Crime Scene Wizards that perform this process, all experienced photographers, will explain it during the demonstrations.'

… the center of focus placed exactly over the points of the pentagram; five with the camera pointing outwards from the center, then five with it pointing inward and across the center. Then with each image developed partially in the usual manner, then with a new potion designed specifically for this purpose, the ten images were projected and the last incantation performed that combined them into a single projection.

As they neared the end of the explanation, with Hermione starting to field questions about how long it took, the paper in Harry's pocket buzzed quietly.

Then caressing your
wand with my nipples the way
That drives you just spare…

Trying to keep his face neutral, he folded the paper, only to feel the vibrations again.

Start licking your tip
Like I do Fortescue cones
When you are watching

Before he could fold it, again.

Oh how I enjoy
That sensation as cream fills
My mouth, swallowing

And again before he could clear the message...

I freely admit
Salty, savory Harry
Beats Fortescue's best

His cheeks felt warm as he hastily cleared the paper and pushed it into his pocket, grasping for a glass of water. This … Ginny... where did this come from? For 17 years of marriage and 20 as lovers (well, longer than that being honest with himself, but nearly that since they first shagged) they'd kept what they did at least relatively private. Members of their family knew what they likely were up to when they disappeared at family gatherings. Certainly they couldn't claim that their coupling never took place somewhere they couldn't be seen. Riding a broom, and once on Sirius’ Triumph which Gin declared provided a particularly intense climax. Several different scenic (and mostly isolated) beaches came to mind. A multitude of outdoor locations all about Britain, and in Canada, France, and New Zealand he recalled with quite pleasant memories. Not to mention several spectacular occasions on the roof of Grimmauld Place, before James came.

But this, these messages touching his soul as only Ginny could, setting him on fire here in public, something new in their two decades of learning how to arouse each other. He felt sure those two decades of experience explained how he could feel Ginny doing what she described. And he felt equally certain that time gap provided the only means for him to contain any physical signs of what her messages evoked in him,

He forced himself to concentrate on the discussion at hand, focusing on slow, deep breaths. This seemed to help. Until he realised Hermione repeated his name.

‘Er, What again?’

‘How many cases did you use this process, and to what outcome?’ asked Theo as he reached into a pocket and pulled out a red lollipop. Harry’s eyes lost focus briefly as Theo put the confection into his mouth. He must have noticed the look on Harry’s face. ‘Sorry, does this bother you? My wife wants me to stop smoking. I find these help.’

‘Er, no, go ahead. I know how ... important it is to keep one’s wife happy. Um, we’ve used this process around five years now, nearly a hundred cases. It seems to help the sitting Wizengamont to visualise the scene better. It definitely helps on more complex cases, as we can revisit the scene days or weeks after the event.’

He kept his focus through the rest of the examples about specific closed cases. Hermione listed the sentences in each, Zorka asking some pointed questions regarding several. Things moved along nicely, getting closer to their luncheon break. Standing up to join the others for that luncheon the washi buzzed again.

Then kneel up, tips of
My hair brush your chest, fiery
Strands light your eyes and

Harry groaned softly, both because of what Ginny said and because he could tell there would be more. Hermione gave him a querulous look, and he made a feeble excuse about needing the loo. As the door closed behind him the next message arrived.

You reach up longing
To hold my breasts, and I say
No... but you may watch

Gin, what are you doing to me, he thought, waiting for the next part.

As I cup and stroke...
My nipples harden with my
Thumb and finger pinch

Twenty-four years spent together exploring each other’s bodies, learning how to pleasure each other, he could not only feel the tips of her red hair sliding along his chest, he could see (in his minds eye yet even with his eyes open) her hands…

Your arms drop over
Your head. I grow hotter as
Your green eyes grow dark

Breathing slow and deep, steeling himself before the next message came in. He needed to calm himself before joining the rest for lunch. He briefly considered going to his office and hiding for the duration of the break. But Hermione expected him to be there, there would be questions he needed to field. So he knew he couldn’t hide. Another minute passed with no message. He felt calmer. He could do this.

