Written for @hinnymicrofic, Sept Day 1: Time
(826 words so a little long)
“Mum! Mum! Dad! Daaad! I am starting Hogwarts today!”
Harry opened his eyes abruptly, looking at the little red-haired ball of energy at the end of the bed. “What time is it?” he croaked, reaching for his glasses and shoving them onto his nose.
“Six,” Ginny mumbled.
“Get uuup!” Lily begged them, pulling at the foot of the sheets.
Harry pulled back and frowned at her. “I know you’re excited, but I promise the train will not leave without you.” He ignored his wife’s muted snort.
“Go ahead and shower,” Ginny said. “We’ll be up in a minute.”
Lily escaped their room again and ran to the bathroom with the energy of a toddler on a sugar rush. Harry let his head drop back on the pillow and groaned. Ginny turned around to him.
“It’s annoying, really,” he said with a smile. “How much she’s like you.”
Ginny blinked slowly. “Shut up.”
“I suggest you handle her, since she’s bouncing around like a rogue bludger,” he suggested carefully.
“I am retired!” She shot him a disapproving look. “I think you should handle the little fugitive, Mr Head Auror.”
“Ah.” He shook his head. “I knew that promotion was going to bite me in the butt sooner rather than later.”
Ginny’s face broke out into a smile, and it was like the sun had broken through the clouds. “You bet.”
Before they could decide who would be in charge of their youngest, a blood-curdling scream came from the bathroom.
Ginny pushed the sheets off and took up her wand. “I’ll go.” She walked into the hallway. “You handle our sons!”
“Both?!” he asked.
“Yes!”
Harry got out of bed and got dressed. He walked to the bathroom first and knocked on the door. “All okay?”
Ginny sighed. “Someone put frogspawn in the shower head.”
At that moment the door at the end of the corridor and James stepped out. Harry turned around.
“What’s happening?” James asked.
Harry put on a stern expression. “There was frogspawn in the showerhead, would you happen to know about that?”
James looked down at the floor, avoiding his father’s gaze. “...No.”
Harry wasn’t convinced. “Go to your room, I’ll be there in a minute.”
James grumbled and trod off to his room, slamming his door. Harry shook his head. He peered into Al’s room, but as usual his middle child was deep asleep. He could sleep through anything. Harry took a deep breath and walked to James’s room.
James sat on the edge of his bed. Harry pulled up the desk chair and sat in front of his son.
“I didn’t do it!” James defended himself before Harry could ask anything.
Harry nodded. “But you knew about it?”
James looked down again. “I did.”
“And you didn’t say anything, why?” Harry asked.
His son looked at him with a grimace. “Because you’re usually the first to shower.”
Harry suppressed a smile. “I see.”
“I wouldn’t do that to Lily,” he argued.
Harry’s eyebrows raised.
“... on her first day of school,” he ended sheepishly.
“Who did? Was it Al?” Harry asked.
“No!” James said quickly. “Fred... and Hugo.”
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “That... that makes sense.”
James offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Should’ve said. I know Lily is so excited to go...”
“Please look after her,” he said. “Especially if she’s in Gryffindor.”
James scoffed. “Like she would let me!”
“Good point,” he said. He sighed, he couldn’t help being anxious for his youngest to go. “Just be there when she needs. She’s smart enough to ask for help if she has to.”
James nodded. “I will.”
“Get ready, make sure all is packed. Breakfast will be ready in a bit.” He stood up, ignoring the cracking noise his knee made.
“Hey, dad.”
Harry turned back around. “Yes?”
James scratched his neck awkwardly. “Remember those snitch-shaped fried eggs you made for all of us when I went off to Hogwarts the first time? I think Lily would like that.”
He grinned. “I’ll whip up some snitch eggs for everyone.”
“Dad, come here!” Lily said from the open bathroom door.
He walked in to see Ginny braiding Lily’s hair.
“Is it pretty?” Lily asked excitedly.
He locked eyes with Ginny in the mirror for a moment and then looked back at their daughter, both wearing nearly identical smiles. “Yes, I love it.”
Harry made his way downstairs and started on breakfast. It took some time to get the egg shapes right. Egg yolk in the middle, the whites of the egg acting like the snitch’s wings. Ginny snuck up on him and he turned around to kiss her.
“Where’s Lily?” he asked.
Ginny blushed. “I told her and James to let some steam off in the garden. I instructed her under no circumstances she was allowed to take James to the pond to help her get frog spawn for revenge. Absolutely not.”
“We’re such good parents,” Harry said with a grin.
- A figment of your imagination | AO3 - After fighting with Lupin in Grimmauld Place, Harry wondered if his father would have approved what he had said to Lupin. Fortunately, James comes to give Remus his piece of mind. Set during Deathly Hallows.
- Chasing Dreams | AO3 - When Ginny Potter is having doubts about her pregnancy, her father-in-law shows up to give her some help, to fly together and, of course, to present his suggestion of baby names.
- The fawn and the stag | AO3 - When six-years-old James Sirius has a crisis about never showing magic before, a familiar friend comes to help him.
- ‘Til it was a battle cry - After fighting with Al (“There are times I wish you weren’t my son”), Harry seeks some fatherly advice.
Hinny
- All fics here
Hinny and Jily
- Parallels
Jily
- Where are your clothes | AO3 - Or how James got himself naked in front of Lily Evans before their first date.
- A proper kiss | AO3 - “Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl, it wasn’t that good of a kiss, anyway.” Except Lily Evans can’t stop thinking about it.
- All the time with you | AO3 - James realizes that more than one person on his life has a monthly cycle.
- James and Lily’s first day after moving in together
- Glimpses of the future | AO3 - Lily traces the third line of his hand. The loveline. ‘What’s going on with your heart, Potter?’ He wishes he knew.
- The other side of the imaginary door - Lily and James are close to something.
- Seven minutes in heaven | AO3 - “You kissed me and I thought we hated each other, but you’re pulling me closer and suddenly the world is spinning, and I don’t want you to stop”.
- James and Lily’s moment gets interrupted (or they need a room for themselves) - Rated M
- “Is it really that hard for you to admit that I’m clever?” “Yes.” - Lily knows there is something between her and James.
- “You are so cute when you’re half asleep like that” - Lily watches James.
- Five Stages of Starflower | AO3 - James is oblivious, Lily is mostly okay with her unrequited love and Sirius has a few plans about this situation.
- Not a bad day | AO3 - A series of (not bad) days between James and Lily (WIP).
- (Not) A Summer Date | AO3 - It’s not a date. They just happen to be together, on purpose, at a place and time they previously agreed on. But it’s not a date.
- Infatuation - “Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.”
- Mirror, mirror (on the wall) | AO3 - Who’s the stupidest of them all? For Jily Challenge
- Fool me | AO3 - Lily lies and James makes bad decisions.
