Harry gets up first and I catch him as he hooks his fingers round the hems of his grey shorts to pull them up lightly. Luckily, not too much as the cluster of dark hairs climbing up from under them and stopping right beneath his navel is still visible, and the two subtle lines disappearing right inside -

"Ginny, breakfast!"

Oh, bugger. I forgot she arrived late yesterday. And here I was, deviously planning to have Harry for breakfast - I mean, how could I not? That V line and the patch of hair and the subtle abs do for me things I couldn't ever describe in the presence of my Mum.

Harry's eyebrows raise and then he looks at me, bemused. "Somehow I forgot your Mum's here."

"Tell me about it," I drawl as he helps me up and I shove my feet out of bed and into the puffy slippers I gifted myself for Christmas. I'm slowly becoming aware that she'll be at the door if we don't come marching to the kitchen soon because if there's one thing Molly Weasley cannot suffer, that's food being spoiled.

And there it is, the banging at the door.

"Wake up, dears. There's porridge waiting."

"We're coming," I want to say nicely but it actually comes out as a bit of a shout and I see Harry jolt a little. Can't blame him - but I can advise him to toughen up. There's more from where that came from when Mum and I are bundled together in the same space for more than a day.

"Oh, Harry, dear, should I try and cut a bit of your hair later? It's getting a awfully unruly, I'm afraid," Mum fusses over a distraught Harry as she simultaneously serves us porridge (god forbid I carry something as heavy as a bowl and spoon).

"Mum, no. That's what Harry's hair is like," I roll my eyes and brush Harry's foot under the table, just in case he gets any ideas. The hair is staying.

"But it's so rumpled, isn't it?"

"Well, it's how I like it," I say in a tone that suggests this is final, then stuff almost half the quantity of the porridge bowl in my mouth. I'd forgotten Mum can make a mean porridge, wow. If I wouldn't fear for Harry's messy locks right now, I'd definitely invite her to stay forever.

Mum shoots me a stern look, but doesn't continue. Instead, she does the dishes, scrubs the counter and inspects the leftovers huddled inside our fridge like she's an army general on a mission. When she's finally done, Mum decrees the whole apartment needs a good scrub and shoos us away.

Although Harry does insist he help her, but I think he's only making her highly emotional. Her voice quivers violently when she thanks him, then presses him to go sit with me as 'you'll be back to school on Monday, poor dears.'

"Is she always like that? Harry blinks, mostly confused as though he's unsure what to make of all of this.

"Yeah," I sigh and pull my laptop from its bag, mentally preparing myself for a hot date with the neverending thesis.

"Is this how she'll be when the baby is born?"

"Oh, no," I laugh, "it will only get worse."

Harry plops onto the bed next to me, mattress springs lamenting faintly as he shifts to wrap both arms around me, rests his palms against the growing bump. "But I wanted to take care of you," he sighs against my neck.

"You could help me with this flaming piece of -"

"Easy, you're not supposed to get angry." His tone is calming and his lips are leaving light kisses down my neck and at the base of my head, his hands sneaking inside my pajamas to rub my belly slowly. If he thinks this will calm me down, well, he's right. I'm all but purring in his arms and soon I slip into that state of great focus and concentration that allows me to think and write and finally engage my brain.

There's a thin balance that we manage to keep inside the house, with Mum faffing all over the place and Harry and I mostly confined to the bedroom - but really not in the way it might sound. It's a cleaning war on the other side of the door, until Mum deems it right to bustle in and go as far as sorting our clothes (and quite probably silently judging me for my choice in underwear). It is fun though seeing Harry turn scarlet as Mum neatly packs his pants and sets them back inside the drawer in an orderly fashion, sending him away when he jumps in to help with a 'don't be silly, dear.' Nothing can escape the cleaning wrath of Molly Weasley.

I'm nearing to what I hope to be the second part of my thesis and Harry flips through a motorcycle magazine, then some criminal law textbook interlaced with a new edition of his favourite sports mag, only to end the day playing some loud computer game with no other than my brother Ron. No doubt he's taking advantage of Mum's absence, the plonker.

I dial his number on my phone and, making my voice a little higher than usual, a little more stern, I say, "Ronald Weasley. What are you doing on the computer this late?"

"Mum?" Ron splutters.

"No, you prat. It's me, your beloved sister."

"Oh, it's you. 'Sup?"

"Nothing much, just wondering when will I be spared from hearing your adorable howls."

"Harry, mate, buy yourself some decent headphones, my sister's very sensitive," Ron says in his microphone and Harry grins. He does have the decency to wipe that grin off once he takes in the expression on my face.

"Listen here," I speak slowly into the phone. "If you don't shut up, I'm telling Mum."

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh yeah? Try me."

"If you do, I'll tell her what you did when they went to Aunt Muriel's that weekend."

"Fuck you, that was five years ago!"

"Doesn't count if you're still too chicken to tell."

"Doesn't count if you're too stupid."

Harry swipes the phone out of my hand and presses on the red button, an amused smile on his face. "Very mature."

Then he turns on his wheely chair back to the computer to address Ron. "Mate, reckon it's a bit late for two out of the three of us. Better go to sleep before someone starts weeping, yeah?"

"Shove it, Potter," Ron and I retort at the same time but Harry simply laughs, disconnects his computer and kisses me on the forehead before he slips into the bathroom. Hmph.

I take my turn at the loo when he's done, tell a snoozing Mum 'good night' and settle into bed next to him, lights turned off and the duvet cosily tucked high up to my chin.

"So what is it that you did five years ago, hmm?" Harry asks as he pulls me closer to him, my head nestled cosily under his chin.

"You heard that, didn't you?"

