#hbp missing moment
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all of gryffindor: look at our prefects dawg, we’re never winning the house cup
romione in their sixth year if i had it my way
#romione#ron weasley#ronald weasley#hermione granger#rbw#hjg#harry potter#harry potter and the half blood prince#harry potter hbp#hp#hbp missing moment#ronmione#ron x hermione#hermione x ron#my art#harry potter fanart#hp fanart#procreate#illustration#character design#character art#half blood prince
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Conclusions
Ginny's run out of her good parchment and has been reduced to using something she dug out of the bottom of her trunk, hating the way her quill scratches over the rough surface. As though it isn’t punishment enough to be writing about History of Magic, she’s got to do it on this piece of rubbish.
“Bloody, buggering fu–” she swears as the point of her quill pierces a hole straight through her conclusion. Apt, probably - it had been flimsy at best. There’s a metaphor here, somewhere.
“Revision going well, then?”
The wry voice startles her so much that she nearly upends her bottle of ink all over her weak – in more ways than one – essay. “Fuck, Harry, I’d no idea you were there.”
She blinks up at him in surprise and finds him smirking, standing at the table she’s claimed in a corner of the library, looking adorably entertained by her plight. His bookbag is slung carelessly over his shoulder, his hair mussed, his stupid face made more handsome by the teasing lilt of his smile. Her heart flutters a bit, because that’s just what it always does with him. She ignores it valiantly, and hates him for it, a little.
“Sorry,” he says, though he sounds more amused than anything. “Mind if I sit?”
“Course,” she says, gesturing to the seat opposite. “Can’t guarantee there won’t be more swearing, though.”
He eyes her holey essay as he sits, jerking his head questioningly toward the parchment. “What’re you working on?”
“Something for Binns.”
“Ah, I’d be swearing, too.”
“Fucking hell, eh?”
They share a smile, and Ginny reckons she’d be better off writing an essay about that - the way she knows exactly when he’ll find something funny; the way jokes fall a bit flat when the punchline isn’t his eyes seeking her out, green and piercing and flickering with amusement. She’d fill the parchment with ease.
It’s easy to write about something you can’t stop reading into.
Just like she’s madly reading into the way he’s shown up here - no Ron, no Hermione - and sought her out, like it’s normal, like they’ve been doing this for years even though they haven’t. It feels like they have, though. That’s the worst part of it.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks, like he might just come right out and say it - to see you.
He doesn’t. She pretends that she can’t be disappointed by what she expects.
“Transfiguration,” he says darkly.
“Where’re Ron and Hermione, then?” she prods, picking at it like a scab, like a masochist. I wanted to get you alone, she urges him to say. I’ve been trying to all week and I haven’t even been subtle about it.
“Dunno,” he shrugs. Scabs bleed when you pick them, incidentally. “I can survive an evening without them, you know.”
“Can you? I don’t reckon your track record is all that spectacular on that front, if I’m honest.”
“Hey, I haven’t died even once.”
“Right,” she jokes. “Angling for a new nickname? ‘The Boy Who Hasn’t Died, Even Once’?”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “Rolls right off the tongue, that.”
“I’ll owl Rita for you. We can workshop something”
They smile.
She wants to shake him until he admits to it, confesses, like this thing brewing between them is a crime. She wants to lay all the evidence out in front of him, the aspiring Auror, and see what he makes of it. He can’t quip his way around the smiles and the banter and the looks he gives her. See, she’ll say, don’t you see?
He’s got shit vision.
They sit together for far longer than she’d planned to stay. At some point he adjusts in his seat, and his foot winds up touching hers, and he doesn’t even have the decency to move it. She fancies she can feel his warmth through their trainers, but no - it must be her own traitorous heart, frantically pumping warm blood to her foot like it’s the only part of her body that needs it, like the parts of her that aren’t touching him have ceased to matter because maybe they have.
Maybe she’s been distilled to the edge of her foot.
They talk about strategies for the Quidditch final, and OWLs, and argue playfully about which of her mum’s mince pies is the best. Ginny’s always fancied herself good at impressions, but she surprises even herself with her impression of easy nonchalance. All the while it’s building - each look, each smile, each easy joke they set each other up for feels like a firework she’s adding to the heap in her chest, ready to explode with the slightest spark.
You’ve got me alone, she tells him. Do something about it.
