A/N: very brief non hinny related non consensual off screen butt grab, but I wanted to make sure you knew. Otherwise, it's a little hinny fluffy evening.

A pungent wave of vanilla scented candles is the first thing that hits Harry when he arrives home. The next thing is the delicious warmth of the flat. It's been a cold, muddy, miserable week of weather and Harry was more than happy to see the back side of it. The week that is, the weather sadly shows no signs of stopping.

And just to make sure he was truly grateful for the end of it all, Harry, three trainees, and Ron's sick leave replacement all trooped down to close a case in Derbyshire only to find twice as many dark wizards as expected. Add to that muddy country fields, wild winds, and a damn splitting headache - Harry needs a quiet night at home. Hopefully Ginny's of the same mind. She did break out the candles...

He nearly tips over as he works his boots off, flecks of dried mud falling to the wood floors, and then moves on to his cloak and other remaining bits of outdoor clothing and everything covered in mud or rainwater. Which it turns out, leaves him in his pants.

It had been a truly menacing day.

"Gin?"

The wireless suddenly sounds, loud and earsplitting, maybe the Weird Sisters? It's too much of an unbelievably painful level of volume to his ears to be sure.

Just as suddenly, the volume drops to a low hum, followed by a string of almost unintelligible swears that most certainly originate with Harry's wife.

"Er- in the living room!"

Harry sends one last look at his pile of dirty laundry before leaving it for later-on-Harry. Maybe he'll have had a kip, a snack, and one of the two combined with a cuddle from his wife. He's not ashamed to admit a good long spooning - where he's the little spoon - can sometimes be just what the doctor ordered.

He rounds the corner into the living area. "Gin I was going to grab a - "

"Heya handsome."

"Hi Ginny- wow."

"I know, I'm a lot to take in," Ginny drawls with an exaggerated wink.

Harry doesn't have to work too hard to put it all together, about five separate tiny mint green bags, tipped over and emptied onto the table. Assuming the little tubs, tubes, and other accoutrements came from within. Harry's never seen them in his life, and has certainly never seen Ginny's face covered in green goop.

He has, however, seen Ginny dangling upside down on the couch half-naked and grinning before. Usually - as is evidenced now by the half empty bottle and Ginny's smoking ears - after a good long interaction with a bottle of Ogden's.

It does comfort him somewhat to remember that they'd cracked that seal together last weekend, so she hasn't demolished entirely by herself in the space of an evening. Ginny jiggles her legs where they rest over the back of the couch and her smile turns a bit feral. "Look at you all unwrapped and ready to go."

"You - ready?" Harry steps closer, "What?"

Ginny flips around, only swaying slightly as she attempts to tug the strap of her vest back up her shoulder, and points in his general direction. "It's time to get pampered."

Harry steps closer and perches on the arm of the couch. "Is it?"

"Yes," Ginny nods, though her tempting 'come hither' type gaze is a bit at odds with her shooing hands. "Go get comfy."

"Pajamas?"

"If you please," Ginny says, already focused on rustling through her haul of goodies. "Though I won't complain if they're a bit skimpy."

"Are you objectifying me?"

"Somebody has to."

"Did you miss my recognition among the 'Hottest Wizard Arses' in Witch Weekly?"

Ginny snorts as a second tumbler appears at the flick of her wand, floating in over his shoulder. "I thought that was a combined insult and compliment."

"Wow."

"You walked right into that," Ginny drawls, topping up her drink and filling what he presumes is his. "Plus Ron was on that list - there's no way I can endorse it as accurate."

She tosses him a tube, "Wash with warm water, then come back out here."

"You love my bum, don't try to deny it," Harry shouts from the bedroom as he rustles through his sweats for the ideal evening comfort garb.

He doesn't receive an answer, which means Ginny is most likely daydreaming about said bum. Which means he should hurry before tipsy-sultry Ginny turns to dead to the world Ginny.

After Harry fumbles into worn joggers and a t-shirt that's seen better days, he does as instructed, scrubbing a day of grime from his face with the minty smelling soap. Honestly, he's mostly humoring Ginny, but so far their pampered evening is nothing to complain about.

