I have been distant from fandom and I'm not going back. But hey! That's ok, I've never been happier. And I thought it would be nice to share one of the reasons. I also really hope for respect of my views.
I realize that much of my distress and the battle between my past and present comes from the fact that, before, on autopilot, I thought I knew what the future would look like. Everything was predictable. Work, drawing, and my own interests until I grew tired of one and moved on to another, always knowing the next day would be exactly the same. I planned everything out and was certain of what would happen, very blindly, to be honest.
What am I going to do now? I had already planned everything in my productivity apps. I was ready to finally become better!!!
Then my mental breakdown came, and my days spent hospitalized in a psychiatric ward. Not only this happened once, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder on the second time. I literally lost my mind for 3 nights. My faith, family and nurses were my rock, because I had became... nothing. An experience beyond anything I would have ever expected for my life. An experience that brought me closer to God, and distanced me from my own plans.
I was afraid of the dark, of the devil, of my own company, of my bed, my room, and of what I might be capable of doing, because it is possible to lose control of the mind... I felt that in my own skin. I do not wish it for anyone!
Now I see that my clarity of mind each day is a miracle in itself.
My final message to this fandom that I grew up with:
Always ask yourself "how am I doing today?" and don't rely on apps, books, movies, fandom, fics, drawings, jobs, to live YOUR life fully, even in the smallest of tasks! Life is beautiful. But I could not see it how much on my own. Asking for help it is to live a true freedom. And that's why I can finally say I'm happier than ever.
The genetically modified supersoldiers were supposed to be sterile. Most were. Some weren’t. Two deserted after one got pregnant. They now try to give their kid a normal life, but they’re on the run, the war isn’t over, and their toddler thinks it’s funny to shatter boulders with his hands.
A/N: this turned out much hornier than I’d planned 😂 for @ginnystrophyhusband September micro fics day 14.
Prompt: blue
‘What do you think?’
Harry stepped back from the wall, casting an expectant look at Ginny over his shoulder.
She hummed thoughtfully, drawing out the sound to prolong the uncharacteristic nervous expression on his face for just a moment. Leaning back in her chair, she cast an appraising eye over the wall opposite, now painted a soft baby blue.
‘It looks good,’ she said finally, unable to smother her smile any longer. ‘Your painting skills are impressive. I guess that makes you the second best artist I've dated.’
Her joke had the intended effect of forcing one side of his mouth into a reluctant smile. ‘I think we're a bit beyond dating at this point.’
Harry's eyes flicked from the gold wedding band on Ginny's left hand to the evergrowing baby bump protruding from her stomach. His smile bloomed fully for the span of a heartbeat, and then a renewed frown appeared and he turned his attention back to the freshly painted wall.
‘Blue was the right choice,’ Ginny said, able to read Harry's thoughts without any assistance from him verbally.
‘I agree.’ Harry's visible apprehension did not support the statement. ‘It's soothing.’
Unlike her earlier smile, Ginny was utterly unable to contain her amused snort. She gestured towards his hands, now fiddling nervously with the still-wet paint roller. “Yeah, you seem really soothed right now.’
Harry ignored her, but she caught a faint flush across his cheeks as he placed the paint roller back in the awaiting tray on the floor. They both knew there was little point in him trying to defend himself, he'd been in this state of agitation for the last six months.
All it had taken was one little drop of Ginny's blood in a potion, the milky white mixture had turned vibrant purple, and Harry Potter, legendarily cool in a crisis, had become a bundle of nerves and anxiety.
He'd made her try three more pregnancy potions before he'd been willing to believe they were actually having a baby. From then on he'd obsessed over Ginny's diet (are you sure you're getting enough vitamins?); how to tell Teddy (I need him to know he's not being replaced); and whether the knife drawer in the kitchen was hard enough to get into (Yes, I know he won't be crawling for a while but it's never too early to think about these things, Ginny).
This morning, the nursery had risen to the top of Harry's priority list, as Ginny had learned when he'd shot straight up in bed and declared he was going to paint it. Her reminder that he could do so magically, that it would take no time at all, had been immediately dismissed as lazy and ‘not the kind of father I'm going to be.’
Ginny hadn't bothered challenging this statement. Secretly, she found her heart beating faster with every overprotective gesture.
It was the hormones, she'd silently assured herself, when she'd been unable to tear her eyes away from Harry's focussed expression while he coated the nursery in blue paint. The hormones had forced her gaze down to where his old (and slightly too tight) t-shirt rode up while painting the top of the wall, revealing a tantalising patch of bare stomach. It was the hormones that made her mouth go dry watching the muscles in his biceps expand and contract as he'd worked.
‘You missed a spot,’ she heard herself say now, most of her attention fixed on the sight of him bending over to replace the roller.
He sprang upright, roller still in hand. ‘Where?’
‘I'm joking!’ Ginny shook her head in amused exasperation. ‘Who would've thought a tiny little baby would be your undoing?’
‘He's not my undoing!’ Harry protested, letting the roller fall back to the tray. Tiny flecks of blue splattered over the cream carpet; Ginny vanished them with a surreptitious wave of her wand, replacing it in her pocket just as Harry reached her. He sank to a crouch, rubbing a hand gently over her bump. ‘Don't listen to Mummy, she thinks she's funny.’
