A/N: Thanks as always to Sherry and Jo Wickaninnish. This is a very fluffy chapter. You have been warned!

While I have been working diligently to finish this story, I'm not sure if real life in the next few weeks will allow me to keep up this pace. However, I really want to finish this by year's end, and I'll do my best to keep writing.

Chapter Nine: Ginny's Birthday, Part I

"Ginny nip over to the main house and tell Harry that dinner will be ready in half an hour," Aunt Martha called from the sitting room.

"Right," Ginny said, eager to go on this errand. At the end of another hot summer's day, she had caught a glimpse of Harry returning from the warehouse. He had looked sweaty, dirty and tired - and way too cute for someone who was sweaty, dirty and tired. She shook her head and thought with a sigh that she would look like a walking nightmare under similar circumstances.

It was wonderfully cool and dim in the kitchen of the main house after the heat and glare of the sun. Ginny took a moment to run cold water on her wrists and to tidy her hair. Like Aunt Martha had said, it was too hot to be "tearing about." She looked with regret at the soft floral skirt she was wearing. Every evening Ginny wore the same cotton skirt and v-necked tee shirt to dinner. Aunt Martha didn't insist on wizard robes, but she had banned the wearing of shorts and jeans at the evening meal. Mum had picked out this outfit and it showed: from the bright green top with the one little rose embroidered at the v, to the matching green, white and pink design of the skirt. She shrugged and put it out of her mind; at least it had faded after numerous washings.

Ginny didn't muffle her footsteps in the corridor, which she regretted when she found Harry sprawled on his bed, fast asleep. He had obviously showered and was fully dressed in the crisp white shirt and khakis he always wore to dinner. It looked like he had sat on the edge of the bed, intending to put on his socks, and had succumbed to the cool quiet.

The air smelled pleasantly like roses, Ginny noticed, looking around at the tidy room. Harry even had a rose on the top of his dresser. It was browned around the edges, however - like it was a few days old. She wondered why he was keeping it when there were so many fresh ones just outside his window.

She turned back to the bed, watching Harry sleep with one arm flung out to the side, as always. She had missed him, but was looking forward to her birthday tomorrow, when she would have the whole day to spend with him. Sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, she leaned forward and kissed him very lightly on the lips. He smiled.

"You were awake the whole time!" she accused.

"Shh . . . I'm having a wonderful dream - a beautiful redhead just kissed me," he said without opening his eyes.

"How do you know she's a redhead?"

"I dream in color."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Since I heard you clomping down the corridor," he answered, still not opening his eyes.

"I don't clomp." She tried to sound annoyed, but couldn't quite pull it off.

"No, sometimes you make the floor creak when you tip-toe around." He opened his eyes. They were so gorgeously green without his glasses.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, suspicious that he was referring to something - but the only thing she could think of was that night he slept on the floor in the box room. "Harry! Were you awake when I went to change places with you the second night at the cottage?"

"Is that what you were doing?" He laughed.

"I thought you were asleep! Why didn't you say anything?" she demanded.

"I didn't want to get into an argument about it in the middle of the night."

"Argument! I wouldn't have argued -" She broke off when she saw the amusement on his face. "So you think you know how to manage me - do you?"

"I would never presume that," Harry said, his voice still slightly sleepy. "Now I should be the cranky one since you interrupted my very happy dream and I want to know what happens next."

It was so strange, and so intimate, to see Harry relaxed after sleeping. She had never seen him this contented and she was drawn to his happiness as strongly as she was drawn to all the other sides of him.

She kicked off her sandals and climbed up on the bed, her skirt pooling all around her. "What happens next - in your dream?"

"You can't dream sitting up."

Heedless of wrinkling her clothes, she put her head on the pillow next to his. He turned on his side, facing her. Suddenly, there was no need to talk; it was just enough to see his face inches from her own and to be alone together in a quiet room. Ginny wondered how well he could see without his glasses as his eyes studied her face and then lowered. He put out one finger to touch the embroidered flower on her t-shirt.

