14 December 2003
Ginny Potter was not a stranger to exhaustion.
She had grown accustomed to, during her Hogwarts years, to staying up late and waking up early. Not just because she had to study late into the night – which she did, sometimes, though not as often as Hermione did. And also not just because she liked to talk – which she did – with her roommates. Even worrying about the deranged dark wizard bent on enslaving the magical world was not the primary reason for her late nights. It was all of these things combined that had made her Hogwarts experience more exciting and terrifying than restful.
Ginny's life after Hogwarts was pretty much the same. Sure, she didn't have to worry about Voldemort anymore, but the life of a professional Quidditch player was fast-paced and vibrant. There were Quaffles to throw, friends to see, and, most happily of all, a boyfriend – and, eventually, a fiancé, then husband – to spend time with.
She never minded being tired. She got used to it. Sleep was for the dead, right?
And then Ginny had a baby. Suddenly, being tired was not something several cups of tea in the morning could cure. It was a state of being.
"How in the name of Merlin's pants did you manage seven of us?" Ginny stared at her mother, honestly bewildered. At the moment, her small son was tearing through the kitchen, pausing only to throw open all the cupboard doors. There were charms, of course, for keeping him from pulling out everything inside them, but still. James was only a few months past his first birthday, but already he was a little wild man.
"Lots of love, patience, and cups of tea laced with firewhiskey in the afternoon," Molly Weasley answered promptly. "Never more than one cup of special tea, mind you," she added, "but it helped. Especially when the twins were his age."
Ginny chuckled. She glanced around the room her son was currently doing his best to demolish, and felt a wave of nostalgia and fondness wash over her. The kitchen was almost exactly the way she remembered it from her own childhood. Pots and pans scrubbed themselves in the sink that was large enough to be a bathtub. In fact, there was photographic evidence of it being used to bathe a baby or two. Both Hermione and Harry had been thrilled to discover a picture of Ginny and Ron bathing in the kitchen sink, covered in bubbles, and grinning madly.
Now that Ginny thought about it, the entire room was filled with memories. Ginny had had her first time-out in that corner (after calling George a little shit) when she was four years old. And that shelf over there? Percy had sent her flying on top of it in a burst of accidental magic.
Feeling some of her exhaustion slipping away, Ginny turned to smile at her mother. "It was worth it, though, wasn't it?"
"Absolutely," Molly answered promptly.
Two years ago, Ginny would not have thought to ask that question. But now that she was a mother herself, things like that were always on her mind. It was dirty work, being a mother; it was far harder than being a student, or a Quidditch player, or even a member of Dumbledore's Army. There were nappies to change, tears to soothe, temper tantrums to either nip in the bud or just wait for the storm to be over, and long nights with a teething baby.
"It helped that Arthur shared an equal part of the parenting," Molly said. "He was always so good with all of you—"
"He still is," Ginny said loyally.
"Of course he is," Molly smiled fondly.
CRASH!
"James!" Ginny gasped, coming to her feet in an instant. The black-haired baby was sitting on his bum, staring in utter bewilderment at the potted plant he had knocked over. Dirt spilled over onto the kitchen floor, and the pot was in pieces. After several seconds of stunned silence, the baby began to wail.
Ginny hurried over and scooped him up into her arms. "Are you all right, my little one?" she crooned. It only took a few moments for her to recognize the cries: James was not hurt, he was hacked off and probably a little frightened of the loud noise. "James, you know that Mummy told you not to break things," she said sternly, bouncing him a little in her arms. Ginny glanced over the top of his messy hair. "Sorry, Mum," she said ruefully.
"Quite all right, dear, the Unbreakable Charm on that old thing must've worn thin," Molly said. Her wand was already out and pointed at the pot.
"No, no, don't worry about that, Mum, I'll fix it," Ginny said feebly, already knowing that her mother would take care of it despite Ginny's protests. Sure enough, even as Ginny spoke, the pot knitted itself back together, the dirt was gathered, and it stood up all by itself.
"There," her mother said.
"I'm sorry," Ginny said again. Turning her attention back to James, she fumbled with her own wand. "Look, James!" she said brightly. Bubbles of all colors erupted in a mad stream out the tip. "Bubbles!"
His screams faded abruptly. "B'ble!" he shouted gleefully, twisting out of her arms. "B'ble! B'ble!"
Ginny set him on the ground, gave his bum a little pat, and watched him clap his hands, trying to catch the bubbles. "Harry's much better at that spell," she confessed, sinking into her chair once more. "Some of them look like animals, and they chase James… Harry does sound effects, and it really gets James laughing like you wouldn't believe."
"Oh, I can believe it," Molly said. "Harry's a very good father."
"He is," Ginny agreed. She knew that she was very fortunate to have Harry as her partner. Whether or not he would make a good father had not crossed her mind when they first began dating. Little James – and any other children she and Harry might have someday – had not even been a whisper in her imagination. Instead, those sun-drenched days had been about light-hearted conversations and kisses. After the war, they had rebuilt their relationship just as they had rebuilt the wizarding world. They had found comfort and hope with each other. And desire.
"And what exactly is making my grown up daughter blush?" Molly interrupted Ginny's thoughts, a knowing smile tilting the corners of her lips.
"Oh, maybe about something that led to that one there," Ginny said, pointing at James. Back when she and Harry were first beginning to explore each other seriously, she'd thought that Molly was skilled at knowing exactly when to interrupt. It seemed like her mother still knew when her children were thinking about sex. "How do you do that?" Ginny asked before she could stop herself. "You always seem to know whenever we have naughty thoughts!"
Molly let out a peal of startled laughter. "Goodness, I hope I don't know every time! Merlin, with seven children, I would never have a moment's peace."