Soft lips press again…
My hairs caress your nipples
While our tongues dance

Damn. No, he could do this. Clearing the paper he set it back inside his pocket and joined the group. Discussion picked up, some about the timing of the social events on Friday (formal attire, dinner and dancing), some between the Montenagrans and the Croatians regarding the subjects from the morning. Listening to the enthusiasm Theo Kojac put into his descriptions of the 3D scene photography, Harry suspected the Croatians would focus on something else.

This all made it easier for him to, not ignore exactly, but not respond immediately when the paper vibrated in his pocket the first time. And the second. The luncheon came to a close when the third came in. Sighing softly, he walked to the loo again for privacy. Opening the folded paper, he read each, tapping the enchanted paper to move through the three.

Then kneel up and you
Watch me finger myself while
Fondling your jewels

Wetting my finger
I push it deep in your mouth
While riding your thigh

Your tongue wraps
My finger, tasting me as
I slowly pull out

Oh, Merlin, Ginny, you are going to be the death of me today, he thought. One. One slow, deep breath. Focus. Work. He left the loo and entered the conference room to reprise the morning, this time with the Croatian delegation.

Twenty minutes in, she sent another.

Then stroke your nipples
With both my hands, softly...
And you moan Ginnyyyyy.

He kept checking his watch surreptitiously, the one Molly and Arthur gave him for his 17th birthday. The minutes dragged. Suspense mounted as the enchanted washi remained still. Still, he managed to keep focused on the business at hand, fielding questions about the Tempus Subscripio charm that tracked magical signatures on suspicious objects.

It happened a bit after 3 Pip Emma, while Harry updated Kingsley on which points needed to be live demonstrated Friday. Slowly he pulled the washi out of his pocket, and while Kingsley watched with a grin, read this message.

I straddle you, and
Guide you to my sopping folds
All to ride your broom

‘Ginny?’ Kingsley asked as he put the washi back in his pocket. He nodded, cheeks feeling warm.

‘All day, it appears I may inadvertently thwarted her giving me a gift this morning,’

Kingsley nodded. ‘Did that to my wife. Once,’ he said, grinning hugely. Harry simply shook his head, heading back to the conference room.

The last two messages arrive just as the last meeting ended,

Moan as you fill me.
Emerald eyes on mine, now
Losing myself … Oh

Harry. Oh. Harry.
Ooh. Harry. Oooh. Haarry. Ooooh.
Haarryy! Oooooh! Haarryyyyyyyy!

–––––< /p>

Finally. Finally the meetings ended. The next hour debriefing with Hermione and Kingsley felt nearly like torture. Harry pushed down the arousal from Ginny’s words all day, but now time neared to go home. Home, where a red-haired vixen named Ginny Potter stirred his soul still in her current silence. Hermione noted his restlessness. ‘Harry, You should probably go home. After all, you came in early.’

‘Anything planned for your birthday tonight, Harry?’ asked Kingsley.

‘Nothing big, that’s this Sunday at the Burrow. You’ll be there, right?’ Kingsley nodded. ‘Its just a few for tea tonight. The sprogs, Teddy of course, Ron and Hermione, Bill and Fleur. I expect Baker’s got something planned back in the Department before I can quite get out the door.’

‘Well, then, you better get back there so you can go home,’ Kingsley replied, and the two of them shooed Harry out the door.

HGHGHGHGHGHG

Ginny Potter stepped into the kitchen where all three of her children turned faces wearing their ‘I’m not doing anything wrong’ expressions toward her. She looked from one to the next, slowly, hands on hips. When Al gulped, she nodded.

‘So all your chores are done?’ Brown eyes swept the three faces again. She hoped she sufficiently concealed the mirth she felt at finding them here, remembering times her mother found herself and/or her brothers in the Burrows kitchen under similar circumstances. Oh Merlin, she thought, I am becoming my mother.

Al broke first. ‘Um, I’ve still got to set up the table and chairs in the back garden.’

‘I can’t set the table until Al puts it up,’ added Lily.

‘I’ve just got the last tidy in the bathrooms and the downstairs loo,’ James finished.

Ginny stepped to the sink for a glass of water, turning to her children again as she sipped. The sounds of the floo flames interrupted her as she started to ask why they sat in the kitchen, and Harry’s voice came to them. ‘Gin?’

