A/N: I puzzled for a long time over this prompt because I didn't want a fight between Harry and Ginny that was too serious. But there's a disagreement nonetheless so :) This is my surprise mid-finals fic so I hope you enjoy!

Harry tentatively licked some of the rather too thin looking sauce from the spoon, eyebrows shooting up in shock when he found the flavor was actually pleasant. Smiling to himself, take that Kreacher…can't cook alone my arse, Harry lowered the pot to a simmer and checked the roasting chicken, poking it with a cautious finger when a pop signaled Kreacher's entrance, "Is Master Harry sure-"

Smirking rather smugly, Harry turned and dipped a clean spoon into his simmering sauce, "Try it."

The house elf eyed him suspiciously but closed his thin mouth around the wooden spoon, smacking his lips together before delivering a grudging nod of approval then he disappeared with another pop, presumably off to brood about Harry shooing him from the kitchen for the evening.

Normally, he was beyond grateful for Kreacher's help, but tonight was special and he wanted to be able to tell Ginny he'd done it himself. Checking the chicken one more time, and pausing to spread the glaze over it with a delicate hand, Harry trotted upstairs to shower and change from his flour covered t-shirt and jeans into something more presentable.

When he returned, Kreacher was waiting with a pair of potholders, his wiry foot tapping impatiently, "Kreacher was giving Master four more minutes before Kreacher took dinner into his own hands."

Harry rolled his eyes at Kreacher's refusal to abandon the whole 'Master' tradition, accepting the proffered potholders with an appreciative smile, "Maybe you could help me, er- set the table?"

With a snap of his fingers, Kreacher disappeared, presumably to the dining area, while Harry darted about putting the finishing touches on the meal. He hadn't gotten a definitive time for Ginny coming back to Grimmauld, but she always came home after a quick shower at the training pitch, and Harry had managed to keep the evening's menu in sync with his estimate on her arrival time, which was usually around seven-oh-three.

Huffing at himself, Harry made one final round checking the various dishes before ensuring each would maintain the proper temperature. Tugging his pocket watch free, he glanced at the smudgy face, quarter of seven, early. Hermione would be proud, he thought with a snicker, before heading into the front sitting room which Ginny would either floo into or pass on her way upstairs, making it the ideal location for lying in wait.

Harry woke with a start when the latest wireless program ended in a rush of static, neck tight from his awkward sleeping position on the settee. Blinking blearily, he took a moment to remember why he was fully dressed and asleep somewhere other than his cozy bed at…ten o'clock.

Standing, he strode toward the entry hall, "Ginny? Gin?"

Taking the stairs two at a time, he soon arrived at her bedroom door, still cracked open, bed made meticulously – meaning Kreacher had done it after she'd left for practice this morning. Ginny'd always failed to see the value of making the bed when she was just going to muss it up again.

Harry's reminiscent smile halted on his face as he realized what Ginny's empty bed meant – she hasn't come home. Tamping down his rising panic, he strode toward the stairs to the third floor, hoping she'd snuck into his room thinking he'd be there, but was sorely disappointed and called for Kreacher immediately, "Kreacher put the food away for Master so it wouldn't spoil."

Brow furrowing for a moment, Harry shook his head at the frivolous things he'd been concerned with mere hours ago, "Ginny's not here."

Kreacher opened his wide slit of a mouth to open but Harry plowed ahead, already formulating a plan of action, "Well we need to call the Weasleys, or at least wake Ron and Hermione-"

"Mistress Weasley isn't coming home," Kreacher finally said in a low croak.

"How did you-"

The house elf fiddled with the old locket dangling around his neck, "Mistress flooed while Master Harry was asleep."

Heartbeat slowing to a more regular pace as the blood stopped thundering through his ears, Harry slumped back against the wall, "She's ok?"

Kreacher nodded, large bat-like ears flapping with the movement, "She will be staying with the-," he paused, fighting the internal battle he'd almost overcome in the years since the war, and eventually grunted out, "the Weasleys."

Harry's mouth opened and closed a few times in a manner that would've been rather comical were his eyes not dark with anger, before he turned on his heel and disappeared behind his bedroom door, closed with just a touch more force then necessary.

The following morning, despite his best hopes at sleeping off his mood, Harry woke up fouler than before as if the time had just made him realize he should be more angry. Which was particularly undesirable for Ron, who as his partner was stuck with him for the entire day doing tedious paperwork on their most recent cases, "Who pissed in your tea?"

Harry glowered.

"Don't get shirty with me. I just asked a question."

Huffing, Harry signed the bottom of his last worksheet with a sharp flourish, nearly pushing his quill through the parchment with his forcefulness, "Everything is fine."

Ron leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs as he twirled his quill mindlessly, "Ah. Sounds like a problem with my sister."

"Do you even want to know?"

Dropping down onto all four-chair legs with a thump, Ron poked a finger in Harry's direction, "I'm just trying to-"

"Well don't," Harry grunted, shoving various scraps from his desk into the beat up satchel perched on his chair before slinging it over his shoulder messily.

"Bloody hell. I may stay at the Burrow if you're going to bite my head off," Ron grumbled.