"George says that you have an invisible setting on our family clock," Ginny informed her. "And whenever one of us thinks about sex, it points to it." George had told them that particular theory several years ago, after a long night at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had taken her home that night, and (after an intense snogging and groping session out on the back porch which was, unfortunately, interrupted by her mother's voice telling her to get to bed) had examined the clock himself.
"There's no spell on it," he whispered, his tone low and fierce. His untidy hair was messier than usual – because she'd run her hands through it – and the front of his trousers still bulged a little. "But maybe she has another one, damn it, like some sort of – of magical chastity belt." There was a tinge of desperation in his voice; this would have been amusing had Ginny not felt exactly the same way.
"She might just have her ways," Ginny said dubiously. She trailed a finger over his deflating erection, and then kissed him lightly on the lips. "Don't worry – I'll come see you tomorrow."
"If your mother interrupts us at Grimmauld Place, I'm putting it back under the Fidelius Charm," he said darkly.
"Absolutely not," Molly said staunchly. "Who would put that kind of thing on a family clock?"
Ginny hid a smile. In the secret room in George and Ron's shop – the one they'd made them all swear not to tell Molly and Arthur about – there were novelty clocks that had those sort of settings. Instead of telling the time, or even where the family member was, it had things like "wanking," and "foreplay" and "wants to be bound to the bed." Where the twelve should be, it had "having an orgasm." Even though George and Ron would not let Harry and Ginny buy one of these clocks, she'd still seen them around.
"As to how I know, that's an easy answer," Molly told her.
"Oh?" Ginny asked, absentmindedly letting more bubbles escape out of her wand. James shrieked with glee, and their conversation would be uninterrupted for at least another few minutes.
"One," Molly held up a finger, "we used to have charms that alerted us to unbecoming behavior between unmarried couples. We don't have them anymore, of course—"
"But Charlie isn't married," Ginny pointed out.
Molly waved her hand. "Trust me, if Charlie brought a girl home, I'd turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to anything that might happen. But that boy is more interested in dragons…" she let out a beleaguered sigh.
Ginny laughed. "And what's the other reason?"
It was Molly's turn to blush. "All of you look very much like your father."
Blinking, Ginny turned this over in her mind. What does that have anything to do with—oh! Her eyes widened. "You mean we look like Dad when – when he…?"
Her mother let out a giggle that sounded remarkably girlish for someone so matronly. "It's the way your ears go bright red," she said confidingly. "That, and the dazed look in your eyes."
"I'm sorry I asked," Ginny said with great feeling.
Thankfully, James chose that moment to grow bored of his bubbles, and ran at top speed toward his mother. Ginny caught him up and settled him on her lap. "Just be grateful you don't know what Mummy and Gran are talking about, little one," she said, bouncing her knee. He leaned against her shoulder and patted her, letting out a stream of incoherent babble.
"Oh, is that right, James?" Molly asked. "Did you really? You're just a fine little wizard in the making, aren't you?"
"He takes after his daddy," Ginny said proudly.
James looked around wildly. "DADA!" he shouted. Then he practically flew out of Ginny's arms, and ran to the back door. "DADA!" he shouted again. One chubby fist knocked on the door.
Ginny exchanged a laughing glance with her mother. "You should see him when Harry comes home from the Ministry. He goes completely mental, it's like watching Ron right before we dig into our Christmas feast." It was true. Ginny loved seeing the two of them together. James simply adored Harry, and the affection returned in equal measure.
It surprised her now to think that she hadn't known that Harry would make an excellent father. She supposed it was inevitable that her husband would examine his lonely childhood and do everything he could to make sure that their son would never feel the way he had. Bereft of parents, and forced to live with the Dursleys, of course Harry would love James unconditionally.
That knowledge had grown inside Ginny right along with James. Every time he'd stroked her belly, or whispered to it, or came home with a toy (the first time that happened, Ginny had only been four months along), she became even more certain that Harry would be a wonderful dad. And when he'd held James for the first time, tears had slipped unabashedly down his face.
Harry didn't complain about changing diapers (even though he scoured spellbooks looking for a charm that would render him unable to smell when James left them a "special delivery"). He didn't mind getting up with James in the middle of the night so Ginny could sleep. And when he came home from work, he was fully prepared to help Ginny in any way he could.
And Ginny knew that he loved pretty much any minute of it. Just a few nights ago she'd overheard a conversation between him and Ron that only solidified this knowledge.
"It's a great feeling, Ron," Harry said earnestly. Her husband and her brother sat at the kitchen table, drinking ale. Ginny tried to be as quiet as she could, knowing that the closer Hermione drew to her due date, the more pep talks Ron needed.
"I'm going to be a horrible father," Ron moaned, dropping his head in his hands. "I can't – I can't even remember to pick my bloody socks off the floor! How'm I supposed t'remember to do everything the baby needs?"
"Don't worry about that, the baby will scream until you get it right," Harry said drily. Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her snort. That was certainly true. James was a right little expert at making sure his parents gave him what he needed.
"So…" Ron's voice trailed away. "It's a good thing, then? Being a dad?"
"No," Harry said sarcastically. "I've been lying to you. Of course it's a good thing, mate. When the healer put James in my arms for the first time… it felt like my wedding day, or the first time I kissed Ginny, or – or the first time I figured out what wanking was, all rolled into one."
Ginny bit her tongue. Hard. The first time he figured out what wanking was?! It was all she could do to keep herself from laughing.
"Right now all I feel is like someone keeps hitting me in the head with a Bludger," Ron said darkly. "Don't get me wrong—"
"I know," Harry said. "I was scared too—"
"—I'm completely over the moon—"
"But now you have another little witch or wizard on the way, and it changes things," Harry finished for him. "It does change things. But it's a good change. You'll see, as soon as you meet your baby. You'll see you in it, and Hermione. Like James' eyebrows are exactly the same shape as Ginny's, and so are his ears—"
"Not to mention, he has your hair," Ron said, beginning to perk up a little.
