A/N: We are one day late but it’s here! Get ready...
Love,
@fightfortherightsofhouseelves
&
@gryffindormischief
Also on FF and Ao3
Torch: a Hinny canon compliant multi-chaptered fic featuring HBP missing moments. Updates every first day of every month, from September 2019 to August 2020.
_____
Hallowe’en, for all he knows of it now, was a boring event during the first eleven years of Harry’s life. Dudley would gorge himself on candy, gather up his cronies to increase their usual levels of Harry-focused torment, and Harry would simply wait for the day to end like he did any other.
Since his first year at Hogwarts, the end of October has generally been a mix of angst and some sort of life-endangering drama. In between, the Hallowe’en feast at least provided some form of light hearted fun.
When October 30th dawned, Harry had been looking forward to a day spent playing quidditch and avoiding Hermione’s heavy handed comments about the importance of revising early and thoroughly. By the time the sun sets, Harry’s almost hoping Voldemort plans to finish what he started fifteen Hallowe’ens ago.
At least he would only have to tolerate another twenty-four hours of Ron’s moping.
It’s not enough that practice was shite and they’re basically about to be destroyed on the pitch in less than a week. Ron’s got to go all dramatic and say he plans to resign . Harry finds himself wondering if there’s an encouraging way to say he’d rather have shite Ron than deal with McLaggen’s diva attitude.
After supper in the Great Hall, Harry loses himself in the rush of students and eventually wanders into the courtyard - moonlit and delightfully abandoned.
Finally feeling like his brain has an opportunity for quiet , Harry drops down onto the ledge surrounding the fountain and throws his arm over his eyes.
His spine pops a bit at being stretched so absolutely but in that good ‘am I creepy to enjoy this’ way.
Water spray tickles his bare skin, a touch icy despite whatever charms keep it from freezing over and Harry almost feels he could drift off. And maybe he does, until a throat clears and draws him from his funk.
Craning his neck only enough to identify the interloper, Harry finds Ginny Weasley eyeing him with a raised brow. “Don’t think pneumonia will get you out of this game.”
“Imagine if Oliver Wood heard I skipped out for a less than deadly ailment.”
Ginny laughs and wanders closer as Harry pushes himself into a sitting position and muses, “He’d probably be more disappointed I’ve let the Gryffindor team fall into such a state.”
Shrugging, Ginny picks at her fingernails and says, “Are you telling me Wood never lead a bad practice? You can’t put everyone’s performance on yourself. It’s up to us at some point, yeah?”
Harry glances up and meets Ginny’s gaze, so confident and strong when he recalls her blushing looks his first year.
Hell, she’s confident and strong on any litmus test and Harry can’t help but be bolstered by her words, ready to fight another day so to speak.
While he considers some new tactics to implement - on the field and in a more mental preparation type way - Harry finds he doesn’t feel the need to drop his eyes from Ginny’s.
And she hasn’t either.
It’s almost tangible, the feeling building in his chest. So much that he almost wishes it was mutual. Until he remembers Dean and severs the connection.
“Thanks, Gin.”
Her smile is small, but real enough. “Anytime Harry.”
___
By November 2nd, Harry’s so fed up with Ron and his constant fuming and grouching around, he’s almost willing to forget the past six years of friendship for the two minutes he’d need to properly bitchslap his best mate.
Seeing that nobody (maybe except Ginny) would regard such behaviour as captain-y, Harry sighs and sucks it up. There’s a match they must win today after all. So he pretends his little old hand slips with a dash of lucky potion exactly when Hermione happens to be looking. Oops.
At least now Ron’s chuffed and his ego oiled and pampered enough to pull some actual Keeping out of him. Harry can see it in the way Ron walks, prances, struts his way to the pitch - and he shakes his head and smiles. The match is certainly theirs.
It’s only when Harry catches a glimpse of red from the corner of his eye, rapidly obstructed by broader, less delightful Dean-shaped figure hovering over her for his own version of Felix Felicis: a kiss from Ginny.
Something inside Harry’s chest growls dangerously and he draws a long, shuddering breath to silence it. Not the time, he thinks.
Jaw set and hardened, Harry trots together with the Gryffindor team, entering the pitch in roaring, thundering applause. It’s deafening.
And they do win - how could they not? It’s exhilarating, and the whole team gathers in a spine-numbing hug around Harry, and Ron’s so proud and glowing the knowledge that this win is his as much as any of the others’.
Until Hermione just can’t help herself and confronts Harry so he admits, figures it’s safe to let Ron know it was all him now. No Felix, only him. But of course he finds a way to turn his win into a kick to his ego, it’s Ron.
Looking at his best mates hurt and mad, at Ginny disappearing with Dean, at his team chanting their way back to the castle in the midst of happy shouts from their fellow Gryffindors, Harry can’t bring himself to feel too excited. There’s an annoying voice at the back of his mind whispering that the worst is yet to come.
Dumbledore should just hire him to co-teach Divination with Trelawny and Firenze because it seems he’s a natural at it. Exactly as he feared, things do take a new, ugly turn just when he relaxes enough to forget about the looming danger of his best mates jumping at each other’s throats and Ginny points out that Ron’s already jumped - but not at Hermione and in a totally different way than Harry’s imagined.
Ron and Lavender. Lavender and Ron. All Harry can do is blink and...blink some more. Talk about unexpected.
The door to the Common Room slams shut and Harry closes his eyes tightly, silently curses Ron and slips out after Hermione, unnoticed. It’s hard seeing her like this, heart broken and crying all alone. Harry tries his best to support her, but he knows it’s useless...If he allows himself three seconds of honesty, he’d actually tell her that he’d been feeling the same for awhile. So they sit next to each other in silence, the sad and the broken.
Until Ron barges in, Lavender in a fit of giggles in his wake and Hermione looks more mad than Harry’s ever seen her. The insane, pained look in her eyes - it’s terrifying.
And she curses him, and Harry catches the shock on his best friend’s face before the birds hit and the pain sets in.
What a mess.
Later, when he says goodbye to Hermione in the Common Room, Harry climbs the stairs to his dorm feeling bereft, opens the door and readies himself for another blow.
But Dean’s inside, head leaning towards Seamus. It seems like Harry’s interrupted an important talk because both boys jump a bit when he walks in. Still, Harry pays them no mind and rushes out through the door, Cloak securely in his pocket.
“What the fuck.”
Harry grins. There’s only one mouth who could’ve said that, belonging to only one person who could’ve guessed there’s someone attempting to sneak out of the Gryffindor Tower invisibly.
“Hello to you too,” Harry bumps Ginny’s elbow from under the Cloak.
“Going incognito, are we?” Ginny arches an eyebrow, looking somewhere in Harry’s general direction.
“Too much drama, had to hide.”
She pretends to sigh, “Ah, well, I was about to hit the kitchen for some hot milk with cinnamon but don’t let me stop your little undercover mission.”
It’s an invitation to food and mischief and Harry’s not about to let it slip by.
“Lead on.”
Ginny does grin, satisfied and raises her palms to feel around her, “Make way, I’m coming in.”
“You sure it’s enough space for the both of us?” Harry teases.
She takes one look at him and shrugs.
“Not my fault if that bum of yours got too big. You should really cut down on your treacle tart intake.”
Harry pouts and tickles her mercilessly in return. His fingers play over her middle, tickling everywhere as she laughs and dances away from him, Cloak fluttering around them but Harry doesn’t care. All he wants now is her laugh, loud and boisterous, and Ginny...Ginny, with her freckled face and blazing look, Ginny laughing in his arms as they’re hidden in plain sight. Ginny.
He doesn’t have the map, but by now sneaking to the kitchens is something he could do in his sleep. Overall, it feels nice to be doing something stealthy for reasons related to treacle tart and impressing a girl rather than investigating the dark activities of your classmates.
The journey from the common room passes quickly as Ginny murmurs cheeky stories about each of the portraits; likely made up and all the more fun for it. When he tickles the pear and slips inside behind Ginny, Dobby is immediately on them, nearly knocking Harry over as he tucks the Invisibility Cloak away.
Ginny grins at Harry over Dobby’s head as they’re ushered to one of the long tables and seated with much prodding from the house elf’s spindly fingers. As has become something of a custom, Dobby praises Harry to an excessive degree and with Ginny as witness, he can’t help but blush.
Once they’ve requested treacle tart and warm milk to go along with it, Dobby departs with a flap of his ears and Ginny nudges Harry. “Eleven year old me would be so disappointed.”
“Because I’m quite boring and sneak about to get treats?”
Ginny laughs. “No - that would’ve been a selling feature. I mean young Ginny fancied herself your biggest fan, but it appears she’s been overtaken.”
Grinning, Harry props his chin on his hand and for some reason decides now will be the time he’s finally able to wink without looking like he’s got something in his eyes. Based on Ginny’s stifled chuckles, he doesn’t succeed, but he can’t really hate anything that raises that smile on her face.
Dobby returns, deposits their plates and mugs on the table, and disappears off to manage something or other while Harry cuts two healthy slices from the fresh tart. “He’s never given me a singing card though.”
And then, to Harry’s everlasting joy, Ginny actually blushes and stalls for time by taking a sip so overlarge she begins coughing almost instantly. He rises, ready to slap her back or do any manner of things to set her right - even the torture of a purely medical press of his lips to hers - but she soon recovers.
Ginny swipes the tears from her eyes with a sigh. “That was not nice.”
“Haven’t you heard? I’m both deluded and a delinquent.”
“Is that a quote from Umbridge or Skeeter?” Ginny asks around a bite of treacle.
“Joke’s on you, it was Snape,” Harry shoots back, taking a long sip of his milk.
“Well if the supreme potions master turned defense against the dark arts teacher says so it must be true,” Ginny drawls, placing air quotes around defense .
Harry pushes his glasses up, more for something to do than from genuine need, and nibbles on a bit of crust. “D’you trust him?”
Her smile is sad now, even as her eyes bore into his. “I find the number of people I genuinely trust gets smaller and smaller with each passing year. You’re probably the only person I would say that to.”
“Dunno if my agreement is a vote of confidence in the intelligence of your judgment,” Harry mutters, picking at his tart.
Scoffing, Ginny tosses a serviette in his face and cuts another sliver for herself. “Stuff it, you know you’re brilliant. I came here for sweets, not to fluff your ego so you turn into a preening arsehole,” she grins at the end, her lips twisted in a dangerous smile, “ Speaking of my brother -”
“He and Hermione may end me before ol’ Moldy-shorts.”
___
“Not like it’s any of my business,” Harry drawls, turning a page of the Prince’s book, “But shouldn’t you tell him?”
“And what exactly should I be telling who?” Hermione volleys right back, tone a little waspish.
Harry draws in a breath, already regretting he’s opened the subject - but they are in the library and if he’s forced to spend another hour with Hermione looking at Ron out of the corner of her eye and Ron looking back at her from two tables away, where he’s studying with Lavender and Parvati, he’s pretty positive he’ll basically move in with Hagrid.
“Ron. Why don’t you just tell Ron that you’re sorry?”
Hermione slams her book shut, looks at Harry dangerously.
“Whatever should I be sorry for?”
“Does it even matter?” Harry answers, clipped. “Look, Hermione,” he pauses and sighs, “the two of you are my best mates and it’s difficult watching you angsting around instead of talking and, you know, sorting things out.”
“Well then,” Hermione jumps to her feet like an angry cat, “I will go angst somewhere else then.”
Harry can hear her stomping out of the library, completely ignoring Madam Pince or anyone else for that matter. With one last look at Ron, Harry lays his forehead on the old battered book, removes his glasses and closes his eyes. Why is having feelings so complicated?
When Harry finally convinces himself that there’ll be no more studying in the real sense of the word for the day, he throws all his stuff in his bag, takes another look at Ron’s ginger head, hoping he’d somehow manage to telepathically convey that he’s acting a bit like a git for the wrong reasons, then trots out of the library, the castle, and down towards Hagrid’s.
Later, when he’s gorged himself on Hagrid’s special rock cakes and he’d drank enough hot tea to keep the cold outside at bay, Harry finally starts to feel better. It’s nice near the fire, Fang resting his big head on his lap as Harry scratches him between the ears.
“I heard Ron’s with Lavender, eh?” Hagrid starts, dropping on the seat next to Harry, his pink apron fluttering about him.
Harry raises one eyebrow, but grins, “News travel at the speed of light, then.”
“We professors know more than you kids think,” he chuckles pleased.
There’s a pause, interrupted only by Fang’s deep snores.
“How’s Hermione?”
Harry studies him intently before he answers.
“She’s been better, I suppose.”
“Ye know, Harry, I like Ron. He’s a good lad, but sometimes he’s not too smart,” Hagrid stares into the dancing flames of the fire and shakes his head, dark hair falling down in rings around his big, kind face.
“Why do you say that?”
“Yer a smart boy, ye’ll figure it out,” Hagrid winks. “And Hermione too, she ain’t the brightest witch o’ her age for nothing. They are somethin’ , those redheads. Right, Harry?” He goes on to chuckle and Harry can feel himself blush.
Yet he pretends he didn’t understand, finds a good enough excuse to leave and drags his feet back to the castle in the near dark of an end of day, his bag full with rock cakes and untouched homework.
He falls asleep that night holding the Marauder’s Map, eyes boring into Ginny’s dot, waiting for it to move and return to the Common Room, to at least exit the classroom it shared with Dean’s dot for the past hour. Ironic, if Ron only knew there was only one wall between himself and his sister…
Harry’s last thought before he dreams is of Hermione and how lucky she is not to have a magical Map.
____
Over time, one of the strangest things Harry’s realized about his life - which seems quite adventurous to an outsider - is that it’s filled with long stretches of normalcy. The difficulty that is singular to his particular situation, is that even the most calm, boring, normal times feel like borrowed minutes that will turn sour and deadly at any moment.
Living with this sort of dichotomy of feelings leaves him to sleepless or fitful nights, and often a sour stomach that can’t quite manage to settle. As a result, his today breakfast is a sparse affair with barely buttered toast and a cup of tea so strong his spoon could stand.
Overall, when he takes a figurative step back and examines himself, Harry can admit he’s having something of a pity party. His best mates are quarreling like a couple on the verge of divorce, the girl he should think of like a sister is haunting his daydreams in decidedly non sisterly ways, everyone seems to be dating except him, and most days he’s torn between avoiding seeing Ginny and Dean or Ron and Lavender.
Really though, the thing he feels the most angry about is the fact that he really doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on any of that shite. He’s bloody sixteen years old and instead of spending his free time escaping the library and mooning over a girl who fancied him until right about when he...did not. He does not .
Regardless, the point is he’s spending most days diving into a genocidal maniac’s childhood and trying to determine exactly how his classmate is going to wreak dark magic havoc on the unsuspecting student body, rather than wallowing like a good, normal, angsty teenager.
So he does the only thing he knows. After breakfast, Harry manages to wedge himself between students and slip from the hall and out onto the grounds. Nothing like a good fly to calm his wild thoughts, he muses on the way.
He reaches the stands in record time, retrieves his broom and feels it hum to life in his palm, and finally trots out to the snowy pitch. Only to find he’s not the only student with the idea.
And as he watches her fly in graceful arcs across the sky, swirling and sending her hair twisting like a wild red pennant, Harry’s chest clenches.
She flips upside down, arms spread as she lets out a loud whoop and Harry feels himself breathe freely, even if just for a moment, and slips back into the shadows.
A/N: YES we have gotten this here AND early!! Enjoy October, HBP style.
Love,
@fightfortherightsofhouseelves
&
@gryffindormischief
Also on FF and Ao3
Torch: a Hinny canon compliant multi-chaptered fic featuring HBP missing moments. Updates every first day of every month, from September 2019 to August 2020.
