Saturday, very early morning

Ginny lay beside Harry, one leg between his, breasts squished into his side, her head on his chest, his arm draped over her hip, her arm around his waist, tracing her thumb back and forth. She loved lying with him like this and never tired of the sound of his heart thumping reassuringly under her ear. They'd lit the lamp on Emma's desk, and it cast a soft glow over the room.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me you'll tell me if you change your mind about us."

"What?" His head lifted from the pillow, but she didn't move.

"If you decide you don't want to be with me anymore, I want you to tell me. Promise?"

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

"I thought we'd settled this—I'm not breaking up with you."

"But if you do, I want to know," Ginny said, trying to sound reasonable. "I don't want you to stay with me because it's what everyone expects, or because you want to be part of my family, or because of your friendship with Ron."

"Okay, let's play what-if. You think I would stay with you even if I didn't love you anymore, just because of your family?"

"They're a formidable force."

His laughter rumbled under her ear. "I'm not arguing that, but don't you think they'd have something to say about me messing you around?"

Ginny thought that over. Yes, if her parents and brothers thought Harry wasn't treating her well, they'd definitely have something to say about it. She had heard a little grumbling during her leave.

"And do you really think they would want you to stay with a bloke who didn't love you?"

Probably not. But Mum was awfully fond of Harry . . . .

His arm tightened around her. "I don't want anyone but you; I never have, not really. Where is this coming from?"

Ginny swallowed against the lump in her throat. Harry said things like that all the time, that he didn't want anyone but her, he loved her, he hated being separated from her. But they never talked about the future, about their life together. She'd tried reminding herself they were still young—she'd just turned eighteen, for pity's sake—but she hadn't felt that kind of young in a long, long time. Not since she'd kept a diary.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

"Ginny?"

She didn't want to scare Harry off by talking about—commitment. She knew part of the reason he was drawn to her was her strength, her independence, her resilience, but she didn't feel any of that now. Now she felt uncertain, insecure, needy. Ginny closed her eyes. Perhaps three days before her period was not the best time to have this conversation.

Harry began stroking her hair from scalp to ends, and she knew he was going to wait her out. What the hell, Ginny Weasley was no coward.

"Do you think you'll always feel that way?"

"About you? Yeah, Ginny, I do. I can't imagine ever feeling about someone else the way I do about you. I can't imagine anyone being more perfect for me than you."

Ginny finally raised her head to meet his green, green eyes and was surprised to see they were glistening.

"There were times, over the years, I thought I wouldn't see my next birthday, and after Dumbledore died I knew I wouldn't see eighteen. I can't tell you how many times, that last year of the war, I thought it was over. I thought Ron had left for good, I thought we were going to lose Hermione at Malfoy Manor, and you—"

His voice cracked, and she knew he was remembering her duel with Bellatrix. Ginny shuddered.

"I never planned out my life because I didn't think I had one to plan, and this last year with you—I just wanted to enjoy it, to enjoy loving you."

"I'm going to love you forever. Always. I'm certain of it, Harry."

His hand shifted to the back of her head, and they kissed for a long time.

Breathless, Ginny broke away and cuddled against him again.

LubdubLubdubLubdubLubdub

She hadn't been sure he would see his eighteenth birthday, either; or his seventeenth, for that matter. But he had, and she had been there for them, and for his nineteenth, and she would be for many, many more to come. But she needed to hear him say it.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Gin, hypothetically speaking, if I ever decide to break up with you, you'll be the first to know."

She pinched his side and he yelped.

"So now that you've had some time to think about it—"

"Do I want to get married and have a family?"

Ginny's face heated; Harry knew she'd been fishing. She nodded against his chest.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

He was combing his fingers through her hair again, fanning it onto her back. "Someday, yeah. When I'm through Auror training and you're done playing Quidditch—"

Ginny raised up on one elbow. "You wouldn't want me to play Quidditch if we were married?"

"Not if we were starting a family. You, pregnant, on a broomstick? No way."

She relaxed onto his chest again. "Not if I were trying to get pregnant." That was written in her contract—pass monthly pregnancy tests, or she was off the team. Period. Which was why Hermione was in charge of brewing her birth control potion.

"I don't want kids for a while yet. You were right, I have trained my whole life to play professional Quidditch, and now that I'm here I want to give it a chance. A really good chance. I think I'll want to marry you before I get tired of playing Quidditch, but I don't want to do that for a while yet, either. I just—"

"Oh, you think you'll want to marry me first?" Harry flipped them over, pinning her with his weight. "Nice to know how I rate, Weasley."

"I only said I'd love you forever; I never said I loved you more than Quidditch."

"Well, I love you more than Quidditch," Harry said, kissing her nose. "And treacle tart," her eyes, "and Hogwarts," her forehead, "and Cockroach Clusters," her ear, "and paperwork . . . ."

Things were just getting interesting when he flipped her again, onto her stomach this time, and pulled her hair away from her neck.

"Ha'y? Wha're you tho'ng?" Ginny's voice was muffled by the pillow.

He was counting—oh! She didn't know who started it, but by the time she had Apparated them to the lobby they were snogging frantically, and it had taken a great deal of effort, despite the Invisibility Cloak, to navigate to her room undetected. (Harry had many talents, but walking backwards while kissing her was not one of them.) She'd knocked over a vase of daffodils as they entered (which turned out to be a good thing, since the Silencing Charm broke when the vase did, and the honking reminded them to set the privacy wards), Lance took refuge on the curtain rod, and the first time had been fast and intense. The second time they'd managed to completely shed their clothes and make it to the bed, but they'd yet to play Harry's requested game.

"Nothing new on your neck."

He actually sounded disappointed. Maybe before their next visit she'd fly without a sun protection charm, just for Harry. He began trailing his lips down her spine. She shivered and he smiled against her skin.

"Wait, the rule is you have to tell me about your scars before you count my freckles."

"Hey, I told you two stories—" Harry raised up on his arms to argue, which freed Ginny enough to roll over.

She smiled at him, handsome and disheveled above her. "But I think counting's overrated."

"Maybe later?"

Ginny laughed. "Always."

And that's the end of "Auror," as this fic has been known by me and my beta. Special thanks to vancabreuniter for her unflagging support and enthusiasm. I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I did writing it.

keeptheotherone