"I'm hoping that since he managed to get your blue eyes, that he got your eyesight as well," Harry said, tipping back in his chair. "It's fun that my child has something in common with my best mate," he admitted. "But you are my wife's older brother, after all."
Ginny grinned at that. For years she'd been "Ron's little sister." Now Ron was "Ginny's older brother."
"Hopefully, the baby will get Hermione's brains," Harry said wickedly.
"Ginny? Ginny!" Fingers snapped in front of her face, and Ginny was once more in the kitchen at the Burrow. Apparently, her mother had been trying to catch her attention for some time.
"I'm sorry," Ginny said. "I know that was rude of me—"
"Never you mind about that," Molly waved her off. She had James nestled in her lap. "I just had an idea. How would you like it if your father and I took James for a night? We couldn't do it tonight, but how about tomorrow?"
"Take James for a night?" Ginny repeated. She glanced from her small son to her mother. "He'd stay here? At the Burrow? The whole night?" It seemed like such a foreign idea, to have James be apart from them for an entire night. What if he needed them? At the same time, a little part of her started jumping up and down. An entire night alone! Just her and Harry! But he was still so young. "I don't know, Mum…" she said slowly.
"He's a big boy, Ginny," Molly said gently. "He'll be exactly a year and three months tomorrow. James would be just fine with your dad and me." She reached over and patted Ginny's hand. "I remember the first time Bill stayed over at my mum's house. I was a nervous wreck, but he had a splendid time, and he was even younger than James is. By the time you were old enough to have an overnight with your Gran and Granddad Weasley, I was ready to pack all of you off with anyone who would have you."
"Oh, thanks," Ginny said.
Her mother shrugged unrepentantly. "As much as I love my children, your dad is the most important person in my life. It's a good thing for young parents to remind themselves why they love each other so much."
"Is this your way of telling me that Harry and I need a night of shagging?" Ginny asked slyly. It was her little revenge for Molly's comments about Arthur.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Molly said.
Ginny briefly deflated. Will I ever ever get the best of Mum? She shoved this vague satisfaction aside, however, and let herself seriously consider her mother's offer. An entire night, just her and Harry, filled with rest and relaxation and not having to worry about interrupting any sort of festivities!
As much as Ginny loved her son, this sounded like heaven, and she was dead certain that her husband would agree.
Ginny opened her mouth to give her permission—
"KAFFLE!" James shouted happily.
Startled, Ginny looked at him. "Quaffle?" She knew what he was trying to say – she and Harry were determined that their son would be a fine Quidditch player, and James already knew the names for all the balls ("Nitch! Budgie! Kaffle!") – but where was the Quaffle?
To her horror, James was staring at her - Look how smart I am, Mummy! - and patting Molly's ample breasts with one chubby hand. "G'an, kaffle!"
A horrified laugh burst out of her before she could stop it.
"Quaffle?" Molly said. "He thinks my bosoms are Quaffles?"
"You could take it as a compliment," Ginny pointed out, shaking with laughter. In her son's defense, her mother's breasts were quite large. "Oh, Mum, are you sure you want him for the night?"
"I think I can manage," Molly said, lips twitching.
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15 December 2003
Ginny could barely contain her excitement, and it was all she could do not to tell Harry the good news as soon as he opened the door the night before. We're going to have a night to ourselves! her mind kept chanting. But she wanted it to be a surprise for Harry, who was sure to be just as thrilled as she.
"Thank you, Mum!" Ginny sang, grabbing James up in her arms, and twirling around while he laughed, his pudgy hands gripping her shirt tightly. "Look, James, it's snowing!" she said excitedly, pointing out the kitchen window of their cottage. "Can you say snow?"
He gave her a coy little smile and shook his head.
Ginny bounced him a little. "Sometimes I get the feeling you understand everything we're saying to you, little one," she told him, grinning. "And you pretend like you don't just to make Mummy and Daddy mental." James chuckled, his blue eyes lit with happiness.
This morning, after her mother had offered to take James for the night in order to give Ginny and Harry a much needed holiday from parenting, Ginny felt lit with renewed energy. She felt more patient with the baby, even when he exhibited the stubborness he got from his father, or the temper he got from her. Even Harry had seemed to sense her mood, and had gotten up late not because he'd overslept, but because he'd laid in bed cuddling with her and talking.
Now it was almost afternoon, and time to get James ready to go to his Gran's.
"Maybe I'll drop you off early," she told him. "Then maybe Mummy will go shopping and buy a present for Daddy," she added, thinking of Lady Lilac's Lingerie. Harry always lit right up whenever he saw one of their purple and silver bags sitting by their nightstand. It had been a while since Ginny had worn matching knickers and bra, let alone lingerie.
On her way upstairs, James still in her arms, she paused at the landing and eyed herself in the mirror. Still fit, she thought with satisfaction. Thanks to a fast metabolism and a love of flying that hadn't abated with childbirth, Ginny was almost as slim as she'd been before getting pregnant with James.
The baby chose just that moment to rest his head on her shoulder and patted her arm, peering at them in the mirror. Ginny kissed the top of his messy little head, and felt a little stab of love. As much as she was excited about having a night alone with Harry, she was going to miss the little wild man. "Better yet," she said, "how about I take you shopping with me? Just the two of us?"
Again, Ginny's newfound reserve of patience served her well, for the next few hours required all she had to give. She didn't blame James, of course, who was a baby and who liked to do normal baby things like touch everything he could put his hands on and learn what everything tasted like. No, it was the other shoppers in Diagon Alley, who stared and whispered and pointed at the two of them.