______
The Prince’s book has become something of a bed companion to Harry by now, perusing it at length again and again in his free time. The tips of his fingers lightly trace each scribbled note for the hundredth time, his lips whisper spells he’s never heard of.
It’s how Ron finds himself dangling up in the air from a freckly ankle and how, not much later, Harry lets himself be dragged into an ardent debate with Hermione on whether Levicorpus is or isn’t a jinx.
“Of course it’s a jinx,” Hermione scowls as the trio trots through the autumn wind to Hogsmeade, “Nothing benign would serve to levitate people and expose them like that.”
Harry knows she’s vividly reliving that night at the Quidditch World Cup, when Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eater friends had a laugh levitating Muggles in a disgusting demonstration of soft torture. If he’s honest, he’s also thinking about it and it’s vexing enough that he’d simply like to scratch at the back of his head, where those irksome little thoughts like to hide and play, scratch until they bleed away from him.
Yet more dreary musings come to bother him when the three of them happen upon the unlikely duo of Horace Slughorn and Mundungus Fletcher, and the annoying buzz turns into true Harpies’ screeches as Katie Bell is nearly murdered.
Harry doesn’t much remember a day when he felt he needed some peace of mind more than he does now as everything inside him cries and bawls that it has to do with Malfoy . That the Prince is somehow connected to this and not at all evil. That innocent lives are at risk if nobody’ll take him seriously when he says that Draco Malfoy is plotting something sleazy. Because he is and today is nothing but proof.
Unfortunately, nobody does, not even Professor McGonagall. Not like this, not without concrete evidence and Harry knows deep inside that he won’t rest until he finds some. He only hopes it won’t be too late.
______
After Hogsmeade, Katie’s continuing stay in the Hospital Wing, and yet another unsuccessful attempt to convince anyone that Malfoy is plotting something, Harry somewhat glumly seeks solace in his studies - per Hermione’s advice. Which, in reality was more a long rant detailing exactly where he would end up should he forgo his schoolwork in favor of ‘cockeyed notions’ about admittedly morally grey classmates. For someone who punched said ‘morally grey’ classmate not three years ago, she can be a bit high and mighty at times.
So far though, burying himself in schoolwork has succeeded in keeping his mind occupied, at least in part. Besides, who knew if the secret to finally catching Malfoy in the act was - his eyes skimmed the page again - a perfectly executed Orchideous incantation? Perhaps the slimy git’s true weakness is hay-fever.
Harry’s considering whether Skeeter is right and he has gone ‘round the bend when Ron’s patience with studying silently seems to waver.
“What is it about girls anyway?” Ron huffs between the pages of his Transfiguration copy, his mind clearly not anywhere near the subject of their homework.
“What are you going on about?” Harry asks bemused. “Hope it’s not McGonagall prompting those shower thoughts,” he grins from behind his own textbook as Ron grimaces and closes the tome with a loud bang.
“I mean everyone’s a girl or talking about girls,” Ron carries on and sighs. “It’s absolutely mad, I’m telling you.”
Harry laughs wholeheartedly, following Ron’s example and putting a well deserved pause on his study. Well, not that well deserved since they’ve only been studying for about twenty minutes, but it’s late and they had Quidditch practice all day so who can really blame them.
“No, mate, you’re absolutely mad. Now care to offer some context?”
Ron frowns, draws a breath, then takes a moment as if to ruminate on what he wants to say next.
“That git, Dean, he’s dating my sister,” he winces.
It’s Harry’s turn to scowl. “Yeah, noticed that much.”
“And Hermione looks - erm, so much like a girl now, you know? And less like our friend,” Ron elaborates, completely amiss of Harry’s snide remark. Which is all the better for Harry, really. Ron seems to have too much on his emotional plate anyway.
“You understand what I’m trying to say, right?” Ron hurries to add when Harry doesn’t say anything, his cheeks coloring faintly.
“Hmm,” Harry mumbles the best response he can come up with. It’d be rather awkward to admit that Hermione’s mostly the same to him, their best friend and somewhat sister to Harry. As opposed to other sisters he happens to know.
“It’s odd, ‘s all I’m saying. And my baby sister going on dates, probably snogging blokes -”
“Plural?” Harry blurts out before he realises what he’s doing.
Ron throws him an exasperated look. “Dunno, mate. She keeps everything very private but I don’t understand what’s all this sudden fuss ‘bout her. I mean why’s she so popular? Dean seemed alright, what does he see in her?” He shrugs.
“What does she see in him ?” Harry sneers, his lips morphing into a small pout.
“Dean’s a good bloke, I guess,” Ron shrugs again, scratches the back of his head.
“I guess,” replies Harry, rather reluctant.
“And he’s pretty smart, I guess?”
“I guess.”
“And I reckon he draws really well.”
“He does?”
“That’s what I remember. Girls like paintings and stuff. Mum has lots of them hanging on the walls,” Ron’s face lights up as if it all finally makes sense.
But not to Harry. Not if he takes into account the way his insides churn and boil or the way he simply feels a sudden need to shout at his best friend and maybe tell him that somebody else ought to bring Hermione a bloody drawing and then see how he likes it.
But right afterwards Harry feels petty, mumbles something about abandoning homework and sets off to bed, leaving a befuddled Ron behind wondering what he could’ve said wrong.
And by some odd twist of fate - or maybe some divine entity’s really prone on showing Harry that the worst is yet to come - the conversation he walks in on is no better than the one he’s rudely ended. In fact, on a scale from one to detention with Snape, what he’s currently witnessing ranks closer to the latter rather than the former.
Dean discussing his blooming relationship with Ginny.
Dean describing to Seamus the progress he’s making with Ginny.
Dean about to be pushed out the Gryffindor Tower window. By mistake, of course.
Sometimes, Harry muses, there are things he misses about living under the stairs. Well. Not exactly. His bedroom is loads better. But there are benefits to having your own room rather than a dorm full of loud mouthed complaining gits.
The real question is when exactly Dean became so irritating. Harry’s not incapable of tuning out irksome housemates - a certain ickle Diddikins and co. serve as ample evidence - so Dean must really be laying it on thick.
Recently, it seems that if he’s not outlining his ‘ intensive ’ physical fitness routine, he’s giving Seamus advice on the best way to ask out ‘birds’ and extolling the virtues of a certain shoulder slipping move that gets you ‘up close and personal’ with said bird.
Harry does his best to avoid the dorm when awake but it begins to feel like they’re waiting for him to arrive and saving the most obnoxious bits for his personal enjoyment.
It’s rather gross, to be honest, and he feels indignant - in a brotherly way obviously - to hear the highly questionable strategies Dean plans to use to further acquaint himself with Ginny.
Who knew two teenage boys could cluck like gossiping hens this long after lights out? Or talk so loud despite the whisper-like quality of their conversation. Harry sticks his arm out through a split in the curtains and brushes a few Droobles wrappings aside, well past eleven. Plain rude.
With a huff, he shoves the covers back, grabs his dressing gown, blanket, and wand, before storming toward the door. “You two are bloody lucky Ron sleeps like the dead.”
As if confirming, Ron - who’s also given up on studying and fainted rather than fell asleep within less than two seconds since closing the distance between his person and his bed, lets out a loud snore and sighs in his sleep.
Dean and Seamus blink at Harry, the former’s eyes narrowing and mouth opening as if he’s about to toss back some indignant response but Harry’s in no mood. He leaves the dorm with a dramatic swoosh of his blanket and stumbles his way down the staircase, only forgoing a very satisfying door slam in the name of inter-house courtesy. Unlike some people.
The last few steps meet with the unhappy, teen-angst thuds of his feet. All the while, he grumbles to himself in an almost unintelligible but heart-lightening manner so he’s feeling a bit less like dumping a shaker of salt in Dean’s porridge in the morning.
Still, that doesn’t make him any more eager to return to the gossiping hens upstairs and the fire does look rather inviting. Perhaps Dobby anticipated Harry’s midnight flight to the common room.
Or perhaps Harry’s off his rocker and somehow deluded himself into believing this picture perfect, cozy room isn’t quite as abandoned as he first assumed. Instead, a certain red-haired Chaser is tucked up in one of the armchairs closest to the fire, forehead drooping toward the crinkled notes in her lap, socked toes warming in the blaze’s orange glow.
“You’re up late,” Harry tries, testing the responsiveness of his hallucination.
Groaning, Ginny drops her head back on the cushioned chair. “Hermione made me a timetable.”
Harry laughs, claiming the couch closest to Ginny with a dramatic sprawl of his occasionally gangly limbs.
“And presented said timetable to me in front of mum , who thought it was the greatest idea in the history of ideas.”
Ginny twists her neck and stares at him expectantly, which Harry assumes is an indication she wants a response other than gawking at her helplessly. “So now you’re stuck, eh?”
She hums and scrapes her hair up into a messy bun. “Theoretically tonight’s study session should have been through,” she looks at her watch, “yesterday afternoon.”
The words have barely left her lips before laughter bubbles out of both of them, loud and surprising until they muffle their chuckles. Which, of course, only makes things funnier and the stopping that much harder. Ginny’s cheeks are rosy with happiness as Harry pushes his glasses up messily and swipes the tears from his cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ve been studying for,” he pauses to do the math, “Twenty seven hours.”
“No - yesterday was so lovely - that sunshine on my face,” she sighs, “How could I do anything but go for a fly?”
Harry grins, dragging one foot up underneath him, “True enough - I had a good kip over by that tree. You know the one close enough to the water the firsties are too afraid to go near?”
She nods in recognition and tosses one leg over the side of the armchair, looking as if she’ll melt into oblivion right then and there. “Then I met up with Dean before dinner.”
Unable to bite back the grimace at the mention of his sleep stealing dorm-mate - not that he feels much like sleeping at the moment - Harry delivers some sort of non commital grunt that Ginny pounces on like a starved puma. Her dark eyes consider him from head to toe in a way that makes his cheeks heat. “How are things with Dumbledore, then?”
Harry shrugs, fiddling with the knobby blanket on his lap and feeling like a bit of a ponce for worrying about his loud-mouthed roommate when lives hang in the balance. Then he really does scowl as thoughts of Dumbledore, Death Eaters, Draco and his cronies, and about a thousand other dark things swirl through his mind. “No - no he hasn’t called me for another lesson yet.”
Ginny eyes him for another moment, lips twisted in a thoughtful frown before they quirk in a teasing grin. “Well he’d better get on it if you’re going to be the new Headmaster and Supreme Mugwump. Lest we forget your need for a long, luxurious white beard.”
“I would look damn foxy with a beard and you know it.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it - can you even grow facial hair baby Potter?”
Crossing his arms, Harry puffs out his chest in a show of manliness and narrows his eyes. A show which is slightly lessened by the smile that tickles his lips. “I will have you know I shave every morning.”
“With a big boy razor?” Ginny teases, but she nudges him with her toes, “All seriousness, I’m not sure the Hogwarts student body could handle ruggedly handsome Harry James Potter.”
“Mass hysteria, eh?” Harry laughs, though it’s a bit strangled in the wake of Ginny’s half admission that he could be considered handsome. Even in an entirely hypothetical situation.
Perhaps a beard wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
“Aye - Dad read all about Beatlemania. Like that, but with magic.”
“I’ll need a bodyguard or two.”
“Not to worry - we’ve got you covered,” Ginny assures him as she collects her things and rises tiredly. “I can’t study anymore. My brain’s turned to mush,” she pauses, “You never said why you’re up.”
“Eh - Dean’s a snorer.”
Ginny’s brows rise, “ Really .”
And Harry can’t seem to drum up a bit of guilt as he frowns darkly and nods.
______
As October progresses, Scotland turns crisp, the air whips at bare cheeks turning them rosy and leaving Harry free to wander the grounds with few interruptions. Between Voldemort’s official return and everything that happened at the Department of Mysteries last year, Harry’s ability to skulk about unnoticed has been lessened somewhat.
It’s not adoring fans begging for autographs like Krum had during the Triwizard - more like quiet stares on some weird spectrum between mute terror and judgmental mutterings.
He is slightly more adept at tuning such things out than during the ‘Potter Stinks’ era, but it’s still nice to escape it and reserve the energy used for ignoring annoyances. Mostly he uses those reserves for lots of internal angst about feelings he definitely doesn’t have.
Nothing clears his head like a nice fly though and a quick check of the pitch schedule reveals an open afternoon. So his daily constitutional turns into a quick jog over to the empty pitch to take to the sky.
Truth be told, he desperately needs a place to simply forget about the current state of events, the feelings of uncertainty, the doubts he’s having as he wonders if the troubles and efforts they put into recreating Riddle’s pre-Voldemort life aren’t wasted.
His second lesson with Dumbledore, recently ended, didn’t do much to alleviate any of those feelings. Back through the Pensieve, to a twelve year old Tom Riddle this time, with a personality grim enough to signal chaos about to come. Can understanding your enemy truly bring you one step closer to defeating him? Harry closes his eyes, one palm lightly passing over the lightning shaped scar slashed across his forehead.
Wind chaps his face, makes his eyes teary as he increases his speed and clears the towers that surround the stadium. Clouds drift by overhead, a slow drag against brilliant blue compared to the streaking of his slim broom.
Clutching the handle tightly with his legs, Harry releases one hand, then the other and twists into a spiral. Once he’s right side up, Harry slows and swirls in lazy circuits until he’s back hovering over the pitch, descending to the sound of a slow clap.
“Nice moves, Potter.”
So much for clearing my head.
“Captain’s got to keep up his skills,” Harry says, easy.
“Didn’t know keeping them up involved so much showing off,” Ginny answers with a smirk, tossing a practice Quaffle high overhead and catching it deftly.
Harry’s feet find the fresh cut grass as he ruffles his hair in a nervous gesture that must be hereditary. “Is it really showing off if nobody’s around?”
“Am I nobody?”
“You weren’t expected.”
She tosses the quaffle again, higher, and catches it without a second glance. “I could just take my Quaffle and go home,” Ginny quirks her brow, “But since this is the Quidditch Pitch and I am looking to actually play Quidditch …”
“Excuse me - are you attempting to argue that flying isn’t a legitimate element of Quidditch?”
“Without balls it’s just a bunch of jocks performing high-flying acrobatics,” Ginny counters, another toss, this time over her shoulder. She catches it with a quick twist that sends her hair fanning behind her.
“And tricks like that aren’t showboating at all,” Harry drawls, “Is this some chaser superiority complex?”
“S’not a complex if it’s true - besides I can play all positions,” Ginny says simply as she drops to the ground, ankles crossed in front of her.
It’s really difficult being around someone so tempting. Since, he has to worry about her all the time, of course. Not because he is tempted in any way, despite what his dreams might indicate.
Blissfully unaware of Harry’s internal monologue, Ginny slides her palms out sideways until she’s fully reclined in the grass. “Speaking of - we are defending Quidditch Cup winners and the fecking Ravenclaw team have their sights set on taking it back.”
“I’m not planning on captaining the team to ruin,” Harry shoots back with a roll of his eyes.
“Have a seat Captain - let’s get strategizing,” Ginny says patting the ground by her side, “Got to protect my interests - Harpies like winners .”
Nudging her ankle with his toe, Harry does as instructed and tosses his broom aside. “That your plan? Go professional?”
Ginny glances up at him. “Oh yeah - though I don’t think I’ve said it to anyone aloud before.”
“That sounds brilliant - you’re uh,” Harry ruffles his hair, “You’re really brilliant.”
She kicks his shoulder. “Thanks.”
It’s quiet between them for a moment until she finally adds, “And as brilliant as it is to be successful as both a Chaser and a Seeker, maybe strategy number one could be you not getting kicked off the team again this year?”
“Pinky promise.”