"I keep meaning to rip that off," she murmured.

"Why?"

"It's a little too sweet. Mum picked out this outfit," Ginny said plucking at the flowered skirt.

"You don't like it?"

"It's ok - a little too girly, I suppose."

"I like girls," he said, smiling into her eyes.

"A little too little girl."

"Oh," he said softly. He was looking a bit puzzled.

"I don't like flowery things," she said but she wasn't sure if he was listening. He had moved his hand to her hair and was gently touching the strands. Ginny hadn't thought she wanted to be treated like she was a precious figurine, but now that he was lightly skimming his hand down her arm, with a look of wonder in his eyes, she was ready to change her mind.

Never had she been so aware of herself or how a feather touch could mark a trail of rippling sensation across the skin or penetrate through layers of fabric. Without a word, the outline he traced showed her that this mundane body she walked around in was something . . . beautiful.

At last he moved closer, and with a caress, as light as breath, he touched her cheek. She gazed into his eyes, feeling so very . . . Not sure of what she wanted, she mirrored his moments, touching his cheek and then she trailed her hand down neck to his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was smooth under her touch. Slowly, she reached out with her other hand, and with a gentle tug, pulled him on top of her.

His weight pressed into her for a moment, pushing the air out of her lungs. He felt so solid and strong and substantial, she thought breathlessly, as she wrapped her arms around him. This is what she wanted.

He shifted to put his arm under her shoulders and to take the burden of his weight away slightly. Now they were comfortably in each other's arms.

Ginny ran her hands across his shoulders when she felt something brush her wrist. She stopped and tensed. Harry looked behind him. "It's the cat," he said sounding relieved. "She visits me everyday."

Ginny sat up so she could see over him. "Harry, she has a snake in her mouth!"

A small green garden snake, about the length and diameter of a pencil, was writhing in Pamela's mouth. "And it's not dead."

The gray cat sat on her haunches, proud of her hunting prowess, seemingly oblivious to the snake's agitation.

"She likes to show her trophies," Harry said, reaching for his wand.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I don't fancy sharing this house with a snake colony," Harry answered. "I'm going to levitate her out the window before she drops that snake."

Pamela seemed to understand this, because she haughtily got up, gave Harry one last backward stare, and jumped through the open window, snake and all.

Ginny looked at her watch. "Oops - it's time for dinner. Aunt Martha said a half an hour."

Harry got out of the bed and started to pull on his socks. Looking at his rumpled shirt, he said, "I don't fancy showing up like this. Your aunt will think the worst."

"I can fix that," Ginny said. She took out her wand and held it horizontally. Then she ran it down his back in one smooth stroke. She repeated this on his sleeves and the front of his shirt. When she was finished, it looked as if his shirt had been freshly ironed.

"I like that charm," Harry said, tucking in his shirt.

"It's a useful one," Ginny agreed.

"I could use it on you," he said, his eyes gleaming.

Ginny thought with amusement that he probably had ulterior motives. "My shirt isn't wrinkled," she pointed it out. "But you could do something for me."

"What's that?" he asked, putting on his glasses.

"Tell me how that dream ended."

He smiled. "I can't- this time the cat woke me up."

"Try again," she suggested a little huskily.

He closed his eyes as if to dream, and then opened them again with a smile. He pulled her close and then kissed her, lightly at first and then with more passion as she kissed him back.

She finally broke it off, pulling away with a sigh. "Good ending," she said.

After dinner it had cooled considerably. Since Harry was tired, they decided to walk in the knot garden until Ginny's curfew, which was not a time, but a condition. 'When it's too dark to see six feet in front of you, it's time to come in,' Aunt Martha had said.

"How far is six feet?" Ginny asked, exasperated. "I should have brought a measuring tape along with me."

"Well, it's supposed to be a yard from the end of you nose to your outstretched hand," Harry began.

"Whose nose and whose hand?" She shook her head. "Why couldn't she just give us a time? We both have watches."

"Because she's giving us a little freedom."