By the time the fiftieth person came up to Ginny and told her they were just sure he was going to grow up to be just as heroic as his father, Ginny was ready to lash out. "I hope he doesn't have to be," Ginny finally said curtly, stopping where she was right outside the lingerie shop. "It's my fondest hope - and my husband's - that our children won't have to learn about bravery the way we did."
"Oh," the stranger said, bewilderment crossing her features. "Well. Of course not, but-"
"If you'll excuse me," Ginny said, "I need to continue with my shopping."
The other witch hurried off, and Ginny stared after her for a moment, then lightly stroked James' cheek. "You're not going to have to be as brave as Daddy was," she told him firmly. "Mummy and Daddy won't let that happen." What people failed to remember was that Harry had been just a baby like James when Voldemort had destroyed his family. It was that loss that had sent Harry down his path, and Ginny knew that the last thing Harry wanted was for his son to have to have the same kind of painful growing up years that Harry had.
Shaking off the sudden gloom, Ginny pasted a determinedly cheerful smile on her face and entered the lingerie shop.
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It was close to four in the afternoon by the time James was ready to go. Ginny whirled around his room, throwing everything he could possibly need into the carry-all bag Hermione had given her, feeling the time press down on her. Harry usually arrived home around six; the sooner she left, the sooner she could start getting ready. Today she was going to attend to all the little female rituals that would make Harry's eyes light up. James watched her from his spot on the floor, eyes still groggy with sleep.
"Mummy's going to try to look pretty," she told him, stuffing all of James' stuffed animals into the bag. What if she chose the wrong one to go with him and come bedtime, he screamed? It was better to let her mother have all the options, yes it was.
"Pwetty," he piped up, trying out the new word. "Pwetty, pwetty, pwetty."
"Mummy always looks pretty," said Harry.
Ginny spun around, dropping the bag and reaching for her wand. Her hand grabbed at her empty pocket, even as her moment of panic faded. "Harry! What are you doing home so early?"
Her husband came in and took James up into his arms and kissed every inch of the squirming bundle he could reach. "I got off early, no big deal," he shrugged, glancing her way. "Where's your wand, Gin?"
"Wand?" she asked blankly. "Oh! Right. My wand." Her dreams of making Harry's eyes bulge out of his head as soon as he walked in the door were brutally squashed. "I must have left it here somewhere..." A vague memory of seeing her wand caught in one of the many blankets she'd packed to go with James teased her. "I think I accidentally put it in the bag," she confessed.
He nodded, but didn't say anything, for which Ginny was grateful. Harry tried not to be paranoid, and he wasn't over-bearing, but there were certain measures she had to take to ensure his peace of mind. Having her wand within easy reach at all times was one of the ways Ginny showed him she loved him enough to care for her own safety.
"It looks like you've packed a lot," he pointed out, his glance taking in the messy room. He swallowed and gave a little chuckle. "Is that it then? You've finally come to your senses and you're leaving me?"
"You're a laugh a minute, Harry," she said dryly. "They'll have to pry my cold, dead fingers off of you to get me to let you go."
His deep laugh filled the room, and James laughed with him. "I see you're in a romantic mood tonight, my love."
"Actually," Ginny said, "I am." She resumed packing, though at a more sedate pace. "And if you'd shown up when you were supposed to instead of having that absolute gall to get off early, you would know that. How did you manage that, anyway?" Harry never just got off early. The Auror Department always needed him.
"I faked a life-threatening illness," he said. There was a smile on his face, but his brow was knit, and he was staring at the bag. "I'm only joking," he assured her. "I told them I was going home to spend time with my family, and I didn't give them a choice. I didn't want to go in at all, to be honest - Ginny, why are you packing up James' room?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise," Ginny grinned. "It's nothing to worry about, Harry. Mum's just giving us our Christmas gift a little early, that's all. She's taking James for the night."
"Your mum's taking James?" Harry said blankly.
"Yes," Ginny said. She watched his face carefully, wanting to see the same excitement she felt bloom. "We'll have the entire night, Harry. Just the two of us," she beamed. But Harry seemed slow to understand the sheer wonder of her mother's gift.
"Today?"
"Yes, Harry, today, hence the packing." Impatience began to bite at her.
"No." His voice was flat.
"What?" It was Ginny's turn for confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I meant exactly what I said," he replied. "I don't want him to stay at the Burrow today."
The way he emphasized the word today made everything clear. Ginny chuckled nervously. "Don't worry about him, Harry," she said soothingly, telling herself not to be impatient with him. "I know he's still just our baby, but Mum will take good care of him. Merlin knows she's had enough experience. James will have a right good time, won't you, James?"
James giggled, but Harry, it seemed, was unconvinced. Instead of being talked around to her point of view, his face was set in mulish lines. Ginny recognized that look of sheer, unbending stubbornness and prepared herself for a battle. "Harry," she said. "I know you worry about him, but it really isn't necessary. Mum and Dad were in the Order of the Phoenix, you know that." Not that they'll have to protect him from an attack, Ginny added silently. "He'll be safe and loved, and it's just for one night!"
"Ginny-"
But Ginny had long experience with these types of arguments, and knew better than to let him get a word in edgewise until she was done. "I want a night alone with you," she said firmly. "We need a night alone together, and Mum just offered us the chance on a golden platter!"
"I don't want it," Harry said implacably.
Stunned, Ginny just stared at him. Her flash of temper fizzled and hurt replaced it. Her mother's words echoed in her head. As much as I love my children, your father is the most important person in my life.Oh, Ginny had no doubt that Harry loved her. But his utter refusal to let James spend the night away from them, when he'd be perfectly safe and happy with his grandparents, made her wonder if perhaps Harry had it the other way around.
