Wee Bonnie Lass

The doorbell rang.

Harry made a protesting sound that sounded a lot like "erfgnuk" before he threw the covers off and got out of bed. Tired and bed shaped, he made his way over to the door, switching on the lights and narrowly avoiding his favourite armchair, which was parked in the middle of the living room as if it owned the place.

Cursing, Harry made his way over the door. He was going to kill whoever was on the other end.

'What?' he snapped, once he'd undone the lock and fumbled it open.

'I'm sorry,' said a voice that sounded like Hermione's. Harry blinked, hoping that would help the shape to become clearer. It didn't. The Hermione-sounding blur shoved someone in his arms. 'Ron said it was all right.'

'Oops,' giggled the person Harry had caught. Harry froze. That sounded like ...

'You take care of her, now,' Hermione said. Before he could answer, Harry heard the sharp crack of Disapparation.

'You've got scrawny shoulders.' The girl in his arms poked at them. Harry sighed down at the red-coloured blur as he closed the door and put her upright.

'Ginny, what have you done?' he asked.

'Done? Nothing! No, no, no, no, not me, I didn't do anything –' Harry heard a bang and reached out a second too late to catch her.

'– wow, this is a very tricky floor,' Ginny finished as if it was a logical ending to that sentence. She sounded utterly unfazed at her new and unexpected horizontal position.

'It's flat,' Harry commented dryly, and turned around. His hands felt across the walls of his flat and brushed past the fabric of his overcoat. His fingers patted down on the wool until he felt the left-hand pocket. Reaching in, he took out his glasses and slipped them on. He always kept a spare pair there.

He had every intention of forcing a Sleeping Potion down Ginny's throat, put her to bed, and be done with it. By the time he'd turned around, however, she was gone.

'Ginny?' he called.

A loud giggle came from his living room. Harry followed the noise and saw that Ginny had clambered onto the sofa.

'I am Ginny,' she proclaimed, holding her arms wide as if she was talking to an audience. Harry's eyebrows shot up. Ginny paid him no attention, walking on the Gryffindor-red sofa with a slight swagger to her step.

'And I'm very pleased to be here to –' While speaking, Ginny had started to lean to the left and Harry hastily made his way towards her. He just about managed to catch her. She giggled.

'Hello again, scrawny shoulders,' she said happily, squeezing his shoulders as she attempted to draw herself up to full height.

'Gin,' Harry warned, but she didn't stop her attempts. In her drunken mind, she only managed to sway forward. Harry, not prepared for the sudden movement, had to take a step backwards to catch their combined weight.

Ginny took the opportunity to throw her arms around him and nuzzle his neck. 'Hello,' she said, with a smile, and then she leaned forward and kissed him. Too shocked to do anything at first, Harry kissed back, before realising what he was doing and breaking away.

'Gin?' he asked, sounding puzzled.

'Shush, ruiner of moments,' Ginny said and leaned forward to kiss him again. Harry leaned his head away. Ginny only looked more determined, leaning in again.

'Look, Gin, I'm not sure this –' he started and Ginny made a pained noise, squeezing the tip of his nose rather painfully between her middle finger and thumb.

'Shut up. I just watched my brother and Hermione kiss a lot. I am traumatised and you must heal me.'

Harry's lips quirked into a barely-there-smile. 'And how do you want me to do that?'

Ginny looked at him for a moment, and then said, in a suspiciously clear voice, 'Marry me.'

'What?'

'Marry me,' she said again.

'But –'

'Marry me.'

'I –'

'– am dangerously close to marrying me?' she finished, innocently. Her letters slurred a bit.

Harry opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then sighed.

'You're drunk. Let's just get you into bed,' Harry said sternly. Her protests fell on deaf ears as he resolutely pushed her towards the guest bedroom, gave her one of his old shirts to wear, and closed the door behind him.


When she woke up, it took her disoriented mind a couple of minutes to recognise the surroundings. When she did, she closed her eyes and laid her head back on the pillow, suppressing a groan.

Oh, god, she had to go and made a right spectacle out of herself, hadn't she? She really, desperately hoped Harry would chalk her strange behaviour up to her having had one too many drinks. And not talk about it ever again. To anyone. Because he liked her. And she liked him. When he wasn't telling people things about her.

She realised, as she slipped her wrist-watch on, that it was August 11th. Her birthday. She'd gone and got completely smashed on her birthday. That wouldn't do. She'd just have to get out. And quickly.

