fic | between two lungs (harry potter, percy jackson)
harry/ginny, percy/annabeth | t | 2.3k | can also be read on ao3
Harry Potter bumps into Percy Jackson on a random Tuesday in May in the middle of Greece.
He’d come with Ginny for their three year anniversary, the year he’s finally started to feel like he has a life outwith his childhood responsibilities, the year he’s turned twenty one and felt too old and yet too young.
They’d come to Greece to escape the madness that builds up around May and the memorials that have their hearts in the right place but can ask for too much. Harry wants to be there for everyone but he doesn't have that much to give before it leaves him trembling and his hands clenched. It had been Ginny’s idea to take themselves away for a bit and Harry had taken some convincing, he feels a duty to be there for ceremonies and remembrances and — well, he saw the point Ginny was making when he couldn't stop talking, his wand sparking, his body already tired, and so here they are, away from magic and having a week full of sun, sea, and anything else they can think to see or do.
And it’s as he’d been standing here, admiring the water, waiting for Ginny to come back with ice cream, the water had exploded, shooting everywhere, soaking Harry, and a man had come shooting out of the sea, anything about taking time away from magic and excitement goes out he window.
He thinks after all this time that he’s used to things like this, come on, he used to be able to talk to snakes, and he can fly, and he can make a stag come out of his wand if he wanted to, but somehow he can still be surprised.
Especially when the man has landed on the shore and is now talking to creatures Harry doesn’t remember ever reading about in Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them.
He knows the Greeks have their own strands of magic, of course, but this feels different.
“What’re you staring at?” Ginny asks, handing him his cone, “and why are you soaking?”
“Weird kid in the water,” he mutters, thanking her for the ice cream and for her understanding when she doesn’t question it and immediately follows his gaze. “I know you said we were having a quiet holiday —“
But Ginny is already dragging him by the hand over to the beach, adjusting her sunglasses before checking her wand is in her back pocket. “Let’s go.”
The man jumps when they go up to him, and why wouldn’t he, when he’s having a private conversation and two people ambush you. He tells the creature, some sort of turtle, that he’ll talk to them later when it’s safe and not to go far, and then turns to Harry and Ginny.
“Hey,” he says, wary, and American. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Lovely,” Ginny replies, and then holds out her hand. “Ginny Weasley, witch,” and Harry laughs.
So does the man. “Alright,” and then he shrugs, in for a penny in for a pound, an expression Harry knows so painfully well. “Percy Jackson, half-blood.”
“Wait,” Harry says. “Half blood? Me too.”
“Nice. Who’s your parent? Judging by how wet you are I’m going to guess we’re not brothers. Hephaestus? Not all his sons are ugly, you know. You seem powerful, gods, you’re not Zeus’s are you? I wouldn’t put it past him to break the pact again —“
“My parents are Lily and James — what’s that got to do with any of this?” As if the conversation has made sense up to this point.
“Lily and James? What gods are they?”
Ginny sighs. “We’re getting nowhere here. Percy, this is Harry, he’s a wizard, all our parents’ were witches and wizards, as far as I’m aware we don’t have any gods — for the love of Merlin, what does half blood mean in your world?”
And Percy laughs and Harry feels immediately at ease. He holds his hand out again, shaking Harry’s this time, “I’m Percy and my dad is Poseidon.”
“The sea god,” Harry confirms, because he and Ginny did a tour this morning and learned all they needed to know about the Olympians. When Percy nods he says. “Okay, now we’re all on the same page —“
Percy sighs. “You’re going to ask me about Aspidochelone aren’t you?”
.
So it turns out they have a lot in common.
They find a bar (“Can we stay in the area?” Percy asks. “Annabeth’s doing a dig nearby and we don’t have cell phones”) and discuss their worlds over beers, comparing everything from creatures to near death experiences to magical foods.
“Prophecy about saving the world?” Percy says, leaning back in his seat, leg folded, casual as he throws around weighty words. “Completed it, mate.”
And Harry throws his head back, laughing and laughing, because here’s someone who has gone through everything he has and they’ve both made it through the other side. This is someone who gets it.
“Tell me more about your mark of Achilles,” he asks, finishing his beer. The sun is warm on his face and he can tell Ginny is enjoying this bizarre chat as much as he is and he knows they came here to get away from it all but now he can’t stop talking and talking about being marked from birth and mentors and quests.
“Well it’s gone now, washed away from carrying Hera across the water. She was Juno at the time but once a Greek always a Greek, you know? I’ve almost lost Annabeth to the Roman side of it all, though, s’why I convinced her to do the dig here, remind her of where she came from.”