“Secondarily - we really need a replacement for Katie,” Ginny says, “Not that - well Quidditch isn’t the biggest issue with all this - ”
Harry sighs, flops backward, and tilts his head upward so he can meet her gaze. “Gin - you don’t have to explain - ”
“Thanks,” Ginny tosses her arms overhead and lets her feet slide straight out, “I’d never - well. Anyway. We’re down a Chaser.”
Taking a fortifying breath, Harry reaches across the space between them and brushes the back of her hand with his fingertips. “What about Trenton?”
Ginny snorts. “Nah - have you seen his ‘fake out’ swerve. We’re never going to win with a lazy maneuver like that and I’ll be damned if Malfoy beats us this year.”
“Too bad Hermione can’t fly to save her life,” Harry muses, brain filtering through the rest of their housemates, “We’d have the most organized tactics and training schedule ever.”
“Nope - she’d spend the whole time telling us we should be studying,” Ginny answers as she pushes to her feet with a sigh, “Which reminds me, I’ve got to be off.”
“Timetable?”
“Nah - meeting Dean,” Ginny says easily as she brushes a few blades of grass from her clothes, “Though I’d never have made plans if I knew I’d have to ditch a good ol’ strategy session.”
Harry stands too, feeling as though a fist has clenched around his heart in a strange, painful way. “We - uh. Raincheck?”
“‘Course,” Ginny says with a crooked smile, “See you when I see you?”
He agrees with a quiet nod and mounts his broom, skating across the sky as the sun dips toward the horizon.
______
It’s Monday and there’s less than a week till Saturday, November 2nd. Less than a week until they’re up against Ravenclaw on the pitch. And somehow, Harry doesn’t know why or how, but they’re still one player short.
(Technically, he does know but there’s a long way between knowing and admitting it, isn’t it?)
Now it’s Tuesday and, while Monday was spent focusing more on the greater good of the team and less on his inner turmoil, Harry still hasn’t managed to summon all his remaining will power (that’s not wasted on either Snape or homework or helping Ron and Hermione remain civil in the face of Slug Club party invites) and ask Dean to join the team as a third Chaser.
It’s pretty clear that Katie won’t make an overnight recovery.
It’s common sense to offer the role to someone who’s a decent flyer and is well acquainted with the game.
It’s unreasonable to prolong the task of asking Dean much longer. All things considered.
So Harry spots him enjoying a bite of morning toast with pumpkin juice and perhaps a plate of hot gossip on the side, as Dean’s sat next to Seamus, who Harry has determined are attached at the hip. Sighing long and painful, Harry straightens his posture and prepares for whatever this is, a mantra of “I’m doing this for the team” on a loop at the back of his mind.
“Mornin’, Harry,” Dean greets cheerfully in between two swigs of fresh pumpkin juice. Of course, Seamus’ enthusiasm level lowers as soon as his eyes lock with Harry’s, but he’s starting to get used to it by now.
“Alright, mate? You look troubled,” Dean observes.
Harry waves him off and plows right in with another sigh, “Listen, we’re one Chaser too few on the team -”
“Yeah, I heard Katie’s still in the hospital -”
“Would you like to join?” Harry cuts him off before he can change his mind.
A pause and then both Dean and Seamus blink, confused.
“What?”
“I asked if you’d like to join the team as Chaser? Until Katie recovers, you know,” Harry hurries to add.
It’s Seamus who speaks first, elbow almost sending the porridge rolling off the table.
“Sounds mental to me, you and Ginny on the same team.”
Harry’s senses fire up and he holds his breath, silently urging Seamus to keep talking.
“‘S alright,” Dean shrugs, visibly bothered by his friend’s comment.
“Oh come on, mate,” Seamus grins, “it’s just Harry here. Last night you were going on and on about how she’s always so cheesed off ‘bout everything it makes you feel like you’ve botched every wee thing.”
“Yeah,” Dean agrees weakly as just Harry experiences a violent urge to hurt both of his ‘mates.’ Maybe hit their heads together until they cry or kindly ask Dobby to wet their beds as they sleep.
Unfortunately, he has to shake it all off and attempt to bleach his brain later before he breaks and tells Ron. And the rest of the Weasley clan. Though telling Ginny might solve a good number of his problems - and make him something of a wanker.
“So?” He asks again. “If you agree, you’ll have to clear your schedule anyway. We have practice this evening, all evening,” Harry underlines through gritted teeth.
Dean scratches at the back of his head, muses a bit and then gives his final answer, “Yeah, alright. Can’t let Ravenclaw walk all over us,” he grins and claps Harry on the shoulder.
Harry can’t decide if he’s in a mood to shout at everyone who speaks to him because of Dean’s insolent comments and confidences about his relationship with Ginny or because of his implication that they won’t stand a chance against Ravenclaw if he doesn’t join the team. Either way, Harry takes it personally enough to grunt and snap at people all day.
And Quidditch practice doesn’t make it any better. He’d hoped that it’d offer the right outlet to clear the angst clouding his mind. But of course, he should’ve known by now that counting his chickens before they are hatched is completely useless.
In reality, Harry agrees that this practice session has been the worst so far, so much so that even Ginny looks forlorn and Demelza’s eyes water constantly.
Cursing under his breath, Harry shivers in the cold, biting October air and checks the time. It’s well past ten in the evening and there’s nothing more he can do for this lot than send them inside to a hot shower and a cuppa (or a long sleepless night sprinkled with self-loathing in his case).
He drags his feet next to Ron, uncertain if he’d rather smack him over the head to stop his complaining or to do it to himself. If Harry thinks about it, Ron’s performance seems to depend on his mood and Harry reckons he’s not quite yet recovered from their little Slug Club themed conversation from Herbology class last week. Hermione’d almost managed to invite Ron to join her at the Christmas party when Ron’s fragile ego got in the way.
Harry sighs for the millionth time, rubs at the prickling in his scar.
Perhaps cracking his own skull would represent the desirable option right now, between a best mate whose spirits are below sea level, conflicting feelings for a certain redhead and a probable defeat in the first match he’s ever captained his team to.
And speaking of redheads, there’s Ginny on her way to the castle, hand in hand with Dean. Harry doesn’t know what he was expecting exactly. That Ginny would hang back with him after practice, as she’s done till now? That she won’t talk to Dean or hug him or even kiss him during practice breaks? And why wouldn’t she? He is her boyfriend, even though Harry wouldn’t hurry to crown him boyfriend of the year anytime soon.
And who’s Harry to her? A mate. Her older brother’s best mate. That’s it, yeah. Just a mate. Just Harry.
He’s about to make peace with those thoughts when Ron’s face blanches and he stops dead in his tracks.
Harry has to squint to understand what’s prompted Ron’s reaction and for a moment he fears Viktor Krum’s back to kiss Hermione, tired of waiting for Ron to finally gather his courage and do it. But then the torch hanging over a small annex in the middle of the deserted corridor casts its gentle, quivering light over two people, tightly glued against each other, kissing fervently.
His heart sinks so low the Giant Squid might stumble across it when his eyes adjust to realise they’ve walked in on Ginny and Dean.
Ginny and Dean kissing like he’s never seen someone kiss, their hands in each other’s hair and their bodies pressed hard together. He’d probably blush if not for the growling beast in his chest, demanding that Harry do something fast.
Still Ron reacts faster and him and Ginny are in each other’s faces in less than a heartbeat. Weasley tempers are terrible on a good day and grisly on shite days like this. Harry’s confident they’d start hexing and kicking each other if not for his jumping between them.
It’s ugly and petty on both sides, both siblings pouring salt over open wounds, and Harry’s left to awkwardly say goodbye to Dean like nothing’s happened.
Later, alone in his bed, covers pulled up over his head, he’d have time to think about how he’d tear Dean limb from limb for kissing Ginny like that - or for kissing her at all. Yeah, later he’d have time to plan and imagine and probably work himself into a fit over the image of them tattooed on his brain. Indeed, there’ll be enough time to thoroughly hate himself and the world later.
A/N: We can’t really believe this is the last chapter!!!! It’s filled with fluff and love and hinny cuteness. We hope you enjoy it & thank you for reading along and sharing your wonderful comments!!! Love Love Love from @fightfortherightsofhouseelves & @gryffindormischief
Also available on FF & Ao3!
Harry never regarded a day spent at the Burrow, in the bosom of the Weasley family, as anything even remotely close to dangerous. Today, however, he found himself seconds short of being trampled upon, run down, and asphyxiated between the kilometers of lace and silk used to decorate the wide wedding tent slash ballroom. Hence why he can currently be spotted casually hiding behind a particular copse at the far end of the orchard, silently praying he will make it throughout the day alive.
It’s also where Ron finds him, harassed and out of his wits.
“I reckon if Mum hunts me down one more time to smarten up my suit and tie, I’ll scream bloody murder and then kill myself. Hermione would understand, she would,” Ron complains as he takes a seat next to Harry on the warm ground, knowing full well that he’ll be risking both his life and Harry’s as soon as Molly Weasley discovers soil stains on their wedding suits.
Harry snorts, eyeing his best mate amusedly, “I’m actually afraid of your Mum, you know. It’s only now I realise how naive I was to fear your Dad and brothers when we told them about the baby.”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. And don’t let her fool you, mate, but Ginny’s really Mum, only thirty years younger,” Ron elbows Harry and they both laugh easily, their shoulders visibly relaxing.
A pause and then Harry speaks, his lips stretching into a candid smile, “Hey, Ron?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m really happy for you, mate. You two - I mean, you’re perfect for each other,” he adds and Ron’s blue eyes turn moist as his cheeks color pink.
“Don’t-” Ron clears his throat, “don’t tell my sister, but that pretty much applies to you two as well,” he smiles sheepishly.
“Thank you,” Harry mumbles as he tries to swallow the newly formed lump in his throat.
They sit still, enjoying a silence that speaks of mutual contentment and a lifetime of friendship shared between them. To Harry, it seems amazing, fantastic even that he gets to be part of his best mate’s wedding day. His wedding day! When did they grow up so fast? When did all the years pass since that first day of school they shook hands for the first time, two scrawny, scared, lonely kids on a train leading them to great adventures. What would those two kids say if they knew that, sixteen years down the line, they’d go to each other’s weddings and cry with joy at the news of children coming.
“Oi! Happy tree friends over there,” George wheezes as he runs towards them. “Mum and the bride are looking for you. The ceremony’s about to start,” he adds, checking his watch, then smirks. “I’d be careful if I were you, Ronniekins. Your dashing bride looks like she’s about to have someone’s head.”
Gulping, Ron hurriedly pats his groom tuxedo in hopes of dusting off any traces of mud and grass, and gallops away, as fast as his black leather shoes can take him.
“I wouldn’t grin in your place, Harry, mate. Ginny’s also sent word to find you and take you back to her dead or alive,” George jokes, laughing at Harry’s desperate expression. “Frankly, I reckon she’s really about to lose it with everybody doting on her. Poor Angelina, she’s in for the same mad ride once we tell them we’re expecting,” he shakes his head and slightly shudders at the prospect.
Dumbfounded, Harry opens his mouth only to close it again. Inhales, exhales, and tries again, “Excuse me? You two-? You’re-?”
George’s face lights up, blue eyes sparkling brighter than Harry had ever seen them, pure bliss radiating from every inch of his being. “Yes, bloody hell yes!” He grins wide and Harry jumps in to hug and congratulate him with enthusiasm. “But don’t tell Ron yet, alright? I - erm, we don’t want to steal his thunder. I mean, he’s always got what Bill, Charlie, Percy, and then Fred and I didn’t need or want anymore. It’s his day,” George slowly says, embarrassed, his hand flying to the back of his head and eyes averting Harry’s green ones.
Harry claps him on the shoulder proudly as they shuffle their feet in tandem towards the wedding crowd, one future father and another.
On the other side of the orchard, Harry spots a dash of red hair and a mess of black. Lily and James Potter, dressed smartly in summer dress with hues of gold and a navy blue suit, sit close to each other, her head resting against one of his broad shoulders.
“What are you two love birds doing?” Harry sneaks up behind his parents, pretending to be grossed out by the fluffy scene unfolding before him.
“You look spiffing, son,” James nods in approval. “Hair like a hurricane is a family gene I’m afraid, but alas, you do have your charm,” he grins, winking at the younger version of him.
Snorting, Harry presses a kiss to his mum’s cheek and squeezes his dad’s shoulder before half-sitting in one of the delicate chairs in front of them. “Sorry we couldn’t pick you three up from the airport.”
Lily rubs some mostly imaginary smudge from Harry’s chin and smiles. “We’re your parents. And we can definitely handle ordering an Uber.”
“Dad can’t.”
“Siri hates me.”
Rolling her eyes, Lily pats James’ knee and sighs, “Yes dear.”
James’ retort is already on his lips when he follows Harry’s eyeline. “We fly halfway around the world and he can’t even pay attention to our scintillating conversation.”
Jolting, Harry turns to find his mother looking at him fondly. “He’s in love and his girlfriend is glowing and beautiful.”
A flush rises on Harry’s cheek as James muses, “Perhaps more than girlfriend?”
“Smooth, Dad.”
“It’s not a no, Lil.”
Harry growls and Lily pats his arm where it rests across the gilt chair back. “Don’t pressure him, James. Just because he has the opportunity to make his mum’s dreams come true while she’s on the same continent - ”
“You know - ”
Before Harry can finish his half-formed threat, Sirius drops into the seat next to him and grins. “Are we talking about my godson having eye-sex with the girl he could barely talk to like a human being not even a year ago?”
Head dropping to his forearm, Harry doesn’t bother interjecting as his family laughs at his expense.
His mum’s fingers brush through his hair, her smile warm, and despite the teasing, Harry realizes just how much he’s missed them. Which is lucky for the three menaces, because it puts Harry in a giving, patient mood, even when Sirius continues, “Remember when he kissed her and then ran away to do something academic and nerdy?”
“Biology really is magical,” James nods, “How else did he father a child with such a woman?”
Lily rolls her eyes and jabs at James’ middle. “You should talk - I seem to remember a very awkward hair-ruffling, mildly blackmail-ish first date invitation.”
Sirius nods sagely, “He didn’t speak for at least two weeks after that.”
“Harry’s an adult,” James accuses, a smile tickling the corners of his lips.
“Mature, Dad.”
“My son is charming and handsome. He probably won her over with his lovely smile.”
“Actually, I had her at professor.”
George comes to a halt at Harry’s side, overly large bouquet of flowers covering him from hip to nose before he peers around, “A little bird told me something about a hat, Indiana Jones, and a whip.”
Flushing, Harry rises and steps out past George into the aisle. “No comment.”
Across the yard, Ginny’s secreted herself off to fume where no innocent bystanders can be caught in the crossfire of her hormonally charged anger.
“You look like you’re ready to stab someone,” Bill approaches his sister, youngest daughter cradled in his arms in a weak attempt at putting her to sleep.
“Sure feel like it,” Ginny snorts, flipping her thick sheath of red hair over a freckled shoulder. “You’d think people’d understand I’m eight months pregnant, not disabled,” she add as she blows a considerable amount of air through her nostrils, eyes flaring so she rather resembles a dragon. To Bill, at least.
“Anyway,” Ginny plows on, fussing about her chair until she finds a comfortable enough position for her poor back and heavy tummy, “Have you seen Teddy?”
Bill round blue eyes morph into slits, “Wooing my eldest daughter, I suppose,” he responds with ill disguised nonchalance.
“Wouldn’t dare imagine how you’ll take it when they actually start dating,” Ginny giggles as her brother’s eyes widen, as if only then he’d acknowledged the possibility.
“Don’t.”
“Mr. Protective Father, aren’t we?” she raises an eyebrow, freckles gathering in a cluster right above it.
Bill sighs and takes a sit on the chair next to Ginny’s, transferring baby Dominique from one arm to the other, and squeezes his sister’s hand, “I truly wish that you’re carrying a little girl in there so I can even things up with Harry for knocking up my sister and stealing my daughter through that little godson of his.”
