A/N: Got this idea after seeing a dog snap, then I blurted the whole idea to fightfortherightsofhouseelves, got some encouragement, and here's the thing. Feel better my friend :) :) 3 I hope you all enjoy! I missed doing canon hinny 3

Ginny'd been warned by shows on the telly, countless films, books, friends, Fleur, her mother, and too many other sources to name, that men become hovering and at times obnoxiously doting masses during a pregnancy. She'd really been prepared for the worst; Dean's assist through the portrait hole multiplied to the nth power.

But Harry had never been one to do expected things, and he didn't start with the growth of their little witch or wizard. He's somehow managed a perfect balance, caring for her, providing snacks and foot rubs and snuggles and a ready ear, while leaving her gloriously un-smothered.

Ginny, however, was truly living up to the adages about eating for two, cravings, and incessant need for the loo. To combat the two former, she'd taken up prenatal yoga at Hermione's suggestion and the latter...she suffers in silence. Because she doesn't need her voice to shove Harry each time their little bean pounces on her bladder and interrupts a night's sleep already marred by back pain and an inability to sleep on her belly for the next one hundred and eighty-two days. Not that she's keeping track.

Two weeks in, she discovered her addiction to caffeine was much greater than she'd guessed. She takes Padfoot on walks to combat the cravings, so he's become quite the fit little thing and she's worn a hole in her trainers. Two months in, she acquired a taste for green olives. Harry says they're best in a martini, which Ginny says is a pointless fact to supply to a woman in her situation. He diffuses a ratcheting temper by suggesting a new film which ends with Ginny playing Bond and Harry as a rather fetching calculating damsel. And now, at just over the three month mark, Ginny is officially obsessed with biscuits. To be precise, these tiny little chocolate crisps muggles sell in crinkly packets that Ginny eats like they're going out of style.

The little bites of goodness were a chance happening, only entering Ginny's life at the whim of a nearby grocer's buy one get one free sale, but not all great romances find their origin with dramatic tales of slain beasts and forbidden love.

When she said as much to Harry, he'd laughed a lot louder and longer than she thought was strictly justified, but he accompanied said chuckles with a packet of biscuits - and four new boxes freshly stocked in the pantry - so she let the affront slide.

And somewhere in the interim, he'd begun tossing the little crinkling bags at her with unerring accuracy and timing so expert that Ginny sometimes wonders if they've become a bit too codependent. But when she's crunching on bite-sized chocolate bits of heaven and snuggled into Harry's side while something mindless plays on the telly and Padfoot snuggles at their feet, she can't seem to much care.

Four months and Padfoot's taken to barking triumphantly each time Ginny makes a successful catch, like she's his little puppy finally learnt to catch properly, and her obsession hasn't diminished in the slightest.

So when Harry brings home ten boxes, it seems a bit excessive. But he is the boy who bought out the Trolley Lady's cart, so Ginny's well aware Harry's a generous giver.

He is not, however, a good liar - unless it's a matter of real importance. Bloody hell, he can fool a forest full of Death Eaters into thinking he's dead, but ask him to craft a cover story for a certain Potions text pseudonym and he's hopeless. All this knowledge comes to usefulness when Ginny saunters into the kitchen, one third of the way through her freshly tossed packet, and finds her husband looking quite guilty.

"What've you done? Did Mum come over and find our secret drawer?"

Harry pales, "No! Would she - would she look for it?"

"I dunno! Mum's a bit nosy. Most are," Ginny yelps back, suddenly wondering if they should do more than place a simple locking charm on the compartment. After a moment, though, she comes back to herself and the issue at hand. "Regardless, you are looking quite guilty, dear."

Harry scratches at his face, three day old stubble giving him that gloriously rugged look that sets Ginny's pulse thrumming. Yum.

But that particular appetite shall have to wait while the inquisition continues.

"Harry."

He clears his throat and pauses halfway through putting a pint of milk in the fridge. "I have to go out of town."

"Am I a shrew?"

Harry frowns. "No?"

"Well then why're you acting as if I'm moments away from handing you your head?"

Padfoot sniffs hopefully at the empty brown sack and Harry scratches between his curly ears absently before facing Ginny. "I- I just wish I didn't have to go, yeah?"

He eyes Ginny from head to foot, lingering on the swell of her belly, and she finally begins to catch on. "Harry, you've no need to feel guilty. It's your job, I know what's required," she rounds the counter and strokes his cheek gently, "You'll have no quarrel with me so long as you come back safe and sound - and on time."

Binning her now empty biscuit wrapper, Ginny grips Harry's hand and tugs him toward the bedroom. "Now enough with all this busywork. I've got non grocery related plans for you."

"I did buy the whipped cream you asked for."

Ginny quirks her brow. "Grab it and get your arse in the bedroom, you rascal."

And Ginny really was genuine in her assurances, both verbal and non verbal, but that doesn't mean she's not sorely missing Harry by the time week one shifts into week two.

She keeps herself busy, of course. Between shopping for baby supplies with Hermione and Mum, and Fleur insisting on helping Ginny choose a full motherhood wardrobe, the first week was full and she really had minimal time to moon over Harry.

