------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Despite the young woman's bravest attempts to remain asleep, the sun stubbornly streamed forth, turning the insides of her eyelids the same violent shade of orange as her hair. She groaned and hid her face in the pillow, but it was futile. Once awake, Ginevra Weasley rarely got back to sleep. It was a side effect, she supposed, of having grown up in a house where she had to claw her way through six voracious boys just to get breakfast. Quite literally, if you had snoozed, you had lost.
Still, as she caught a quick glimpse of the clock before snuggling mutinously beneath the blankets once more, Ginny couldn't help but find it unfair that she couldn't have at least a little bit of a lie-in after all that they'd all been through. Not even a month ago Harry had defeated You-Know-Who (Voldemort, she reminded herself firmly), and her whole family had spent most of the time since helping with repairs to the castle, grieving the fallen, and going through all of the other nasty motions of putting things to rights after the Final Battle. She was emotionally and physically exhausted, and only kept going due to the knowledge that those around her were, too. After all, Gryffindors didn't shirk their duty just because of petty things like fatigue.
But it was so warm and comfortable in her bed, underneath the layers and layers of mismatched comforters and throws, that she couldn't seem to get the motivation to move. In spite of the July heat, the blankets gave her comfort, just like the familiar sound of her mother bustling around with pots and pans below her and Arnold's squeaky snores from down by her feet. Soon the choice of whether or not to get up would be forcibly removed as either her mother or brothers, or perhaps even Harry or Hermione, would inevitably come barging into her room for something or other. Until then, though, maybe she'd just lie there. Arnold certainly didn't care if she wanted to laze about with her hair splayed all around her head and her mismatched toe-socks peeping out from under the quilt, and if anyone else cared...
Without finishing the thought, she was back asleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harry couldn't help but smile a bit, watching her slumber from the doorway. Usually she was up long before him, and it was almost midmorning when Molly had finally sent him to awaken her for breakfast. He took advantage of the moment to watch her, though. In sleep, she was beautiful in an entirely different way from when she was awake. Normally she was quick-tempered, lively, active... an all-around spitfire. Her level of passion for everything was one of the things that drew him to her - she was a far cry from the meek girls who had nothing better to worry about than the state of their lipgloss and trying to seduce a "hero." Now, though, with all of her barriers lowered, he thought her more lovely than ever. Her vulnerability raised a protective streak in him that, before his sixth year, he had thought was fraternal. Now he recognized it as something far deeper.
He made his way over to her bed and sat lightly on the edge, giving a silent laugh at the mountain of blankets she covered herself with despite it being one of the hottest times of the year. Gently pushing her hair back from her face, he whispered, "Hey, Gin, time to get up."
A sleepy noise escaped her lips and she squirmed slightly, before rolling to face the wall and stilling again. Harry smirked good-naturedly, unsure if she was really that deeply asleep, or just being coy. Either way, he could play along. Scooting a little closer, he put one large hand on her shoulder and squeezed firmly, running his thumb in teasing circles along her upper arm. "Gin," he said a little bit louder, drawing out the syllable. When she continued to ignore him, though he was sure she was awake now, he coughed and turned to an imaginary presence in the doorway. "Nah, I don't think she's breathing, Ron, we better do CPR..."
Like a bolt she was out of bed, shoving him roughly in the process so that he stumbled with a laugh right back onto the spot she'd just vacated. Her hands-on-hips pose and fiery expression when she realized that Ron was nowhere to be seen caused him to chuckle even harder until tears streamed down his face, and he struggled vainly to get up amid the blankets that had somehow entangled him with record speed. Still laughing, he let himself collapse back, careful to avoid Arnold, and stared at her ceiling futilely, holding his hands up in mock surrender at the look on her face. "Okay, okay," he gasped in between bursts of laughter, "I give up. Go back to bed."
Her hands didn't move from her hips, but the corners of her lips began to quirk tellingly, and Harry grinned unabashedly. Had he thought she was gorgeous when she was asleep? A small red camisole made a moderate v-neck before clinging tantalizingly to her waist and flared hips, while the position of her arms emphasized toned muscles undoubtedly gained from tossing around a Quaffle. Beneath the camisole barely an inch of creamy skin showed above a plain pair of shorts, rolled down at the top to fit her. From there, legs as toned as her arms led down to a mismatched pair of toe socks pulled up nearly to her knees- one showing golden snitches and the other a wizarding cartoon character with which Harry was unfamiliar. Leave it to Ginny, he mused wryly - the once thing she wasn't was boring. Looking back up, her hair framed her face with an ethereal glow in the sunlight streaming through the window, and she was now smiling fully at him, her expression a bit softer.
"Harry Potter," she muttered mockingly, rolling her eyes. "What are we gonna do with you?"
He could make some suggestions, he thought with an even wider grin. But it was better not to push his luck. After all, he had dumped her last year to go off in search of Voldemort. And while that war was over, he had yet to ask her out again, between her brother dying and all of them cleaning up the mess of the wizarding world in general. With a bashful look, he offered cheerfully, "Get me free of this mess so we can both go eat breakfast?"
With a nod, she started untangling the blankets, placing a resentful-looking Arnold on the floor. "Leave it to the Boy-Who-Lived," she teased, "To fight the most evil wizard alive only to be strangled to death by a quilt. There," she offered him a hand, which he took and stood up, though not placing any real weight on her. "Let me grab my dressing gown and I'll be right down."
Taking that as his obvious dismissal to let her freshen up in private, he retreated into the hallway with a mock bow. Ah, the simple pleasures of life... another of which was the smell of Molly's cooking wafting from below. Resolving to see Ginny in a minute, he headed downstairs.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Okay, so a bit of a fluffy (and short) beginning, but I swear it will develop a plot soon and not be all romance. So please review and let me know what you think! Thanks!