“It must be amazing having all this history that you know you’re a part of,” Ginny says, looking around her. They’ve been good, the two of them, since the end of the war, fitting back together through their grief and their trauma and their passion, and they’re both happy back home, but Harry can see the way Greece is sinking into Ginny, the peace she feels as she tilts her head to take in the ruins. “Yeah my family is one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain but did they build architecture that would be studied thousands of years later?”
“Wait till Annabeth gets here if you want the full story,” Percy says, grinning. “I still only know the heroes’ stories, not enough about what they actually left behind.” He leans forward. “So, what’s the deal with brooms? Is that a stereotype or can you actually fly? Because I was always convinced Thalia could and she just didn’t want to show me.”
And that has Ginny launching into how Quidditch works and who plays what and what teams she and Harry both play for, a friendly rivalry at home. Percy’s eyes get wider and wider, fidgeting with his beer bottle, and Harry knows he’s desperate to play, if he could ever be allowed in the sky. He sits back in his chair and watches Ginny’s hands move, “Stop me when I’ve bored you,” she’s saying now but Percy is enraptured and Harry, who knows the sport inside out, could sit and listen to her all day. “I mean, yeah, it’s dangerous,” she laughs at Percy’s question, “but that’s part of the thrill of it.”
“And you both play professionally?”
A blonde woman appears at that point, waves hi, before dropping into the seat beside Percy, taking the fact that he’s with two strangers with ease.
“Annabeth,” Percy exclaims, kissing her on the cheek, then gesturing across the table. “This is Harry and Ginny, they’re magical,” which is a very whimsical way of putting it -- Harry catches Ginny’s grin. “Wait here, I’ll go get us a beer,” and he’s off.
“Yes he’s always that excited,” Annabeth says dryly, and then she smiles. “So what have I missed? Where are you from? What sort of magic? Unless he means your natural charm.”
“It turns out our boyfriends have lived very similar lives,” Ginny replies. “Prophecies, sworn enemies, battles, that whole thing.”
“Hey, you did the battles too,” Harry interjects.
“There’s always enough fighting between good and evil for everyone, isn’t there?” and Harry wonders who Annabeth’s godly parent is but decides it’d be rude to ask. “What have you been up to in Athens so far? The city’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“I think Ginny wants to move here,” which isn’t a lie.
Annabeth’s illuminated, her eyes shining as she launches into everything great about the city and it’s hard to imagine her being more enthusiastic about anything, including Rome. “It’s so good being able to talk to people about this who a: can understand the magic side and b: aren’t sick of me going on about it,” Annabeth says, Ginny nodding enthusiastically along.
“Jason accidentally fell asleep one time ,” Percy cuts in, handing around beers. “He’d had a busy day. I thought it was too early for shots -- what are your plans for dinner, Harry, Gin?”
Ginny’s hand is on his knee as she listens and listens to Annabeth wax lyrical about architecture and underground passages and barely pauses to agree to dinner before she’s launching into the wonder of Hogwarts.
Harry leans forward and asks Percy is his entry into his new magical world was as bumpy as his half-giant story.
.
“Back from the dead ?” Percy whistles, glancing at Annabeth who’s watching Harry, grimacing slightly. “You’ve got us beat there. Closest we got was being stuck in Tartarus, wasn’t it, babe? You have to meet Nico -- he’s the son of Hades, lil creepy before you get to know him -- what? I said before you get to know him! Annabeth, he has a skeleton army.”
.
“I can’t believe you missed half your exams and our drama always conveniently happened in the summer,” Percy groans.
.
A summer camp for kids like them sounds like something that should be happening in Britain, Harry thinks. For kids whose homes are dangerous, for ones who can’t be themselves outside Hogwarts, for ones who just need a place to be safe, to be around their friends.
He knows McGonagall would support it; he knows there would be enough volunteers.
.
The sun is setting and they’ve finished their food as the conversation bubbles into the aches in their shoulders of holding the world’s fate in their hands. Harry had clocked the matching grey streaks in Percy and Annabeth’s hair and is desperate to know more -- could never have expected they literally carried the world on their shoulders as the answer.
They listen to tales of lost memories and the underworld and share their own, where they lost their education to protecting younger students from killers, where they had price tags on their heads for betraying the government.
They all manage a wry laugh that it always sounds cooler all said in a row like that, when their lives are no longer at risk.
Harry shares his soul story for the fourth time in his life, confident that they won’t look at him with disgust, that it’s all too easy for them to get their head around an evil like that, when they’ve fought mother nature herself.
There’s melancholy in the air as they mourn childhoods lost to monsters and quests and so much torture and death, knowing that they all had a thrill in the adventure, that they’re all old before their times. Too many lives lived by the end of their teenage years.
