Ginny didn't think she'd ever seen Harry so...content.

The last month, he'd alternated between ridiculously enthusiastic and barely hidden strain, like fabric about to fray. The night they'd spent together he'd been extremely focused on what he was doing, as though trying to forget everything else. And before that, the last she'd seen more than glimpses of him at family functions had been before she'd started dating that man, four years ago–Harry had been an absolute wreck then, barely sleeping for night terrors and anxious and irritable during the day. Ginny honestly didn't know how Neville had put up with him in those years after school. She knew now that he had been experiencing almost the same sort of extreme mental trauma that newly-made ghosts did, but at the time had lost patience very quickly at his outbursts and paranoia. But Neville had been there, and obviously in the intervening years, while she had been involved with her own personal He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he had managed to tame the darkness that had threatened to change Harry into someone unrecognizable.

And now, as he placed a tin of ginger biscuits in the middle of the smaller of the two kitchen tables around which they were gathered, he exuded an aura of calmness, of control, of a quiet happiness. His hand was steady and warm when he squeezed her shoulder as he sat down. He exchanged a smile with Neville that could have melted the ice forming on the windowpanes as he scooted his chair closer to the table. Was this the Harry that Neville had always seen? The Harry that had always been hidden behind the stressed and strained exterior? If it was, it was very clear to her how Neville could have fallen so hard for him, and found him so hard to give up.

"All right," Neville said, now that Harry had sat down. His mouth twisted slightly, his brows furrowing, as though he didn't know how to continue. He looked to Harry, who shrugged.

Obviously, if anything was going to get done tonight, she'd have to give the conversation some momentum. There was only so much shrugging that she would put up with. Boys were bad at words. "You mentioned something in your letter about a 'mad sort of three-way family,' Neville," she said.

"Yes," Neville said. He licked his lips, a habit that had always driven one of her school friends to distraction. She'd been quite devastated at the revelation that Neville preferred male company. "It...took me a while to come to terms with everything. But Harry, I still love you." Ginny's heart warmed slightly at the expression Neville directed at Harry with those words. "And it's clear that if I want you back, I'm going to have to...get over..." he made a face. "I rehearsed this all yesterday, I swear," he said, looking down at the table with his cheeks flushing.

Harry reached over and took Neville's hand, obviously biting back fond laughter. Ginny smirked inwardly. This conversation was really just a formality. They were already back together, even if they weren't aware of it yet.

"Any relationship we have is going to have to include some special provisions for you," Neville said finally, turning his gaze to Ginny. She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"I can't just treat you as 'the other woman,'" Neville said, returning his eyes to the table, glancing up every so often. "I could maybe get away with it if you and Harry weren't having a son. But you are. You're always going to be around. Harry's always going to have that bond with you, which is something I'll never have. I can't just sit in a corner and silently resent you for eighteen years. That's like drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die."

"I'll stay out of your way," Ginny said quickly, an odd feeling settling at the bottom of her stomach that had nothing to do with the child growing there and everything to do with the guilt she still felt. She knew she didn't belong at this table, in Harry's house–Harry's and Neville's house, rather. She felt like an intruder on this entire conversation, with Harry holding Neville's hand and the tension of found-again lovers crackling between them almost visibly.

Neville shook his head. "That's no good either. That's splitting Harry between two lives, and really doesn't change the whole 'other woman' thing." He took a deep breath. "And I don't think you want to have to feel like you're 'sharing' him either. And we wouldn't be, not really. He's going to be playing two totally different roles. But...god, I don't even know what I'm trying to say anymore." He placed one hand over his eyes, rested his forehead on it.

"I think what he's trying to say, and failing miserably," Harry said, stepping to Neville's rescue, "is that for us–" he gestured between the two of them–"to work, we all need to work. We all have to get along. We basically have to be a family."

"Yes. That." Neville said.

"Don't use forty words when four will do, love," Harry said with an impish grin.

