L'Amour de la Fille

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all associated characters, are not mine; I'm borrowing without asking for an extended period of time. Don't sue me; I own nothing sue-worthy.

Prologue Part 1

Giant green tongues of flame rose suddenly in the small hearth of a wonderfully warm and beautiful kitchen. The green light cast an eerie glow upon its red and gold interior. Its only inhabitant, seated at one end of a small and worn wooden table in front of the fire was set in sharp relief. Her head had been propped up by her hands and her eyes were fluttering closed when the fireplace roared to life. She had been waiting a long time for the signature flames to rise as they did. She sat at the edge of her seat, eyes widened in anticipation, eyebrows flew into her forehead, and she bit her lower lip as though she could not wait any longer.

As though in answer to her silent plea, a tall, dark-haired man strode through the fire. He brushed off his shoulders, but before he could do anything else, he was confronted with an armful of chattering female.

“Harry!” she exclaimed in her excitement. “Oh Harry, it’s come!”

The woman had burst from her seat and threw her arms around Harry, who grinned in spite of himself. He embraced her tightly, then led her to the small table, behind which on a window ledge was a previously unnoticed owl hooting impatiently as though he’d been there all afternoon. Harry knew immediately what this waiting owl signified.

“All right, love. Before this owl starts going in for the kill,” Harry inclined his head toward what looked like beak and claw marks all over the young woman’s hands and smiled slightly at a small and simple diamond ring on her left hand, “Open it. You could have read it before I came home; it would have prevented the minor injuries you’ve sustained in waiting for me.”

He gently picked up her hands, kissed each finger, and waved his wand and the scratches and beak marks disappeared.

“No excuses now, love. Go on. Open it.” Harry sat down at the one end that his wife had previously occupied and knitted his hands together expectantly. She eyed the owl nervously, but not because of its razor-sharp talons or scissor-like beak. She had anticipated this moment all afternoon, had chewed her nails down to stubs, had hexed every garden gnome within a mile radius of her house and had polished her Phantom 3000 to within an inch of its life, but now that the moment was upon her…

“To hell with the whole thing!” she exclaimed, tearing the missive from the perturbed owl that promptly snapped its beak and flew out the open window with a flourish.

Slowly unraveling the letter, Harry watched his wife as her features went from tensed anticipation to sheer bliss. Her long red hair was in a half-bun, wisps of it flying everywhere, adding to the vision of reckless beauty he had fallen in love with so long ago. Her freckled nose crinkled as though she was going to cry, her blue eyes becoming glassier with unshed tears.

She stood in shocked silence, he waiting patiently for her to tell him what was in the letter, though he already knew.

She looked up, a huge grin displaying her pearly white teeth, the paper quavering in her shaking grip.

“I PASSED!” she cried. “Oh Harry, I passed!” She shoved the parchment into her husband’s hands, and he read the familiar Ministry letter that he had received only a year before:

Ginevra Potter,

I, Gawain Robards, and the Governors of the Ministry of Magic Auror Academy, are proud to inform you of your successful completion of all requirements to become a Ministry Auror. Your exceptional talents and dedication are a valuable addition to our department. You are to report directly to Barnett Williamson, deputy head, the 1st day of September, 2002 for your first assignment. You are sure to do the Ministry of Magic proud.

In Service,

Gawain Robards, Head Auror; Order of Merlin, 2nd Class

Ginny was on her toes, re-reading the parchment over Harry’s shoulder. Harry looked down to his wife, whose eyes were huge with happiness, and gently cupped her chin with his right hand.

Harry looked deep into his wife’s eyes. He loved her immeasurably. Harry regretted every moment he missed with her before the war, and relished every moment with her since. And now they could depart for work every morning, and leave work every night, together. He bent down and kissed her gently, lovingly, and lingeringly, as though every taste was his last.

He broke from the kiss, Ginny flushed and her eyes darkened in soft arousal.

Harry quirked his head, “the last time we received post like this, we celebrated in a rather memorable way. Care to join me, Madame Potter? I believe your bedchamber awaits.”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, she giggled, and he swooped down and cradled her petite frame in his arms.

Just as Harry was about to sashay out of the kitchen, wife in arms, to his bedroom, a loud “HEY!” could be heard from the hearth.

Before Harry could turn around or replace his wife upon the floor, a very familiar voice issued from the fireplace, sounding a little aggravated if not downright annoyed.

“Harry and Ginny Potter, do you honestly think you can sashay out of the kitchen like that when the entire Weasley clan is waiting anxiously for news of your letter?”

