I'll try to keep this as updated as possible depending on character limits and such, but here is a list of all my posted or planned fics (with links where appropriate!)
Works with * out front are rated Mature; works with ** out front are rated Explicit; otherwise works are rated Teen or Gen
Series:
*Tumblr Prompts - a collection of microfics and one-shots based on prompts from tumblr (typically from @hinnymicrofic)
*Hope & Purpose - Canon but Not Epilogue Complaint; series of one-shots follows Harry & Ginny as their family grows through the years, beginning with an unplanned pregnancy during Ginny's 7th year
Hedwig is a Great Dane - One-shots set in a Muggle AU where Hedwig is a Great Dane, Pigwidgeon is a Yorkshire Terrier, and together they create havoc to bring Harry & Ginny together.
Standalones:
Big Brother - (gen, one-shot) Percy prepares to become a big brother for the first time
*Cat and Mouse - (Hinny, Multi-chapter, complete) au, Dumbledore doesn't die on the astronomy tower; secret dating
Comfortable - (Hinny, one-shot) no Voldemort/everyone lives au; childhood friends to lovers
Fade In/Fade Out - (Bill & Arthur, one-shot) written for Weasley Fest 2023; a look at the changing parent/child dynamic once the child becomes a parent themself
**Ginny Weasley is a Slut - (Hinny, Multi-chapter, WIP) modern/muggle au; drunken sexts gone awry
Ginny's Hair - (Hinny, one-shot) Harry's thoughts on Ginny chopping off her hair
Misadventures in Moving - (Hinny, one-shot) all the different moves Harry's endured in his lifetime
**The Morning After - (Hinny, one-shot) Harry reminisces on a very satisfying night with Ginny
Pairs - (Hinny, two-shot) Muggle AU, Hockey Player!Harry switches to figure skating and tries to convince Ginny to be his partner for competitions
Protest - (Hinny, one-shot) a discussion between Ginny & Hermione on why Ginny didn't fight the infamous break-up
*A Rose in Winter - (Hinny, Multi-chapter, WIP) arranged marriage Edwardian au
Softer - (Hinny, one-shot) older married Hinny, dealing with body changes
Weasley Pub Nights - (Hinny, one-shot) it's their quarterly Weasley Pub Night, but this night Ginny has an announcement
PhoenixSong.net, a Harry Potter fanfiction and fanart archive, is being imported to the Archive of Our Own. Read more at: https://otw-news.org/233h5633
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Interestingly Sirius only refers to Grimmauld as his house once.
He often speaks about it as his parent’s former house:
“Hasn’t anyone told you? This was my parents’ house,” said Sirius”
“Come on, Harry, haven’t you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?” said Sirius testily.”
” Sirius gave a short, barklike laugh. “If my parents could see the use it was being put to now ... well, my mother’s portrait should give you some idea...”
He doesn’t even weaponise it when Molly is saying out of pocket things to him (for example: don’t speak to me like that in my house). The only time he does leverage the house is towards Snape ordering Harry around:
“Sit down, Potter.”
“You know,” said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, “I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t give orders here, Snape. It’s my house, you see.”
An ugly flush suffused Snape’s pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table.
I get such Dad energy from this- don’t speak to my child like that under my roof.
“Kingsley asked me a while ago—back when he became interim Minister after the battle—if there was anything he could do for me,” Harry said, his voice breaking the silence. He hadn’t been asked a question, but the words came anyway, unprompted and slow. “At first, I didn’t really know what he meant. I wasn’t even sure he did. But I thought about it.”
He kept his gaze on the headstones as he spoke.
“Sirius didn’t have a place. There was no body to bury, no funeral… nothing.” Harry exhaled, long and uneven. “I didn’t realize how important that was—not until I came here last Christmas. Having somewhere to visit, to pay respects, makes it feel real. Not just ghosts in a story. Not just hypotheticals that I dreamed about growing up.”
@ginnystrophyhusband micro oops
Prompt: Garlic
Word Count: 1,250
“You could use a wand for all that mindless chopping,” Ginny said, swiping a sliver of carrot from the cutting board and popping it into her mouth. “Aren’t you bored?”
Harry only shrugged, knife still moving in steady rhythm. “I don’t mind it.”
“Reminds me of Potions class,” she said. “And it’s horribly inconvenient, you know. I’ve already finished my part, and now I’m just waiting on you.”