"Shut it," Neville said offhandedly. He let out a great sigh. "I'm still trying to forgive you," he said bluntly, looking at Ginny for a fleeting moment. "It's...difficult. It's an interesting lesson in humility. But we were friends, once. I think we could be again. Probably closer friends than we were in school." He made a noise that was almost a laugh. "We'd better be. You're having Harry's kid."

Ginny smiled faintly. "So what exactly are you asking me to do that I wasn't going to do already?"

"Be available," Harry said promptly. "Don't do this whole 'shutting yourself away because you're independent' thing that you've been doing for weeks. You've proven it, you can take care of yourself. It's admirable, but now..."

Ginny understood. "Now things are different. Now there's a baby that needs a father. And a godfather."

Neville blinked.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Oh, please. Like we'd ask anyone else." She waved her hand before replacing it on her middle, where it tended to automatically go whenever she wanted to rest it somewhere. It was a bit like having pockets.

"Well, no," Harry admitted, glancing at Neville, "But we've not even discussed what we're calling him yet, let alone who godparents will be."

"James," Ginny said decisively. "As you won't condone naming him Harry, we'll use your middle name." She reached out and grabbed a biscuit to nibble to cover her sudden shyness. Now that she'd put the name forward, she hoped against hope he wouldn't reject it. Much as she made quite clear the fact that she did not want to marry him, she did feel a very strong urge to have some obvious connection as to who the boy's father was. She was not entirely certain how surnames were going to work yet.

To her very great surprise, Harry reached out and placed his hand on her stomach. "Is that your name, then?" he asked the general area of her navel. Neville shifted somewhat uncomfortably. Suddenly it seemed as though roles had been switched; she and Harry were the intimate ones, excluding Neville. She saw immediately what he had been trying to grope for words for earlier; if they did not all become close, and quickly, things were bound to become very painful for all of them. Harry would get the lion's share, caught in the middle as he was.

Still, no reason why she couldn't dig her heels in somewhat. "I expect you'll be wanting me to move in?" she asked in an offhand manner as she brushed biscuit crumbs off her hands.

Neville and Harry shared a quick look as Harry sat back up, taking his hand off her belly. It was clear the subject had come up between them; possibly before she had gotten there that evening. More likely during pillow talk last night, if she didn't miss her guess. "I don't know," Harry said slowly. "We haven't talked about whether we're..."

"We haven't even figured out if we're actually getting back together yet," Neville interrupted, trying to sound firm but really sounding more uncertain and lost. Ginny snorted.

"You already are. Don't deny it, I've never seen a couple so touchy-feely that hasn't just recently had make-up sex. You can't keep your hands off each other, let alone your eyes." She knew she'd deduced correctly when Harry's cheeks colored faintly, and Neville coughed. "Everything else is just hammering out the details."

"When the details involve me deciding if this is something I can do, they're pretty bloody big details," Neville insisted. "I don't–"

"You do know, or you wouldn't be here," Ginny interjected. "You know you want to try. So let's try. There are some things that you can't just think your way through, and this is one of them." She narrowed her eyes then as she saw a slight stubborn line form between his eyebrows. "Harry, could Neville and I talk alone for a moment?"

Harry looked taken aback. "Um. Sure." He pushed back his chair and left the kitchen, looking over his shoulder quizzically at them as he exited the room.

Ginny took a deep breath and slid into the seat next to Neville that Harry had just vacated. She felt butterflies in her stomach that she resolutely pushed to the side. "You and I have issues. And they're going to be a problem if we don't air them out right now."

"I don't have issues, I just don't know if I can do this," Neville said plaintively. "It's a bit of a tall order, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," Ginny agreed. "And it's hard because you have issues. Some of them are the same as I've got–jealousy being a big one. Some, only you've got, and you've a right to them: trust, mostly. You don't trust me, you don't trust Harry, and I understand that. Harry's going to have to earn the trust back, and I reckon he's already gotten a good start. But." She reached out and lifted Neville's chin so he would stop looking at the bloody table. He was such a sweet man, but you could swear he was being charged by the minute for eye contact. "Jealousy and trust issues between us can only get ugly."