At least one Weasley sees fit to tell me when they won't be home. Shaking his head, Harry offered a perfunctory wave and left for the apparition bay.

Once he arrived in the entryway kept beautifully clean by a certain persnickety house elf, Harry tossed his cloak toward the hooks and strode toward the back garden with a huff. When he was less broody, Harry had put up the training targets for him and Ron to use when they preferred to leave the ministry but still keep in shape. Despite these original motivations, Harry often found himself using them for blowing off steam, and soon enough he was doing just that, sweat trickling down his temples as he shot spell after spell, losing himself in the increasingly intricate work.

When Ginny arrived, she called out to see which, if any, of her housemates were home, before the sound of spellwork and grunts sounded from the yard, Harry.

Dropping her bags to the floor, Ginny drew her hands deeper into the sleeve of her jumper – originally one of Harry's that he'd outgrown – Ginny wandered into the back garden hoping to convince her fiancé to leave the anger driven training behind and cuddle up on the couch over take out and then maybe something special for dessert. Still, if Ron's warning was anything to go by…

Ginny stepped into the twilight, a light breeze whistling through the boxy bushes that surrounded the grassy sanctuary hidden behind 12 Grimmauld Place. Her fiancé's back was riddled with tension as his muscles shifted beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt, his robes discarded over an old rusted iron chair nestled beneath one of the towering oaks.

Either unaware or unconcerned with her arrival, Harry continued firing off wordless spells toward the target, which responded with tiny stinging shots meant to test reflexes and come closer to simulating actual battle. The boys had roped Hermione into rigging it up one balmy summer night, and she'd agreed, never one to turn down an intellectual challenge, with this the result. Last she'd heard, Kingsley and Robards were working on getting it approved as a training device for the DMLE.

Making a mental note to bring the topic up later, Ginny cleared her throat, "What's got your wand in a knot?" Harry turned but his expression remained stormy,"I'd hate to be the object of your anger."

Harry huffed a laugh in response, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe at his sweaty face.

Tearing her eyes from his exposed abdomen, Ginny took a few steps closer, "Seriously. Ron told me I might not want to come home."

"Don't know why he thought he'd have to suggest it for you to do it," Harry drawled, securing his wand in the holster at his hip.

Ginny quirked a brow, "Oh so you're angry at me. I thought this was a generic 'I hate the world' episode."

Harry strode into the cool, dark house, "Can't put anything past you."

"Yeah well you do have a tendency to mope around like a lump until I figure it out. I've gotten proficient by necessity," the red head snorted, eyes flashing.

The brooding auror made his way to the kitchen, Ginny hot on his heels as he filled a tall, slim, crystal clear glass and took a few long gulps of cool water. He didn't respond by another dragon-like huff through his nostrils.

Closing the space between them, Ginny wrenched the cup from his hands and slammed it down on the sideboard, "Are you just going to grunt and huff at me or are we going to talk about why you've been biting everyone's heads off?"

Harry flicked his wand to set his used glass washing, rumbling anger causing twice as many suds to erupt, quickly filling the sink basin and shooting off random bits of bubble, catching in crimson and raven hair alike, "Lets just say the fact that you don't know why I'm mad is why I'm mad."

"Bloody hell, can you just explain?" Ginny finally ground out, fingers sliding in the stray bubbles as she boxed Harry in with her freckled arms, glaring up at him.

For the first time since she'd arrived, the hard anger in his emerald eyes flickered as he rubbed at the back of his neck, "I just felt, embarrassed."

Ginny's face softened as she stroked at his side absentmindedly, "About what?"

Eyes cast toward the dark wood floors, Harry murmured, "Like- like I was being all overly sentimental and it didn't matter to you."

Raising one hand to cup his jaw, Ginny lifted his gaze to hers, "What doesn't matter? I went to stay with mum and dad last night since they have Victoire for a few days."

"Yeah but what day was it?"

Biting her lip, Ginny furrowed her brow in thought, "Wednesday?"

A smile finally flitted across Harry's flushed face, "It was Thursday and I meant the date."

Ginny let her eyes drift closed, mentally counting forward from her last game – as an adult human I should really know this – before realization dawned, "Oh. Of course I-"

Harry blushed and ruffled his hair some, "I thought when we were talking about when you beat Cho Tuesday night you remembered it was the anniversary."

Running her fingers through his messy locks, Ginny smiled affectionately, "Well you had me a little distracted, so my addled brain sorta thought it was just-"

"Flirting," Harry supplied.

Ginny winced, "Something like that."

"Anyway I'm sorry I shouldn't've gotten so mad," Harry murmured contritely, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"No! I- well you were rather moody," Ginny smirked, before sobering, nudging his chin with her nose, "But it does matter to me. I'm sorry."

Tugging her close, Harry sighed, "Given the fact that you didn't even know the day of the week-"

Ginny pulled away, Harry reluctantly loosening his grip as she arched and stuck out her tongue in her most mature retort.

Harry flicked the underside of her nose expertly, "I'm just stating facts." He paused, thoughtful. "I guess what I'm saying is its not that big of a deal, I just got a little self conscious."

