The Power of Rationality

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; all of this belongs to Jo Rowling and the moviemakers at Warner Brother's Studios.

AN: This is just a little something I wrote during the course of a few days. The scene headings are philosophical terms from Aristotle and (loosely) Plato. I love constructive feedback, so please feel free to leave a comment or a review.

i. a priori

The windows and French doors to Shell Cottage were open to the afternoon sea breeze and the tea set that Fleur had brought out to the scrubbed table in the back yard reflected little prisms of light onto the rich, green grass. Four-year-old Teddy Lupin held an oversized seashell to his ear, listening intently. His normally turquoise hair shifted to midnight blue the harder he concentrated, and Ginny hid her laughter by chuckling into her napkin.

"He's such a sweetheart," Ginny stage-whispered to her sister-in-law. "He makes me wish I had a baby of my own."

"Really?" Fleur asked, a glint of excitement in her clear blue eyes. "'ave you and 'arry been theenking about it?"

Realizing the actual attainability of that particular goal, she backtracked. "No, not now, anyway. We're not even engaged, and we're both gone so often for work."

But the knowing smile that she flashed her more than pique Ginny's interest. Fleur was due for her second child soon, and it seemed like all of her brothers had been getting married and engaged in a gaggle of ceremonies. Truthfully, Harry hadn't mentioned starting a family with her, but anyone who'd seen them together in the last three years had noticed the potential.

Ginny took a sip from her teacup, watching little Victorie toddle over to her playmate, wishing that Teddy would change his hair to the unruly black he sometimes adopted and give himself the smattering of freckles she'd had since childhood. Usually, after Teddy spent the day with Harry and herself, they would bring him back to Andromeda looking like he was one of their own children. Seeing him that way has always made her secretly very curious about the future.

ii. the law of identity

"Move in with me," Harry said, his lips on her neck. Her eyes rapidly fluttered open, and she asked him to repeat himself.

"I said, 'move in with me,'" he chuckled, sliding his arm around her waist beneath the soft sheets and duvet.

They were in his bed at Grimmauld Place. When Harry had started working as an auror he'd fixed up the aging townhouse, insisting that it was stupid to get a flat in London when he already had property in the city. Ron had lived with him during their first few years of training but when he and Hermione had gotten married they had moved in together, leaving Harry alone for the first time in his life.

Increasingly, though, she was staying with him more nights than not, and having separate residences seemed a bit silly, if she thought about it objectively. But there was the matter of her parents, or, more specifically, her mother. Not a single one of her brothers had lived with their girlfriends before they'd gotten married, a precedent that she'd initially planned to follow. However, now that he mentioned it . . .

"Move in with you?" she asked, turning the idea over in her mind like a new, shinny galleon. She bit her lip in thought.

"Are you hard of hearing?" he joked, running the edge of his knuckles over her cheek. "I mean, it's not that unusual for younger people to do."

"No, it's not," she admitted, thinking hard. Right now, in bed with her naked boyfriend after shagging, the idea seemed quite tempting indeed. But Ginny had some idea of how she'd feel once she got up in the morning and addressed it in the light of day.

Move in with Harry, she thought, getting herself used to the idea. In truth, it probably wasn't a bad move. They both spent countless nights out of town—she had to travel for away games at least twice a month, and Harry could get called to leave the country at a moments notice, and sometimes was—so living together would give them more opportunity to see each other when they had the chance. Plus, it would mean a more solid level of commitment from her sometimes-elusive boyfriend.

"I'll think about it," she promised. Defensively, she felt the beginnings of a smile curling across his lips. "What are you smiling about?" Ginny asked hotly.

"You'll think, will you?" he asked, smirking. "There anything I can do to persuade your thoughts?"

She elbowed his ribs, "Don't even start, you cheeky little—"

Harry laughed from deep in his chest and rolled her over so she was facing him in the bed, his right hand creeping beneath her waist.

"You know you'd like it," he teased, his long fingers pressing into the heat between her legs. "Say it, you miss me when we can't see each other, and that wouldn't happen as often if you lived here."

Her eyelids fluttered closed and he took that as a sign to continue. "But I can't just always give in," she hissed. "I'm a Gryffindor. I'm supposed to be brave and determined enough to make my own decisions."

"Yes, brave enough to face your mother when she finds out and goes off about pre-marital sex," he chided, slowly kissing her chest, stopping to take her nipple in his mouth. She keened softly at the unexpected stimulation.

"What does your Gryffindor courage say to that?" he murmured, teasing her right breast with his calloused fingers.

But Ginny was too trapped in the feeling of his lips on her to form a good counter-argument. "It says that you should stop fooling around and get to work," she moaned, arching her hips against his.