"What do you mean? I haven't had to be in by dark since I was eight years old! This isn't much freedom!"

"If she sets a time and you came in late, then she would have to scold you or make you alphabetize all the spices or something," Harry said. "This way, whenever you come in, she really can't say anything."

"Unless she comes out with a measuring stick," Ginny said, still disgruntled about having a curfew at all, but seeing his point.

"We'll hide it." He caught her hand. "Come on, let's look at the animals."

Ginny saw a few more of the topiaries that she had missed from the morning before. "Oh, here's a stag. But it's so far away from the unicorn."

"Yes, but they're looking at one another."

"Oh, how sad - so close but so far . . . "

"I'm sure they get together and dance during the full moon," Harry said, looking at the tall shrubs all around them.

"Dance? Where did you get that idea?" She was trailing her hand in the dragon fountain and now she turned to stare at him.

"Your aunt told me. That's why we didn't see them when we flew in that first night - they had run off to the forest."

Ginny smiled. "And we thought nothing ever happened in the forest."

"First impressions can be wrong I reckon." He wandered over to admire the lion.

Ginny thought about the first time she had ever seen Harry - when she was ten years old. She had thought him quite wonderful - the polite way he had asked Mum how to cross the barrier - his green eyes. And then it all clicked into place when Fred and George said he was Harry Potter. With the innocent logic of a young child, she had thought he looked wonderful because he was wonderful.

She had unfairly put him on a pedestal - just like Aunt Martha had done to her John. No wonder she couldn't keep her elbow out of the butter dish. At the time it was another example of how wonderful he was when he didn't laugh or say a word about her clumsiness. He was so different from all her brothers - even Percy, who wouldn't have laughed, but would have reminded her to pay more attention to what she was doing.

Then Lucius Malfoy had been so mean to him and she couldn't stand it. Harry must have thought her terribly funny - an eleven-year-old trying to stand up to a grown man. She sighed as her mind then traveled over the events of her first year.

"You're a million miles away."

Harry was at her side, watching her play with the water.

She drew in a deep breath, suddenly wanting to know what he had thought of her back then. "Harry do you remember the second task in the Tri-Wizard tournament and you had to rescue Ron?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Yes."

This was coming out all backwards and wrong - but Ginny plowed ahead anyway. "And you rescued that little girl?"

"Yes," he said with a puzzled frown.

"Did - Was that - "

"What is it? You looked frightened all of a sudden." He took her hand again.

"Harry - when you and Ron came for me - was that - just - you know - like going on an adventure or something?"

He straightened and looked off into the distance, but he didn't pull away. "No - not at all," he finally answered in a faint voice. "It was rather horrible actually - and we had all day to think about it."

"What do you mean?" Ginny hated that she had caused him to clench his jaw like that.

He put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's sit over on the bench."

The crunch of their feet on the gravel and the tinkling water of the fountain were the only sounds in the knot garden as they made their way to the bench. Harry's arm was still draped reassuringly across her shoulders.

They sat on the bench in silence. Harry leaned forward with his hands clasped loosely together, his elbows on his thighs. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Sorry, what was I supposed to say again? I mean, I kind of got lost . . ."

She didn't really know what she wanted Harry to say - she just wanted to know . . . what? "Harry when you rescued me - was it just you being noble like when you rescued that little girl?"

"I really hate that word," Harry said. He was gripping his hands together so tightly the knuckles were white. "I hate that, along with 'saving-people-thing.'" He turned to her with anguish in his eyes. "I wasn't thinking about me - okay? I was worried about that little girl - I wasn't trying to show off - or -"

"I know," Ginny said softly, putting her hand on his arm. How many people had accused Harry of that? It was so unfair. "Harry, I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I used to think that maybe you came after me in the Chamber because of Ron - or because you liked me a little bit." She felt so exposed telling him this, like a rabbit in an open field. "But then when you rescued that girl - I thought - "

"Thought what? That I rescue people indiscriminately - like the great big show off I am?" He abruptly stood up and paced a few steps. Then he stopped a few feet in front of her with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets - like he didn't dare move or say anything else.