‘He spends 24 hours a day with me, he already knows I'm hilarious,’ Ginny assured, but her voice came out much weaker than she'd planned. Hormones, she reminded herself, trying to control her racing pulse despite the way Harry was looking up at her from his knees.
She was less successful at taming her uneven breath. Harry's hand stilled on her stomach, he cast a concerned eye over her, but it was quickly replaced by a spark of understanding in his eyes and then his expression morphed into something hungrier.
‘Anyway, it's nothing to do with the baby is it?’ Ginny said breathlessly, unable to act unaffected while Harry's fingers were slowly forging a path over her hip and down to her thigh. ‘Your insistence on painting this whole room was just a thinly veiled attempt to entice me with that thing your forearms do when you're rolling.’
Harry's eyes darkened. When he spoke, his voice was considerably lower than it had been before. ‘What thing my forearms do?’
‘It doesn't matter,’ Ginny said, but she swallowed thickly against the memory of his tendons stretching and flexing. ‘I'm already pregnant, your work here is done.’
‘My work here is never done.’ His hand slid under the hem of her dress, skimming achingly slowly over the inside of her bare knee. ‘Besides, weren't you the one saying I need to relax?’
I'm just rereading your wonderful collection of Hinny Missing Scenes and got stuck on chapter 9 "Love".
Hence my prompt (but make it Harry style): The moment it happened: the moment he went from liking her to loving her
They were ignoring the omnipresent cloud of OWLs hanging over Ginny’s head, snatching hours from the clutches of the library and spending them instead outside: basking in the unseasonable warmth of the sun (ostensibly–Harry held a secret suspicion that the warmth in fact belonged to Ginny).
They’d gathered as many pastries and meat pies as their hands could hold and thrown themselves down on a blanket beneath the beech tree by the lake, shielded from OWLs and Horcruxes by a bubble of joy.
Ginny was laid flat on her back, staring up at the deep blue sky, her hands waving animatedly, illustrating and punctuating her story about the time she’d stolen and eaten every last bite of her Mum’s coveted Christmas pudding and blamed it on her brothers.
“They still don’t know it was me,” Ginny laughed. “Fred and George think it was Ron, Ron thinks it was Percy, and Percy thinks it was Fred and George. Don’t bring it up at Christmas, it always causes a fight.”
“You’re diabolical,” Harry said, grinning.
“Hey, it was rough out there, being the youngest and the only girl,” Ginny said. “I had to take my victories where I could.”
“Oh, I’ve got a feeling you took a lot of victories.”
“Naturally,” Ginny replied with a wink. “It’s in my blood. Can’t be helped.”
Harry smirked. “I can’t believe after all these years of silence you’ve just gone and confessed to me. What’s brought this on, d’you think I won’t use it against you?”
Ginny shot him a warning look. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Huh. This must be what the Prophet’s been on about all this time,” Harry joked. “I really am The Chosen One.”
Ginny let out a great, surprised bark of laughter that left him with the vestiges of smugness. She pushed herself up to her elbows and leveled him with an evaluative, appraising sort of look. Then, “You’re witty, you know.”
“Yeah well, The Witty One wouldn’t sell as many papers,” Harry shot back. “Have to keep a low profile.”
“No,” Ginny said through a laugh, pushing herself up to a seated position and turning to face him more directly, crossing her legs beneath her and rolling up to sit on her ankles. “I’m being serious. You are.”
Not quite sure what she was getting at, Harry squinted at her. “I manage.”
“You’re always so… dry, and quick with it,” Ginny mused, her gaze quite even but the slight flush of pink on her cheeks betraying a hidden sincerity. “So people don’t always… they miss it.”
Harry felt his heartbeat acutely at the bottom of his sleeve, all the sudden. “Er… do they?”
“Oh just ask Romilda Vane, or any other girl in the loo. They’re always going on and on about how brooding and serious you are,” Ginny teased, reaching out and poking at his arm. “But you’re not. Not really. You’re… you always make me laugh.”
Harry stared at her. He didn’t think he could’ve strung any sentence together at the minute, never mind a witty one. No, his insides screamed. That’s you. That’s all you. You’re the one who makes me laugh, makes me light enough to joke like this.
“You’ve got good banter, Potter,” Ginny continued, her cheeks a rosy pink. “That’s all I’m saying.”
It was strange how powerfully this simple little compliment impacted him. She might as well have nailed him with a Bludger. He attempted to speak, though it was a challenge around the breath that was caught in his throat. “Thanks. I think.”
“You think?”
“Well,” Harry countered, heart still panging like mad, “It was a bit backhanded, wasn’t it? You did sort of imply that no one else thinks I’m funny.”
Ginny let out that gleeful cackle of hers that he adored, the one that lit up her whole face from the inside. “That is not what I meant. But, even if I had,” she said, that glint in her eye sparking in his chest, “Is that really so terrible? If you’re only funny for me?”
Her tone was light and teasing, so obviously a joke. But nonetheless, the words washed over him, the letters printing on his skin and the meaning seeping into his bones. So what if I am? he thought madly. What if I only get to be this way with you?
