A/N Hello there! Glad you liked it, glad to be back. Got to love a bit of drama, right? Next chap is a long one … nearly split it in two, but then I thought you deserved a big 'un, so here it all is. Read, review, do what you do. I'll be around as soon as I can be. Xx S.

Harry woke with the first signs of dawn on Friday morning – lonely bird calls, greying sky. He didn't get up. Instead, he turned his head on the pillow to watch his still-sleeping fiancée. Her breathing was soft and heavy. Strands of hair fell across her face. He raised a hand to brush them away, but then thought better of it – she was such a light sleeper, he'd surely wake her. Let her have a few more minutes, at least until the sun came up properly.

At that moment, her eyes opened. She blinked twice, languidly, dazed with sleep.

"Good morning," she said.

"Hello."

They looked at one another a little while and then she draped one of her bare legs across one of his. "What are you looking at?"

"What do you think?"

She took his hand and held it against her stomach. "Am I fat yet?"

"You're gorgeous."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

He kissed her gently, his lips barely touching hers. "And so funny." Less gently. She kissed him back with an anticipatory smile. "And your legs are so long." He took his hand from her belly, stroked her thigh; she came up in goose-bumps. "And your hair is so red." They rolled, he was above her. "If you're not careful, I might just marry you tomorrow."

"Now there's an idea," she murmured. She was already flushed and trembling. They stopped talking for a while and made love in the half-dark. He knew her body like a favourite book – every page triggered memories. Every part of her was as familiar to him as a friend.

Once, a little drunk, he'd asked George why he couldn't settle down. "Harry," the twin replied, "I'd miss the anticipation too much. Every woman is a surprise. You don't know what to expect, you don't know what she might say or do. It's like an adventure, going to bed with a new woman. It's like an expedition."

That's not how he felt with Ginny. He felt as though he may once, long ago, have been on an expedition, in some far off country where nobody spoke his language. With Ginny, it was like he had come home from that place. And she knew exactly what he was saying.

At eight, Harry and Ginny made their way downstairs. Hermione was waiting by the living room fireplace, bag over her shoulder, time-piece in hand. She straightened when she saw them coming and hastily put her watch away.

"Oh! Oh, there you two are. I just thought I'd wait here, in case – in case you'd forgotten. We've got Beauty Morning."

"Sorry, 'Mione," Ginny said, glancing at Harry. "Lost track of the time."

He couldn't bite back a grin. "My fault," he said quietly. Hermione pretended not to hear.

"Well," Harry went on, more loudly. "You girls have a nice day. We'll handle everything here."

"Who do you mean by 'we'?" said Ginny.

"Me and – well, the twins won't help, I assume your dad's finishing up at work and your mum's already at the shops, so I guess – Ron."

Hermione snorted. "Good luck."
Harry searched her face out of the corner of his eye. At any other time he would have thought this was a normal Hermione-comment but he still hadn't had any update on their Richard argument. When questioned, Ron was stubbornly close-mouthed. Hermione avoided the topic or changed the subject if it was raised. There seemed to be an uneasy truce between them – they were still sleeping in the same room – but Harry knew from experience that even then things might not be quite alright.

It wasn't the time to broach the issue. He pecked Ginny on the cheek and headed for the kitchen.

Ron was eating marmalade toast at the table. He had the Daily Prophet sports section open in front of him. He'd also set the kettle to boil, presumably for tea, and it began to whistle as Harry entered.

"Could you get that mate?" he said, eyes fixed to the page. "White with one."

"Get it yourself."

He glanced up. "Harry, soon you're going to have a wife to make tea for you every day. Will you do me this one little favour? Thanks."

"I don't think Ginny is going to be an every-day-tea-making kind of wife," Harry said pointedly, but the redhead just waved wordlessly toward the stove. He gave in and made tea. Once Ron had a mug in front of him, he took a few sips whilst reading.

"Hermione and Ginny just left," Harry said.

Ron paused and glanced at him. "And?"

"And – I just thought you'd want to know."

"Ah."

"They're off to do the beautifying thing. Even though they don't need it."

"I have to tell you something. Let me just finish this article about Wood's team. You want to see?"

He shifted the paper between them. Harry gave up prodding for Hermione-related reactions and read. Oliver Wood's quidditch team were still sourcing seekers. Harry thought that he must remind Ginny to try out and then remembered why she couldn't. His immediate reaction was, unavoidably, disappointment. It frustrated him – he didn't want to think about their baby in the negative. He stopped reading the article and finished his tea.

