Archive of Our Own

She should have known better.

Should have known better, when a loud crash startled her from sleep, only for the still of the Burrow late at night to settle once more.

Should have known better as the bright, dappled light of the full moon lit her path as bare feet padded down the hall. Should have known better, than to go looking into things that weren’t any of her business.

But she didn’t.

No, instead, Ginny Weasley found herself creeping down the halls of her childhood home, ears primed for any hint of sound as she stretched to skip that squeaky board on the second floor. It didn’t matter how grown she was, or that she hadn’t lived at home in an age, or the fact that all she wanted was a bloody glass of water, there was something about the ever-looming threat of being caught by her mother that sparked a particular level of caution.

Besides, whichever of her brothers were stupid enough to make enough noise to wake her in the middle of the night had likely already drawn the wrath of Molly Weasley, no need to compound that.

So focused was she on her own quiet that she missed it, the first, muffled grunt that came from the door cracked at the end of the hall, until it came again, that soft, barely discernable noise. She paused, wrinkling her nose.

Merlin, sometimes she wondered what it might be like, not having brothers. Just because they didn’t live at home anymore didn’t mean they could just leave the loo door open all willy nilly when they visited like they undoubtedly did in their own homes. Animals, all of them.

Determined to ignore it, she forged onwards, only for a low, pained groan to echo down the hall right as she reached the top of the stairs. She paused, brow furrowing as she glanced behind her, to where that single, thin stream of light lit the worn carpet.

Gods, there were some things a girl just didn’t need to know about her brothers, but if one of them were ill… Merlin, she should check and make sure no one was dying at least, she supposed. That would put a hell of a damper on little Hugo’s first birthday party in the morning.

Heaving a sigh, she turned, creeping back down the hall, careful still to not make any noise. The last thing she needed was to alert whomever it might be to her presence only to discover they’d been in the middle of something vile. She would simply…peek in, confirm all was well, and then carry on her way while they finished…whatever it was they were doing.

Drawing nearer, she stopped, just outside the fall of the light, praying she wouldn’t see anything that might ruin her breakfast next time she saw her brothers, and peered through the crack.

It took her a moment to register what she was seeing, who she was seeing. It was Bill, there, standing over the sink, the bare expanse of his back covered in dark ink, long hair falling in mussed pieces from his bun.

She blinked, staring unconsciously as the tight line of his shoulders rolled forward, another of those low, near-animal grunts filling the air. Stared, at the harsh bent of his spine, at his fist pressed hard against the counter as the other—oh god the other moved in a sharp, distinct motion.

Heat washed over her, mortification flooding her being even as her gaze was drawn against her will to his reflection in the mirror.

He was…he was…

She should leave. God, she should leave. She shouldn’t watch, shouldn’t stare at the way the hard lines of his stomach clenched in the mirror, the way his hips stuttered on a hiss of breath. She shouldn’t know what her brother’s…what his cock looked like, stretching nearly to his navel, wet gleaming at the tip as his hand stroked over it, over and over again.

She shouldn’t know that the tattoos that painted his back wrapped low around his hips and—she barely muffled a squeak—god, they didn’t end there, dark vines twisting, twining over him, like the path fingers might trace, or a tongue, tracing up his thick length, as if begging for someone to reach out and—

Oh god, this was wrong, she knew it was wrong, but if she didn’t think of it, didn’t think that it was her brother there, his features twisted, his harsh breath loud in the quiet night…

If she didn’t think of the fact it was her brother whose low snarl made something low within her tighten, suddenly so very aware of how empty she was as the purpled head of his cock rutted through a clenched fist.

No, if she didn’t think of it… Her hand slipped beneath the waist of her pyjamas, dipping lower before she could think.

Fuck. A shudder washed through her as fingers found the soft spring of curls between her legs, the unbidden wet there. Lips parted, breath shallow, she delved deeper, her gaze never wavering from that reflection in the mirror, allowing herself, just for a moment, to feel, to allow her pleasure to surge to match his as his fist moved faster and his groans deepened. She followed him, deft fingers circling and toying, driving herself higher and higher alongside him, climbing, climbing and then…he stopped.