He reenters the living room and finds Ginny's completed her perusal of her pampering haul. She eyes him up and down like tipsy-sultry Ginny - and sometimes regular Ginny - is wont to do, before handing him a glass with too much firewhiskey for polite company.

Luckily, they're far from polite company, Harry thinks with a grin. He can practically feel her gaze as he swallows in two gulps, smoke leaving his ears almost as soon as the spicy liquid runs down his throat, warming him straight through.

"Ok, dear. What am I to do?"

"Lie down," Ginny instructs primly, though her stifled belch hinders the effect somewhat.

"Aye aye," Harry says, plopping on the couch when Ginny rises, immediately summoning a steaming bowl.

He quirks a brow at her and sets his glasses on the end table. "Should I be worried?"

She lifts a cloth from the bowl, flapping it a bit to take the sharpness off the heat, then gestures with her elbow. "Lie back. Get comfy."

Again, Harry does as he's told, hands tucked behind his head and eyes shut. "Lay it on me," he cracks one eye open, "Literally."

Before he closes his eyes again, Harry spies Ginny topping off her glass, her own eyes closed in bliss as the amber drink drifts to her belly. He hears her smack her lips. She may be rapidly approaching the line between sultry Ginny and the next phase of drunkenness, but the good news is stage two is open-book Ginny.

If Harry knows anything, first, it's that Ginny's new purchases are definitely opening his pores. And second, that something untoward prompted this little foray into self-care. Ginny only binge shops after a blow to her image. When Percy beat her at bocce last Easter, she bought an at home paraffin wax bath. Harry couldn't keep a proper grip on his wand for a week but Ginny did enjoy the increased softness in their activities related to other 'wands.'

If it's a public image blow - well. That's when the firewhiskey comes in.

After he takes another sip of firewhiskey and Ginny finishes off the rest of his glass, Harry settles back and allows Ginny to lay the steamy flannel across his face.

"There. Isn't that nice?"

"Warm."

"I'm opening your pores," Ginny says, voice soothing aside from the slight squeak that is her hiccup.

And despite himself, despite that need to investigate that perks up in the face of any mystery and in particular any mystery related to Ginny, Harry does begin to relax. The tension slowly eases from his muscles as Ginny lifts the cloth and discards it. Her fingers are gentle, dragging lightly over the bridge of his nose, his cheeks.

"All good."

He hears the clink of ice against the sides of her glass before it settles somewhat clumsily against the table. She's definitely not using the coasters Percy gave them as a wedding gift.

Harry starts to twitch his eyes open but she immediately clicks her tongue. "No you don't. Relax."

"Have you gotten to relax with your spoils yet?"

"I got this one for you," Ginny answers as a sweet, floral scent tickling his nose. "'Moisturizing hero' the label reads. Plump and refresh your poor abused skin."

"I have been feeling dry," Harry murmurs as Ginny spreads the cool cream, starting on his forehead and working her way down.

"Poor thing," Ginny simpers, fingers reaching his jawline, "Overworked, dreadful conditions."

Harry sighs. "That stakeout in Dover. So chapped."

"Yes, dear," Ginny answers softly, continuing her ministrations with one hand while the other lifts her glass to her lips. At least he presumes so based on the clink of ice and her satisfied sigh.

"This is lovely."

"Told you."

There's a slight hesitation when she speaks, not a slur but a barely there delay that means he's definitely getting into honest answers territory. "Can I have more of my drink?"

Ginny hums. "Good idea. Me too."

As Harry works his way into a more upright position, Ginny stands. Albeit with somewhat more difficulty. At least, more than usual. Ginny Potter - he still loves thinking her new name - is a pretty amazingly agile human being so slightly impaired Ginny might just be the same level as Harry, or the average human.

Not that Harry'd ever admit that to her face. Especially when their weekly one-on-one matches are still on the table.

When Ginny returns, dancing to a hummed tune that as far as he's aware, is a creation entirely her own, she's got his glass with a long lime green curly straw set in it. "Can't have you messing that mask."