.
That night as they lie in bed, Ginny puts her head on Harry’s chest, her hand flat above his heart, and they breathe together, heads full of their day.
“You never tell anyone about the Horcruxes,” she whispers.
“It felt right,” Harry murmurs, immediately wonders --
“It was brave -- you made the right call.”
.
The rest of the week hurtles past in tours led by Annabeth, Quidditch briefings, and shared scars and horror stories. There are some overlaps in their histories and in their differences they find shared connections, shared understanding. They have their own groups of survivors in their respective worlds but it’s overwhelmingly comforting to find other people like them, who don’t know everything about what they’ve gone through, but they know a hell of a lot. It’s a fresh perspective and one Harry finds he desperately needed.
.
Harry learns Athena is Annabeth’s mother and isn’t surprised in the slightest. They follow her around, her enthusiasm infectious, and he briefly thinks Ginny might leave him for her.
.
(He voices this in their bed and she grins and says she’s thinking about it, reminding him he can barely take his eyes off Percy.
“That’s different -- he’s basically me.”
“Didn’t stop you ogling him in his trunks,” and Ginny giggles until Harry kisses her quiet and neither of them deny that yeah, they’re probably a little bit in love with this crazy other world couple.)
.
Their last morning comes too quickly as they stand outside their hotel to say goodbye.
Percy explains Iris messaging because he and Annabeth can’t Apparate and he can’t fly and he hands them a few tokens that look similar to Galleons.
“You should come visit New York,” Annabeth says, stepping in and hugging Ginny and then Harry. “You need to see camp -- I know you play Quidditch now, I know you don’t want blood and battles and I don’t blame you in the slightest. But I think you should see this safe space.”
“And my mom could do with seeing another kid like me who survived into adulthood,” Percy says. He squeezes Harry, picks up Ginny, spins. “
“Sometimes I can’t believe we made it to twenty,” Harry voices that quiet beat from the back of his brain.
Percy nods, and Harry knows he’s had that same weird guilt in his chest since he was seventeen. “We’re the lucky ones, believe it or not.”
.
“We’ll see you soon,” everyone promises, everyone desperate to keep this up when they’re not surrounded by ancient magic and tourists, and Harry and Ginny disapparate with a crack, drachmas clutched in their hands and their hearts lighter.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/blair | t | 1.6k | harry and blair bump into chuck
“Harry, this is Chuck,” because Chuck doesn’t remember the night Harry punched him and broke his nose. To Chuck’s knowledge the two have never met. “Chuck,” she waves a hand, “Harry.” She knows that Chuck has no doubt done every but of research on Harry Potter and she wonders what opinions he has about Blair ending up with a footballer and living half in England, half away from her beloved New York.
Harry glances at Blair again and then holds his hand out. “Hi. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I can only imagine,” Chuck says, inclines his head, and Blair lets out a sigh when Harry’s hand returns to his side, blood nowhere to be seen. “Congratulations, Blair -- you're glowing. And I’ve read about Waldorf Designs, I always knew you would get everything you ever dreamed.”
fic | scraping the skies with our fingertips (harry/ginny, outsider pov, 1.4k)
how harry and ginny’s relationship might have been viewed by the rest of the school (can also be read on ao3 here)
Harry kisses Ginny and immediately sets fire to the gossip mill.
The common room is hushed into silence as they have their very public kiss, their very swoony kiss, with everyone noting the way Harry’s hands twist in Ginny’s hair, the way she’s on her tip-toes, dirty uniform pressed up against him, the way that this looks nothing like a first kiss going by the way they seem to know each other so deeply already —
Hey, they’re not staring. This is a public place and they’re two of their most popular peers, of course everyone is going to look.
There’s a war going on, they need this sudden and lovely and hot distraction.
After God knows how long, they break apart, grinning at each other, and, following a glance around the room, they leave.
The room bursts into can you believe and i thought they’d been going out for ages and bad luck mate and i don’t know who i’m more jealous of and
Lavender and Parvati spot Ron and Hermione across the room and head over, this new development hovering outwith their own awkward romantic history. They drop into seats beside them and immediately lean in as Hermione continues to berate Ron --
“They don’t need your permission ,” she says.
“My best mate and my sister,” Ron protests weakly.
“Ron. If this wasn’t the way you’d found out, would you not be happy for them?” Parvati butts in, rolling her eyes with Hermione. When he nods she sighs. “So there. Be nice.”
And now Lavender sighs, drops her chin on her hand. “Well I thought it was very romantic. Who knew Harry had it in him, you know, after the way he treated you, Pav -- and Cho Chang.”
