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The last feelings of the intimacy slowly faded, leaving behind a warmth that might’ve felt even better than the actual thing. With a breathless laugh they fell back onto the bed side by side, smiles stupidly wide.
Harry’s back hit the mattress, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Ginny half-rolled, half-slid off him, coming to lie on her side with her head lying on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his. The only sounds audible in their dark bedroom was their heavy, laboured breathing and the faint traffic outside.
Harry’s arm came up automatically, his hand finding the familiar curve of her waist, his thumb stroking patterns onto her skin. He pressed a kiss into her slightly sweaty hair, that was fanned out across his chest.
After a few moments in which they both caught their breaths, Ginny’s quiet voice broke the quiet. “Harry… Do you think you have a type?”
He let a short, surprised laugh slip out. “A type?” A slow, lazy grin slowly spread across his face. “Now, let me think…” He made a big show of scratching his chin as if thinking.
Ginny pinched his side with a giggle. “Okay, okay!” he chuckled. “I suppose I might have noticed a pattern, in the… erm girls I think look fairly decent”
“Do tell,” she murmured, tracing his bare abdomen with a fingertip with a wide smirk on her face.
“Well,” he began, his voice going to a much more husky tone. “There’s the obvious. The hair.” His hand started threading through the maroon mass of hers. “Proper, brilliant, Weasley red. The kind that looks like a sunset.”
Ginny made a soft, approving sound as her smirk fading into an adoring smile.
“And,” Harry continued, his grin turning into a sly smirk, “this hair has to be attached to a witch with an insane competitive side. Someone who isn’t afraid to hit a Bludger at my head to make a point or win in a stupid argument about what to have for dinner.”
“For your own good,” Ginny interrupted with a huff but a joking smile on her complexions.
“Obviously.” His hand slid down her arm to rub against her hips which caused Ginny’s eyes to stutter closed. “Which leads to the physical specifications.”
“Oh, this should be good.” Ginny’s eyes snapped open with this and met Harry’s dark rimmed eyes that were full of heat and desire.
“Very specifically," he said, “She has to have thighs that can maintain a perfect Wronskei Feint Grip on a broom in a ninety-degree dive.” His hand gripped her hip. “And, hypothetically, thighs that feel brilliant wrapped around a bloke’s head.”
Ginny’s laugh was bright and unfettered as a blush creeped up her chest and neck. “Hypothetically!”
“Purely for this task” he assured her, his expression softening to reverence. “And then… there’s the arse Ginny.”
“Harry!” She exclaimed with a snort.
“It’s crucial!” he insisted, his hand sliding down to cup her with a gasp from her in the process. “It has to be completely and utterly unsuitable.”
“Unsuitable?”
“Entirely,” he confirmed, his thumb stroking an arc. “It mustn't suit the formidable witch at all. And yet, it’s my favourite thing. The secret, beautiful flaw in the armour.”
Ginny had stopped laughing. Her eyes were wide and soft, shimmering with love and adoration for her boyfriend.
“Anything else?” she whispered.
“Oh, loads.” He pulled her down for a slow kiss which Ginny couldn’t help but melt into. “A smile that lights up my worst days. . A laugh that is my favourite sound in the world.” He paused, his tone suddenly changing much more serious one “And the most specific requirement. This is very important.”
Ginny giggled. “Even more important than the arse?”
Harry smirked but nodded.
“Yes, she has to be the girl who looked at the traumatised boy covered in blood after the battle, and didn’t see a hero who just saved the wizarding world. She just saw Harry. And she hugged him so tightly he finally believed the war was over, after he wasn’t sure he ever would."
Tears welled in Ginny’s eyes. She blinked them away, lowering her forehead to his and kissing him again.
“So, yes,” Harry whispered with a smile. “I have a type.It’s incredibly narrow. There’s only one girl in the world who it fits.”
“Lucky you found her.”
“Luckily she found me first.”
After Harry kissed her again, he began to settle against her, but Ginny gave a low hum and moved quickly, switching their positions in one smooth motion. Suddenly Harry was on his back, looking up at her, with her red hair framing both of them.
“My turn,” she murmured, her voice pure possession and love.
Harry’s hands reached up to her hips, to feel so. “By all means, Gin.”
She sat up, straddling him. She leaned forward, her hair tickling his cheeks. “So. My type.”
“Tall, dark, and tragically heroic?” Harry quipped with a laugh.
“Shut up, I’m pontificating.” She shifted her hips against his, which made him suck in a breath and grip the sheets. “His hair.” She threaded her hand into his messy black mop. “It can’t be just dark. It has to look like he just stood in a gale. Completely disheveled.”
She twisted a strand of his and smiled. “And the eyes.” She stared into his and as brown met green she spoke again. “The most amazing shade of green. The kind of green that makes you double take. They have to see right through my bravado of having a celebrity crush when I was eleven. And go all scrunched at the corners when he laughs.” She added with a wink
Harry’s throat tightened and gripped her hips tighter as he felt a rush of love for this woman.
Her fingers traced his scar, his nose, his lips. “The face. All sharp angles and small scars that tell insane stories, but then… it has to have these.” She brushed his smile lines with a tenderness Harry rarely saw unless it was just them. “Proof that he learned to be happy. With me.”
She kissed him sweetly and soundly, but then her expression turned wicked and she smirked saucily at him which made his breath immediately hitch. “Now, the body.” Her hands ran down his toned chest. “It can’t be a trained Quidditch star’s body. It has to be a skinny boy who grew strong through all the fighting he did for others. It has to have scars.” Her fingertips ghosted over one under his left pec. “Not trophies per say. I guess… just proof that you are still here.”
She pressed her lips to the scar over his heart. “And,” she said, sitting up with a naughty grin, “he has to have these.” Her hands gripped his thighs. “Quidditch thighs. Perfect for holding onto when he’s being noble and always making me feel good first and I need him to stay right here and continue making me forget my own name.”
Harry laughed. “Is that so?”
“It is.” Then she took his wrist, inspecting his arm. “And his arms. Strong enough to cast any spell asked of him, but also perfect for holding me at three in the morning when I can’t seep.”
She pinned their joined hands to the mattress, leaning close, her lips ghosting of his making him moan. “But the most specific requirement I have, Harry,” she whispered, “is his heart. The biggest, most stupidly brave, loving heart. Broken so many times it should be in pieces, but still whole by some miracle. A heart that would walk to its death for people he loves. And well, did.” She kissed him hard and deep with that. “And the non-negotiable part is… that heart has to be completely mine.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
Harry stared up, utterly in love with her. “When you put it like that… it comes down to a very narrow field Gin.”
“The narrowest,” Ginny agreed, her smirk returning. “One very lucky guy who fits the requirements”
She began to move against him again, a gradual movement of her hips that rekindled something deep inside him. Harry’s grip tightened on her waist and slammed his eyes shut trying to keep it together.
“So,” he gasped with a smile on his face. “Did I get the job?”
Ginny threw her head back, a laugh of pure joy escaping her as she looked down at him with such love.. “Oh, Potter,” she breathed, moving her face closer to his as his eyes slowly opened. “You are the job. You’re the whole career babe.”