- Moving in together.
- Spur of the moment - Or second kisses are so complicated.
- hold my hand | AO3 - a tale of James and Lily’s hands through the years.
- “If you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes“.
- The big damn kiss
- James invites Sirius to a quest - Or James is buying an engagement ring after one week of dating and Sirius isn’t happy.
- Things you said at the kitchen table (and at the bedroom)
- Things you said when I was crying
- Aftermath - After meeting Voldemort for the first time
Gen fics
- A (last) bit of hope | AO3 - In which Remus laments over his requited love and Sirius comes to give him some sense, one last time, as the best friend he is. Set during Order of the Phoenix.
- First word(s) | AO3 - Harry’s first word(s) as heard by James, Lily and Sirius.
- Sneak in - Minerva only hopes that Harry’s friendships end up better than that of his father. Set during Chamber of Secrets.
- Afternoon tea | AO3 - Before his first class as a professor, Minerva McGonagall invites Remus Lupin for tea - and a talk of old friends.
- Padfoot and Minnie - Minerva meets Sirius for the first time after finding out he was innocent all along.
- The Gingerbread Man - Minerva gets a special birthday gift from the Marauders.
- Minerva gets the news about James Sirius
- Traitor - James and Sirius discuss the traitor among them.
- Dream house - Sirius has plans for the future.
- Sorting ceremony - Weasley Family moment
- Ron, Ginny and Quidditch
Sirius Lives AU
- “Me and my boy” - Sirius Lives AU. Sirius gets a new place.
- Something else - Sirius supports Hinny and he is not quiet about it (also a sort of unfinished prequel) + (Sirius and Harry talking)
- Sirius’ birthday
- Sirius reacts to the kiss.
- Sirius and Kingsley
Other AU
- Mistletoe | AO3 - Genderbend Jily! When Liam Evans and Jamie Potter are trapped under the mistletoe, there is only one way of getting out.
- Mini champagne bottle | AO3 - Jily Muggle AU! Lily and James are neighbours who have a knowledge of each other based on their shared windows… and shared trash can.
- Single Rider | AO3 - Jily Muggle AU! James needs a partner ride for a roller coaster.
- True love’s kiss | AO3 - Fem!Jily. Lily decides to bite a poisoned apple and Jamie thinks muggle fairy tales are cruel.
- the fall | AO3 - Jily Lives AU! A take on how James would have dealt with Sirius beyond the veil.
- A Cup of Tea | AO3 - Jily Lives AU, no Voldemort. The worst thing Lily could do to her sister was let Harry and Dudley be cousins.
- Something there | AO3 - Jily Lives AU, no Voldemort. Harry tries to understand what’s going on between Ron and Hermione with his parents’ help.
The jinx hits him in his abdomen, and his first thought isn’t of the pain, or even the counterjinx, it’s of the paperwork.
“I know,” Harry sighs a few hours later, as Robards delivers what feels like his millionth lecture about protocols and safety procedures and doesn’t Harry know he needs to be more careful?
“I know you know,” Robards growls. “Which is why I’m wondering how you let this happen again.”
Harry wants to spit out that the number of accidents that befall him in the field aren’t accidents. That the remaining Death Eaters and pathetic scum who hadn’t been talented enough to be Death Eaters but may as well have been have made hexing Harry the new benchmark for revenge. That Wilkins is a corrupt scum who’d said the room had been cleared when it hadn’t, and he should have been fired ages ago if the department is truly clean the way Robards claims it is.
But he doesn’t. It isn’t anything Robards hasn’t heard before, even acknowledged once or twice. But he only cares about his safety statistics, and the end of quarter report he has to submit upon which he must now record this incident, a blot on a record that might impact the promotion he’s lobbying for.
“It won’t happen again,” Harry promises. They both know it’s bullshit. Robards accepts it anyway, because what else can he do?
“You handle the press,” Robards orders, a far more effective punishment than anything else he could have devised. Harry wonders if he knows this. Wonders if this makes him respect the man more or less.
“Why?” Harry asks bluntly.
“Because you’re who they always want to hear from, aren’t you?”
The truth of the statement does nothing to ease the sting.
“The suspect was taken into custody and is now under questioning for the murder of Florean Fortescue. This is still an ongoing investigation, and further details cannot be disclosed at this time.”
Harry doesn’t open the floor for questions but they hurl them at him anyway.
“Mr. Potter, is it true that you were injured during the arrest? Did you have a personal history with Selwyn?”
“Mr. Potter, would you say that your lack of formal education and credentials impacted you today?”
“Mr. Potter, do you regret lobbying for the removal of dementors when making arrests like this?”
“Would you say your presence in the Auror department is a publicity stunt?”
Harry had known what he was signing up for when he joined the Aurors. He had known he wasn’t signing up for a life of peace or simplicity, had known that the weight of his name and identity would be hanging on his shoulders.
There are days when it’s easier to pretend the weight isn’t there, and days when he wonders whether the chains round his neck are visible.
Today is not one of the easy days. Harry answers the questions with his best impression of politeness. He’s never been very good at impressions.
Then it’s back to the office to write up the incident report. Wilkins sidles up to his desk like a prick and has the gall to ask after his injury.
“My stomach is fine,” Harry says flatly, not bothering to look up from his report. “How are your eyes?”
“Eh?”
“You cleared the room, didn’t you?” Harry asks, crossing a t with unnecessary force. “Must not have seen Selwyn.”
Harry looks up from his report now. Wilkins doesn’t even have the courtesy to look defensive. “Yeah, that’s right,” Wilkins says with a sneer. “Didn’t see him.”
“I’ll make sure to include that in my report,” Harry says lightly, as though that means anything. They both know it doesn’t.
“You do that, Potter,” Wilkins says. “Hope your tummy heals up soon.”
The wheels of justice turn slowly. Hermione had said that to him once over a firewhiskey at the Leaky Cauldron, as though that were meant to make him feel better, or something.
Harry pops out for a coffee in the afternoon, and gets accosted by a photographer from Witch Weekly on the way back. The purple smoke from her camera nearly chokes him as he takes an unfortunately timed sip of his coffee.
“Harry Potter!” she squeaks.
Harry doesn’t bother with a response, and pushes past her roughly in his escape. He knows that this will inevitably result in some bullshit story about him being a stuck up famous prick who thinks he’s too good to speak to his fans, or maybe this time they’ll imply he’s having an affair with someone different and had to run away to avoid detection, someone interesting, maybe Tom the barman or maybe the random witch who had stood in front of him in line at the coffee shop. Anyone will do, because anything with his name attached will sell and it doesn’t matter whether the story is even on the same continent as the truth.
He should have smiled at her, at least.
Or maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe then he’d have been accused of being fame hungry or coveting a headline or perhaps even having an affair with her.