“You say knocked up once more,” Ginny pulls her hand away incensed, “I swear I’ll sit on you. And that’s a real threat seeing that I weigh about a billion kilos right now.” Her frown only brings a grin to her brother’s face, and she could never quite resist that mischievous, charming smirk Bill adorned when he felt comfortable or pleased, his ponytail hanging low over his back and fanged earring dangling in the shy summer breeze.
“Hullo, love,” Harry appears out of nowhere and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Hermione’s summoned you to the gallows. I mean, she’s called you up to her room for a last bride and bridesmaid rehearsal,” he grins, hands out an arm for Ginny to lean on as she rises.
“It’s ridiculous,” she sneers, breathing heavily as Harry lifts her, “I’m like a ticking clock about to explode and she has the audacity to call me a bridesmaid.”
“Maybe don’t explode just now,” Harry chuckles as they walk towards the Burrow, “I reckon Hermione wouldn’t appreciate it very much.” Ginny rolls her eyes, yet gives in to laughter seconds later. It’s easy being happy next to him, she thinks.
Knock-knock, Ginny raps her knuckles on the wooden surface of the door to her childhood room. It’s where Hermione set headquarters for her bridal transformation, in Ron’s words, and it was not a lie. Always a beautiful woman, Hermione was breathtaking in white satin, rich curls flowing loosely down her back.
“Might be the pregnancy hormones speaking, but I’m feeling attracted to you right now,” Ginny appraises her friend as she shuts the door firmly and drops herself on the old single bed, lifting her feet up on a freshly fluffed pillow.
“I’m afraid you took too long to make a move,” Hermione snorts as she tries to smooth down a rogue curl, hovering so close in front of the mirror she goes a bit cross eyed.
“Yeah, afraid so. Plus you’d probably have to fight Harry for me.”
“Oh, no, I’d never win. Heard he has a trusty whip he uses to impose discipline,” the bride smirks, switching her gaze to observe her friend through the mirror.
“Harry got drunk and confessed, didn’t he?” Ginny drawls, bored.
Hermione lifts an ebony eyebrow, “Trust me, I’m the victim here. Absolutely did not sign up to hear that.” She gingerly holds one heeled shoe and inserts her right foot with great care, long brown bushy hair shielding her face from view. “Although I must admit, role playing does sound rather...tolerable.”
Palm pressed to her mouth, Ginny giggles, “The word you’re looking for is kinky. And yes, do it. Just never tell me it’s my brother you’re doing it with. Can’t possibly stomach that.”
“Will the two of you ever grow up?” Hermione asks, hair pushed back from her face with one arm as she holds a second shoe in place with the other.
“Nope. I expect we’ll have children and lie that they arrived with the stork.”
Hermione rolls her eyes, “I’m marrying into this family.”
“Your decision, not mine,” Ginny winks and tosses a peanut into her mouth with high accuracy, a trick learned and polished over holidays spent with her brothers.
“Impressive. Where’d you get’em from?”
“Nicked them on my way here.”
Chuckling, Hermione lifts the heavy material of her wedding gown, her high heels tap-tapping on the creaking floor as she walks to sit next to Ginny. “So how are you feeling?”
“I’m aware I said it before, but like a whale waiting to be put out of her misery,” Ginny pouts, palms running light circles over her rounded stomach. “I may never voluntarily choose to have children again.”
“I gather it was a choice?” Hermione’s deep brown eyes meet Ginny’s, mischief glinting bright.
“Eh, it’s not like we did much to prevent it, to be fair,” she admits with a grin. “Nevermind that,” Ginny tries to lift herself up on her elbows, “How are you? It’s your wedding day!”
The two women smile so wide their cheeks hurt, features alight with happiness and giddiness. If Ginny didn’t feel like thrice her size and Hermione had not spend the last five hours getting ready, they’d be sure to jump up and down in sheer excitement. Still, given the circumstances, they settle for squealing at earnumbing frequencies.
The ceremony is beautiful up to the tiniest detail, and has a peaceful effect on everyone present. Madams Granger and Weasley seniors weep in tandem with a hormonal Ginny, Lily squeezes James’ hand, and Ron feels like bursting with joy. From the audience, Bill, Charlie, and George give him a thumbs up and three mad grins. Percy, on the other hand, sits poised on the edge of his chair, the image of British properness, while Arthur subtly wipes a tear from underneath his horn-rimmed glasses. In the middle of it all, Hermione gasps as though she can barely believe everything that’s happening, hand trembling as Ron slides the gold band on her finger.
The newly weds’ kiss hovers dangerously close to indecent, Ron lifting his wife off her feet in a toe-curling snog that has Sirius wolf whistling and Snuffles barking.
Barely two weeks later, it’s well past the ‘witching hour’ and Harry’s taken over the couch - his office surrendered in favor of a baby nursery - typing away at his latest revision of the post-dig paper, when Ginny shuffles out into the living room. “Harry?”
She looks so young, hair in a tangle around her freckled face, soft cotton nightgown dwarfing her even at such a late stage of pregnancy, that Harry can’t help but imagine a little girl of their own. Ginny’s fiery locks, his almond shaped eyes, her freckles, his knobby knees -
Ginny’s wince puts an end to his daydreaming. “I think. I think it’s time,” she grips the doorway, “Unrelated - we need to change the sheets.”
Nearly tossing his laptop across the room in frightened haste, Harry’s at Ginny’s side in two beats, palm finding the small of her back like it’s magnetized. “I’ll - we’re good. I’ll call Mum, they’re closest for Ted. Just. You’re packed, yeah?”
“Yes, yes. You nagged me about seven billion times. Today.”
“Well aren’t you glad I did?” Harry shoots back, blinking exaggeratedly.
Before Ginny can answer, she doubles over, breaths coming in short pants. “Stuff it. Go call your Mum.”
“Sir, yes, Sir.”
“Don’t sass me while your child is trying to violently expel itself from my body,” Ginny grunts, pinching his arm as he fumbles for his mobile.
It’s a quick, excited call that gets Lily and co. on the way before Harry’s dialing the hospital and tugging on street clothes.
Ginny’s movements are slow, hampered by the periodic spasms at her back, as she drags her soiled nightie overhead and pulls on a cottony grey dress that stretches comfortably over her belly. After a few failed attempts, she leans against the door to their closet and moans, “Harry, I can’t see the floor.”
Quick as he can, Harry trots over and brushes his thumb along her jaw. “Which ones, love?”
Sighing, Ginny nuzzles against his shoulder and murmurs, “My granny clogs?”
Not even a quarter of an hour later, Lily, James, and Sirius are gathered around the dining table while Harry lectures them as he reads down the checklist scrawled over two full pages of a yellow pad and Ginny strokes her belly, resting against the front door.
“You know, there’s this thing called texting, son. Plus we raised you alright.”
“And we are bloody doctors, Harry,” Lily adds, “Now go, or Ginny’s going to murder you before I see my first grandchild.”
Harry’d really like to point out that his mother did in fact work in a lab all her professional life, but considers it twice before opening his mouth to blurt out his usual sass for fear that either Lily or Ginny might eat him alive.
The trip to hospital is a blur, the odd hour at least eliminating some traffic as they trundle through the rain streaked streets. In between contractions, Ginny fiddles with the radio and does her best to smile teasingly. “You know, you’re handling this quite well.”
“I’m an adult, I can handle stress.”
Ginny glances at him sidelong. “Sure.”
And Harry does remain beautifully cool, calm, and collected as Ginny’s wheeled into the maternity ward, as he fills out the check-in paperwork, and even while she’s changing into her gown and getting tucked safely into the scratchy hospital blankets.
It’s not until her doctor comes in, snapping rubber gloves at her wrists, and explaining the steps of this first check up that Harry begins to leave the comforting haze that carried him through the last hour and realization sets in.
By this time tomorrow, Harry’ll be a dad. Again. And really, he’d have thought having Teddy, and nine months of lead in time would’ve made this a less terrifying thought. But as the time is counted in hours rather than months, weeks, or days, he can barely keep his hands steady enough to ring Ron.
He lets it ring once, then dials back again - Ron’s had his mobile set on ‘Do Not Disturb’ for most of the last month - and before Hermione manages more than a sleepy ‘hello,’ he’s blurting, “The baby’s coming, how soon can you get down here, I’m freaking out.”
Hermione’s laugh is quiet as she murmurs and shakes Ron awake. “Harry, take a deep breath, we’ll be right down.”
It absolutely does not help that Harry’s last glimpse of Ginny is of her moaning and promising to inflict as much pain onto him when the baby is finally out as she’s currently suffering, as, according to her, it’s entirely his fault.
Before Harry falls into the pits of despair, James Potter arrives to sneak a comforting arm around his son and helps him into a nearby chair, while a sleepy Teddy drops his head to one of Harry’s knees.
“There, there, my darling boy. The ER guy and your Mum will take care of Ginny until the Weasley cavalry rides in,” James pats Harry’s messy locks, kisses him on the top of his head.
“You mean Sirius made his entrance?” Harry grunts, forehead pressed closed to where Teddy’s is resting, his body twisted in a position worthy of a Cirque to Soleil contortionist.
“He’s really so good at what he does I can turn a blind eye to his dramatics.”
Harry lifts his head enough to catch a hurricane of red hair crashing by. The poor nurse trying to keep people outside of Ginny’s already crammed ward has no chance when faced with Molly Weasley, nerves wired to the tips of her overworked fingers.
By the grace of some lucky star, or rather by the force of the combined prayers of medical staff having to do their job with one Molly Weasley and one Sirius Black barking orders and shooting questions to and fro, Ginny’s not in labor too long, things moving quickly as they can. Even so, the rush of nurses and doctors dressed in pale scrubs flying in and out of her room doesn’t do much to quell Harry’s nerves.
At some point, Ron pressed a styrofoam cup of tea into Harry’s hand, long since gone tepid and untouched. Still, it gives him something to fiddle with. A lifetime passes before Sirius exits the room, wiping at his sweaty brow, and disappears to god knows where. But Harry has no energy to rise and chase after him, or rather ask why they needed an emergency specialist, or a million other questions. He can only sit there, straddling the metal chair, his palms pressing into his forehead until the tips of his fingers turn white.
He’s about to storm his way into the room when a nurse emerges, wrapped in a bright yellow apron and beckons Harry inside. Looking around, he catches a glimpse of bushy brown hair resting on Ron’s shoulder as his own mother and father seem to have dozed off to sleep next to them. Harry feels too tired to smile, but the family scene does bring some sort of comfort and familiarity to the newness he’s confronted with. He exhales loudly and steps in.
The crowd has dissipated somewhat and Ginny seems to be at a resting point, hair matted and face utterly wrecked. But she seems alright, all things considered.
“Hey, Gin.”
Her mouth twists in a tired smile, “Don’t Gin me. Your little basketball sized spawn is slamming its way out of my body. I deserve a ‘Hello goddess of the universe.’”
“At least you’ve still got your sense of humor,” Harry murmurs, ruffling his hair as Molly avoids eye contact and studiously examines a two month old copy of Reader’s Digest.
Ginny rolls her eyes and gestures him closer, not relaxing until he claims the chair next to her, barely perching on the stiff plastic seat. “I thought I didn’t want you in here, but,” she clears her throat and shares a brief glance with Molly, “Someone very wise helped me realize I needed my partner to finish this out.”
Molly’s lips tick up in a grin and Ginny continues, “You’re still not allowed down there but - ”
Before Ginny can continue her conditions, her entire body tenses as another contraction rolls through her body. And after that, it’s a blur of measured breathing and nearly cracked knuckles, until suddenly a little cry pierces the early morning light and Harry’s holding his squalling little son.
The whole world seems to shrink down to the three of them, that little room, and Harry’s whole world in the space of his arms. Or almost his whole world. At nearly the same moment his brain catches up, Ginny’s does too. “Where’s Teddy?”
“I’ll get him?”
Teddy’s hesitant when he reaches the doorway, eyes wide as he bites at his lip. “I can really come in?”
Ginny’s brow furrows, unused to seeing Teddy so restrained. Until she finds his gaze focused on the little baby boy, tucked against her chest. “You ready to meet your brother?”
His smile grows and he totters over to the bed, Harry at his heels. When he can’t manage climbing past the bed rail, Harry lifts him onto the edge of the mattress and Teddy reaches out a hesitant hand towards the pink bundle.
The baby’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath his tightly wrapped blanket and finally, after nine months, Harry’s life’s work is together and right before his eyes.
“Can we call him Victor?” Teddy asks innocently, his eyes wide with unrepressed wonder.
A laugh tumbles out from deep within Ginny’s chest and she leans in to kiss Teddy dearly on the cheek, her smile unrelenting. “I was thinking something more to the effect of...well, James. For tradition,” she adds, immediately searching for any signs of possible refuse from Harry. But there are only tears in his eyes, and Ginny just knows it’s the right decision - three generations of James Potters with their wild, messy, dark hair (and most probably bad eyesight). “And,” Ginny prepares herself to say out loud what she’d been thinking since realising that Harry had, in fact, two dads, one of them who held her hand through most of the night, calming her when she was in terrible pain and terribly frightened, “Maybe also Sirius?”
It’s likely too much for Harry, as he closes his eyes and keeps quiet for a minute, his breathing coming in and out unevenly. “Why?” He finally asks.
“They’re inseparable, the two of them, like peas in a pod. Only seems natural,” Ginny shrugs like its no big deal.
Before Harry can shout his happiness to the world, there’s a knock at the door and Molly’s face appears round the corner, leaving Harry wondering when exactly she managed to slip past.
“You have an adoring public waiting, dears. Everyone’s promised to keep it short.”
And then it’s like the circus has set up in the maternity ward of Mungo’s Hospital, too many people, too many grabbing hands, and entirely too much laughter. Somehow, the Weasley brothers all manage to gather themselves into an intimidating huddle, looming at the foot of Ginny’s bed as she settles back against the pillows, eyes drooping with tiredness, and Harry’s never felt so analyzed and judged in his life - not even when he defended his dissertation, and that’s saying something. “‘M sorry love, if they’re going to beat you up I can’t defend you much,” she tells him between two yawns.
Harry presses a kiss to her forehead and laughs. “At least I’m already in hospital.”
Growling under her breath, Ginny readjusts in the bed - wincing a bit - and scowls. “It was a joke. No one’s beating anyone up. God, it’s not 1950,” her voice drops as she eyes each of her brothers in turn, “Which is why Victoire’s birthday is just a bit too close to her mummy and daddy’s wedding day.”
Bill scoffs but he claps Harry on the back, as Charlie and Ron cackle, while Percy clears his throat uncomfortably and unnecessarily readjusts his eyeglasses. “We like you well enough, and Gin’s got you well in hand.”
“She’s got all of us well in hand,” Harry laughs, earning a playful scowl from Ginny, even as she dozes off against her newly fluffed pillows.
Like the mother hen that she is, Molly shoos the Weasley masses from room, only lingering long enough to press a kiss to Ginny’s head and nearly squeeze the life out of Harry. Lily rounds the bed next, finally standing out again now that she’s the only redhead in the room. With a smile, she cups Harry’s cheek. “I’m so happy for you, my sweet, darling boy.”
James hovers at her shoulder, furiously blinking away tears as his lips tilt in a grin. “You have a lovely little family.”
“I’ll expect 24-7 babysitting availability once you come to your senses and move back,” Ginny says with a laugh, her eyes barely open.
“You won’t have to twist his arm,” Sirius puts in, brushing a careful finger over James Sirius’ sleep flushed cheek, “Ol’ Jamesy is a sucker for all things baby. You’ll have to pry him out of your flat.”
Lily snorts. “You’re one to talk - Harry was almost as spoilt as ickle Diddykins that first Christmas.”