When Ron was done, he folded the Prophet and pushed it across the table. Then he sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head with a distinct air of satisfaction.

"You look like you just got shagged," said Harry blankly.

"Huh," was Ron's oblique comment. "No. But I am rather pleased with myself."

"Why?"

A slow grin spread across his face. "Because," he said, "I've finally finished organising the buck's night."

There was a long silence as Harry heard these words repeating.

"Beg yours?" he said finally.

"Buck's night. It's on for young and old, tonight."

He went on grinning and Harry realised that he was serious.

"Ron!"

"What?"

"What the fuck, Ron? Ginny will kill me!"

"No she won't."

"Yes she will, mate. Maybe you first, then me. She already told me she hates those things. That's why she's not having a hen's party."

Ron pointed an accusing finger at Harry. "No. Hen's nights aren't tradition. They only started because girls got sick of their husbands having a little joy without them before they got married. It was revenge."

"Not funny. I don't even want one. We've got that bloody rehearsal lunch today."

He ploughed on regardless. "But buck's nights have been around for centuries and will go on for centuries to come. It's a male bonding ritual. It's a chance for you to say goodbye to everything it means to be a bachelor. It defines the night before. Marriage is practically meaningless without a buck's night."

"I think you're probably not serious, but then I get scared you might be. Tell me you're not serious."

"I'm serious."

Harry groaned.

"It's too late now," Ron said serenely, finishing his tea in a few short gulps. "I've already organised it with everyone."

"Who's everyone?"

"Some old friends. Some new friends. Some very new friends."

"How new?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Dancing girls new." Ron grinned even wider, if that was possible. Seeing Harry's face, he put on his best wounded-puppy-dog expression. "I'm kidding. Please, Harry. As your best man, please let me carry out this sacred duty."

"Let you get me drunk and humiliate me in front of our friends on the night before my wedding?"

"I wouldn't have chosen those words exactly … oh, come on, you tosser. Be a man."

"Hey. I am a man."

"Then get manly. Come to your buck's night."
Another silence. Ron waited expectantly. Harry couldn't see a way out.

"Alright. I'll have to tell Ginny."

"Thank Merlin!"

"What does Hermione think of all this?"

Immediately, his defences were up again. "I wouldn't know," he said shortly. "We haven't talked about it."

Harry didn't get the chance to comment because a loud cracking sound from outside signalled the arrival of, as Ginny called them, the Tent Men. They'd come to put up the marquee and were early. He left Ron with instructions to levitate the benches out and hurried into the yard. His buck's night surprise was pushed, temporarily, to the back of his mind.

"Hm," said Ginny.

They were standing at the altar beneath a white marquee. Hermione was behind Ginny; Ron was behind Harry. Mr and Mrs Weasley (Arthur having taken a rare three days off), the twins, and a newly-arrived Bill, Fleur and Felix watched from benches a short distance away.

"This wasn't your idea, was it Harry?" Hermione said darkly.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" snapped Ron.

"Well, you just answered my question for me."

"Lucky you."

"And what's that supposed to mean, Ronald?"

Harry spoke over their tense whispers. "Not now, you two."

They fell into an immediate, almost embarrassed silence.

Ginny pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Alright," she said and shrugged. "I suppose it'll be a bit of fun for you lot."

"Are you kidding?"

"Should I be?"

Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I knew you'd pull through for us, Ginny." He gave Fred and George a surreptitious thumbs-up and they responded enthusiastically in kind.

"Gin, are you sure this is a good idea?" Hermione said anxiously.

"Not entirely. But we've got so much to do tonight and I don't know that they'd be much help, especially if they're all moping about because I told them 'no'." She took Harry by the chin and looked him in the eyes. "Besides, I trust you."

This wasn't the response Harry had expected. In fact, he'd been rather hoping she'd throw a tantrum and he wouldn't have to go. It just sounded like so much effort – he'd have to play the part of reluctant-groom-having-a-good-time when all he really wanted was an early night in with Ginny. At the same time, he didn't want to disappoint Ron, who had clearly gone to some trouble to put it all together and could probably use a night out.

"Great," he said, not very convincingly.

"Great," agreed Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Here he is!" cried Mrs Weasley. They all turned in unison. A young wizard was leaping awkwardly from his broom and hurrying to meet them. He was carrying a very old book covered in green-stained leather.