The truth is there is no winning with the press. His skin is thicker than it used to be, he doesn’t care as much as he once did, and yet today he sips his coffee with a hint of cynicism and the faint flavor of libelous purple smoke.
When he returns to his desk it is to find that the warrant he’d applied for had been denied, and he’ll need to find more evidence to bring charges. He’s supposed to owl the Montgomery family today for an update on their case. They’d been hounding him all week, and he was waiting for the warrant to give them some positive news.
Now he has no positive news to deliver.
He finishes up his incident report, and scribbles a hasty letter without any substance to the Montgomerys, feeling shit.
He’s still thinking about it when he Apparates home for the day, wondering whether it will be worth questioning Greyback again to see whether he might accidentally divulge more information pertaining to the Montgomery case, and whether such a small possibility was worth yet another conversation with the man who, after all this time, still revolts him.
He pushes open the door to Grimmauld Place, and it takes him a moment to register the sound of humming coming from the kitchen. It’s off key, some Hobgoblins song that he vaguely recognizes.
She’s standing at the sink when he comes in, swishing her wand at the sink hopefully while she reaches the crescendo of the chorus, and for the first time all day, Harry smiles. The light through the window is bright, and it makes her red hair shine a coppery gold. She’s wearing the lounge trousers that make her bum look particularly good, along with some bright purple fuzzy socks that prevent her feet from turning to ice on the stone floor, a perfect mixture of cozy allure that he’s come to associate with her.
His footsteps alert her to his presence, and he’s sorry for it, because she stops humming. But she turns to him and grins, which is nearly as good.
“Oh, you’re home,” she says brightly. “Look, you’re not allowed to tell her this, but Mum was right.”
Harry reaches her and wraps his arms around her from behind, letting the warmth of her seep into his cold skin, dropping a kiss down to her cheek. “About what?”
“I should have let her teach me all those householdy charms like she said,” Ginny says with a dramatic sigh. “I just can’t- get- it- to-”
She punctuates each word with a wave of her wand, and Harry watches as the pot she’s attempting to magically scrub flips feebly, a bit of food clinging stubbornly to the bottom.
“I’ll wash it,” Harry offers.
Ginny turns, still in his arms, and smiles up at him. “No, I’m going to get it right and then you’ll be deeply impressed by my domestic prowess.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes,” Ginny says, reaching up to snake her arms around his neck. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
She reaches up and kisses him. He knows she probably meant it to be a greeting kiss, a small thing, but he holds her there against him, soaking in the smell of her, the feel of her against him, the soft of her lips and the silk of her hair, drowning in her.
“Well hi,” she says after they finally pull apart, her lids a bit heavy now, her eyes wicked.
Harry answers with another soft kiss.
“I didn’t know you were so into scrubbing pots,” Ginny teases against his lips. “I’d have done it much sooner.”
“You knew what you were doing when you put on those trousers.”
Ginny cackles, and Harry thinks he’ll never get tired of it, the way she laughs with her whole face, the crinkles of her nose and around her eyes, the glint of amusement she gets, the way she throws her whole head back with it. “You’ll never prove it.”
Harry doesn’t care to prove it, only kisses her again and again, until he lifts her up onto the counter and pulls the trousers off, until he’s warm and deep inside of her and she’s whispering his name in his ear in the way she knows drives him mad, and her skin is so soft and freckled and perfect.
Then they laugh at themselves, going at it in the kitchen when they have a perfectly good bedroom upstairs, and Harry teases her, telling her to show off her domestic prowess and clean off the counter. She smacks him on the arm and tells him that domestic prowess is overrated and shouldn’t he make himself useful?
She tells him about Quidditch practice earlier, and the new formation that the team hadn’t been able to get quite right, and the owl she’d received from Charlie about the hatching of a new baby dragon while they eat dinner, a leftover stew Harry had made the evening before. It’s warm and delicious, just like her, and he knows she’s speaking but he can’t get the sound of her off key humming out of his head, and how maybe everything she says is music.
It isn’t until she’s pouring him a glass of red wine and they’re settling down to listen to the Puddlemere match on the wireless that she asks him.
“How was your day, anyway? Anything interesting happen?”
Harry thinks for a moment, feeling quite warm as she burrows her toes beneath his leg and she drapes a blanket Molly had knitted for them across both of their laps. “Nah, nothing,” he says, lifting her hand to kiss the back of it. “Just you.”
He’d needed the skill to determine which of his relatives had come to wake him up every morning.
He’d needed to know if he’d receive dust coming down from the stairs as his cousin jumped up and down obnoxiously above.
Or perhaps the rapid knocking of his Aunt Petunia. Forever impatient with Harry’s groggy morning tendencies.
Or, worse still, Uncle Vernon’s lazy opening of the cupboard door. A mumbled “Get up,” as he shuffled off to the kitchen.
Harry had come to know Sirius’s steps as well. They were quiet. Years of sneaking around after hours and running from the Ministry had left him a master of going audibly unnoticed.
Though, when Harry caught it, it was always his heels that gave him away. Scraping on the floor as the man trudged down the many flights of stairs in his childhood home. His old prison regaining its title for caging the pride of Sirius Black.
That knowledge held within Harry’s mind was worthless now, however. Because as the June sun beat down on his tired skin, Harry knew that he’d never hear those footsteps again.
He’d never hear that lazy slide of a heel. Not from Sirius, anyway.
Because those footsteps were lost. Tumbling back behind a veil Harry no longer cared to understand.
It should’ve been Bellatrix, or Wormtail, or anyone other than the one man who had stood up for him. Who had reached through the darkness of Harry’s mind and pulled him to safer, warmer shores.
It wasn’t fair. None of this was. The prophecy, the war, the scars on the back of his hand.
It wasn’t fair to his friends, who had grown attached to a boy doomed to become a murderer, or die in his refusal to do so.
It wasn’t fair to his parents, who had sacrificed their lives for a chance at destroying a shell of a man too afraid to let the inevitable claim his wounded soul.
Harry’s eyes are closed. The light and colour of the world shuttered behind the impenetrable red glow of the back of his eyelids. His back pressed against a tree that had lost so much of its comfort in light of the memory of a boy tormenting his classmate. Of friends and future loves saying things only his nightmares could’ve imagined.
He didn’t care about that now, however. All he thought now was that Sirius had once sat here. His eyes alight with mischief and life. Something Harry had only seen glimpses of. Like a ghost at the end of an unending corridor.
The ebb and flow of the shallow waves from the lake kept his mind at bay. It’s murky depths maintaining his sanity. Letting them hold him up.
He hears footsteps, then. Grass getting pressed into the ground under determined steps. Twigs cracking and bending to the sheer will of whoever was coming.
