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.”
for @ginnystrophyhusband 's jan micro fic (working my way through that new year's resolution)
prompt: kissable
It's fascinating to see how much the wizarding world could evolve without an evil dictator pounding down society. For instance, in a span of four years, the magical portion of Britain was able to adopt the muggles’ television.
That’s where Harry found himself at the moment, slouched on a leather couch, in front of a MagiTV, and staring adoringly at the image before him.
He was still in his pajamas, a bottle of butterbeer in one hand and a pork skewer on the other. While the object of his affection in contrast, had her hair in a loose ponytail, and was wearing crisp, green robes.
Ginny hated the press, and often only does interviews such as these once in a blue moon. She was only doing this to help her teammate, who had to back out due to a family emergency.
Naturally, being Ginny Potter meant the entire wizarding population was watching.
Harry’s mouth twitched into a smile when he saw her crack a lone knuckle on the table, a telltale sign of irritation (that's usually not on his wife’s face) when the reporter asked something particularly invasive.
That amusement quickly died down when he himself processed that question.
It didn't help that Ginny suddenly had a massive grin on her face.
“Well of course, wizards and witches are quite curious people,” the reporter said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “So for the public’s most voted question to ask Ginny Potter on our Owler app: What or where is the most kissable part of the chosen one?"
Ginny chuckled, pressing her palm gently to her nose to contain any possible snort that might escape her.
“Unfortunately,” she drawled, purposely elongating her utterances, “that's only for me to know.”
The reporter groaned theatrically, but still plastered a practiced smile on their face. They knew it wouldn't do good to have the Potters of all people as enemies.
“There you have it folks! It was a stretch but they had to ask, anyway, the Falcons have—,”
Harry’s mind drowned out the voice of the reporter as he rubbed the skin behind his ear, his lips twitching. That area was sporting a rather large reddish-purple stain at the moment.
So did the skin between his neck and collarbone.
And his chest.
And his shoulder.
Heck even his thighs.
He sighed, pressing the freezing butterbeer closer to his swollen lips.
Good to know his plan to give his wife a little pick-me-up before her interview relaxed her enough to not tell the world how they choose to entertain themselves.
One day Harry and Ginny are sharing what their favorite birthdays were and Harry say his 11th because it was when he met Hagrid and found out he was a wizard. He makes an offhand comment about how it was the first time he ever got a birthday cake. This breaks Ginny’s heart so she goes all out for every future birthday so he never feels forgotten again.
Harry and Ginny hold hands a lot. They don’t even notice it. They just reach for each other when they see each other. It started after the war when Ginny needed reassurance he was still alive and he needed to believe he wasn’t dreaming her up. She also kisses the back of his hand where it’s scarred a lot.
Harry kissed Ginny every time he leaves for work. One day he forgets and Ginny sets a up a candlelight dinner for when he comes home because she worries they aren’t connecting. He hates he made her worry so he makes sure he doesn’t forget again.
whenever Harry can’t make a harpies game because he’s on a mission or she’s abroad he sends flowers the morning of to wish her luck.
Sirius and Remus were up one night at grimmuld place (book 5 era ) and were debating if Harry and Hermione would end up together. Remus who admires hermione thinks they will but Sirius say he’ll end up with Ginny because she a firecracker and Harry need someone fun. Plus potters like redheads. Remus catches Harry staring at Ginny at Christmas the next year and notices him blush when she pulls the maggot from his hair and Remus smiles thinking Sirius was right and that it was the same way James would stare at Lily.
sometimes I feel nuts for thinking about this stuff but tumblr reminds me I’m not the only one.
I read a lot of hinny fanfiction and next gen fanfiction. Each story has its own charm.
But, in some fics Harry is portrayed as the strict parent and in some cases Ginny is ...( in some fics they are even portrayed as toxic parents which I think...is...umm..interesting? I don't think they would be toxic parents at all )
So, this is my theory on who is the stricter parent...
My opinion is neither. I think neither Harry or Ginny would become strict parents at all...sure the rest of the next gen kids would've been brought up strictly maybe ( apart from George and Angelina's kids ) but I don't think the potter kids are.
