Ginny: James, if you hurt your brother...
Harry: Albus!
James: It's my turn!
Albus: La la la I can't hear you
Lily L: Am I or am I not your favourite daughter?
Deleted Scene from Chapter 23: The In-Between's (6th Year)
Ginny had been getting more and more daring with her overt displays of public flirtations. Never mind any of Hermione’s proposed skillful hints or tactful exchanges. She couldn’t be bothered with them, not anymore.
Harry was standing at his locker with the door open. His dark hair was wet and throwing beads of water on his fresh shirt.
“Harry, why don’t you use a Hot Air Charm?” Ginny asked, gesturing towards his sopping wet hair.
“I like how it dries better,” he said, hand jumping up to flatten his hair. “Otherwise, I look like a mad scientist.”
“Bit preoccupied with your appearance, aren’t you, Captain Potter?” Ginny teased.
“Comes with fame.”
“Right, I caught that Witch Weekly article the other day: Harry Potter’s Hair Care Routine, And How to Replicate It On Your Wizard. I think Romilda Vane framed it.”
“It’s hard to come by good journalism these days.”
“But coincidentally, I like your hair best after Quidditch practice. Much more effortlessly tousled.” Ginny reached up, wove her hand in his half-dry hair and gave it a quick affectionate ruffle.
For a split second, she wondered if she had gone too far. Hermione was wrong, she did have shame. It scared the hell out of her. Years of training herself to undo feelings for Harry because he did not, could not, like her in the same way, did not just go away.
However, the look on his face could offer no doubt. He relished in it.
“Oi! You two. Wait up!” We heard Ron calling from several yards away. It wasn’t until then Ginny realized she and Harry had made it halfway to the castle. Lost in their exchange, instinctively chasing the chance to be alone. They reluctantly paused, waiting for Ron to scramble his way up the sloped path.
“And Harry,” Ginny asked. “What’s a mad scientist?”
“Oh, er-” he thought for a moment. “Picture the evil Muggle version of Dumbledore brewing questionable potions, but with Hagrid’s hair. They usually blow stuff up or send cars back in time.”
“See, those are the type of people we need more articles about. It’d make much better journalism.”
“Don’t you read the Quibbler?” Harry said, making Ginny laugh.
Ron caught up with them, out of breath and winded. “So kind… of you… to wait,” he gasped, bent over with hands on his knees.
“Harry, I think you need to host more conditioning days for the team. Looks like this one’s had too many Chocolate Cauldrons.” She wiggled her eyebrows in Harry’s direction, whose face split into a wide grin.
Ginny's First Round World Cup Match from the perspective of the Wizarding World's Tumblr (aka my tumblr blog from freaking out about Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce but make it Hinny)
@ginginweas posted
HAPPY GINNY WEASLEY IS GOING TO PLAY AND WIN A QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP TOURNAMENT MATCH DAY TO ALL THOSE WHO CELEBRATE
@harpies-hore posted
me when ginny weasley scores 13 goals on france's stupid little team
@quid-bitch reblogged @harpies-hore
@ginwiz posted
is the boy wizard showing his face today?
@puddlemore-111 reblogged @ginwiz
is the boy wizard showing his face today?
@puddlemore-111
God I hope not
@ginwiz reblogged @puddlemore-111
is the boy wizard showing his face today?
@puddlemore-111
God I hope not
@ginwiz
@ginginweas posted
@hinny-luv-4-eva reblogged @ginginweas
STOP THE COUNT
@harpies-hore posted
EVERYBODY SHUT UP SHE IS HERE
@queezy-4-weasley posted
SHE!!!
@bitch-witchh posted
GINNY ASDJFIALSJDFASDLFCASJD;LCK
@ginwiz posted
THAT'S MY NUMBER 6!!!!
@ginginweas posted
I LOVE HER SO MUCH HOLY SHIT
@quid-bitch posted
oh to be harry potter and be able to pull on that red ponytail and [REDACTED]
@bitch-witchh reblogged @quid-bitch
oh to be harry potter and be able to pull on that red ponytail and [REDACTED]
@bitch-witchh
Aurors, this one right here
@quid-bitch reblogged @bitch-witchh
oh to be harry potter and be able to pull on that red ponytail and [REDACTED]
@bitch-witchh
Aurors, this one right here
@quid-bitch
the only auror i would willing go with is harry potter
@queezy-4-weasley posted
reblog and put in the tags your guess on how many goals ginny scores today
#she is so scoring 17
@ginwiz posted
AAHHHH AND THEY ARE OFF
@im-a-keeper posted
aaaaand France already got away with a blagging call not even one minute into the match
@bitch-witchh posted
ALTON TO WEASLEY BACK TO ALTON TO KILLICK TO WEASLEY TO-
@queezy-4-weasley posted
THAT SPINNING MANUEVER OMG SHE IS SO GOOD
@harpies-hore posted
is it me, or are they somehow faster today? like what is this? new brooms?
