The sharp clap of the Burrow's screen door as it slammed shut was enough for Ginny to lift her head from helping her mother clear the table after Sunday lunch. She looked across the table and through the sitting room to the afternoon sunshine streaming in the door. She thought of the scent of sweet honeysuckle and orchids that would be in full bloom now. A moment later, she heard the distinctive peals of laughter from both James and Freddie as their uncle Ron was telling them an obviously embellished story of chasing garden gnomes, George piping in at regular intervals to insist it was all true. Ginny suspected that, at their ages of just turned two and not quite two, they were probably laughing more at the outlandish names he was giving each of the gnomes than at the actual story itself.

Ginny slipped the last of the used silverware into the kitchen sink just as Molly waved her wand and set the dishes to cleaning themselves. She slipped out of the kitchen before her mother could turn and say anything to her. Her mother was troublingly good at seeing through her carefully constructed walls, of cracking the veneer of everything is just fine, thanks.Right now she was too tired to delve too deeply into such topics as thoughts and feelings.

Instead, she sat down on the couch in the sitting room next to Angelina and Hermione, settling for bits of superficial conversation, not wanting to lose the weightless feeling of not being tied down by emotions.

"Hermione, she has the most darling pink cheeks. Is her hair blonde or red? It's too fine to really tell in this light." Angelina was cooing over the bundle swaddled in the younger woman's arms, while gently bouncing a much smaller bundle in her own arms. "I swear, you would never tell that these two are related!" Angelina compared the fine patina of reddish blondish hair on Hermione's baby to Albus' courser black locks. Ginny reached out to touch her son's hair in wonder, still amazed after several months that this tiny infant was indeed hers. He must have sensed his mother's touch because he started squirming against Angelina's chest.

"Sorry bud, that's one thing I can't do for you," she said as she handed Albus over to Ginny. Ginny tried to adjust his blanket as she took him, but he was clearly getting more impatient the longer he had to wait. She slipped quietly up the stairs, barely registering Harry's turn of head just inside her field of vision, momentarily distracted from his quiet conversation with her father by the fireplace. Once she reached the first floor landing and the door to her room, she closed the distance to her bed, and, cradling Albus in one arm, reached over to clumsily open the window with one hand to let in the summer breeze. It was not until she moved into Harry's flat, she thought, that she had realized how wonderful the modern convenience of air conditioning was.

She sat down in the rocking chair that she had moved into her room when she was pregnant with James, the same one Molly rocked each of her children in when they were young, before unbuttoning the front of her shirt. She was glad that she had decided to tie her hair back into a braid before they left, feeling the gentle wind graze her bared skin and slice through the oppressing humidity of the upper floors as she leaned back and let her thoughts drift.

Ginny and Harry never exactly saw eye to eye about the virtue of Valentine's Day. Harry liked the idea of celebrating how much you loved someone; to Ginny, if you were giving someone a gift just because a commercial told you so you probably shouldn't have gotten one in the first place. So, Harry usually compromised. If he was home that day, he would bring her a giant bar of chocolate from Honeyduke's because he knew that was one of the few things she couldn't resist. If he was away on assignment, he would arrange for a modest arrangement of flowers to be sent. This she usually greeted with a smile and a roll of her eyes.

This past Valentine's Day he had come from an assignment early that morning and slept through lunch. When it was time to put James down for his afternoon nap, she decided to show Harry how much she appreciated him, for once. Afterwards, she stood up to use the loo. As soon as both feet were firmly planted on the ground, liquid gushed from between her legs. A roar suddenly filled her head, drowning out everything else.

It rarely happens as dramatically as in the movies; she could hear her healer saying. Many women aren't even aware of their water breaking. She believed her healer because it had been true for her before. With James, her water didn't even break until she was in active labor.

"Harry." She breathed, trying to steady her voice. This was not supposed to happen. The baby wasn't supposed to come until late March. She had trusted her body to do what it was supposed to and her body betrayed her.

"Harry." Her voice louder than a whisper this time. She stayed rooted to the spot, her legs not being able to move even if she willed them to. He lazily opened one eye as his pulse was finally starting to slow, sensing the urgency in his wife's voice.