A whine rose in her throat, the noise escaping before she could stop it. It was loud. Too loud, cutting through a sudden, stark silence.

A gaze snapped to meet hers in the reflection of the mirror, her brown eyes wide, barely visible through the crack in the door as she met her brother’s gaze, frozen in place.

Gone was the bright, cheerful blue of Bill’s gaze, the easy familiarity it carried when they’d faced each other across the family dinner table. No, that wasn’t Bill, there, predatory gaze trapping her in place, nostrils flaring wide as he scented her. No, that was the gold of a wolf that met her in the mirror.

Because it wasn’t any autumn night, was it? She hadn’t thought, hadn’t noticed as the full moon rose high in the sky, and now—

“Ginny.” Her name escaped him on a harsh, foreign rasp as fear spiked in her veins, instinct suddenly screaming she was prey.

“Bill, I—” she started, stumbling backwards, until her back thudded against the opposite wall. “I didn’t mean—” Merlin, what was she doing—how was she going to explain—

“Don’t.” She flinched as his harsh snarl rent the air, his form seemingly growing larger as he prowled nearer, his expression shadowed.

Another flutter, low in her belly, panic stirring there, blending with the lingering traces of arousal her body didn’t have the good sense to purge. And yet, she couldn’t help it, as her gaze dropped, catching, just for a moment, on the glint of silver that shone in the midst of the black ink that painted his chest, before dropping lower still. He hadn’t bothered to tuck himself away when he’d turned to face her and she—

A low startled noise rose in her throat as his thick length jutted upward, not tamed in the least by her presence, jerking, bobbing upwards as her gaze landed on him.

Oh, god. Her mouth dried, somehow unable to look away. She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t look at him any longer, not like this, no, she needed—she had to—

“I should go—” she blurted, gaze darting from side to side. “I’m sorry, I—”

A snarl ripped from his throat and she jerked, her eyes flying back to him, blown wide.

“Bill…” Her voice was soft, wavering, little more than a puff of uncertain breath.

“Go—you need to go back to bed,” he said as he jerked his pyjama pants back into place, covering himself even as her gaze lingered on the bulge there. “Just—just be good for me, Ginbug.” The words were a plea, the refrain a familiar one from her childhood, when her older brothers had ruffled her hair, bidding her to be good before they’d gone gallivanting off on whatever magical, mysterious adventures older brothers had, leaving her behind to wonder when it might be her turn to come along. And now it had been decades, and he was doing it again, and for what? All because he didn’t know how to wank without closing the bloody door?

Bill’s gaze took a wary turn as she stiffened, tilting her chin higher and meeting his gaze with a bravery she thought in retrospect might be rather stupid.

“Don’t.” It was a broken, pleading growl, familiar blue flickering in the gold of his gaze, caught in the moonlight as he took a stuttering, half-step forward.

“Don’t what,” she taunted, ignoring the instincts that screamed a warning in the back of her mind. “Don’t look? Don’t say anything? Don’t run off and tell mum?”

He grunted in response, one fist curling tight, the gold of his eyes fading back into blue as he averted his gaze from hers, pinning it instead on the wall somewhere over her shoulder.

“Just don’t, Ginny.”

She bristled at the words, at the finality with which he spoke them. She wasn’t a child, wasn’t their baby sister who needed to be protected at every turn. She didn’t need to be good.

So she did exactly what he’d warned her not to. She ran.

Spinning on nimble feet, Ginny bolted for the stairwell, not bothering to watch where she stepped, or what noise she made, as she sprinted down the stairs, all too aware of her brother’s voice behind her, the harsh, near-growling edge as he swore, her name a too-loud whisper as he called after her.

All too aware of the heavy thud of his steps, the rough saw of his breath as he gave chase.