The image of his father, messing about with his hair, joking around with his mates under the very beech tree he was now leaning up against, flashed through his mind. He’d watched that memory and come to the conclusion that he and his father couldn’t have been any more different. But now he sat here, Ginny’s words steeping in his bloodstream, and wondered whether it was personality or circumstance that carved the chasm between him and his father. Like a ghostly spectre, he peered through some invisible curtain of which he’d only just become aware, separating the version of Harry that existed now and the one that might’ve been without all the tragedy.
Maybe witty would’ve been the first thing people said to describe him, in that other version of reality.
For this single moment, he felt the two planes intersect, like he and who he might’ve been were one and the same: witty, under the warm honey-brown gaze of the girl sprawled on the blanket before him.
He stared at Ginny, his eyes tracing over every inch of her face like she might be a subject of his upcoming exams. The constellation of freckles that adorned her face, a little more concentrated around her nose and cheeks – those places that caught the sunlight. Her nose, small and turned up a bit at the end. Her lips, always pursed together in some impression or attempting to conceal the smirk that lived on them. Her eyes, so warm and expressive; he felt he could read the joy and mischief in them as automatically as though it were spelled out on her face.
Eyes that cut straight to the truth in things: in him, in everyone. He recalled a chocolate egg and words of action in the library, a lucky you to slice through his selfish spiral, harsh words flung at Ron that cut to the core of his jealousy. She possessed some powerful, innate ability to see people, he thought.
And he was lucky enough to be understood by her.
“No,” he said, and he knew he sounded far too serious for their exchange, but he couldn’t fix it. “No, I don’t mind if I’m only funny for you.”
Ginny’s eyes were soft, and he thought madly that she somehow understood, though she couldn’t possibly. “Well, good,” she agreed. “Who else are you trying to impress, anyway?”
No one. Ever. “Only Romilda Vane.”
Ginny laughed, and then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. It was perfect: this moment, her.
She pulled back, the sunlight streaming down through the leaves of the beech tree and catching the planes of her cheeks, planting the seeds of more freckles for him to count later. The glowing feeling swirled in his chest, forming until it gathered and coalesced on the tip of his tongue.
I love you.
It was true. He did. He loved her, he loved her banter and her loyalty and how brave she was, and how she saw the version of himself he wished he could be. He knew it to be true as soon as the feeling formed into words. But just as quickly, something like fear invaded his chest. For, he was not the version of Harry that got to be witty first and nothing else. He was not the version of Harry that she had conjured from a different, better world.
He was this version, and his love was sharp; cursed, dangerous. He couldn’t hand it over to her and watch as it sliced her open.
Ginny’s eyes searched his. He begged her to uncannily read in them the truth he couldn’t bear to say, like she always did.
“Don’t let it go to your head though,” she whispered. “I’ve got to maintain my reputation as the funny one in this relationship.”
“Don’t go telling everyone how hilarious I am, then,” he countered. “I’ve got to maintain my reputation as serious and brooding, haven’t I?”
Ginny grinned, and so did he, their eyes still lingering, far softer than they should be for such a joking exchange.
She’d managed to see a version of him that didn’t exist, so surely she could read the love for her that was hammering at his ribcage like the bars of a prison, desperate for release. He needed her to see it, to know without words.
If he put it to words then he’d be forced to reckon with their impact. But if she just figured it out on her own, he couldn’t be held responsible for it, could he? He could go on loving her, could go on making her laugh while pretending he was the version of Harry that was free to.
“You’re quite perceptive,” he said, to help her along. “People don’t realize because you’re so funny, but you are.”
Ginny’s gaze burned. He saw his words reach her, hoped she felt as laid bare by his proclamation as he had by hers. She swallowed, and then a small, knowing smile unfolded across her lips. “Only for you.”
As Ginny was waking thru his study stopping and touching pictures and all the kids medals and trophies here and there remembering all the beautiful memories contained within. She couldn't help but stop and reminisce at the beautiful quill she gave him all those years ago for the first Christmas after the war ended..
And finally Harry opened the last gift from Ginny wrapped in a slender rectangular box.
Ginny was anxiously watching him as he slowly opened the box and his jaw dropped as he saw the contents within
"Gin... What... How.. wh-where did find.."
"we were at grimmauld one day cleaning over the summer and I found it in your old room.... D-d-do you like it? Is it ok? I hope you're not upset? I just saw it laying there... And I know how much she meant to you... I just thought this way you would have a way to remember her... I had unbreakable charms put on it... I swear the shop keeper thought I was crazy and deranged when I asked if it were possible and then all but demanded it when he said he could... "
Harry was at a loss for words in order to explain how much the gift meant to him he did the only thing he could think of and kissed her with as much emotion as he could. Showing her in a way words possibly couldn't how thankful he was for the gift.
Pulling away after what felt like agreed out of breath she asked him again softly "so it's ok? The second I saw her feather I thought of having a quill made.."
"gin. I love it. It's perfect. I will cherish this quill forever."
Ginny Weasley is definitely the best gift giver in my head.
Classical Pieces You've Probably Heard but Might Not Remember the Name
William Tell Overture- Rossini (Most famous part at 8:45, but why not listen to the whole thing?) I’m adding hints, at least to the ones I recognized culturally. This one is “go, horsey, go!”
Also Sprach Zarathustra- Strauss Slow, dramatic entry scene, IN SPAAACE.
