A/N: For those who asked and wondered, "Kipping" is sleeping. To take a kip is to have a sleep or nap. We use it here, and I guess I assumed they would over in the mother country. Useful trivia! Thanks for all the reviews, Happy New Year. Sorry this one took me ages. Blame it on the boogie, people. ~98n6~ Shez

~

Very early the next morning, Harry was heading downstairs, Ascendant (looking a bit worse for wear now) in hand, when he heard the light thud of two feet hitting the doorstep. He took the last two steps at a single stride, and swung into the kitchen, only to see Angelina Johnson calmly leaning her broom up against the counter. Her hair was in thin braids all over, and she was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt.

"Er – hello," Harry said, not knowing exactly how to respond to her unexpected arrival, and she looked up sharply.

"Oh, hello Harry," she replied, eyebrows lifting. "I didn't realise you were here."

"We are. I mean, I am, with Ginny. The wedding and all. We sent you and Fred a joint invitation last night …"

He trailed off.

You probably shouldn't have mentioned Fred, winced inner monologue, but it was too late now

"Is Fred here?" she asked, almost carelessly, and he couldn't lie.

"Yeah. He is."

"Been here all week?"

"Um – yes, I think so. He and George."

"Right," she murmured and her dark eyes flashed dangerously. There was a long pause in which Harry contemplated running for the hills. Then she took a deep breath, chewed her lip and calmed herself.

"Whereabouts in the house is he staying?" she asked finally.

"Um – well –" Harry floundered. He liked Angelina very much, but he didn't want to drop Fred in it, especially now that the twins were living at home and had access to his food. He wouldn't put it past them (not even at age 21 – or was it 22 now?) to slip old-fashioned canary creams in his dinner.

"You can tell me," Angelina said encouragingly, and Harry found himself relenting, and jerking his head at the stairs.

"Their old room."

"Thanks, Harry." She smiled at him, but as soon as she turned, the smile dropped away and was replaced with an expression of determination and contained anger. She took the stairs lightly, and he followed her, vaguely keeping an eye on breakable furniture. She knew her way to the twins' room and rapped quietly on their door, before folding her arms across her chest and waiting.

Harry hesitated nearby in the hall. He knew he should just leave, and that it was none of his business, but it was like he was frozen to the spot. He felt an odd sort of responsibility, because he'd let her in, but by the time he realised that he really really ought to let them be alone, Fred had opened the door and seen his girlfriend.

"Oh fuck," he said heavily, and Angelina's hands moved to her hips.

"No I haven't been doing much of that lately," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "My boyfriend isn't around."

"Angie, let me explain."

"That's why I'm here, Fred. I'm here so you can explain to me exactly why you disappeared for a week, without telling me where you were going, without responding to my letters, without even a mention of your purposes, or when you might be coming back, despite the fact that I am your live-in girlfriend, who has every right to know where you're taking your little holiday."

Angelina's voice had been increasing in volume throughout this speech, so that by the time she reached its end, she was shouting. Every few words or so were punctuated with a jab at Fred's chest.

"Will you just calm down?" Fred said, backing away from her, and Harry winced outwardly this time. He knew from past experience that 'calm down' was never the right tack to take with an angry woman.

Fred realised his mistake as Angelina descended into a furious silence and glanced about, rather desperately, for support. His gaze fell upon Harry and he frowned.

"Did you let her in?" he began accusingly, but Angelina cut him off.

"Yes, he did, thank Merlin, or I'd still be searching London for you."

"Angie …"

George slipped out of their room at just that moment, carrying his pillow and a blanket.

"'Scuse me," he said sleepily, pushing gently past Angelina and heading down the hall. "If you don't mind."

"George!" Fred said, almost pleadingly, but George shook his head.

"You're on your own." As he passed Harry, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'd get out of here while there's still time, Potter."

With that, he swept down the stairs – and Harry came to his senses. With a quick apologetic wave to Fred, he made his way back towards the guest room. As he left, he heard the twins' door slam, and Angelina's voice go up a few notches.

Fred was in for a very long morning.

~

Harry tucked his broom under his arm and pushed their bedroom door open. It wasn't until he saw Mrs Weasley inside the room that he realised the door had already been slightly ajar when he arrived, and that she must have Alohamora-ed her way in.

And it wasn't until he'd watched her for several seconds that he realised what she was doing. She was holding the old wedding dress Harry had got a glimpse of earlier, but not just holding it – holding it up against Ginny's still-sleeping form, very carefully, so as not to wake her. She even had a sleeve stretched out along the length of Ginny's outflung arm, and was muttering to herself.

Harry coughed pointedly in the doorway, and she jumped and spun to face him.