@ginginweas posted
honestly the weasley, alton, killick chasing trio is so unstoppable. the next troy, mullet, moran
@puddlemore-111 reblogged @ginginweas
honestly the weasley, alton, killick chasing trio is so unstoppable. the next troy, mullet, moran
@puddlemore-111
you are so delusional
@ginginweas reblogged @puddlemore-111
honestly the weasley, alton, killick chasing trio is so unstoppable. the next troy, mullet, moran
@puddlemore-111
you are so delusional
@bitch-witchh posted
SCORE
@harpies-hore posted
GINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYY
@ginginweas posted
ASDKFJALKSDFHASKDJCASDJF
@im-a-keeper posted
merlin Ginny Weasley is good
@queezy-4-weasley posted
THAT'S MY GIRL
@gin-will-win posted
I LOG IN JUST IN TIME FOR POINTS!!!
@ginwiz posted
POINTS FOR WEASLEY
@quid-bitch posted
HOT HOT HOT HOT
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
HAARYRA
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
HE IS THERE
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
THEY PANNED THE CAMERDA TO HARYA AND HE IAS THERE1!!
@ginwiz posted
SHUT UP HARRY!!
@gin-will-win posted
HARRY IS THERE TOO!!! OMM!!!
@queezy-4-weasley posted
HE IS WEARING HER FUCKING JERSEY?!?!?!?!?
@harpies-hore posted
us when our favorite player's boyfriend, who she has been dating well over 4 years, shows up to one of her most important games of her life
@bitch-witchh posted
THEM
@ginginweas posted
I love him, not because he saved the wizarding world or whatever, but because he is somehow a bigger Ginny Weasley supporter than me
@quid-bitch posted
HE IS SO HOT! SHE IS SO HOT! HOW DO I GET INVITED TO BE THEIR THIRD?
@bitch-witchh reblogged @quid-bitch
HE IS SO HOT! SHE IS SO HOT! HOW DO I GET INVITED TO BE THEIR THIRD?
@bitch-witchh
STOP
@harpies-hore posted
@bitch-witchh reblogged @harpie-hore
@gin-will-win reblogged @harpie-hore
@queezy-4-weasley reblogged @harpie-hore
@ginwiz reblogged @harpie-hore
@hinny-luv-4-eva reblogged @harpie-hore
@im-a-keeper posted
THAT IS A FOUL!
@ginginweas posted
if they hurt ginny i swear i will
@queezy-4-weasley posted
oh good they are giving ginny a penalty shot
@gin-will-win posted
ginny shooting a pentaly shot means = free points
@ginwiz posted
FREE POINTS
@harpies-hore posted
free points and then negated with the refs calling a foul on killick when he didn't even touch the dude
@ginginweas posted
@bitch-witchh reblogged @ginginweas
@im-a-keeper posted
Tied back up at 30-30.
@gin-will-win posted
i underestimated France's defense
@quid-bitch posted
give the love of my life the quaffle back
@queezy-4-weasley posted
please put the quaffle through the hoops, thnx
@ginwiz posted
SHE SCORED!
@queezy-4-weasley reblogged @queezy-4-weasley
please put the quaffle through the hoops, thnx
@queezy-4-weasley
SHE PUT THE QUAFFLE THROUGH THE HOOPS
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
THEY SHOWED HARRY AGIAN
@gin-will-win posted
SHE SCORED AGAIN HOLY SHIT! BACK TO BACK GOALS
@harpies-hore
i am hermione
@ginginweas posted
I love Ginny so much
Can Harry fight?
@harpies-hore reblogged @ginginweas
I love Ginny so much
Can Harry fight?
@harpies-hore
....girl
@ginginweas reblogged @harpies-hore
I love Ginny so much
Can Harry fight?
@harpies-hore
....girl
@ginginweas
I could take him
@bitch-witchh reblogged @ginginweas
I love Ginny so much
Can Harry fight?
@harpies-hore
....girl
@ginginweas
I could take him
@bitch-witchh
....girl
@gin-will-win posted
if i needed more reasons to hate the french, the way they are playing today would be enough.
@ginwiz posted
that was CLEAR haversacking, but sure, give the French team more points
@im-a-keeper posted
these refs are.... something
@queezy-4-weasley
LOL HARRY IS PISSED
@gin-will-win posted
DID HARRY JUST YELL "FUCK THAT" ON CAMERA??
@harpies-hore posted
Harry rn
@bitch-witchh reblogged @harpies-hore
Harry rn
@bitch-witchh
IM SCREAMING
@ginginweas posted
Ginny is PISSED too
@im-a-keeper posted
WEASLEY SCORES AGAIN
@gin-will-win posted
Did she jsut?
