A/N – Sorry about delay. I've got this new job that sucks the life out of me. Hope you didn't miss me and the kids too much, I made this chapter a biggie. Shout out to all reviewers, who continue to pepper my days with encouragement and warm words. You make the wheels on my bus go round! PS – Guess who won two grammys? My boy, John! He's still got it … nm3x5s

Harry woke early the next day to the dulcet tones of Ginny cursing under her breath. With one bleary open eye, he watched her rummage through their bureau drawers, pushing aside shirts and socks and muttering: "Come on, Merlin's beard, where did I put it?" She was only wearing her quidditch jersey and knickers, and her hair was pushed back into a just-out-of-bed ponytail. The sight was quite engaging, actually, and he let her go on like this for several moments, grinning, before he felt compelled to speak.

"What are you doing there?"

She jumped and spun, a hand to her heart.

"Harry! Oh, go back to sleep!"

"Er – why?"

"Oh, bugger. Bugger, bugger."

"What?" He sat up a little and rubbed at his eyes until they were both open. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just I know how early you wake up and I wanted to get your present."

His birthday. He'd been starting to think it was something serious. Harry broke into a slow smile and flopped back against his pillow. "Too late now, Gin. Have you lost it?"

"No," she said defensively, and then put a hand to her head and sighed. "It's too early. I can't remember – Ooh!"

She leapt towards the wardrobe, presumably having recalled her secret (too secret?) hiding place. Flinging open the doors, she commanded Harry not to look, and he obediently averted his eyes. He heard the shuffling of boxes and clothes slapping the floor, and then a quiet creak as Ginny eased shut the wardrobe door.

"Right," she said, returning to the bed, "you can look now."
He did. She was sitting beside him, legs tucked up underneath her, and in her lap was a slender leather-bound book. He couldn't see a title.

"Happy birthday," she murmured and leant forwards to hand it to him, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she did so.

"Thank you." The book in his hands was very light, and it tingled, just a little, against his fingertips. "Can I –"

"Yeah, open it."
He did and found himself, at the very first page, unable to go on. It was a photo of he and Ginny, very young, sitting together in the Gryffindor common room. It would have been Ginny's first year – the Tom Riddle year, the Basilisk year. He had a feeling Colin Creevey had taken this one. For once, he hadn't captured Harry in an expression of extreme agitation or embarrassment. This one had been taken with both Harry and Ginny quite unawares. The little dark-haired boy with the half-hidden scar on his brow sat cross-legged on the sofa closet to the fire, reading a book. The little sad-eyed red-haired girl sat beside him. She had a book in her lap too, but she wasn't really reading it. Every now and again she would raise her head to steal a glance at Harry, and then quickly glance away again.

"Wow," he said lowly, and met the grown-up Ginny's eye. She was smiling and blushing and biting her lip in that way she had, and he found himself looking from the photo to his fiancée and back again. "Look at us!"

"I know." She wriggled a little closer. "My first year."

"Yeah, I thought so. Did Colin –"

"Yep. I petitioned to a bunch of people for photos, and everyone was great. I couldn't believe how many times people had their cameras out."

He stared at her again. "You mean this is all – us?"

She sort of shrugged. "I thought it could be a – you know, like a companion album, to go with your other one. So we can remember why we're doing this – you know what I mean?"

Harry nodded wordlessly and flipped the page. He and Ginny were playing quidditch in the Burrow's backyard. He was attempting to wrestle the ball away from her. She was smiling and leaning into him and hugging the quaffle to her chest. Next page, his fifth year – he didn't remember anybody whipping cameras out at D.A meetings, but there they were, Harry's hand on her wand showing her the correct wrist-flick, Ginny's eyes a picture of concentration. By the Hogwarts lake last year, smiling for the camera, a little self-conscious this time, Harry's arms firm around her – Hermione had taken that. One of Hagrid's shots, Harry and Ginny stopped in a school corridor, leaning side by side against the wall, rather out of focus. In the kitchen in Harry's flat, Harry pulling a funny face. At one of Ginny's matches in Scotland. On and on. It was a catalogue of their life together, their life so far, and Harry found himself quite overcome with this sudden flood of memory.

"Come here," he managed eventually, and pulled her close. She wriggled up against his side and hugged him tight, and kissed his bare chest.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it."