There was a long silence. Then Mrs Weasley swept forward with the dress over her arm, out into the hall, pulling Harry with her as she went. She shut the door and immediately launched into a hushed appeal.

"Don't tell Ginny, Harry. You know what she's like."

"Mrs Weasley, I …" he began, and she grabbed his shoulder.

"Please Harry. I promise I won't make her wear it. I just wanted to see what it might look like on her, for my sake. It's a mother thing, dear."

"But –"

"Please Harry."

Harry shut his mouth, lost for words, and right away she was smiling and patting his cheek.

"Thank you, dear. I'm glad you understand."
She walked away before he could get a word of contradiction in, and he was left standing aimlessly. Frustrated, he leant on the door, and banged the back of his head once against the wood. Great. Stuck between his future mother-in-law and his future-wife. That was exactly where he wanted to be.

The door opened suddenly and he stumbled back into the bedroom. Regaining his feet, he found Ginny blinking tiredly at him, tugging at her pyjama bottoms, too-short shorts with the Chudley Cannons logo on them. Harry suspected they had once belonged to Ron, but didn't really mind about that. Her legs looked amazing in those things.

"What are you doing out there?"

"Um – nothing," he said.

"Who were you talking to?"

"No-one. Angelina arrived this morning."

"Oh, did she?"

"Mm."

His eyes kept dropping to her thighs and calves and feet, and back up again, and Mrs Weasley was slipping slowly to the back of his mind. Did it really matter, the whole wedding dress thing? She'd promised not to pursue the issue. Let the woman have her fun – Ginny would never let her get away with too much, anyway.

Ginny followed his gaze, and then put a hand under his chin, lifting his face.

"I'm here," she said, amused. "What's the matter?"

"You look great." His voice was hoarse. She bit her lip, and he put one hand on hers and linked their fingers. "Really great."

"I just got up."

"Amazing."

"My hair's a mess."

"Don't change it."

"Harry, it's half six in the morning."

"Plenty of time."

He bent his head to kiss her jawbone, and her neck. Her skin tasted like clean sheets, lavender and salt. She stood where she was for a moment, and then leant into him and kissed him too, her hands moving into his hair. Her lips were firm. He wondered if his felt like that as they moved out of the corridor, into their room (he kicked the door shut on the way) and stepped their way backwards towards the unmade bed. He nearly tripped on one of her shoes, and she broke into giggles as they fell onto the covers.

"Very smooth."

"Shuddup," he murmured, unhooking his glasses and tossing them onto the bedside table.

She was still grinning as she pulled his shirt off, and his heart (and other places) were throbbing fiercely now.

In fact, his hands were just discovering the fact that she didn't have a bra on – naturally, coming straight from bed – when the door opened yet again.

"Oh!" came a sharp cry, and both of them jerked violently and sat up. It was Mrs Weasley. She'd turned her back, but didn't appear to be leaving.

"Oh my God," Ginny muttered and rolled out of bed, leaping over to the door. She and her mother had a heated, whispered conversation, which Harry couldn't hear. He was too busy blushing, and wondering what the hell Ginny's mum was doing, coming back when she'd just left.

"I wanted to let you know that you'll have to make your own breakfast, Harry, because I'm off to meet Bill in London," she called eventually, over her shoulder. "I didn't realise – that you'd be busy."

"Mum!" Ginny wailed, sounding anguished. "Will you go?"

"I'm sorry!" She paused. "It's very early, isn't it?"

"Mum!"

"Alright, I'm going. For heaven's sake."

She clicked her tongue to make a "tut-tut" kind of sound, and then went briskly down the stairs.

Ginny shut the door and covered her face with her hands.

"It's OK," Harry said, but when she looked up, he saw she was laughing.

"I know. It's just – well, at least she seems to be alright with us sleeping together."

Harry groaned and threw himself down on their bed, and she came over to lie beside him.

"Come on," she said, stroking his bare stomach.

"Don't do that," he warned. "I won't be held responsible for the consequences."

"Harry."

"I hate it when your mum does that."

"How often does she do it?"

"That's twice now, at my count."

"Well – do you want to keep going?"

"She knows what we're doing now!"

"And?"

"And – and don't you think it's weird, your mum sitting around, knowing that we're having sex?"

She tried to suppress a smile, and failed. "When you put it like that, yes. Are you sure I can't – change your mind?"

Ginny kissed him slowly, and for some time, while his hands moved, as though of their own volition, to her waist.

"Well," he said, as they took a moment's breath, "I guess you could try."

She kissed him again, still smiling, and moved to straddle him. Her body was light and familiar, and Harry was ready to forget about the events of the morning entirely when there was a knock at the door.