Of the thrill that spurred her faster as she burst through the kitchen door, the sharp, icy burst of the fall night air filling her lungs.

Her brother may be bigger than her, may be stronger, may be older.

But she was faster.

The earth was cold beneath her feet, stones tearing at her soles as she sprinted through the garden, the heavy pound of his feet loud behind her, the harsh pant of his breath ever nearer as she fumbled frantically with the gate, a startled shriek escaping her as a clawed hand swiped for her, narrowly missed the hem of the shirt she’d donned for sleep as she abandoned the latch, scrambling over the low fence.

She didn’t dare look back as a furious snarl ripped through the air, her eyes locked on the dark line of trees that lay across the open field as her heart pounded in her chest.

She couldn’t say for certain what might happen, should the man at her heels catch her. What he might do.

A thrill ran down her spine at the thought even as she put on a burst of speed.

Because catch her he would, eventually. But she’d be damned if she made it easy for him.

The man swore as he crashed through the trees, deadened branches stinging against his skin, the crunch of leaves loud beneath pounding feet as the flash of red before him lured him on.

This was…gods this was fucking insanity. Insanity, and yet, he couldn’t quite find it in him to stop, not when blood was pounding hot in his veins, when the haze of the wolf threatened to overtake him at every turn.

They’d played in these woods as children, crawling over every inch of them, finding every hidey hole and secret path. But here, in the dark, the dappled light of the full moon casting shadows in every direction? No, this was different. Every sense was sharpened, a predator who’d caught the scent of prey. Except—his steps stuttered as the witch tossed a wild-eyed glance over her shoulder.

God, it was his baby sister he was chasing after, his baby sister who’d smelled so sweet, had flushed so prettily as she watched him. His baby sister whose fingers were slick still with her own lust, the scent filling his lungs with every breath.

He groaned as blood surged to his cock once more, so bloody hard it was painful. Every instinct called to him, to chase her down, to hunt, to catch, to rut—

“Ginny.” His voice was a harsh, pleading rasp, one that earned nothing more than a bright, sharp peal of laughter from the witch in turn, his heart lurching in his chest.

Fucking hell, she was playing with him, as she sprinted through the woods, fleet as any deer.

She was laughing even as she ran from him, even as he hunted her, knowing that when he caught her…

That little fucking brat.

A growl rose in his throat as she put on a sudden burst of speed, rounding the top of a low hill, long red hair streaming behind her, a beacon in the moonlight.

And then she was…gone, a sudden stillness falling over the shadowed wood, as if she’d simply vanished into thin air.

Bill skidded to a stop at the top of the hill, discontent rumbling in his chest as his head whipped around, searching for any sign of the witch. Frustration welled in him, pulse pounding as he breathed deep, those awful instincts he fought every month surging to the forefront, demanding he find his prey, that he catch her, that he show her exactly what happened to little girls who ran from wolves. He growled low in his throat. She thought she could escape him?

Breathing deep once more, he tilted his face towards the moon, eyes closed as he took in the forest around him.

It was familiar, even after a decade away.

The musty damp of fallen leaves. A rabbit, its heart beating a rapid tattoo as it sprinted away from the looming threat. The barest hint of smoke on the wind, billowing from the chimneys of his family home. And…there. The sweet, tart scent of lust. Of his sister.

He groaned, moving before he could think better of it, down the hill towards a towering, rotted stump.

As if she could ever hide from him.

Ginny crouched in the hollow of a tree, the curve of its rotted walls tighter than they had once been, last time she’d found herself hiding here from her brothers.

It had been a more innocent game, then, a way for her mother to keep her horde of children out of the house long enough that she didn’t murder them all. But now…

A thrill of something near excitement washed over her as she heard the muffled sound of her brother’s voice, the heavy crunch of his feet through the leaves.

“You can’t hide from me.” The words were a low croon, a threat wrapped in silken promise.

Ginny tensed, her nipples peaked beneath the soft silk of her top as her breath caught in her chest, her fingers curling unconsciously against the loamy wall of her hideaway.