"I know," Neville said, leaning back to escape Ginny's hand. "That's why I don't know if I can do this. Haven't you been listening?"

"And haven't you been listening to me?" Ginny returned. "We can't afford to have these issues, not and be able to make sure Harry doesn't go completely starkers. Would you look at me when I'm talking to you!" Neville's eyes snapped back up from the table, startled. "We aren't fighting over him. We're already getting exactly what we need from him. And he's more than happy to give it, to both of us. Part of our issue is that we feel like we shouldn't trust one another, we feel like we should be jealous. But you said it earlier, we're not sharing him. He's not a finite resource. Neither of us gets less because one is getting something. He's got plenty of affection of all kinds to give." Maybe he didn't make eye contact because he knew how intense his gaze could be. She felt a bit like shivering as he furrowed his brow, obviously thinking about what she'd just said.

"So it's as easy as deciding that I shouldn't be jealous, then?" Neville asked, somewhat sardonically.

"Of course it isn't. But making that decision is the first step." She sighed, a bit sadly. The butterflies swept through her stomach again, for no real reason this time. "It's not going to be easy. We can be logical all we want, but life is never logical. Still, the only way we can muddle through is to just start muddling." She reached out tentatively to put her hand on Neville's shoulder. "It's in our best interests to make Harry as happy as we possibly can, isn't it?"

"You could say that," Neville admitted.

"Then I say we go ahead and muddle for all we're worth." Again, those damn butterflies–

Her eyes widened suddenly. "Oh!" she said, her hand flying to her stomach.

"What?" Neville asked, his brows knitting together in concern now rather than contemplation.

"The baby," she said, looking down in amazement. "He's...kicking." She reached out and grabbed Neville's hand, placed it on her stomach without even thinking. "Feel it, right there?" She ignored his look of awkward surprise–too late now to do anything about it.

"...No." He tried to take his hand away, but she held it there.

"Well, he's stopped now, but–right there!" She laughed delightedly. "Harry!" she called, hoping he hadn't wandered upstairs. "Come quickly!"

"I felt it that time," Neville said, an awed note to his voice. Totally unprompted, he looked into Ginny's eyes with amazement. Harry burst into the kitchen.

"What is it?"

"The baby is kicking," Ginny announced, "First time I've really felt it. Come here."

Harry did not have to be told twice. He knelt in front of Ginny's chair, reached out.

"Here–just here–" Neville moved his hand so Harry could place his. There was a moment of tense waiting, and then...

"That feels so bizarre," Harry said, an exuberant smile lighting up his face.

"Try having it inside," Ginny responded. "It feels like I've swallowed a chocolate frog whole before it's stopped jumping." She laughed. "And here I just thought I was having nervous butterflies. I may have been feeling strange lately, but that definitely wasn't like me."

"Strange?" Harry asked, looking up. "Strange how?"

"Nothing to worry about," she said with a smile. "The other day I forgot the word for 'shoe.' And yesterday I swear I lost an entire hour of my day, just after I sent poor Melinda to you. Mum says it's normal, she was so forgetful when she was pregnant that she'd put the tea towels in the oven. That's why I never sent Neville that owl, see–I'd forgotten that I was supposed to."

"You forgot the word for shoe?" Neville asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Couldn't have told you what it was to save my life," Ginny answered in an amused tone. "And I'm in the office alone most of the time, I couldn't even ask anyone what the word was. I'm almost scared that if I do, someone will give me a totally different word just to take the mickey out of me."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Neville said with a completely straight face.

"You would and you know it," Ginny said, swatting him.

Harry watched their banter, a bemused expression on his face. "I take it you two made up, then?" he asked.