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
SHE POINTED AT HARRY
@ginwiz posted
THEY JUST MAKE ME
@harpies-hore posted
i need to be admitted to Saint Mungos for my unhealty obsession with them
@puddlemore-111 posted
they need to stop panning to that stupid loser. we get it, he "saved the wizarding world" anyone can cast an expelliarmus spell
@harpies-hore posted
@im-a-keeper posted
back to back goals for the Brits now has the score 90-50
@queezy-4-weasley posted
I need the seekers to stop searching for the snitch, i need ginny to score another 10 goals first
@ginwiz posted
SNITCH SIGHTING SNITCH SIGHTING
@queezy-4-weasley posted
DAMMIT
@bitch-witchh posted
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
@ginginweas posted
WHO CAUGHT IT?!?!
@gin-will-win posted
I HAVE SO MANY EMOTIONS
@harpie-hore posted
@gin-wiz posted
I THINK WE CAUGHT IT!!
@im-a-keeper posted
BRITAINS SEEKERS SHAH HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! BRITAIN WINS!
@bitch-witchh posted
WWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEE WOOOOOOON
@gin-will-win posted
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH
@ginwiz posted
HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT
@queezy-4-weasley posted
GINNY WEASLEY MVP AWARD WHEN?!?!?
@harpie-hore posted
GINNY WEASLEY WORLD CUP SEMI-FINAL QUALIFIER, I COULD CRY
@quid-bitch posted
FUCK IM CRYING
@bitch-witchh posted
WHERE IS SHE GOING?!?
@ginginweas posted
gINNY????
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
SHE IS FLYING TO HARRY
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
I REPEAT SHE IS FLYING OVER TO HARRY
@harpies-hore posted
MERLINS FUCKING BALLS
@queezy-4-weasley posted
SHE JUST KISSSS???
@bitch-witchh posted
THEY ARE KISSING?!?!?! IN PUBLIC!??!?!?!
@ginginweas posted
KIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
@ginwiz posted
HINNY
@bitch-witchh posted
THEM!!!!!!!!!
@harpies-hore posted
CALL ME @quid-bitch BUT THEY ARE SO FUCKING HOT THEY CAN [REDACTED] TO ME
@quid-bitch reblogged @harpies-hore
CALL ME @quid-bitch BUT THEY ARE SO FUCKING HOT THEY CAN [REDACTED] TO ME
@quid-bitch
you get me
@queezy-4-weasley posted
@ginginweas posted
they are usually so protective of their relationship and private (which makes sense because you know the war??) but like, both of them being so happy and public makes me so soft
@hinny-luv-4-eva posted
they are so perfect, i needed them to get married yesterday
@bitch-witchh posted
I hve so many emotions and I don't know what to do with them
@gin-will-win posted
OMG GINNY WEASLEY MVP
@queezy-4-weasley posted
SHE ACTUALLY GOT MVP!!!!
@ginginweas posted
I CANNOT STOP SCREAMING
@harpies-hore posted
I am okay if i die after today
@ginwiz reblogged @harpies-hore
I am okay if i die after today
@ginwiz
if you die, you don't get to watch ginny in the semi-finals
@harpies-hore reblogged @ginwiz
I am okay if i die after today
@ginwiz
if you die, you don't get to watch ginny in the semi-finals
@harpies-hore
FUCK
@im-a-keeper posted
Today in summary: Weasley scores 6 of Great Britains 9 goals, Shaw catches the snitch in one of the quickest World Cup matches of all time, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley kiss in public
@gin-will-win posted
I will remember this day forever
@ginnyweasley posted
What a beautiful win today for Great Britain. Thanks for all the love and support from the fans and from my loved ones. On to the next match!
Written for @hinnymicrofic November 2023 - Prompt 10
School year 96/97, told through the medium of Hair
He first noticed Ginny’s hair in October, at Quidditch practice. Well, not so much noticed, because of course he had noticed before that she had hair in a general sense. She obviously wasn’t bald, was she? No, it was more like he paid particular attention to her hair, specifically. It happened when she dived sharply for a loose quaffle, twisting as she went, and whatever she’d used to clip it up to her head came loose. Suddenly, her hair was tumbling behind her, first as she hurtled towards the grass, then as she soared upwards, aiming for the hoops. It caught the late afternoon sun, and almost seemed to glow, like flames streaking through the air behind her. Ron saved her shot (with his face. Classic.), and as she pulled up in front of him, face alight with laughter, her hair fell forward, like a cloud around her shoulders. Harry decided the odd feeling in his stomach was hunger - must be time to head back up for dinner.
-----------
Ginny was grateful to Dean, checking over her Charms essay, really she was, but honestly, it was a bit dull, just sat there in the common room, waiting. Her gaze fell idly on the table in the corner, where Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting, deep in conversation. Harry had his back to her, and, for want of anything better to do, she traced the line of his hair with her eyes, where it fell, curling just slightly towards his collar. She imagined running her finger there, feeling where his hairline met the pale skin of his neck, and she shivered slightly.