"Harry, please," she said. "I've been looking forward to this since yesterday. I need..." Her voice trailed away, and she glanced at her son, who was completely oblivious to the tension surrounding him.
"We can do it later-"
"Later when?" she demanded. "Next Christmas? The Christmas after that? Or are we not going to have a break until James goes off to Hogwarts?" Ginny hated the fact that she sounded like a spoiled child, but couldn't seem to help herself. All day she'd looked forward to this, and he didn't want it!
His cheeks flushed. "I can see there's no point talking to you in the mood you're in," he snapped. "You know what I've been looking forward to all day? Being with my family. Both of you. The three of us together. Today. But if you need a little break from our son, I-"
"Don't you put that on me, Harry," she pointed her finger at him. "Don't try to make me feel like a bad mother just because I think it's perfectly safe to leave him with the people who raised me."
"Come on, James," Harry turned his back on her and walked toward the door. "You and I can take a walk, and Mummy can have a break." Without even looking over his shoulder, he said, "Accio Ginny's wand!" Within moments, it had wormed its way out of the bag and zoomed over to him. He caught it and tossed it to her, casting her one last look of irritation - and hurt? - before he left.
Ginny's shoulders slumped, and her eyes filled with tears. His footsteps had long faded before she moved. She sank down into the rocking chair and stared moodily out the window. Fighting with Harry never made her feel good, and today was no exception. "I'm not a terrible mother," she said indignantly to the empty room. Her own mother had admitted to shipping her kids out to anyone who would take them. If Molly Weasley didn't have a problem with that, then she shouldn't.
It was still snowing. Ginny could hear faint noises from downstairs - Harry getting James ready for their walk - and then the door opened and shut. Well, this is certainly not how I expected today to turn out,she thought, swiping at her damp cheeks. She left James' room, not even bothering to unpack all his things. She could do that later. Better yet, Harry could do that later.
She headed straight for the hearth in the living room, grabbed the floo powder, dropped it on the flames and stuck her head in. "The Burrow!"
Within seconds, her head was whirling, and the homey kitchen came into focus. "Mum! Mum!" she shouted. "MUM!"
"No need to shout, dear," Molly said, "I'm right here." She bustled into view, wiping her hands on her apron. "Where's the little lad?"
"He's not coming," Ginny said. A few more tears squeezed out of her eyes. "Harry didn't want him to go today," she added bitterly. "I told him that the Burrow is perfectly safe, but you know him. This was the man who had to put up enough wards around this house to keep a marauding army out before he let me move in. I should have known he wouldn't-"
"Harry doesn't want James to come here?" Molly said, shock plainly evident in her expression. "But-"
"Don't be insulted, Mum," Ginny said. "It's just how Harry is. You know that."
"But... it was his idea," Molly told her.
Ginny's mouth gaped open.
"That's right, he's the one who asked us if we would ever consider watching James for the night," Molly nodded sharply. "Of course, your father and I agreed - nothing could please us more. And believe me, I know how wearying it can be to be the mother of a toddler, so I understood perfectly when Harry said you might like a night for just yourself."
"But... why didn't you tell me it was his idea?"
"Thought you'd be more apt to agree if it came from me," Molly said. "He felt guilty enough as it is." There was a fond sparkle in her eyes, but Ginny was too bewildered to appreciate the humor. She rubbed the back of her neck, growing more confused by the moment. If Harry had been the one to approach her mother about watching James overnight, then why did he flatly refuse to allow it tonight?
She recalled the peculiar emphasis he'd placed on the word today, as though today held some great importance to him. But nothing significant that she could remember had taken place on the fifteenth of December. It wasn't either of their birthdays, nor was it an anniversary of note. Ginny glared at nothing in particular. It obviously had something to do with being a family, otherwise Harry wouldn't have been so adamant about James staying with them.
Frustrated, she thought of all the dates that had to do with their son. Conceived (they thought) on the twenty-first of January; born on the fifteenth of September. He's exactly fifteen months old today, Ginny thought, but why is that so significant? Harry didn't think fourteen months was that big of a deal. So why-
Oh.
Ginny completely forgot that she was staring vacant-eyed at her mother with her back half at home and her head at the Burrow, and when she reeled back with surprise, the back of her head collided with the hearth. "Ow!" Ginny cried, adding a few choice words that her mother pretended she didn't hear. "I have to go," she told Molly. "Shit," she swore again, but not because she'd hit her head.
You didn't even let him explain, Ginny scolded herself. If you'd let him talk, now you wouldn't have to apologize.
And Ginny hated apologizing, even to Harry.
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It took Ginny all of twenty minutes to prepare, and the bulk of that time was spent alerting her family members that the Potter family was unavailable until tomorrow. The hearth in the kitchen was protected from any untoward interruptions, a simple dinner was baking in the oven, and Ginny was dressed in her absolute favorite pajamas – crimson and red, bulky and comfortable, they were a far cry from the frothy lingerie she'd purchased, but she was cozy and comfortable.
Not to mention, Harry had bought them for her and had given them to her the day they thought they'd made James.
"Pajamas?" Ginny said, both surprised and touched. The wrapping paper was strewn all over the floor of the living room in their new cottage. She held the pants up, eyeing them critically. They would definitely fit. She ran her fingers over the fabric; it was almost decadently soft.
"Put them on," Harry suggested, grinning. He clutched the gift Ginny had given him to mark the occasion of their first night in their new home in his fist: two tickets in the Top Box of the Argentina-Wales Quidditch match, and Ginny didn't think he'd let them go any time soon.
Unashamed, Ginny stripped off her trousers and shirt and pulled on the new pajamas. Almost immediately, they warmed up. Almost like magic.