"Sorry!" he cried, then lowered his voice as he reached their altar (a carved wooden stand which would be covered in flowers the following day). "Sorry. I just left a cancelled wedding – the groom caved at the last moment. Very exciting."

"Oh," said Ginny, and that was all. She looked suddenly uncertain. Harry squeezed her hand and then held it out to greet the celebrator.

"Harry Potter," he said warmly. "And this wedding is going full-steam ahead."

"Er – Fidelius Rosethorn." He looked rather thrown: whether by the muggle term 'full-steam' or Harry's all too famous name, he wasn't sure. He also looked rather young to be a marriage celebrator.

"Could we move it along, please?" Fred called from their seats. "We've left a pot on the boil upstairs."

They practiced how they would walk, what they would say. Mrs Weasley cried. Felix clapped his hands throughout. Fred and George, having foregone the offer of being second best men, carried the rings and kept pretending to lose them. Within an hour, they'd all had enough and went to lunch in the backyard.

Harry and Ron were washing up in the kitchen when there was a short knock at the kitchen door. Ron, absently twirling his wand at the scrubbing brush, didn't move, so Harry answered the door. He was almost knocked over by the force of a handshake and didn't quite comprehend who he was looking at until he heard the man speak.

"Harry Potter! Richard Desmond. I came by broom. You remember me, I'm sure, and I remember you. How's things, lad? Feeling some of those husband-to-be jitters?"

"Er, no – hello – just –"

"Hope I'm not too early for you! I couldn't wait to get on the road. I do love a good wedding. They've got you doing the dishes! Thought I saw some kind of lunching going on out there. Nobody spotted me, though. May I come in?"

Harry spun about, quite lost for words. Ron had disappeared, leaving the scrubbing brush suspended unmoving in mid-air. Harry wondered where he had gone, but didn't wonder why.

At six, Harry took refuge in the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He had on jeans and a green t-shirt. In front of the mirror he ran his hands through his hair a few times. It was as dark and unruly as ever. He sat on the closed lid of the toilet and sighed.

It was chaos in the Burrow. Arthur's Welsh mother, Grandmother Weasley, arrived barely half an hour after Richard and declaimed all aspects of the house to be in some way unsatisfactory. Arthur and Molly were trying to placate her right up until Charlie's arrival by Floo – at which point, they gave her a feather duster and told her to go for her life. Charlie had brought with him a tall, clever woman with short black hair and a face Hermione called 'elegant' rather than beautiful. She was Italian (although spoke text-book English), her name was Sylvia and Charlie introduced her, awkwardly, as his research partner.

"I don't know about you," George muttered in Harry's ear, "but I can guess exactly what they're researching."

Seeing Sylvia touch Charlie's arm as he passed her to fetch tea, seeing the usually self-possessed dragon-watcher stare at her and stumble over words, Harry agreed.

Hermione entertained Richard for a time. Harry noticed that she was careful to keep the two of them in rooms full of people. He also noticed that she was watching the door for Ron's return. When he did eventually slouch back into the Burrow, Mrs Weasley gave him what-for and Hermione pressed Harry into minding Richard. She followed Ron upstairs and Harry watched Richard watch them. There was something calculating in those polite blue eyes that he hadn't seen before.

After an excruciating hour of small talk, he managed to intern Richard with Mr Weasley, folding place-cards. And then he'd gone to the bathroom to breathe for a while.

He jumped at a rapid tat-tat on the door.

"I'm in here," he called.

"I know," said Ron from outside. "I want to come in."

Harry opened the door for him. Ron was in a blue long-sleeved shirt and trousers. He'd brushed his hair. "Why aren't you changed?" he said.

"I am. Shut the door."

Obediently, Ron locked them in and moved to the mirror to straighten his collar. He looked sideways at Harry. "Put on something decent, will you?"

Harry sat himself on the toilet again. "I'm comfortable in this. It's not like we're going to a club or anything – are we?"

"No. The entertainment's coming to us."

"Great," he said dryly. Ron was now staring at himself in the mirror and Harry thought it might be the moment to bring up Hermione. "Ron …"

"Yeah?"

"Have you talked to 'Mione yet?"

He didn't reply at first, but eventually turned to face Harry. "About what?"

"About Richard."

At the sound of his name, Harry actually heard Ron crack a knuckle. "Sort of," he said.

"Sort of – how?"

"I sort of said I hated him and she sort of said she knew and I sort of said that she should order him out the house and she sort of said she couldn't do that just now and I sort of said Fuck you and walked out."