He chuckled. “Patience. I’ll be finished soon enough.”
Ginny hopped onto the counter, the cool surface pressing against the back of her thighs. She took a sip from her half-empty glass of wine and leaned her head against the cupboard above—the one that held their mismatched set of blue and green stoneware plates. Her gaze drifted around the little kitchen, cozy and warm, wrapped in shades of brown, sage, and soft yellow. Dried herbs hung from the rack above the island, their scent mingling with the aroma of simmering vegetables. Jars of spices lined the shelves, and a bag of potatoes—where the cat liked to hide—sat a bit lopsided on the floor. Above the farmhouse sink, a window framed by tartan curtains let in a spill of moonlight. Two carved pumpkins face outward on the windowsill, watching over the back garden.
It was a perfectly homely kitchen. And even though she liked to complain that cooking was boring, Ginny secretly loved it—the quiet rhythm of it, the way it brought her close to Harry, the domestic intimacy of two people with nowhere else to be. There was a deep satisfaction in the routine, in the simple, familiar magic of home.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
In the spring of 1981, the Ministry of Magic fell. Choices had to be made. When Harry Potter learns the truth about what’s really happening in the wizarding world, he has to try to come to terms with the choices that were made on his behalf.
I lasted as long as I could. I have been working nonstop on this story for months now. It's invaded my thoughts, my dreams, and I can't stop thinking about it. Right now, I'm thinking of posting once every other week, so the next chapter will be out Halloween.
I have been DYING to know what you guys think, so don't forget to drop a review. I'll be anxiously reloading my email all day. And tomorrow. And the next day.
Two and half years later and I still stand by this. One sibling may be plain compared to their outrageously beautiful sibling, but you've got to at least *try* to get fancasts who look like they could be siblings.
Below are songs that make me want to go back for whole ass degree in graphic animation just to make a little fanfic music video staring the one and only Ginny Weasley.
Read my unhinged thoughts after the break.
Your Idol (Saja Boys) - Riddle's bid to take Ginny's soul via the diary horcrux
Honestly the whole song hits me right in the feels but specifically these lyrics [english translation in brackets]:
Keeping you in check (Uh), keeping you obsessed (Uh)
Play me on repeat, [endlessly} in your head
Anytime it hurts (Uh), play another verse (Uh)
I can be your sanctuary
Know I'm the only one right now (Now)
I will love you more when it all burns down
More than power, more than gold (Yeah)
Yeah, you gave me your heart, now I'm here for your soul
I mean - obviously this is Tom Riddle serenading Ginny via pretty handwriting
Don't let it show, keep it all inside
The pain and the shame, keep it outta sight
Your obsession feeds our connection
[So right now] give me all your attention
This reminds me of poor young Ginny trying so desperately to separate herself from the diary when she realized how dangerous the dynamic was but still trying to keep it all a secret
Living in your mind now
Too late 'cause you're mine now
I will make you free
When you're all part of me
And this would be after she gets the diary back, when Riddle is angry with her from stealing his chance to destroy Harry. His mask is coming off but he's tightening his grip on her mind/soul.
Watch me set your world on fire
[You're lost in my daze, yeah], you can't look away (Hey)
No one is coming to save you
Ginny's possessed walk to the Chamber 😭
Starlight (Starset) - Harry's internal struggle to leave Ginny behind pre-horcrux hunt aka the longest camping trip in the universe.
Primeval
We're coupled
Born from the universe
Farewell
The void is calling
Don't fear
Like, he knows she's IT for him but he doesn't get to keep her
I don't know what to say
But I'm going to want you till the stars evaporate
And
So say the word and I'll be running back to find you
A thousand armies won't stop me I'll break through
I'll soar the endless skies for only one sight
Of your starlight
This part of the music video would just be Harry pining after Ginny the whole summer at The Burrow.
Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite
I'll think of you each time they wash me in their light
And I'll fall in love with you again
Pining!Harry starting at the Mauraders' Map
Don't leave me lost here forever
I need your starlight and pull me through
Bring me back to you
Honestly, I think this is a big reason Harry demanded Ginny stay in the ROR. Not because he thought she was weak or in danger, but because he was and he needed her as his light at the end of the tunnel.