"They've got several charms on them," Harry explained while Ginny gave a little pirouette. "They warm up as soon as you put 'em on," he continued, standing up and tossing the tickets on the coffee table, "and you can put them on right after you get out of the bath; they're water-resistant…"
"This is one of the best gifts you've ever given me," Ginny said. "Did Hermione help you?"
Harry boomed out a laugh. "You think I don't know how much you value your comfort?"
"No, I know you do," Ginny smiled at him. "But I know how much you value your sex, and I never thought you'd give me any pajamas that didn't come from Lady Lilac's Lingerie." Recognizing the glint in his eyes, she took a step backward and wagged her finger at him. "No, no, no," she said playfully. "You're the one who told me to put these on—"
"Only because I wanted to take them off you," Harry interrupted easily. He came toward her, but Ginny wasn't quite ready to stop playing. She stepped around their brand new couch, placing it between her and her randy husband.
"But Harry, these are so cozy and warm," Ginny said, making her voice deliberately husky. She ran her hands down her front, lingering on her breasts. She knew it probably looked ridiculous, since the pajamas – while the most comfortable article of clothing she'd ever put on – were hardly designed for seduction. But she didn't care. And judging by the suddenly fixated way he looked at her, Harry didn't care either.
"I'll warm you up," Harry promised. His body tensed, and Ginny's smile widened as she realized what he was going to do. "You promised me we'd do it in every room in the house."
"Did I?" Ginny took a step backward. "You'll have to catch me first." And just as he made a flying leap over the couch, she ran for the stairs, shrieking with laughter. Ginny didn't make him run too far, though; instead, she let him catch her on the landing, she was the one who dragged him to the soft carpet; and, when he'd sufficiently warmed her up, she was the one who pulled her pajama bottoms down.
Harry and James burst through the kitchen door, interrupting her reverie, and bringing in a swirl of snow and laughter. "Mama!" James crowed, blue eyes alight with happiness. Harry's eyes, on the other hand, were uncertain. He held James tightly against his chest, and Ginny decided to make him squirm for a bit.
"For shame, Potter," she said sternly. "You know I can't jinx you with your son in your arms."
Evidently, she didn't do a good job at pretending she was still angry, for his shoulders immediately relaxed. He took his eyes off her and glanced around the kitchen. Taking an appreciative sniff, he said, "Dinner smells good, Ginny."
It wasn't the romantic dinner for two that Ginny had envisioned, but it was even better. Once he realized that Ginny was no longer angry, she watched him ease back to the good-natured husband she knew and loved. They would talk later, Ginny knew, and she threw herself whole-heartedly into making the night special for her boys – both of them.
As the evening marched by, James seemed to realize that the attention he was receiving from his parents was somehow special, and he made his best efforts to entertain his two favorite people. When the small baby laughed as he flew around the room on the broom his Uncle Ron had given him the day he was born, Ginny had an idea.
"I have a fun idea, my little man," Ginny said to James, feeling a sense of mischief start to fill her up. "It isn't fair that you're the only one who gets to fly," she continued. "Why don't you ask your daddy if we can all go outside for a nighttime fly?"
Harry eyed her dubiously. "Are you having me on?" he demanded. "Weren't you the one who said he was too young for flying outside at night?"
"That was last week," Ginny said judiciously. "Today he is exactly fifteen months old."
Harry's cheeks flushed slightly, and he looked away from her. Ginny did not give up, but kept a steady gaze on him. It was obviously a tender point with him, this reminder that she had not forgotten their earlier quarrel, but Ginny did not want him to forget that they needed to talk.
"How about we all go up on one broom?" Harry suggested finally.
And they did.
Mindful of the fact that James was still just a little boy, Harry flew slowly, and did not go any higher than the trees surrounding their cottage. Ginny held James as tightly as Harry held her. Snow drifted around them; the flakes were large and lazy, and they didn't even need a shield charm to keep them from it. It was just part of the magic of that night. Harry's heartbeat was strong and steady against her back.
"Hold still, James," Ginny murmured, even though their son needed no such warning. He was holding himself almost unnaturally still. At first, she thought he was terrified, and that he might be too young for flying so high. But when she looked down, his little face was just filled with joy.
The sharp ache hit her suddenly, and Ginny drew in a startled breath. Harry maneuvered them in a slow loop around the chimney, and Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. The little body snuggled in front of her, quivering with excitement, was no larger than Harry had been the night Voldemort had destroyed his family. Regret filled her, and she nestled back in Harry's arms, and looked up at the sky.
I'm sorry, Lily, she thought silently. It simply wasn't fair that Lily had never had a chance for more moments like these. She'd had less than a year and a half with her son, and the months when they'd been in hiding must have been terrifying. Surely, though, James and Lily and Harry had had moments like these.
A few tears slipped out of Ginny's eyes. What a terrible choice Lily had had to make. Ginny tightened her grip on James, and her sense of compassion for her mother-in-law grew. It wasn't so much that she thought Lily had feared her own death. Back in the early stages of Ginny's pregnancy, she'd wondered if she'd have the courage it took to die for her son. But now she realized that if her body could serve as a shield for James, she'd do it in a heartbeat. The terrible part would be saying goodbye to James, knowing that she'd never have any more precious moments with him, knowing that she'd never hold him again.
Harry's right hand came to rest on hers, as though he knew what she was thinking and sought to comfort her. Ginny wondered if he was thinking of his father and placing himself in the first James' shoes, just as Ginny was doing with Lily's. His head dropped briefly to her shoulder and she felt him inhale slowly.
"Hold onto James tightly," Harry said in a husky voice. "I'm going to do a barrel roll."
Ginny didn't even bother to argue, just kept her grip on James just as firm as before.