Harry blinked at him. "You told Hermione 'fuck you'?"

"Yes."

"Ron!"

"What?" he said loudly and turned to the mirror again. His eyes were a little wild. "What?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He'd told Hermione to have it out with Richard and apparently she hadn't yet. Maybe she was scared – scared to tell him? Scared to be alone with him? At any rate, he didn't blame Ron for his anger, but it didn't suit him at all. "He's coming tonight," said Ron, more quietly.

"Who? Richard?"

"I'd rather have him where I can see him than have him here with my girlfriend. He's downstairs waiting for us."

"You'll kill him."
"He might kill me. He wants her badly enough." In the mirror, he met Harry's eye. "So be it," he said grimly. "Maybe we can fight for her."

"You don't need to fight for her," Harry said. He felt tired – he felt too tired for this melodrama. "If we're going to do this, can it not be a night of brawls and bloodshed? I'm serious. Forget about Richard, just for tonight."

Ron took a few deep breaths and shook his head. "Sure, you're right. It's your night. And it's going to be great. Really." He forced a grin and then grabbed Harry and hauled him up. He dusted him off and then held him by his shoulders.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Let's rock and roll."

The glint in Ron's eye was a little manic.

Before Harry had even opened his eyes, his ears were assailed with sound – a drunken roar, thudding music, clinking glasses. His stomach swooped with the after-effects of the Portkey. Richard was on his left, Ron on his right. Fred, George, Charlie and Bill were part of their circle too. He heard Bill laughing wryly, as though he'd seen it all before, and somebody (the twins?) throwing high-fives.

Harry opened his eyes. He was in a living room that had been, quite literally, turned into a bar. Around the edges of the room chairs and bookshelves had been moved out of the way. In the very centre stood a rectangular bar manned by two wait-staff. Couches and low tables were scattered throughout. At least fifty men were milling about with drinks in hand. Harry had time to wonder where Ron had dug them all up before the applause and cheering began – they'd seen him. A chorus of "Here Comes The Groom" started up somewhere and soon they were all singing it. A sign hanging from the ceiling read: 'Congratulations', another; 'Welcome to the Dark Side'. Harry couldn't quite suppress a smile. He recognised a number of ex-Hogwarts students and some friends of Ron's he'd met occasionally. His eyes nearly fell out of his head when he saw Seamus Finnigan come rushing forward.

"Potter!" he shouted.

"Irish!"

They embraced (manfully) and then Dean Thomas appeared out of nowhere. He and Harry shook hands and Ron told him that it was Dean's house they were standing in. Harry raised his eyebrows. He still hadn't quite forgiven Dean for breaking Ginny's heart, but he supposed he, Harry, had won in the end and found himself feeling surprisingly gracious about it all.

Drinks were being thrust into his hands and he was just about to start the obligatory 'thank you's when he saw a girl get up on a table. He turned his head – there was another one. He hadn't noticed just how many tables there were before, but now that he looked, there were quite a few. In fact, a number of girls were on the tables now. And they were dancing.

Harry looked at Ron, who met his gaze innocently.

"Lovely," George said appreciatively. "If you'll excuse me."
He moved in a direct beeline for one table and Fred followed. Bill and Charlie went to the bar for a drink and Richard, clearly feeling the sting of being ignored (something he probably didn't experience too often), moved after them.

Harry went on looking at Ron.

"There appear to be dancing girls," Harry said evenly.

"Yes."

"Ron."

"Harry. Come on. They're just dancers. It's not like they're strippers or anything."

At this point, one of the girls took off her top and flung it into the crowd. Ron and Harry watched its trajectory. It landed on George's head and the twin whooped energetically.

"Hm," said Ron. "Maybe they are strippers."

"I can't be here right now," Harry said.

"Yes you can."

"Of course you can!" Seamus was indignant. "You just need a drink or five."

"Relax, Harry," Ron said soothingly. "Nothing's going to happen. I'll tell the girls to put their tops back on."

Dean and Seamus launched simultaneous protests and Harry found himself being steered towards the bar. He didn't want to be negative about Ron's gift but this was all a little much – and the attention! The attention was killing him.

Several hours later, when the crowd was pissed and the girls had stopped stripping to mingle, Harry felt quite a lot better. He was drunk himself after a variety of strange events – being ceremoniously handcuffed (because he was 'selling himself into slavery'), being forced to drink shots from some woman's stomach, participating in a drinking game in which no pointing was allowed. He had long since learnt to hate the spotlight and now that everyone was too indisposed to remember he was meant to be the guest of honour, he wasn't having a bad time. He watched George make out on a couch with one of the dancers; Seamus was doing the River Dance for an audience; Bill and Charlie were in heated, drunken discussion at the bar.