Again he laughed, hovering over her, more than happy to oblige.

iii. the law of non-contradiction

A soft pop from the parlor reached Ginny's ears as she pulled two plates from the cupboard. "Hermione?" she called, following the sound into the hallway.

"Sorry I'm late," her friend amended, removing her kaki trench coat and hanging it up by the front door. "I got held up on some Goblin legislation and only just escaped."

She chuckled and tucked her wand behind her ear Luna-fashion. "It's alright. The shepard's pie is nearly done, so you got here just in time."

The smell of warm food wafted out of the kitchen and Hermione was strongly reminded of dinners at the Burrow. She wasn't much of a cook herself, although she had been trying quite a few inventive dishes recently, but Ginny had spent years helping her mother in the kitchen and had a knack for coming up with her own recipes.

"Why did you never try for an N.E.W.T. in potions?" Hermione asked, observing her friend from the doorway. Judging from her outfit, it looked as if she'd just come from practice with the Harpies, if her sweat pants and Quidditch T-shirt were any indication.

Ginny made a face as she poured two cups of tea. "Because I'm complete rubbish at the subject. Cooking is nothing like potions. In cooking, you can add a little bit of just about anything, even if it's the wrong ingredient, and you can still have the food come out alright. But in potions, add even one drop of the wrong stuff and BOOM—it blows up in your face," she gestured.

"I suppose you're right. I think that's why I'm such a bland cook. I always follow the recipe exactly," she observed. "Most nights Ron and I go out, unless your parents have invited us over."

The subject of domesticity had been on Ginny's mind nearly all day, and at her sister-in-law's mention of living with a man her thoughts immediately returned to Harry's offer from the night before. She deposited portions of the steaming meal onto her plate as well as Hermione's, bewitching the dinner, teacups, and cutlery to land softly on the table.

"Where's Ron tonight?" Ginny asked.

Hermione swallowed her tea before answering. "With his mentor in Flamouth investigating a funny broomstick accident. I think it's just precautionary, but they were asked to take a look. He won't be getting home for another couple of hours."

Blowing on her forkful of shepard's pie, she frowned, thinking about her cozy little flat that she'd only lived in for some two years. "Hermione," she ventured, lowering her fork. "How did you know you were ready to . . . move forward in your relationship with Ron?"

The curly haired witch nearly choked on her dinner. "Ginny!" she exclaimed. "Has, has Harry asked you—?"

Ginny's brown eyes widened. "No! At least, he hasn't asked me to marry him or anything. Actually, he asked if I wanted to move in with him, but I haven't given him an answer."

This did little to curb her friend's excitement. "But that's a big step in a relationship, especially with someone as non-committal as Harry. He can be so private. But what's your answer?"

Biting her lip, she said, "I'm not sure. I'll be the only person in my family to have lived with someone before getting married, for one, and the moment my mother hears of it she'll go spane. Two, I've only been out of school for three years. This is the first time I've lived alone in my entire life and . . and what if it doesn't work? What if I move in and we get completely sick of each other?"

Seeing her worried look, Hermione primly folded her napkin and set her mouth in a focused line. "Well, you've just got to think of it logically," she began. "I understand you wanting some independence after living at the Burrow with six brothers, but I think your mum would understand if you made the decision to live with Harry, or at least she'd be more understanding than you'd think. Your family trusts him a great deal, and it's not as if he's some bloke you picked up off the street, they know him rather well. Secondly, I seriously doubt that the two of you will get sick of living with one another. You're both gone quite often as it is, and when you're in the same place you're nearly inseparable, so I honestly don't see how it would be different if you were living in the same house."

Ginny's frown had lessened the more her friend talked. "I suppose. I think it's just the change I'm worried about. I'm so happy now and I'm worried that if I make any kind of decision it'll all turn out wrong and it'll be my fault."

She shook her head. "It's not an exact science, Ginny. There's not a list of instructions for the perfect relationship."

Pushing her food around on her plate, she thought about the steadily decreasing amount of time she spent at her own flat, a trend that had started at least six months ago. Would it really be that different to live with Harry?

It would be wonderful, she knew, but what would happen when they each wanted time to themselves? However, Grimmauld Place was a rather large house, big enough for a Weasley-sized family, let alone just two people and a house elf. In fact, there were weekends when she'd spend hours over there reading or knitting while Harry studied for his tests at the Auror Academy, afternoons when they left each other to do things separately. It could work, Ginny reasoned. She'd just have to pluck up the courage to go through with it.

"You're right," she said. "I know you're right. I'm just far more cowardly than I'd like to think."

