The incandescent glow of the fireplace radiated a mellow ambience upon the sitting room; the flickering flames were reflected in Ginny's blazing hair, giving the impression it was on fire. She was curled in one of the beanbags by the grate at Ron and Hermione's flat, quite comfortable, while Crookshanks was nestled in her lap, purring contently. Every once in a while he would raise his head and meow indignantly, wondering why his ear scratches had stopped. Upon said cry, Ginny would return to her absent-minded fondling of Crookshanks' matted ginger fur. She was barely listening to the animated conversation taking place beside her, and she did not notice when her brother, Ron refilled her glass of elf-made wine.

"You okay?" he murmured, stretching across to her with the dusty bottle. Ginny jerked her head up, startled. She had begun to drift off.

"Oh yeah," she said groggily, "Gwenog made us do endurance laps at training today."

"I'm surprised you're still awake then, Gin," Harry chuckled from his beanbag (they had been forbidden by Ron to sit together), his conversation with Hermione ceasing as they turned their attention to her. She smiled weakly back at him, summoning all the attention she could muster. Harry, expecting her trademark wink, frowned and tried to kickstart the conversation back into action so he could silently converse with her.

"So I heard Neville and Hannah eloped in Australia?" He smirked as he received the expected reactions.

"What?" Ron spluttered, slopping his wine onto his own assorted cushions. Hermione tutted good-naturedly and vanished the mess with a flick of her wand. "Neville got hitched before me? Neville?"

"Oh, Ronald," Hermione sighed, and she leant closer into him, quick to remove his wine before he gulped it down in disbelief. Harry smirked and tried to catch Ginny's eye silently. This was surprisingly difficult in her dazed stupor; she seemed unable to look at anything but the flames, mesmerised by the patterns which must have been far prettier in her sleep deprived state. Finally, she turned towards him, her bright brown gaze caught in his.

He beckoned to her, indicating his own beanbag. Ginny glanced at Hermione and Ron, who were fiercely intertwined and stifled a giggle. Then, ignoring the duo and Crookshanks' irritated mews as he was pushed off her lap, she crawled across to Harry's side, snuggling into his chest. He wrapped his arm round her protectively, and took a strand of her flaming locks he loved so much, twining it around his fingers, wishing he had mastered the knack of conjuring blankets.

There was a sound like a plug being pulled as Ron surfaced abruptly to glare at his best friend.

"You said no PDA!"

"That was before you turned the evening into a snogging session," Harry retorted slyly. Hermione had the decency to blush a deep rouge, while Ron gave the impression he was smoking at the ears.

"So how did you know about Neville, Harry?" Hermione asked timidly.

"Oh yeah, sorry mate, I forgot to tell you Neville's joining the Auror department."

Ron reached for the bottle of elf-made wine.

"Blimey, he's really been getting on," Ron mumbled, and lifted the wine to his lips. "Neville," he repeated over and over in a drunken mantra of incredulity. Hermione took the bottle and had a swig herself. She offered it to Harry, who shook his head and indicated his full glass beside the beanbag.

"I have to apparate back as well."

Hermione shrugged and swiftly took a swill of the wine. Soon, Harry presumed, they would be thrashing like eels, especially after the amount of alcohol they had practically inhaled. He turned his head to Ginny, who had fallen asleep against him. Every time he looked at her he felt as though he could never fully appreciate her beauty. Her hair seemed to radiate a glow of its own, though more subdued than usual under the lustre of the fire. She had a smattering of freckles that seemed to dance across her nose; Harry could count each one.

His admiring contemplation was interrupted by a wet something pushing demandingly at his hand. Crookshanks. But he had not come for Harry's affection. He promptly managed to squeeze between Harry and Ginny, thoroughly on edge as he stepped onto the beanbag, his paw sinking into it.

Ginny stirred, and fumbled with his fur fondly. Harry looked down at the ginger cat. With a great pang in his chest, he gently rubbed Ginny's arm and stood up sluggishly. She held a hand up to him, her eyes still closed. He took it and pulled her up, not letting go when she was standing. She leant against him ever so gently, smelling enticingly of wine and the outdoors.

Harry looked down at his two best friends who were, as he had predicted, passionately interlocked. The assembled pillows they had been sitting on where dispersed over slightly more territory and both Ron and Hermione's hands were not wrapped around the other's necks. He cleared his throat loudly but received only a rude hand gesture from Ron in response. Ginny rolled her eyes and led him to the front door, her heart heavy as she tried to ignore Crookshanks' pleading mews.

As they left, Harry had the distinct feeling he would not want to sit on those cushions next weekend, and the impulse to buy Ginny her very own cat.


A/N - please review!