"Hey."

Harry was sitting on a bar stool in a quiet corner of the room and he swivelled a little to see who had spoken. It was a blonde girl wearing a very short red dress and high silver shoes.

"Hey there," he said.

She passed him a drink. "Bourbon and coke," she said. He took a few sips.

"Thanks. I was – I had a lot – before."
She laughed lightly. "Yeah, I know. Move over."
Automatically, he shifted. She sat beside him, far too close. Her body was pressed up alongside his. He felt as though he might fall off the seat; with one cheek on, one cheek off, he was distinctly unbalanced. He wobbled a little and she put a steadying arm around him.

"Whoa," he said lowly and she laughed again.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Sure. Will you put my drink down on – there?"

She took the full glass and put it carefully on the floor.

"Are you drunk?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, I think sho – think so – yeah."

"Did you enjoy the show?"

"Show?"

"The dancing."

"Oh, the dancing. Very good. Very good dancing."

"Thanks." She leant closer still, if that was possible, and pressed her mouth to his ear.

"Are you the Harry Potter?" she whispered.

He leant away. Her mouth was tickling him.

"Yeah," he said.

"That's cool," she said softly. It still tickled. He turned his head to ask her to stop and found his lips suddenly inches from her own. She crossed the space between them slowly; he was in a trance; it was only as her lips grazed his that he realised he didn't want to do that at all.

With a stagger, he stood. He had to hold out his arms to steady himself.

"What was that?" she pouted.

"Hey," he said, closing his eyes, seeing Ginny. "Did you know I'm gonna be a dad?"

When he opened them again, the girl was standing too and pulling her skirt down. "Should have known you'd be barking mad," she muttered. She took the drink she'd given him and stalked away.

He tottered but a hand grabbed his arm moments later. Fred Weasley was holding him up.

"We need you Potter," he said urgently, half-pushing half-dragging him through the room. They seemed to be heading for the front door, and were following several other sweaty drunk men.

"Why – do you need me?"

"It's Ron. He's about to fight that Richard fellow. I'm trying to talk him out of it – I don't want to deal with blood tonight. Too pissed."

Harry remembered saying this himself, about bloodshed, and sobered just a little. "Where?"

They came out into the night. "There," said Fred. He needn't have. Harry could see for himself, if somewhat blurrily. In Dean's front yard, Ron and Richard stood a couple of metres apart, screaming at one another. A small crowd of party-goers had gathered around them. Fred and Harry came as close as they dared but Ron did not appear to notice.

"You're a piece of shit scumbag writing letters to my girlfriend!" Ron bellowed.

"Very eloquent, Ronald," Richard hissed. He didn't sound as though he had a drop of alcohol in him. "You're wasted on a woman like that."

"Hey," called Fred, "let's not get nasty."

He was ignored.

"You're a waste of air, that's what you are, you piece of shit."

"You said that already!"

"I'll say it again!" Ron shouted, somewhat desperately. "I'll say it again, you piece of shit. She's not yours! She doesn't want you! Why can't you just leave us alone?"

He lurched forward and so did Richard.

"Do something Harry," Fred said urgently. "I've tried!"

"Oi!" Harry said loudly, just as Ron punched Richard with enough force to floor him. His Auror training had clearly prepared him well. Richard scrambled up immediately and launched several blows in Ron's direction. One caught him in the stomach and Ron reeled away, before swinging back with another sucker punch to the face, right below Richard's eye. Richard roared in pain; they came together in a sort of wrestle and fell to the ground as one.

"Oi!" Harry cried again, this time as loudly as he might on the quidditch pitch. There was still no response.

"Come on," said Harry to Fred. "We'll pull them apart."

"Do we have to?" Fred asked plaintively.

"Yes."

Bill and Charlie arrived at just that opportune moment and the four of them leapt into the fray, pulling the two brawlers apart. Both struggled manfully but were finally subdued. Twenty or so onlookers cheered and called for more drinks.

"Merlin's beard," swore Charlie.

"Tell me about it," said Bill. He sounded particularly put-out. "How are we going to explain this to Mum?"

"I think it's about time we went home," Charlie said, wiping his brow. "Fuck, I'm pissed. Fred, will you drag George away from that girl? We've had enough."