"I would've feared for my hearing abilities otherwise," he chuckles, kissing the top of my head as he twines his legs with mine in a jumble of limbs under the duvet.

We've never talked about previous relationships and I do wonder if this is the moment to delve into it. But he did ask so here it is, Harry, love, the whole sad little thing.

I sigh, close my eyes. "I brought a boy home. And slept with him. He was my boyfriend."

"Preposterous," Harry gasps in false shock.

"Thanks for not thinking poorly of me," I hug him tighter. Really, was I honestly thinking he'd be upset or offended?

"Don't be silly. I left a girl pregnant on my first ever one night stand encounter, I'm definitely not one to judge."

"I hope you're alluding to me. You don't have any other children born out of wedlock, do you?"

"Aw, I was waiting for our wedding day to spring the news," he snorts, fingers tickling at my sides.

"Blew your cover. And you call yourself a Criminal Law student."

"Not a very good one, I suppose," Harry chimes in good-naturedly and pauses for a bit. "Was he your first boyfriend?"

Ah, here we go. We're stepping into ex-boyfriends and girlfriends land.

"No, the was my second but he was the first I had sex with. I broke up with him almost a year after that so I'm not particularly proud of my life choices."

"Why? Was he a git? Did he do something to you?" His grip grows tighter on me as he speaks, his words coming out faster and faster.

"No, nothing like that. We just - we just weren't good for each other. And I knew that when I decided to go all the way with him, but then Devon was all I knew and I didn't imagine I'd one day have the courage to escape and meet new people. I think I thought the life I was accustomed to was all I would ever have." My throat clogs as I recount, my head hiding into his chest when I finish.

"Hey," Harry lifts my face up and kisses me. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You're the most wonderful, brilliant woman I've ever met and there's nothing that could ever change this, yeah?"

"You've probably not met that many women," I pout, bottom lip trembling. "How many girlfriends have you had?"

"Two, with you."

"Oh, wow, I would've never guessed. And you don't sleep around. How did you get all your moves, then?"

"To be fair, I didn't. I described my first kiss with Cho - that's her name, by the way - as wet so you can imagine what came after."

"Haha, you disaster."

"Pretty much, yeah," he laughs with me, caresses my face. "It's just proof of how good we are together, isn't it?"

"That you don't suck at sex?" I smirk, unable to control myself.

"Very funny," Harry touches his nose to mine then rolls on top of me and shimmies his way down my body. "Does this suck?" He asks, lifting up my nightgown and kissing around the insides of my thighs.

"I don't know, you'll have to try harder," I giggle, his breath tickling my skin, a sudden heat flowing through my stomach.

"Does this suck?" Harry asks again, this time from between my legs. And this time, he pulls my underwear to the side and slants his mouth on me.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," I swear, eyes closing shut as I sigh in pleasure.

"Liar," Harry hisses and carries on undeterred.

When Sirius drops in to visit us at the end of the week, he's greeted by Mum plus a scandalised look she'd always specially reserved for overgrown hair, heavy boots and leather jackets - and it just happens that Sirius embodies all of them. And, frankly, so does my brother Bill. They'd get along well, I'm certain.

"Sirius Black," he introduces himself and steps inside the house, vigorously shaking the snow off his boots.

"Molly Weasley," Mum replies, not entirely convinced. But then she recovers her wits, places her hands on her hips and gazes at him sharply. "Are you a friend of Harry's?"

Sirius takes his time unlacing his boots before he lifts his brow to look at her, scanning her intently much as he did with me when we first met, analysing whether she could be trusted, whether she would be good for Harry to have near him.

"I'm his godfather," he says, but very slowly, a proud glint in his grey eyes.

"Sirius, this is my Mum," I interject quickly and throw Mum a pointed look.

"Charming," he mutters as he passes by me and claps Harry on the back. "How are you, mate?"

"Great, Sirius, we were -"

A few quick raps at the door interrupt whatever Harry was about to say and Mum throws her hands in the air, scandalised. "I thought you two were busy studying, not hosting parties. Exerting yourself could be harmful to you, Ginny, you should remember what the doctor said: no fussing about. And it's only the last semester, you know, and it's very important that you focus," she huffs, undoubtedly preparing to launch herself into a tireless rant on the relevance of revising and the gravity of our grades.

Fortunately for all parts involved, the door slams open in her face the moment she twists the knob, a party of three flooding the hallway.

"Remus," Harry gasps before the air is knocked out of him by a blue-haired boy jumping in his arms. "Easy, Ted, woah. You've gotten bigger!" He exclaims, hugging the boy excitedly.

"Harry!" Another stranger - a woman with wild pink hair and a silver rod piercing her right eyebrow kisses Harry's cheeks and then hugs Sirius, calling him her favourite cousin.

"I'm your only cousin without a criminal record," Sirius barks a laugh and I find myself sharing the same disbelieving look as Mum. What's just happened?

"How come you're back? Weren't you supposed to be teaching in the US for another six months or something?" Harry asks as he ruffles the boy's hair, laughing when he starts recalling what seems to be all of his overseas adventures crammed into thirty seconds of speed talking.

"We missed dear old England too much," the man called Remus replies lazily, stepping into the living room and politely addressing Mum a 'pleasure to meet you, ma'am.'

"Bollocks," the woman with pink hair protests, the many steel rings piercing her ears jingling as she shakes her head, amused. "If I heard another forced 'arse' instead of 'ass' from an American trying to do a British accent -"

"Yes, thank you, dear," the man drapes an arm around her shoulders and smiles kindly at both Mum and I. "This is my wife Dora," the woman immediately makes a strange noise of protest at the use of her name, "our son Teddy and I'm Remus Lupin. We're...old friends of Harry's."