"I'm glad. Happy 20th, Harry." She hesitated. "And sorry I've been so – here and there lately. I don't mean to, I just – I'm stressed out, and – "

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry interrupted firmly. She smiled a small smile at him, and nodded once.

"Aren't they great shots?" she said.

"They are. We're so photogenic."

"I know." She matched his grin and tilted her head to look up at him. "That's not my only present, you know."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

She sat up and straddled him in one swift movement.

"Oh," he said, attempting to smother his smile. He assumed an expression of absolute innocence. "So what is it then?"

"What's what?"

"My other present."

She rolled her eyes and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Buddy," she said, leaning close, and pausing just a few inches from his face, "you're in for a very happy birthday."

With that, she closed the gap between them and kissed him slowly. Her lips were hot and soft and he was so relieved to have her as she used to be, and to feel her against him (it had been a little while – she tended to fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow recently), that he could barely control himself. His hands were at her jersey, pulling it over her head, and her mouth was moving southward, kissing his neck, her tongue raising goosebumps and other things. She kissed right down to his chest, and then his stomach, and when she came to his lower belly and her hands reached the elastic on his boxers, he was practically in a fever.

At this point, she sat up and looked at him with a very strange expression on her face.

"What?" he asked, his voice strangled and breathless. "What?"

Without another word, she leapt out of bed and ran from their room. He swallowed a moment, attempting to control himself, and then swept back the covers and followed. He was just quick enough to see her ducking into the bathroom. He came to the door – she had left it slightly ajar – and knocked gently.

"Ginny?" he whispered. "Can I come in?"

Her response was the sound of vomit rushing into the toilet. He decided that this was a 'yes' and entered, closing the door carefully behind him. She was leaning over the toilet, her beautiful hair held back with one hand, her face deathly pale. She seemed about to speak, but then another wave of nausea must have hit, because she started up again, retching into the bowl. Harry knelt beside her and stroked her hair and rubbed her back. For about five minutes, she continued to retch and pause, and then she sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Harry fetched her a glass of water. She drank in silence.

"What was that?" Harry asked eventually.

Ginny shook her head, and still said nothing.

Harry, watching her, had a sudden, sharp thought that made him physically start. Before he could really consider it, or put any sort of question to her, she was standing and shrugging and moving to the basin to wash her face. He stood too, and stood by her cautiously, as though afraid she might faint or vomit again.

"I've been feeling weird for a while," she began chattily, drying her face with the hand towel. "I think I'm getting sick. Like one of those stomach bug things maybe, or a fever. Let's hope I can get rid of it before the wedding. Merlin, those viruses are awful, aren't they?"

Harry looked at her for a little while before voicing the thought that had come to him.

"Are you sure it's not – something else?"

Ginny's eyes met his very quickly, and they held each other's gaze. Eventually she spoke. "Wouldn't I know?"

"I don't know," Harry said quietly, "would you?"

Ginny stared at herself in the mirror, and brushed the hair out of her face. For a few moments, she seemed not quite conscious of herself. Then she glanced back to Harry and said, a little desperately: "But we're safe, all the time."

"Of course, you're right," Harry agreed. "You couldn't be."

For a time they were silent, reviewing all their recent trysts. And then, simultaneously, they remembered their lovemaking in Harry's room weeks ago, on the last day of school at Hogwarts.

The silence stretched on and on, and finally Harry touched her arm, and she murmured: "I'd better get checked."

He said, "OK."

The newly-risen morning sun beamed a little light into the bathroom, and then she walked out, leaving him with too many thoughts for an early birthday morning.

There was nobody to corner Harry with wedding plans that morning and so he dusted off his broom and went for a fly across the countryside. He felt almost guilty in his aimlessness – there was so much to do, but he couldn't get his head around any of the chores that had so occupied him yesterday. Instead there was a single, huge, unmovable thought in his brain. It would not be silenced. It would not be buried. It sat in all its towering, mind-blowing unexpectedness and waited for him to address it.

He couldn't. Not quite. He could think of it, of course – it was all he could think of. But he couldn't think about it. It was like coming to the foot of mountain and only being able to see how big it was, rather than how he was to find a path over it.