"I'm on it."

"I'm going to get you, you son-of-a-bitch!" yelled Ron.

"And I'm going to get her!" Richard retorted.

Harry winced as Ron tried to launch himself forward and instead caught Harry in the nose with his elbow. "Melin, watch it, Ginny'll kill me if I've got a black eye – in the wedding photos – Ron, leave off!"

It took a strong Calming Charm from Bill to bring both men to their senses. They fell into a sullen silence while the other Weasleys debated their next course of action.

"That wanker can't come home with us," Charlie said decidedly, jerking his head at Richard. "Ron wouldn't have a bar of it. We'll have to – I don't know, put him up in a hotel?"

Fred snorted. "With whose money? You're not going to throw mine away."

"If anybody should be in a hotel," George put in, "it's me. I've got a fit bird waiting for me as we speak."

"You can't go home with her anyway," Bill said sharply. "You've got to help set up tomorrow."

"Bill!"

"Cheer up lad, there'll be other girls."

"Hey," said Harry. He felt rather queasy and wanted to ask when they'd be going home. They didn't seem to hear him.

"Say we put him up in a hotel. Should we all go home at once?"

"I could go with Harry, you could go with Ron."

"Hey," he tried again.

"Or we could just take the Portkey together. It might be easier, less noise. And I'm worried about Ron on that thing, he's in a right state."

"Hey!"

They all turned to look at him and he promptly threw up.

That was the decider, really. Bill performed a Sobering Charm on Harry (which only half-worked – they were notoriously difficult to pull off), just to get him through the Portkey journey, as he seemed to be worse-off than the rest of them. It cured him of his nausea but left a throbbing headache that Bill promised would be gone by morning. George said goodbye to his lady friend. Charlie hung back to sort things with Richard.

Outside the Burrow's kitchen door, they spoke in exaggerated whispers. The sky was very starry. It was going to be a clear morning.

"Turning in twin?" Fred yawned. George shrugged grumpily. "Oh, don't sulk. At least you got something. I'll have to wait till Angelina arrives. Alright Harry, Ron?"

"Alright," Harry mumbled, rather embarrassed. "Thanks."

The twins looked at each other and then at Harry. "Shall we hug you?"

"Er, no."

"I think we should. George?"

"I think you're right."
They hugged him with painful force. "Your last night of freedom, and you spent it with us," Fred said once they'd released him. "Brings a tear to the eye."

They Apparated upstairs and Bill swore at the sound they made.

"If he wakes Fleur or Mum, I swear to Merlin – will you be OK if go in, Harry?"

"Sure."

"Ronnikins?" Bill punched his shoulder lightly. "Nice right hook you've got there."

Ron was stony-faced and Bill left with a shrug.

"You alright mate?" Harry asked, when they were alone.

"Just couldn't stand it anymore," Ron muttered.

"I know."

"Ruined your night."

"No, don't be stupid."

"I wanted – to do what you said, Harry, that day. Show him I wasn't afraid."

"Well you did that, mate." Harry laughed wryly and then put a hand to his throbbing head.

"Does it make a difference?" Ron looked at him with something like anxiety, something like bitterness.

"It's Hermione that makes the difference, Ron," said Harry. "Talk to her. Tell her."

They parted ways at the top of the stairs with yet another brotherly embrace. He'd been getting a few of those lately. Men seemed to feel the need to farewell him as though he were off to war.

Ginny was in bed. He changed as quietly as he could in the dark (with muttered protests and a kicked toe) and got under the covers beside her. It wasn't until she spoke that he realised she was awake.

"Have fun?"

She didn't turn over. He stroked her hair. "Um … it was alright."

There was a brief silence.

"Beautiful women throw themselves at you?"

Harry pushed her hair out the way to see the line of her cheek, and remembered the girl in the red dress. "One," he said finally, "but as soon as I told her I was going to be a dad, she ditched me."

"Is that so?" Ginny rolled to face him with a look that reminded him of her mother.

He cracked a little half-smile. "Pretty much. I was only thinking about you anyway."

She closed her eyes and sighed. He slid his hand over her waist, over the barely discernable bump in her belly, over her breasts, her soft long neck and strong shoulders. He thought how his head didn't hurt so much when he touched her, and he felt – he didn't know what. All he knew was that this was absolutely what he wanted – this, her, them, till the end.

"Tomorrow," he murmured.

Ginny opened her eyes. "You're late. It already is tomorrow."