Concrete Jungle (Bad Omens) - Ginny's evolution into Rebel Leader™ during the Death Eater regime
Again, the whole song just really sets the mood, but specifically these lines:
You never know if you'll get what you wish for
I climbed to the sun
And I fell
I fell, in a concrete jungle
The imagery of climbing to the sun only to fall in prison like wasteland made me think of the whole juxtaposition of Ginny having an absolutely banging year being the #1 It-Girl between her friend group, being a school-wide Quidditch star, and finally catching the man of her dreams; only to be followed by presumably the most horrific school year any one could ever experience
Wouldn't it be nice
To play the game without a crooked die
In a world where you don't have to hide?
You don't have to live in a disguise
Ginny watching people play both sides, including her own parents (to a degree). Her anger/hatred growing for those blatantly stepping on the necks of the vulnerable to keep themselves elevated/safe, but knowing she has to play the game too if she wants to survive.
I want things that money can't buy
The price is pain to make this right
And I could buy a thousand lives
So you can try to kill me, but I can't fucking die
Look, Ginny having enough pain to buy a thousand lives and being immortal?? Slay Queen
I fell, in a concrete jungle
In a concrete jungle
And I'm the fucking king
This is quite literally the last line of the song and it's so fucking impowering. Go steal that sword, girl. Make those Death Eater fools your bitch.
Bad Girlfriend (Theory of a Deadman) - Excluding the last verse (cause it takes a wild turn), this is just grumpy Harry sitting on the sidelines just enjoying the view while Ginny is just having the time of her life post-war. This song makes me think of a Harry who gives a crooked smirk anytime someone question's Ginny's faithfulness/loyalty.
The lyrics that solidify the Hinny dynamic to me:
Dirty girl, getting down, dance with guys from outta town
Grab her ass, acting tough, mess with her, she'll fuck you up
Because we know Ginny doesn't fuck around with boys who don't respect her boundaries
No doubt about it she's a bad, bad girlfriend
Red thong, party's on, love this song, sing along
Come together, leave alone, see you later back at home
And
I say, no one really knows just how far she's gonna go
But I'm gonna find out later tonight
I love me a Harry who is secure enough to leave Ginny to dance at the club, cause homeboy knows it doesn't matter who she dances with, she's coming home to him
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.”
A/N: it’s a few days late but for @ginnystrophyhusband September micro fics day 10.
Prompt: urgency
The Great Hall was just as busy as it had been when Harry had crept out of it under his invisibility cloak almost a full day ago.
If anything, he thought it might be even more crowded. Evidently, a great number of witches and wizards had arrived at Hogwarts in the hours since Voldemort’s demise and most of them were congregating here it seemed.
At first, he’d foolishly hoped the crowded commotion might allow him to sneak in unnoticed.
Unsurprisingly, a whole day of sleeping had not fixed the wounds Harry carried from the battle; his body and his heart had felt too heavy to carry on the walk down from Gryffindor Tower. He certainly felt no better prepared to face congratulations and commiserations than he had yesterday.
Sleep had not helped. Kreacher’s sandwiches had not provided any relief. He wasn’t sure if anything could soothe the gaping chasm left within him. Yet, without thinking, without planning it, Harry’s feet had carried him here.
To the Great Hall where, despite his dearest wishes, hundreds of heads turned in unison to stare at him as he passed through the double doors, flanked by Ron and Hermione.
The buzz of chatter, that had been audible from the entrance hall just a moment ago, fell into total silence.
Harry paused at the foot of the Hufflepuff table, suddenly aware of his obnoxiously loud footsteps.
The silence stretched on for another heartbeat and then a roar of celebration erupted all around the hall.
A wave of applause swept the room, accompanied by a symphony of cheering. An elderly wizard in a lurid purple cloak climbed up on the Ravenclaw table and performed a joyous jig between a platter of eggs and a jug of pumpkin juice.
Harry spared his performance little more than a glance. His eyes were sweeping the hall, looking for something he didn’t dare to name.
Days. Months. Years. That’s what he’d told himself yesterday, but now that the acute needs of sleep and food were taken care of, he found himself less willing to wait.
At first he saw nothing but a sea of strangers, punctuated by the odd familiar face: Luna, Dean and Seamus were huddled at the far end of the hall; Oliver Wood and Alicia Spinnet were hugging as though they’d just won the Quidditch Cup; Professor McGonagall was seated at staff table, waving her tall hat triumphantly in the air.
