Ginny's bag was on the floor next to the front door of his flat when he walked in after work.

Actually, "next to" might have been a bit too generous — more like "directly in front of," because he tripped right over it and went crashing down, upending a now cold mug of tea that had been left on the entryway table that morning as he rushed out the door.

Dripping wet and smelling faintly of chamomile, he groaned and stood, dropping his own bag on the floor and cleaning up the mess of shattered ceramic with a wave of his wand and a muttered "reparo." The tea itself he'd have to deal with sans magic — he'd never really gotten the hang of most everyday household spells, and probably would've ended up setting fire to the carpeting if he tried one now.

"Ginny?" he called out as he stepped gingerly over the small puddle of tea on the carpet.

"In here!" Her voice came from his bedroom, and despite himself, he grinned at the sound of it.

As he made his way down the hallway, he pulled his sodden robes over his head, dropped them on the floor, and started on the buttons of his shirt. He was pulling it off his shoulders when he stepped into the room, and he paused when he caught sight of the woman on his bed.

Ginny's flaming red hair was up in a messy knot on top of her head, and her skin was bare, pale, and freckled. She looked comfortable in his blue t-shirt and a pair of his joggers, her own clothes having been discarded on top of the dresser in the corner. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bedspread, pieces of parchment spread out around her and a quill hanging out of her mouth. She had stuck her wand into her hair for safe keeping.

She pulled it off so well that a part of him wished his hair was long enough to do that.

She looked up at him standing in the doorway. "Your vest is stained," she informed him, and he mock glared in response.

"That's because someone left their bag right in front of the door so that I'd trip over it as soon as I walked in."

She winced. "Sorry. I was distracted by this." She held up a piece of parchment. "Did you know that being a professional quidditch player had so many rules? Because I'd had my suspicions, but this is ridiculous. Look at this!" She shook the parchment at him. "Regulation undergarments! I have to wear regulation undergarments! Who's going to be able to see my knickers while I'm playing?"

Harry chuckled as he pulled his vest over his his head and threw it into the laundry bin in the corner. "It's a plot," he joked. "They're trying to tame your wild spirit."

After kicking off his trousers and pulling on his own pair of joggers, he positioned himself behind his girlfriend, pulling her to sit on his lap and rest her back against his bare chest. Her hands naturally came to rest on top of his around her waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck and she huffed a soft laugh, leaning further into him.

"Have I told you yet how proud I am of you?" he asked her.

"Multiple times. Daily. You sent me a howler yesterday that shouted 'I'm so fucking proud of you!' right in front of twenty Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes customers. George started laughing every time he looked at me for the rest of the day."

He grinned. "Kingsley had asked me how the newest Harpy was doing and I couldn't resist. Speaking of George, how is the current job going?"

She groaned. "Working retail is awful," she complained. "Every time someone asks me to 'check in the back,' I'm tempted to hex them. The only reason I haven't yet is because George confiscates my wand every time I walk in."

"That's surprisingly responsible of him."

"No, that's very predictibally 'big brother' of him. He knows me too well and won't risk the clientele. Maybe if he still had Fred. But sans partner-in-crime he's been much more subdued." Her voice went quickly from light to heavy, and the tone in the room followed that quickly. He held on tighter and she squeezed his forearm in acknowledgment.

"Sometimes I wish I hadn't dropped the resurrection stone in the forest that night. I think… I think that we could all do with a little bit of closure."

Ginny shook her head. "If it would've helped, I would've searched while I was in Seventh Year, but George is already living in the past enough. If we brought him the stone, he'd never let it go- he'd be just like the brother in the story."

"I feel like that should be his choice-"

"It was. I asked him about it a few months after you told me, when he came to visit me on a Hogsmeade weekend. Told him I'd find it for him if he wanted me to. And he said he was scared that if I did, he'd never move on."

"He's wiser than we give him credit for, that brother of yours."

She let out a puff of a reluctant laugh through her nose. "It's a common Weasley misconception. Even Ron's got a maturity and wisdom people rarely expect of him — although if you tell him I said that, you'll regret it. It's not that we're thick really, or immature; it's just that we've gotten good at pretending otherwise. Throws people off their grooves. Besides, what's the point of being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes?"

He looked down at her in surprise. "Are you quoting Doctor Who at me?"

She smirked. "Fourth Doctor. Classic."

And just like that, they were back to the lighthearted easy conversation they'd started with.

"We should really watch the next one," Harry mused. "Hermione is already 6 ahead of us. I really don't want her letting any information slip over lunch."

"Hmm," Ginny snuggled closer into his chest. "Later. You're comfortable to lay on."

"Glad to know I'm good for something." He squeezed her a little tighter.

He loved her so much it scared him sometimes. It may have taken him a while to appreciate, but there was so much easy chemistry between them now, that when he thought about it, had been there since they'd first met. She was too timid around him originally for it to fully develop, but it was there in the moments they'd catch each other's eye and laugh or smile in shared mirth at her brothers' antics or some small passing joke no one else noticed he'd made, but she did. It was there in the way she had become the only person blunt enough to get through to him when everyone else thought it was best to walk on eggshells around him. She was good for him, and he appreciated being able to be there for her when she needed him.

"Will you marry me?" he blurted out after a few minutes of silence.

"Oh good, you finally asked," she said in reply, giving no indication of being affected by the question. "Mum will be thrilled she can finally stop hiding her wedding idea scrapbook."

There was a beat before he breathed a sigh of relief. "So that's a yes, then?" he asked, more as a formality than anything else.

"Well, you'll need to pay the bride price to my father before anything's formalized. I think he said I was worth two goats and a horse last time I asked. I always thought I'd be worth at least three of each, but that's not my decision."

Harry snickered. "I'll give him all the farm animals I can get my hands on if it means getting to call you my wife."

"Hey!" Ginny protested. "Don't turn my joke into something romantic and genuine. Makes me feel like a bad girlfriend."

"That's fiancee to you," he protested right back.

She laughed, and he withdrew his arms from around her waist and nudged at her, urging her to move off of his lap so he could stand. She complied, and he made his way over to his dresser and rummaged in his sock drawer for a moment, withdrawing with a small velvet pouch that he handed over to her. She opened it and found a golden ring, an emerald in the center glinting in the dim light of the room.

She stared, open-mouthed for a moment.

"It was my mother's," he told her. "I can get you something else if you want, but I thought it might be-"

"You were serious," she whispered, interrupting him.

Quickly, he tried to backtrack. "Not if you don't want me to have been."

"Shut up," she said, eyes still on the ring, which she slowly moved to place on her fourth finger. Suddenly, she was looking up at him with a grin, eyes suspiciously shiny with what he suspected were tears.

"Seriously though, we cannot tell my mum until we get a good portion of the planning done ourselves, or we'll end up being completely shut out of it altogether."

"You don't think-"

"I wasn't joking about the scrapbook. I found it. It's scary."

He smiled as he moved the pieces of parchment in front of her over to the side and knelt between her legs, leaning in to kiss her.

"Thank you for saying yes," he whispered against her lips.

"Thank you for asking," she whispered back, before surging up to kiss him more thoroughly.

He thought for a moment, as her mouth moved against his, about how much of a mistake he'd made, not consulting her brothers before he asked her anything. When her hands came up to clutch at his neck, he summarily decided he didn't care.

The whole world could fuck off, he thought. She was his.