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik- Mozart People running out of a fancy wedding or something. Also known as DUN, dun DUN, dun DUN dun DUN dun DUUUUN.
Symphony 94, Mvt. 2 “Surprise Symphony”- Haydn ?
Toccata and Fugue in d Minor-Bach Halloween organ!
Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2- Chopin Picture a tiny old woman playing piano in a sunlit room with lots of flower vases, about the spill the tragic secrets of her past to some timid young visitor.
Rondo alla Turca- Mozart the babysitter from The Incredibles: “Time for some COGNITIVE ENRICHMENT!”
Sinfonie de Fanfares: Rondeau- Jean-Joseph Mouret Royalty is coming. Or someone is getting married. Or royalty is getting married. Also the PBS Masterpieces theme.
The Four Seasons: Spring- Vivaldi (I just linked to the whole thing because it’s great) Again, someone is getting married, but this one is strings instead and a lot less frumpy.
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring- Bach That one that amateur guitarists love where the notes are all up and down but all the same length. Also used in movie weddings.
O Fortuna (from Carmina Burana)- Carl Orff SONG OF DOOM. Also song of “baby on fire!” in The Incredibles.
Funeral March- Chopin ?
Orpheus in the Underworld: Infernal Galop (A.K.A. Can Can)- Offenbach Well, “aka can-can” says it all.
Pomp and Circumstance (You probably graduated to this)- Elgar Oh yes, Baaaa dun dun dun duun duuuuun… Also if you were a bandie you had to play it for 3 years before graduating to it.
Gayane: Sabre Dance- Aram Khachaturian Comically hectic productivity, a circus clown juggling while standing on a ball, or perhaps a rapidly-approaching termite infestation. Could go any way, really.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Wedding March- Mendelssohn The song movies play right AFTER they both say “I do.”
Carmen: Les Toreadors- Bizet I can’t be the only one who remembers when ‘Hey Arnold’ did this. “Bullfights and swordfights, rolling in manuuure!”
The Ride of the Valkyries- Wagner Good song for a naval battle I guess? I can only think of the mini golf course I went to as a kid with the creepy castle on Hole 18 that played this.
Für Elise- Beethoven That one every amateur piano player loves to play because the beginning is just E and E-flat over and over. Also ballet and piano recital scenes in movies.
Dance of the Hours- Ponchielli Hello mudda, hello fadda, here I am at, Camp Granada…
Rigotello: La Donna e Mobile- Verdi More than a few sophisticated movie villains (or snobby good guys) have this playing on a Victrola. Also, tell me you don’t picture Pavaroti no matter who’s actually singing.
Night on Bald Mountain- Mussorgsky ?
Romeo and Juliet: Love Theme- Tchaikovsky More movie-love, usually building up to admitting they live each other.
Entry of the Gladiators- Julius Fucik I have one word for you: CIRCUS.
Lakmé: Flower Duet- Delibes OMG ALIAS. Nadia’s spy backstory in Film Noir!
Peer Gynt: In the Hall of the Mountain King- Greig Mischievous Tiptoeing in Movies song. Also something growing out of control, slowly at first and then quickly, and (comically) exploding.
Rodeo: Hoedown- Copland The title says it all tbh.
Peer Gynt: Morning Mood- Greig Sunrise/waking up Movie Song du jour.
New World Symphony Mov. [2][4]- Dvorak Well now I’m thinking of “An American Tail” and I’m crying…
Ave Maria (You knew this, but did you know that it was by Schubert?) Nothing to add. I’m not a music snob, really, but if you didn’t know this, YOU SHOULD.
Canon in D- Pachelbel This is the one that the pretty Trans-Siberian Orchestra Christmas song comes from. :-)
Dies Irae (from Requiem) - Verdi Scary scenes in cartoons, especially involving storms, holes, or treacherous waterfalls.
Flight of the Bumblebee - Rimsky-Korsakov Oh come on, everyone knows this one! It sounds too much like the title for you to forget what it’s called! Also: Drumline.
Finale to the 1812 Overture - Tchaikovsky Naval battle! Cannon! Fireworks! 4th of July in ‘Murica! Even though it’s about that *other* war going on in 1812!
Der Holle Rache kocht in meiner herzen (aka the Queen of the Night aria) - Mozart The one that fancy ladies in movies use to try and break champagne glasses.
Libiamo ne’ lieti calici - Verdi ?
Largo al factotum - Rossini Does your cartoon need a classical tune for your rotund Italian chef to sing while tossing pizza dough? Have we got a song for you!
Overture to The Barber of Seville - Rossini Fast-paced, sneaky-things-are-afoot movie song.
The Blue Danube Waltz - Strauss Da-da-da dum dum. *plink plink* *plink plink*. As heard in Jack’s entry to First Class in “Titanic,” and a million other places. (Veggie Tales “Stuff Mart,” anyone?)
Moonlight Sonata (mvmt. 1) - Beethoven The ultimate pretty-and-sad piano and/or ballet scene song.
Symphony No. 5 - Beethoven dun dun dun DUUUUUN.
I’m sure there are more but these were some of the first that came to mind as missing!
Pavane for a Dead Princess- Maurice Ravel. Apparently it’s in Dark Knight Rises? I just think it’s pretty.