"Don't say that," Hermione chided. "You're being completely reasonable in thinking this through. I wouldn't say it's cowardly at all."

Ginny returned to what was left of her cooling dinner, studying the picture of herself, Harry, and Teddy that she'd placed on the kitchen counter. In the photograph she was smiling and holding the then two-year-old boy underneath his arms, the three of them laughing at something. They looked like a real family to her, a man and woman with a small, dark-haired child. The image struck a cord in her and she decided to pay a little visit later in the evening.

iv. the law of the excluded middle

Upon entering the front hallway of Grimmauld Place, Ginny noticed that the majority of the lights in the house were turned off. She reached out and adjusted the old gas lamps, causing them to flicker to life. Harry had painstakingly redone nearly the entire place, transforming it from barely habitable to somewhat pleasant in a matter of months.

Most of the old Black memorabilia had been thrown out, but a few things had been saved, namely the majority of Sirius' former possessions. Harry stayed in his godfather's old bedroom and most nights that she kept him company Ginny was unavoidably reminded of Sirius, usually entertaining the thought that he would certainly have approved of their current use for his former bedroom. Namely, shagging.

"Mistress Weasley," a croaking voice sounded. She turned and looked down at Kreature, his small back forming a deep bow. "Will the Mistress be requiring any dinner, or tea? Master Potter has not arrived home."

Kreature had begun addressing her as "Mistress" only recently, to her chagrin. Ron had nearly had kittens when he saw it for himself, reminding Ginny that the term had previously been reserved for Mistress Black alone.

"No, thank you, Kreature. I'll just be upstairs. Do you have any idea when Harry will be home?"

The elf blinked and straightened his tea towel. "Master Potter will be home upon the hour. However, Kreature may fetch him if Mistress wishes."

"That won't be necessary, Kreature. But thank you for the offer."

"Kreature is dismissed?" he asked, looking toward the silver he'd been polishing in the dining room.

"Yes. You may carry on," Ginny said. It had been very odd for her to give orders to a house elf in the beginning, but she had gotten used to her elected position, much to Hermione's disapproval.

She climbed the single flight of stairs to Sirius' old bedroom, pulling her hair loose from the knot she'd worn it in all day as she did so. Ginny closed the door behind her and stripped down to her Harpies T-shirt and pale blue knickers, climbing into the inviting Queen-sized bed that she'd shared with Harry on countless occasions. She sank into the pillows and pulled the blankets up to her chest.

v. a posteriori

"Hey," a voice whispered, warm hands encircling her waist beneath the covers. "I wasn't expecting you, was I?"

She must've fallen asleep rather quickly, Ginny decided, because the clock on the nightstand hadn't moved very much since she'd drifted off earlier. Stretching, she answered, "No, but I wanted to talk to you about something."

It was hard to focus on what her original point had been with Harry shirtless and handsy in bed. "I'm listening," he teased, running his hand along her hip, his thumb grazing her inner thigh.

The lights were off in the high-ceilinged bedroom but her eyes had adjusted enough to read his expression. Ginny wriggled closer to him and tucked her body against his, her cheek against his pale collarbone.

"Can we do this every night?" she asked.

"What? Roll around in bed? By all means."

"No, you silly man," she scolded. "I mean, can we be together regularly—daily?"

Her question hung between them for a second longer than usual, and she could tell that he was thinking about what she'd said. "We nearly are, unless you mean . . . "

"Yes."

As dark as it was, Ginny could still see the change that spread from his eyes to the muscles around his mouth, seriousness taking the place of humor. "Oh. Are you agreeing to live with me?"

The hope and caution in his voice made her surge with affection. "I am. I mean, I do, want to live you, that is."

As close as she was to Harry's chest, she could feel his heartbeat pick up like a silent bell ringing against her fingertips.

"Well, that's good that we agree, then," he said, and despite his shyness and his barely hidden smile and his emerging fatigue, Ginny understood him.

"Excellent," she smiled, her tone laughably business-like. "I'm glad that we could come to a conclusion on the matter. Remind me to conduct further agreements with you in the future."

Smirking, he rolled her over and settled in the cradled space between her legs. "You're so ridiculous sometimes," Harry teased, working her T-shirt up with his warm hands.

"I'm ridiculous—"

"'Further agreements with you in the future,'" he chuckled, his lips against her neck. "Do those start now?"

"If you insist," Ginny huffed.

Harry covered her mouth, halting the proposals and counter-arguments that swirled around in her head like fluttering birds. Slowly, the silence enveloped them like a confirmation, and Ginny's mind rested easy.

fin.