A/N – I know. Blatant fluff. I love it. (And John Mayer's public property – we'll all love him together hehe. Guess who saw him in concert last week, 3rd row centre?!?). Anyway, ~here's to clarity~ Shez 

Harry loved sleeping with Ginny, in both senses of the word. In the one sense (that sense) it was – well, amazing. Humbling. Intoxicating. And then in that simpler, softer kind of 'sleep', when she lay with her eyes closed, and breathed slowly, and her leg drifted over across his leg … that was almost as good.

Well. Good in a different way.

At almost midnight, he got up (being very careful not to wake her – he practically had to dislocate his shoulder to manage it) and went riffling through the top drawer of the dresser for his letters. He sat down, his back against the end of the bed, and opened them up, laying them out on the floor in front of him.

OK, said inner monologue. What now?

Harry had no idea. He'd always wanted real freedom – but now that he had so many bloody choices, it just scrambled his brain.

He sighed loudly, and Ginny sat up. Hoping she might go back to sleep if he was quiet, he didn't say anything. He heard her move around a little, and then she must have realised he wasn't there, because she spoke to the dark room, sounding anxious.

"Harry?"

No way he could keep his mouth shut if she was worried.

"Hey," he said, turning and kneeling up so that he could see her. She smiled, clearly relieved but trying not to show it.

"Hey." He looked back to his letters. She crawled forward to the end of the bed and peered over the top his head, resting a hand lightly on his bare shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Offers. I got them last night, before you came."

"That's exciting." Her voice was quite hoarse – with tiredness, Harry suspected.

"You should sleep. You flew all the way from The Burrow last night," he said, reaching a hand up behind him to rub her arm.

"I know. I will."

She sounded strange.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"What?"

She wriggled back to the pillow-end of the bed, and pulled the covers over herself. Harry abandoned his letters and followed her, lying on his stomach on top of the sheets.

"What?" he repeated. "Are you alright?"

"Of course. I'm OK," she said. Her face was almost hidden by her hair, but her red ears gave her away again.

"Tell me," he insisted, laughing a little, not sure what was happening, but determined to find out.

"I just – I don't want to sleep by myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I like having you here, is all," she said. "I – it's just a bit creepy waking up on your own when there's supposed to be two of you."

Harry was surprised, to say the least.

"You were scared?" he said in disbelief.

"No!" she retorted. "Not scared. Just – well, a little, yeah. I don't like London night sounds. And you weren't in bed. And I thought – I don't know what I thought."

"Right," Harry said firmly, brushing her hair back from her face. "Listen up."

"You sound like Madame Hooch," she said, half-smiling.

He ignored this. "You're not going to think I left in the middle of the night anymore, OK?"

"Harry …"

"Come on, agree."

She sighed, still smiling, and nodded.

"And I'll do my very best to make sure you're not in bed on your own."

"Sure."

"As frequently as possible."

"Harry!"

"Alright?"

"OK. Come on, get under the covers."

He did so, and she slipped her arms around his waist. He did the same to her. It was very comfortable.

"You're a good guy, Harry," she said.

"Glad you think so," he said lightly.

"I mean it."

"And you're a good girl. The best."

She kissed his chest. It sent warm tingles down his back, and elsewhere.

"I was just thinking how funny it is," she went on after a while.

"How funny what is?"

"That we broke up because I was upset you thought I was a slag, and now here I am in bed with you."

"Remember how I said I'd never think you were a slag?"

"Yeah?"

"Still holds," he murmured.

She didn't reply, and he held her a little closer. He hoped he was saying the right things. It was what he felt, anyway. Girls were such complicated people. He didn't think he'd ever understand them properly.

~

Harry was shaken awake. Somebody had hold of his shoulders and was jiggling him roughly.

"Oi. Get up. Harry."

"Wha–" he began tiredly, but stopped when he opened his eyes.

Bill Weasley let go of him and stepped back, running a hand through his long hair. It wasn't slicked back into the usual ponytail, but was out around his face. He looked dishevelled, like he'd just rolled out of bed. He was wearing cotton boxers and an old, grey T-shirt.

"Listen, Bill," Harry began instantly, shaking his head even as he looked, quite unconsciously, at Ginny. She was stirring beside him, sleepy and sexy and (Harry had the terrible feeling) not wearing all that many clothes.

"Harry," Bill said briskly, "we've got no time for small talk and I'm frigging exhausted, so pay attention. Ginny, you too."

Ginny was up now, staring at him, opening and shutting her mouth in fury.

"What are you doing here?" she said shrilly, suddenly finding voice and holding the sheets up to her chest. "I mean, for Merlin's sake, Bill!"