And
Tales from the Vienna Woods- Johann Strauss II. Contains the melody playing on Rose’s music box in Titanic just before Cal gives her the Heart of the Ocean.
Man I was waiting for this post to make the round. Some more well known pieces.
Unknown Composer
Greensleeves
Johann Sebastian Bach
Air
Prelude in C-major
Suite No.1 For Cello
Badinerie
Georg Friedrich Handel
Halleluja
Sarabande in d-minor
Antonio Vivaldi
Summer 3rd mov.
Winter 1st mov.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Symphony 40 1st mov.
Piano Concerto 21 Andante
Pioano Sonata in C-Major
Queen of the Night
Figaro Ouverture
Requiem Lacrimosa
Luigi Boccherini
Minuetto
Joseph Haydn
Cello Concerto 1 in C-Major
Ludwig van Beethoven
Symphony 6 1st mov.
Symphony 7 2nd mov.
Symphony 9 2nd mov and of course 4th mov. Ode to Joy
Moonshine Sonata 3rd mov.
Pathetique Sonata 2nd mov. and 3rd mov.
Tempest Sonata 3rd mov.
Franz Schubert
Serenade
Improptu 4 Op 90
Erlkönig
Hector Berlioz
Symphonie Fantastique - Dream Of A Witches Sabbath
Guiseppe Verdi
Va, Pensiero
Aida, Marcia
Giachino Rossini
Ouverture to Barber of Seville
Frederic Chopin
Nocturne 2
Etude Winterwind
Etude Tristesse
Fanatasy-Improptu
Great Walz Brilliante
Minute Waltz
Waltz in C#-minor
Heroic Polonaise
Ballade 1
Prelude in E minor
Niccolo Paganini
Caprice No. 24
La Campanella
Vittorio Monti
Czardas
Robert Schumann
Childhood Scenes From Foreign Lands and Poeple and Dreaming
Forest Scene Farewell
Felix Mendelssohn
Songs Without Words No. 6
Johannes Brahms
Hungarian Dance
Walz in A flat Major
Johann Strauss II
Ouverture to Die Fledermaus
Radentzky March
Tritsch Tratsch Polka
Georges Bizet
Habanera
Franz Liszt
Liebestraum
Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 and No.6
La Campanella Paganini for Piano
Etude Un Sospiro
Hinny prompt: Harry dealing with Ginny’s new fan base.
Ginny is starting to get her first few fan letters. The harpies try and sort them but Harry spots a few on the creepier side OR at a game he overhears some fans obsessing over the fit new Chaser. Have fun with it.😉
This might not be what you meant by "fun," but right about now the most fun thing I could imagine writing was a situation in which horrible, misogynistic men get what they deserve. Can't imagine why...
NSFW (language) - Please note, there's some offensive language in this one, included to illustrate how horrible these characters are; NOT meant to condone it. I hope that's clear in the tone.
It would be blasphemous to say it, but Harry strongly prefers attending Ginny’s away matches.
The furor around the relationship between “The Chosen One” and the rising star Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies had reached dizzying heights. Fans of their relationship flock faithfully to Harpies matches in the hope they might witness Harry cheering for Ginny, or clapping for Ginny, or something equally mundane, made exciting and romantic only because he’s the one doing it. While bizarre and invasive to Harry, this parasocial fantasy is nothing short of a PR dream for the Quidditch Club.
The Harpies administration had been thrilled to reap the benefits of this excitement, and consequently laid out Harry and Ginny’s relationship on a silver platter: whenever Harry attended a match in their home stadium, he was offered a private Top Box at a prime location, complementary Omnioculars, unlimited food and drink, and a large Weasley Banner adorning the wall behind.
Ostensibly a generous gesture, but in reality a nuisance, because it meant every reporter in the stadium knew exactly where to direct their cameras every time Ginny so much as sniffed the Quaffle. They’d capture Harry’s reaction and then rush to print it in the paper the next day, with interpretations so loosely based in reality that Harry’s nearly impressed at the creativity.
Once, Harry had sneezed, and his pained expression in the leadup to it was painted as “trouble in paradise” for weeks because it had happened to coincide with Ginny scoring.
On another occasion, Harry had spent much of a particularly chilly match with his hands in his pockets. Of course, the only explanation for such insane behavior was obviously to hide the nonexistent wedding ring on his finger, which clearly resulted from a secret weekend elopement in the aftermath of Ginny’s spectacular performance against Pride of Portree.
“They’ve got a point,” Ginny had joked over their morning breakfast. “I did deserve a diamond after that match. What gives?”
“A bit late for that, haven’t you heard?” Harry had said through a bite of porridge. “We’re already getting divorced. I’m having another affair with Hermione at the weekend.”
“Damn,” Ginny sighed. “I wanted to have an affair with Hermione.”
Much more insidious, though, were the stories suggesting that Ginny’s signing and popularity was only because of her relationship with Harry. Ginny swore she didn’t give a flying fuck what the papers wrote about her, but Harry took to ripping every story that cast aspersions at her talent to shreds.
But, Harry had finally got one over on the press. He’d called an uncharacteristic press conference and made an announcement that, due to undefined “security risks” at away stadiums, he was unable to attend matches outside of Holyhead.