That brought Ginny up short, and she looked at Neville with a faint feeling of surprise that was reflected on his own face. Somewhere in the last few minutes, a barrier had fallen, at least for her; instead of a slightly hostile, possessive man, she saw the Neville she had known from school sitting across from her–older, certainly, but the same Neville who had rescued her from various punishments from the Carrows at the expense of himself, who had cracked jokes with her in the Room of Requirement when she was too proud to admit she was scared, had insisted she eat the food he'd managed to steal from the kitchens instead of him. Something in his eyes–and, yes, those ridiculously expressive eyebrows of his–said that he was recalling that same bond they'd had, those many years ago. Suddenly it could have been the Gryffindor common room they were sitting in at the beginning of that last year, and not the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, and Neville telling her quite seriously that he'd do whatever it took to protect her.

Neville cleared his throat. "We're muddling," he said to Harry, with a hint of a smile in his eyes as he glanced at Ginny. Ginny hid a smile behind her hand.

"Muddling," Harry said, completely nonplussed.

"Nothing for you to worry about, dear," Ginny said, ruffling his hair. The baby kicked again.

"Atta boy, James," Harry said, a little shyly. He looked up. "I like it. It seems to suit him."

"Then James it is," Ginny said, giving a little satisfied sigh as she settled back into her chair. "Only took sixteen weeks to come up with it."

"Be fair," Harry said. "For, what, twelve of them we didn't know he existed."

"I did," Ginny pointed out. "Or I suspected. I'd known for a good four or five weeks before I told you, I just had no idea how best to bring it up."

"Has it really been sixteen weeks?" Neville asked, and Ginny could tell he was itching to count on his fingers.

"They use special math when they figure out these things," Ginny said soothingly. "Close enough, though."

"Well, then," Neville said. He stood up, pulled Harry to his feet, and held Harry at arm's length. "Harry, it's been sixteen weeks–or close enough–since we made some of the stupidest mistakes of our lives. Do you want to learn from those mistakes with me? And keep making more mistakes with me, hopefully of the less stupid variety? For, say, the foreseeable future?"

Ginny had to hold back laughter as Harry actually giggled. It was possibly the most adorable thing she'd ever seen.

"Do you even have to ask?" Harry replied, his smile doing more to light up the kitchen than the lamps on the walls.

"It's the polite thing to do," Neville said. "If you'd prefer, though–" he brushed Harry's hair out of his eyes, then leaned down to kiss him.

It looked like one hell of a kiss. Ginny averted her eyes with a small smile, purposefully crushing the tiny sprout of jealousy beneath a giant imaginary boot heel. She looked up when the movement at the corner of her eye indicated that they'd parted.

"Ah," Harry said as he noticed Ginny was still there.

Ginny knew her cue. She rose from her chair, kissed Harry and Neville both on the cheeks–she had to go up on her tiptoes for Neville, blimey, he was tall–and said, "Carry on, boys. I know where the fireplace is."

They had left the kitchen by the time she threw the Floo powder into the grate, and with a flick of her wand, she put out the lamps in the kitchen before departing. Boys never remembered that sort of thing, and besides, they seemed distracted.

It wasn't until she had tucked herself into bed in her flat–which suddenly seemed very lonely and empty–that she let out a little sigh. She didn't begrudge Harry and Neville their happiness, not one iota, and she certainly didn't blame little James, sitting warm and snug beneath her heart. But she knew, quite definitely, that if things progressed the way they had begun tonight, it would be a very long time before she would be kissed like that again.

Maybe she would move in with them. If they offered, and wanted her to. The more she thought about it, the more it gave her a little warm glow in her middle, the thought of them being a little family. Unconventional, certainly, but it was a pleasing thought nonetheless.

She smiled to herself and turned over, closing her eyes. Hopefully she'd dream about something other than catching rabbits tonight; it had been a particularly odd and unsettling dream last night, and she'd not felt rested all day because of it. Luckily today had not been a busy one at the office–in fact, it had been so boring that she couldn't even remember what she'd done to pass the time. Paperwork, most likely.

James kicked once more as she drifted off. The next battle, she decided, her last coherent thought before sleep found her, would be his middle name.