His anger sparked hers. "You know - this is really difficult to talk about!" She jumped to her feet. "And you're not making this any easier. This has nothing to do with how I feel about you - okay? It has nothing to do with how other people feel about you either."

"Then what is it about?" he asked in a dangerously calm voice.

What was all this about?

Ginny stared at him, her heart pounding painfully as she finally realized what it was she wanted to know. She wanted to know if he cared about her as much as she cared about him.

And she was afraid to find out. While she didn't think that Harry would turn on her like Tom Riddle, she was afraid that already this relationship was too lopsided. That she had too much passion - too much love - too much temper - too much of everything. You weren't afraid to show it, Aunt Martha had said about her when she was eleven. But now she was.

Her eyes filled with tears at her own cowardice. How could she ever be truthful with him if she kept hiding out of habit and fear?

"What?" He came to her side after her long silence and at seeing her tears. He was looming over her, worry and confusion in his eyes.

"Harry, when I put my elbow in the butter dish - what did you think of me?" She asked in a small voice.

His mouth almost fell open but he caught himself. And no wonder he was surprised; she was asking random questions and being completely unreasonable. He stared at her for so long that Ginny was convinced he had no idea what she was talking about, when he did the most startling thing.

He slowly reached out and cupped her elbow in his left hand. Then he awkwardly bent at the waist and kissed her elbow. Looking down at his black hair for the short time it took him to brush his lips against her; she realized what he was trying to tell her, what he couldn't say in words.

It was stupid to cry at the sight of his dark head bent over her. Or to cry even harder when he straightened and pulled her close so that she could feel his heart beating. "Don't cry anymore," he finally whispered. "Don't worry about this - okay?"

"I'm not worried," she answered into his shirt. "I'm relieved."

"I'm not standard - or average - or normal," she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her hand.

"No, you're not."

They stood there together in the fading light, listening to the splashing water from the fountain.

Ginny thought back to what she had said to make him so angry. "Harry," she said, pulling away to see his face. "I'm always on your side - I never thought you were a lying show-off or any of those other things people have said."

He sighed again and she felt his arms slacken around her. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to always be on my side - as much as I want you to be. Look at what happened when we went to the Ministry. Sirius was killed - Ron and Hermione - you - Neville - you were all hurt."

It was getting dark, so she couldn't see him clearly as she would have liked. "I don't mean that I won't argue with you," she said. "Or try to change your mind - or stand up to you if I think you need it."

"Something to look forward to," he said wryly.

"I don't know what I'm trying to say - really," Ginny said, feeling suddenly foolish. "Except - I just want you to know that I am on your side - even if I have a blind spot when it comes to you. I mean - that's what Ron and Hermione are for - right?"

He was absently stroking her hair. "I'm not sure. I mean they are my friends, and friends are supposed to tell you when you're wrong and all that. Hermione certainly tried to keep me from making a mistake." He looked down at her. "But you . . ."

"I'm not just a friend you happen to like to kiss," Ginny said, somewhat impatiently. "You don't have to put a label on it."

"Good," he muttered.

"I'm just trying to tell you that I'm not always going to be the fair and balanced one - so it's good you have friends that are that way toward you."

He hugged her and said with amusement in his voice, "I knew that."

"Knew what?" she asked sharply. Here she had finished baring her soul and he already knew?

"Knew you weren't fair and balanced." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes with a smile. "I'm just glad you're tipped to my side."

"How on earth would you know that?" Ginny pulled away completely and put her hands on hips. A little bit of arrogance was fine, but this was getting out of hand.

"Because you're a Weasley," he said simply, pulling her back, even though she was still holding herself stiffly.

He was right, of course. This is what Aunt Martha had been trying to tell her before. But the fact that he knew her better than she knew herself was galling in the extreme.

"Don't go all huffy," he said, still amused. "Do you think I'm any different? Do you really think I'm going to be fair and balanced when it comes to you?"

