Emerald Eyes - HP one-shots

Desperate Measures

This story takes place after the war.

"Ginny…"

The woman on the bed shifted slightly and rolled over, heaving a deep, sleepy sigh as she did so. The pale orange lamp light filtered through the gap in the curtains, spreading onto the bed like warm butter on toast. Harry Potter smiled, his eyes sparkling wickedly, then put his mouth right next to his wife's ear.

"OI! GINNY!"

Much to his utter disbelief, his beloved wife  merely rolled over, red hair fanning like a bizarre halo around her head. For a moment Harry stood in something close to shock, gazing down at his wives sleeping body. His yelling-down-the-ear trick had never failed him before.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Stomping flat-footed out of the bedroom, Harry went downstairs and opened the living room door, where his best friend of ten years lay on the floor with James Sirius and two presents on his chest.

"Now, Jamie, which present should your favourite uncle open first?" Harry heard him say as he entered. James giggled delightedly, then put out a hand to squash Ron's nose sideways.

"Ouch! No, James, that's not the right answer, my nose isn't a present...ow! No, my hair isn't one either…oh, hey, Harry." Ron beamed up at Harry standing in the doorway, though his grin quickly became a grimace as James, excited by the sight of his father, started wriggling eagerly forwards across his face.

"Ginny up yet?" asked Ron, his voice somewhat muffled under James' nappy. "Look, James, mate, me and you are going to fall out in a minute," he added to the baby, as James worked his knee into his mouth.

"No, she's not up," groaned Harry, though he was unable to prevent a smile at the sight of James now sucking eagerly on Ron's hair. "I've tried shouting down her ear-hole and she still won't wake up."

"Uunnnng," was all that was heard of Ron's reply, his face now being completely flattened. His hands came up, and, after pushing the presents off his chest, scooped James off his face. Ron surfaced, cheerful though slightly breathless, the five-month old in his arms.

"She's not getting up? But…but it's Christmas!"

The two twenty one-year olds shared a look of despair. Harry nodded, feeling vaguely panicky. What if Ginny didn't wake up until eleven o'clock, like she did yesterday? What if (here his insides gave a worried jolt) what if she didn't wake up at all? What if she slept in for the whole of Christmas? Ron, judging by the anxious look on his face, was thinking along the same lines.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Try telling her if she doesn't wake up, I'm taking James for a Christmas spin on my broom," he said, raising his voice over James' excited squeals. "And if that doesn't get her up, I don't know what will."

Figuring he might as well give it a try, Harry turned on his heel and plodded back up the stairs. Turning right on the landing, he tip-toed softly back into the sleepy gloom of their bedroom, where Ginny was just an indistinguishable lump under the blankets.

"Ginny?" he whispered, poking her leg cautiously. "Ginny! Wake up!"

No response.