It’s nearly curfew. They start gathering their things, and still he hasn’t done anything. If he were any other boy, Ginny would cut through the bullshit herself, but something holds her back. She can’t fully articulate, unravel, why, but she needs him to be the one to admit it. She needs him to decide she’s worth the risk. He’s meant to be brave, isn’t he?
As she’s packing it away, Ginny remembers her abandoned essay, still punctured pathetically. She sighs, holds it up for Harry’s evaluation. “Think Binns’ll even notice?”
“Give it here,” he says, and she hands it over. He pulls his wand from his robes and waves it wordlessly, the gaping tear sewing itself together so it might never have been there. Ginny doesn’t know why she hadn’t thought to do that herself.
“Thanks. Only now, I’ve actually got to write a damn conclusion.”
He laughs and holds it back out to her. “You’re on your own.”
“Aren’t you meant to have a hero complex?” she quips, pushing the parchment back toward him. “Some useful saving-people thing? Have a go.”
To her immense surprise, he shoots her a wry smirk that sends a tingle through her stomach. “Alright.” He pulls out the quill he’d only just packed away, scrawls something at the bottom of her parchment, shielding it from view.
She’s gone utterly daft. Her heart is hammering in her chest, beating a tattoo on her ribcage; she wonders if her fingers are trembling as they reach across to take her essay back, fully convinced she’ll find the words Go out with me scribbled there.
In conclusion, he’d written, this essay is over.
She snorts, mostly at herself. She’s officially deluded. Cracked. What is wrong with her?
“Wow. Thanks for that,” she says drily. “How would Binns have known otherwise?”
He grins. “Anytime.”
“Totally unrelated, but do you offer refunds? Perhaps a voucher for another Harry Potter rescue at a later date?”
“Non-refundable. Sorry.”
“I’m going to be honest,” she lies. “I expected a better rescue than that.”
He shrugs. “You expect too much from The Boy Who Hasn’t Died, Even Once.”
She can’t help herself; she laughs. His eyes seek hers out - green, so green, twinkling with amusement and something that looks so fond. She’s going to set fire to the heap of fireworks in her chest, just to get it over with. She’ll explode in color, driven to madness by the boy who hadn’t died even once but who’d killed her, slowly, with smiles.
In conclusion, she thinks, I’m utterly fucked.
#hinny#canon compliant#hbp missing moment#it's still valentine's day somewhere#not here#but somewhere
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Priorities
A/N: I swear I'm going back to SEL now, but I sat down at my keyboard and this just came out of nowhere. Please accept this fluff filled HBP missing moment in penance for my procrastination:
Read on AO3
“Dean!”
Harry's stomach dropped at the sound of Dean's name from a voice that was unmistakably Ginny's. He turned to find her hurrying towards them across the common room, her school bag hanging haphazardly from her shoulder, and her eyes bright despite the early hour.
He wanted to keep walking. He'd thought he'd finally seen the last of her and Dean together since their break up a week ago, and he had no desire to witness more of it now, but Seamus stopped, and Harry had agreed to go to breakfast with both of them in place of Ron and Hermione, who were both busy with prefect duties.
Reluctantly, Harry halted beside Seamus, trying to look at anything but the way the morning sunlight slanted through the common room's high windows and made Ginny's hair look like it was glowing where it framed her face.
“I hoped I'd catch you before you left the common room,” she said. Harry tried not to listen, but it was impossible, it was like his ears were attuned to the exact, musical frequency of Ginny's voice.
“Did you?” Dean asked sceptically. “We've not really spoken since we–”
“Well, I've been busy with Quidditch, and OWL work,” Ginny said, and even without looking Harry knew she'd be waving a hand unconcernedly in front of her. “But I wanted to give you this back.”
Beside Harry, Seamus sucked in a sharp breath. Harry’s neck moved without any permission from his brain, forcing him to look.
She was holding an article of claret coloured clothing out to Dean, one that Harry recognised immediately. Something integral inside him had taken great offence the first time he’d seen her wearing Dean's West Ham jumper; he'd not grown to appreciate it any more on any of the following, mercifully infrequent, occasions either.
“You can keep it,” Dean said now, looking extremely caught off guard. “I didn’t expect you to give it back.”
Ginny shook her head. “No, it's yours. I meant to give it you last week, but I've been–”
“Busy,” Dean finished for her. “You said.”
He took the jumper, clutching it awkwardly against his body. Harry looked away again. Seamus cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“I'll just put this in the dorm,” Dean said. “No point carrying it around all day.”