Harry’s eyes kept roving, not stopping until they landed on a congregation of redheads halfway up the Gryffindor table.
Ginny looked up slowly, her eyes fixing determinedly on his. Harry’s heart, which had been stuttering along until now, kickstarted back into a frantic rhythm.
The cheering and applause seemed to fade into the distance. Ginny rose slowly from her seat. Early morning sunlight slanted through the high windows behind her, making her fiery hair as incandescent as the blazing look in her eyes.
Every miraculous, renewed beat of Harry’s heart seemed to reverberate across the distance separating them.
Ginny’s eyes remained locked with Harry’s as she took her first step away from the Gryffindor table. She didn’t look away even as she broke into a run, crossing the stone floor with a speed he wasn’t sure he could achieve in his current state of disrepair.
She was still some distance away when she launched, but Harry was ready. He’d been ready for months, since the last time he’d had her in his arms they’d been waiting for her to return, even when he’d thought such a thing to be impossible.
His aching body did not protest the impact as he caught her. The bruises covering every inch of his skin were not adverse to her touch as her arms wrapped around him. His sense of propriety did not care in the least that half the magical population of Britain — and the entirety of her family — were watching as he lowered his head to hers.
And then he was kissing her with urgency.
He’d expected blissful oblivion to be too much to hope for, but neither time nor circumstance had dulled Ginny’s effect.
Those days, and months, and years he’d been envisaging could have passed without Harry’s notice now he had her close. The Hall faded away and there was nothing left but her fingers, winding their way into his hair and the curve of her waist beneath Harry’s hands, and the flowery scent of her shampoo, still clinging to her beneath the remnants of the battle.
The weight of everything that had passed did not magically slide from his shoulders, but her light was bright enough to abate some of the darkness that shadowed his soul, bright enough to illuminate a path to hope.
Ginny’s hand found Harry’s as they broke apart. Her fingers curled around his, and for the first time, Harry didn’t have to contemplate ever letting go.
The cheering had subsided now, replaced by stunned silence for the most part, broken only by a few hushed whispers until Professor McGonagall cleared her throat authoritatively. Whatever spell had fallen over the hall was immediately broken and clamorous chatter broke out once more.
Stares followed them as Ginny wordlessly led Harry up the Gryffindor table where the rest of the Weasley’s waited.
There would be time to talk later, hours and days, and years in which to talk, but right now just having her close was enough.
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?’
“It seems like you had fun last night,” Harry told the shape hidden under the duvet.
She grunted. “It’s the Chudley Cannons. It was okay.” She turned around, her face appearing above the duvet. “How was the stakeout? Did you just get back?”
“Dreadfully boring. We do have a couple of people we still need to identify that could be a lead.” He leaned on his elbow and looked at her. “Way less fun than you had.”
She squinted at him, nearly pouting. “Why do you keep saying it like that?”
He held up the newspaper. “You are in the paper.” It was snatched out of his hand. “Front page.”
“No!” Ginny let out entirely mortified as she sat up against the headboard. “Everyone is going to think I’m a Chudley Cannons fan!” She threw the paper aside and reached for her night stand. “Where is my phone. I need to yell at Ron for winning VIP tickets.” She untangled the charger and pulled her phone off it, raising it triumphantly.
A/N I wrote this for @ginnystrophyhusband September microfics day 12 but I am over the word count and simply unwilling to cut a single ounce of potter family fluff so this is a microfail.
Prompt: kettle
The kettle whistled loudly, breaking the tentative silence that had settled over the kitchen.
‘She almost had it then,’ Harry said through a disappointed sigh.
His grip tightened beneath Lily’s arms, holding her steady. One of her pudgy hands remained clutched around the arm of the ancient wooden rocking chair that lived beside the fireplace. It was not rocking currently, thanks to the stabilising charm Harry had placed on it a few days ago, when it had become clear every piece of furniture in the house was to be fair game to be used as support for Lily’s determined attempts to take her first steps.
“She’s still quite young for it,” Ginny said, lifting the kettle from the stove. The whistling was silenced, but her words were almost lost beneath Lily’s wail of frustration as she attempted to wriggle out of Harry’s grasp.
“Try telling her that,” he said, obligingly removing his hands from his daughter, but allowing them to hover mere inches away just in case something else distracted her and she lost her balance again.
“Oh no,” Ginny shook her head vehemently. “I’m not having that argument with her again.”