“I am extravagant with my love.”
Rolling her eyes, Lily squeezes Ginny’s hand and sighs. “We’ll come back and visit. Tomorrow - well today. Late. I know you’ll be more than tired.”
“Wait,” James pauses in his stride and turns back to the family of four cuddled up on the feeble hospital bed, “What’s this little tike’s name? If it’s been decided, of course.”
Sharing a look, Harry nods for Ginny to speak.
“He’s named after some famous double act,” Ginny dares a sheepish grin, “James Sirius.”
Ginny might’ve hit the two men with an iron chair over their heads and would’ve probably gotten more of a reaction. It takes whole minutes before they can speak again, their voices trembling and knees shaking as Lily half-carries them towards the exit, arms wrung through each of their own.
Harry climbs out of bed to walk them to the front door, accepting more teary hugs, sloppy kisses, and congratulations, before they disappear into the miraculously quiet hallway.
Back inside the small ward, Teddy’s dead to the world where he rests against James’ shoulder as Ginny shifts a bit restlessly. “You could go home and sleep in a bed - Teddy too.”
“Are you kidding me? First, all parties involved were more than happy for a sleep over at Mum and Dad’s posh hotel suite, and second there is no way I’m leaving this building while the two of you are here, alone.”
“Such a dad,” Ginny murmurs, eyelashes brushing her freckled cheeks as she drifts off, “Now stop trying to pretend that chair is comfortable and get up here with me.”
Kicking off his shoes, Harry makes to follow her instructions, even as he asks, “You sure? That nurse was a bit scary.”
“Poor baby.”
“You’ll have to protect me if Nurse Moody shows up.”
Ginny hums, already half asleep, “Of course, my love. Now come snuggle your tired wife.”
Harry’s heart stutters at the slip, his eyes shooting open wide to catch Ginny’s expression. But it seems it was indeed just a tired slip of the tongue. One that has him awake long after Ginny drifts off.
“Thank you,” he whispers into her ginger hair and presses his temple to it. His last conscious thought is of love, of his son carrying the names of two of the most important people in his life, two people who had shaped and defined him, of how much this woman, this incredible, beautiful woman means to him, of how easily she seems to understand him.
The next forty eight hours are full to the brim with last minute preparations at the flat - Hermione is an over prepared lifesaver - lessons in parenting from nurses, doctors, and nosy family, and for Harry, a few slight (and luckily private) freak outs that he’s got two kids and really wants to propose to his girlfriend.
Ron pulls his and Hermione’s little SUV up to the porte-cochère just as Harry and Teddy wheel out Ginny and James Sirius.
Luckily, the ride home isn’t too long but Ginny’s still ready for a nap by the time they arrive. It’s a team effort to get Ginny tucked in bed, James and Teddy fed, and all three of them to sleep. Still, Harry’s never been more content.
He’s sipping lemonade at the counter while Hermione does the last of their lunch dishes when Ron sidles up. “So, dad, how’s it feel to be ancient?”
“You’re the old married couple.”
Hermione smirks, setting the last plate to dry. “I’ve a feeling we won’t hold that distinction for long.”
They wander into the living room and Harry sighs, slumping back against the cushions. “My life has never been in the right order. Not that I’m complaining.”
Ron claims the seat on his left and Hermione the right, her head tucking against his shoulder. “Is there a ‘right order’?”
“Look at my wife, the philosopher.”
“She’s a woman of many talents.”
“You’re a couple of tossers.”
Chuckling, Ron takes another swig of his lemonade and throws his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “What? I’m serious.”
They share a laugh, muffling the noise against the palms of their hands, until Harry calms. “Tell me not to go wake my newborn son because I want to play with him. Or hold him. Or both, I can’t really decide.”
Hermione pats his arm. “Don’t.”
“Yeah, Gin-Gin will kill you if you screw the kid up.”
Harry shows a pretty sizeable amount of restraint - his own view of the subject - and manages to wait a whole hour before he tiptoes into the bedroom just to stare after Ron and Hermione return to the comfort of their own home. Glancing at his watch, he turns towards Teddy’s door and finds him sitting half atop his covers and thumbing through a picture book. “Hey, Ted.”
“Hi, wanna read - ”
A sad little wail of a cry sounds from the master bedroom and Teddy perks up, “Is James awake?”
“Sounds like it,” Harry rubs at the back of his head, “We’ll have to pause the - ”
“Let’s go, he’s crying.”
Teddy grabs Harry’s hand and tugs him into the hall, books forgotten in the wake of ‘big brother duties.’
In a few quick strides, they’ve reached the little bassinet and little James is giving his lungs a good work out. Smiling softly, Teddy brushes his fingers along James’ bootied toes. “S’alright. Harry’s here. He knows just what to do.”
The bed creaks behind them as Ginny slowly raises herself into a sitting position. “He is pretty great,” Ginny agrees, “Which is why he’s probably guessed James needs some mummy time.”
Gently, Harry lifts James from the cradle and passes him over to Ginny before he ushers Teddy from the room to choose a storybook.
It’s a bigger choice than Harry guessed, Victoire has told him the first book a baby reads is very important so they flip through half of Teddy’s collection before settling on Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump.
They’ve given Ginny enough time so that James has been fed and burped, her clothes have been righted, and the baby boy is cooing softly against her chest. “We’re ready for some entertainment. Hospital was pretty boring.”
With care, Harry and Teddy climb up onto the bed - Harry claiming the innermost seat as he fans the book open before them. “A long time ago, in a land far away, there was a kingdom ruled by a foolish King who decided that he should be the only one to have magical powers.”
Ginny and Teddy snuggle close on either side while James blinks tiredly. “He formed an army, which he called the Brigade of Witch-Hunters, and armed them with black hounds. At the same time, he wanted an Instructor in Magic, so he made calls for a wizard or witch from one of the nearby villages to teach him.”
“A little dark for a first storybook,” Ginny teases while Teddy reaches to flip the page.
Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. “It’s got a nice ending.”
Not long after the story comes to a close, Harry’s mobile vibrates in his pocket. With a quick fumble, Harry manages to pull it free and swipe the call on before James Sirius wakes. “‘Lo?”
“Uncle Harry?”
“Hello, Victoire,” Harry says with a smile that only widens as Teddy perks up, “I know we’re tight, but I have a feeling you’re not looking for me.”
There’s a pause like she nearly drops Bill’s phone and then presses it back to her ear. Harry glances down at his wide-eyed godson. “Teddy’s right here.”
Reaching up with grabbing hands, Teddy accepts the mobile and trots out with an affectionate glance toward James where he sleeps in Ginny’s arms.
As Teddy disappears out into the living room, Harry chuckles softly before he twists and cups Ginny’s chin, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re - beautiful.”
She hums, deepening the kiss just barely. “So’re you, my love.”
James shifts a little restlessly in Ginny’s arms, snuffling in his sleep while Harry brushes a finger over his cheek. “I love you, Gin. You - this life we have together is better than anything I could’ve dreamt up for Teddy and I.”
“Better than just a doughnut?”
Laughter bubbles in Harry’s chest as he kisses Ginny once more. “I - you know how we talked briefly in New York?”
Brow quirking, Ginny turns a bit more to face Harry. “We talked more than a few times in New York, dear.”
“About - about adding another Potter to the world.”
“Seems we did that fairly well,” Ginny teases, darting a glance towards their sleeping son.
“I mean, making you one. About being officially.”
In all seriousness, Ginny asks, “Harry. Will you marry me?”
Jolting, Harry scowls down at Ginny. “No fair, I started first.”
“But I finished first - you always like that.”
“God, innuendo in front of our slumbering son?”
“What’s the answer, Potter?”
Harry drops his forehead against Ginny’s and feels his eyes filling even as his smile widens. “Yeah I’ll be Mr. Ginny Weasley-Potter-Whatever.”
“I like the hyphens,” Ginny laughs, her own tears forming, “Damn, I can’t wait until these excess hormones wear off. You do realize you proposed to a hosepipe, yeah?”
“You’re the one who proposed - this is your choice.”
Settling James in Harry’s arms, Ginny presses herself close and sighs quietly. “It’s a good one.”
A cry pierces the air just as Harry’s miraculous coffee-fueled epiphany gets into full swing, sentence half finished as the ending dangles and then floats from his brain.
There’s probably only three people in the world he wouldn’t shout at for interrupting that flow and it’s the youngest of the three that beckons from the nursery. Teddy falls in at Harry’s side, his eagerness to be the world’s greatest elder brother only grown in the months since James came into their lives, and they find the little squalling bundle of Potter wriggling unhappily in his cot. “Alright, James?”
His tears pause for a moment as Harry and Teddy appear overhead, before the wailing renews in earnest. “Guess someone’s got a little gift in their nappy.”
Teddy presses his fists to his hips, power posing like a little superhero, and nods at Harry. “I’ll get the wipes.”
They go about the process of tidying James up, letting him swallow down a bottle of milk, then wander into the kitchen, standing side by side, staring aimlessly into the void of their mostly empty fridge, and then pantry. Harry bounces James on his chest as he slobbers over the collar of Harry’s t-shirt and Teddy sighs, chest rising and falling dramatically before he glances up at Harry and shakes his head. “Nothin’ to eat.”
“Unless you want some,” Harry shuffles a carton of baking soda aside and lifts a can from the back of the shelves, “Dehydrated milk?”
Teddy wrinkles his nose. “Ron’s?”
“You read my mind, mate.”
Harry and Teddy bundle themselves against the Autumn chill, tugging on wellies and winding scarves around their necks while James giggles happily while his chubby fingers jab at the dangling bits of his baby gym. Once they’re properly festooned, godfather and godson take care to ensure the littlest Potter is appropriately protected against the elements and admittedly overpack his nappy bag.
Luckily, the weather holds as they walk the few blocks toward Ron’s, the overhead bell soon tolling their entrance to the crowded shop.
Teddy tilts his head in the direction of the counter and bake case and Harry nods his approval, handing a few pound notes over before he carries James towards a free table in the back, his legs wriggling in the Ergo carrier. The line moves fairly quickly as gangly little Dennis rings up the line of hungry customers until Teddy’s next.
He places their regular order with a polite smile for Dennis and trots over to their table. “Dennis said t’ wait here and they’ll bring it.”
“We don’t need all that - ”
“Well too bad sir, this is a full service bakery and I expect a tip.”
“Gin-Gin!”
“Hello. Teddy Bear. I got some apple slices to go with this doughnut for breakfast.”
“You’re the one peddling fluffy strawberry clouds by the dozen,” Harry sticks out his tongue and starts freeing space for Ginny to take a seat next to him.
She laughs, “Only until my wandering brother and his wife return from their ‘second honeymoon.’”
Smiling, Harry sips at the tea Ginny’s set on the table and drags a third chair closer with his foot. “Take a load off, Madame Manager.”
Accepting the proffered seat, Ginny claims an apple slice for herself and ruffles Teddy’s hair. “And by the way, isn’t a second honeymoon usually more than six months in?”
“Hey, if Hermione’s willing to go on holiday, I’m not going to stand in her way.”
Dennis wanders by, bussing tables and offering refills as necessary, and slips Ginny a shortbread biscuit, which she accepts with a grateful smile before turning to Harry. “I thought her brain might leak out after the eighth month of negotiations.”
“She’s got a one track mind the minute anyone mentions institutional inequality.”
After a moment, Teddy wanders over to the little shelves tucked in the back corner and settles in on ‘his’ beanbag chair. Ginny sends him a wink and settles back in her chair, toying with the ring sparkling on her left hand. “Aye. And a few early morning shifts is a small price to pay.”
“Plus we do owe all - this,” Harry gestures a bit vaguely to their odd little family, “- to them.”
Leaning forward, Ginny kisses the sugary remnants of Harry’s doughnut from his lips, “And cinnamon crème.”
Much to Molly’s chagrin, Ginny Weasley doesn’t dress in white on the day of her wedding to Harry Potter (“I’ve already got a son, Mother!”), neither does she assemble a big party for the occasion. Instead, she chooses a dress to match the late autumn hues and combs her long ginger hair loosely against her back. Eyeshadow, lipstick, and a set of golden earrings she received as a wedding gift from her Bill and Fleur are her simple adornments.
Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Ginny smiles, confident as ever and clicks her heels on the wooden floor of her childhood room. At the door, there’s Arthur waiting for her. He kisses her cheek warmly, his fatigued hand brushing her tresses in light strokes, before extending an arm. Father and daughter together, they slowly descend down the circular staircase of the old Weasley family home.
“We’re so proud of you, love,” Arthur murmures as he holds his daughter’s hand.
It’s the whirlwind of emotions that deems Ginny speechless, and she simply clings on tighter to her dad as they walk towards the small wedding tent swaying gently in the November wind.
Family and friends are all waiting for her inside. Yet their faces are all a blur, she’s only got eyes for the man waiting for her at the other end, his hair the usual mess and his smile radiating love. Beside him, Ron claps his shoulder and greets his sister with a short nod.
Ginny squeezes her father’s arm and steadies herself as he kisses her cheek. Vaguely she realizes there are two women crying their eyes out behind her, Lily and Molly unable to contain themselves.
Another short inspection on her right side and Ginny is pleased to notice her little James Sirius securely snuggled between the two men whose names he bears. Taking a deep breath, she knows she can go on with the ceremony.
“I can never come to terms with how beautiful you are,” Harry whispers as she takes her place next to him.
“Don’t you make me cry in front of all those people, you handsome, brilliant man,” Ginny replies, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry grins and takes her hand, his thumb brushing over the engagement ring he placed there months earlier. It’s been a full year, a beautiful year. Best of his life, if he’s honest, at a tie with the one before. He’s established a permanent exhibition, his article on the dig is still published and quoted, his son was born, and to top it all off he’s about to marry the woman of his dreams, the one who’s made him happiest he’s ever been.
They say yes in a deafening wave of applause and cheers, grinning as they officially become Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Hand in hand, they walk down the aisle and accept all hugs, kisses, and congratulations, their hearts bursting with joy and beating in sync. Three steps ahead of them, a convoy made of Teddy, Victoire and Snuffles open the way, flowers spread around from their baskets. Behind, Ron and Hermione follow suit arm in arm.
“Not gonna lie, Harry, you kind of strong-armed me into doing the same,” George winks as they pass by, immediately wincing as a pregnant Angelina pokes him in the ribs.
Bill, Charlie, and Percy all hug their sister and cheerfully offer their congratulations to Harry. He takes a step backwards, offering Ginny enough space to celebrate with her family as he spots his own trio of mischief.
“Congrats, daddy,” Sirius smirks, cradling baby James in his arms.
Harry grimaces, “That sounds...gross, coming from you. And a little like you’re hitting on me, which I hope you’re not, giving that it’s my wedding day and you’re my godfather.”
Sirius rolls his eyes, then ruffles his godson’s unruly hair. “You’re alright, kid. No one’s mad enough to try and pry you away from that red haired temptress of yours.”
Before he can shoot his own comeback, Harry hears Lily’s giggle and feels her plump lips on stubbled cheek, as his father plants a kiss on his other one.
“Well done, son,” James booms. “Look at you - a proud father and godfather, an established archaeologist freshly married to a promising psychologist.” His smile extends to his hazel eyes, sparkling from behind his specs.
“She is rather brilliant,” Lily pipes in, squeezing Harry’s cheek. “And I’m not only referring to her formidable wit. I’ve read the study report on her work at the early education institution and it’s superb. I’m so proud of you two, my love.”
Harry lets himself be swallowed by the three sided hug before he can extract his own son from Sirius’ arms and find his beautiful wife.
Later, much later, when they’re giddy on pure bliss and champagne, snuggled close in their bed while their sons are fast asleep, Harry and Ginny feel like the luckiest people alive. And, in that moment, they truly are. They allow themselves to drift to sleep with their hands connected, ready to support and love each other in the days and years to come, for the rest of their lives together.