“I’ll come with you,” Seamus offered. Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on a tapestry of a witch petting a unicorn hanging on the far wall.
“Bye, Ginny.”
“Bye, Dean.”
Harry felt rather than saw Seamus move away from him. He heard the simultaneous footsteps of him and Dean making their way back to the dormitory. He didn't look away from the tapestry until he heard the door to the staircase open, when he did, it was to find Ginny looking at him apologetically.
“Did I just doom you to a solitary breakfast?”
Harry shrugged, ignoring the flutter of butterflies rising in his stomach. “Not if you come with me?”
Thankfully, Ginny grinned in response to this suggestion, meaning Harry was spared from dying of embarrassment that morning.
“Come on then. I need to report back to Mum that you're eating properly.”
“Why would I not be eating properly?” He followed her to the portrait hole.
Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know, it's Mum, she thinks everyone's not eating properly.”
The corridor outside Gryffindor Tower was deserted. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way towards the staircase.
“Sorry if that was really awkward,” Ginny said, throwing a glance over her shoulder, obviously checking for Dean, who did not appear to have come back down from the dormitory yet. “I've been carrying that bloody jumper around in my bag for days trying to find a time to give it back. I had to take the opportunity when it was presented to me.”
“Honestly, I'm just glad it's gone,” Harry said, before his brain could engage his mouth. Ginny's eyebrows rose about as much as Harry's heart plummeted. “It's killed me to see you in West Ham colours,” he said quickly.
Ginny frowned. “I didn't realise you were such a big football fan.”
Well, he was going to have to pretend to be now. “I live with Muggles, don't I?”
“You've never mentioned a football team,” she pressed.
Harry could feel her eyes studying his face like a physical touch. His heart was hammering in his chest; his brain had conveniently chosen that moment to stop working; he couldn't name a single football team even with a wand to his head.
“I–”
“Actually, I have a more important question!” Ginny announced, saving Harry from whatever stuttered nonsense had been about to come out of his mouth. “Do you even have a Quidditch team?”
They were at the staircase now, Ginny was a few steps ahead of him, making their height difference even starker than usual as she looked up at him curiously.
“Er, Gryffindor?” Harry tapped the Captain's badge pinned to his jumper.
“No!” Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation. She paused, waiting for Harry to catch up to her. “An actual team – a professional team?”
“Oh, I guess–”
“Don't say it!” Ginny said, ending Harry's sentence once more. Her eyes narrowed. “If you tell me Ron's converted you to the Cannons, I'm going to disown you.”
“Disown me?” he repeated, his smile growing in response to the one gracing Ginny's face. “I wasn't aware you owned me to begin with.”
“Weren't you?” She looked away from him, taking the next flight of stairs two at a time. “Well, now you are.”
“Unless I tell you I'm a Cannons supporter?” Harry increased his pace to keep up with her. “And then you're going to disown me?”
“Exactly.”
Was she blushing or was that just in Harry's head?
“I'd better not risk it then.”
She was definitely blushing. Or, more likely, he had started with waking delusions to match the near constant ones he had about her in his dreams.
Ginny stopped on the step directly below him. She turned, placing her hand lightly on Harry's chest, halting both his descent, and the beat of his heart.
“Let me tell you why you should be a Holyhead Harpies fan.”
“Is this your sales pitch?” It was a wonder he could speak at all when his lungs had stopped working.
She nodded. She was so close, her head tilted up to look at him, and her hand on his chest spreading warmth throughout his entire body. It would be so easy to lean down and–
Ginny took a step backwards, letting her arm fall away from Harry as she continued down the stairs. Her eyes, however, never left his.
“One.” She lifted a finger in the air beside her. “Choosing the only all-female team in the league will make you appear sensitive, and extremely attractive, to most girls.”
“You want me to make a decision as important as this based on what girls might think?”
Somehow, he managed to keep to himself that he was on the verge of doing just that, based on what one particular girl might think.
Ginny shrugged. “It's a sales pitch, I'm trying to appeal to your top priorities.”
“Well, the opinions of unknown girls isn't one of them.”
“Good to know.”
“Is it?” He hadn't meant for his voice to drop so low, but he definitely liked the way Ginny's smile grew in response.
“Yes, it helps me figure out my angle.” She raised a second finger in the air. “Two: their colours are green and gold, which my mother would assure you are your colours too.”