They were upside down when James started laughing. His entire body shook with it, that precious baby belly laugh. It proved contagious. Suddenly, the nostalgic regret dissipated and Ginny giggled. "I think he wants you to do it again," Ginny said. Harry brought them down in a gentle dive, and went into a roll when they were low enough over the grass that Ginny's hair brushed the earth.
James shouted with glee.
They stayed in the air for at least an hour. James, Ginny thought, had gotten his love for flying from both of his parents. And although her tears were gone, she held onto the moment as tightly as she held onto James, because who knew how many moments like this they would have together? The end might come sooner than they hoped, and it was best to hold the joy close to their hearts and never let it go.
HPHPHPHPHPHP
Ginny followed behind Harry up the stairs, wanting to see his reaction to the slight change she'd made to James' room. The baby was fast asleep, utterly exhausted by their family adventure. He snored slightly on his father's shoulder, and a patch of drool grew on Harry's shirt.
Harry patted James' back. "He sleeps like his mother," he said fondly. "I don't think he'd wake up if the Hogwarts Express came through his room."
"I heard they were thinking of doing just that," Ginny mused. "Door to door service for the Potter children, that way we don't have to worry about silly things like getting to King's Cross by eleven in the morning."
Harry looked at her over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised. "Children?"
"Dozens," Ginny nodded sharply.
"Ha!" Harry scoffed, pushing James' door open. "I think you – what the hell?"
Ginny hid a grin, knowing that he'd noticed the lack of cot in the room. She stood behind him as he stared at the empty spot next to the window.
"Ginny," he said slowly, "Did you pack up James' cot to take to your mother's?"
She swatted him lightly on his arm. "No," she said. "I didn't pack up his entire room, I wasn't that mental—"
"Well, you packed everything else," Harry muttered, earning another swat.
"I didn't want her to lack anything that might keep him happy," Ginny said with great dignity, flushing. Looking back, she had gone a little crazy with packing. His shelves were practically empty, for Merlin's sake! A reluctant chuckle burst out of her.
"So where did his cot go?" Harry sounded genuinely bewildered.
"Here, I'll show you," Ginny tugged on his elbow. This time, she led them. Harry followed her straight to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. She'd placed James' cot next to their bed, close enough so that they could keep a close watch on him for the rest of the night. "It's just for tonight," she said softly.
Their eyes met and held. Harry didn't look away as he had earlier, and Ginny could easily read the emotions in them: gratitude, love, and a little sheepishness for good measure. "Thank you, Ginny," he said quietly.
She could taste the apology she meant to give him, but she held it in. Instead, she tilted her head at the cot. "I thought he could sleep in our room, just for tonight," she said. "Why don't you tuck him in?" As he did so, Ginny turned down the covers on their bed. But instead of climbing in, she joined Harry next to the cot. James was indeed a heavy sleeper; he didn't wake up when his father laid him down, just heaved a little sigh and pursed his lips. His eyelids flickered when Harry laid his hand on his back.
Ginny wrapped her arm around Harry's waist, and rested her own hand on James' head. They stood that way for a while, as their baby slept in a patch of moonlight. "I love you, my wild little man," she said. Then she turned to her husband. "And you. Come on, let's go to bed."
Not even a minute later, they were curled up together under the bedclothes. Harry's warm body pressed against her from behind, and he twined his fingers with hers. Ginny was about to broach the subject of their earlier quarrel, but he surprised her by mentioning it first. "When, uh, when did you figure it out?"
"When Mum said that having James over for the night was your idea," Ginny said simply, twisting her body so that she could look at him. The bedroom was only lit the light of the moon, but she could see the glint of his eyes. "I thought you just didn't want James to be away from us for a night. I didn't know that today… meant something to you."
His thumb stroked the palm of her hand. "I didn't really want to mention it."
"But why?" Ginny asked. "If I'd known—"
"I didn't want to make a big deal of it," Harry flopped over onto his back and covered his eyes with his forearm. "Listen, I know that I can be a paranoid berk sometimes. Like… how it bothers me if you don't have your wand close by you, or if I think that something could hurt you."
"And like how you didn't let me stay the night over at your flat until you'd placed a bunch of wards around it," Ginny added. "Or remember when you thought that crazy fan of mine was going to slip me a love potion?"
"He tried to do that, remember?" Harry said grimly. Ginny wisely didn't say anything; that had happened before they were even married, and it still bothered him. "I just… worry. And I know you have to put up with a lot of that, so I didn't want to tell you. I just wanted to spend time with you and James and try to pretend I'm completely normal. That I don't have any baggage."
Ginny mulled this over. This was a topic that occasionally reared its head, and had done so since the very earliest days of their relationship. Harry's life had been shaped by loss since he was exactly the same age as James. It used to annoy her, but she'd let go of that at Fred's funeral. It was just one of the ways he showed her how much he loved her. He didn't smother her. When she'd played professional Quidditch – which could be a brutal sport, she had to admit – he'd been her staunchest support.
"First of all, most of the time you make me feel cherished," Ginny said softly. "And secondly, I don't think you're a paranoid berk, Harry. I think that you want us to grow old together. But I'm not sure that you being paranoid has anything to do with today."
"Then what was all this about?" Harry sounded confused.
Ginny leaned over him and pressed a kiss on his lips. "I don't know, maybe a lot of things? Like wanting to honor your parents. Or maybe that you've been missing them." She kissed him again, lingering a little longer. "Or maybe you've realized the true horror that was done to you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Ginny chose her words with care, and moved even closer to him until she was sprawled half on top of him. "After the war, when you finally told us the truth about you and Voldemort and the prophecy, Mum and I had a talk. She was so furious and kept going on about how evil Voldemort was, and how much he'd stolen from you. I didn't fully understand, not until we had James. I was just happy that you were alive. But now, being a mother, I think I'm beginning to realize how evil he was." Ginny glanced over at James. "Look at how little he is. Think about how much we love him. And then think about how little you were, and how much your parents loved you."