Hermione’s voice was irritated, but her face held a knowing smile. Harry walked toward the fireplace and stood his wife at its flames before taking a seat at the worn wooden table. He muttered a quick “Hello” to Hermione, then sat back and conjured a glass of pumpkin juice for himself. From the sounds of it, this was going to take a while.

“Ginny,” Hermione began, “You cannot just floo the entire family all day in frightened anticipation and then expect to go off shagging like bunnies as soon as Harry gets home.”

Hermione then lowered her voice, “I am unexpectedly hosting your parents, Fred, George and their wives, Bill, Fleur, their kids, and not least of which Ronald who is driving me insane. And your mother has been redecorating my house all afternoon; making it more ‘homey’ and she’s rearranged my kitchen about five times. I’m going batty!”

Hermione’s face, though illuminated with green, was quickly turning beet red.

“You know, Hermione,” Ginny smirked from a kneeling position upon the floor, “You’re so red you’d do Ron proud.”

“Oh come off it,” her color deepened even further, “You know better than to keep the Weasley clan in eager anticipation of the news that owl was carrying after telling us all repeatedly that your future career depended upon it!

“And due to your new wards,” at this she paused, narrowing her eyes at the look of mild amusement that flitted across Ginny’s face, “Don’t give me that look, Ginny. I know you put up new wards as soon as the owl came, and I know you didn’t want your brothers barging in to tear it open or intrude upon ‘the moment’ that you wanted to share with Harry and Harry alone…” at this, Ginny thought she heard a, “Should’ve set the wards for Hermione too,” from her husband, but couldn’t be sure.

Hermione tilted her head to the side, and sighed, “Look. I know you passed, you know you passed…” Hermione’s head turned as if she was batting something away from behind her, “Sorry, Ginny, your brothers want to talk to you. Why don’t you just floo here already, talk to them for a few minutes, then be done with it. After that, I don’t care what you do, I just want my house back!” she said in an exasperated whisper, and popped out of sight.

Ginny turned back to her husband, a resigned smile upon her face.

“Well, Harry,” she said, “It looks as though our private party will have to be postponed a few moments more. I’m just going to pop in…”

Harry had been watching the whole exchange in amused silence, and nodded in silent assent.

An hour and a half later, after Ginny had talked with each brother twice, her father once, her mother four times, and even Fleur once, Harry had had enough. He had sat there, eating a vast array of conjured pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and the like, watching Ginny’s round derriere wave back and forth as she leaned on hands and knees into the hearth, and decided to take action. She had, after all, told them her news (repeatedly) and was, from the sounds of it, partaking in a bit of proffered champagne.

Silencing his feet, Harry quietly crept out of his chair and crouched directly behind his wife. He started gently massaging his wife’s behind; at his first caress she jumped slightly into the flames.

Ginny began to attempt to kick at Harry, though she could not see where he was located behind her. He muttered a binding spell, effectively gluing her legs, knee-down, to the floor, before continuing his assault.

Still she continued to chat on with whatever family member it was at the moment, and Harry decided to continue his assault in earnest.

Harry began to rub his fully-clothed rock-hard erection down the valley between the rounded orbs of her cheeks, covered by the seam of her jeans. As if this wasn’t enough, he moved his hands from her ass to her wonderfully crafted breasts, moving up underneath her shirt after unclasping her bra, and massaging them in just the way he knew she loved the most.

Seconds later Ginny’s head emerged from the flames fully attached to the rest of her body, beet red and gasping for air as if she had been underwater and was taking her first breaths of fresh air in a very long time.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, “I was in the middle of talking to my mum! She thought I was suddenly coming down with something, by the looks of me!” Ginny slumped against one wall of her kitchen hearth and crossed her arms in annoyance. Her eyes narrowed in supposed anger, though Harry knew better than to take his wife too seriously, especially after glancing at her hungry eyes.

Instead, he sat back on his haunches and laughed in loud guffaws until Ginny rolled her eyes and twisted her finger toward him, motioning for him to come to her.

He let out one last low chuckle, as the look Molly Weasley must have had at her daughter’s sudden flushed and highly aroused appearance was a priceless image he had conjured in his mind, but it was swept away the next moment with the crooking of Ginny’s little finger.

“Mister Potter,” she spoke in a throaty whisper, “You have been a very bad boy. I do believe it is up to me to dish out your well-deserved punishment.” She tilted her head downward, smirked, then motioned for him to help her up from the stone floor.

“And what kind of dish, Madame Potter, did you have in mind?” he queried suggestively. Ginny shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. Harry, in turn, stood up and advanced upon his wife, swooping her into his arms. Having resumed the position he had had her in before Hermione’s interruption nearly two hours before, he carried her up the flight of stairs into their awaiting bedroom.