Harry touched down in a quiet place by a quiet stream, and did not realise until some minutes had passed that it was the same place where Ginny and he had argued so terribly, years ago. He'd told her that he'd slept with Susan, she'd told him that she hadn't slept with anybody, and at the time it all seemed so wildly important. Since then, sex had become such a constant, simple, natural thing between them that he had almost forgotten its possible consequences. He no longer gave much thought to the power it really had, and the importance they had been so aware of in their youth.

They were still in their youth. He was only a few hours past twenty.

It could still be nothing, murmured inner monologue, attempting to reassure. It could still be a virus, or gas, or anything.

Harry flew back to the house to find Hermione and Ron sitting in the kitchen, and Mrs Weasley in the process of icing a cake.

"Harry dear!" she said as he came in the door, momentarily pausing in her work. "Where have you been?"

"We thought you were upstairs," said Ron, smothering a yawn. "Hermione made me get up and everything."

"Ron," Hermione said, and nudged him. "Don't be ungracious. Happy birthday, Harry!"

"Happy 20th birthday, mate."

"Yes," said Mrs Weasley, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "Happy birthday." She wiped her sugary hands on her apron and opened her arms. "Come here and give us a hug."
Harry felt as though he were in a trance. He went forwards to Mrs Weasley and near fell into her embrace. He hugged her so fiercely that he began to feel Hermione and Ron's eyes on him, and disengaged. Mrs Weasley brushed a bit of hair out of his face with an expression something like concern, and he forced his mouth into a smile. This was not something they needed to know. This wasn't something that could be talked out around the table. This was far too big to display before them all, to be picked apart and gasped over and discussed.

This, in short, was private.

"Thank you," he said, swallowing over his dry throat. "Thanks. Just went for a fly. To loosen me up a bit, you know, for the festivities. What's the plan?"

"Where's Gin?" Ron asked suddenly, frowning.

"Er – London."

"She went to London already? It's only nine o'clock!"

"Why didn't she ask me?" Hermione wondered aloud, sounding mildly put-out.

"Oh," Harry said hurriedly, "you know what she's like these days. Something about the flowers, or the napkins, or I don't know what. She was out of here by seven. I expect she'll be back this afternoon."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Hermione asked, eyes brightening. "You want a big picnic? I'll even get the twins to come. They've been stuck in their room for days."

"Oh – no, I don't want to go far today." He was worried that Ginny might come back and he wouldn't be there. "What about lunch here? Just a quiet one. Just us, and the twins, and – and Gin when she's home."

"Harry, are you alright?" Mrs Weasley said quietly, and he met her eye immediately, knowing how quickly her suspicions could be aroused.

"I'm fine," he said easily. "I'm tired, is all. And kind of hungry."

"Tired, eh, birthday boy? You shouldn't fly so early. Don't want to wear out the old broomstick, there." He caught Ron's gaze, and his best friend winked lightly, so that his mother wouldn't see. Harry shrugged off the sexual innuendo (it stung him this morning, when before he would have grinned), and Mrs Weasley bustled about in the pantry for some biscuits, and Hermione laughed as Ron whispered in her ear.

He was such a mess inside. He wished Ginny was here for him to hold.

Lunch was set up at the outside table. Hermione managed to entice the twins out of their room with promises of seconds and thirds, and apple crumble for afters, and they emerged with scented vapours. Nobody bothered to ask what they had been doing. They enchanted cutlery to dance across the table, and the salt- and pepper-shakers to sing a repeating chorus of "For he's a jolly good fellow". Ron and Hermione set out the good crockery, and seemed happy, chiding each other gently, Ron touching her hair. Harry watched it all, and helped where he could, and was somewhere else entirely.

The only time the mood died a little was as they finished the table set-up and were waiting for Mrs Weasley's meal to arrive. Fred and George were passing a quaffle to each other from opposite ends of the lawn, and Harry was watching. That's how he came to see Fred stiffen and stare at something beyond George – just as a long, fast pass came towards him. Naturally, he was hit in the head with the ball, and both twins fell to the ground, one in laughter, one in pain. When George had composed himself, he sat up to look for his brother, but found that somebody had beaten him to it.

Angelina had been walking up behind George, broom in hand, and Fred had been quite immoblised. Hence the lack of hand-to-eye co-ordination. Now she walked right by George, and knelt beside his twin, who had both hands over his face.

Harry had stood up when Fred toppled, and moved a little closer. He watched Angelina watching Fred, who eventually moved one hand aside and peeked out at her.