"How long - "

"Until I say," Ginny cuts in, eyes narrowed.

Harry nods and sips from his straw, the cool drink turning the green to blue. Teddy might be the reason they bought the first pack, but he's definitely not the reason for the drawer full of them.

"Shall I do your mask, then?" Harry asks, "Return the favor?"

Ginny lifts another flannel from the bowl, still steaming - because magic can do crazy things Harry's still not used to a decade in - settles in her favorite armchair and lays the cloth over her face. "Nah. I'll get my payback from you in another form. I winked under here, in case that didn't convey auditorily."

"I got that from the shimmy," Harry answers with a snort. "So - "

"Do we have to?"

Ginny lets out a long sigh and Harry nudges her knee with his foot.

"Fine."

Harry chuckles. "Now you know why they always want me around for interrogations."

"You ply suspects with adult beverages and facials?"

He wrinkles his nose but doesn't pause the real line of questioning. "No subject changes. What's up? Why the rosehip facials and firewhiskey and minty face soap?"

"I - " Ginny growls and tosses her cloth to the floor with a wet splat. "I got banned from my next two games."

"Aw Gin did you finally cobb the Appleby Chaser and I missed it?"

"More like finally broke Fletcher's nose," Ginny corrects with a wince.

"Fletch - I thought," Harry frowns and settles his glass onto the table, straw flipping over the rim and sending what remains of his drink sprayed across the floor. "You said it was handled."

Ginny tries for an airy response, but her shoulders remain tense, "I thought it was and now," she shrugs, "Now I guess it must be. He won't want to see my right-hook again."

"Like a prize-fighter."

"Damn right."

"Do I want to know?"

"It'll be in the paper unless you did something super heroic today," Ginny answers with a wry grin. "So depends on whether you like the shock and awe of a headline."

"You're really talking this up," Harry says, sloppily neatening the mess he made before settling back against the couch cushions.

"You - ok well," Ginny lets out a long sigh, "You know Fletcher - he's the Puddlemere golden boy."

"And he fucking milks it like an idiot."

Harry's face scrunches as he makes the herculean effort it takes to not storm out of the room, face covered in aloe and rosehips, to do something to Austin Fletcher that will definitely get him written up. Most likely arrested.

Ginny's eyes drift shut. "Mm. I do love when you get all angry and use salty language."

One thing that he's learned over years of knowing Ginny, is her tendency to mask genuine upset with cheek. Which honestly is hilarious, but also works as a tell. If it's flirty cheek...well. It's time to pull out the big guns. Harry pats the couch next to him. "C'mere. Get those feet in my lap."

Her smile is soft as she does as instructed - a miracle to be celebrated at a later time - followed by a groan as Harry's fingers work at the soles of her feet.

"You know it's just been name calling and - it's shitty but it's," Ginny lets out a long breath, "I don't want to say it's how it is, because that makes it ok."

Harry runs his thumb along the arch of her left foot. "You don't have to explain. Fletcher has surpassed the bounds of usual assholery to supreme unacceptableness instead of general unacceptableness."

Ginny laughs. "Glad one of us understands."

It's quiet between them for a handful of moments, long enough that Harry wonders if they'll get back to the story. There's a whole weekend ahead for Ginny to give her side of things. Though if she's not going for drama only, he'll find out in tomorrow's paper either way.

Apparently, Ginny's ready. Or close to it, because she droops back against the far armrest. "Well the shitty comments turned into shittier ones. Then today we're doing that stupid inter-team collaboration thing that's going to somehow make me forget why I hate his guts. And then I get hit by a bludger," Harry winces but she waves him off, "And he grabbed Camille's arse - she's the new PT - when she's checking my wonky ankle."

"Bastard."

"She's shocked and runs away, poor thing," Ginny swipes angrily at her eyes, "And I feel like it's my fault - I let his stupid comments go and now," she grunts and continues, "So I stand up and pretend like all's fine, start some banter with him, then I lay a hand on each of his shoulders, get a good windup, and well."

"You - "

"My knee may have ended up in that schmuck's crotch, and my fist in his nose."