"For the love of Pete," he muttered, even as Ginny dropped her head. "No, forget it."

The knock came again, and Ginny sighed. "We'd better."

"No."

Another knock, and then George's voice, very annoyed. "I know you're in there, Potter. Will you stop shagging my sister for a moment and come and greet your guest?"

"Guest?" he replied after a silence, confused, but George had already padded away.

He looked at Ginny.

"Go on," she said softly. "We'll finish this later."

"Sorry."

"I know."

"You have no idea how much."

"I have some idea," she said dryly, moving off him, and he flushed. He always went red when she referred to – that. Couldn't help it. Sometimes it was terrible being a guy. At least when a girl was turned on, everybody else didn't have to know.

"Right," he murmured. "See you soon."
~

The 'guest', much to his shock, was Draco Malfoy. The blonde man was sitting alone at the Weasleys' kitchen table. He looked distinctly out of place – Harry almost didn't recognise him in this setting. He was wearing Muggle clothes (a white long-sleeved collared shirt, and jeans) and an uncomfortable expression. He stood when Harry came in.

"Malfoy?" he said, bemused, and the Slytherin nodded shortly.

"Yes. Hello."

"Er – hello."

They shook hands, and Harry scratched his head.  

"So George let you in?"

"Let me in and left me here," Malfoy said. He didn't seem particularly surprised, or even concerned. "I don't think he wanted to talk to me."

"Oh – I'm sure that's not it," Harry lied. Of course George didn't want to talk to him. He and Fred hated Malfoy. Most of the Weasleys hated Malfoy, in fact, or barely tolerated him. Harry had managed to convert Ginny, but only with a lot of coaxing, and Ron point-blank refused to be civil.

"Right," Malfoy said. His eyes ran over Harry's slightly dishevelled appearance. "I didn't catch you in the middle of something, did I?"

"Funny," Harry said, narrowing his eyes. "Do you have your broom?"

"Of course."

"Shall we go for a fly?"

"If you like."

"Hang on, I'll just fetch mine."

~

They flew lazily for close to an hour, and then picked a place to touch down, in the middle of an open field. They walked with their brooms in silence for a little while, and then Malfoy spoke.

"So I did actually have a purpose for coming."

Direct to the point, as always.

"Right. What was that, then?"

"I got your wedding invite."

"Already?"

"Fast owl. Anyway, I got it, and I just wanted to decline in person."

Harry stopped. "Decline? What, why?"

"I can't make it then. I'm going overseas."

"Where?"

"Portugal."

"Why?"

"Not your business, Potter," Malfoy snapped. He'd stopped too now, and had his hands on his hips, defensive-style.

For some reason, this made him mad. Not just the snippiness, but the fobbing off as well. He couldn't see why Malfoy didn't just reschedule the business stuff and come to his bloody wedding! It was kind of an important event in his life, and a friend would make the effort, wouldn't he?

"OK – that's unexpected," Harry said finally. "Well. Don't worry about it."

He began to walk again, taking big strides, and heard Malfoy sigh. The Slytherin caught up to him at a half-jog, and moved fast to keep pace.

"You're angry."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you bloody are," Malfoy retorted. "Will you stop walking?"

They both stopped a second time, and Malfoy ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Look," he said, "I'm not blowing you off. I'd like to come."

"So come, then."

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why on earth not?"

"Remember the girl you're marrying?"

"Yes, I remember the girl I'm marrying, thank you."

"Well, remember how her family hates me?" Malfoy said patiently.

"They don't …" Harry began, and his friend cut him off.

"Oh come on. They hate me, alright, I know it, you know it. Let's bypass the bullshit."

Harry didn't know quite what to say to this.

"Fine," he managed, after a long pause, in which Malfoy stared him down. "So they don't like you all that much. Not yet. That shouldn't stop you from coming."

"I wouldn't want to spoil things," he said breezily. "Forget it, I'll see you afterwards at work."

"Malfoy …"

"And I am out of the country anyway. I'm afraid it's just not possible, Potter. But thank you very much for asking. Come on, shall we fly back? I've got to be back in London by noon."

He was back on his broom before Harry could pursue the issue, and by the time they'd reached The Burrow, he'd given up hope. When Draco put his mind to something, there was absolutely no changing it. It was the old Malfoy stubbornness (or arrogance, depending on which way you looked at it) shining through.

He didn't stay for lunch, and neither did Angelina. Harry saw her leaving at about eleven-thirty, but Fred didn't emerge, so he couldn't ask him how it had gone.

All in all, an eventful morning. He was just about ready to go back to bed by midday.