Harry releases a pained sigh. The tranquility of the moment slipping away with each impending step.
They are neither graceful nor clumsy. Each fall is deliberate, understanding. They’re light, which means it isn’t one of the boys, unless Colin Creevey had come looking for an autograph.
It isn’t Hermione, who marched anywhere she went, while somehow managing to be delicate and hesitant.
Then, as the steps near his place, seated against a tree, they stop. He hears the rumple of robes, and the staticky sound of thousands of strands of grass being folded down under the weight of someone sitting down.
Harry’s irritation swells in his chest. He’d came here to be alone. To sink in his despair and let the world take hold of him. He’d made himself very clear without saying a word to his friends. They’d understood. He’d seen it in Ron’s eyes and Hermione’s frown.
He hears the creak of leather bindings, and the ruffle of pages. Then, the unfamiliar click of a muggle pen. A sound he hadn’t heard in years, really. Save for Mr. Weasley’s incessant questions on the things over the summer.
His throat dry, his voice harsh, Harry says, “I don’t want to talk,”
There’s no immediate response. Just the sound of someone scribbling away on parchment.
“I know,” his mysterious companion mumbled. Her voice like a song in the breeze. He shouldn’t be surprised now, after a year full of them, that it was Ginny Weasley.
She continues to write, and Harry keeps his eyes shut. He can feel the tickle of hair dancing on his right arm. The wind blowing it onto his bicep.
“What are you writing?” he asks as the dull scratching becomes a monotone ringing in his ears.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk?” Ginny’s writing stops, and Harry feels his lips quirk upward slightly.
He doesn’t respond. Instead choosing to shift his legs into a more comfortable position. Giving his knees a break and letting the blood move through them.
“I’m writing a story,” she explains after a long silence filled with the distant cheers of simpler lives and waves rolling up a gravelly shore.
“What’s it about?” Harry asks, his voice lighter this time.
Ginny huffs a quiet laugh. “You don’t get the details. You can read it once it’s finished,”
Harry unwinds his arms and let’s them fall comfortably into his lap. “Will I get a free copy?”
“Maybe,” is Ginny’s shrewd response.
Again a silence lapses between them. Harry’s chest rises and falls with every breath.
Every breath he is still here, on one side of a veil.
“It’s about a girl,” Ginny says eventually. He swears he can see her tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her freckled nose twitching in the breeze. “She’s awake and she knows what she wants. She’s happy,”
Harry nods slowly, his eyes stay shut.
“I hope you let me read it some time,”
“Maybe,”
And for hours there was nothing but silent writing, and Harry’s thoughts strayed from Sirius, from the prophecy, and from his parents.
He wanted to know about the girl who knew what she wanted. Who was happy.
Have a @hinnymicrofic, day 11 for my 29th birthday <3
He’s waiting for her outside of Defense Against the Dark Arts, leaning casually against the craggy stone wall opposite the door, hair disheveled.
He’s so fit, Ginny thinks, and then relishes in the realization that this isn’t a thought she has to quash anymore, it isn’t something she has to feel guilty for or hide. She can think it all she damn wants.
And, even better, she can act on it now.
He spots her in the crowd, and she extricates herself from her classmates, crossing the hall boldly and reaching up to kiss him as soon as she’s within distance.
It occurs to her in the split second before her lips touch his that this is still all new, perhaps Harry doesn’t want to do this in public despite the way they’d got together, perhaps he’s more private, but then his hand is firm on her waist and his lips are soft on hers and the worry floats away.
The kiss is quick, nothing scandalous, and yet Ginny’s heart flutters like Pigwidgeon’s wings all the same.
“How was class?” he asks, hand still lingering on her waist, a smile painting his lips.
“It was fine. Snape is thrilled for us, by the way,” Ginny jokes. “I’d check the owl post for a congratulations card.”
“Does he know?” Harry scowls over Ginny’s shoulder in the general direction of Snape’s classroom. “About us, I mean?”
Ginny chuckles and pulls Harry away from the door by the hand, feeling silly for how happy it makes her to think there’s an ‘us’ to know about. “It’s not exactly a secret,” she points out, heading in the direction of lunch. “You walked me here.”
“Still,” Harry persists. “It’s not as though he’s monitoring who walks you to lessons.”
“Yes, but,” Ginny says helplessly, gesturing around to the various students gawking and gaping at their entwined hands. “We’re the topic of a lot of gossip, I think. People were talking about it in class, anyway, he told them off for it.”
Harry glances around with an air of some surprise. Ginny wonders if he truly hadn’t noticed it, or whether he’d grown so used to staring it hadn’t occurred to him that it was for a different reason, this time. “Oh. Right.” He pauses, and then adds in a warning voice, “Then you should watch out. Snape hates anything that makes me happy on principle. He’ll be nasty to you.”
“I will.” She lets this sink in for a few steps, then shoots him a sly glance. “So, I make you happy then, do I?”
Harry eyes snap down to look at her, cheeks slightly red. Ginny wonders for a moment whether he’ll deny it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Yeah,” in a tone that suggests this should have been obvious.
Ginny’s grin broadens, a happy little fire burning cozily in the realm of her heart. She squeezes his hand, me too. “I can handle Snape. Besides, it’ll all die down. It’s only because it’s new, they’ll all be bored by tomorrow.”
Harry shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. He squeezes her hand back, and Ginny resents that Ron is waiting to meet them at lunch. She’d quite like a detour down an empty corridor. She reckons Harry would, too.
It’s new, Ginny thinks. That must be why it feels this way when it never had with Michael or Dean, like every touch is electric, every moment precious, like her heart might burst and her smile won’t fade.
It’s only because it’s new, she pretends. It’ll die down.
Day 15 of @hinnymicrofic, posted a few days late. Busy weekends, and all that.
“Aha!” Ginny exclaims suddenly, triumphant. “I found it!”
Harry attempts to mask his amusement. She’s clasping his palm in one of her small, freckled hands, while diligently referencing Unfogging the Future, trailing her finger along the text with the other.
“This is your head line,” Ginny says, pointing to the faint line running horizontally somewhere in the vicinity of the center of his palm. “Awfully short, don’t you think?”
Harry squints at the line, and then back up to the twisted line of her smirk. “What’s short supposed to mean, then?”
Ginny looks down at the textbook and reads, “Those with below-average head lines tend to be incredibly thick. They befriend lanky red-headed gits, play Seeker, and they often don’t notice when girls give them hundreds of opportunities to–”
“That’s what the book says, does it?”
“It’s all here, Harry. Who am I to question fate?”
“You shit.”
Ginny snickers and releases his hand, which Harry regrets immediately. “Divination is such rubbish, I can’t believe an examiner is going to actually evaluate me on this.”
“Ron and I just made things up,” Harry remembers. “Seemed to go fine.”