“It’s pretty good, Ginny. You just need to add a bit more about the Substantive charm’s practical uses and then I think you’ve covered everything.”
Ginny jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice, suddenly feeling very guilty about the direction of her thoughts, and more than a little surprised. I mean, where the fuck did that even come from?
-----------
The Slug Club Christmas party was every bit as appalling as Harry had feared. Luna’s company helped to make it just about bearable, as did the amusing spectacle of Hermione attempting to avoid McLaggan. The biggest problem was that no matter how many utterly terrifying/incredibly dull/undoubtedly influential (delete as applicable) people Slughorn seemed determined to introduce him to, Harry found his attention constantly drawn to the flashes of long, red hair from across the room, everytime it caught the candlelight. It was impossible to miss, a beacon that always drew his gaze. But as always, Ginny remained just out of his reach.
-----------
At breakfast, before the Hufflepuff match, Ginny watched Harry carefully. Sure enough, she quickly picked up the signs that he was stressed. Losing Katie was bad enough, but Ron’s (ahem) mishap and Cormac’s subsequent recruitment was significantly more concerning. It seemed like every few seconds, he’d run his fingers through his hair. Long, slender, strong fingers, oddly delicate despite the callouses from his wand and the handle of his firebolt, though why her stupid brain insisted on noticing that, she had no idea. Well okay, maybe she had a bit of an idea. But anyway, the constant agitation made his hair stick up in spiky black tufts, even more unruly than usual - which was really saying something, wasn’t it?
Maybe it would be neater if he cut it shorter? she thought - but he wouldn’t like that, would he? Because if it was shorter, it wouldn’t flop down over his forehead, covering his scar. And, now she came to think about it, she wouldn’t like it either. There was something strangely hot about he always looked so dishevelled, like he had perennially just got out of bed. She wondered, not for the first time, whether it was as soft as it appeared? She imagined running her own fingers through it, the feeling of it against the delicate skin between her fingers and… oh crap, she didn’t just sigh out loud, did she?
“Everything okay, Ginny?” enquired Hermione, her tone solicitous, but her expression irritatingly knowing. “You look a bit… flushed.”
“Yes, fine,” she answered, smoothly, returning Hermione’s arched eyebrow with one of her own. “Just a bit warm in here, isn’t it?”
-----------
By the time Harry arrived at The Burrow at Easter, he knew he was in real trouble. Being in such close proximity to Ginny was… problematic. Everything about her was just so bloody attractive, and it did things to him. Case in point: when Hermione was finally persuaded to make up the numbers for two-aside Quidditch. Harry honestly didn’t expect this to be an issue - after all, he’d played Quidditch with Ginny countless times, and okay it was often a bit distracting, but this was something else. Obviously, her lips didn’t help, pink and slightly parted as she concentrated on stealing the quaffle from under his nose, but the main difference was the way she was dressed, in the unseasonably warm weather. Those unnecessarily short shorts, and the way her t-shirt stretched over her chest… well, anyway. He needed something else to focus on, and fast. Ron! Yes, genius. Thinking of Ron, instant mood killer. Ron with his ginger hair. It was the exact same shade as Ginny’s ginger hair, wasn’t it? Ron’s ginger hair, which was cut short, and not at all like Ginny’s which was long and thick and shiny, and currently braided into a thick plait, hanging down her back towards… Oh Merlin! This isn’t helping AT ALL!
“Harry! Look out!”
Unfortunately, Hermione’s warning came way too late, but at least sorting out the minor cuts and bruises from his collision with the tree branch and subsequent tumble to the ground gave him something else to think about.
-----------
The moment they stepped through the portrait hole, Harry pressed her against the wall, his mouth on hers. With only a moment of hesitation, Ginny allowed her hands to slip up his back, feeling his shoulders tense at her touch, before sliding them through his hair.
Yeah, I was right, she thought to herself, it really is as soft as it looks.
After that, she really didn’t do much in the way of thinking at all.
Harry must have been very happy when he saw Ginny in her wedding dress, but can you imagine how happy he was when he first saw her with her Holyhead Harpies uniform with "Potter" on the back?
Send an ask with “Trick or treat!” to the writer who reblogged this & you could receive a 3-sentence fic, drabble, headcanon, sneak-peek at a WIP, the last sentence they wrote, a new fic idea, random line from a fic, picture of their notebook, a deleted line they love, an idea for a sequel, something they’re researching, behind-the-scenes info on a published fic, or something else!
an excuse to post hinny deleted scenes??? 👀👀👀
i bit off more than i can chew with this delightful trick or treat challenge but i do have literally mountains of dumb harry/ginny letters that didn't make the cut in beasts so here's some deleted scenes/the two of them doing what they do best (flirting by post, shooting the shit). do i love these lines? not particularly, but i love these two and i couldn't find anywhere for this extremely dumb exchange to go in the fic so sharing it here in honour of halloween will have to do! thank you sm @turanga4!