Harry winces and lifts Ginny's other foot. "Good on you. Harsh - honestly I think you showed great restraint."

"He and the Puddlemere owner don't think so," Ginny sighs.

"What happened after?"

"Well Fletcher has bodyguards like he's the bloody queen," Ginny says, "So they grab me and I give them to the count of three to release me. Then Greg from PR - he really needs to go - gets involved and says that I'm sorry."

Harry works his way up the back of Ginny's calves, fingers rubbing at sore muscles, knots from overuse. "Then?"

"So I tell Greg if he speaks for me again, I'll throat punch him."

At that, Harry can't ignore the humor any longer, head dipping back against the couch as his laughter bubbles free. "Gin - oh if we weren't married already, I'd ask you right now."

"Thank you."

"Beg you more like."

"Now, before you get upset - I know - I didn't lie to you, about Fletcher. I just…failed to mention it."

"I'm not upset," Harry says, wiping tears from beneath his eyes.

"Dunno, the laughter was a bit maniacal," Ginny hedges, "And watch your face - the mask isn't done yet!"

"I mean," Harry starts, "Gin - I know you can handle yourself. Effectively and hilariously as today demonstrated."

"Glad you noticed."

Harry rubs at the bridge of his nose and Ginny pats his knee. "How are you feeling?"

"How - I feel like there might be more pressing issues?"

"It's fine - all in hand!"

Harry ruffles his hair. "You can tell me things. Even just - I don't need to fix it but to be supportive?"

There's a pause as Ginny tops off their glasses, passing Harry his and taking a swallow from her own. "It's alright. Just a few games."

"You said two."

"More like three. But!" Ginny cuts off Harry's attempted interruption, "Gwenog said I should fight them."

Harry chokes on his firewhisky and Ginny snorts. "She gave me the name of her barrister. Said, and I quote, 'this shit has gone on long enough' and that she'd be behind me 100%."

Ginny pinches his calf. "Don't go all snarky with your arched brow and cheeky grin. You're messing up your relaxation mask."

He takes another sip. "Full disclosure, I'm not my most relaxed right now."

Finally, for the first time since he got home, Ginny does seem a bit relaxed. Not her focused 'I need to relax' minute - just genuine calm. He pats her foot and Ginny leans back, eyes shut. "Just learn from me, be zen. I can do it - and I'm the one with a career at stake."

Harry shrugs, "I mean, Harpies with tempers usually do better don't they?" They share a laugh and Harry takes another swallow of his drink. "So what can I do?"

"Right now?"

"Sure."

Ginny taps her chin - or mimes it more like in the interest of her own relaxation mask. "Now? Put this," she lifts a bright blue mask that appears to be frozen, "on your eyes and lie back so I can lay on you."

He winces at the chill but does as instructed, though holding his wife is no difficulty. Harry takes a long inhale, flowery and a bit of the spice of cinnamon. "Long term?"

"Don't start a fight with Fletcher."

"You sure? You love it when I start fights."

Ginny hums, pulling his arms tighter around her middle. Harry steadies his breathing when she wriggles her bum against his lap. Yes, it's cozy, but also a bit - difficult. She pats his hand. "I usually do. But not this time. I need to fight this one myself."

"As you wish. But I'm not happy about it."

"Understood," Ginny laughs, "Now pet my head."

Harry fumbles for his wand and flicks it toward the fireplace so a low, warming blaze lights the room. "It's really not fair you know."

"What's not?"

"Your alcohol tolerance."

She pulls the cozy knit blanket off the back of the couch and lays it over them. "Weasley blood."

Unbidden, Harry's mind flits to drinks last Easter around the bonfire behind the burrow and asks, "What about Ron?"

"Skipped him," Ginny says simply, before shushing him and nestling closer. "Cuddle time."

"So demanding," Harry teases. He considers his own past forays into the land of tipsiness, or the land of designated apparator, and prods Ginny's ribs. "Though there was that incident where you tried to fight me."

Ginny waves his objection away with an absent flick of her fingers. "I was just asserting my dominance."

"Dominance eh?" Harry asks, voice a low rumble in his chest.

She hums again, "Later…"