"Ouch," he said.

"Are you OK?"

"You distracted me."

"Did I?"

"Yes. You did."

"Never mind. Sit up, show me your face. Oh dear, that's going to bruise. Shall I fetch ice?"

"No," Fred said hurriedly, unconsciously grabbing her arm, and then very consciously removing it. "No, don't bother. I'll take it like a man. Silently, with a side of alcohol."

"Poor Fred," she murmured, and put a hand to his forehead. He stared at her with something in his eyes that Harry hadn't seen before, something almost – unfocused. Slowly, she leant towards him, and Harry found that he was close enough to hear what she said.

"Why didn't you come and see me? I waited and waited."

A long silence, and then Fred, still looking at her with that look, said: "I'm sorry, Angelina."
There was a quiet, surprised whistle nearby. George had moved to Harry's side to better hear the conversation. "I haven't heard him apologise in a very long time," said George. "Especially not in front of company."

"Did you know she was coming?"

"Merlin, no. Believe me, I don't get between those two. This – this she did on her own."

Angelina and Fred were still locked in eye-contact, and Harry began to feel that he was intruding. George appeared to have the same thought, because as one they turned on their heels and headed back to the table.

"Gods be praised," muttered George. "This has been a bloody long time coming."

"She really must have missed him, to just turn up like this," Harry said thoughtfully. George smiled just a little, and threw himself into a chair.

"She figured him out, that's all. Of course he missed her like hell. Of course he wants to be with her. For Fred, it's the principle of the thing. That's what she figured out. He has to protest, and make stupid jokes, and cling to his bachelorhood – he doesn't know how to do anything else, or what people would think of him if he changed. But deep down, he knows he wants her. And if she can turn up here despite all that – if she can accept that he finds it bloody hard to admit to these huge, deep feelings, and accept that she's his only girl forever, and always has been – then he knows she understands him. I think they're going to work out just fine."

He leant back in his seat and put his hands behind his head while Harry blinked.

"Wow George," he said eventually. "You two are just full of surprises."

George rolled his eyes. "Being a twin is like being a shrink," he said. "You know far more than you ought to about another human being. It's disturbing. I mean, ask Fred about my secret fears or masturbation habits and he'd be able to tell you exactly what was behind them." He paused and glanced sideways at Harry. "Actually don't ask about my masturbation habits. Those are very private matters between myself and my hand."
Harry cracked a smile and George raised his eyebrows. "Well, well," he said. "Somebody's finally remembered it's his birthday. What's the matter, you leave your happy face in your other shirt this morning?"

"No, I'm just tired," Harry repeated, even as Mrs Weasley bustled out of the kitchen surrounded by plates and serving dishes. "Oh!" she exclaimed, seeing Fred and Angelina sitting together in the grass. "Oh, is that Angie? Oh, wonderful! George, fetch me another plate will you? And where on earth is Ginny?"

Ginny turned up as they were finishing dessert. Harry spotted her immediately, almost stood, then thought better of it. She came out the kitchen door with her bag still on her shoulder, wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt. She looked fantastic, and he felt a small nervous rise in his stomach as he wondered if they'd both been very wrong about the events of that morning, and it really was a virus.

She looked up, scanned the table and, spotting him, mouthed his name. He couldn't help but stand then.

"Harry?" Mrs Weasley began, sounding puzzled, and he ran a hand through his hair.

"Er – Gin's here."

Every head at the table turned to look at her. For a moment she stared at them like a rabbit in wand-light, but then she raised one hand in a casual wave and called: "Sorry I missed lunch!"

"Virginia Weasley, you get over here and eat, if you please!" said Mrs Weasley. "I won't have you missing meals. And you ought to apologise to Harry. It's his birthday, for heaven's sake!"

"Yeah, Ginny," called Fred, who was a little drunk (on Pimm's or Angelina, or both). "Poor Harry, and his birthday and all, and him not having any family but us to celebrate with." He took another spoonful of dessert. "And this peach cobbler," he added, "is terrific."

Harry was still standing, and Ginny was not making any move towards the table.

"Don't worry, I'll go, probably something with the – the wedding or – thank you for lunch, I'll just – I'll be a couple of minutes."