“Didn’t you get a P?”
“Yep,” Harry says unconcernedly, lifting her hand and examining her palm as though reading it. “But then we got to drop it altogether.”
“Hm,” Ginny considers. “Maybe your head line is longer than I thought.”
Her hands are small, almost delicate looking. He glances at the textbook, sees a diagram with lines like “heart” and “marriage” and “life” that can allegedly be foretold. He has a brief, cynical moment where he wonders how short those lines are on his palm, and then feels grateful Ginny hadn’t mentioned it. Hadn’t mentioned any of the sticky ones, really.
“If you squint really hard you can see my money line,” Ginny jokes. “It says I have nine sickles.”
He looks up at her, strangely overcome with the sensation of being understood; that she’d know without needing to explain how difficult it would be for him to talk about an uncertain future, that she’d gravitate toward taking the piss and joking about sickles to spare him.
“I’ve got a prediction,” Harry says.
“Oh yes?”
I’ll never get over you. “You’re going to get a D in Divination.”
She laughs in that unrestrained way she has, and Harry wonders if what he’s found with her has etched itself into his palm, something permanent, irrefutable. He can’t bear to check.
Aw this is so cute @nanneramma! There dynamic is just *chef's kiss 👨🍳😘 The 'He contemplates self-strangulation' but had me laughing out loud 🤣 and this was so short aswell - well done for making tour microfic super micro!!! 😊💖😀
because i haven't watched stargate since that time I was home sick for several days...
-
Few things entertain Harry like having his wife conduct an interview with him.
Ginny’s purple quill danced over the parchment. She leaned forward on the table, chin cupped in her hands. “Tell me more about your boring life…” She looked at the side and reread the name. “Henry Porter.”
“It’s fantastically boring,” Harry said, ignoring how Ginny’s editor was shouting on the other side of the door. “It will drive you to tears.”
“Weasley, you promised me an exclusive with–”
Ginny tossed a Muffling Charm over her shoulder. “How terrible for you to live the life of a common man.”
“No heroics,” he agreed. “Hardly an adventure unless you count the trips to the grocers.”
It was rare to give up control during an interview but for his wife? It was like performing a complicated trick on a broom. The right balance with the banter, then the joy of seeing her catch his verbal cues, eyes bright with laughter.
“And what does the most boring man alive do these days?”
Harry sighed. “I had to tell my children not to eat too many Chocolate Frogs. I then managed to sneak one for myself and had to eat it in the safety of the pantry.”
Ginny made a sympathetic noise. “How dreadfully dull!”
Hi! I don’t think we see much Mum!Ginny especially with Albus. So could you write something with that please? Thanks for doing this!!😊💗
‘I’m going to Diagon if anyone wants to come,’ Ginny shouted as she passed the living room, coming into the foyer and slipping on a pair of shoes. A general grunt met her offer, from both Lily and James, but one other voice spoke above them.
‘I’ll come, mum.’
Ginny smiled and looked up at Albus as he joined her in the foyer, shrugging on a jacket. He was well taller than her now, almost taller than Harry. This, she thought, was perhaps the only Weasley trait she had passed on to her middle child.
‘Need to get anything specific?’ She asked, wrapping a scarf around his neck and then her own. He put up with her dressing him and shook his head.
‘Nah. Just want to come with you,’ he said.
‘Mommy’s boy!’ James shouted from the living room.
‘James! You’d do well to learn from your brother now and then!’ Ginny shot back, then smiled at Albus. ‘Best we be off then. We shouldn’t be long.’
She took her son’s hand as they apparated out of Ashden Run and then in the blink of an eye they were in the middle of Diagon alley, bustling with witches and wizards. Garlands shone, strung across lampposts, and merry music was sung from all corners of the street. A sign above Flourish and Blott’s read: Happy Christmas.
‘Busy,’ Albus commented as Ginny set off down the flagstones, slipping through the masses.
‘Yes, well what can you expect? I shouldn’t have left this so late, but I suppose it’s getting done now.’
‘Where are we going actually?’
‘Madame Malkins,’ Ginny said. ‘For wool.’
She saw Albus open his mouth as if to ask another question, but he halted and simply nodded. He drew his coat closer around himself and the two continued in the throng until they met the windows of the robes shop. A mannequin bedecked in crimson robes shimmered from the window, moving every now and then into a new pose.
The bell rung as Ginny entered and an assistant ran up to them.
‘Mrs Potter! What a pleasure to see you. We have a shipment of Persian fabrics that’s just come in, if you’re looking for something for this year’s ball.’
‘No thank you, I’d just like to look at your wool please,’ Ginny said firmly. The assistant looked disappointed but led them nonetheless to an aisle far in the back of the shop. Stacked high to the ceiling in wide shelves were balls and balls of wool, in every shade and colour imaginable.
Ginny blew out a breath. ‘Well. Maybe this is going to take us longer than I thought,’ she said, fingering one of the threads hanging out of the shelf. ‘We need at least thirty colours. Unless we do patterns, but I struggle with the basic patterns as is…’
‘Mum, are you- ‘
‘Yes. It’s a tradition Al, you’ve had one every Christmas and you still have all of them. It would be- ‘she took a deep breath ‘-it would be awful if we stopped now. I think it can be her legacy, sort of.’ Ginny smiled softly and attempted to smooth her son’s hair. ‘Mum would’ve been mad though; I’ve started much too late.’
Albus watched his mother closely. ‘It’s not like, ‘he hesitated. ‘Well. You couldn’t have been certain when it was going to happen.’ He said softly.
‘I know. And a few of the jumpers will be for little tots so that will make it a lot easier. Making one’s big enough for your dad and uncles is another story.’
Albus laughed lightly and Ginny crinkled her eyes. She looked thoughtfully at a bright green ball, then turned back to her son.
‘We can make one for Scorpius, if you want?’
Albus considered the bright green ball carefully. Ginny could see the thoughts ticking over in his head.
‘Maybe next year,’ he murmured, but she didn’t miss the twitch of a smile on his lips.
Ginny nodded in understanding, then she drew out a maroon wool. ‘This one is definitely for your Uncle Ron.’
‘Wouldn’t he prefer Chudley colours?’
‘Exactly.’
They whiled away a large portion of the afternoon carefully choosing a wool colour for each member of the family, and they exited the shop with bags bursting with threads, creating a shock of colour as they walked back down Diagon alley.
‘You know, I can help you with the jumpers mum. You’d have to teach me, but I will.’
Ginny’s heart swelled. ‘Surely you have better things to do Al?’ She said cautiously.
‘I don’t know, not really? Not besides listening to Teddy nattering on about how perfect his little boy is,’ he teased.
Ginny laughed. It did sound nice, having someone there to help her. Thinking of it now, that was the same way she had ever learnt how to do it, sitting down with her mum. Though, perhaps, a little more begrudgingly. Her mum would’ve loved the idea of her grandkids learning indirectly through her.
