She should have known the bubble would pop eventually. She just didn't expect it to happen so soon.

Life in Mallorca is beyond brilliant. So far she and Harry hiked, walked the beach, gone for a scuba dive, learned how to make seafood paella at a couples cooking class, and spent an inordinate amount of time in bed.

So really, Ginny should have expected this. And she did…sort of. She just didn't expect it to happen this way.

It all starts with an owl. A large, brown barn owl, to be exact. And a letter, not from Harry's work. But hers.

Somehow in all the planning for their trip, it had slipped her mind. Her contract renewal date was every May. It had never been a big deal before. She'd just read over the contract with her Dad or Hermione, sign it, and send it right back.

To Mrs. Ginevra Potter

We hope this correspondence finds you well. We are contacting you in regards to your yearly contract with the Holyhead Harpies.

The owl sent to dispatch your paperwork has returned with the contract unsigned. We were advised that you might be away on holiday, so we are writing to you in order to follow up on said contract.

We understand you may not have access to the floo network, and while this isn't typically how things are done, as a favour to Ms. Gwenog Jones, we are hoping you can advise us on how you would like to proceed.

All the best,

The Holyhead Harpies Headquarters

Her fingers crumple the edges of the parchment involuntarily. Shite. How could she have forgotten? Actually, scratch that. She knows how. She'd been indecisive about it to begin with, and Ginny's response to feeling unsure about something has always been to put it out of her mind and come back to it later.

And later has fucking arrived.

"Alright, love, you look a bit peaky?"

Harry is peering at her from across the table, his plate of eggs and toast untouched in front of him.

Ginny shakes her head slowly. She hasn't even talked to Harry about this yet. (She hasn't even talked to herself about this, if she's being honest.) Now here it is. Staring her right in the face.

"I forgot my contract for the Harpies was due."

He winces in sympathy, "Are they going to let you defer until you get back?"

Oh if only that were the only issue.

She heaves a sigh, "I'm not sure if that's what I want."

Harry's draw drop is comical.

She leans her elbows on the table, reality has officially seeped in. "I was going to talk to you about it. I've been feeling like this for a while. It's just-" she grasps for the right words to explain that she doesn't hate what she does, she loves it, she's just- "I'm tired. You know? It's starting to feel less like passion for the game and more like a chore. The stress before the matches, the training, the shitty press, time away from you. I never meant to do it forever. I just don't know if I'm ready to be done, or if I'm just worked up about it right now."

She drops her chin in her hand miserably. She can't help but feel like being a Chaser for the Harpies is who she is, and if she's being honest with herself, she's afraid the helpless, useless, unimportant feelings she had while everyone else was off fighting the war and she was stuck home will come back. As silly as it sounds she felt wanted in her own right when Gwenog scouted her. Not as Harry Potter's girlfriend or the youngest Weasley. Ginny can't go back to that version of herself. She can't. But she doesn't know who she is without this. And that scares her.

Some of what she's feeling must be showing in her expression, or maybe Harry really does just get it because he reaches across the table to hold her hand.

"Ginny, it's okay if you don't want to play anymore. You're an amazing chaser, but you don't have to keep being one professionally to be amazing at it. Just because you wanted to be on the Harpies the last couple of years doesn't mean you have to keep doing it."

She smiles weakly. Harry tugs on her hand until she gets up, let's him pull her into his arms. He looks up at her, the stubble on his chin poking through the material of her swimsuit.

"I love you, and I can't say I wouldn't love spending more time with you. But if you choose to stop, do it because you want that."

How does he do this? How does he know exactly what to say to make her feel like everything really is going to be okay? She brushes the fringe back from Harry's forehead, placing her lips there instead.

"I want to stop," she says finally, "I don't know what I'm going to do next, but I know I want to stop."

Harry's arms squeeze tighter around her waist, "Okay then, we'll figure it out."

She knows she should respond to the letter, but at this moment all she can bring herself to do is stay in Harry's arms, kissing him like her life depends on it.

She'll get to the letter later.

It's absolutely surreal sending off that letter. But the weightlessness she feels watching the owl fly away confirms in her mind that she's making the right decision.

They spend the greater part of the afternoon bouncing between lounging in the pool and on the lawn chairs. At this point Ginny has more freckles than she can count. She's wearing the sun hat Harry bought her, her nose in a book, and her feet up on the table when he says it.

"We should get married."

If she had been drinking from the glass of ice water perspiring beside her she would have choked. As it is she just about drops her book on the ground.

"What?"

Harry crosses his arms over the ledge of the pool, his chin resting on his arms. The grin on his face practically impish.

Ginny sniffs delicately, closing her book and placing it on the small table beside her. "Are you suggesting that we stop living in sin?"

Harry laughs, clearly enjoying that he's surprised her. "While I do enjoy living in sin with you. Yes, that is what I'm suggesting. Or rather asking." His eyebrows rise beneath his fringe. "If you'll have me?"

She leans forward in her chair, "Harry, do you mean to tell me this is your idea of a proposal?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "I'd get down on one knee but that doesn't really seem your speed."