"Harry, what …" Hermione began, but he didn't stop to answer. In fact, he nearly tripped over his chair in his haste. Within moments, he'd reached Ginny, who wouldn't look him in the eye.

"Come on," she said, and they began to walk across the yard. As soon as they were out of sight of the table, she picked up the pace, and led him right into the midst of the garden. He didn't realise where she was taking him until they were almost upon the place – it was the little grove they'd found whilst de-gnoming, the one she and Ron had enchanted to disappear as children. It did not take long to find it, Harry having removed the years-old charm on the place, and he was soon following her into the cool green-lit room.

Then they were alone, more alone then they'd been in weeks.

She turned to face him. He couldn't say a word – his heart was in his mouth.

"I am," she said.

"You are what."

"Pregnant. A month."

A long silence followed and then he felt his blood rushing to his extremities – his head, his fingertips – and his body began to buzz. He almost laughed, and then he frowned, and then he broke into an incredulous grin, and broached the distance between them with two long strides to fold her up in his arms.

"Holy shit," he said into her hair. "Merlin. Merlin, Ginny."
He held her a little away from him, that stupid, disbelieving grin still plastered across his face, but her hands went on clutching his waist. They held him far too tightly, in fact, far too fearfully, but at that point he was barely articulate, let alone aware of the little nuances of body language in his fiancée.

"Oh my God. You're pregnant. That's early, right, to be having morning sickness, a month? That's early, isn't it? Is he sure? Or she? Is she sure?"

"It's early, apparently, but not uncommon," said Ginny. Her voice was shaky and she bit her lip hard. "Not uncommon, that's what she said."

"Oh my GodYou're pregnant. Oh shit, that's – Merlin, that's – we're going to have a baby? We're going to have an actual baby?"

He started to laugh, just as Ginny started to cry.

"Honey, what's – hey, come on, what's the matter?" He caught her by the chin and she finally met his eye.

"We're not going to have a baby, Harry," she said, choking back a sob. "I am."

His smile had faded by now. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm frightened, Harry!"

"Frightened, but – it's all totally safe, isn't it? I mean, these days? Nothing could happen to you, could it?"

"Merlin, you don't understand!" She turned abruptly on her heel, walked three steps away from him, and then turned back again. "I'm nineteen, Harry. I'm already getting married at bloody nineteen, and now – now a baby? Now? Most girls my age are busy dating and partying and …"

"Wait, hold on," Harry said, raising a hand as if he might stop traffic. His pulse was racing with anxiety. "What are you saying here? Are you saying – what, you don't want to get married?"

"No, I do. Of course I do."

"You wish you were out dating other people?"

"Harry, for God's sake, that's not what I mean – of course I want to get married to you, I love you. I love you so much." Her face crumpled and she had to pause for breath and tears, but she pressed on, as though the words must come out. "I just don't want this to be happening. I don't want this at all."

That was all she managed before the tears took over altogether, at which point she covered her face with both hands and cried into her palms.

Harry couldn't bear to see her like that, so hopelessly unhappy. He gathered her into another fierce hug, with minimal resistance on her part.

"Don't cry, Gin," he said. "Please don't cry anymore."

"I c-can't stop."

"Take a deep breath."

"No, I can't."

"Come on, now."
She took a deep breath, and then another one, and another one, until her weeping had slowed and she had mastered herself somewhat. Harry felt it was the moment to talk sense.

"It doesn't matter what we might have planned now, Ginny," he said quietly. "We can't change what we did, or what happened, or anything. We can only make the best of it."

He couldn't see her face because it was hidden against his chest, but when next she spoke her voice sounded almost hollow.

"I wanted to see the world, and go exploring, and play quidditch. Maybe even play for Oliver again, like he wants. How can I play quidditch with a big pregnant belly, or a little kid? How can I visit Europe and America and Australia when every second I'm looking after a baby, when every penny we have goes towards it? How can I decide what I want to do with my life if it's already decided for me?"

She released him and moved away, examining the old corduroy couch, the cracked hairbrush, the artefacts of her rapidly disappearing youth.

"I don't know," Harry said awkwardly. "All I know is that this baby is ours, and we should be glad to have it. That's all I know."

She looked at him with an expression he could not begin to read, and her eyes were full of tears and desperation.

"You don't understand," she said again.

And then she left him, standing alone with his confusion in the old secret fortress of her childhood.