‘It’d be nice to do I think, in the evenings when we’re just sitting around.’ Albus said, drawing her out of her musings.
‘Yeah?
‘Yeah,’ Albus said, through a laugh.
‘No backing out now Al, I’ve got you commissioned.’
Albus smiled at her. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, mum.’
That year, Ginny announced proudly that many of the jumpers sitting under the Christmas tree were made by her son. A few were made by Lily, and at least one by James and Harry in a joint effort. Ginny decided she had certainly done the right thing.
Rather than feel a pit in her stomach at the absence of the familiar jumpers, she felt a glow of warmth and fondness in her, watching her family move about in clothes she had made herself, with her own children.
She had also chanced a glance at Albus every now and then and he had beamed at her. Ginny had smiled back at him and thought to herself that, yes, Molly Weasley would have been very happy with her decision too.
(still slowly catching up with the prompts for @hinnyfest. Prompt #11: Nightmares)
***
Snape’s face was contorted with hatred. Harry struggled against the invisible ropes that bind him, but it was hopeless; he could only watch as Snape raised his wand, his voice cold and unstoppable: “Avada Kedavra!”
He cried; a mute scream that never left his throat, as the green spell hit Dumbledore—no, it wasn’t Dumbledore. It was Ginny, her red hair spread like flames around her as her body floated in the air, shining under the green light of the Dark Mark, gone—
Then she opened her eyes; there was no warmth in her brown eyes, no smile on the lips that had greeted him every morning for the last weeks.
“This was your fault,” she accused; there was no defense. She was right, and Harry was sorry, but sorrow didn’t bring anyone back to life, didn’t change anything.
“This was your fault,” she said again, and Harry blinked, waking up with a joint. The light burned his eyes as they adjusted to the scene around; he wasn’t on the top of the Astronomy Tower, but rather on the grounds, by the shadow of a tree; the day was warm, bright, and he remembered how he, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had decided to spend their time outside. Harry hadn’t had the heart to disagree; all he knew was he wanted to be with them as much as they could, enjoy these last days before…
Before.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Ginny had coached him into laying his head over her lap (promptly ignoring Ron’s comments about whether it was decent) and then, as she took a book to read, she’d started running her hand through his hair. Her touch was so soft, so relaxing, that he’d drifted off to sleep without even noticing it.
That hadn’t been wise; his sleep had been filled with the same nightmare lately and if he’d screamed like he used to—
“Suggesting I should take Divination, really,” added Ginny.
“It was an older brother’s prank,” Ron said. “Percy recommended it to me, it was only fair that I did the same to you.”
“Percy? Thanks a lot, Ron.”
“You’re welcome, Ginny.”
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly; when she lowered her head, her gaze met Harry’s. A soft smile lifted her lips; Ginny was bright and shining as the day, nothing like the sight that had been haunting his nightmares lately. It was both relieving and painful; he knew what he had to do to keep her safe, and still…
“Sorry,” she said in a low voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“I shouldn’t have slept anyway,” he said, embarrassed; he moved to raise, but Ginny held him.
“No, stay. You look like you need some sleep.” She looked ahead for a moment. “We all do, I bet.”
He stole a glance at Ron and Hermione before saying in a small voice. “I don’t wanna bother. My… my dreams haven’t been quiet.”
Her eyes clouded, troubled; Harry didn’t think she was fooled into thinking he was just having nice dreams. Then Ginny took a deep breath as if pulling herself back together, closed her book and moved just enough to lay next to Harry, over the towel they had spread on the floor.
“Let’s sleep together, then.”
“What did you—”
“Oh, shut it, Ron.” She shook her head at her brother, before winking at Harry; he felt his face flushing. “I mean in a very proper way. Wake us up before dinner, okay?”
Ron mumbled something, but as Hermione touched his arm, he agreed to look away.
Harry smiled despite himself. “You will get me in trouble with your brother,” he said, a line that he’d said many times before to Ginny and, just as before, she looked unfazed.
“Forget him, let’s just take a nap.” She grabbed her backpack for a pillow, then offered her arm for him.
“Shouldn’t you rest in my arms?”
“You can do it next time,” she teased. Darkness threatened to overwhelm him—there would not be a next time, they couldn’t be together anymore…
She must have sensed his hesitation, for Ginny took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “Just close your eyes.”
He did.
“You are safe,” she whispered. “Everything is gonna be fine.”
It didn’t occur for Harry to question her. With his eyes closed, every part of him seemed in tune with her; the smell of flowers; the sound of her soft breath; the softness of her skin; his heart reacting to their closeness. Ginny was warm and tender and so alive. He would do everything he needed to keep her safe—to make everything fine—, but tomorrow; today he just wanted to have a nice dream with her.
He had arrived at the Burrow only a few days before. He had thought his nightmares about Sirius would calm down there. Instead, being surrounded by people he loved seemed to only remind him even more of who was missing.
He had spent all day trying to push away his terrible mood until he had found the perfect opportunity to disappear.
He was seating under a tree in the orchard, hiding from the summer sun.
"Here," a voice startled him, Ginny's voice. He looked up to see the sun give her hair a golden aura. She was smiling, holding two sandwiches, one was being eaten by her, but she was offering the second to Harry.
Before he could find a way to refuse, his stomach grumbled. Ginny smirked and put the sandwich in his hand.
"Thank you," he mumbled, still unsure of why she was there in the first place.
"Mum made it," she revealed, "You have a tendency to not eat when you are upset." She bit into her snack and watched him carefully, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as usual. "You can't be a grumpy git if you die of starvation."
Harry snorted.
"Enjoy having one around?"
"Not really. But I need some actual competition for my summer Quidditch plans," she confessed in a false conspiratorial tone. Harry chuckled while Ginny made a move to go back to the house.
An unexpected sense of anxiety gripped him.
"Where are you going?"
"Inside?" She seemed genuinely surprised by his question.
"I thought--"
She shrugged. "You clearly want to be alone."
"So... You aren't going to tell me I should talk about my problems?" Hermione had. Repeatedly. Even Ron surprisingly had dared. Mrs Weasley had hinted at her excellent listening skills many times. Harry had appreciated their good intentions but fundamentally had found the idea horrifying.
Ginny was looking at him like Ron looked at a chessboard. "Do you want me to?"
Did he want her to?
Her amber eyes bore into his green ones.
"I'm not sure," he answered, finding himself unable to lie to her. "Maybe," he added. "It's just--"
It's just that you wanted to go save Sirius because you cared about him. Not me. Not the DA. It's just that I feel like I missed half of the story. Did you ever talk about me with him? What did he say? It's just that every time I talk with you I feel ten times lighter. Do you feel it too? It's just that I know it was you who told Luna who Sirius was so that I didn't have to. Thank you. It's just that I prefer being with you to being alone but I don't know why. Am I allowed to feel like this?
