Hermione quickly stood and left a startled Ginny alone on the couch.

"What the hell was that about?" Ginny said. She shoved her concerns to the back of her mind; she knew that she would probably find out what was wrong soon enough. Ginny walked towards the kitchen, where her mother was happily preparing the meal.

"Oh Ginny, love! Come here, come here . . ." the graying woman commanded lovingly. As soon as Ginny got close enough, her mother shoved a spoon in her mouth. The tomato sauce burned her tongue, and she conjured a glass of ice water.

"Mother! Must you do that?" Ginny asked, looking at her mother reproachfully. Mrs. Weasley laughed and got out her wand, and Ginny stuck out her tongue. Quick as a wink, the pain was gone . . . nifty little spell her mother knew. Ginny muttered something about needing to organize her room and ducked out of the kitchen.

"Hurry back now! Dinner will be on in a bit . . ." Mrs. Weasley called after her daughter's retreating figure.

* * * * * * *

Dinner was uneventful. Mostly talk of ministry politics and the war. Nothing new, nothing that seemed to identify why Hermione had acted so strangely. Actually, Ginny hadn't really paid attention. She was busy fuming while Harry ogled George's date. She left the table in a huff, stating that she wished to unpack. She rushed up the stairs, nearly in tears. She shut the door and muffled her angry screams with a pillow. She was so angry with herself. Ever since she laid eyes on him, Ginny had been obsessed with making Harry like her. Now it was more . . . Ginny was so desperate for Harry's love she could barely stand it any longer. She hated him for it at the same time. It wasn't like he did anything to curb her appetite for him. He never refused an occasion to flirt with her, and he always seemed so interested. Ginny shook her head, trying to rid herself of her anger as she pulled shirts and panties from her bag and tossed them in dresser drawers. After she finished unpacking, she grabbed the latest issue of "Witch Weekly" and lay on her bed to read, while the party raged downstairs.

* * * * * *

"Ginny?" came the quiet knock at the door. It was Hermione, her newly enormous frame filling the doorway. Ginny started, sitting up, and wiping a small trail of drool off of her chin.

"Oh . . . oh yes, Hermione . . . what is it?" she yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to act so shifty. I just am not supposed to say anything about the department, and I was almost letting things slip. You understand, don't you?" Hermione asked, with pleading eyes. Ginny smiled warmly at her sister- in-law.

"Of course, Hermione. If I were in your situation, I would have had to do the same," Ginny replied, then stood, " by the way . . . what is going on downstairs? It was so loud for a while . . . has everyone gone to bed?" she asked, checking her watch, finding it to be two o'clock in the morning. Hermione rolled her hazel eyes.

"Oh no, they're all plastered. I, of course, can't drink with the baby coming and everything, so I tucked all the children in after Fred and George broke out the bottles of Fire Whiskey. Of course, Molly and Arthur went to bed long ago, but everyone else is downstairs. I just pulled Ron up to bed with me," Hermione chuckled after this statement, "he's going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow." She turned around and left, shutting Ginny's door behind her.

Ginny walked over to her mirror, finding her mascara under her eyes and her long hair tangled. She sighed, ran a brush through her hair, and went downstairs. She found the exact scene she expected. All the children had been sent to bed in Percy's old room so that their parents could mingle, but you could hear them banging around, quite obviously not asleep. Harry was sprawled across the sofa, a bottle of Fire Whiskey in one hand, and other bottles littering the floor. Charlie sat across the room on an armchair, passed out, his petite wife slumped on his lap, absently sipping at her glass and giggling. Fred and his shapely date were nowhere to be found, but Ginny could most certainly guess what they were doing. Ginny heard giggles from the kitchen. She opened the door cautiously . . . she had walked in on Ron and Hermione once during Christmas vacation her last year of Hogwarts, and did not want a repeat experience. To Ginny's relief, all she found was Bill, Gabrielle, Fleur, and Fred laughing it up drunkenly while playing cards at the kitchen table. The all yelled sloppily for her to join, but she waved a hand in protest and slowly backed out the door. Ginny chuckled to herself, and turned around. In a whirlwind of motion, she was on the ground, a body underneath her.

"Harry?!?!?!" she cried, jumping up and putting a hand to her throat. Harry laughed and lazily stood, only to topple onto Ginny's small form. Ginny hoisted one of his arms over her shoulder.

"Hi Ginny . . ." Harry giggled, staggering across the room supported by Ginny.

"Harry, you're very drunk. I'm going to take you to bed now . . ." Ginny said, helping Harry to ascend the staircase. The thought of little, unknown Ginny Weasley having to assist The-Boy-Who-Lived up the stairs bemused her. As soon as they hit the top step, Harry heaved himself out of Ginny's arms. He grabbed her and pulled her roughly into his room, which was the first when you got to the top of the stairs.

"Harry, you need to go to bed. You're not going to feel very good tomorrow morning . . ." Ginny protested. However, Harry shut the door behind him. He advanced on her, more smoothly then a drunken person should. He brought one hand to her small waist, and the other to her face.

"Ginny, you grew up."

"Harry-" Ginny began to protest, but before she knew what was happening, Harry's mouth was on hers. His lips were cracked, his breath hot and smelling of alcohol, and his hands rough on her body. This was NOT her fantasy of Harry . . . even in her wildest dreams he was not fondling her drunkenly, mumbling incoherent ramblings while his breath reeked of Fire Whiskey. Well . . . not without her consent, that is. Ginny let out a might growl, and pushed Harry's body off of her.

"You flaming JACKASS!" she yelled, shoving him again, while he fell down laughing, "you PERV! How DARE you do this to me?! What the FUCK gives you the right to even lay ONE hand on me, you nasty little FUCK . . ." Ginny stopped, standing over Harry's form, the aforementioned trembling in silent laughter.

"Oh come off it, you slut!" Harry howled, "you know you wanted it!" Ginny stood a little taller, and went for the door.

"Until now I did."