That wasn’t the voice of a boy, chasing her through the woods of their childhood.

No, as he spoke, she was reminded all too clearly that her eldest brother was a man. And he wasn’t playing a game anymore.

She realized, all at once, that, while she’d been caught up in the lure of her brother’s voice, the forest had fallen silent. No words, no shuffle of bare feet, no harsh, rasping breath. No, there was nothing more than the faint whisper of wind through the few leaves that still clung to branches. As if she were, all at once, alone. As if Bill had simply…left.

A chill washed through her as, in the silence, the forest shifted; the night air suddenly sharper, the dark suddenly stifling in its stillness.

Shifting to carefully peer from her hiding spot, she fought to ignore the flash of disappointment that stirred somewhere low within her at the idea he was gone, that she’d fooled him, or bored him, or… Gods, what had she been thinking.

It was for the best, wasn’t it, that this didn’t go any further. He was her brother, for Merlin’s sake. She’d taunted him, she’d pushed too far, and now, as the chill of the night seeped through her pyjamas…

“You’ll have to hide better than that, little girl.”

She let out a startled shriek, scrambling to her feet as a heavy shadow fell over her, ignoring the sting of bark scraping against her palms, the damp that had soaked through her pyjamas in favor of bolting.

Only—She realized too late he had been toying with her, earlier, letting her think she might escape, that she might have won this little game of theirs. Because he didn’t chase her, no.

No, he simply waited, a predator biding his time with his prey, and then he leapt.

She made it four, maybe five steps before he was on her, the weight of his form colliding with hers, taking them both to the ground with a grunt of breath, his hand catching behind her head before it could crash against a stone.

Breath brushed over her cheek, the heat of him a sharp contrast to the chill of the ground beneath her, his lips so close she could make out the tiny divot where a piercing had once lay as he rasped—

“Got you.”

“Bill,” she breathed, a protest and a plea all at once, squirming beneath him in an effort to free herself of his weight. Gods help her, this was wrong and yet…she couldn’t quite help it, as she arched harder against him, all too aware that nothing more than a few scraps of fabric separated her from… She flushed, all too aware of how hard he still was, pressed against her.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest and she stiffened as he lifted one hand to carefully card her hair from her face, callused thumb dragging over the pout of her lower lip.

“Should have run faster, Bug.”

He’d fucking lost his mind. That was the only explanation for it. Because why else would he have his baby sister pinned to the forest floor in the dark of the night?

His fucking pretty little sister, lean, lithe muscles honed by decades of Quidditch, hair a tangled cloud of moon-lit fire about her head, the pale expanse of her skin, freckles trailing over her chest, all but begging him to trace them with his tongue.

Fuck.

It had gone too far already, what was a little bit further? What would it be to suck her taste from her fingers, what would it be to discover exactly how she whimpered when someone caught at those nipples, so pretty and tight just for him?

With a low groan, he dipped his head to the curve of her shoulder, pressing his lips to those freckles that taunted him.

“Bill.” His name was the barest whisper from her lips and he lifted his head just enough to catch her eyes, her pupils blown wide, dark in the moonlight.

“We shouldn’t.”

Not we can’t.

Not I don’t want to.

We shouldn’t.

She was right. They shouldn’t. And yet—

“No?” he hummed aloud, dropping his lips to her skin once more. “Why not?

“I—you’re my brother,” she stammered as she squirmed beneath him.

He chuckled. “Now you’re going to act like it matters, hmm?”

He brushed his lips over the pulse beating a rapid tattoo in her throat, reveling in the way she twitched against him, her fingers curling into the damp ground as if fighting to keep from reaching for him.

“Did it matter that I was your brother when you were fingering that pretty little cunt, when you were drooling over my cock? Did it matter that you were going to come, standing there in the hallway where anyone might have caught you, over nothing more than this?” He settled his weight heavier on her, the hard press of his cock a brand against the soft curve of her belly, his voice a harsh whisper, a secret only the two of them would ever know.