Lily removed her hand from the rocking chair so that she was standing – or rather, wobbling – independently.. Her bright brown eyes looked up expectantly at Harry.
“Very impressive,” he assured with a smile of encouragement. His next words were directed at Ginny. “If we can’t win an argument with her now, what are we going to do when she can actually talk?”
Ginny directed both of the now-full teacups to the table behind Harry with her wand before turning to face him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m moving out.”
“Good idea.” They smirked at each other across the kitchen. “Take me with you?”
“I’ll think about it.” Ginny pushed off the counter. “If you promise to cook me dinner every night.”
Harry’s smile grew wider. “I do that already.”
“True.” Ginny crossed the kitchen, stopping when she was a few feet in front of Lily. She dropped to her knees, holding her arms out to their daughter. “Maybe it's not so bad here after all.”
Lily’s little face set into a look of determination. Her eyes fixed on her mother filled with the same blazing look Harry was used to seeing in Ginny’s.
“Come on, Lils,” Ginny encouraged. “Come to Mummy.”
Lily’s left foot lifted just infinitesimally off the floor. Harry’s heart leapt in anticipation. The tiny toes of her right foot curled, gripping the ground for purchase. There was a collective intake of breath as she wobbled unsteadily and –
BANG!
Everyone moved at once. Shocked at the loud noise, Lily’s balance failed her. Her face scrunched into a cry of displeasure and she would’ve fallen right to the floor if not for Harry’s fast reflexes. His arm shot forward, curling around her and pulling her to him even as his head turned towards the disturbance.
Ginny, obviously confident in Harry’s catching abilities, was already moving towards the source of the noise: the brass gramophone shaped instrument that passed for the magical equivalent of a baby monitor.
“I think your brothers are done with their nap,” she said to Lily, though her eyes were locked on Harry’s. “I’ll go and get them before they tear the house down, shall I?”
Ginny headed for the door. Her footsteps receded down the long hallway beyond while Harry placed a squirming Lily back on the floor. She sat for less than a second before grabbing the rocking chair and pulling herself back to a standing position.
“You don’t have to grow up quite so quickly, you know?” Harry told her, fearing his words would fall on deaf ears even if she did have a full grasp of the English language.
It had become apparent very shortly after she was born, and was becoming clearer with each passing day, that striking red hair and rich brown eyes were not the only things she’d inherited from her mother.
They remained like that for a few minutes. Lily testing her balance, while Harry’s hand hovered protectively behind her until Ginny re-entered, carrying a sleepy-eyed Al in her arms. James, who preceded her into the kitchen, was practically bouncing with each step. Evidently the nap had re-energised him with great success.
Lily’s eyes brightened at the sight of her brothers. Harry watched with mingled apprehension and excitement as she let go of the rocking chair again.
“That’s it,” he said quietly.
Lily, however, didn’t appear to be listening. Her gaze was fixed on James, who had watched enough of Ginny and Harry’s attempts at encouragement over the past few days to know to open his arms invitingly.
The first step happened slowly. The next three came in quick succession, so quick even Lily was taken by surprise. Her eyes widened and her knees buckled beneath her, but Harry's arm was there to catch her, to scoop her up into a triumphant hug.
The kitchen was filled with celebratory cries from Harry, Ginny and James, and disorientated ones from Al, who had not quite adjusted to being awake yet and didn't appreciate the clamour.
The noise quietened swiftly in the face of Al's displeasure and Lily's eagerness to be placed back on the floor. Harry lowered her to James’ side, but had no choice but to remain close as Lily immediately used his leg to pull herself back up.
“She's going again,” Ginny observed, rocking Al soothingly from side to side.
“There's no stopping her now,” Harry agreed. He reached out and ran a gentle hand over Al's downy head. “You're going to have to be on your guard from now on. You're about to learn what having a little sister is really like.”
Ginny's eyebrows shot upwards. “Know a lot about having a little sister do you?”
“Not me.” He shot her a smirk before returning his attention to Lily, who was taking another tentative step on shaking legs. “But my best mate has a little sister and she's a total menace.”
Ginny's laughter seemed to soothe Al more effectively than anything else, a feeling Harry could well relate to. “You should probably steer clear of her then.”
“Probably,” Harry agreed, nodding his head at Lily who he was still following slowly around the kitchen. “But we Potters are far too formidable to be scared off like that.”