"It's just--" he said once more, desperate to find the right words.
"GINEVRA!!!!!"
They both jumped at Mrs Weasley's furious voice.
Ginny smiled guiltily. "Sorry, I have to go. I might have made a bit of a mess in the kitchen." She bit her lip. "I lied before, I made the sandwich, I thought you'd be more likely to eat it if you thought it was from Mum..." She laughed as Harry realised he had nearly eaten all of it already. It was kind of an amazing sandwich.
When he looked back at her she was already walking away, her flaming hair dancing behind her.
Despite the excellent food he wished she had never come.
If I wanted to read Hinny FF, where should I start?
Ok, I am absolutely terrible at keeping track of the stuff that I read so the authors that I'm going to suggest you can be sure are worthy of being checked out for the simple fact that I remember them.
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@floreatcastellumposts has some really great hinny works (all canon-compliant) and honestly, you should give a read to also the non-hinny stuff, her Hugo Granger-Weasley is amazing. In regards to hinny, I'd especially advise her version of what happens after their first kiss. I've always wanted to write that moment but since I've read her version I feel like I would just write the same thing, it's absolutely perfect, 100% canon.
@seriouslysam8 has one of the best hinny interpretations out there, some of her works revolve around hinny, and some have a very strong presence of this ship. Her universe is nearly canon complaint, with some AU details here and there. Her ootp hinny missing moments are masterpieces and one of my personal drugs, her adult hinny fics are extremely good. Brontide in particular is my favorite, not only for the hinny there, her way of describing addiction is excellent. I don't necessarily think Harry would have still so many problems in his adult life (her stories have kidnappings, millions of injuries, and so on) but it's very entertaining to read.
@gryffindormischief is an extremely good choice too. Especially if you want to see a peaceful adult!Harry. This author has an excellent understanding of these two characters.
@secretkeeper13 is an absolute genius. The Craig Clarke collection is one of my favorite things on earth.
@starlingflight is another genius. You need to read Fallin' All In You and Everything I Wanted. If you like hinny it's absolutely unacceptable to not have read those masterpieces.
@annerbhp is a very well-known hinny author. Her slytherin!Ginny series is quite famous but I still have to finish it so I'm just putting it here because I know a lot of people love it. Now, on the other hand, works by this author that I actually finished reading and so can 100% recommend are all her one-shots. My personal favorite is Gone was any trace of you. I've read it more times than I can count.
@startanewdream is one of my favorites. Well, these are all my favorites really. Her jily!lives universe is one of my only joys in life. Her hinny is spot on.
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There are a lot of great hinny authors and fics but these are the ones that I've gone back to millions of times, whose works I never get tired of re-reading. Even if the possibility that I'm forgetting someone whose works I love is very strong, I really am a mess when it comes down to remembering this kind of thing.
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Little note: your standards for fics after reading the works of these authors are going to become extremely high. I warned you.
Hope you're doing well and resting up easy. I'd absolutely die to read a quidditch HBP era harry pining story, maybe something locker room centric or during a post-match victory party? I'm so uncreative with ideas sorry if you've already done one like this! <3
You're so kind! I am resting well! This isn't super long but I hope you like it!
___
Locker room chat
It was just after the quidditch training. Harry quickly showered and got dressed. He was now at his locker, pulling his sweater over his head. He picked his glasses out of his locker and to his frustration his glasses fogged up. Before he had a chance to wipe them, someone had performed a heating charm on them. When they unfogged, he saw Ginny standing in front of him, tucking her wand away again.
“Better?” she said with a smile. He only nodded, suddenly forgetting how to speak. Before he could find his tongue again, she had moved on to chat with Demelza.
Harry turned back to his locker, embarrassed. He had to get his head straight. She was dating Dean. She was Ron’s sister. Ron’s sister… Ron’s very pretty and charming sister.
Should have taken a cold shower, Harry thought to himself. He closed his locker with his hand. He watched Ginny and Demelza silently, pretending to play with the snitch in his hands.
She whipped her hair back and she did it so elegantly, Harry’s breath hitched for a second. He looked down at the snitch, wondering what had gotten into him. He never felt about Cho this way and she sure knew how to charm the people around her. Ginny did not even seem to be trying. He looked back up and saw Ginny laugh at something Demelza had said. He felt a warmth spreading in his chest, wishing he could make her laugh like that.
He realised he had already been standing around for far too long and started walking when Ginny caught his eye.
“Good practice, don’t you think?” she said when Harry got closer. Her soft eyes trained on him and he wished she’d never look away.
“Yeah, everyone’s doing great work,” Harry said, at least quidditch was a safe subject. They both nodded in agreement.
“Weirdly enough you were the one being hit by bludgers the most,” Ginny pointed out. Harry hoped he wasn’t blushing, his ears certainly felt warm.
“As a Captain, I have to make sure all the other players are doing well,” Harry lied. No need to specify he was interested in one player in particular.
“Sure,” Demelza replied, she did not seem convinced, “We are heading upstairs, are you coming?”
Harry looked back, Ron was almost done changing.
“No, I’ll wait for Ron I think,” Harry said. Both of the girls nodded and said goodbye, making their way out. Harry looked until they turned the corner.
“Ginny’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Ron said as he came to stand beside Harry.
“She’s alright,” Harry replied in a panic. Did Ron notice anything?
“Come off it, she is great at quidditch!” Ron told him. Quidditch. Oh. Harry quickly adjusted.
“Oh that. Yes, for sure.”
Ron frowned at his answer and shook his head, but did not make any further comments.
Prompt 15!!!!!!! (That might have been a touch too enthusiastic)
Too enthusiastic? Never!
Prompt 15: Stargazing together. A is actually smart and points out constellations, B just points up at the sky every so often and says, "That one looks like a penis" or something along those lines
-
"What's the name of the ziggy one?"
"Cassiopeia," Ginny said immediately, tracking it on her star chart.
"Well done," Harry said, impressed. He grinned, leaning over to watch her write. His presence beside her made her warm and soft inside despite the occasional brisk evening wind up in the Astronomy tower. "How do you remember all of these?"
"Not all of us just putz around with our studies," she teased, knowing it would just make him smile. "That one's easy. It reminds me of you, actually."
"Oh?" He looked at her, curiosity shining in his eyes.
"If you tilt your head, it looks a bit like a lightening." She used to wistfully looking at the sky, seeing things that reminded her of him when her crush was all-consuming.
"Think about me, do you?" he teased.
Always.
"Careful," she warned. "You'll give me another reason for Cassiopeia to remind me of you."
"What's that?"
"Your hubris."