"Well you must know I fancy you," Ginny breathed into the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

Chuckling deep in his chest, Harry raised her left hand, fiddling with the sparkling ring there, "Well I guess you've given some hints."

Slowly, Ginny began placing warm kisses up the column of his neck , pausing in between to speak, "And if either one of us should be embarrassed about overdone declarations of fancying-"

"I liked that card."

"Sure," Ginny drawled, lingering at that place behind his ear.

"And the poem," Harry sighed contentedly.

Ginny pulled away, Harry letting out a rather pitiful moan, bereft, as she stared him down, "That's a lie."

Harry brought his broad hands to cup her jaw, "Well in hindsight I do."

"You're just saying that to butter me up," Ginny teased in between kisses.

"Is it working?' Harry smirked, glasses crooked from their activities.

Nestling her head against his chest, his heart beating comforting – if a little quickly, beneath her ear, "Shouldn't I be buttering you?"

"I thought you said you wanted whipped cream."

"Oh my God Harry."

"Oh come on you're much worse," Harry snorted, carding his fingers through her wild hair.

"So Ron told me about your solo cooking experience," Ginny stated, shifting the subject as she tugged Harry over to the cozy table and chairs they'd changed for the original featured in the dark kitchen.

Settling down, Harry pulled Ginny into his lap, "Did he now?"

Ginny hummed her confirmation, eyes sparking with mischief as Harry put two and two together, "So you knew before you came out there."

"In general terms."

Harry's hand came to rest on the bare skin of her hip, the emerald wool of the old homemade jumper scratchy against his knuckles, "So you just tortured it out of me for fun?"

Leaving a smacking kiss on his stubbled cheek, Ginny grinned, "Nah, it's good to get you to use your words."

Squeezing her closer playfully, Harry pressed his brow to hers, "I've got a few 'words' for you."

"Ginny I love you more than my Firebolt?" Ginny supplied hopefully.

"Not quite," Harry snorted.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny swatted at his chest, "So dinner? I've got the whole night to spend eating your delicious feast."

Harry quirked a brow but said nothing, although his expression retained the happiness that had slipped through the cracks in his angry façade.

Peppering kisses on any bare skin she could find, nearly knocking his glasses off in her excitement, Ginny continued, "I want to make it up to you! It's all Bill's fault anyway."

As Ginny wriggled, trying to get comfortable against Harry's knees, although he soon was forced to put a stop to her movements with a firm grip on her waist as he choked out, "How so?"

Flushing but keeping her head high as she smirked, Ginny elaborated, "Well him and Phlegm."

"She's going to hear you say that one of these days," Harry snickered flicking his wand to summon a packet of crisps from the cabinets, offering one to his fiancé who accepted hungrily.

Crunching on a salty crisp, Ginny leaned her lower back against the table, "Eh, she already has. It's a term of endearment now."

"So how d'you figure it's their fault?" Harry inquired, floundering as he looked for a napkin to clean his crumby fingers, before settling on using the hem of his t-shirt. It needs a washing anyway.

Ginny eyed his actions dubiously, a smile flickering around her lips, but continued without commenting, "Their bloody hormones lead to baby number two, which lead to a long weekend trip for the happy couple."

"Sounds fun," Harry hummed, letting his forehead drop to her shoulder.

The conversation paused for a moment as Ginny kneaded his knotted muscles, Harry biting back a rather embarrassing moan as her fingers relieved the tension of the last few days.

Fingers of one hand still scratching up and down his back, Ginny let the other drop to his hip, drawing a startled yelp from his throat. She mock-glared but otherwise ignored him, pulling his pocket watch from it's usual pocket, "I don't have a long weekend, but I've got," she paused to calculate, possibly double checking with her fingers, "Twelve uninterrupted hours?"

"That's the best news I've heard in a long while," Harry sighed, letting his fingers weave through her long fiery locks as he pulled her mouth to his.

Some collection of moments later, Harry pulled away, a motion that Ginny took as invitation to reacquaint herself with his neck, and managed to grind out the thought that had occurred to him, surprising himself in his Ginny-induced haze, "Ron and Hermione?"

Ginny's calloused hands found their way underneath his much-abused shirt as she responded breathily, "Are staying elsewhere."

Eventually tiring of nearly slipping off Harry's lap, with the alternative being the rather uncomfortable press of the corner of the table, the couple shuffled upstairs and into the living room, where Kreacher had apparently stoked the fire and set the wireless to the evening ballad program. Cheeky little bastard.

Toppling rather ungracefully to the plush cushions, Ginny sprawled across Harry's chest, Harry pressed his grin to hers, "How'd you manage to get," he paused, distracted by the cluster of freckles on her earlobe, "Hermione and Ron to agree?"

Shifting so they lay side by side, trading lazy kisses, Ginny laughed merrily, "Hermione is sensitive and Ron is afraid of you biting his head off."

"I'll have to apologize," Harry answered, although his chuffed expression somewhat belied his repentance.

Ginny snickered, reaching to tug his shirt off rather messily, "Yes. But not for the next 12 hours."