“Or did that only make it better?”

A quiet, whimpering moan ripped from her throat and his lips curved upwards, a wolfish grin flashing in the moonlight.

“Don’t lie to me, Ginbug,” he crooned.

“You think I can’t smell that sweet cunt of yours, how fucking hot you are for me?” His broad hand caught her hip, clutching her to him, pinning her in place as he breathed her deep once more. It was the best and the fucking worst part of the lingering effects of Greyback’s attack, the oversensitivity to light and sound and scent.

Because he knew, no matter how she squirmed or protested or argued, his sister wanted this. Wanted him.

“Tell me,” he coaxed as he found the hem of her shirt, slipping his hand beneath it to stroke over her soft skin. “Tell me you didn’t want me to catch you.”

Her breath caught, her eyes somehow growing wider still as his hand moved upward, palm covering the soft swell of her breast, her lip caught between her teeth, her silence an answer in itself.

“That’s what I thought,” he purred, catching one pert nipple between his fingers, coaxing it tighter still. He wanted to strip her, to bare every inch of her skin to his gaze, to his touch but the bite of the fall air was there even as blood pumped hot in his veins, her skin pebbling against the cold as she shifted restlessly beneath him.

No, she’d need to stay clothed, but… He took his time, smoothing his hand up her leg, lingering on the soft skin of her thigh, pushing the loose leg of her shorts higher and higher until he finally gave in and tugged them to the side. Her legs splayed wide instinctively as he bared her, and his breath escaped him on a low hiss.

She was fucking gorgeous, the soft, wet pink of her cunt framed by a thatch of curls just a shade lighter than that red he knew so well,damp with her own want. Fuck, he couldn’t look away, his mind’s eye painting a vivid picture of how it might have looked, if she hadn’t hidden from him, there in the hallway—if he could could have watched as slim, delicate fingers slicked through her folds, touching herself, drawing out her pleasure….

Merlin Mary mother of fuck, he groaned inwardly as his cock jerked. He wanted to see that, more than life, wanted to know what his sweet little sister looked like when she brought herself to orgasm, just for him. And he would, one day. But first—

The witch shifted beneath his gaze, propping herself up on her elbows, the barest hint of a flush tinting her cheeks as she gaped at him. “Bill?” she said quietly, a sudden, shy uncertainly coloring her tone. “What are you—”

Before she could finish the question, he bent, swiping his tongue over her without warning.

“Fuck!” Her cry was sharp, shattering the quiet of the wood as her hips jerked against his hold, and he smirked, his tongue sweeping a long, slow path over her once more. Gods, she was sweet.

“Watch me,” he murmured, teeth catching gently at the meat of her thigh, teasing her. “You like doing that, don’t you?”

Her head snapped up and she scowled down at him, but his lips merely curved upwards as he pressed them to the mark left by his bite. “Just like that,” he murmured as he used his fingers to coax her open, tongue flicking out to taste her once more. He could spend hours, just like this, on his knees between her legs, eating her cunt until she screamed for him. She was so fucking sweet, whimpering breaths falling from her lips, her eyes wide as he licked over her, as he sucked lightly at her peak, as he ever-so-fucking-slowly eased a finger into her.

Fuck she was tight.

Tight, and hot and—

Fuck, he couldn’t wait any longer, he had to know. Had to know what it was like to sink into his baby sister’s cunt, to feel her clenching tight around him. Because when she finally came, it was damn well going to be on his cock.

He shifted to his knees, fighting to disguise his smile as a small whine of protest rose in her throat at the loss of his mouth. “Turn over, Gin.”

Her brow furrowed, a familiar flash of rebellion in her gaze, but he didn’t give her time to argue, simply hauling her slim hips up, urging her over until she knelt before him, her hair a tangled mess, mud smudged over her back and the curve of her arse. A frown curved her lips as she looked over her shoulder at him and gods she was fucking glorious.