It's her turn to laugh, but the thing is, he's right. It makes her stomach turn to even imagine that sort of display.

"Alright."

Harry's grin is impossibly wider. "Shall we find a court house?"

This time she chokes on her own spit, "My mother will absolutely castrate you."

They stare at each other. He's practically challenging her. She narrows her eyes. Fine.

"Let's do it."

So that's how they wind up at the courthouse. She's wearing a sundress, white, thank you very much. Harry's in the shirt she bought him yesterday and khakis. Compared to what they've worn prior on this trip, this is dressed up.

She's holding a couple of flowers Harry bought from a stand on their way there, and the rings in Harry's pocket he transfigured from a couple of sea shells they found on the beach yesterday.

It's absolutely perfect.

The look Harry gives her when they sign the papers confirms Mallorca was beautiful before she was a married woman, it's absolutely glorious now. She can't seem to stop herself from touching Harry, and by the way he keeps shooting her little smiles and touching her back, her arm, her shoulder, he can't either.

"So Mrs. Potter, any dinner plans?"

He's been doing an awful lot of that too. But her stomach flutters and her cheeks burn, so she can't quite bring herself to roll her eyes.

"My husband was supposed to make reservations. I don't suppose you know anything about that?"

Harry brushes her hair away from her shoulders, his hands resting on either side of her neck, and his thumbs tipping her chin up.

The sand beneath Ginny's feet is soft, the waves make the most relaxing sounds, but Harry's hands on her is really all she can feel right now. He drops a kiss on her lips. Her cheek. The curve of her jaw.

"Oh yes, that's right," he whispers in her ear.

She shivers, can't quite seem to stop her hands from clutching his wrists. Harry shifts, pushing her backwards onto the blanket, her elbows bracketing her head. Public snogging has never been on Ginny's list of acceptable behaviours, but sometimes in life you have to make exceptions.

Harry pulls back just when she's getting started. Sitting up and brushing sand from his arms.

"Well we better get going if we want to make it in time for those reservations."

She props herself on her elbows, scowling at him, "If I knew marrying you would make you insufferably smug I might have said no."

He pinches the side of her bum he can reach, "Tough luck. Pretty sure those vows said forever."

She shakes her head, "You're incorrigible."

The rest of their holiday speeds by in a whirlwind of swims, food, and well, honeymooning. All too soon they're trudging their way to their last designated portkey, a general feeling of dismay settling in.

Their flat is cosy and comforting at least. And it certainly beats the yanking of portkeys.

Harry makes for his office, but Ginny snags his hand before he can, "Don't. Not tonight. Let's just go to bed and pretend we're not home yet."

He's all too easy to convince.

They strip off their travelling clothes and slip into bed without much said between them. But once they're in bed it's like the trance has been released. Perhaps because the way Harry's holding her, they can both see their wedding rings in plain view.

"So should we take a vote on who tells mum?" She's joking. They'll have to do this together. Present a united front against the barrage that's coming.

Harry heaves a sigh, his chest rising and falling beneath her ear, "We could always just show up for lunch on Sunday and not say anything."

Ginny snorts, "And hope she doesn't notice the rings?"

"We'll make sure it's a picnic lunch, if we have to make a break for it we can run straight out of the wards and disapparate."

"I'll be sure to wear sensible shoes then."

They lapse into silence.

Then-

"She won't be too angry, she loves me."

Ginny rolls her eyes, "Yes, I'm very aware it's me she'll be blowing her lid at."

Harry chuckles, "She just has to say what she needs to say and then she'll crush us to death in a hug."

Ginny is well aware of her mum's need to bluster, doesn't mean she's in the mood to deal with it. How many days till Sunday? Ugh, only one. Why did they think it was a good idea to come home on a Friday?

"Still worth it?"

She looks up at Harry, pressing her lips to the underside of his chin, "Yes."

Ginny isn't sure when she drifts off, but when she wakes the sun is streaming in through the curtains they forgot to close last night, and she can hear Harry downstairs talking to someone.

She checks her watch, it's not even gone 9 o' clock. She can't imagine who he's talking to this early in the morning. Ginny stretches, peeling herself from the blankets and the warmth of their bed. Forgoing morning ablutions, she opts instead for her fluffy bathrobe, wrapping it tightly and cinching it at the waist before she heads for the stairs.

In the living room she finds Ron, Hermione and Harry, heads bent together in deep discussion.

"Forgot to invite me to the party?" She winces internally, that came out more pointed then she'd meant to. Harry stands from the armchair he's sitting in, arms extended.

"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you, we were just talking about Mallorca."

She moves toward him, but before she gets there Hermione grabs her around the wrist, yanking her hand up to eye level.

Hermione practically hisses. "What is this?"

Ginny looks at Harry who shrugs helplessly.

"It appears to be a ring," she says evasively. "Can't imagine how it got there. Harry, do you know?"

Ron is gaping between them like a guppy.

Harry drops back into the armchair, propping his feet up on the coffee table, "I seem to remember putting it there the day we got married."