‘Da’s home early,’ whispered Lily.

‘In the kitchen, Harry,’ Ginny called, wondering the same thing Lily whispered. She set her glass on the counter as Harry strode into the kitchen. Green eyes blazing and the shoulders of his jacket still covered with floo ash, she briefly wondered if perhaps she overdid things. ‘How was…’

His left hand fingers carded into her hair on the back of her head, right hand settling to the small of her back. He pulled her to him as his lips pressed firmly to hers, interrupting her query. She melted into him and the kiss, her hands sliding up his chest, arms around his neck.

‘Seriously! You couldn’t wait a few more minutes?’ James asked. Al made gagging noises as Lily giggled softly.

When Harry’s tongue gently teased her lips, she opened her mouth to his and gently nipped when his tongue darted in. As their kiss deepened, she realised dimly that the room grew silent. Their children no longer teased them, and she really didn’t worry. All that mattered to her stood within her arms, his holding her off the floor while he pressed her bum into the counter and cupboards. Time became measured by the beating of their hearts, by the breaths they stole when their tongues slipped, teasingly, back. Then their tongues enjoined their dance again, and her fingers slid into his unruly, dark hair.

When finally their lips began the next level, a dance of soft, repeated touches, she caught her breath.

‘…your day?’ she sighed, completing her earlier thought, Harry chuckled deep, throaty, sending another thrill through her. She felt the warmth and flush on her cheeks, her neck.

‘Witch, you know full well how deeply you writhed and wiggled under my skin all day.’ She opened her dark chocolate eyes to his, seeing his glasses somewhat askew, and Grinned.

‘Harry, do you remember the last time you kissed me like that in front of family?’

His deep, throaty chuckle sounded again. ‘Yes. Our wedding.’

‘Are they done,’ asked Al, ‘can we open our eyes?’

‘Definitely not done,’ Harry replied.

‘You know what you need to finish,’ Ginny said, still lost in their mutual gaze yet speaking to both her husband and their children. ‘Best be about it. James, you’re in charge down here.’

‘And James, in charge does not mean you delegate your chores to your siblings, it means you troubleshoot if they have problems while you do yours.’

‘What are you going to be doing?’ James asked.

‘Your Father and I will be upstairs for— ‘

‘About an hour— ‘

‘Getting ready.’

‘Right. Getting ready,’ Al scoffed.

‘Which is what you will tell our guests if they arrive before we’re back down.’

With one more soft, short kiss, Harry set Ginny’s feet back on the floor. They turned, arm in arm, and walked out of the kitchen. Lily giggled again. James and Al turned to face her.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Al asked.

‘I think they’re cute,’ she replied.

‘Cute? You enjoy watching them smog like that?’ James tossed in.

‘Not always, but think about it. How long have they been together, and they still act like lovesick teenagers sometimes?’ She giggled again. ‘All our cousins say they want a relationship like Mum and Da’s.’

‘Not all of them,’ countered Al.

‘Right, all our girl cousins do, then,’ Lily tossed back.

‘Harry!’ squealed Ginny from somewhere near the foot of the stairs.

‘Silencio!’ shouted James and Al. Lily laughed.

‘Ginevra,’ Harry’s somewhat quieter voice, from further up the stairs.

‘He only calls her that when he’s angry, or they’re getting really involved,’ said Al.

‘I don’t think he’s angry with Mum,’ teased Lily.

‘Bugger,’ said James. Lily and Al looked at him. ‘I just remembered, I’ve got the upstairs loo’s. I hope they remember to set silencing charms.’

‘I’ll trade you the upstairs loo’s for table setting,’ Lily offered. James looked at her, considering.

‘All the loo’s,’ he countered.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘Upstairs loo’s, and you do all my August dish washing.’

‘You just raised your price! That’s not how we haggle, Lily.’

‘It is today, and the price will only go up the more you haggle.’

‘You’ve been studying Uncle George,’ accused Al. Lily simply smiled sweetly at them both. James continued to glare at her. They heard the thump of their parents solid bedroom door closing.

‘You know there’s going to be clothing to pick up in the hallway now too, right James?’ she asked.

‘Done.’