"Ginny? What's wrong?"

Ginny hated herself in that moment, trying to shore up her courage, thinking it's ok, everything will be alright, while at the same time wanting every bit to just reach out to her husband and draw strength from him as her carefully constructed walls started to crumble. After several minutes of controlled breathing, focusing all of her energy on the act of inhaling and exhaling, she said with more bravery than she felt, "We need to go." She squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of tears as she heard him throw his clothes back on.

Her Valentine's Day surprise.

She looked down at the head of black hair now joined at her breast. Unlike his brother's hair, Albus' hair actually stayed down like it was supposed to. She put a finger to his tiny rosebud lips to unlatch him, then shifted him over to the other side.

The sounds of Bill and Percy's voices outside of her window drifted over to her. They were too far away for her to make out any bits of their conversation, but their soft murmurs soothed her like a soft lullaby nonetheless.

She wondered, sometimes, about where she would go from here. She had been fighting against something for so long it became a part of who she was. As a kid, she fought to prove herself worthy of being taken seriously by her brothers, a battle she rarely won. Ron had been on her side for a time, until they grew older and he left her behind when he finally gained acceptance into the circle of male bonding. When when she went off to Hogwarts and she thought she could rely on her brothers to take care of her, but was dealt a blow when she realized she would have to fend for herself and she find her own footing. She had been so mortified that she had exposed her insecurities and opened herself up to be manipulated by Tom Riddle her first year she vowed that she would never leave herself exposed to anyone ever again. In order for that to happen, she fought to build herself up into the strong, confident girl she had always imagined herself being. She fought against the Carrows and to a lesser extent, Snape, stepping into the role of both fearless leader and makeshift mother of the Hogwarts students by circumstance.

After graduation, her insecurities started bubbling up discreetly again. Would her family, and most importantly, Harry, take her seriously as a professional quidditch player? Would he still be proud of her even if she failed and became a disgrace? This niggling self-doubt made her fight twice as hard to prove that she was good enough to be on the team, that she belonged there. She remembered the conversation she had with Harry when she learned she was pregnant with James. She was terrified of the thought of having to give up her freedom on the quidditch pitch so early in her career. She loved the smell of tenderly manicured quidditch pitches, the lights on the field giving her energy, the yawning expanse of the sky above assuring that the day will stretch on forever and the nights remain endless, just for her to play. He had regarded her carefully over the rim of his cup of tea before setting it down soundlessly. Those eyes had a tendency to bare straight into her soul, even when she didn't want them to.

I wouldn't expect you to give up this easily. The Ginny I know would just strap the baby on her back during drills and keep going.

She went back one more year as a reserve, but was disappointed when it just felt... different. She just couldn't focus on the game anymore like she used to and she found herself lost in a daze most of time. Looking back she could barely even remember anything of that season. Learning she was pregnant with Albus was the excuse she needed to hang up her professional quidditch robes for good; as much as she would always be nostalgic for the feeling of intoxication standing on a quidditch field, she came to realize there was something she was missing much more.

Harry.

Ginny had yearned so badly to just stay home it had physically ached and the more she was away the worse it got. She would give anything just to see his smile every day. To be enveloped in his arms and breathe him in. For Harry, Teddy, James, and her to sit down to dinner after a fulfilling day. That was worth more than anything in the world.

Ginny could feel Albus' delicate breath flutter against her skin. He had fallen asleep. She carefully put herself back together as best as she could with one hand, conjuring a clean cloth on her shoulder that she positioned him on. Her muscles protested as she pulled herself up from a sitting position.

Harry was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, taking the baby from her as soon as she was close enough. He rested his infant on his chest and the tiny fist grabbed tightly on to Harry's shirt. This always made Ginny jealous - even at only a few months old Albus already showed an affinity for his father, seeming to instantly calm down when in Harry's arms. Harry reached out to Ginny and she laid her hand in his, letting their fingers intertwine. He pulled her close as she nestled in the space between his arm and chest; together they headed out to the garden to join their oldest son.

She didn't have to fight for anything anymore. This was where she belonged - with Harry, James, and their little valentine. She couldn't think of a better place to be.