All in all, it could be honestly said that life throws a lot of unexpected things Harry Potter’s way, but his luck has been pretty good so far.
Harry tosses a cushion aimlessly toward the floor and Ginny scowls, grabbing it and setting it on the bench tucked beneath their bedroom window. At Harry’s sleepy shrug, Ginny narrows her eyes. “Just because we’re tired doesn’t mean we have to live like animals.”
He levels a pointed glance at Ginny’s abandoned pants (strewn over top of a lampshade like they’re wild kids at Uni) and jumper (currently piled atop her half-unpacked reading pile) and she shrugs. “Those are dirty already - these pillows are decorative.”
“Gin.”
“What would you say to Teddy?”
“I’d say well-done mate - show those pointless cushions who’s boss.”
"Such a liar you are, my dear," Ginny drawls, making her way into the loo and turning the taps on with a few squeaks, "Now come shower - no gross aeroplane germs in my bed."
With a snort, Harry follows Ginny's lead and drops trou, abandons his jumper, and slumps into the rapidly steaming bathroom. "Can't promise much excitement."
"Gods, I hope not. Though I may ask you to wash my hair."
"Lazy you are."
Tossing the last of their stale-smelling clothes aside, Harry and Ginny slip under the spray, muscles weary with nearly fifteen hours of travel, and tiredly begin sudsing up.
Harry works Ginny's hair into a lather and murmurs, "So Ted's got a pretty clear set of priorities, eh?"
"When I said it was too late to go see Victoire I thought he was going to faint."
"Or kick me in the shins," Harry smirks.
"True story, that."
Somehow, they manage to remain conscious long enough to rinse and dry off, and soon enough they're tucked beneath mountains of blankets and drifting off to sleep.
"We'll give Bill and Fleur a call tomorrow, I s'pose."
Ginny nuzzles closer. "Tomorrow."
Luckily for Harry and Ginny's sanity, Victoire was just as desperate to see Teddy as he was her, and her parents equally as eager to put an end to the kindergarten angst.
So two days after they return to England, not long past nine, Teddy's grasping one of Bill's large hands while Victoire's is enclosed in the other, and the flat falls into glorious silence.
"I can't decide if I want to shag you silly or just lay on the rug and like a blob."
"How about shag and then blob?"
"Shag on the shag rug," Ginny volleys back and Harry barks out a laugh.
"God I love you."
"I know."
Harry leans close and presses a long, lingering kiss to her lips. "How'd you know pulling a Han Solo would get me all hot and bothered?"
Grinning, Ginny works Harry's t-shirt over his shoulders and haphazardly tosses it to the side.
"So now we can behave like animals?"
"One more smart remark and you can blob all by yourself."
"Liar."
It's much later when 'blob mode' has been fully engaged and enjoyed, that Ginny presses up on her elbows and looms over Harry. "So."
His hands run up her spine, gentle and teasing. "That's not one of your 'something fun is about to happen 'so's.'"
A laugh rumbles through his chest and Ginny nips at his earlobe. "Something very fun just happened. A few somethings."
Groaning, Harry flips their positions and begins teasing his way down Ginny's front. "Imagine how many more fun somethings we could do before Teddy gets home tomorrow."
With a soft smile, Ginny runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and sighs. "Yes, but imagine how much work we could get done before Teddy gets home tomorrow."
He blows out a breath and lets his forehead drop to Ginny's stomach, lips brushing her ever-growing bump. "You just had to be responsible."
"You'll thank me later."
Rising, Harry offers Ginny a hand up and pulls her to her feet. "I'm very grateful - sad, but grateful."
"How about if we get a set amount done, we get more somethings?"
As they reclaim their clothes, with a few stolen kisses and caresses, Harry rubs at his bum and grimaces, "Maybe not on the rug this time - it chafes."
True to their word, Harry and Ginny make a study date of their day, breaking for occasional snacks and a few snogs for positive reinforcement, and by the time Ginny's stomach starts rumbling, they're well on the way to being caught up.
Going back to work after a vacation is all sorts of nasty and hard on the body, plus it's been barely two days since they arrived home (which means they've got bare bones food in stock) so they quickly agree to order a pizza and crack open a couple of beers plus non-alcoholic drinks stashed in the back of the pantry.
While Ginny pokes around on Netflix for something to watch, Harry grabs some plates and serviettes, their drinks grasped in between the fingers of his other hand. "Damn I'm starved."
"Same, m'dear," Ginny agrees, poking around in the seasonal movies for something lighthearted to half watch.
Soon enough, there's a knock at the door and Harry returns to the telly room with a steaming pizza box, wallet just a bit lighter.
It's a quiet, cozy night, and despite their intentions to the contrary, Harry and Ginny end up dozing off in a heap on the couch halfway through whatever silly film she'd selected.
Around three in the morning, Ginny wakes up in need of the loo and prods Harry's shoulder, "Come to bed or you'll be complaining about the crick in your neck for a wee, old man."
With a groan, Harry complies, loosely gripping Ginny's hands as she tugs him toward their room.
They're in that odd witching hour haze as they complete the quick and dirty version of their evening ablutions and end up collapsing in bed like a couple of boneless lumps. Smacking his lips together sleepily, Harry cuddles closer and murmurs, "This was a nice day."
Ginny slips her leg between Harry's and hums. "Love you."
Soon enough, the academic year resumes, Harry's got deadlines, Ginny's got work, and Teddy's embarking on the second half of his entrance into the world of academia. In seemingly no time at all, the first month of the year has passed, Valentine's day is upon them, Ginny's nearing balloon territory (in her own words) and a Weasley wedding is imminent.
They've just demolished half a pot of chili and three-quarters of a carton of ice cream when Hermione whips out her planning binder. Fully color coded.
"So. Wedding."
"Do we all get one of those?"
Ron drags his fingers across his throat and shakes his head at GInny's question, dramatic enough that Harry can't suppress his laugh and Hermione elbows him in the ribs. "Yes, soon enough you will."
Smirking, Ron throws an arm over the back of Hermione's chair and laughs. "I'm surprised at you, love, they're not done yet?"
"Everyone gets a specialized book for their particular duties and needs."
Ginny snorts. "Does Ron's include an instruction manual for the wedding night - I'd wager he could use one."
"Oi!"
"Ronald is quite adept."
Harry groans, "Ginny - I really never needed to hear that."
Hermione sends a playful grin their way and snuggles into Ron's side. "We do have a question for you two."
Teddy trots over and presents Hermione with a scrawled picture that appears to be Ron and Hermione's wedding - largely accurate save Ron's veil. Though he does look rather dashing.
Ron pats Teddy on the shoulder. "Thanks mate," Teddy climbs up onto his lap and Ron readjusts in his seat, "So our question."
"Dramatic, Ronni-kins."
"Stand up for us?"
Harry pauses mid-lick and sets his spoon down in the bowl with a clatter. "Well of course. I'm not an arsehole."
Ginny laughs, "And we know you've only got the one friend, Ron."
Pressing a palm to his chest, Ron whines, "Such abuse. I've half a mind to rescind our request and find a new pair of blighters to dress in frills and fluff."
"On Craigslist?" Ginny teases.
Biting his lip, Harry murmurs, "That'll eat into the budget."
With an expert eye roll, Hermione clears a place on the table and sets her binder down. "No one's asking anyone else. Now behave and let's talk logistics. Ginny, we need to go shopping."
Ginny takes a deep breath. "Never say I don't love you."
Hermione winks and flips to the next section. "Plus you'll be on Teddy duty - we need him to do a very special job."
Teddy perks up at that, dropping his crayons and blinking in Hermione's directions, already awaiting orders - she has that effect.
"It's the most important - you're in charge of our rings."
He nods, chest puffing out, and Ron ruffles his sandy hair. "Will Victoire be in it too?"
"You'll be a team."
Teddy grins and resumes his coloring while the wedding discussion progresses further. Hermione's debating color schemes - mostly with herself - before Harry sips at his tepid tea and asks, "I assume morning suits?"
"Aye," Ron agrees, "But not hats - no top hats."
It doesn't take long for Hermione's plans to begin taking form, which isn't all that surprising given the ever nearing deadline that's defined by a very public, very permanent ceremony. Molly's beside herself with excitement, only breaking from discussions of lace, satin, and floral arrangements to send Ginny knowing glances and sideways comments that hint at another set of nuptials that could be on the horizon.
So when Hermione suggests forgoing another day of plotting at the Burrow in favor of dress shopping in London, Ginny's a lot more eager than she'd have guessed a few weeks ago.
Until she makes to get dressed. And absolutely nothing fits.
Ginny flops back onto the bed, wriggling her hips in an attempt to strong arm her trousers into fitting over her baby bump. “Couldn’t my brother have got his head out of his arse and asked Hermione to marry him before I looked like a whale?”
Harry snorts, flipping to the next page of his book while he glances at Ginny’s prone form. “You’re a beautiful whale.”
“If I wasn’t beached, I would smack you.”
After wriggling a bit more - unsuccessfully - Ginny tosses the trousers aside and crawls up the bed, spectacularly destroying Harry’s heroic efforts at making it up that morning. With a sigh, she drops her head against his stomach and nuzzles into the deep green wool of his cable knit jumper.
Smiling, Harry sets aside his book and runs his fingers through her hair in comforting strokes. “Whales are majestic. I’m quite the fan.”
Ginny harrumphs.
“But you do not look like a whale, dear.”
A dramatic groan breaks from Ginny’s lips as she flips onto her back and blinks up at him. “Too late - you’ve made your real feelings known.”
Harry’s brow furrows as he considers her for a moment before his fingers find the hem of her t-shirt and tickle underneath.
“And don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Ginny begins, all seriousness, “This is all - ” her voice catches when he begins making horribly, beautifully distracting circles on her skin, “All your - ”
Eyes flashing, Harry lets his lips quirk in a grin, “All my?”
“Oh bloody hell, get down here.”
Sadly, Harry’s only managed to half rid her of her t-shirt when Ginny’s mobile vibrates itself off the bedside table. “That’s probably Hermione.”
“And Ted’s just in his room.”
Harry tugs her shirt back down and flops onto his back. “You’re a little tempting minx, aren’t you.”
“I’ve got umpteen hormones raging through my body, what’s your excuse?”
“We’ve been through this - tempting minx,” Harry answers, brow quirked.
Rolling from the bed, Ginny shuffles over to the closet and tugs out a pair of leggings, yanking them over her legs. “I’d really love to not leave the house. This weather’s gross; even for London.”
“It’s diorama day.”
“My statement stands.”
With a smile, Harry rises and rustles through Ginny’s drawers, tossing a pair of wooly socks her way, “Bundle up. Wear your wellies.”
“Yes, mum.”
“You knew I was parental when you met me.”
“Cute little single da, feeding his kid sweets because he can’t say no.”
Harry runs his hands over her swollen belly and smiles wryly, “Apparently not.”
Smacking a kiss to Harry’s cheek, Ginny winds a scarf around her neck and trots out into the entryway, quickly slipping a coat on and stuffing her feet into her boots. “I’ll be off before Hermione has my head.”
With a grin, Harry tucks a granola bar into Ginny’s purse and shoos her toward the door. “And I thought she’d never get worse than end of year exams.”
“Such a fool, my Harry.”
“Off with you, harpy,” Harry chuckles, pressing his lips to her forehead, “Eat that granola bar.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I prefer Doctor.”
Ginny lets her eyes skip over Harry from head to toe, “So do I.”
Ginny drops on the fluffy covers of their bed and starts rubbing her temples with such fervor one might think she’s trying to drill into them. A sigh. And then another one. Followed by much grunting, also followed by mutters and curses.
Truth is, anyone who has the chance to know Ginny Weasley knows she particularly dislikes packing. But what Ginny herself does not yet know about her, and is at the moment mid-discovery, is that more than packing she hates doing it for situations she has no control over. Like her pregnancy, and the three full weeks it’s going to grow and expand and bring her more pain and misery in New York.
“Why can’t people just create a baby and then find him or her nine months later sleeping peacefully in a crib?” Ginny stomps up and down the bedroom floor, hair in disarray and temper close to boiling point.
A bark from Snuffles and then the doorbell announces the arrival of her eldest brother Bill, a sullen Teddy at his heels.
“‘Sup, sadface?” Ginny asks, cracking the door wider, and welcomes them inside.
Bill lets out a shaky laugh, “Could ask you the exact same thing. Alright, Gin?” He bends to scratch Snuffles between the ears as Ginny takes Teddy’s hand and drags rather than guides him to the recently tidied living room.
She sets the kettle on the stove before padding back, allowing herself time to find an explanation that sounds more sensible and doesn’t make her seem too crazy.
Bill quirks an eyebrow, his gaze upon her like an X-ray.
Ginny sighs once again. If Bill doesn’t know her inside out, nobody does.
“I’m afraid.”
“You? Nah, my baby sister’s never afraid. Or so she likes to tell me,” he winks and flashes her the smile she’s always loved.
“Baby’s the correct word, yeah.”
Bill gestures for her to sit down on the couch as he brings two cups of steaming tea and one with cocoa milk for Teddy, which at least has the effect of brightening up his features for a moment. Ginny opens her mouth to ask what happened, but closes it just as fast when her brother shakes his head, as if to suggest that he’s to fill her in privately and she can take it from there.
“Come’ere.”
She’s gently pulled into Bill’s side, the palms of her hands protectively around her small bump.
“I’ve never been on the carrying end, but I hope having had two daughters renders me eligible to offer you pregnancy advice,” he starts and Ginny snorts. “First, does your doctor know about you flying all the way to the US?”
“Yes, I have a green light.”
“Good,” Bill raises two of his fingers, keeping count, “did you find another doctor over there?”
She nods, her head on his ribs, and Bill adds a third freckled finger to the count.
“Fantastic. And also quite responsible of you, I’m impressed - ouch,” a pause to rub the spot where Ginny nudges him, “even though you don’t seem to appreciate my advice, I’ll be the big brother and tell you that a pregnancy pillow and a blanket will make your flight easier.”
She rolls her eyes, “You are the big brother, though.”
“And still you don’t see me eat your boyfriend alive for this,” he drawls, gesturing to her jumper covered tummy.
Ginny chooses to ignore his last comment and darts her gaze towards a morose looking Teddy, shoulders slumped and playing with the little spoon inside his cocoa mug. Her deep brown eyes settle on Bill, and she tips her hand to indicate the kitchen.
“I delivered a perfectly happy kid. What’s gone wrong?” She plows on, her back supported by the counter as she holds her brother’s gaze.
Bill brings his fingers to his long ponytail, combing through it, a sign Ginny recognises as distress. “Victoire’s asked him to stay with her the next three weeks instead of leaving with you,” he finally responds, face apologetic.
“Oh. Say no more,” she chuckles, relieved. Quite frankly, Harry and her were expecting a little meltdown on the issue sooner or later, seeing as the two have become inseparable. “Honestly, big bro, I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes ten years from now,” Ginny smirks, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder. They’ve always had hair the same length, Bill and her.
“Ha. Then I hope you have a girl and Harry loses sleep over boys wooing her,” Bill exhales through his nose. Still he can’t help the smile curving up his lips as his eyes meet his sister’s. A moment and they give into laughter, genuine laughter, one fully understanding the other, knowing that they’re there no matter what. Her big brother, her hero. His little sister, who he’s always watched over, protecting her, loving her.
“Um, Harry? Why is Hermione at the door, looking frighteningly determined?”
“Because there’s no way I can mess up or forget something so long as she’s got that mad glint in her eye - hi, Hermione!” Harry grins from around Ginny and steps out of the way to allow a mass of frizzy hair - and its possessor, to step inside and warm up. It’s mid December and London feels like a citified North Pole.