Harry laughed; the sound bounced off the ancient walls surrounding them. “So, upon hearing I'm not making this choice based on the opinion of girls I might, hypothetically, want to impress, your next thought was your mum?”
“No!” Ginny protested through a laugh of her own. “My next thought was that you look good in green!”
Harry's laughter died as his breath was stolen from him once again.
“Three,” Ginny said quickly, raising a third finger into the air. “This one is the most important.”
“Go on,” he managed to say.
They were almost at the marble staircase now. Ginny halted their progress by leaning against the balustrade that overlooked the entrance hall. Harry lingered beside her, finding nothing to complain about in spending longer in her company.
“In a few years, when they sign me – which is definitely going to happen – you don't want the inner turmoil of choosing between your loyalty to another team and me.”
“There would be no inner turmoil,” Harry said, acutely aware that he should shut up, but finding himself completely incapable of doing so when Ginny was looking at him like she currently was. “I would obviously choose you.”
Her smile was almost too brilliant to look at, yet Harry couldn't look away. “Oh, so you'd say I'm quite high on your priority list?”
He didn't know if she took a step closer, or he did, all he knew was that the gap between them had decreased significantly, and that his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest.
“Fairly high, yeah.”
Ginny's eyes bored into his; Harry was transfixed. He waited, barely breathing, to see what her response would be. The corner of her mouth twitched–
“There you are!” Ron's voice crashed into him with the force of a lightning bolt.
Harry jumped back from Ginny, whipping his head around to see Ron and Hermione approaching, Ron grinning broadly, and Hermione looking almost as pained as Harry currently felt.
“Have you eaten?” Ron asked.
Harry glanced at Ginny to find her glaring at Ron. “We were just on our way to breakfast.”
“Excellent,” Ron said obliviously. “We're done with rounds.”
He continued walking, without stopping, in the direction of the marble staircase, apparently secure in the knowledge that Harry and Ginny would join him and Hermione. A fair assumption, Harry reminded himself, pushing off the balustrade.
“I'm going to tell him,” Ginny said, quietly enough for only Harry to hear as she fell into step beside him. Harry's stomach sank, his brain leaping into overdrive, imagining Ginny informing Ron that he'd just spent the whole walk from the common room treacherously flirting with his sister. “...that you've betrayed the Cannons in favour of the Harpies.”
“I don't think I actually agreed to that yet.” He hoped his shaking voice was only detectable to him.
If Ginny noticed, she didn't show it. She was smiling again, her eye catching his. “You as good as did,” she said as they crossed the entrance hall. “But don't worry, it can be our secret for now.”
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Hinny - HBP missing moment… Ginny flirting teasing Harry 👓
#ginny was teasing harry about how blind he was and asked if he could locate her#he was too shy to tell her he could smell exactly where she was#she had him blushing profusely#there was nothing he wanted more than to snog her senseless#she secretly loves stealing his glasses so she can look into his eyes#this wasn’t the first time and definitely not the last#harry x ginny#hinny#hbp missing moment#ginny x harry#ginny weasley#harry potter#harry potter ai#ai generated
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Bathroom Light
It's been two years since I've written anything, but I heard the song Bathroom Light by Mt. Joy, and this story wrote itself. Rated M for Ron's thoughts. <3
***
x
Find me a lane to drive through
In a Halloween costume
I'm an astronaut without you
x
As usual, the Three Broomsticks was bursting with Hogwarts students on a Saturday night. Echoes of conversations bounced off the walls, cluttering Ron’s mind like a cloud of wrackspurts, which made it even harder than usual to focus on his date. Lavender had been chatting about a new beauty charm she learned from Parvati. Or was it from Witch Weekly? Honestly, Ron didn’t know, but apparently it had something to do with volumizing curls. Maybe.
Ron stared into his half empty butterbeer. Although he was tempted to chug the rest of it, he just knew that if someone in particular saw him gulping it down like a river troll, she’d disapprove. He shouldn’t care what that someone in particular would think, as they weren’t even on speaking terms, but for some reason he still did.
“Are you listening to me?”
Ron’s skin prickled at her question, and his fingers clenched around his glass of butterbeer. “Yes, of course I’m listening,” he lied.
“Then what did I just say?” asked Lavender, one eyebrow raised.
“Something about beauty charms…”
Lavender’s eyes narrowed.
“Beauty charms that you don’t even need.”