“Be good, Gin,” he coaxed, his lips twitching with a smile as fire flashed across her expression. Pressing his palm between her shoulders, he urged her lower still until her cheek was pressed to the cold ground, her back a pretty arch just for him.

“Stay,” he crooned, stroking an easy hand down her spine, as if gentling a wild animal. “Just like that for me.”

Hooking his fingers in the elastic at her waist, he eased her shorts just low enough to bare her to him once more before, sitting back on his heels with a low puff of breath and studying the picture before him. Perhaps the Muggles had the right of it, with their mobile cameras, because what he wouldn’t give to be able to capture this, the perfect arch of her back, the pale curve of her arse, the puffy lips of her cunt peeking between her thighs—

A bark of laughter escaped him as the witch gave a pointed wriggle, tilting her hips higher still with an annoyed sigh. Brat.

He leaned forward, blanketing her, his chest warm against her back. His strong forearms braced to either side of her own as he bent, pressing his lips to her throat. “You’ve never been very patient, have you, Bug?”

She craned her neck to look back at him, offering him an arch look, lips pressed together in a mutinous pout, and he chuckled once more. She didn’t want to wait? Fine by him. Fisting the hard length of his cock, he shifted forward, letting it slick through her folds once, twice, and then—

“Breathe for me, Gin.”

She couldn’t breathe. Gods, she couldn’t breathe as the thick head of his cock forced its way into her, stretching her tight. “Bill.” Her voice was a keening whine, breaking her silence as she tilted her hips higher, all too aware of his weight at her back, of how much more there was to come. It was too much, he was too much, this was too much, she couldn’t—

“I—It hurts,” she panted with a sharp shake of her head.

He stilled the moment the words left her lips and, for a single, terrifying moment, she thought she’d ruined it, that he might pull out, that it might be over too soon. But instead, a low puff of breath, nearly a chuckle escaped him as his fingers curled over her hip, seeking lower and lower still until he found where she was stretched taut around him.

“Does it?” he mused aloud, the barest edge to his tone the only hint he was anywhere near as affected as she as he stroked lightly over where they were connected, taunting, teasing, as if he might press a finger or two alongside his cock, forcing her wider still. She shuddered, jerking her head in a tense nod, fighting the urge to move, to take him deeper even as her mind screamed she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he murmured, petting her, soothing her and driving her mad all at once. “But you know what?”

She let out a half-hearted, dazed hum in response, every fiber of her being focused on where they were connected, on what more was to come.

So focused was she on the promise of pleasure that would come if he would just move that she nearly missed it as he curved over her, his voice a hoarse rasp in her ear.“I think you like it when it hurts, don’t you, Bug?”

In an instant, he struck, a scream escaping her as his teeth caught where her neck met her shoulder, the sharp sting of his bite merging with the sweet ache that built in her core as he sank deep, filling her entirely.

“Fuck, Ginny,” he swore aloud, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise. “Gods—fuck—so fucking tight I—” His words stuttered as his hips surged forward once more, rutting into her, the stretch of his thick cock the perfect blend of pain and pleasure sending her flying towards an edge she couldn’t quite reach.

“Bill,” she whined as she shifted beneath him, fumbling between her legs, suddenly desperate.

Her brother swore once more as she found that sensitive peak, clenching tighter around him.

“That’s right,” he urged, his hand smoothing over her stomach, pressing hard until she would have nearly sworn she could feel him there, filling her over and over and over. “Make yourself feel good for me, sweetheart, make it so good.”

Her head fell forward on a whimper as she arched higher, her hips driving back against his over and over, fingers moving in frantic circles. It wasn’t meant to be like this, so—so fucking good. Not like this, with her knees bruised and dirty, the damp cold permeating her bones. Not with—not with him.

It wasn’t meant to be like this, and yet her pleasure edged so fucking close as her brother fucked into her over and over. She moaned, long and low as he surged deeper still, his weight heavy atop her, his breath coming in sharp pants. “Ginny,” he groaned, shoving her hand aside, his callused fingertips replacing her own.