Harry's arms wrapped around her, and she felt him sigh. He didn't say anything for a long while. Instead, he stroked her back, and pulled her up tightly against him. "So you don't think I'm completely mental?" he asked finally.
"No more mental than I am," Ginny said.
"Not much of a reassurance." Ginny could hear the grin in his voice, and she snorted.
"I did practically pack up James' entire room for just one little overnight," she said dryly. She drew a little figure eight on Harry's chest lightly with her fingernails. In retaliation, he slipped his hand up her shirt and tickled her back. Suppressing a shiver, Ginny said quietly, "He's going to be fine."
"I know," Harry said. His other hand went up to his forehead, brushing lightly against his scar. Ginny didn't think the gesture was entirely conscious; the scar didn't physically hurt him anymore, but some wounds never really went away.
"We're going to be fine," Harry said, continuing to stroke her back.
"I know," Ginny repeated back at him.
His hand slid a little further south. "You're not wearing any knickers," he said softly.
"I know," Ginny said again. She kissed him then, deeply and softly. His mouth opened under hers, but he let her stay in control of the kiss. She could taste the butterbeer he'd had after they went flying, and it made her a little dizzy.
"We're going to have to be very quiet," Ginny warned, pulling away.
"I know," Harry said. The hand that was still under her shirt slipped around to the front. His fingers found a nipple and squeezed, startling a moan out of her. "Oops," he said. Something in his tone made Ginny think he'd done that on purpose. "We can't have you moaning and screaming," he told her. "You'll wake the baby." He rolled them over and nibbled on her lips. She could feel him fully erect against her hip, and she arched up.
Instead of trying to keep her quiet, Harry seemed intent on making her moan. He cupped her firmly between her legs with no warning whatsoever, and Ginny couldn't hold back a groan.
He shook his head sorrowfully. "This is not going to work."
"Don't you dare tease me, Harry Potter," Ginny said breathlessly. She opened her legs wider and pushed up against his palm.
"I'm not going to tease you," he said. "I'm going to muffle you." His face split into a grin. "Turn over."
Ginny would have laughed had he not chosen just that moment to stroke her with his fingers. Her pajamas made the sensation even more arousing; soft, sensitive flesh was teased with his expert touch. She wallowed in the pleasure, watching his face through half-opened eyes. He pushed her shirt up and sucked her nipple into his mouth, suckling strongly.
Another moan.
"Turn over," he ordered.
Pleasure tingled through her body. It wasn't very often that Harry wanted to be in complete control, and it was always promising. It meant an encounter that was fast and explosive.
Ginny rolled over onto her stomach, and Harry grabbed a pillow and shoved it under her. "Tomorrow night, when the baby's at Mum's, I'm going to torture you," she promised him. "I went to your favorite store today."
He inhaled sharply. "Lady Lilac's?"
"Uh huh," Ginny said. She pressed her face into the mattress when he gave her suddenly bare bum - when did he pull my bottoms down? - a little swat. "It's white," she said in a ragged whisper, "and you can see everything through it. I'm going to be wearing it already when you get home from work."
One arm snaked under her and a callused hand cupped her breast. Her body instinctively moved sinuously, pressing her chest even harder against him, and pushed her bum up. His erection was heavy against her, pressed between her cheeks. His head came down. "That's tomorrow," he whispered, "Tonight, it's my turn to torture you."
He made good on his word. He shifted his body until he was pressed tightly against her, and the blunt head of his penis kissed her opening. He pushed it in just an inch, and then completely withdrew. Ginny shuddered and arched, and she could feel his other hand underneath the pillow, grinding against her. And still, he didn't push into her all the way.
"Harry," Ginny panted, when he withdrew the head of his penis yet again. "Harry, you've got to—ahhhh."
"Beg me." His voice was a ragged whisper.
She threatened him instead. "If you don't, I'll scream and wake the baby."
He pushed into her hard; at the same time, he squeezed her tightly and lightly bit her shoulder. Ginny had one instant of shock – it never happened this quickly – and she came, biting her own forearm to keep her scream silent.
"Fuck, Ginny," Harry groaned in her ear. But Ginny was still coming, her inner muscles clamping down, and every thrust he made just heightened the sensations. Her climax continued as Harry's body kept her tight and motionless against the bed. Their bodies were so close and so entwined that she felt his groin twitch, and she knew he was spurting into her, gripped by his own orgasm.
"Holy shit," Ginny breathed.
He collapsed, his full weight resting on top of her. His heart was racing against her back, and his hips still moved against her.
Luckily, Harry seemed to guess when his weight became too much; he rolled them over until they were in the exact position they were when they first got into bed: nestled together like spoons. Ginny kept her eyes squeezed tightly closed; every once in a while her groin twitched with remembered pleasure.
"That had to be some kind of record," Harry said, awed.
"Three strokes and you're done?" Ginny said sleepily. "I seem to remember that happening quite frequently when we first started doing this."
"Wench," Harry said fondly. "I meant a record for you."
"Shhhh," Ginny said. "Don't wake the baby."
He chuckled, but fell silent. His breathing began to deepen, and she knew he wasn't going to be awake much longer.
"Just remember," Ginny said, "that it's my turn to torture you tomorrow."
Ginny fell asleep smiling, with Harry's arms tight around her, one hand still cupping her breast, and their bodies still intimately entwined.
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Author's Note: I know it's cheap just to post something in order to do an author's note, but in my (totally irrational) moments of deleting crap, I didn't even save It Could Be Nicer Being Red. I need it! For reasons! If any of you have it, please, please email it to me. I'm begging!