Hermione takes her time hanging her woolen coat and neatly folds a lumpy looking pair of mittens, a scarf and hat, apparently all from the same set.
“I’ve been taking to knitting everything on my own,” she smiles proudly, catching the couple’s perplexed glances.
“Takes the edge off a stressful case then,” Harry nods sensibly and disappears into the kitchen to brew Hermione’s favourite blend of tea. He’s been storing boxes of it since college, the least he could do for all the help she’s given him whenever he hit an academic brick wall.
A snort. “Puts me in the right mood for one, you mean.” She ties her bushy brown locks back and rolls up the sleeves of her jumper. “It was a joke, don’t look so scandalised, you lot. I’ve taken some time to research how miserable wages are for all the laborers working themselves to the bone twelve hours a day to produce ‘premium knitwear’ for giant retailers.” She says it all with such disgust, neither Harry nor Ginny have the heart to point out that there’s a pretty low probability she’ll be able to take down a deeply rooted system by knitting winter sets herself. Then again, knowing Hermione, she probably will if she sets her mind to it.
“Alright,” she places her steaming cup back on the living room table and, accommodating Teddy on her knees, takes out a golden-and-red hardcover notebook from her bag and flips it open. “Ginny, have you made arrangements with your supervisor for the weeks you’ll be abroad?” She eyes Ginny expectantly, pen at the ready to scribble down irksome details.
“Yes, all settled. I’ll be covering some of the academic writing I’m expected to do and take on work at the institution once I’m back.”
A pause and intense scribbling, “Harry, what’s your current status for the dig evaluation?”
“Erm, it’s good? Final draft submitted, results from the second round are coming back mid January and the date for the exhibit’s been set,” he fills in, rather smug, and snuggles closer to Ginny’s side.
Hermione balances Teddy on her knees, to his joy, and continues her scribbles. “Alright then. Some quick questions and you should stop me whenever you realise you’ve forgotten something. So plane tickets? A transportation chamber large enough for Snuffles, but medium enough to be accepted on the plane? Presents for Lily, James, and Sirius? Presents for a particular five year old and pet dog? Presents for each other? Winter clothes for the three of you? Pillows for Ginny to help her sleep during flight? An extra set of keys for me and Ron, in case you lose yours? Phone chargers and adaptors? Valid passports? Books?”
When they keep nodding, Hermione smiles and closes her trusty notebook. “Well, I guess my work here is done. You’re good to go.”
“Told you we could pull it off,” Ginny smirks.
“Please, I found you crying over empty luggage cases five times this week,” Harry jibes, pulling her closer into his side.
“Pregnancy hormones.”
“Right,” he chuckles, kisses the ginger waves atop her head.
Hermione’s phone buzzes and she gently extricates from Teddy’s small arms constricting around her neck in what is only intended to be a show of affection, then disappears into the kitchen.
“Can’t believe we’re leaving two days from now.”
“I know, Gin. Me neither,” Harry flashes a grin to match Ginny’s and it’s utter and complete excitement written in their eyes. They’re fully certain all is going to be well.
In their giddiness and bliss, Harry and Ginny fail to register Hermione’s presence back inside the room, until she clears her throat, flustered. “I think Bill and Fleur may have to see you off at the airport.”
Confused, Ginny interjects, “Teddy’ll be absolutely over the moon, but is there any other reason?” Chocolate meets light brown, and Ginny’s mouth opens, her breath itched. “Is my brother about to…?”
“I don’t know! He wouldn’t say, just to cancel all my plans and pack some clothes for a week.” Hermione’s cheeks turn rosy and her eyes sparkle with glee before Ginny jumps up from her designated spot on the couch, cushioned with multiple pillows, and hugs her friend tightly. Harry’s never thought them possible of squealing, but still they do, jumping up and down. Until Teddy joins in, followed closely by Snuffles, and it’s not long before it all turns into a party of five.
The airport goodbye passes between hurried feet trotting down the long corridors towards the gate, crocodile tears rolling down Teddy’s cheeks because, in his words, he will never ever see Victoire again - even though it’s been explained countless times that the trip will only last three weeks, and a near meltdown on Ginny’s side when Harry has the fleeting impression that he’s lost his passport and all their money. Luckily, everything’s decidedly not lost and they board smoothly, while Snuffles is sent to the plane’s belly, according to another one of Teddy’s remarks.
“I love you,” Harry whispers close to Ginny’s ear, sending shivers down her spine. His fingertips dance over her knuckles and she smiles, warmth and so much more enveloping her heart.
“I love you too.” A brief kiss and Harry stretches up to reach for the extra pillows and fluff them well enough before stuffing them between the seat and Ginny’s back.
When he’s done fussing about her and Ted and the flight attendants finish waving their hands and offering safety instructions, Harry leans in and brushes his lips against hers, holding her freckled face in the palms of his hands. “I’m going to see my parents in less than a day,” he grins, pressing the scruff ever growing on his cheek to the softness of hers. “And Sirius. He won’t believe it when he’s trampled down by Snuffles.”
“They’ll all be so happy,” Ginny smiles heartily.
“I’ve missed them so much.”
“I know, love. We’ll soon be there.”
The plane starts its ascend and gathers speed. Somewhere on row 25, three passengers hold hands, barely containing their excitement.
“I hope they’ve left Snuffles with someone trustworthy,” Sirius mutters as he paces up and down the Arrivals halls of the JFK.
“Sirius, relax. Their plane just landed and, if you can power through that long, you can ask them yourself in a bit,” Lily volleys, offering James a cup of gingerbread latte, handing Sirius the second and keeping the third for herself.
James grimaces, “It’s sweet.”
“Well, Christmas is close by so it’s supposed to be sweet.”
“I doubt your taste in coffee,” Sirius argues, ever in agreement with James Potter.
“Ungrateful. Both of you.”
“I’m sorry, but have you ever tasted real coffee?” Sirius jibes.
Lily pouts, flips her dark red hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, and I didn’t care for it.”
Before either James or his best mate can interject, a loud bark freezes the blood in their veins for a heartbeat. And then master and dog are reunited, and it’s a mystery as to who squeaks the loudest as they roll over the shiny airport tiles.
The Potters do watch the whole scene rather bemused, but, to their credit, dare not engage in any taking of the proverbial mickey out of their old friend. Instead, when a young James look alike with gleaming emerald eyes nearly crashes into them, he’s got merely a fraction of a second before he’s squashed between Lily and James, the three pairs of feet determinedly hugged by Teddy.
When the madness of the moment dies down, and all three Potters plus Black (partially plus Lupin, who’s still not decided if he should laugh or cry) have pulled themselves together, remembering that British people and public displays of emotion do not get along, Ginny deems it right to show up from behind Harry, smiling.
“Look at you all jokey, son, walking in front of your girlfriend and such,” James claps Harry on the shoulder, winks.
“I, well, erm - how should we start? Gin?” He looks over to her, only realising that neither’s come up with a plan to deliver the news gently.
Nobody speaks and then Teddy shouts, reading the room as well as any five year old, “Harry and Gin-Gin haf’ a baby!”
Harry feels like fainting, while Ginny - bold as always, mumbles a “Surprise!”, as Teddy gnaws on his lip and excitedly changes his gaze from one to the other to see if he ‘did good’. So Harry’s instincts kick into motion and he starts doing what he always does when faced with a particularly tricky situation: he word-vomits.
“It’s absolutely mad, we know, but it was unexpected, and a surprise and, yeah, we’re quite thrilled,” Harry runs his palm over the back of his head, darting a sheepish smile at Lily, James, and Sirius who stare at them and blink in synchronised unison.
Sirius, as always, seems to recover faster, slowly changing his gaze from one Potter senior to the other, “Any of you gave him the talk by any chance?”
It’s Harry’s turn to blink, confusion written on his face. “Excuse me?”
“You said it was a surprise so I thought maybe my dear godson, at the ripe age of 27, still does not possess the simple notion of how babies are made,” Sirius winks and it’s Ginny who lets out a heartfelt laugh, her hands over the small lump starting to show beneath her sweater. While Harry gestures rather than mouths exact instructions as to where Sirius can shove his “simple notions,” courtesy of Teddy’s presence within a two meter radius.
Next thing they know, they’re blinded by a red haired hurricane in the form of Lily Potter hugging their lungs out. Out of the corner of his eye, or the inch that’s not completely obstructed by his mother, Harry steals a glance at his father, glasses crooked to quickly wipe a tear forming at the creases of his hazel eyes. Harry smiles toothily, pressing the two women he loves most into his chest and, with a sigh, lets out all the fear and panicky feelings he’s been bottling up ever since Ginny came home with the big news.
Apparently the whirlwind of emotions that’s swept their little party for the past five minutes is too much for Ginny’s poor nerves slash hormones, and she tears up, biting into her lip as hard as possible to stop the threatening flood.
Subtly snaking an arm around her shoulders, Sirius whispers, “Wouldn’t have guessed you’re a weeper.”
“Ha, I’m not. Those are not tears, it’s sweat from the bloody long flight we had.” Ginny swallows the lump in her throat, straightens her back dignified.
Sirius’ lips stretch into a smirk. “Congratulations!”
The ride to the trio’s apartment is an experience on its own, with Lily succumbing to tears every other minute, followed closely by James and a cacophony of blown noses and “We’re about to be grandparents!”, as Teddy coos and claps at the big city lights.
Pressed between Snuffles and Ginny, Harry takes advantage of the flurry to plant a kiss behind Ginny’s ear, hitting that spot he learned makes her utterly melt.
“We’re alright, yeah?” He exhales close to her ear.
“Yeah,” it’s all Ginny can say with Harry’s lips so enticingly close.
“And baby?”
“Baby’s rather easy going. Hardly tortured me all day,” she laughs.
“I’m counting the days until I can meet him or her,” Harry smiles warmly, a glint in his eye that makes her dizzy with love and joy.
She need not wish for anything this Christmas. All she’s ever wanted is right there, next to her, ever growing. It’s light and love, and much too big to be put into words. It is, quite simply, everything.
A/N: Here is our late/early chapter for your enjoyment! After a very busy overfull week with no chapter, we got this one done a day early! Happy Sunday post. We hope you enjoy all the fluffy warm goodness and are excited for more!
“You already got me, no need to try harder,” Ginny blows a mouthful of air as she scans Harry head to toe.
He grins devilishly, “Dunno, Gin, wild things happen whenever I wear this hat so,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
She clasps her arms around his neck, pressing into him, and speaks tenderly, “I blame that hat for turning me into a gross human faucet every damn morning.”
“I blame the beautiful woman waiting for me naked on my desk,” he lightly chuckles and kisses her, lingering a moment over her bottom lip.
“Some moves you had that day, Potter,” Ginny whispers seductively, continuing where he left off, completely melting into his embrace.
Until a scoff and the equivalent of a scoff in dog language interrupts their little snogging session in the middle of the living room, reminding everybody that they’re about to be late for the Halloween-in-November party currently unfolding at the Burrow. And judging by the level of anxiousness and giddiness Teddy’s been running on the past days, nobody wants to delay their arrival any longer for fear that he might somehow explode.
Harry takes one last look at his leather-clad bum in the hallway mirror and starts towards the door. But not before Ginny notices and, checking that Teddy and Snuffles are too busy assembling last small touches to their pair outfits - Batman and his loyal sidekick Robin, she smacks him playfully and mouths a rather dirty compliment aimed at his adventurer-in-leather look.
Harry blushes adorably and pulls her closer, “I see pregnancy’s improved the foul side of your vocabulary, miss.”
“Do I hear any complaints?”
“Not one, ma’am.”
“Good. Now shove those leather pants off and put on something less...becoming before I do it for you.”
Harry morphs into the face of disappointment but complies, knowing full well that Ginny’s a force to be reckoned on any normal day, more so when she’s fueled by hormones and other pregnancy related paraphernalia.
They make good time on their trip to the Burrow, filling the journey with poorly done sing alongs and comfortable laughter until they’re pulling up the gravel drive.
The house glows golden, windows shined to sparkle as always, and the usual warm feeling of comfort that comes with being surrounded by family already fills the car. Harry turns to Ginny, “Ready?”
“Of course,” she gestures to her woolen coat and matching deerstalker cap, “Sherlock Holmes is always ready.”
Teddy pitches forward, his small hands gripping the two seats to hold him in place. “Can I go in? Please.”
Chuckling, Harry gives him a salute, “Of course, you’ve got a city to save.”
With a grin, Teddy leaps from the car, cape whipping behind him with a flourish as he runs toward the front door, Snuffles at his heels. Harry leans toward Ginny and presses his lips to hers, “I really shouldn’t find you quite so ravishing in this,” he gestures toward the thick coat, wooden pipe, dangling monocle, “But I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
Ginny kisses him, short but utterly enticing, “I can’t say I blame you. I am a vision in any setting or state of dress.”
Another kiss and Harry murmurs, “Or undress.”
“Yes, yes. Which is why I’m in a state that requires this level of camouflage,” Ginny sighs, righting her hat and clicking her door open, “Now let’s go in before they send out the welcoming committee.”
As they walk the remaining distance up the gravel road toward the cozy house, Ginny threads her arm through Harry’s and tips her head against his shoulder. Brushing his fingers over hers, Harry sighs, “I still can’t believe you wouldn’t let me dress as Indiana Jones.”
“I cannot handle you with that beard in that hat on normal days, let alone in my current state. And definitely not in front of my family.”
“You’re lucky I had back up.”
Ginny hums in agreement. “Though I’m not sure Doctor Harry is any less enticing.”
Straightening his stethoscope, Harry chuckles, “At least this one doesn’t have a whip.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. One needs only use one’s imagination, dear Watson.”
Harry laughs heartily, sprinting over to the front door and making a show out of opening the door for her with a whispered “M’lady” as Ginny scoffs and rolls her eyes.
Skipping over the threshold, Ginny nearly knocks over her mother and the enormous tray of Halloween themed biscuits she’s holding. Rapidly pulling her coat back around her, Ginny employs her usual post-mother-daughter-fight dignified tone, “Mum.”
“Ginevra.”
Ginny rolls her eyes and drawls, “I see you’re taking our cute conversation from last time well.”
Molly huffs and pulls her daughter into a lung-numbing hug, only to storm off a moment later, blowing her nose into the pink apron adorned about her plump figure.
“She’s just having a hard time accepting all her children are grown up and have left their loving nest,” Charlie reaches over from behind Ginny and kisses her cheek, claps Harry on the shoulder.
“Well I haven’t moved out yet,” one harrassed sounding Ron complains from behind an enormous pointed hat.
Ginny quirks her head to the side, “What are you supposed to be?”
“For a famous detective, you’re not so sharp today, Sherlock,” Ron snickers.
“I’m a wizard. A much better and well thought out costume than your boyfriend, if I may add.”
“No, you may not,” Harry puffs his chest and readjusts his stethoscope.
Ron shuffles his feet into a power stance as he draws the tip of his wizard hat to slightly cover his bright blue eyes. “Got something to say, eh, doc?”
“Yeah, I’ve got something to say, wizard boy,” he pauses, cooking up the perfect comeback. “You’re going down,” another pause, “downtown. And -”
“Much as I’d like to stand here and listen to you two,” Ginny steps between them to Charlie’s amusement, who settles for watching the trio unfold, a perfect image of his childhood at the Burrow, “I’m rather interested in actually having a chance to greet my family. Hey, Merlin, where’s your better half?”
Ron adjusts his pointed hat and steers them toward the yard and tables filled with too much food and drink, even for the full brunt of a Weasley family gathering. “Hermione’s running late - she’s also been very hush-hush about her costume this year.”
Brushing the crumbs from his lab coat, Harry takes another bite of the Halloween themed biscuit he swiped from a nearby tray and laughs. “You think it’ll be the normal nerdy historical reference then?”