She laughed. Now that she thought about it, Harry was just as bloody-minded as she was - maybe even worse. They were both 'too much.' "I reckon we have to pair off just to spare the rest of the world."

"That's one way of looking at it," he agreed.

She laughed and then quickly kissed him, thinking how much better it was to be 'too much' with someone who understood. Then Ginny noticed that his white shirt was brighter than the outline of his face. The night was deepening. "Oh no, Harry - it's way past six feet!"

They hurried to the cottage. There were many stars out already and the crescent moon was showing. "Bye," she said at the door.

"I'm going in with you," Harry said. "I don't want you to be in trouble because of me."

"Don't you dare!" she hissed. "I can fight my own battles." Then she added mischievously, "Don't worry, I can apologize beautifully."

She heard the smile in his voice. "I'll have to remember that."

It was with some trepidation that Ginny entered the lighted kitchen. Aunt Martha was in her dressing gown and looking so tired, that Ginny felt guilty for staying out past curfew.

"Your eye-sight must be better than mine, my dear," Aunt Martha said as she stiffly rose from her chair. "I could never see six feet in that light."

"I'm sorry - " Ginny began, coming to her side.

But Aunt Martha cut her off and patted her cheek. "It's wonderful to be fifteen and able to see so well at night."

For the second time that day, Ginny felt tears of relief. Aunt Martha understood.

Ginny woke up the morning of her birthday to the sound of bird song and bright sunshine flooding her room. She thought she heard owls hooting, so she looked out of her window in time to see Hedwig and Pigwidgeon trying to fly with a bulky parcel between them. Since Pigwidgeon was so small, it looked like a lopsided effort.

Even though she was now fifteen, she couldn't help but feel a childish thrill at the thought of presents to come. Perhaps there was one from Harry, unless he had loaned Hedwig out to her family to deliver her gifts.

"Happy Birthday, my dear!" Aunt Martha greeted her energetically when she entered the kitchen. Ginny was happy to see her aunt looking bright-eyed today and more vigorous. Lotty bustled around, her face wreathed in smiles. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Harry had a few things to attend to," Aunt Martha said, reading her expression. "He was most worried the post would be late today." The she smiled. "And it was."

Harry must have bought her a gift - somehow - since he couldn't leave the estate. She frowned trying to work out how he would have managed such a thing.

She didn't have long to wait, because by the time Ginny had finished her breakfast, Harry came in carrying an awkwardly wrapped box that was much to large to be jewelry or clothes or books or . . .

He stopped when he saw her at the table. "Happy Birthday," he said, so quietly that it became a greeting just between them - just for her.

She smiled back, feeling the color rush to her cheeks. "Thanks."

He set the box on the table with a thump. "I um - didn't have much of a chance to find a gift for you - because - um . . ." He ducked his head. "I didn't really realize until Thursday - and well . . . "

She giggled. "I forgot until Aunt Martha mentioned it too." She inclined her head toward the present. "Do you want me to open it now?"

"Might as well get it over with," he muttered.

"What?"

"Yes - open it now."

Ginny eagerly reached out toward the box.

"Wait! I just want you to know that Ron picked it out - "

"Ron?" Ginny tried not to titter in anticipation. It would be something absurd - she just knew it. Gift-giving was never Ron's strong suit.

"And I just saw it this morning - and - " He sighed. "Well, you'll see."

Now her curiosity had reached new heights. She ripped the paper off and slit the Spellotape with her nail. Inside, nestled in crinkly white tissue paper was a . . . unicorn head. It was a large unicorn head made out of clear plastic except for the yellow mane, glowing blue eyes and shiny silver horn. The plastic was clear to show off the liquid inside.

"What's the liquid?"

"The worst sort of cauldron-scrapings ever devised," Harry said in a resigned voice.

Ginny lifted it out of the box. It had a cheesy grin that showed off all of its square teeth. Ginny couldn't ever remember seeing teeth like that on a real unicorn or such a stiff yellow mane. The liquid sloshed inside.

