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It wasn’t as if they’d never slept together. They’d certainly done that. There had been the awkward post-Australia late-night bed-switching in the Burrow after Mr and Mrs Weasley had gone to sleep (Trust me, Hermione wants to be upstairs just as much as you want to be down here). Then there had been the wee-hours crashing at each others’ flats once Ginny had moved to Hollyhead and Harry and Ron had finally moved into their own place (you’re too drunk for the floo, love, just go back before practice tomorrow, there’s a free breakfast in it for you). And of course, there were the times when they just made it home in time before throwing themselves in the direction of the bed and staying there until the next morning despite Ron’s pointed coughs as he came back later that evening.
But this, this was different. This was their bed. In their flat. And although Ginny might have wanted it, might have known it was just a matter of time before Ron and Hermione sat them down firmly and bullied them into getting their own place (it’s not that I don’t like you here, but if I find my sister and my best friend shagging on the kitchen table one more time, I’m going to set my eyes on fire.) it was different once it had finally happened. She was thrilled to be living with Harry, thrilled to be one step closer to spending the rest of their lives together. But the bed, covered in the quilt her mum had made her when she was six, made the rest of her life seem a lot closer than it had ever been before. She stood in the doorway to their bedroom (not just hers anymore, but theirs, such an alien concept) , staring at it, and ignoring the unpacked moving boxes in the corner. Of course, Harry being Harry, had no such trepidation.
“There’s either a mouse or a ghoul in the bathroom cupboard, and I call not being the one to find out which,” said Harry, coming up behind her. His hair was messier than usual (he had run his hand through it almost non-stop throughout the afternoon as they moved the boxes), and he had a suspicious amount of water down the front of his t-shirt. He caught Ginny looking at it and gave her a sheepish grin.
“The bathroom sink is more enthusiastic than I’m used to,” he said. Ginny smirked at him.
“You don’t need an excuse to take your shirt off you know,” she told him. “I don’t mind.”
“I guess Ron’s not here to scoff anymore,” he said, pulling the offending shirt over his head and knocking his glasses slightly askew. “I guess I’m all yours,” he added. Ginny laughed and reached for his hands.
“Now why would you ruin my ideas of you shirtless with an image of Ronniekins?” she asked, pulling him towards her. Harry wrapped his hands around her waist enthusiastically and leaned down, resting his forehead against hers.
“I’m sure if you lose your top too, we’ll forget about him pretty quickly,” he said. She pushed up on her toes to kiss him.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, once they’d broken apart. Harry hummed as he began to kiss her neck. Ginny’s eyes fell on their bed again. The quilt looked eerily like the one in her parents’ room. Her married parents. Her parents who had had seven children. Children. Ginny shook her head slightly, but couldn’t get the image of a wailing baby out of her head. Harry straightened up.
“You all right?” he asked, running one hand across her ribcage as he buried his other hand in her hair.
“Er-yeah,” said Ginny, looking up into his eyes. He was very flushed. She skimmed her hands up his chest. Harry leaned in for another (jaw-dropping, heart-stopping) kiss, but she couldn’t quite concentrate. Not in the usual, nice way. Harry’s lips made their way to the spot on her neck that usually made her knees shake. Yet all she could think of now were little Weasleys. And not in a good way.
“What side of the bed do you want?” asked Ginny. Her voice was oddly shrill. The photograph of Teddy as a baby that Harry had carefully placed on one of the bedside tables seemed to be mocking her. Harry straightened again, now looking incredibly confused.
“I...I don’t really care, honestly,” he said. “Wait, is this going to be like one of those weird conversations that Ron and Hermione have? Because I’m telling you now, I’m really not in the right frame of mind-”
“No, I’m not testing you,”said Ginny, breaking away and sinking onto the edge of the dreaded bed.
“Okay,” said Harry, sounding more confused than ever. He padded over in his slippered feet and sat next to her. Ginny rested her head against his shoulder.
“I’m a little overwhelmed,” she told him. “I was so excited to move into our own flat together and now that it’s happened, all I can think about is the fact that we’re grown-ups now. We’ve got furniture, and vegetables, and actual glasses to drink from instead of just mugs-”
“Hang on a second,” said Harry. “I know for a fact that we haven’t got any vegetables. Only Butterbeer and crisps.” Ginny looked up. He was staring down at her, looking amused. This did nothing for her already frayed temper. He seemed to sense this though and put a calming arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t shout,” he told her. “It’d ruin our calm and stress-free moving day experience.”
He had shouted at Ron and George for various pranks at least six times that day, but Ginny let that slide because Harry was rubbing her back soothingly. It was hard to be too angry when he did that.
“I’m just afraid that we’re going to be pressured into getting married now, and settling down and...well, I’m not entirely sure what else. But I’m worried about it anyways.”
Harry didn’t laugh at her, but judging by his expression, it was a near thing.
“There’s not a doubt in my mind that you won’t be settled even if we have a million children,” he told her. “It doesn’t matter if we’re twenty or seventy-three, I know you’ll be up for a midnight Quidditch game, or you’ll be ready to prank Percy, or you’ll have some other mad idea that I’ll be thrilled to go along with. That’s why I’m crazy about you.”
Ginny, still not feeling quite herself but ready to make the most of it, snuggled deeper into Harry’s arms.
“And marriage and babies?” she asked. Harry laughed.
“Gin, you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. There’s no way you’re going to be pressured into any of that stuff,” he said, tightening his grip around her shoulders. “But I know, when you’re ready for your mum to go crazy into wedding planning, and then even crazier about little booties and nappies and other baby nonsense, you’ll tell me. We’ll figure it out. We’re a team, you and me. Even closer than you and all your insane Harpies teammates. I’d never push you into doing something you didn’t want to do.”
“I know,” said Ginny. She pulled back and smiled up at him. “Aren’t you nervous about that stuff?” she asked him. Harry seemed to think for a moment, then shook his head. A serious expression crossed his face.
“Before-” he said, slowly, “before Riddle’s death, I thought I would die.”
A shiver ran through Ginny. Although she had assumed that Harry had thought this, he’d never said it aloud. He seemed to realize this, however, and began to rub her back again.
“I didn’t want to die,” he said, quickly. “Only I thought it was going to have to happen no matter what. And I suppose I was right, in a way.” A sad look flitted across his face, but it was gone quickly. “Anyways, when he was defeated, I realized that I had a whole lifetime of things that I could do now.
“One of my first thoughts, after, was that I could have years with you.” Ginny nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist and taking comfort in the rise and fall of his breath. He had told her this in the weeks after the War.
“You have me,” she told him, looking into his bright eyes. “You know you’ve got me forever.” Harry smiled at her softly.
“I know,” he told her, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “And that’s why I don’t care about the other stuff. I’d love to marry you, and have kids with you, and get old playing Quidditch with you. But I’ve got all the time in the world with you now. So it doesn’t matter if that happens next week or in twenty years. It’s all up to you.”
Ginny smiled at him again. Babies and parents and adulthood aside, this was Harry. And he was everything she would ever need.
“I love you,” she said. He tilted her chin up and kissed her again.
“I love you more,” he told her. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world to have you. And a lot of really lucky things have happened to me.” Ginny grinned at him, then pushed him back onto the bed.
“You’re right,” she told him, kissing him again. “You are really lucky. Now which side is yours? We ought to break this mattress in properly.”