Ron’s shoulders relaxed when Lavender’s face softened into a grin. “Aww. You’re sweet.”
He smiled back at her and took in her features. She wore a different color lipstick than usual for their date, and it had taken Ron by surprise when he first saw her. Lavender had seemed hurt by his reaction. He tried to assure her that he didn’t think of her lipstick color as good or bad, but apparently that was the wrong thing to say.
Truth be told, he didn’t actually know what Lavender looked like without all the effort, but he knew better than to mention that. She took great pride in her appearance and wanted validation — that Ron could understand. Some guys equated makeup and beauty charms with deceit, and Ron really didn’t want to be one of those guys. But was it wrong to want to know what your girlfriend really looked like?
And honestly, he’d love to go on a date that had the potential of ruining someone’s perfectly curated hair. Lavender wouldn’t even watch one of his Quidditch games if it was raining for fear of ruining her appearance. Even though that would mean so much more to him than finding a never-before-seen shade of lip balm just for him. He couldn’t shake the image of someone else sitting in the stands at a particularly stormy Quidditch game, her curls soaked down to heavy waves that stuck to her face, completely unbothered by the fact that she looked like she’d nearly drowned in the great lake.
As if reality read his mind, those same curls caught his eye, bouncing along the edge of the pub toward the loo. His eyes immediately followed Hermione until the light of the bathroom hallway illuminated her. Who was she here with? Harry or Ginny? Neither had mentioned anything about going to Hogsmeade tonight, and the thought made his stomach feel as heavy as a bezoar. Was she on a date?
The persistent thought, the one that he was usually pretty good at keeping at bay flooded into his mind like a dam had broken. What would happen if he followed her?
x
We're twisting our way to the back of the bar
Yeah, locking the door, falling into the stall…
x
Maybe she would respond positively. Those canaries meant something. No one would attack a person for kissing someone else if they only held platonic feelings. Ron definitely wasn’t wrong about that. It was possible that she’d welcome a grand gesture from him.
Was following her into a bathroom stall in a crowded pup a grand gesture? It surely wasn’t on the same level as hiring a string quartet or writing a romantic poem. But if memories of a rogue mountain troll served him correctly, it wouldn’t be the first time their relationship changed in a bathroom.
Suppose he got up, followed her, and she invited him in. Then what?
That would never happen. But it didn’t hurt to imagine, right?
x
Stripping you down to your jewelry
You're breaking the rules just for me
What a life under big stars and a good woman in charge
Got me falling in, got me falling in hard.
x
Would she want him to kiss her the way he kissed Lavender in the common room that first time? Because honestly, he probably couldn’t. It would be so different.
If he kissed Hermione in that bathroom there would be no hesitation. His mind wouldn’t freeze and turn on autopilot without a moment’s thought about the fallout of his actions. He’d kiss her not in spite of the consequences, but because of them. Could a kiss ruin their friendship?
So be it, ruin the friendship. Sometimes things needed to burn down to grow back stronger.
It wouldn’t just be a kiss. If the scars on his arms meant anything, she had passion. Sure, that manifested poorly sometimes, but it wouldn’t in that bathroom. He could just imagine her tugging at his shirt while he plucked at the buttons on her blouse, pieces of clothing hitting the floor one by one, until all she was left wearing was that perfume he got her back in fifth year.
He’d run his fingers through her perfectly voluminous curls that needed no beauty charms, and maybe she’d bite down on his lip as her bare legs wrapped around his waist. His fingers would dig into the skin of her thighs, and she’d groan her approval, which would have a similar effect to setting Ron on fire.
Something Ron loved about Hermione was her relationship with rules. She knew the ins and outs of every rule in the book, so when it came time to break them, she was the one to ask. She could get away with anything without risking her perfect reputation, especially for someone she cared about. Setting a professor’s robes on fire? Check. Blackmailing and transfiguring a nefarious journalist? Check. Jinxing the D.A. sign up sheet? Check. That one time she snuck a flask of firewhiskey on a prefect round, and they skipped patrol to drink in an empty classroom? Check. Harry didn’t even believe Ron when he told him about that last one, and honestly, Ron preferred it that way. It made it seem special.
If breaking rules was Ron’s love language, Hermione was fluent, and she only spoke it for him.