"How does the liquid come out?"

"Pull the horn," he said gloomily.

The horn moved forward like a beer tap in a pub. Out of the mouth came a shot of foam.

"Not only is it the ugliest unicorn ever, it's rabid," Harry said, shaking his head in dismay.

The unicorn sneezed delicately.

Harry groaned. "And it has allergies."

The foam smelled like lemon and some sort of potent sap - it smelled even worst than rue.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. Now that the gift was out in the open, he seemed to have found his tongue. "I didn't have much money because I haven't been to the bank. And Ron couldn't go to the bank for me - so he didn't have a lot of choice. I told him to get something with a unicorn." His eyes pleaded with her to understand.

Ginny could just imagine Ron in a shop spotting this with delight. It was big, it was a unicorn, it had smelly stuff girls would like. As long as she lived she would always remember this gift. "I love it," she declared. "It's unusual."

Harry's face brightened and then fell again. "That's what Hermione said when Ron gave her perfume last year."

Ginny laughed. "Did you smell that perfume?"

"No."

"It was some sort of essence of rue."

Harry looked positively panicked. "I think this is too." He hoisted the head and read the label on the bottom. "It's called Rue The Day: to ward off all unsavory types: including all manner of pests, stinging insects, and biting birds." His expression was incredulous. "Ron bought you bug spray." Then his sense of humor got the better of him. "Wear this at Hogwarts to keep all the other blokes away," he said with a grin.

Ginny's eyes widened. "Do you think Ron was sending a message to Hermione?"

"If he was I don't think she got it because she would have hexed him into next week for the cheek of telling her to keep blokes away," Harry said. "I'm surprised you haven't hexed me."

"The day is still young," she said giggling. "Don't take this so hard." She put her hand on his knee. "You did the best you could in the circumstances and you were trying to be thoughtful - but - "

"But what?" He was looking worried again.

"Why didn't you ask Hermione for help?"

"Because I didn't have any Muggle money and Hermione didn't have a way to get to the magical world."

"Harry, did your gift arrive?" Aunt Martha asked.

But Aunt Martha was rendered speechless by the plasticine splendor of the unicorn head. "Oh, my," was all she said.

Ginny looked from Harry to her aunt. Aunt Martha raised her eyebrows at Ginny. Ginny just shrugged and smiled. It was hideous in a lovable way.

"Well, if you have admired your gift long enough, Ginny, I have something for you in the sitting room. I know I should wait until your birthday dinner, but I'm too excited."

Ginny wondered what sort of figurine was going to keep her unicorn company. She thought she might as well introduce them properly, so she picked up the head to take with her.

"You don't have to drag that around," Harry said.

"I want to. It's mine now - so I can take it wherever I want."

"Wherever bugs may gather."

"Stop it. I like it."

So did the Tobey mugs. "A fine steed," one of them remarked as Ginny set the large head on the low table in front of the settee.

"Look at the flashing eyes and thick mane," added another.

The unicorn sneezed and tipped its head majestically toward the gallery of mugs.

"Ginny, I talked your mother into letting me buy this during her visit earlier this week." Aunt Martha picked up a long thin package, tied with a red bow. "I can't wait to see if you like it."

Aunt Martha sat on the settee and eagerly watched Ginny undo the wrappings to reveal the latest in Quidditch brooms. Ginny looked in awe at the pale birch handle and the thin, almost delicate, golden twigs at the end. In gold script was its name: The Hummingbird.

"Aunt Martha," Ginny breathed. "This is a Chaser's broom." She excitedly turned to Harry. "It drops to different altitudes so you don't have to dive when you're setting up a pass. You don't have to look down."

He was smiling, unsurprised.

"And it's just my size!" Ginny could hardly contain herself.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Aunt Martha asked, "I want to see if these broom makers can back up all their crazy adverts."

Ginny ran out of the sitting room, Harry close behind her. "Bring the unicorn," she called over her shoulder.

She didn't see him grin and run back for it, since she was already climbing into the bright blue morning sky.