The statement had been worth all of the ridiculous stories speculating about his lack of support for his girlfriend’s career, because it meant that he got to watch the Harpies vs Falcons match – donning a thick cap, sunglasses, and a scarf, in some cheap seat that no one would suspect Harry Potter of sitting in – utterly without audience. Sure, his view of the match leaves a bit to be desired, and he’s cramped next to a rowdy group of Falcons fans, but it’s wonderfully refreshing to swear angrily when Ginny is fouled without fear of a think-piece speculating about his repressed anger issues appearing in tomorrow’s Prophet.
It’s one of his better lies, all told, and Harry’s inclined to celebrate his stroke of genius.
It’s not until about ten minutes into the match that Harry is forced to concede he may have celebrated prematurely, as he reckons with the drawbacks to his little caper up close and personally.
The lads surrounding Harry are chanting with such an obnoxious, drunken fervor that Harry can hardly hear himself think, forget hearing the match commentary. They scream with such persistence for so long that they’ve nearly earned Harry’s begrudging respect, when the chant finally succumbs to raucous cheers as Falmouth is awarded a penalty.
“Nice to have a bit of a doss match this week,” the bloke next to Harry remarks loudly after Falmouth scores their penalty. “Gives Wickford time to rest up before we play Puddlemere.”
Harry squints up at the speeding players above and confirms that Wickford, a thick-necked man and Falmouth’s star Chaser, is indeed speeding back defensively as the Harpies offensive formation takes shape, and not resting on the sidelines. Harry shoots a sidelong glance to his neighbors, perplexed.
“Yeah, nice of the Harpies to carry on with an all-female squad,” another dark-haired lad chimes in. “I thought they were finally going to give it up after last season. What a joke.”
The first bloke, who Harry observes looks rather like Dudley, laughs ruefully. “Gwenog Jones won’t ever admit the problem, though, will she? They just don’t have the speed or the strength, everyone can see it–”
Harry scowls. Pricks.
“She clearly thinks the new recruit, Weasley or whatever, is going to make them competitive again, but–”
“Does she?” the Dudley-looking one snorts. “Or do they just want the Harry Potter fangirls to bring in the revenue? It’s a massive publicity stunt, honestly, just like the whole team.”
The three of them laugh, and Harry’s scowl deepens beneath his sunglasses.
“I’m only hoping they bring back the swimsuit calendar this year,” the dark-haired one adds. “Weasley’s fit as fuck.”
The group murmurs their general agreement, and Harry takes stock of the hexes available to him. Might be time to dust off the toenail-growing one of Snape’s… But no. He can’t get hauled in front of Magical Law Enforcement again. Robards will sack him.
“Yeah, the Harpies can fuck around with an all-women team, as long as they all look like that,” the Dudley-looking lad adds, pointing up at Ginny who is now flying overhead, and they all get a particularly good view of her from behind. The blond one jeers. “Wouldn’t mind seeing her strutting around on my calendar in a bikini.”
“I’d go so low as to call myself a Harpies fan for one of those,” the dark-haired jokes, and they all snigger.
Sod hexing. Harry would quite like to kill them. He’s gripping the metal bars in front of him, knuckles white, imagining creative ways of doing it when Ginny - quite literally - takes matters into her own hands: all of their attention is pulled to the pitch as she feints, drawing Wickford into an ugly-looking lurch before she dodges and cannons a shot directly into the right goal.
God, he loves her.
“Damn,” the blond one whistles. “Fit and fair enough at Chasing, I suppose.”
“Potter’s a lucky bloke,” they joke. “I’d let her score on me all she wants.”
Yeah, Harry thinks darkly, today’s my lucky day.
Harry thinks he deserves a medal for the level of restraint he exercises, as the lads continue to offer lewd, sexist, and leering comments about Ginny for the entirety of the match. In fact, the only reason he manages not to strangle them is because Ginny, herself, is shutting them up far more effectively than he ever could.
“Watch this, Robbins’ll catch her, look at the difference in wingspan–”
Ginny drops a beautiful pass to Gwenog who times her formation perfectly, and the Harpies score yet again.
“Weasley’s tiny, once they let our Beaters loose on her she’ll be a goner–”
Ginny executes a perfect Sloth-Grip Roll to dodge an incoming bludger, and manages to whip a shot past the Falcons Keeper while dangling upside-down.
“Knock her off her fucking broom!”
Wickford, clearly frustrated, fouls Ginny – hard. While the referee blows a shrill whistle, Harry lets out a stream of abuse, “Dirty fucking wanker–”
“Oi!” the Dudley-looking bloke next to Harry exclaims with glee. “Have we got ourselves a Harpies fan in our midst?”
Harry takes a measured, calming breath before answering, still staring up at the match above. “Yep.”
The group lets out a gleeful ooh. Harry knows it’s commonplace to give opposing fans a hard time at away matches, but these blokes haven’t got a clue how close Harry is to losing it. He’s about one more comment away from turning them into Aunt Marge.
He claps when Ginny easily puts away the penalty shot, extending the Harpies already considerable lead.
“Very progressive of you,” the blond one jokes. “Are they your girlfriend’s favorite team, or something?”
“Or something,” Harry answers through gritted teeth.