As quietly as possible, she got out of bed and dug around for the clothes she'd been wearing last night. She pulled them rather guiltily over Harry's old shirt. She wasn't sure if she was going to give it back. After all, she'd need some sort of black mail material when he was about to spread filthy rumours about her, wouldn't she?

The door made a noisy, creaky sound and she winced, walking out into the hallway on her bare feet. The threadbare carpet muffled the sound of her footsteps somewhat. As she tip-toed past the living room, she spotted something orange out of the corner of her eye.

Curious despite herself, she turned and looked. The room was filled with orchids. They were everywhere; stowed away in every possible nook and cranny. The sunlight that poured through the curtains illuminated them and the vases that held them shone a pearly, translucent-white.

Ginny dropped her shoes in shock.

Shaking her head, she looked down and realised there was a trail of flower petals on the carpet. They led into the bathroom. Had Harry maybe dropped them while he was getting the obscene amount of flowers into his flat? Had that been his secret flower-stowing place? Deciding she simply must find out, she followed them.

The bathroom was filled with flowers, as well. Lilies, this time. Hundreds and thousands of them, rows and rows lining up neatly under the sink and in the bath and in the shower behind it. Ginny frowned in confusion.

Then she noticed the rose petals leading towards the door at the other end of the bathroom. They were red, fire-red, and were actually rather obvious compared to the light pink of the lilies.

'Harry, you insane boy, what do you need so many flowers for?' she mumbled, but followed the trail into the study, nonetheless.

The parquet floor made a sharp contrast to the bathroom tiles and she loved how warm they felt. The sunlight coming from the handsome, fairy-carved wooden windows lit up the entire room and she realised there were even more flowers in here. Roses, in fact. Purple roses.

They were her favourite colour.

The sound of fluttering wings startled her, suddenly, and she looked up to find a white dove hovering right in front of her. She jumped and craned her head back, but the dove only came closer, brushing its wing against her cheek.

Its feathers were soft and smooth and she closed her eyes. Then the wing was suddenly gone, and her eyes opened. The dove was flying, very slowly, towards the door. Mesmerized, Ginny followed it out into the hall, past the bedrooms and to the end of the flat, near the balcony. The dove flew through the open French doors and disappeared into the clear blue sky.

She stepped out through the doors, as well, and noticed that the balcony appeared to be elongated. It had been spelled to look just like the vast expanse of land at the back of the Burrow. The leaves of the trees surrounding her swayed gently in the wind; she could hear the water of the brook as it clapped along happily, fumbling over stones and mud.

There was no sign of Harry anywhere.

Apart from the sound of her own breathing and the sounds of nature around her, it was suspiciously quiet. It was as if all of London had simply gone on holiday.

Running a hand through her messy hair, Ginny shook her head. She must be having a very strange, very unrealistic dream. It was the only explanation. Speaking of dreaming, hadn't she been trying to sneak out? She gave a sigh and decided to get on with that. She'd just go home, get into bed and not speak to Harry ever again. It wasn't too complicated.

She turned on her heel and came face to face with Harry.

'Shit!' she swore, dropping her shoes for the second time.

'Ginny,' said Harry.

'Sorry! I never meant to pry! And look, I was really drunk last night, just forget everything I said – and did – and –'

'Ginny,' Harry said again.

'– I'll go home! And I'll go be pathetic there! I'm good at that, y'know, being pathetic. I'm sure you've realised –' Ginny went on.

'Ginny, I want you to marry me.'

She promptly stopped rambling and gaped at him.

'What?'

'I want you to marry me,' Harry repeated.

'But – why?' Ginny asked, looking at him as if he'd gone mad.

'Because when you show up drunk at my flat at arse 'o clock in the morning, I realise I've missed you the day before. When you try to sneak out the day after, you're stopped by the sight of flowers and I realise I really like the way you smell. When you giggle, I realise that I don't want to stop hearing your voice.

'When you're startled, you swear and drop something, and I realise I can't stop looking at you. And when you're here, right in front of me, with your hair all over the place and your clothes baggy and your make-up smudged, I realise that I love you. And I'll probably go on loving you until I'm wrinkly and old and ugly.'

He drew a breath.

'So, marry me.'

Ginny swallowed and then stepped forward and kissed him.

And kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. Harry locked his arms around her waist and lifted her up into the air. She laughed as he spun her around and then she took his face into her hands and said,

'Definitely.'


Author's Note: Sabrina, I hope you have the best birthday you can possibly have, with lots of presents, good luck and wishes come true.