“I wonder how Dean feels,” Hermione muses, looking around.
Lavender snorts. “Oh he’s fine,” and Parvati remembers the week before when they had walked in on Dean and Seamus making full use of an empty passageway.
But back to the matter at hand.
.
So HarryandGinny, their names running newly together, make their way down to the grounds, pausing on their way to duck in and kiss against the wall, beaming giddily, before hurrying on, desperate for a patch of grass and for a chance to talk.
They’re almost outside when Harry pulls at Ginny’s sleeve, dragging her into an alcove off the Entrance Hall, and pressing her beside a suit of armour, already addicted to the feel of her mouth on his and the way her hands slide across his chest, his shoulders.
What he doesn’t catch is the group of fourth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who had taken their time making their way back inside after the match and who happen to pass through the Entrance Hall.
They’re not spying , they’re not eavesdropping , this is a public place and they just happened to walk past the most famous boy in school and the most sought after girl, getting, well -- getting acquainted.
And that’s how it seeps into common rooms across the castle.
.
Harry has gone from baby saviour to heir of slytherin to troublemaker to liar to chosen one within the space of six short years, add in the fact that he’s tall and quick and Quidditch Captain, and he’s never been more fanciable.
Ginny is known widely as being the coolest person at Hogwarts, and no that’s not hyperbolic. Who else has survived numerous traumas and is funny and charming and attractive and a Quidditch star to boot?
Of course there’s going to be rumours about tattooed chests and how far they’ve gone and what Ginny’s six brothers think.
.
(When nervous souls have been pushed into asking these questions within earshot of HarryandGinny they’re given the answers of a: none of your business, b: none of your business, and c: are you joking? as if they have any say in who she dates)
.
Students think that teachers are oblivious to gossip and sometimes, Merlin, they wish they were. But of course they know who’s going out with who, who hexed who, who fancies who.
And the big new couple that has everyone whispering and giggling and craning their necks at meal times.
They would remind them they have bigger things to think about that the fact that Harry Potter has just put his arm around Ginny Weasley’s shoulders or that she’s kissed his cheek, but they’re in the middle of a war that’s hard to forget, and this is something that doesn’t fill everyone with dread.
And, oh, they’ve never seen either of them so happy.
McGonagall doesn’t think she’s ever seen Harry smile more.
Is it unethical to award Ginny 20 points for a simple correct answer for being the reason?
.
(She’s been here long enough; she can get away with it. When Ginny blinks in surprise at the disproportional points McGonagall tells her sharply to get her eyes on the kitten she’s supposed to be transfiguring.)
.
Following their very public kiss, they don’t draw attention to themselves too much past their held hands and general glow of happiness. They sit practically on each other’s lap in the Great Hall, if you happen to stroll by the Great Lake, you might find them under a tree, likewise if you go anywhere near any of the alcoves on the sixth or seventh floors after curfew, and they both may be a little distracted in class, but apart from that, they really don’t realise the effect they’ve had on the general population.
It’s their common room who is privy to anything more. So used to seeing their chosen one wearily discussing things they couldn’t even imagine with Ron and Hermione, so used to seeing him tired and angry and weighed down, it’s a pleasant surprise when, in the rare evenings they’re in common room, and not sneaking off to make use of abandoned passageways, he can be found in a corner in one of three positions: Ginny in his lap, head on his shoulder; his head in Ginny’s lap, her hands gentle on his face; both lying down -- in all scenarios their heads are close together, spilling secrets and confessions and jokes that everyone around is desperate to overhear.
But whenever anyone happens to wander close to them they find a strange muffled buzzing in their ears.
.
Hermione has been Harry’s friend for six years, Ginny’s for five, and, like many, she’s never seen either of them as content as they are now, leaning against each other, their limbs tangled together, laughing at something Ron has said. She watches as Ginny tips her head, murmurs something in Harry’s ear, and her delighted laugh at his whispered reply, his hand resting on the crook of her knee.
Obviously Hermione saw this coming, from even back in fifth year when Harry saw Ginny as an equal, from when Ginny would stop blushing around him and get her own boyfriends (no, not to make him jealous, Hermione), to this year when she could hardly believe her eyes at the summer that was all but a montage of them falling in love.
But she had sat back, not interfered, not even when Ron would rant about Dean and Harry would chew at his lip and look pained, his gaze never far from Ginny; not even when Ginny would vent about Dean and his lack of understanding and that the only person who really gets what shes gone through is -- oh, shut up Hermione, is what she got in return to her look .
And they made it.
She balances her Potions essay on her knees as she leans into the armchair and turns away from the glow of Harry and Ginny, biting her lip to stop herself smiling at the oi from Ron that implies, and she looks back up, and yes, they’re kissing.
