written for the drunk/choccy milk prompts: other people clocking the pining pre them dating @ginnystrophyhusband
An Innocent Game of Chess
It was a Christmas dinner well done—the kind that left everyone slack-limbed and lethargic. The candles were burning low, and a soft hum of music from the wireless kept the Christmas vibe alive. Somewhere upstairs, Lily heard a snicker of laughter and a song being sung off-key.
Across from her, Arthur sat in his favourite chair, sipping from his firewhisky and beaming at everything around him. Molly, on the other hand, was still fussing over the dirty dishes from dinner. Lily, intent on forcing Molly to relax, dragged her back to sit in a comfortable leather chair and pushed a small cup of wine into her fingers.
James, who’d only just appeared in the room—his greying hair sticking up at the back, his collar askew—flopped himself onto the sofa next to Lily.
“They cannot possibly be this thick, right?” he said to no one in particular.
Molly paused. Arthur looked up from his drink.
“James,” Lily said, sweetly, “you are going to have to be more specific.”
“Our son,” he whispered, though no one could hear them. He turned to the Weasleys. “And your daughter.”
His gaze moved towards the other end of the room, where Harry and Ginny were sitting on the rug in front of the fire, a chessboard between them—though it was more a prop at this point than an actual game being played. They’d migrated there after dinner like it was the most natural thing in the world. Ron had attempted to join them, but had been rebuked and sent away to tinker with the twins instead.
Now, Ginny’s head was thrown back in laughter over something Harry had leaned much closer than he needed to whisper. Harry, whose eyes should have been tracking the violent death of his knight, was watching Ginny’s hair, fiery strands coming loose from her ponytail.
“They’re playing chess,” Arthur said helpfully, as if this explained everything.
“They’re staring at each other like they want to take a bite,” James hissed, sitting up properly now. Lily frowned at the analogy. “And still! And still they want to pretend that this is just an innocent game of chess!”
Molly’s lips pressed together in a line. “They are friends.”
Lily turned her head slowly. “Molly,” she said, because she knew that Molly didn’t believe what she was saying.
“Oh, alright,” she conceded, dropping her voice a notch. “They have been more than friends for some years now. It makes me want to lock them in my pantry until they sort it out,” she admitted with a giggle that was unlike her.
James slapped the tabletop with triumph. “Finally, someone who’s making some sense.”
Lily rolled her eyes at him. “Honey, we cannot lock our teenage children in a room until they make out.”
“Why not? It worked with us,” he shrugged.
The warmth that flooded her cheeks was the effect of the mulled wine, Lily told herself. “Even so. You’re the one who said that we should ‘let Harry figure it out’.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t think he’d figure it out at a slug’s pace.”
Molly let out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s not just Harry, though. Ginny is just as stubborn.”
“I’m tired of seeing them staring longingly at the other and not making a move,” James sighed, as if this whole situation was a massive inconvenience to his life.
“Oh,” Molly said, immediately animated. “Do you remember at the Ministry gala, when the Longbottom boy asked Ginny for a dance? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Harry stare daggers into anyone’s back as I did that night.”
“I remember that he danced every other song with her that night,” Lily reminisced with a fond smile. “Even though he hates dancing.”
For a moment, the four of them watched their children across the room.
Neither of them seemed as focused on the chess pieces as they were on the other. Ginny was leaning closer to Harry with every move across the board.
“Do you remember,” Arthur said suddenly, “the time Harry got that dreadful cold and insisted he was fine?”
James snorted. “He was not fine. He sounded like a hippogriff choking on birds.”
“And then Ginny,” Arthur continued, “insisted on making chicken soup and bringing it to Godric’s Hollow?”
“She had never shown any interest in cooking before that day,” Molly confirmed.
“She stayed that whole afternoon,” Lily told them. “Reading to him until he dozed off.”
James leaned forward again, eyes narrowed at the rug. “At what point do we intervene?”
“At no point,” Lily said immediately, then softened at James’s expression. “At least—not directly. You know what Harry’s like if he thinks people are meddling.”
James looked like he wanted to protest, but Lily ignored him, turning around to look at their children once more.
Ginny was leaning over the chessboard now, seemingly deliberating her next move. A loose strand of hair was brushing against her cheek. Without a word, Harry lifted his hand and brushed the hair back, tucking it behind her ear with an easy familiarity. His fingers seemed to linger for a few moments, like he’d forgotten how to move his limbs.
Ginny seemed to freeze, her chest tightening with a longing that Lily recognised. Neither of them spoke—they didn’t need to. Harry’s hand dropped slowly back to his lap, but his gaze stayed on her. Ginny’s mouth opened, as if she wanted to say something, but then she decided against it, forcing her gaze back down to her bishop and moving it across the board with unnecessary force.
James made a sound like a man dying of impatience. Molly’s eyes shone with emotion. And Arthur took another swig of his firewhisky, beaming once more.
“They don’t even care that we’re in the same room,” Lily whispered.
“They are unbelievable,” James groaned.
“Give them time,” Lily told him. “Look at them, they’ll get there on their own.”
“All right,” he said, reaching for his drink again. “Fine. No pantry.”
Maybe it was Lily’s imagination, but Molly looked disappointed.
“But,” James added threateningly, “If they’re still like this by New Year’s, I’m going to ‘accidentally’ leave mistletoes in every doorway of our house.”
Arthur nodded in agreement, as if the suggestion was completely sensible. “Oh, brilliant.”
“James,” Lily sighed. Her husband held up his hands, feigning innocence. “What? It’s just a bit of Christmas spirit.”
Across the room, Harry moved his queen, knowing full well that it would expose his king to certain death, but more than happy to sacrifice the game for a glimpse of Ginny’s victorious smirk.
And neither of them noticed that four parents watched them like the world’s most invested audience, waiting and hoping for something to change, trying hard not to interfere in something that was already in motion.
Something that was entirely inevitable.