Ginny tries to casually steer clear of alcoholic beverages - if anyone asks she’s Harry’s designated driver for the night - and leans into Harry’s side while Ron smiles fondly. “Yeah, some ancient foremother of modern book-binding or some such.”
A throat clears from behind them and all three jolt as Hermione joins the little grouping, swinging her...tail. “No, but she is a very influential woman in society.”
Harry’s brows rise and a gleeful grin spreads across Ginny’s face, but Hermione only has eyes for the utterly flummoxed look on Ron’s.
Flummoxed and...something else. Ginny frowns. “That expression is one I really never wanted to see on one of my brothers’ faces.”
Leaning close, Harry murmurs into Ginny’s ear, “At least you’re nauseous for a non-baby reason.”
A tease that both sends a shiver down Ginny’s spine - Harry’s whispering does things to her - and earns him an elbow to the gut. “Shut it. Mum doesn’t know and I don’t want to ruin Teddy’s party.”
Wincing, Harry rubs at his ribs and fills a glass with fruity punch, taking a swig of the sickly sweet mixture. “No one’s around. By the time I said anything Ron and Hermione were long gone.”
Ginny glances toward where her brother and his girlfriend were and grimaces. “Ew, ew. Harry ew where are they? Never mind, I don’t - oh my god.”
Before Harry can answer, Teddy comes running, face smeared with chocolate and cape rippling rather impressively as he comes to a halt in front of them. “It’s time for games.”
As Teddy tugs Harry off into the glow of the yard, fairy lights shimmering in the inky black night while some sort of bean bag toss tug-o-war combination competition’s about to begin, Ginny can’t suppress the smile that ticks up her lips. The warmth that fills her chest as she sees the way Harry’s just a part of her family. He falls right into place alongside George as he rigs up some game that combines enough blindfolds, sparklers, and ring tosses that it’s a near guarantee the family won’t end the evening with the same number of teeth and eyebrows as they began with. The joy of seeing everyone all together, combined with the thought of the secretly growing piece of their family - it’s almost enough to send her into human hose-pipe territory.
There’s some comfort in the idea that at least some of the overwhelming emotions flowing through her body can be attributed to heightened hormones from this little growing something or other. Though, despite it’s comforting feeling, it also manages to keep Ginny distracted enough that Hermione sneaks up on her in a rather wraith-like manner.
Stealthy or no, Ginny’s not blind. Snorting, she begins preening Hermione’s hair. “You’ve got some...leaves and such.”
Hermione flushes, patting down her curls self-consciously. “I - sorry.”
Grinning, Ginny refills her punch and offers a glass to Hermione. “No you’re not. You look like the cat that got the cream. The cat that got something.”
And in case her completely overdone drawl of a tease wasn’t clear enough, Ginny adds a dramatic wink.
“Doesn’t it bother you because - Ron? Your brother?”
“No, no it is not my brother because if it is my brother that you were,” Ginny gestures vaguely with her hands, “I will sick up.”
Eyeing her warily, Hermione steps closer, “Either way, I have a feeling you might sick up.”
Ginny fluffs out her coat. “And why would you say that?”
“I saw you avoiding that pumpkin pie like the plague,” Hermione takes a sip and lets her gaze linger on Ginny’s middle, “And it’s your favorite.”
Shrugging, Ginny stuffs half a ghost-shaped biscuit into her mouth and grumbles, “Maybe I am just not in the mood.”
“Or maybe there’s another reason…”
Desperate, Ginny grabs Hermione by the arm and drags her close, voice a shrill whisper, “If I say you’re right can we stop this little - whatever it is - before Mum hears and goes ultrasonic?”
Looking entirely too chuffed, Hermione nods and threads her arm through Ginny’s, leading her toward a little copse of trees Ginny’s loved since she was old enough to sneak out her window and swing through the branches like a little red-headed monkey.
Once they’re definitely out of hearing distance, Hermione pats Ginny’s elbow, “So. How are you feeling?”
Ginny leans her head on Hermione’s shoulder as fallen leaves rich and bright as the hair atop her head crunch beneath her boots. “We’ve been through this. Nauseous. Very nauseous.”
Rolling her eyes - because even in the darkness, Hermione’s world class eye rolls are perceptible - Hermione sighs. “Ha-ha very funny. Really.”
Ginny flushes, “Excited. We’re quite excited.”
Hermione tips her head toward Ginny’s, affectionate, and leads them back into the warm glow of the bonfire. “I’m glad. So very glad.”
Nodding, Ginny listens with half an ear as Hermione details the exact reasons why she was late. Which sounds pretty rude, but Ginny can hardly be blamed when Dr. Harry James Potter is laughing brightly, the scruff of his beard only serving to draw more attention to that delicious jawline. And if she tries to tear her gaze away, it’s to find that broad, muscled chest, those agile, glorious hands gesticulating as he banters with Charlie and Ron…the former’s beard now graced with a singed away bald spot care of George Weasley.
As if by some magnetic pull, Harry’s gaze finds hers where it had dragged down to his - well she can’t quite blame him for the blush rising on his cheeks.
The rest of the evening passes in a haze of sugary treats, silly games, and getting as close to too much laughter as possible. If there is such a thing. As everyone starts to drift off to their cars, Teddy begs for a sleepover with his ‘bestest mate’ Victoire (Sirius will not be happy about losing his title) so when they pull Ginny’s little compact from the gravel drive, it’s one occupant lighter.
Harry reaches across the console to knit his fingers together with Ginny’s. Her thumb runs across the back of his hand.
“So, Hermione knows,” Ginny says, matter-of-fact as she lifts Harry’s knuckles to her lips.
“I would ask how, but it’s Hermione. I’d be more surprised if I ever did manage to keep something secret from her.”
“I’ve got her word that mum’s the word - particularly regarding Mum. You know I’ve been doing that more lately.”
“Keeping secrets from your mum?”
“Being punny - I think motherhood is making me toss my lunch and become even more clever and hilarious than ever.”
“Any other changes?”
Ginny hums thoughtfully and taps her knuckles against the chilled window as her breath fogs against the glass. “Maybe.”
“Such as?”
After a moment, Ginny unlinks their fingers and lays her palm on his knee, squeezing once, twice. “You know already, Dr. Potter.”
“Shite, we’re still at least a half an hour from home.”
Another squeeze. “Drive a bit faster?”
Ginny does have work at the early education center the following morning, though luckily she’s got a late morning shift. Which doesn’t make it any easier for Harry to let her go - milky skin, freckled everywhere, lush lips forever ticked up with some hint of mischief -
Wincing, Harry yanks his hand away from the hot skillet and shakes it out. His unburned hand reaches for the spatula, flipping each sandwich to a satisfying sizzle while tomato soup bubbles to his left.
A knock at the door jars him from his culinary adventures and Harry flicks the burners off and jogs to the door.
After a quick peek out the peephole, Harry tugs the door open with a grin, “Ted! Victoire!”
Teddy hugs Harry’s leg quickly and drags Victoire toward the living room. “Thanks for bringing him home, Bill.”
Bill watches the kids trot off before turning to Harry, rubbing at his neck. “So. Can I have a word?”
It’s a small comfort that Harry’s fairly certain Bill wouldn’t murder Harry with his own daughter in the next room. “Sure, er - My office?”
Once they’re settled, each claiming one of the cozy chairs - one of which was home to a couple of very memorable moments with Ginny that Harry is trying really hard to not think about while her brother is staring him down.
“You wanted to chat?”
Luckily, Bill’s glare is aimed at his own knees rather than Harry’s fragile, mortal body.
“I - Yeah. Teddy had some interesting questions for Victoire.”
Harry fiddles with the cuff of his jumper. “Did he?”
Teddy gets home next day and bill is like uh harry can i have a word
“Yes, about mums and dads and - babies.”
“Did he?”
“Harry, I’m not going to kill you. I’m trying to be mature and let Ginny be an adult, or at least Fleur says I am.”
Laughing at the slightly relaxed tone in Bill’s voice, Harry lets some of the tenseness slip from his shoulders. “We’re - Ginny and I - we’re so happy. It wasn’t the plan, not yet. I love Ginny, and this hasn’t changed anything. Well you know it has but.”
“Calm down, Harry, my purpose is more a warning,” Bill says with a chuckle, “Victoire is spending the weekend with her grandparents - my parents - and she has even less self control than Teddy.”
Harry quirks a brow, “Uh, Teddy clearly doesn’t have any.”
“He made it about four hours - she told me in less than ten minutes.”
It takes some doing, but eventually they manage to wrench Teddy and Victoire away from each other. Though the most effective strategy ends up being promises for another extended play-date possibly sleep over so it’s up in the air whether it was a win for parents or sprogs.
Ginny calls just before dinner as she’s catching the train toward campus. She’d apparently reached the precipice of a breakthrough with one of her kids and didn’t want to chance wasting the inspiration.
After strongly encouraging her to buy real food that doesn’t originate from a vending machine, Harry promised to save her leftovers and asked her to keep him posted on her whereabouts.
That earned him a heavily sarcastic ‘Yes mum,’ and a surprise quiet evening for the boys.
They’d made a night of it, watching Teddy’s favorite movies, eating slightly more junk food than is strictly advisable, and then breaking out that half-finished lego set Teddy got for his birthday.
It’s closer to two-thirds finished by the time Teddy’s heading off to bed, though it’s a half hour later than his usual and with two extra stories to boot.
By the time Ginny gets home, Teddy’s off in dream land and Harry’s freshly showered, dozing curled up on the couch like a kitten. Her keys rattle in the door and Snuffles perks up, nosing Harry’s knee but steers clear of barking, which is good since waking Teddy up after ten at night is pretty much a guarantee that he’ll be up for the next three hours. Padding over to the door with Snuffles at his heels, Harry greets Ginny with a kiss and works the buttons of her coat free with practiced ease. “Alright, Gin?”
Her forehead finds his shoulder as he kneads the tired muscles in her back. “Tired, but good. So good.”
“Found what you were looking for?”
“More than - it was, God, it’s so satisfying to fill in this puzzle,” Ginny sighs, “But for a real person this time - not just some hypothetical.”
“That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”
“And hungry,” Ginny murmurs as Harry’s fingers rise to work at the base of her skull.
“Stew and such all ready for you in the kitchen.”
Harry tugs her toward the table and Ginny works the laces of her boots free with clumsy fingers. “Sounds divine. Give me all the stew and such you’ve got.”
As her second boot falls to the floor with a thud, Ginny slumps in her chair and props her feet up on the seat opposite. “So how was your day? You and Teddy have a swinging bachelor evening?”
“We had a normal night with normal amounts of snacks and bedtimes and whatnot,” Harry says, ladling another portion of stew into a bowl. “I do have some news.”
“Let me guess, you’re pregnant.”
“Well if we’re doing that weird phrasing the modern couples use then, sure.”
Ginny pulls the pins from her hair and lets it fall down around her shoulders. “I’m kidding, what’s the news?”
“So our secret is out. Partially.”
It’s a testament to Ginny’s complete and utter exhaustion that she simply raises her brows in reaction to the potentially shit-show starting news. “Define partially.”
“Ted told Victoire, she told Bill and Fleur,” Harry sets a bowl in front of Ginny along with a few slices of crusty bread, “Bill said we should tell your parents sooner rather than later.”
“Yeah, well, Bill’s not my boss,” Ginny grumbles around a fork full of potato.
“Victoire is spending the weekend at the Burrow.”
Ginny drops her fork with a clatter. “We’ll go visit for lunch tomorrow.”
“My last meal.”
Apparently, priming the proverbial pump with news of a pre-marriage move-in is a good way to temper Molly Weasley’s reaction to an out of wedlock baby. Or maybe news of a grandbaby on the way is exciting enough to overcome whatever distress it causes to rise.
They debate whether to tell James, Lily, and Sirius but this debate re-raises the idea of a hop ‘across the pond’ and the even more tantalizing idea of breaking the news in person.
Ginny tucks herself closer to Harry’s side as he scrolls through flights for December. “I mean, Florida will have better weather.”
“Yeah, I could sell tickets for you telling your mum that we’re flying to the States for Christmas but not where she is.”
Harry snorts, “It was just a joke. Mostly. I mean beaches Gin. Beaches.”
“Love - ”
Before Ginny can argue further, there’s a short knock at the bedroom door before it squeaks open. Teddy peers through the crack, Snuffles close at his hip. “Can we come in? For a story?”
“C’mon up, Ted,” Harry invites, patting the blanket between them.
There’s some shuffling, more than a few knees to stomachs, and an errant finger to Harry’s eye (mostly blocked by his now smudged glasses) but eventually the whole family ends up piled together. Harry sets aside his laptop and shimmies down beneath the covers, Teddy cuddles into his chest and Ginny an arm’s reach away, their fingers interlocked.
“We’re thinking of taking a trip, Teddy. For Christmas,” Harry says once they’re all settled.
“To see everybody?”
Ginny laughs and cuddles closer. “Yeah, to see everybody.”
“Can I bring my cape?”
Harry presses a kiss to Teddy’s head, “Of course, mate.”
One and a half stories later, they fall asleep in a tangle of limbs that remarkably remains unchanged until around eight in the morning when Teddy’s bladder demands attention. Harry gets a knee to the gut and Ginny’s next in line for the loo. By the time she comes back, Teddy’s already disappeared to watch his morning cartoons on the telly, and Ginny’s looking a bit worse for the wear. With a groan, she collapses onto the mussed blankets and sheets on her side of the bed.
“Uh, this baby better have your pretty eyes and sexy hair because otherwise I don’t think I will ever get over his or her little torture sessions I’ve been put through for the past week,” Ginny cries as she squeezes a pillow to her chest and rolls into a fetal position.
Snuffles, his large black nuzzle looming over her, plops down next to the whimpering woman and bows his head so their foreheads touch. Flashing him a pained smile, Ginny breaks her iron grip of the innocent pillow and stretches her hand to scratch the dog between the ears. Which is very much appreciated and met with a healthy waggle of his tail.
“Is he helping?” Harry’s warm voice lifts a burden off her chest as his arms snake about her petite body and wrap her against him.
Ginny relaxes into him for precisely five seconds, until a new wave of pain and nausea drive her back into the fetal position, eyes closed firmly and teeth gritted.
Harry simply holds her - tighter when she whimpers, tenderly when she stills. Later, when a calm and soft expression settles over her tear blotched face, he gently whispers a song favored by his mother that never failed to calm him when he was sad or sick, until Ginny drifts to sleep.
“You already got me, no need to try harder,” Ginny blows a mouthful of air as she scans Harry head to toe.
He grins devilishly, “Dunno, Gin, wild things happen whenever I wear this hat so,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
She clasps her arms around his neck, pressing into him and speaking tenderly, “I blame that hat for turning me into a gross human faucet every damn morning.”
“I blame the beautiful woman waiting for me naked on my desk,” he lightly chuckles and kisses her, lingering a moment over her bottom lip.
“Some moves you had that day, Potter,” Ginny whispers seductively, continuing where he left off, completely melting into his embrace.
Until a scoff and the equivalent of a scoff in dog language interrupts their little snogging session in the middle of the living room, reminding everybody that they’re about to be late to the Halloween-in-November party currently unfolding at the Burrow. And judging by the level of anxiousness and giddiness Teddy’s been running on the past days, nobody wants to delay their arrival any longer for fear that he might somehow explode.
Harry takes one last look at his leather-clad bum in the hallway mirror and starts towards the door. But not before Ginny notices and, checking that Teddy and Snuffles are too busy assembling last small touches to their pair outfits - wizard and his pet cat, she smacks him playfully and mouths a rather dirty compliment aimed at his adventurer-in-leather look.
Harry blushes adorably and pulls her closer, “I see pregnancy’s improved the foul side of your vocabulary, miss.”