Shoogling Ron’s shoulder with her foot she tells him to leave them be.
.
One afternoon at the lake, Ginny is ‘studying for her Charms exam’ and Harry is ‘helping her study for her Charms exam’ by which she means he is distracting her by existing, when she lets out a sigh, rolls onto her back, away from her notes, and reaches out a hand to tug him over to her. He goes willingly, kissing her, his glasses squint and his fingers warm where they brush the skin under her shirt. They lie there for some amount of time, neither caring, neither worried, and when they pull back, it’s to talk about everything in their world.
It’s a tale as old as time: they’re just two kids in the middle of a war, falling in love, and if the school wants to hold their hearts in their hands, then let them.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/george | t | 4k
“I only died the once,” Harry says wryly. “Came close a few other times but I’m sure you did too,” and George thinks of i thought of you when i died and his heart feels heavy in his chest. Harry looks at him for a long moment and says, “I take it you want me to tell you everything.”
harry and george in the first 72 hours or so following the end of the war
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/george | t | 3k
He cards a hand through George’s hair, brushing it away from the space where his ear used to be.
“What d’you think?” George whispers. “Still fancy me?”
Harry grimaces, swallowing over the embarrassing lump in his throat. “Now’s not the time, is it?” and his thumb passes over George’s lip, soft, before he stands up abruptly.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/george | t | 1.2k | one night, the summer before sixth year
But that’s too much for someone, for everything Harry wants to ask for, and so instead he turns his face, presses a kiss to the smattering of freckles on his arm, holds on to everything he has here in this tiny room in the house he loves so much. “All I want is this,” he mumbles into George’s skin, cheeks burning with the openness of it.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/ginny, harry/cho, harry/terry boot | t | 9.3k | harry comes out and becomes something of a bi role model, as if he wasn't busy enough.
It turns out Hermione is right. Maybe it’s because this is something a small amount of people can relate to in their otherwise mysterious hero. No, they haven’t survived the Killing Curse and no, they haven’t killed a basilisk or fought a hundred Dementors, but they have had feelings for boys and girls.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/george | t | 5.1k | i can only apologise for how nauseatingly sweet this is.
George leans across Ginny and says, “C’mere, Harry, I’ve got something in the back to show you,” which is so transparent Fred rolls his eyes at them but Harry grins and follows George up a series of narrow steps and behind a curtain, the space small enough to make them stand very close together, both grinning with a nervous excitement that has Harry feeling giddy.
968 | g | harry and ginny, but mainly just harry, immediately post-war | can also be read on ao3
The war ends with Tom Riddle’s body hitting the floor at 4.48am on the second of May.
The war ends and with it people collapse with joy, with grief, with a fear they’ve kept locked away for months and months.
The war ends and Harry Potter consoles the mourning, shakes hands with the grateful, and nods and nods until he can barely move.
They expect speeches from him, promises, stories and stories of his life as The Boy Who Lived, as The Chosen One, and now as The Boy Who Won the War.
But instead he slips away, mends his wand, and climbs the staircase to the bed he’s missed all year.
He thought he would have had trouble sleeping, the past 24 hours whirling through his head, but dying takes it out of you, makes you bone tired, an exhaustion so deep Harry’s eyes are closed before he can even close the curtains around his bed.
.
(The rest of the Gryffindor boys: Ron and Hermione curl up on a armchair in the corner of the common room, both of them too shaken, too wired, to do more than hold each other close and try not to think about the future that has suddenly blown open, scary and unknown.
Neville: a hero, he is surrounded by students, young and old, Gryffindor and not, each clambering for his story, how he knew to kill the snake. With Harry in hiding for the year, Neville has become one of their beacons of hope, the kid they used to laugh at, the stupid boy with the scary grandmother and the bane of McGonagall’s life (Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic in all but confirmation, approaches him as well, makes him an offer that makes his head spin, but that’s all for later).
And Dean and Seamus: They’ve been inseparable since the beginning; the comic relief, the artist, always on the fringes of Harry’s drama. For now they’re sitting in the Great Hall, hands linked, mouths running and running of everything they’ve missed, stopping too many times to grin, relieved, stunned, that they made it to the other side.
And upstairs, in the bed nearest the window, their fifth roommate sleeps and sleeps.)
.
Harry wakes up alone in the dorm and the paranoid part of him wonders if it’s because no one wants to be near the boy who died and came back to life (no, he’s definitely being paranoid but your mental health issues don’t disappear the second your enemy is dead). It’s probably more likely that they wanted to give him space, that they wanted to leave him be, that they had other things to do than sit by Harry’s bed as he sleeps away the ache that comes with dying, with losing a piece of a soul you never know you had.