Gin,
How’s your week? It’s shit here. Work’s shit, weather’s shit, house is shit. Today I also stood in literal dog shit and I couldn’t even scourgify my shoe because I was in a street full of Muggles so I had to wait until I was in the employee entrance at work to try clean it out. And then when I walked in someone said ‘what’s that smell’, and then someone else started retching and someone else started pointing and going ‘shit is that Harry Potter’. So then I had to try to pretend like it wasn’t me that had shit on my shoe until the room had cleared and I could finally sort it out. And now I’m worried the Prophet is going to run a story about how Harry Potter smells like shit, or start calling me The Boy Who Lived in His Own Filth, or bring those Potter Stinks badges out of retirement and send them into mass production, or something.
Yours (drowning in shit) -
Harry
—
The Boy Who Lived in His Own Filth (catchy),
I’m sorry your week has been so full of shit (literal and figurative). It does seem cosmically cruel that you can save the Wizarding World and still find yourself standing in dog shit. You’d think the universe would give you a pass, or something. Really, no treading in dog shit for the rest of your life seems the least the universe could do for you, given how much trouble you’ve gone to. I’m outraged on your behalf and willing to write to whatever necessary higher power to make this right.
It’s pretty shit here too. I miss you (yawn, lame, boring). When you inevitably go into hiding from the brutal Prophet expose of your personal hygiene habits you are very welcome to hang out with me up here/hide out in Hagrid’s cabin and help me try to explain to him the proper consistency of custard.
Yours in shitty solidarity,
Hagrid’s long suffering sous chef
—
Dear Hagrid’s long suffering sous chef/custard de-lumper in chief,
Thanks for the sympathy. I miss you too, a lot (yawn, lame, boring). Ron’s just asked if I’m writing to you ‘again’ like he doesn’t write to Hermione each time there’s a Y in the day. He just asked what we even talk about. So if he asks I told him we’re working on a big list of his flaws and most embarrassing moments to read out at his thirtieth and/or him and Hermione’s wedding, whichever comes first. Now he’s saying we’re ‘very childish’ and keeps trying to get a look at the parchment to check if I was lying or not. Oh wait no now he’s going up to his room to write Hermione about his very busy exciting day spent reading evidence logs and complaining that the canteen’s stingy pie portions. What a lucky girl.
Keep fighting the good custard fight.
Yours,
Harry
PS. Thanks for the offer but have to decline the option of hiding out in Hagrid’s hut. Fang’s poos are enormous. I can’t risk a second shit-stepping. Can I not crash in your dormitory? The steps up to the girls’ rooms don’t still turn into slides, do they?
—
Outrageous and scandalous attempt to wangle your way into my bed, Potter. Of course the steps still turn into slides. What, you thought because there was a war on and the castle got pounded to smithereens the relics of archaic magical paternalism designed to defend young witches’ virtues would somehow cease to function? How naive. Anyway, I for one am grateful for the slides, if they stop you bringing your stinky shit covered shoes into our dormitory.
Tell Ron I'm writing you absolute filth. Like debauched sexual propositions, truly eye-watering stuff. That said, if you think for a second I’m not going to back my dear brother in his campaign for generous pie portions then you’re out of your mind. Despite the sneering of critics (you), we Weasleys believe in the importance of hearty pie helpings, almost as much as we believe in the importance of perfect custard viscosity.
Yours,
Ginny
PS. You're literally not going to believe this - wrote this letter at Hagrid, was heading out and sealing it up to send and I literally stepped in one of Fang's enormous shits. What are the chances???
It is the year 2000, the lukewarm spring sun tasting like gold on her torso as she sleeps. This is a life they’ve created together: the London traffic stirring them awake, the luxury of drawing out moans wherever they wish in their apartment, of missing each other when he’s on missions and she’s at games, letting their desire unspool shamelessly in letters they write when they’re apart.
This life they have, they built it together: beginning from barely audible conversations in the Burrow’s garden after funerals, put together through rolls of parchment and a million thousand words between Scotland and London tied to the fragile legs of owls, then buying fruits for the dinning table, choosing ammonia-heavy paint for the apartment walls.
A kiss on his left earlobe from which a brown mole partially dangles, raising goosebumps on his arms from the tip of her cold toes, holding him through nightmares, padding around in his Holyhead Harpies jersey because he finds it irresistible, never binding his hands as she rides him because any form of captivity reminds him of the war. Watching him pour over paperwork and thinking: I could write a million poems about you. About how much I love you.