They all jeer. “She’s got you whipped, eh? I hope the pussy’s worth rooting for a pussy-ass team like–”
“I’d watch my fucking mouth, if I were you,” Harry says, his voice low and dangerous. He realizes, dimly, that he must look far less intimidating than he’d like, with his ridiculous hat and sunglasses and scarf covering much of his face. Oh, well. Looks can be deceiving. He’s just finished up with seven weeks of an intensive dueling refresher course with the Aurors. He reckons he could incapacitate all three of them before they even had a chance to pull their wands.
“Oooh, would you?” they jeer. “What, do you reckon if you cheer loud enough, Weasley will hear you and come over to thank you after the match?”
“Could she thank me too, you reckon?” the Dudley one adds.
Harry can hear his own heartbeat angrily pounding in his ears. They’re all disgusting pricks, not worth a moment of his time or his energy, but he’s not stupid, either. He’d been, at first, when Ginny had originally signed with the club, and he’d just started paying more attention to the news about the team and the undermining, sexist undertones in all of it. He’d been shocked to see the nasty objectifying comments, the aspersions at their talent, the insinuation that the team was a feminist gimmick, not to be taken seriously.
Hermione had humbled him with a sharp, “No,” when he’d asked her if she was surprised by it, too.
He’s not as naive anymore. He realizes these blokes are watching their own team get shellacked by an all-female side, watching as Ginny plays elite Quidditch with their own eyes, and still they’ve got nothing but bullshit to say.
Helpfully, Ginny chooses that moment to score yet another goal, her seventh. When Harry claps, they all join in mockingly.
“Weasleyyyyy,” they call, with mocking, lovesick expressions. “Ditch the Chosen One and choose meee!”
Harry turns to them, and asks in a flat tone. “Is that the reason you’ve been rooting for such a shit team, then? You’re hoping Wickford will come and give you a cuddle after?”
“Oi!” the dark-haired one says. “Hang on–”
“That’s the only reason you’d be a fan of the fucking Falcons, isn’t it? If Wickford will take you home?”
“Nah mate, reckon all poofs are Harpies fans, aren’t you?”
The toenail hex seems woefully tame, all the sudden. “Are all Falcons fans pricks or is it just you lot?”
“Oi, relax mate,” the blond one jeers. “We’re just wondering how it all works. How many times have you got to wear a Harpies kit before they let you pull a leg over?”
“Dunno, how many times have you got to wear that Falcons kit for them to win a match?”
“Is that the new Harpies recruitment strategy?” the Dudley-looking one continues. “They only sign slags to the team, so they can shag together a fanbase?”
Harry pulls his wand so fast that they jump back, startled. “Say that again,” he growls, holding his wand in the man’s face. “Say it.”
“Watch yourself,” the blond one says, holding his hands up and pointing to his mate threateningly. “This one’s about to be an Auror, you’re about a second away from–”
What surely deadly threat Harry is a second away from, he’ll never learn, because just then, with a loud groan from the crowd, the Harpies Seeker pulls out of a spectacular dive with the snitch clasped in her fist, thereby ending the match at an embarrassing score of 260-10.
“YES!” Harry yells, his wand dropping to his side as his eyes seek out Ginny in the air.
He can’t remember ever finding a win so satisfying, and Ginny quite so attractive as she streaks across the pitch to hug Gwenog Jones in a midair heap, her red hair streaming behind her in the wind. When she lets go, she scans the section she knows Harry is sitting in. Looking for him, like she always does after a match, only this time she’s looking for an idiot in a shit disguise.
He turns back to the blokes, fury and disgust with them still radiating in his bloodstream, and a reckless desire that he’ll surely regret later overtakes him. Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to pull off his scarf.
“What was it you were saying before?” he goads, pulling their attention back to him before they move with the rushing crowd out of the stands. “One of you arseholes is going to be an Auror?”
“I am, and I’ll curse you into next week, if you like,” the Dudley looking-one taunts. “Maybe then Weasley will give you a pity ride, if that’s what you’re hoping for–”
“Interesting offer, but I’ll pass,” Harry says, as he pulls off his sunglasses. A look of vague recognition sweeps across the blond one’s face, though the others merely look a combination of angry and befuddled.
Harry replaces his regular specs and looks to the pitch just in time to lock eyes with Ginny - she’s found him in the crowd.
She’s halfway across the pitch, but Harry can tell by the tilt of her head that she’s wondering why he’s gone and taken off half the disguise they’d laughed so hard about earlier. He waves, and despite their earlier agreement to forgo their usual public post-match celebration, she seems to get the message and begins flying toward him.
He turns back to the blokes and finally removes his hat, revealing the still famously recognizable scar on his forehead. All three of their expressions transform into varying degrees of horror as they recall every horrible thing they’d said over the last hour, and connect just who they said it to. “What the fuck–” one of them mutters. “What the fucking shit– is that– Harry Potter–”
Harry stares directly at the aspiring Auror, memorizing his stupid features as he reddens. “I–” he stammers.
“I wouldn’t count on the Auror thing,” Harry spits. “If you’ll pardon me, though, I’ve got to congratulate my girlfriend. Maybe thank her later, for giving me so much to cheer for.”
He turns just as Ginny arrives to hover in front of him, windswept and flushed with victory and so ruddy gorgeous he can’t think. “You were so fucking brilliant,” he tells her.