Ginny is the youngest and the only girl and we see her being pampered and coddled and looked after and her brothers are definitely protective of her. But, Ginny is a great-spirited person. Maybe because she is the youngest and she is the most chillest of them all I don't think she would be the strict parent at all...she would be the type of mother that showers her kids with so much love and they would love her back the same...
Sure, she would put the kids in line whenever they are crossing it but I don't see her as the parent who grounds or yells or even lectures her kids. She definitely is respected but never feared ( only by her kids , because no one else has the nerve to not be afraid of her )
Coming to Harry...come on man! The only thing he ever wanted was his family. He lost the one he was born into , but the one he created with the love of his life? I think he would treat all of them like precious jewels and cute puppies... He’d be the kind of father who spoils his kids endlessly, completely wrapped around their little fingers and loving every second of it.
He might sass them and be sarcastic with them but strict parenting? I don't think so.
I think Ginny and Harry would be the type of parents who are very loveable , affectionate ( overly affectionate infact ) caring , fun and easy going...
...and I think that's what makes the potter household so warm and welcoming and mostly always filled with laughter and utter joy ( irrespective of the Hogwarts houses they are put into )
written for the drunk/choccy milk prompts: “just how much eggnog have you had?” Aka Harry word vomits while intoxicated; gushes on about Ginny and how he’s gonna marry her one day @ginnystrophyhusband
Ginny had glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece more often than she wanted to count. Five minutes became ten, which became fifty, and before she knew it, Harry was over two hours late.
For someone who was always reliable—if he was held up at work, he’d Floo, if he was in the field, he’d send a Patronus, if he promised to show up for dinner, he did—this was unlike him. So Ginny, who was anything but the anxious girlfriend that paced around her drawing room, waiting for her boyfriend to show up, was doing precisely that this evening.
Another half hour passed, and when her anxiety reached a fever pitch, she was considering going to the Ministry and checking up on him.
The doorbell rang.
Ginny turned so sharply that her hair whipped her cheek. “Finally.”
She yanked the door open—
—and found Ron on her doorstep, cheeks red from the cold, hauling Harry upright by the back of his collar like a sack of potatoes.
When he saw her, Harry’s eyes lit up behind his crooked glasses, a silly but blissful grin spreading across his features.
“Gin!”
Ginny stared at her brother and her boyfriend with disbelief.
Ron puffed out a breath. “Evening.”
“A bit late to be out drinking, isn’t it?” Ginny huffed. “Please tell me that he’s not—”
“He is,” Ron said, shifting Harry’s weight, who was content to stare at Ginny and sway gently. “He is quite far gone, I’m afraid. Sobered me right up, having to mind him.”
Harry waved at her cheerfully, quite unaware that he was the object of their discussion. “Hey, Gin.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes with disapproval. “Harry James Potter.”
“That’s me,” he simply said, taking a wobbly step in her direction.
Ginny caught him automatically, hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of him, the faint smell of ale, the heavy sag of his body when he leaned into her as if he trusted her completely.
“Well,” Ron cleared his throat, grinning suspiciously wide. “He’s your problem now. Officially.”
Before she could ask him what he meant by that, her brother was already backing away from their doorstep. “Good luck with him. Hydrate him. Don’t kill him.”
He Disapparated with a crack, leaving Ginny in her doorway with a very drunk Harry leaning heavily into her. She pulled him inside and shut the door with her foot.
Harry swayed a bit, then steadied himself by putting both hands on her waist.
“Gin,” he whispered. “I told Ron a secret.”
Ginny, who was currently focused on leading him safely to their bedroom, was listening with the limited concentration that her task could allow. “Oh? Which secret?”
Harry frowned, squinting at the painting in their hallway as they passed it by. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Oh?” Ginny used the arm that wasn’t holding Harry upright to turn the knob of the bedroom door.
“But I want to,” she heard him whisper.
“Okay,” Ginny said slowly. “You want to tell me.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah.”
“Alright,” she said, leading him to the bed. “How about you sit right here and drink some water? Then you can tell me your secret.”