And there are other things, too: like, how he knits her woollen socks, and makes sure her bath oils are always stocked, remembers to buy her parents gifts because she doesn’t have the time to go shopping in Muggle London. How he mumbles his apology against her sternum after he gets overprotective, how his words dissolve in her scent like magic. He does things like: drying her hair after she washes it, wrapping a muffler around her neck in the winter, taking her to beaches in the summer, unravelling her agonizingly slowly in their bedroom that is only lit by the red and yellow lights of the vehicles and streetlights outside the window at night.
This life they have, is a life they almost didn’t have. A life that they resurrected from death, by holding hands and sighing something like prayers into each others’ mouth.
“--and you’d think, after rereading the chapter twice that I’d have a bleeding clue what Vector was on about, but I haven’t. The OWL is going to be a complete disaster.”
“You could always fall asleep in the middle,” Harry suggests, smirking. “I’ve heard that’s an effective way to get out of OWLs.”
“Excellent advice,” Ginny snorts. “And anyway, what are you on about, ‘fall asleep in the middle'? I thought you had a vision?”
It’s odd to joke about what was arguably the worst evening of his life – the worst evening in a life already rife with horrific evenings contending for the top spot – but he finds that the twinge of grief and regret doesn’t come. Not while her warm hand is clasped in his. “I did,” he says airily. “After I fell asleep.”
“You’re a terrible influence,” she snickers, smacking his arm lightly with her free hand. They’re not taking the most direct route from the Library to the Gryffindor Common Room, choosing instead to meander lazily in the relative privacy of the nearly-curfew corridors. They’ve ended up somewhere on the fourth floor, somehow. “What’ll you do when I flunk out of Hogwarts, eh?”
“You won’t,” he answers.
“I might,” she says warningly, and then she heaves a great sigh. “I suppose I could stay at home and help Mum with the chickens, assuming she doesn’t murder me…”
She’s joking, but Harry thinks he sees a glint of something resembling genuine worry in her expression. He’s reminded irresistibly of himself in the days leading up to his expulsion hearing, how he’d gone to Sirius, hoping desperately for reassurance that expulsion wouldn’t mean the end…
“If you do, we could always just move to France,” Harry says. “According to Fleur it’s better there anyway.”
Ginny raises an eyebrow. “‘We’?”
“Yeah,” Harry says, nonchalant. “You’re not ditching me here to do NEWTs alone.”
Ginny stares at him, and then a smile spreads across her lips. “Yeah, alright. But not France. I’m not going anywhere Fleur thinks is good.”
“Wherever,” Harry shrugs easily. “I’m not fussy.”
Ginny tugs at his arm so he’s facing her, and then she backs him slowly up against the craggy stone wall of the corridor, and he feels his heart quicken. “What about Siberia? Would you go there?”
She’s pressed herself up against him, her hands snaking up around his shoulders, and he’s finding it difficult to think at the minute. “Siberia could be nice.”
She presses her lips against his, so soft, and his breath hitches in his chest. Before he has the chance to melt into her, she pulls back, but only just. Her eyelids are fluttering, and her lips still ghost against his as she whispers, “The Sahara, then?”
“Sure,” he agrees, not caring where he’s agreeing to as long as she’s there, and then he’s kissing her. He wonders vaguely if he’ll ever get used to this: the feel of her pressed up against his chest, the way his life seems so much brighter now that it’s lit up with her fiery glow, how dangerous wanting has become now that all he wants is her.
He kisses her, and pulls her in closer, and the want nearly swallows him whole - to touch her everywhere, to have her for more than just a fleeting moment, to escape the sword hanging overhead, poised to slice him open along the seams she’s only just sewn together.
Siberia could be nice, really. No prophecy, or Horcruxes, or Voldemort. Just Ginny, her skin dappled with freckles, and the cackle of a laugh that he loves coaxing out of her.
He might be free to want her and actually have her there.
Fifteen drabbles written for @thethreebroomsticksfic Weasley Week, Oct 16th: Arthur Weasley. Read below or on AO3.
i.
“You’re joking.”
Molly chews back her smile, shakes her head coyly. The house isn’t quiet, per say, but in a rare stroke of luck the twins and Ronnie’s naps have aligned.
And he’s wedged around the bathroom sink with his wife, giggling like children over a potion that’s just changed color.
“A girl…”
The day she’s born, Fabian is there. Peers over the bassinet for so long, Arthur wonders if he too is counting ten perfect pink toes.
“Shit,” he says to Arthur over a cigar that night, after talking war, “this world will never be good enough for her.”
ii.
It’s his turn tonight, when they hear little feet across the kitchen floor. He’s not surprised it’s her, face still blotchy, hair sticking up everywhere from this afternoon’s tantrum that left her knackered.
She whips around in the pantry doorway, eyes like saucers. “I’m hungry.”
After leftover stew from her yellow paisley bowl, he lays in bed with her. Grants her request for a story on the condition she doesn’t suck her thumb.
