*A/N: I know, it's been longer than usual. Have been organising a surprise party (hey Meegly aka the-love-of-ron…) and therefore only getting little snatches of time to work on this. I was going to make this chap longer, but thought I'd just get it out there instead. (Your review made my day, Trav – thank you, thank you!). ~98n6 degrees~ Shez

Harry woke up when he heard the bedroom door creaking open, and soft voices, and light footsteps in the hall. He didn't shift much, hoping not to wake Ginny, but lifted his head from the pillow to see.

Hermione was coming in, Ron behind her in the hall, kissing her goodbye. They hugged, and then, over her shoulder, Ron saw Harry.

Harry carefully swung himself out of bed, making sure Ginny was still covered. He sat on the edge of her mattress. It looked like this was the moment. Alright, then. He could handle it.

Hermione had seen him too. She and Ron were standing in the girls' room, holding hands. Ron looked at his feet. Hermione had shut the door.

"Hi," Harry said lowly.

"Hi," said Hermione.

Harry glanced at Ron, who cleared his throat.

"Hi," Ron said.

Harry looked at Ginny, who was stirring, but still asleep. His interruption during the night must have tired her out.

"Nothing – you know, happened," Harry said, turning back to Ron.

There was a brief, strangled sort of pause.

"Er – Harry," he said, shaking his head.

"What?"

He didn't continue. Hermione nudged him, and he opened his mouth again.

"Even if something had – happened. Well – that's OK, you know."
Harry blinked at him. Now this he hadn't expected.

"OK?" he repeated after a while, very confused.

"I was talking to 'Mione," Ron explained, in a quiet rush, "and I needed some time to get used to the whole idea but – you're right. It's really none of my business."

He looked sideways at Hermione.

"Just – sorry Harry," he finished in a mutter.

Harry got up (again, carefully) and went to stand in front of Ron.

"I don't want you to just – tolerate it," he said awkwardly. "I want you to be happy."

"Happy's a bit much," Ron snapped, and then bit his lip. "Sorry. It just – it takes getting used to, like I said."

Harry nodded. Ron nodded. They both stood nodding for some time.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said.

Ron shrugged. Harry held out his hand, and, after a moment's hesitation, Ron shook it. Harry smiled wryly.

"Well, you can be happy that we're back together again, at least."

Ron's slow, rather uneasy smile matched his own. "Yeah, I guess."

Harry looked at Hermione, and she was teary. Ron saw him looking, and faced her.

"Hey!" he said, astonished. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She brushed the back of her hand against her eyes.

"You OK?" worried Ron.

"Mm-hm."

She smiled from one of their faces to the other, and then kissed Ron soundly. He looked surprised, and then pleased. He kissed her back.

"What was that about?" he said quietly, when she stopped.

"You boys are so hopeless sometimes," was her enigmatic reply. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Ron watched her leave, and then he and Harry stood in silence for a few moments.

"Harry," he said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"You do love her, don't you?"
And at that point, Harry remembered something.

"Yeah," he said. "I know I do. 'Cos I'd rather be cold than let her be cold."

Ron raised his eyebrows, and his face changed a little – softened.

"OK," he said, exhaling. "OK. I think I can handle this." He paused, and then added: "Just as long as I never, ever walk in on you."

Harry almost laughed, but thankfully didn't, because Ron was deadly serious.

"Sure, Ron," Harry said instead.

"OK. I'm going to bed – and you can, you know, you can stay here if you want. Because I'm fine with that. Really."

"I'll be there soon," Harry said.

Again, palpable relief played across Ron's features. He might say he was used to the idea, but Harry knew it still freaked him out.

"OK," said Ron. "Well – see you, then."

He left. Harry barely had time to move before Hermione was back. She immediately tiptoed up to hug him.

"Harry, if this is what you guys want, I'm so happy for you," she said in his ear.

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry said. "That's the best thing I've heard all day."

"And it's only six in the morning," she pointed out. She drew back and looked at him.

"You realise if you screw this up," she added sternly, "I'll be one of the many who'll line up to hurt you?"

"Yeah. I know. There might not be much left of me by the time it gets to your turn, though." He paused. "Thanks for talking to Ron."

She shrugged.

"No, really. Thanks."

"It was all there anyway, Harry," she said dismissively. "He loves you guys. He just needed a bit of prodding."

"It's more than that," he insisted. "You know what Ron's like. He'd have brooded for a months, and then we'd probably have ended up fighting it out until we were both too bruised and bloody to speak. Then he'd have been OK with it. You – you've got a hold on him."

"We have a hold on each other," she corrected him gently.

Harry didn't often hear Hermione speak sentimentally, but he liked it when she did.