But he sits up, rubs his eyes, and tries to find the energy to get out of bed. There are things he needs to do, people he needs to talk to, but for now, that all sounds too much, too soon. So he sits, his head resting on his knees, and he takes deep breaths, reminds himself that it’s all over now. It’s time to recover, to rebuild, to move to peacetime.
.
There’s time to think about what he’ll say to Ginny when he finally gets a chance to talk to her but everything falls out of his throat when he sees her on his way down to the Great Hall. She turns away from her conversation with Hannah Abbott, walks towards him, and all he can do is hug her. Ginny with her tear-stained face, her bloody shoulder, her resilience that has been rocked, torn apart, but not destroyed.
“I’m sorry about Fred,” he says, voice hoarse, into Ginny’s hair, her face pressed into his shoulder. Her arms are tight around his waist, holding and holding, and Harry doesn’t want to step away, not for any of the people desperate to talk to him, not for anything at all.
Harry, who has found the touch of others, of their hands reaching for his own, for thanks, for luck, for a superstition borne from desperation that his body is brushed with a magic beyond everything known to them, invasive and exhausting. They’re desperate to be close to their hero but he is tired and his body is sore and when people stroke him, grab him, rest gentle hands on his shoulders, his skin throbs and he clenches his teeth so he doesn’t flinch.
But now, he buries his face in Ginny’s hair, and holds on.
They stand there, holding each other up, quiet and calm in the midst of the chaos, and Harry’s heart slows, his breathing levels out, and he feels a little more hopeful.
There’s a conversation to be had -- one of Horcruxes and stealing swords and shining lights before death. But they have time for that later. That’s what has come out of this: time. For now, it’s enough to feel how solid the other is, how alive they are, and the rest will come.
.
(There’s a panic later on in the day when no one can find Harry Potter and everyone frantically turns their head to look for their shining saviour who has dragged them through the last three years.
He’s found by Parvati Patil who doesn’t raise the alarm but turns around and leaves Harry tucked into a corner of Gryffindor Common Room with Ginny, their heads tucked together, their thoughts and secrets quiet between them.
She says that she can’t find him, that he’ll be hiding somewhere, and she lets McGonagall know the truth. McGonagall nods, says, nothing, and they decide that he’s okay for now, he can have a breather, can begin to readjust, and everything else will come after.)
jon and sansa go to a halloween party but, really, it’s not about that at all. can also be read on ao3.
“And there’s no one else you want to ask?” Jon checks.
Sansa frowns. “Of course not,” because yeah, they’re best friends, and Jon loves that, loves how much closer he and Sansa have become over the last couple of years, but —
“But this is a couples costume.”
“Are you offended to be seen in a couple costume with me, Jon?” Sansa asks, eyes narrowed, but before he can say anything else she rolls her eyes, tosses him the waistcoat. “Relax. People have been telling me for years to go as Ariel because of my hair and you and Prince Eric are practically twins — it’s meant to be.”
“The things I do for you,” Jon sighs, so over the top, as he pulls off his t-shirt to put on a white shirt.
“You’re my hero,” Sansa simpers, hand over heart and is that — is that a blush when she looks at Jon’s chest? Or is that Ariel’s cartoony makeup that makes Sansa’s eyes look even bigger than normal.
“This seems very last minute,” Jon points out, starting to button his shirt. He gets halfway up before Sansa waves a hand to stop him. “I’m not wearing it this open, Sans, it’s three degrees out there.”
“You know what uni’s like — so impromptu, so spontaneous,” and her eyes are sparkling, so happy to be dressing up, to be going out and having fun. “I’ll keep you warm, Jon — wait here while I get changed and don’t you dare do any more buttons up.”
So he sits on Sansa’s bed, picks up the book she’s left lying open face down, and starts where she’s left off. Last Halloween, Jon and Sansa had stayed in with Rickon and watched Scream, something they later regretted when twelve year old Rickon refused to go to bed, not because he was scared but just in case something was hiding in his cupboard. But this year they’re both at uni, both spending an awful lot of time in each others rooms, and Jon, without sounding completely cheesy, is okay with putting on a shirt and a waistcoat because he’s finding that Sansa’s happiness is probably the thing he’s most interested in. Okay, there was no way that wasn’t cheesy, but, shut up, she’s his best friend.
“Did you bring that vodka I left at yours?” Sansa calls through from the bathroom.
“Yeah and I picked up some Sprite on the way.”
“What would I do without you?” Sansa says, walking back in. Jon slots a recepti into the book, distracted, until he looks up and sees Sansa’s costume.