Ginny looks back to Hermione whose face has taken on a look of utter shock, "Well, there you have it." She detaches herself from Hermione's grip so she can plop down in Harry's lap.

"Mum is going to have a field day with you too."

She narrows her eyes at him, "You're not saying a single word to her about this, Ronald, or else."

His expression is comical, "You can't possibly think you're keeping this a secret! Tomorrow's Sunday!"

"We're not going to keep it a secret, we just want to tell her ourselves." Harry smoothes a hand down her back, "And Hermione, you can stop looking at us like that, it's not like we set out to get married and didn't tell you, it was a spur of the moment thing."

Ginny makes a noise of protest in her throat. She'd rather it be described more as love unrequited, an act of wild abandon not a spur of the moment thing.

Hermione sits back down with a huff, "Well what are we supposed to think. You never talked to us about getting married, either of you."

A trickle of guilt seeps in, she and Hermione have always been close, and Ginny has always talked to her about Harry. Not to mention she's pretty sure the three of them don't have a single secret between them.

"Hermione, really, we didn't plan it. The timing was just right, and you know I wouldn't have wanted a fuss anyway," Harry soothes, "You guys got to have a small wedding and you still had to deal with reporters and gossip rags. Gin was a professional quidditch play and I'm- well, I'm me. We would have loved for you guys to be there."

Ginny doesn't think Harry's realised what he's just said, but she can see the gears in Hermione's head turning.

"Was? Don't you mean, is?" She eyes them shrewdly. "Ginny Weasley, are you pregnant?"

Ron chokes, Ginny rolls her eyes, and Harry knocks his head against the back of his chair.

Ginny sighs, "Hermione, no. I'm not pregnant. I would have told you if I was. I just recently decided I'm taking a break from the Harpies to see what else I want to do with my life."

Hermione sniffs but looks mollified, "I better be the first person you tell if you are. I can't believe you didn't tell me you were married."

That's likely the best they'll get, Ginny supposes, and she attempts to look contrite. Ron at least seems to have finally shaken off his shock, and he wraps an arm around Hermione's shoulders, pulling her back against him.

"It's alright, 'Mione. They were practically married anyway," he gives them a smug look, "Besides, mum is going to absolutely ream them tomorrow so don't waste your breath."

Harry groans, "For the first time in my life I can honestly say I'm not looking forward to seeing your family."

Ginny decides it's past time they change the subject, "What are you lot doing here anyway, it's Saturday, what possessed you to wake up at the crack of dawn and floo here?"

Ron snorts, "It's not that early, Gin."

"Hermione wanted to see if we were up for some brunch, I was just telling them you weren't up yet when you came down."

Suddenly Ginny is very hungry, it is almost 10 o' clock, she slides off of Harry's lap. "That's inspired, Hermione, I'll just get dressed, want to come with?"

Hermione extricates from Ron's arms, "Yes, I want to hear all about your trip!"

Upstairs Ginny goes straight to the loo to brush her teeth and her hair, and Hermione props herself on the chair right outside the closet.

"You know," Ginny calls out from the loo as she braids her hair, "It really was quite romantic. Harry can be so thoughtful and…tender."

She can hear Hermione giggling. She twists her braid around itself, pinning the bun into place. "He was, he practically swooped me off my feet our entire holiday, you and Ron ought to get away, the effect is mmm, magical."

She fixes her earrings, giving herself one last onceover before she exits the room. Her eyes look a little tired, but otherwise fine, she certainly doesn't feel like putting on any make up today.

"Oh I know Harry can be thoughtful, but I'd like to know what he said to get you to marry him on a whim. Don't you want a wedding and a dress and-"

Ginny scoots passed her to get into the closet, "Honestly if we hadn't done it this way I might have thought that, but Hermione," she sighs, clutching the dress she picked out to her chest, bits of her time in Mallorca flashing through her mind, "It was absolutely lovely."

Hermione leans forward in her chair to peer at Ginny, "It must have been, you seem completely besotted. Maybe Ron and I should go away, we've barely seen each other these last two weeks, we've both been so busy," she muses.

Ginny yanks her dress over her head, "I highly recommend it. And, I'll have to burn the images from my mind just saying this, but go shopping before you go."

Hermione frowns in confusion.

Ginny raises her eyebrows, "Shopping, Hermione. Y'know? For some new delicates." She can feel herself turning pink. She's not dear by any means, but talking to Hermione about wearing skimpy swimsuits and lingerie for her brother's benefit is a bit beyond.

Hermione's eyes alight with understanding, "Ahhhh, I see now why Harry was down on one knee."

They both giggle in a way Ginny will never admit to, but when they calm down Ginny grasps Hermione's hand in compulsion.

"It was…" She stares unseeing, her mind drifting back to white sheets and countertops. The way Harry's waist feels when her legs are wrapped around him.

Hermione tugs her hand away, "Are you sure you want breakfast, you rather look like you and Harry need some privacy," she teases.

Ginny flushes, "Let's just say I won't need any fodder for the imagination for a while."

"I believe you."

They troop back down the stairs.