So even though he was on a date with someone else, and maybe she was too, it wasn’t difficult to imagine her fully letting him in under the dim bathroom light. He’d prop her up on the sink; she’d tug on his front zipper and slip him out of his trousers. And despite the fact that they were in a dingy stall in the bathroom of an overcrowded pub, he’d do to her what he’d only ever imagined in his dreams. Fuck the consequences.
Shag her best friend in the bar bathroom? She definitely would. Check.
x
So, come on, baby, let's do this right
I think I like falling in love in the bar bathroom light
I won't question it, I won't mess with it, if it's there go grab it
Tell your friends you love who they are
x
“Ron, are you okay?”
Lavender sat with her elbows on the table, head cocked to the side, a look of concern on her face.
“Yeah. Why?” he asked, trying his best to hide the resentment creeping up from the fact that she yanked him from the most beautiful daydream.
“You seem distracted.”
Ron immediately felt heavy with guilt. What was wrong with him? He was here with a gorgeous woman, and couldn’t control the trajectory of his fantasies.
“I’m sorry. Just tired,” he lied. In fact, he was more energized than ever. “Can we go back?”
“Yeah,” said Lavender, with a brief flash of disappointment on her face. “Want to finish your beer first?”
Ron glanced at his butterbeer, still half empty. Hermione obviously wasn’t looking, so he put the glass to his lips and chugged it.
“Let’s go,” he said. The pair stood up to leave, and Lavender reached for his hand. Who was he to think of makeup and beauty charms as deceit when he was the one imagining shagging someone else in the bathroom?
Yet, on the way out the door, it took everything he had to avoid stealing one more glance toward the bathroom at the back of the bar.
#romionefic#ron x hermione#romione#ron and hermione#hpromione#hermione granger#ron weasley#hermione#hbp missing moment#romioneangst#songfic#angst#one shot
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"Harry... and Ginny."
A happy squeal. "Yes."
"Ginny and Harry."
"Yes."
"My best friend and—"
"Your best sister." The giggle turns into a snort, but Hermione is past caring. She was right, despite Harry's throw away comments and Ginny's insistence that they were just friends—Hermione had seen that from afar.
And, yes, she is also happy for them.
Ron blinks. "Did you know?"
"That Harry was going to come here, Ginny would jump into his arms, and they would snog in front of everyone? Well, no. But that they had feelings for each other... it was obvious."
"It bloody wasn't—a guy has no warning—why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you turn a Welsh Dragon whenever you think someone might fancy your sister."
Ron's ears turn pink. "Well, I'm her big brother, someone needs to—but anyway, it's Harry. He wouldn't, you know—"
"Mistreat Ginny?" She smirks. "I'm pretty sure Harry is treating her very well right now."
"No, stop it, I don't want—seeing once was more than enough—"
"I don't think you only see it once."
"Ugh—why are you being mean?"
She sobers up. "I'm not." She pulls him close to the table with drinks, urging Ron to accept a butterbeer. "I just think you should prepare yourself. And I know Harry, he was nervous around you as it was."
"Me? Why?"
"Ron... you are 'her big brother'. Welsh Dragon? Almost jinxed Dean?"
"It was Dean. He wasn't good enough."
"Oh, keep talking like that and it's Ginny who you should worry about, not Harry."
"Even Ginny agrees that Dean is a git now."
"The only thing Ginny agrees with is that you have no business in her romantic life—right? You are not giving Harry the older brother talk, are you?"
"I will?" His eyes widen. "Oh, Merlin's butt, I should, shouldn't I? It's Harry—"
"Your best friend, exactly! Don't give him a hard time—Harry's had a crush on Ginny for ages now—"
"I won't give him a hard time." Ron frowns. "I may have been blind to Harry crushing on my sister, but I saw how they looked."
"And how it was?"
"Happy," says Ron simply. "Ginny is that bright spot of sunshine when she wants, okay, nothing unusual, but Harry—he was beaming. I never saw him like that, not on his first Quidditch match, nor when Gryffindor won the cup. It was almost weird."
Hermione sighs. "Yeah... After everything—I am so thrilled for them."
"Me too," he agrees, then Ron blinks. "Me too." He coughs. "That's not to say I am not going to have a little talk with Harry—"
"Ron..."
"But away from Ginny's ears. Just in case."
She grins. "Smart."
(a prequel to this)
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Rotten Holiday
by takearisk
Rotten holiday, Valentine’s Day.
First of all, the colors: garish pinks and in-your-face reds that have no business being that bright.