“Once upon a time, there was a witch named Ginny who lived in a deep, dark wood…”
“No, Daddy,” she whispers, eyes nearly closed. “I’m a dragon.”
iii.
Molly tells him she cried the whole way home from King’s Cross. By early afternoon, he can still tell— the aftershocks seem to surprise her, those gasping little breaths.
“You know the best part of being the last one left,” he divulges over homemade strawberry ice cream that has yet to do the trick, “is that no one’s here to fight you for your pick of broomstick.”
The rest of her bowl melts on the porch swing. She’s out until it gets dark in the orchard, comes in for supper with leaves in her hair and the biggest jack-o-lantern grin.
iv.
The day they bring her back home, he carries her trunk upstairs and sits beside her on the bed. Apologizes for ever blaming her, even for a second.
She counters by saying something lifeless and self-loathing and broken. Eleven-year-old fingers pick at bruised nail beds— tiny, perfect hands. He still can’t fathom it.
That night, Molly brings her dinner and doesn’t come back down. When he heads up to bed, he sees they’ve clearly emptied all her shelves, stacked every novel and journal and textbook outside her door where they can’t hurt her.
He’s never been angrier in his life.
v.
Since this morning, he’s meant to tell her he’s sorry— sorry they couldn’t offer her anything better on her birthday than this condemnable house-turned-war room. Sorry for the second-hand leather satchel wrapped in faded Christmas paper, even though she wanted a broom; sorry everyone’s thoughts are on tomorrow’s hearing.
After dinner he finally says it, out of Molly’s earshot. Sitting on the stairs leading from the kitchen, plates of fudgy cake in hand.
“Don’t apologize.” She’s still smiling huge, bumps his shoulder. The Flatulence Fez the twins crowned her with slips down over one eye. “I really love the bag.”
vi.
It should’ve been the day that made them proudest as parents, marrying off their firstborn. It wasn’t.
This morning, they boxed up centerpieces and charger plates in the shed, repaired all the furniture, met with the Order. His ears still ring. The house is eerie without those three.
He finds them in her room. His wife is clutching their daughter as she sobs harder than he’s ever seen, inconsolable, wracking herself hoarse. He feels it like a sword to the chest.
In bed later, Molly shakes her head with that look he earns sometimes when he’s being thick. “She’s heartbroken.”
vii.
Friday before Easter, he changes from work robes into something Muggle and tweed and itchy. Platform 9¾ is packed with people avoiding eye contact, and the Express is late. It was late in December, too— arrived without Luna. He waits, terror tightening his throat.
He’s numb with relief when he sees her, one of the only kids lugging a trunk like he advised. She’s swimming in a jumper he’s sure is Ron’s, and that twinges a bit. There’s something different, he notices, walking to the entrance. Colder. Quiet. He doesn’t ask… can’t quite bear to.
Four days later, they flee.
viii.
She’s fighting him. Kicking, clawing.
He holds on with everything he has, arms clasped around her chest, and it’s like he can feel her breaking inside. But if he lets go, he’ll lose her, too. Like Fred.
Like the body they’re all staring at, lifeless at Hagrid’s feet.
Weeks later, when the Boy Who Lived finds him in the shed one night, hedging, guiltier than anyone he’s ever seen, he already knows. For a moment he considers letting the kid squirm, like the father ought to do.
But then he remembers her first year, and wordlessly hands over a screwdriver.
ix.
“One more,” she tells their waitress, pointing at a coaster she’s put in the middle. “For my sixth brother.”
The table falls quiet. But then George chuckles and they all take his cue, except Molly.
Snow collects on the windows as the bangers and pies and chips are served. She laments early-morning practices to them all, pretends she’s already bored of all the travel.
“Knock it off,” Charlie snickers, grinning. “Rookies can’t complain. We know you’re having a blast.”
At the end of the night she beats everyone to the bar, pays their tab. Arthur suspects it’s her whole paycheck.
x.
“I definitely saw you cry,” she accuses. She’s graceful even in smugness, grinning something wicked over her lipstick-stained champagne flute.
He pretends to grumble, but he knows she knows. “Hard not to, with the bloody groom getting all choked up.”
The band calls them up soon after, and he pulls her close. “It’s okay,” she murmurs as her face starts to blur again, inches away. “Just admit you’ve gone soft, Dad. I won’t tell.” He tugs on her hand to spin her, chuckling.
They cut cake, and Harry whispers something that makes her laugh, and she lights up the room.
xi.
Predictably, the stadium loses it when she flies out with a new surname on her kit. Ron rolls his eyes as she lands on the pitch with a bit of swagger.
She flies well today, but he reckons she could miss every shot and the commentators would still talk of nothing else. In the stands, Harry laughs when Arthur leans over to ask how it feels to play second fiddle.
“I’ll never be good enough for her,” he snorts over the rim of his pint. “But I’m sure you knew that.”
She scores twelve goals, and the Harpies clinch playoffs.
xii.