“So sweet for me,” he muttered as he rutted against her, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit, letting the motion of their hips rock her against him.

“So good, never knew, never dreamed—” His words caught, cut off by a moan.

“Fuck,” she swore as those first flutters began, pleasure building faster than she could comprehend. “Bill, please.”

“Do it,” he grunted, surging hard against her. “Let me feel it, let me feel you come, please, Ginbug, be good for me.”

That was all it took, sensations and words and, gods, just everything melding to finally, finally push her over the edge she’d been chasing from the moment she’d first laid eyes on her brother.

And she shattered.

“That’s right, Ginny,” he panted as she pulsed around him, incoherent whimpers falling from her lips. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

His hips slowed as his hand drifted up her front, pausing to roll a nipple between callused fingers, drawing another shudder of sensation from her before his hand crept upward until it looped about her throat, his grip tightening.

“We’re not done yet,” he murmured as he urged her up, drawing her to her knees, the new angle sending a last, violent spike of pleasure through her.

“Bill, please,” she whined, arching into his hold, her breath falling in harsh, uneven pants. “Too much, it’s too much.”

He tutted, his other hand slipping between her legs once more, drawing careful circles around her clit, expertly dragging out the aftershocks of her pleasure.

“No, you’re not done for me,” he murmured. “I know you’re not. One more for me, Bug, you can do it.”

She shook her head as she slumped back against him, the hard band of his arm about her waist the only thing keeping her from collapsing entirely.

She couldn’t, it was too much, she was wrung out, nothing more than a vessel as he rocked deeper into her. Let him use her, do whatever he wanted to her, she just couldn’t—

A shriek escaped her as she bucked upwards, fighting to escape the sudden, hard press of his palm against her clit, only for him to pin her in place against him.

“One more,” he growled, no longer asking as he rutted up into her. “One more for me. Be good.”

And she found she no longer hated it, that plea, that imploration. Not here, not like this.

No, here, with her brother’s cock filling her so thoroughly, with his mumbled words of praise scattered between presses of his lips to her skin, with the way he held her so damn carefully even as he fucking ruined her…

She found she wanted to be good for him.

And so, she was.

On her next breath, she let it overtake her once more, that surging, inescapable pleasure, clenching so tight she drew a violent streak of curses from the man buried in her as he followed her over the edge in turn, his movements a harsh, shuddering jerk against her, his lips hot on her skin, hands clutching her near until all she could feel, all she could do, all she could think was him.

And as the vestiges of pleasure melted away, leaving her boneless, her eyes heavy-lidded, she was only vaguely aware of him pulling from her, of the warm trickle of his cum that trailed down her thighs. Only vaguely aware of him scooping her up in his arms, trudging through the woods as the barest hint of dusky morning light began to filter through the trees. Only vaguely aware of how he slipped through the back door, how he avoided the squeaky board on the second floor. Of how he laid her in her bed, casting a wandless cleaning charm with ease before smoothing her hair away from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Yet, as she rolled from bed the next morning, an ache throbbing between her legs and dirt that still marring the soles of her feet, all she could think to do was rush to her desk, yanking open drawer after drawer, rifling through old school papers and broken quills until she finally found it, an old, battered daybook that had seen her through seven years at Hogwarts.

A tap of her wand and the old numbers melted away, replaced by this year’s as she flipped frantically through the pages. Where was it, where was it, where was it?

“Ginny!” Her mother’s voice rang loud up the stairs. “Breakfast!”

She jolted at the reminder of her family’s presence, spinning about and snagging a jumper from the back of her chair, tugging it over her head. “Coming!” she called out, scowling and plucking a leaf from her hair as she trotted from the room, leaving her daybook splayed open on her desk. Because she’d found what she’d needed, hadn’t she? Had circled them in a bold, bright, red. November. December. January. One after another after another.

The full moon.

Because next time, she wouldn’t forget.

Next time it wouldn’t be chance she found her brother.

Next time she would know better.