The bedroom was lit softly with the warm glow of tapers, a convenient spell Harry had managed to master wandlessly for when his hands were otherwise occupied. The commanding canopied four-poster of the finest mahogany inlaid with gold, reminiscent of their school days, stood in the center of the room. Its red satin bed covers, trimmed in simple details of burnished gold, glowed merrily in the candle light. Harry gently placed his wife upon the bed, her hair slightly clashing with the bed’s red dressing.

The dark wooden floor creaked slightly as Harry stood back in awe of his beautiful bride. Her flushed cheeks, slightly blushing and dusted with freckles, and her darkened cerulean eyes told him of her heated arousal. Only when she looked at him, was with him, did she ever look like that.

Ginny’s hair was fanned out around her head upon a pillow, and glinted golden in the candlelight. Harry was constantly amazed at her beauty, and thought at that moment she had never looked lovelier.

“Harry, come here.” Ginny had her arms open, reaching for her beloved husband. Harry slowly went to her, as if in a dream, and she sat up, lifting her arms above her head.

Harry gently sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her top up above her head and threw it to the floor. Exposed was her creamy white and minutely freckled skin, an ethereal glow surrounding her from the tapers. Her bra was a deliciously detailed lacy black number that Harry nearly died over, but he forced himself onward.

He reached around Ginny and deftly unclasped her straps and revealed her perfect breasts. Bra forgotten, Harry then set himself to the pleasurable task of laving both of Ginny’s breasts. Ginny arched her back in reflexive bliss, his wet tongue first ghosting around the edges of her right nipple teasingly before taking the hardened peak full into his hot mouth. He pulled back, blowing on the pebbled skin, causing Ginny to moan inaudibly. He gently kneaded her left breast while continuing his ministrations on her right and he soon felt her hands on the back of his head, urging him onward.

“Oh Harry, Harry…” Ginny was lost in pleasure, and Harry increased the intensity of his attack.

Harry snaked his left hand from her chest teasingly down her stomach and began stroking her lower abdomen but went no lower, refusing to give her immediate release.

He switched his mouth to her left breast, treating it to the same attention its twin had gotten.

Topless, Ginny was writhing in torment, needing the release only her lover could provide.

“Harry,” she murmured throatily, “I need you. NOW.” She tore him away from her breasts and crushed his mouth to hers in a mind-shattering kiss. Their tongues battled for dominance, and Harry soon had Ginny lying on her back, she pulled him down to her, their semi-clothed bodies intertwined in a constant motion of thrusting and grinding.

Ginny found herself completely naked, though she had no idea how, and she was soon tearing at Harry’s pants, eager to expose that most delicious part of the male anatomy that, from the feel of it, was more than ready for her.

Both now completely naked, clothes forgotten in a mess strewn across their bedroom, Harry sat back. His eyes once again devoured the sight before him. She was beauty incarnate, and he wanted to make her understand that. The frenzy that had overtaken the both of them was suddenly subdued, as though a deepness had instilled itself into their lovemaking.

“Harry,” Ginny said quietly and reached her arms out to him, “Come here.”

Harry moved toward Ginny, and she held out her hand to help guide him home. He stilled a moment, allowing her to wrap her legs around him, pulling him deeper. Hardness met soft, both reveled in the perfection of their physical union, before Harry began to thrust in a slow, even rhythm.

Ginny ran her hands across his broad shoulders and back as his rhythm got faster and more erratic. She met him thrust for thrust in primal need, hips rising frantically in an attempt to pull him ever deeper. After a soul-piercing gaze, Harry dropped his head to hers for another heated kiss. She moaned in ecstasy. The tide of pleasure was building quickly for Ginny, and soon her walls were clenching around Harry as she cried his name.

Harry was soon to follow, and a final thrust, managed to grunt, “I…Love…You…” before collapsing on top of his wife.

A long time later, their exhausted bodies lay intertwined in a hot, sweaty heap in post-coital bliss. Ginny’s head rested upon Harry’s taut chest; his one hand drawing lazy circles on her back, the other, lying behind his head.

Neither one spoke. Neither one needed to. They could go on forever just like this. Harry thought to himself if he were to die right now, he’d die the happiest man alive, and fell into a peaceful sleep. Ginny was already there.

A/N: Well, there you have it. The first part of a two-part prologue. Any and all reviews are welcome, so please review (both positive and negative feedback can be equally productive). No, in a preventative answer to everyone, this is NOT a Harry/Ginny fic, though it begins with them (obviously). The next chapter is already written, and I will post soon (though it needs to be proofread).
GM