It is the thirst that wakes Harry in the middle of the night.
He takes care to not wake up Ron as he opens the door of the room – though it takes a lot to wake Ron so late in the night –, skips the steps in front of Mr and Mrs Weasley’s room that always crack and he is on the first-floor landing, feeling rather glad about himself, when the door opens.
“Ginny!” He calls, surprised, and she turns to him, her eyes alert. She places a finger in front of his mouth – her touch is gentle, and her skin is soft, he notices –, nudging with her head to inside the dark room. Harry nods, and then her hand falls – he feels rather dismayed by this –, closing the door as quiet as Harry did several steps above.
They tiptoe to the living room; her steps are even softer than his, like a cat, and Harry grew up trying not to alert the Dursleys of his existence.
“What are you doing up?” She mumbles, moving to the kitchen to light a lamp for them. Then Ginny pauses, looking concernedly at him. “Not… not a nightmare?”
Harry grimaces. “No, I got thirsty.” She nods, seeming calmer. He sips the water. “What are you doing up?”
“Shower,” she says, grinning now. Harry lifts his eyebrows.
“Late night shower?”
“Well, it’s a warm night,” Ginny says, and it suddenly comes to Harry’s mind the image of the water pouring like rain, and Ginny dancing beneath it; it should be only funny, charming even, but then he can’t help but wonder how her clothes would cling and— “Do you wanna see it?”
Harry blinks. “What?”
“There’s a meteor shower tonight.”
“Oh.” The images implode on his mind, but it doesn’t help with his racing heart. What a strange idea… “That seems nice.”
“Yeah.” She gestures him outside, opening the door of the kitchen to the backyard. “Do you wanna come?”
For a moment, Harry hesitates, thinking about all the restrictions around the Burrow that he promised he would obey. But then Ginny’s eyes are sparkling, inviting, and he doubts they will go much further, so he finds himself nodding, not wanting to stay behind.
The night is warm as Ginny mentioned, with a light breeze; it gets darker as they get far from the Burrow, but Ginny seems to know her way to the other side of the orchard, and she guides him to an open space in the middle of the orchard, sitting unworriedly over the grass. Harry follows her.
“I didn’t know you were so interested in Astronomy,” he notes, and then a strange guilt floods him when he realizes all the things he doesn’t know about Ginny.
“I’m not usually,” she admits. “But I enjoy the Perseids, I always thought…” But Ginny shakes her head, and under the light of the candle she holds, Harry sees a faint blush coming to her cheeks. It’s rather cute.
“What?” He insists.
“It’s silly,” she says warningly. “But the peak of the Perseids usually falls on my birthday, so I always thought it was like the universe’s gift for me.”
“That’s not silly.”
“It is,” Ginny says, unfazed. “The universe does not care for when someone was born.”
Born as the seventh month dies—
“What?” When Harry looks at her, he sees Ginny is staring at him, a concerned frow between her eyebrows. “You are worried with something.”
“How do you know?”
“You stop breathing when your mind is far away,” she points out. “Here, lay on the ground. Mum always say that touching the grass helps you discharge all your worries.”
“Does it work?” He asks sceptically. In answer, Ginny lays her back on the ground, her gaze fixated on the night sky.
Harry doubts any grass in the world would have the power to fully relax him, but he follows her example, laying next to Ginny; so far from any light, the sky is overwhelmed with thousands of stars, bright shining dots that do not care at all, as Ginny said, to when he was born.
It is very refreshening, actually.
“You know, except for Astronomy classes, I don’t think I’ve ever looked at the night sky.”
“Well, you lived in Surrey,” she notices. “You need an open space, far from the city, to appreciate it.”
“And my room didn’t have any windows,” Harry says absently, rubbing his scar. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, but something in her voice, or in the silence that follows, makes Harry turns to Ginny; the frow is back on her forehead.
“Now you are worrying,” says Harry teasingly.
She breathes slowly. “What do you mean, no windows?”
He contains a grimace, turning his head to the sky again. “Just your typical house in Surrey,” he says nonchalantly. When Ginny doesn’t answer him, he adds a carefree tone to his voice. “Not that you would get this view anywhere there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars. What’s your favourite?”
“Star?”
“Or constellation.”
“I—I can’t tell you.”
“How can that be a secret?”
“Because you are going to laugh!”
“I would never.”
“Oh, you will.” Ginny sighs heavily. “If you ever tell anyone, I will deny and hex you into oblivion.” She points North. “Draco.”
“Your favourite constellation is Draco?” And he can’t help the laugh.