"Just – thanks," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied, rolling her eyes a bit. "Honestly. And I think I'll go have breakfast. You coming?"

"No. I'll wait a little while."

"Don't want to meet the family?" she said wryly.

Harry nodded once in agreement, and Hermione left.

He went back to Ginny, who had turned over in bed, and was now facing the wall. He wondered if she'd woken up, and touched her shoulder gently. It was then he noticed that she was shaking.

"Ginny," he said sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. She was crying, but pressing her face against her pillow as though trying to stop. "Ginny, what is it? What's the matter?"

He sat her up – she resisted a little, but he couldn't just let her lie like that – and she eventually leant against him, her wet cheek against his neck. He rubbed her back gently. He wished he knew what was wrong.

"What's the matter?" he asked again, and this time she answered.

"You said you loved me," she managed, almost choking.

"Yeah." He was bewildered. "Why are you crying?"

"Because!"

"Because why?"

She took several deep breaths, and then gave up trying to control herself.

"I love you too, Harry," she sobbed. "I loved you my whole life."

Harry looked down at the top of head, at the soft red hair, at the pale line of her part, and felt like he'd run out of air.

She loved him.

She'd never said it before.

She loved him.

And then, as the words registered in that part of his brain that understood these things, he wrapped his arms all the way around her, and held her as tight as he could.

It was the best feeling in the world, and the heaviest, and the most important. This feeling – like he had somebody, and they had him.

Like they had a hold on each other.

~

When Ginny and Harry went down to breakfast (Ginny composed, and slightly embarrassed about her tears, he thought), Fred was scouring dishes by hand at the sink, and George was drying. Both were wearing flowery aprons. Ron and Hermione sat at the table, watching them with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

"What's this?" said Harry, at the foot of the stairs.

Fred muttered something incoherent.

"What did you say?"

"I said, bloody Mum gave us bloody punishments for bloody last night."

"You didn't get home?"

"No," said George sourly. "We stayed here. And now we're cleaning. All because dickhead –" (at this point, he kicked Fred soundly in the ankle) – "had to make a 'shagging our sister' joke at the table."

"It was an un-pass-up-able opportunity," Fred protested. 

"Well maybe this is an un-pass-up-able opportunity," Ginny interjected sweetly, coming in, "to brush up on your household spells. Think of it as a time of learning, not a time of punishment."

The twins stared at her, clearly trying to figure out whether or not she was serious, and Harry bit back a smile. He shrugged helplessly at them, and followed her all the way into the kitchen.
They were just sitting down with Ron and Hermione, and two plates of bacon and eggs, when Mrs Weasley came bustling in.

"Oh good," she said, seeing them. "You're up."

"Yes," Ginny said warily. "Who's here?"

"What do you mean, who's here?"

"Any more male family members lurking around, waiting to grill poor Harry?" she said acidly. She'd definitely regained her composure, and found all the anger she'd quietly tucked away the previous night.

Mrs Weasley wasn't having any of it.

"I'm punishing the twins, so don't get snide with me," she said. "Your father's at work, and Bill's gone back to London."

"Want to get Charlie back from Syria? Maybe he's got something to say to us too."

Mrs Weasley threw a tea-towel at her. It slapped Ginny lightly in the face, and then fell into her lap. Fred and George immediately began to smirk, as Ginny frowned furiously at her mother.

"What?" she demanded.

"Punishments," Mrs Weasley said, as sweetly as Ginny had spoken to the twins. "Remember? You ran away to London without telling us, and you're helping me clean for a few days. So once you've finished eating, you can tackle the attic."

And with that, she swept out.

"Don't think of this as a punishment, though, Gin," George said solemnly. "Think of it as a learning opportunity. A time to study the phenomenon of bad karma coming back and snapping you in the arse."

Harry couldn't help himself. He grinned, even as he rubbed the back of her neck sympathetically. Ginny, her frown fading, dug into her breakfast.

"Don't forget, Harry," she said, through a mouthful of eggs.

"Forget what?"

Mrs Weasley stuck her head back into the kitchen. "Don't forget, Harry," she said, sounding eerily like her daughter, "you're helping her."

She left again, and Ginny smiled a toothy, egg-y smile at him. He knocked her lightly over the head. He had forgotten.

It wasn't such a bad punishment really. Forced to spend time with Ginny, and only Ginny. How hard could it be?

And besides – he'd imagined much worse. He'd imagined leagues of Weasley men lined up along the halls, after his speech. He'd imagined being thrown out of the house. He'd imagined all kinds of horrible things, most of which would have prevented he and Ginny from seeing each other.

Maybe, mused inner monologue, they don't hate you as much as you think.

Harry thrust the thought away. He hardly dared to consider it.