Harry let out a puff of laughter. She grinned.
"Fitting, Potter. I bet you think all the stars are about you," Ginny mimicked Snape's waspish drawl. He laughed hard.
Harry leaned back, smiling up at the night sky. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, an old habit even though now she could look at him without pretending that she wasn't. He always seemed to be smiling these days, his posture relaxed and at ease. Her heart skipped at the thought that maybe she had a little bit to do with that.
He pointed up at the sky. "That one looks like a penis."
She burst out laughing. "You're supposed to be helping revise!"
"Who came up with that bright idea?"
Ginny snorted. He grinned back cheekily.
"Hermione'll have your hide if you make me fail my exams," she reminded him.
"Nah," he said, his shoulder brushing against hers. "You're too smart for that." He tapped on her parchment. "What is the name of the penis constellation?"
"Gemini."
They fell into rhythm, taking turns guessing first or trying to make each other laugh. ("Blegh, Draco." "Looks like a sperm." "Or micropenis.")
"And that one...er," Ginny paused. They hand landed on a big cluster of stars that was incredibly familiar, but the name seemed to elude her.
"Orion," Harry said.
"Yes," she said, glancing at him in surprise, but his gaze remained focused at the night sky. The humor in his face had faded to something more somber, even a little lost.
She bit her lip and scooted closer, which seemed to draw him out of his brief reverie. He gave her small smile before averting his gaze, suddenly seeming interested in her star chart.
"What about Orion?" she asked, her voice light as she wrote down the name.
Harry hummed. For a moment, she didn't think he would say go on. "Orion. That was Sirius's dad's name."
Ginny scrunched up her nose. "Purebloods and their need to immortalize themselves with such names."
He laughed, humorless. "Yes."
She squinted up at the sky. When she found what she was looking for, she pointed with her quill. "There."
He followed where she indicated. He turned to her, his smile soft. The blue light from the stars above glinted against his wire-rim glasses. "Yeah."
His green eyes flickered down to her lips, his hand covering hers.
"Do you...think you've done enough revising?" he breathed.
Ginny smiled and leaned in, her heart warm and full. "I thought you'd never ask."
Harry couldn't stop smiling. Nothing, not even all the bickering between Ron and Ginny could damped his mood. Because today—today, he and Ginny were moving in together.
Of course, that didn't mean all the shouting was pleasant or anything.
"Be careful with that!"
"Stop hassling me!"
"Why would you charm more than one box at a time?"
"All your precious belongings are fine!"
"If you were going to be in a mood about this, you didn't need to insist on helping!" Ginny finally snapped, her hands on her hips in a scary imitation of Mrs. Weasley.
Ron scowled at her from behind the boxes he was levitating. "Mood? What mood?"
"Why don't I take this one?" Hermione suggested, pointing her wand at the box with the word "FRAGILE" scrawled on it.
Both Ron and Ginny's heads whipped toward her. "That's not the point!"
"This is about us moving in together isn't it?" Ginny accused.
Ron sputtered indignantly. "I—'course not!"
Harry hurried along, hoping the get the rest of the boxes transferred before things got too heated.
After all their previously packed items were located in their little flat, the pizza arrived, said copious amount of pizza mollified Ron, some teasing and banter that eased the squabble between siblings, and Ron and Hermione made their way home, Harry and Ginny finally collapsed on the mattress he had brought from Grimmauld Place.
Even with magic, moving was inherently a taxing and miserable experience. Harry should be exhausted at the thought of all there was still left to do (unpack the daunting amount of boxes, probably forget where they packed all the various necessities because they hadn't followed Hermione's advice to label all their belongings, having to shop for new furniture, figure out decoration for their place), but when he turned his head towards Ginny, he was effused with an aching warmth and excitement that made he jittery.
Their place. His and Ginny's.
She met his gaze and smiled. "Hi, you."
"Hi, you," he echoed, reaching for her. She instantly rolled towards him, releasing what seemed like a sigh of relief when his arms went around her.
They kissed, softly, gently, comforting in its familiarity. Not seeking for more, but perfectly happy with what was given.
"A little kip before we get started?" she asked, voicing what he had been thinking.
"Sounds like a plan."
Ginny looked so content, relaxed and at ease. His face ached from smiling all day. To think that he would get to come home to this.
Harry tucked her head under his chin, his grip tightening to match the feeling in his chest.
Mabye them doing stuff in a bathroom at a part after teasing each-other all night ;)
you know what? harry is a tease. unintentionally but a tease all the same.
Ginny ducked through the side door, following the path Harry had taken less than two minutes prior. The pub was full to bursting, and as much as she enjoyed the music magically amplified to the point of deafness, the pounding in her core had little to do with the band.
It had everything to do with the way Harry had watched her on the dance floor, the bob of his adam’s apples as he threw back his drink, his eyes dark and sharp and full of possibility.
A door opened, spilling pale yellow light out into the dark hallway at the same time Ginny turned the corner toward the bathrooms. Recognizing the untidy black hair, she shoved him back inside and kicked the door shut behind her.
“Ginny, wha-“
She didn’t let him finish the question, reaching for the back of his neck and pulling his face down to hers.
Harry’s initial shock wore off in little to no time at all. His mouth slanted against hers, his lips softening while he pushed forward and his fingers dug into her hips. Ginny let him direct her backwards until her bum met the door.
Her tongue teased his bottom lip and Harry let loose a soft groan.
“We’re leaving,” he growled in between nips to her jawline.
Ginny slipped a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, ghosting over the lean muscles of his lower back. “We’ve got a locked room right here.
Harry’s lips moved against her pulse point, “We aren’t doing it in the loo.”
“Why not?” Her hand circled his hip bone, tracing the waistband slung low around his stomach before fiddling with the the top button of his trousers. Ginny could already feel him straining against the fabric.
Harry’s eyes glinted in the glow of the sconces. “Because it’s revolting.”
Ginny snorted. He wasn’t wrong. It was dingy and old and weirdly damp.
“And because,” his voice lowered, taking on a rough edge as spoke against her ear. “Theres hardly enough room.”
“Got ideas, do you?” Ginny teased, though her voice came out needy and breathless.
In answer, Harry lifted her by the back of the thighs and Ginny had little choice but to wrap her legs around his waist. His hips pressed into her center and the throbbing in her middle became nearly unbearable.
“I want you laid out like my own personal feast.”
She couldn’t come up with a coherent response so Ginny did the only reasonable thing and fisted his hair, directing his lips back to hers. Their tongues rolled together, every point of contact between their bodies sparking and searing heat through her bloodstream.
“Do we need to tell-“ Ginny started.
Harry cut her off “They’re used to us disappearing by now.”
She grinned. “Take me home, then.”
His smirk was wicked as he turned on his heel and they disappeared with a loud crack.
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