Secondly, the décor: explosions of hearts, and cherubs, and flowers. Good god, the flowers. There was no way Professor Sprout needed to grow that many bouquets and blossoms except for the express need to annoy him.
Thirdly, the giggling. Harry had started taking secret passageways completely out of the way of his classes just to avoid the titter from various groups that seemed hell bent on forcing him into some form of self-disfigurement. Mainly, the urge to shove his quill, pointy end first, straight into his forehead to put himself out of his misery.
But fourthly, the couples. What on earth could be so special about the first two weeks in February that every pair of boyfriend and girlfriend had to parade through the halls hand in hand. Or more nauseatingly, hide down deserted corridors locked mouth to mouth.
In short, Harry was damn near convinced that everyone in the school had lost their minds.
read on ao3
#hinny#harry/ginny#hinny fanfic#hp fanfic#harry potter#ginny weasley#hbp missing moment#this is a repost of something i wrote last year but never actually made an aesthetic for#my fic#my edit#HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY
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May 6: Bold
Written for @hinnymicrofic
“Better put the salve on that Harry. Looks like it’ll bruise— sorry.”
Peakes stands in the doorway across from him, expression sheepish, holding a tin containing the bruise salve.
At the mention of his injury, Harry flushes, praying the reason he was hit head on by a bludger during practice wasn’t completely obvious to the rest of the team.
Because of course, the reason is Ginny— or more aptly, his inability to keep his eyes off Ginny.
“That’s alright. Glad we’ve got a beater with good aim,” he says, trying to keep his tone light, ignoring the smarting pain from the spot on his left arm where the bludger hit. “Ravenclaw won’t know what hit them.”
Peakes beams at the praise.
“Cheers.” Peakes tosses the tin of salve across to where he sits on the changing room bench.
Harry catches it in his right hand with a wave. “See you tomorrow.”
He rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt, trying to reach around to the back side of his left arm, where he’s certain a nasty bruise is forming.
“Here, let me help.”
His head snaps up at the sound of her voice across the now-empty changing room. Ginny walks towards him from the cubicle, her long hair swept up into a ponytail, cheeks still flushed from practice.
He’s struck, yet again, by how beautiful she is.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to—“ his words die as she takes the tin from his hands and her fingers graze over his palm.
“It’ll be easier, you can hardly reach.”
Her fingers, warm and gentle, press the salve onto his bicep.
His stomach does a Wronski Feint.
“I suppose I should apologize,” she says, the corner of her lips curving upwards as her fingers make smooth circles on his arm.
He stares at her for a moment too long, tries to ignore his stomach, now doing backflips as she rubs the salve in. He knows she’s teasing, setting up a joke, but he hasn’t worked out the punchline yet.
“What for?” he replies, hoping his hair looks handsomely windswept and not like the disaster he fears it is.
“For scoring such a spectacular goal that you completely missed that bludger bearing down on you.” Her smile widens as she says it.
His laughter echoes in the empty room.
He speaks before he thinks, the words spilling out, honest— something he’s noticed happens a lot when he’s talking to Ginny.
“It wasn’t the goal I was distracted by.”
It was you. I can’t stop looking at you. I fancy you.
He doesn’t say it, his self preservation instinct kicking in. He looks up at her instead and adds with a grin, “Though it was a brilliant right hook, as usual.”
He swears that her cheeks flush, but then he’s back to staring into her eyes, warm, golden brown, shining in the light.
“Well, it couldn’t have been the snitch, because I saw it take off towards the far hoops as I passed mid pitch.” Her smirk is back, her lips full and pink.
He wants nothing more than to kiss her.
“Unless I’m just seeing things?” Her brow quirks, a challenge.
“You aren’t,” he says, heart racing, mouth dry, as close as he’s ever come to telling her how he feels.
“Well, what was it then?”
You. Just you. Always you.
She sets the tin onto the bench, and she’s closer now— close enough that he can see her long lashes and the faint dusting of freckles across her nose.
He looks straight into her eyes, decides.
This is it. This is the moment. Be bold.
He tilts his chin up towards her, moves closer, and she leans towards him, her lips slightly parted, eyes closing—
Bang! The slam of the door to the shower cubicle echoes.
They jolt apart as Ron appears, fully dressed, hair damp. “Let’s go to dinner, I’m starving.”
Harry has never loathed his best mate’s absolute shit timing more.
“Thanks for waiting,” Ron says, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s fucked Harry’s chances.