"I can't talk about this right now," he said impatiently, grimly. "I had to come, I didn't know what else to do. Mum was just over at our place, looking for you. She realised you weren't there almost right away, threw some things at me, and then Disapparated. I don't think it'll be long until she thinks of Fred and George."

Holy shit, Harry thought desperately. He'd never been on the receiving end of Mrs Weasley's anger, but he'd seen enough snippets to be scared. Even Ginny paled.

"So I'd suggest," Bill went on, "that you get into some clothes and get out of bed with Harry."

She shot him a loaded look, but he just shrugged, unfazed. He glanced at Harry. The look said: I'll deal with you later.

Harry tried not to think about this, and was just about to say something reassuring to Ginny, when there was a loud crack from the direction of the living room, and purposeful footsteps marching around the apartment.

All three of them started. Bill Disapparated instantly, even as Harry struggled out of bed to find some pants, and Ginny sat where she was, in shock.

"Virginia Weasley," came Mrs Weasley's strident voice. "Come out this instant."

"Ginny," Harry hissed, yanking at his jeans. He was practically falling over, but at least he had pants on.

"Ginny!" Mrs Weasley shouted. Merlin, she was right there in the corridor, opening doors as she went.

"Ginny!" Harry repeated, urgently now, and she jumped and looked at him.

"Harry!" she said frantically.

"Get dressed!"

She swung herself out of bed in a frenzy of bed-sheets and red hair, and had just put on her shirt when Mrs Weasley slammed the door open.

She saw Ginny before she saw Harry, and launched into a spiel that had clearly been pre-composed.

"Virginia Weasley," she shouted, her face very red. "You lied to me, and you lied to your father! You even lied to Hermione! Not only that, you had your brother Bill lying along with you, and all so you could go gallivanting about with the twins. Well, it won't do, Ginny, it simply won't do. The twins have enough on their hands with the shop and – and – Harry?"

Now she'd seen him. Harry straightened, looked at Ginny (who had taken several steps back in the course of this diatribe, and was breathing hard as though she'd run a long way), and then looked back at Mrs Weasley.

"Harry?" she said again, blinking, almost as though she couldn't understand what Harry and Ginny in the same bedroom, half-undressed, could mean.

"Hi," Harry said lamely.

Mrs Weasley's head swung slowly around to her daughter. Ginny was looking at her feet, but as Mrs Weasley stared at her, she raised her chin defiantly and met her eye.

"Hi, Mum," Ginny said.

"Well," Mrs Weasley breathed, after a long, tense pause. Harry really wanted to stand with Ginny, put his arm around her – help her somehow. But he was afraid that if he moved, Mrs Weasley would pounce on one or both of them, and that could only make things worse.

"I know I lied," Ginny said tightly, only the slightest tremor in her voice. "But I'm alright. I was with Harry, anyway, and Fred and George."

"It might not have been alright," Mrs Weasley said, regaining some of her previous force. "Anything might have happened. And you flew here?"

"But I am alright. I'm fine."

You're coming home with me," Mrs Weasley replied.

Harry couldn't be silent anymore.

"Mrs Weasley, she's fine," he burst out. "She's fine, like she said. There's no need to worry. She's a grown woman, and –"

"She's not Harry, she's a girl," Mrs Weasley snapped – when Harry looked closely, her eyes were shiny with tears. "And she lied to her mother, and she's coming home with me. What would we have done if you'd – fallen off your broom, or – or been mugged, or gotten lost or something?"

"Mum," Ginny began, rather helplessly, but Mrs Weasley cut her off.

"Get dressed, Ginny."

She left the room quickly. 

"Fuck," Ginny breathed. Harry had never heard her say that before. He looked at her from across the room, and she was looking right at him, too.

"This is bad," she said heavily. "This is really bad."

"God, Gin, I'm sorry. I should've done something."

She put her hands in her hair. "No," she said, sounding tired now. "It would only have upset her if you'd said any more. Merlin, I'm so stupid!"

Harry moved over to her, took hold of her wrists, and pulled her hands down to her sides.

"No you're not," he said.

She smiled wryly. "You do realise she's never going to let me out of the house again?"

Harry shrugged, even though it gave him chest pains to think that she was leaving. "I'll break you out," he said.

"Even if it means you get on my mother's bad side?"

"I think I'm there already," he pointed out.

She put her arms around his neck. "I don't want to go," she said.

Don't, urged inner monologue, but he quickly silenced it. What was she going to do? Disapparate and hide somewhere until the coast was clear? This wasn't a spy novel.

"I don't want you to either," he muttered into her neck.

And at that point, he had an idea.