“I’d kill for a drink about now,” she mutters, leaning against the railing. He knows better than to say she probably shouldn’t be out here, either— the venue’s porch, serving as refuge for men who normally never smoke.
He takes a long drag as they watch her boys toddle after their dad on the lawn. “Nearly there, sweetheart.” Treading lightly with his words, lest he incur any of what Muriel’s other well-intended mourners did with their attempts at small talk (“Like a fucking whale, thanks for asking”).
“Hey,” she smirks, “maybe you and Mum can buy a beach cottage now.”
xiii.
The mug Molly poured when they arrived is tepid now, sitting on the table. Shadows lengthen like ghosts beneath his daughter’s eyes; he suspects they’re five days old.
The kids are all asleep, Molly updates them.
Her jaw tightens. At her temple, he notices a couple of gray strands. “I can’t—” she whispers. Squeezes her eyes shut; nothing else comes out. “They need their dad. I’m not good enough on my own.”
“He’ll come home safe, darling. Always does.” And he makes her promise to never say that again.
He takes both of her hands in his, and they’re cold.
xiv.
They’re celebrating Ted and Vic beneath a canopy of fairy lights. Bill’s weepy toast prompts Fleur to frisk his brothers till she finds George’s flask.
She never realizes Ginny’s stowing the bottle.
His children outlast their kids and spouses. It’s one of those nights he can’t let himself miss, tired as he is.
His daughter points a wobbly finger. “Lils has a boyfriend, by the way. Doesn’t think we know. Harry’s going spare.”
He chuckles. “Now he gets it. Imagine trying to justify hating the Chosen One.”
She laughs, nearly tips her chair. “You should tell him that. Might help.”
xv.
It comes in waves. Feels like a lifetime has passed since yesterday; another before that. Molly— bless her— tried to prepare him for it. Tried to comfort him. Imagine.
It feels too big now, their little house on the beach. Perfect for two lives, cavernous with just one.
She finds him in the garden before sunset. Small, warm hands enclose his.
“Look, Dad.”
It’s a delicate, fluttering thing with blue wings, bobbing on the wind. Molly’s favorite.
“She’s found us again.”
He smiles and tucks a silver lock behind her ear, meeting her gaze— precisely the same shade of brown.
Summer is for endless hot days, skins tanning as they fly high under the sun; birds at day, crickets at night, laughter anytime; jokes and shared tease, teaming up even when they are supposed to be playing against each other; resting under the shadow of a tree, with the breeze cooling their faces, talking about all and nothing; her cheeks are pink, blushing because of him but not for him; it's the fragrance of flowers in the air, intoxicating but never exhausting; it's the short nights spent camped in his room, telling each other ghost stories that never frighten him; he never remembers his dreams later, but there is a flash of red, a sparkling laugh; he sleeps better.
Autumn is realisation. It's noticing a distance that hadn't been there in the summer, but it comes with the age difference, classes that should help him survive. It's remembering she has other friends, a boyfriend with whom she must be enjoying that winding day in a cozy place; he scowls. It's seeing her with someone else and understanding why he hates it; it's remembering his every dream because she is there and how could he have not noticed it before; she is always there, only this time he yearns to share her laugh and her kisses; his dreams always grant his wishes, only for him to wake up.
Winter starts as a pale replay of summer. They are together, but there is a wall now, born of his conflicted and unrequited feelings; he shouldn't, but it's hard to resist her pull, though. As the frosty days go by, he cannot help but share an amused grin when the Christmas love songs play on the radio; they tease the silliness of other couples around them; her eyes flash dangerously when he says he is sorry for all the mess with her brother. They spend New Year's Eve making angels in the snow, and he laughs, all concerns gone; their hands meet for a moment, a touch too warm on that cold night, and he craves for more; her smile flickers for a moment, and when she takes her hand back, there is a whole conflict on her face. When they get back, he cannot help but notice she doesn't seem thrilled to meet her boyfriend.
Spring is for hope. Whispers of fallings out between her and her boyfriend; at night, when he lays in bed, a glint of gold teases him — how lucky it would be if she happened to break up with her boyfriend, how lucky if she realised her feelings for him, how lucky if her brother wouldn't mind. Lucky helps him for once. He watches her; she is bright, lively, unbothered by end of her relationship, and he sighs more than once — he also gets hit by bludgers more than once, but he isn't noticing those. The days are getting longer and they return to the castle, after practice, in the twilight; the sky is painted with gorgeous colours but his eyes are on her, and her happy smile and the blaze of challenge and longing in her eyes; their hands brush, fingers almost intertwining, but then someone interrupts them, something happens, and they look away disappointedly. Every night she departs wishing him good dreams, and he wonders if she knows she will appear in his dreams later; he hopes he will be on hers.
When they kiss, on a spring day, Harry feels like summer began early that year.