Not that she doesn't ache from feeling the space in the bed or seeing the bare spot where his work boots should be. But it's a quiet pain that's softened by Padfoot' warm cuddles, her Mum's gentle smile, Hermione and Fleur's excessive planning, and if she's honest, a few sniffs of Harry's left behind nightshirt.

Once she hits the nine day mark, though, Ginny's too tired and too sore to keep busy, and though she's ravenous, she can't even get the energy to order a pizza. Padfoot has nudged at her a few times while she watched the telly in her unusual fit of listlessness, nervously sniffing her and providing a few warm licks to her toes.

Ginny calls him closer and scratches at his messy fur lovingly, so he leans into her palm and looks at her with wide dark eyes.

He huffs once and then pads off, nails clacking on the hardwood.

Ginny's stomach rumbles again and she's just about to give in and ask Mum for some leftovers from the dinner she refused on principle. But now, in the dimly lit flat, stomach grumbling and back aching, she's regretting the choice a bit.

Padfoot is rustling around in the kitchen and Ginny recalls between herself, the dog, and her little sprog, there are three hungry bellies waiting for her to get it together.

Sighing, she rolls to a sitting position and flicks the channel to some travel show and makes to push to her feet.

Before she can, Padfoot pads back in and nuzzles at Ginny's knee, then drops something into her lap.

Ginny presses a kiss to his dark waves and blinks down at her lap. "You - biscuits?"

Padfoot places his front paws on the cushion next to her and waits for an invitation, clambering up a bit clumsily when she pats her thigh. Dragging him close, Ginny buries her face in Padfoot' fur and sniffles. "You brought me biscuits - you. Of course Harry Potter would have a dog as disgustingly loving as he is."

She gets a little dog huff in answer, a short lick to her jaw, and Ginny lets her head drop back against the sofa, gaze drifting to the mantle where wedding day Harry grins at her rakishly. His hair is shorter, beard non-existent, but those eyes. God, he could be gone for a lifetime and she wouldn't forget those eyes.

Ginny swipes at her eyes and Padfoot gives her a worried look, nudging the abandoned biscuits with his nose. "He's not going to be gone for a lifetime - I know. Harry swore no more than two weeks."

"Besides, I'm an independent adult woman who can handle a little separation," Padfoot seems to raise whatever the dog version of eyebrows at her and Ginny scowls. "I can. I didn't say I liked it. Plus you start doing adorable Harry things and then that photo of him is staring at me and that damn shirt is losing his smell already - " she stutters to a halt, taking in a shuddering breath, "I used his damn soap today I'm such a soppy git."

Padfoot whimpers and cuddles close while Ginny finally lets the combination of legitimate emotions, skyrocketing hormones, and an understandable pinch of worry carry her over the brink to tears.

She's murmuring semi-coherently into Padfoot' coat when the wards chime and moments later, their dark red front door rattles open. The invader flicks off his dark leather overcoat with practiced ease, hanging it on its customary hook before undoing and removing his boots with a tired slash of his wand.

Once he turns toward the dark living room, Ginny comes to the realization that she's currently unshowered, weepy, and currently gaping at her returned husband like a fish.

She manages to pull it together enough to shout, "Oh dammit! I was going to be so sultry and attractive when you got home."

Harry smiles softly and pads into the living room. "I mean this in a very non-placating way, Gin. You are attractive and sultry to me in every situation I have experienced, and a few I haven't but imagined."

Ginny sniffs. "Daydreaming about me, Potter?"

"A man's got few comforts on the road - imagining his wife watching him make breakfast while naked…"

"Were you naked while daydreaming, or were you naked in the daydream? Because nudity isn't particularly safe near a cooking fry up."

Chuckling, Harry saunters closer and extends a hand toward Ginny. "You're just being difficult."

"How about we head inside for some non-daydream fun?"

"I dunno - that one was pretty - "

Ginny flicks his nose and pushes past him toward their bedroom. She shoots him a glance back over her shoulder. "Real Ginny's been hard up for ten days - we'll do the fry up bit later."

Later, when their breathing has regulated, hair wild against the messy bed sheets, Harry's hands begin wandering again, slow and gentle as his kiss-swollen lips begin teasing at her hairline. "Up for another - "

A loud rumble from Ginny's stomach interrupts the invitation, drawing veritable cackles from Harry and Ginny both. "Perhaps now's the time for your little kiss the cook fantasy."

They seem to both agree, rising and grabbing scraps of clothing - hot stoves and nudity are best left to fantasies - and wander into the kitchen. Ginny still gets the treat of a shirtless Harry along with the wafting smells of bacon, eggs, and whatever else they've got stocked in the way of breakfast foods. He's just stacked a third and fourth slice of toast in front of Ginny when Padfoot wanders in, sniffing hopefully at the bacon crisping on the stove. "You - man's best friend?"

Padfoot sits, swishing his tail along the tiled floor, his head tilted in question, all innocence.

"You're alone with my wife for a week and already making your move."

Ginny chuckles and Harry points the spatula at her like a wand. "Don't laugh - you were getting all cozied up."

"You've nothing to worry about. Padfoot is the best dog in the world, but certain things only you can do."

Harry plates three eggs over-easy and slides a few slices of bacon on next to them before picking up the second bare plate. "Damn right, and we'll have demonstration number three after dinner."

Ginny eyes the plates longingly. "As far as I'm concerned, demonstration one is still underway."