“I know,” she says with that cheeky grin he loves so much, and then she kisses him so soundly that he quite forgets the pricks openly gaping at them from behind.
For a moment.
He pulls back from the kiss and turns to find them making a hasty retreat from the scene, but not before he hears the telling sound of a camera pop.
The ensuing stories plastered all over the papers the next day - Harry, pictured in his ridiculous disguise entering the stadium, their victorious kiss in the stands - ensure that Harry’s never able to sneak surreptitiously into the crowd of an away match ever again.
A trade worth making, though, when Harry gives an exclusive interview detailing every disgusting thing the three men identified in the background of the photograph had said, and when Ginny writes a cutting op-ed for the Prophet highlighting the ways in which the press had created the very narrative those three pricks had parroted.
Of course, it doesn’t solve the problem overnight, nor did they expect that it would. But, it moves the needle, just a bit. When Ginny reads an excellent article detailing the Harpies’ unique formations without once mentioning Harry or questioning whether they might be more effective by signing male players, she smiles.
The rejection of Winston Winthrop’s Auror application is just the frosting on the cake.
One of the biggest things to annoy me is how Harry has been proven to have a keen eye for shady shit.
He noticed Severus’ injured leg and put 2 and 2 together easily on why it was injured. Ron and Hermione didn’t notice that.
He knew Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters and that he was on some secret mission during school. Ron and Hermione insist he’s imagining things.
He knew that Luna hadn’t been in her bedroom in months based upon the amount of dust on her furniture. Again, Ron and Hermione didn’t notice shit.
Yet despite how often he’s shown to be fucking RIGHT when he says something shady is up, he gets gaslighted into believing he’s making shit up and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. This is a repeated pattern and it annoys me so much!
THIS. This is exactly why I so dislike fics that write him as oblivious. Just because he often doesn’t know what to do about what he notices doesn’t mean he doesn’t know there’s something wrong!
Imagine if he got validation and praise every once in a while for it instead of being brushed off as paranoid. He’d be wizard Sherlock Holmes.
It’s a common thing to notice that something is wrong even if you can’t think of how to solve the problem. The problem is still there no matter what. Not knowing how to act on this information, or how to react to this information, isn’t a shameful thing.
Also, like, Harry’s ‘oblivious’ behavior never pops up in important matters. Sorry, but him not realizing that Cho was not only using him as a crutch for her issues with Cedric’s murder, but was also jealous of his friendship with Hermione and taking it out on him, isn’t very important. He’s 15, getting sent mixed signals by the girl he likes, and is also going through a traumatic time in his life. Him not understanding her head space in that moment doesn’t really make him ‘oblivious’. It makes him a human, especially since Cho doesn’t seem to understand her own head space either.
He’s also the one to put dragon egg+hagrid together to come up with omg Volde knows how to get past Fluffy in his first year. Harry notices a lot of things, he sometimes doesn’t comment on them or state the obvious. Like the fact that he spots a toy arm split of toy Krum after the Yule Ball which shows he knows what’s up with Ron and Hermoine. Or spotting how Hermoine casts the confundus charm during Gryffindor tryouts. He’s not oblivious or dumb. He’s pretty observant and fast on his feet. He’s also extremely snarky. All of which is played way down in fics.
Growing up with the Dursleys, you’d get pretty used to noticing things and not commenting. Harry doesn’t seem to say much about what he sees because almost every time he does, he’s told he’s imagining things.
Hypervigilance is a thing with abused kids. In a household where knowing the mood of the people who lock you in cupboards, choke you, and swing frying pans at your head often enough that you duck without thinking about it or reacting emotionally to it, noticing tiny details is what keeps you alive.
REAL. I’ve been saying this for fucking ages that Harry is in fact insanely observant and is not built like a, and i quote “brick wall” the way this fandom paints him to be. Everytime he knew something was up he got dismissed. His attention to details throughout HBP and DH is insane and no one talks about it.
• he figured out the entire mystery surrounding the three deathly hallows all by himself , further confirmed his theories by revealing the resurrection stone from the snitch Dumbledore left him. hermione refused to believe they were even real and considered them nothing more than lore (no hate to her though) until she was proven wrong.
• the luna case is one of my favorites to point out whenever people accuse harry of being oblivious. like seriously figuring out that your friend has been missing for days by noticing the odd dust patterns on a picture hanging on the wall or how the bed looks a little too cold is impressive as fuck.
• he was also the one who solved the mystery regarding the whereabouts of the lost diadem of rowena ravenclaw. when professor flitwick told him that no one saw it in their living memory it immediately clicked inside his head that he had to speak to a ghost, the footprint of a dead person. homeboy straight up fought with helena ravenclaw’s ghost in the midst of a war to retrieve information from her.
and he was flawless at it.
he noticed a change in tense in an active conversation like HELLO ??
• also last but not the least, in his first year when the trio went down that underground pit from the third floor and they had to cross flitwick’s protection barrier, it was him who pointed out that the shiny flying objects were keys to the door not birds. it was also him who caught the right key thanks to his seeking skills.
so yes spare my son for not noticing that cho was trying to ask him out for valentine’s day because a) it was not of importance to him b) he grew up in a closet, isolated, completely cut off from socialization. he might not catch social teen drama cues, but when it comes to shady shit he is no less than Holmes.