“People will think we’re having a competition to show off the most flesh,” is the first thing he says which doesn’t sound very complimentary but his brain’s short-circuiting at the curve of the purple bikini top Sansa’s paired with a high-waisted long floaty green skirt. Sure he’s seen her in bikinis before, they’ve been to the beach loads of times, but there’s something about mermaids, isn’t there? He swallows, focuses on the fish earrings dangling from her ears. “Your earrings are nice.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” Sansa smiles, because she’s always known how to read his mind. “Now get your waistcoat on and let’s go.”
.
The music’s loud, the flat is crowded, and Jon can’t help but notice the varying degrees of costumes going on -- full out character costumes with giant heads and appendages getting everywhere, elaborate makeup and a fancy headband, people with half-arsed masks hanging off their ears.
Sansa squeezes past people on her way to the kitchen, her hand small in Jon’s as she pulls him after her. Her hair is big and curly, various fish clasps decorating it, and Jon finds he can’t take his eyes off it even more than usual. He’s too warm in his boots and jeans and shirt.
Sansa turns to look at him, laughing at a half-hearted fight that’s broken out between Shrek and Will From The Inbetweeners, and Jon’s heart stutters, because, oh, this is the moment, here in this random person’s flat on Halloween, that he realises that he’s in love with Sansa Stark.
.
We’ll rewind.
.
Jon and Sansa become friends the way most people do. Or, that’s what they tell people.
Jon’s always been around. His dad died when he was young and his mum has struggled a bit ever since -- she always liked him being at the Starks, a giant family with a lot of imagination and a lot of care to go around. So Jon would spend days on end at Sansa’s house over the summers, coming over after school to do his homework at the table with everyone else, coming over on Christmas Eve with his mum to have dinner.
He’s just always been there, a part of the family, but not really.
Him and Sansa never had that much to do with each other, despite all of this. Jon was Robb’s age, Jon was Arya’s type of fun, Jon was Bran and Rickon’s role model, this strong boy with muscles and a hidden wit. While Jon was being all this Sansa was interested in so many other things she barely had time to look Jon’s way.
(But that’s not true, either. There were many times over the years when the two of them found themselves in an unexpected alliance, be that in hide and seek or scavenger hunts or opinions of Robb’s new girlfriend. Time and time again they would surprise both themselves and everyone else by agreeing with each other and realising that, actually, they had some things in common.)
Okay, so call their history complicated and move on.
A couple of years ago things got scrambled up even more when Robb moved out and Jon kept coming round. You would think now would be when he spent more time with Arya, with Bran, hell, with Ned, but instead he finds himself chatting to Sansa over the dining room table, comparing books, comparing music, comparing those odd observations of the world.
Jon’s not long broken up with Ygritte, you see, and Sansa’s had a couple of near misses with a couple of boys who have no idea how strong the Stark boys can punch, and so they bond over things turning out differently from how they expected and their wariness of going into the big wide world now the paths in front of them have shifted and, they really do love a lot of the same music.
They become, again to everyone’s surprise, pretty much joined at the hip. Jon moves away to Glasgow for uni but they phone all the time, Sansa updating the Starks on how his courses are going, how he’s thinking about enlisting in the army but he’s not sure. He comes home every few weekends, Sansa the second stop after his mum, a quick hello to Ned and Catelyn before he’s going up the stairs and into the room across the hall from Robb’s.
Then Sansa moves to Glasgow, goes to the same uni, because it’s a big one, it’s an old one, with Hogwarts style turrets and a History of Art course with glowing reviews. She moves into halls while Jon moves into a flat with Sam and Gilly and for the first few months, everyone keeps thinking they’re dating, because girls and boys can’t be friends, remember?
.
So this moment, with Shrek and Will going at it, and Sansa looking at him, her mouth moving into a question that he can't hear -- this moment really fucks that up, doesn’t it? Because Jon loves Sansa, she’s his best friend, he can tell her everything, but fuck, he really really wants to kiss her and everything else that goes with that sort of thinking.
.
Sansa tugs Jon into the tiny bathroom off the kitchen. She sits him on the toilet, crouches in front of him, and in this moment, Jon can’t help but notice how the lights are reflecting off of her eyeshadow, sparkling and sparkling.
“I’m not drunk,” he says out loud, which probably makes her think that he is.
“You look a bit stunned,” Sansa says, frowning. She presses a hand to his forehead, her skin cool. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I had an epiphany,” he tells her, shaking his head to clear it and suddenly feeling a lot better, like he really is a cartoon prince who’s been knocked in the head with stars dancing around him. “That I really really like you, Sans.”
“Oh.”