He didn’t argue, so she took it as a sign to summon a bottle of water and bent down to undo his shoes and pull off his socks. All the while, Harry watched her with a typsy adoration that made her want to kiss him senseless.
“Drink more,” she instructed him, forcing him to take a few more gulps of water.
When she unbuttoned his shirt, he hummed softly, and Ginny paused.
“What,” she said, finally remembering what he’d said earlier. “You said you wanted to tell me a secret?”
Harry concentrated hard for a few moments before his face lit up. “I told Ron that I’d turn vegan if you asked me to.”
“What?” Ginny huffed with amusement. “I don’t want you to turn vegan, Harry.”
“I would, though, if you asked.” His absolute certainty and devotion were endearing, to say the very least. “I told him that I’d stop eating entirely if you asked.”
Ginny shook her head, proceeding to undo the button on his trousers. “Well, I don’t want you to starve. You wouldn’t live very long if you stopped eating.”
Harry frowned, suddenly displeased with that idea. He shook his head emphatically. “No, that wouldn’t do. I have to stay alive if I want to marry you.”
Ginny froze.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you, Gin.” Harry was already crawling away from her and folding himself into their blanket. “I told Ron that I’d only tell you at Christmas. Y’know, after dinner, in the snow…”
“What will you tell me at Christmas?” she asked him, every beat of her heart growing more erratic by the second.
“...words. I want to say good words.” Half of his words blurred into the pillow. She reached out to pluck his glasses off his nose. “I run out of the best words around you. But I told Ron that I want you forever. As my wife…”
Ginny made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and dropped onto the bed in front of him. “Harry, you absolute idiot.”
“D’you think she’ll say yes?”
“Yes,” Ginny whispered, her eyes brimming with tears—because every bit of longing, every night apart, every day of uncertainty, and every bit of hope for their future had them here, to this moment—where their dream was within reach. And she wished she could tell Harry that he never needed any good words to woo her. Because all she’d ever wanted was a future with him. And so, how could she ever say anything but yes?
“I think she’ll definitely say yes,” she assured him.
When he drifted off to sleep, Ginny pressed a sweet, soft kiss against his brow. And then, one last time, she whispered into the room.
Short Missing Moment set after Bill has been attacked by Greyback.
-----
“Bill’s awake,” Ginny said as she stepped through the portrait hole.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in their favourite spot by the fireplace.
“I saw Fleur,” she continued, slumping into the seat next to Harry.
“She asked if I’d go up to keep him company — which of course I would, he is my brother,” she said, frustration dripping off every word.
“Honestly…” she sighed dramatically. “I’ve almost let myself accept that he’s going to marry her.”
She gave Harry a cheeky wink.Harry squeezed her hand and grinned back.
“Enough, you two,” Ron chimed in, looking pointedly at Harry and Ginny. “Let’s go now, before you start giving each other lovey-dovey eyes.”
Harry thought about that word — love — a lot while they were sitting with Bill in the hospital wing. He watched Ginny animatedly talking to her brother. He knew she was hurting, afraid for her family, for her friends. Yet watching her now — smiling, laughing with her brothers and Hermione, taking each moment as it came — he felt a warmth that made his chest ache.
He was in love with her. The feelings had been there, almost since their first kiss, but he hadn’t known what they were. Harry had never really heard the words I love you — at least, not that he could remember.
“You okay, Harry?” Ron’s voice sounded distant, almost muffled, like it came through water.
“Huh? I’m fine,” he mumbled, standing up. “Just need some fresh air.”
He knew it couldn’t last. He’d been kidding himself, thinking he could stay in this happy bubble with Ginny. I’ll end it tonight, he thought. Yet even thinking the words filled him with a sense of dread..
I made this This little animation over the past month because this song is MADE for this scene. So if anyone else loves Taylor Swift and Harry and Ginny enjoy!
Eighth year Harry getting distracted at Quidditch practice by his hot girlfriend, who is also the captain, who is also not pleased by his lack of focus when the Slytherin match is on Saturday, Potter!!!!