She nudges him in the ribs. “Oh, shut up. I loved that constellation long before I met anyone called like that – I mean, what kind of parents name their kid as Draco?”
“Malfoys. Or Blacks, I don’t know, they are all about naming their children like that.” Harry looks the sky, sadness creeping up, never truly gone. “Sirius is not here tonight.”
She takes a few seconds to answer him. “No, Canis Major won’t be seen until November. But, you know… he is out there. Just because we can’t see it, it doesn’t mean it’s gone. You will see him again.”
He doesn’t think she is talking about the constellation anymore, but he can’t deny it’s a nice feeling to know that days will pass, Earth will move and eventually the constellation will be visible again in the night sky, that he will see Sirius shining once again—
And then he first sees it.
“Wow!” He can’t help but sit again, pointing to the sky. “Did you—that line—”
“It’s a shooting star,” she confirms, smiling, her head up. “It’s just beginning.”
She is right. It starts a little shy, but soon Harry loses the count of the number of white streaks he sees appearing from nothing and then disappearing just as suddenly, as if someone is just painting the sky with lines even as it turns brighter as it nears sunrise. Harry should feel numb by the sight of it after hours, but each new line feels as incredible as the first one he saw.
“You know, Muggles say you can make a wish when you see a shooting star.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Superstition.” He feels a little embarrassed suddenly. “It’s not really magic—”
“Well, who knows?” Ginny’s voice is warm. “How does it work?”
“You just see a shooting star, make a wish, and you can never tell someone.”
“Okay,” she says, almost singing. Harry looks at her; Ginny is squinting her eyes, concentrated, looking at the sky until she spots a shooting star. She closes her eyes, looking thoughtful and serene, and then it occurs to Harry that the sight of her face, under the pale light of sunrise, with the wind blowing her hair softly and a quiet smile on her lips, is as enticing as the hundreds of shooting stars he has contemplated so far.
When she opens her eyes, Harry turns away quickly, a new embarrassment flooding him.
“Your turn!”
It takes a while for him to understand what she is talking about, but he does watch the sky. When he sees the line crossing it, Harry closes his eyes, and then he realizes he doesn’t know what he should ask. His mind feels strangely blank, except for that last sight of Ginny, her happy calm face; Harry wonders what she wished for.
He looks back at her, the question ready at his lips, though he knows he won’t ask, and she wouldn’t tell him either.
Instead, he sighs, laying again on the ground – it is rather relaxing, actually, another thing that she was right about –, watching the first rays of sunlight in the horizon. He is so happy they happen to meet in the middle of the night, at that chance that he could share this meteor shower with Ginny—he hadn’t even realized it was so near her birthday—
“Can I ask you something?”
She lays again, her hand brushing his softly before she crosses her hands over her chest. “Sure.”
i love this image because not only is it accurate but also every time i see it i subconsciously scan the image to make sure its not somewhere i know. because everywhere in england looks like this. could be literally anywhere.
“Well, that was a bit stupid of you,” said Ginny angrily, “seeing as you don’t know anyone but me who’s been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels.”
Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her.
The most absurd thing about how this fandom treats Ginny Weasley is that she is hated for being the female love interest with the classic personality of the male love interest everybody drools over:
extremely conventionally good-looking
popular
everybody wants to date her, she only wants Harry
sometimes adorably awkward in showing her feelings for Harry
really funny
has other love interests to try and get over Harry who doesn't want her, she fails miserably
can be mean but you know she has a heart of gold
generally emotionally unavailable unless you are called Harry Potter
extremely protective of Harry
even jealous in specific circumstances but never in a toxic way
super dark backstory
conflicting relationship with her family (specifically one of her parents)
powerful
great athlete
needs to hide her true passion from her family for years because they don't support her
if you actually get to know her she is a dork
extremely gentle and caring under the though exterior
One day, I am going to write a long meta on how loyalty differs between the houses. How it's not only critical to Hufflepuff but also to Slytherin (and how Peter's lack of loyalty to his best friends is also despised by the DEs), and how Gryffindors show loyalty to causes above people (yes they will die for you, but they will also fight you however much they love you, if they find you on the other side of the battle), whereas for Hufflepuff and Slytherins loyalty is meant to transcend their believes (look at Regulus and how he doesn't care about what his family believes as long as he can keep them alive, while he dies fighting Voldemort).
james truly picks the best for a girlfriend and a best friend. two highly competent, funny, and intelligent individuals who match his own wits and charm. it's a mark of his big ego and even bigger skill.
dailybridgerton
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annaxmalina
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