Jon waits. “Oh’s a very ambivalent word,” he says carefully after Sansa hasn’t said anything for a minute.
“Oh means that I’m thinking a random bathroom is a strange place to have this conversation.” she says, hand still on his forehead, her face so close to his.
Of course he’s always thought she’s beautiful, of course he’s always found her funny and clever and kind, as well as snappy and a little judgey, and sometimes very irritating. But it’s only now that he’s putting all of those things together, linking them with the way his stomach always swoops when he makes her laugh extra hard or when he smells her perfume or that funny little twinge in his chest when someone assumes they’re dating and one of them laughs and says, no, of course not, they’re best friends.
But they can be best friends and kiss. Monica and Chandler do that and he’s pretty sure Ned and Catelyn are something similar.
“It hit me out of the blue,” Jon says, aware of all of these thoughts cluttering up his head and assuming Sansa has something of the same. She’s still so close to him. The red lipstick he watched her apply earlier is still perfect -- she had read the smudgeproof claim on the tube and made a joke about pulling someone to test it. And, oh, Jon’s had this big revelation and he’s just assuming Sansa will feel the same when she’s at liberty to go and kiss whoever she likes.
He opens his mouth to say this, and to say that they should move because her legs must be falling asleep, when Sansa smiles, looks at peace.
“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” Sansa says, voice low, her eyes steady on Jon’s, waiting for his nod, before he’s watching her close them, eyelashes brushing her cheeks, and she’s leaning in, she’s brushing her lips against his own. Jon curls a hand in her hair, tilts his head, kisses her, gentle, slow, everything feeling brand new and familiar all at once.
Sansa tips forward, her weight shifting to Jon’s lap, careful. They’ve fallen asleep in the same bed more times than they count but hands have always been cautious, boundary crossings have never been considered, and now Jon has a hand in Sansa’s hair, a hand on her waist, her skin warm in the space between her bikini top and her skirt.
Thriller is filtering through the locked bathroom door, past the loud singers, the occasional resigned knock at the door because they’ve been in here for far too long, as though they don’t know that Ariel and Eric, the two they’ve always assumed to be together, have just made that leap.
“Let’s go home,” Sansa breathes into Jon’s neck, and Jon follows her back into the sea of people, a smudge of red lipstick on his lip and a grin a mile wide.
.
They walk the short journey back to Sansa’s, hands swinging between them.
“I’ve never really thought about it before,” Sansa says matter-of-factly. “But there were times when I found you stupidly attractive and didn’t know what to do about it or someone on my course said they always went on your insta and I felt a confused jealously that I didn’t get or whenever I was out no one ever caught my eye and all I was thinking about was you..” She looks at Jon, eyes wide. “I mean, you’re my best friend, Jon. I never even thought --”
“Why don’t we see what happens?” Jon suggests, because he knows that although they’re having all these thoughts and wants, dawning retrospective realisations, they shouldn't rush into anything. “Why don’t we go back to yours, see what happens, and we don’t make any big decisions tonight?”
Sansa grins. “Take me home, Eric!” She swoons, hand over her eyes. “My human legs have gone and I can’t walk on land -- will you be my big strong prince and rescue me?”
“I think Ariel rescues Eric in the film --”
“I know my feminist heroes, Jon.”
“But I suppose I can be the hero tonight.”
He gestures for her to jump on his back before she does, Sansa leans in and kisses him again, the kiss quicker than the last but she presses up against him, her tongue brushing his, and Jon finds equal merit in both of them, his head spinning with how oblivious he’s been for so long.
“Did I tell you I really really like you too, Jon?”
.
However things go, if they call it a random night caused by coupled up costumes and the mysterious sexiness of Halloween, or if they decide to make a go of it and start dating, Jon knows that they’re going to be okay.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
zoe/wade | t | 4.9k
“What the hell kind of name is Wade?” Thirteen year old Zoe says, glaring at her ribs in the mirror. The area around the newly scrawled name stings -- she presses her nail into the messy curves of the W, scowls. “Doctors don’t get called Wade.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/ginny | t | 3.2k
Two days before he leaves The Burrow Ginny finds him in the kitchen. She pushes herself up onto the worktop, watches him make a sandwich, stealing half of it when he’s done. “This finding yourself trip,” she starts, her feet banging on the cupboard doors below, “is it something that needs to be done alone?”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
harry/blair | t | 2.5k | blair incorporates more of her personal life into her social media platforms.
But sometimes — sometimes she slips in a cryptic tweet that has her followers scrabbling to work it out or she types out song lyrics that fit with how she’s feeling and she presses send as Harry hooks his chin over her shoulder and hums along. Twitter isn’t seeing that part of her but she has to keep them interested.