“We weren’t, you idiot.” Ginny rolls her eyes and motions to Harry’s arm and the salve tin on the bench.
“That’s going to be nasty tomorrow.” Ron winces, looking at his arm, where the salve shines over the bludger’s mark. “Harry, mate, you’ve got to keep your eyes up. Don’t want to miss what’s right in front of you.”
Harry looks straight at her, hopes she’ll understand.
“Don’t worry— next time, I won’t.”
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Nov. 15 - Run!
@hinnymicrofic
The Burrow - Summer of 1996
They hid behind the bush next to the large oak tree. It was the perfect hiding spot and vantage point.
All they had to do was wait.
“Are you sure he’s going to go for it?” she asked, not entirely convinced Ron would fall for it. I mean the string was right there. He was an idiot though, especially when good was involved.
Harry just shot her a lopsided smirk that made her stomach swoop. Or maybe it was the earthy scent that she couldn’t shake around him.
“Course, I am. He’s my best mate, but he’s never seen a pudding he didn’t like.”
She nodded - it was a fair assessment.
“Besides, I pulled this loads of times on my cousin and his gang, when they…”, but he stopped mid sentence, a crease forming between his eyes.
“When they what”, she whispered.
He just shook his head. “Nothing, forget about it. It’ll work.”
She furrowed her brow, wondering what he was going to say. But then, he shifted his weight to the other foot and his shoulder bumped up against her accidentally. He reached out a hand to grab her shoulder to steady himself - sending her an apologetic smirk. It made her heart hammer a little faster.
She liked this, being friends. Actually having a summer together. Pulling pranks. She would do anything to get his mind off of…well, Sirius and everything.
Just then the back door sprung open and Ron and Hermione came out - flirting bickering about something or what.
“Shhh,” she whispered loudly to him, smacking his arm repeatedly although neither one of them had said anything. He shot her a look that said he’s got it and her heart started racing again.
It was going to be perfect.
Ron and Hermione made straight for the pond and she couldn’t believe their luck.
Walking up, Ron caught sight of the treacle tart slice lying in wait - clearly missing the light string hooked on the plate.
“Ah, perfect,” Ron said and bent down mid argument to reach for it.
“Honestly, Ron - it could be infested with bugs. You have no idea how long it’s been there,” Hermione said. And that would have been a great idea.
She shot Harry a look and could tell by his eyes lifting that he was thinking the same. What a missed opportunity.
He shot her an appraising look and she nodded for him to go ahead. Just as Ron reached down, Harry pulled the string and the plate moved a few paces toward the pond.
Ron paused mid-grab, appraising it. “What the- did you see that?!”
Hermione rolled her eyes, already back on whatever they were flirting arguing about.
In the split second Ron looked at her, she grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled the string back more. It was closer to the pond now, right near the curve of the bank, but Ron wouldn’t notice. What with Hermione and the prospect of free pudding there for the taking.
He turned around, seemed to appraise it for a minute, before shaking his head like he was seeing things.
She and Harry were both shaking with barely contained laughter at this point.
Just a bit further…
Ron reached for the plate again and just as Ron was taking hold, Harry pulled the string again hard - the resulting surprise causing Ron to curse, lose his footing on the bank, and tumble right into the pond.
Jackpot.
He let out a howl of frustration as Hermione shrieked, finally figuring out what was happening.
Ron stood soaked in water and looked around for the culprit. “WHAT THE- WHO-“
Neither of them could help it. She and Harry were both doubled over, laughing hard.
“That’s for taking the last slice of treacle tart your Mum made me!” Harry bellowed.
Ron whirled around and caught sight of them both. “Are you serious!? You two!?” Even Hermione was laughing at this point.
Breathing heavy between laughs, a stitch starting to form in her side, she couldn’t help but double over again.
That was until she saw Ron racing out of the pond - threatening to pull them both in.
She didn’t have time to react. Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. “Run!”, he bellowed.
As she took off toward the safety of the orchard with him, she thought that If there was such a thing as heaven, it would be something like this.
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Smile
A HBP missing moment for @hinnymicrofic Day 1! 423 words
"Ginny, I am so sorry!" Peakes shouted at her hunched over body on the ground. He landed down next to her, reaching a hand out to comfort her.
Ginny smacked it out of the way.
His stupid, rogue bludger bashed into her face, putting her into this position. Judging by the pain in her face and the blood, well, everywhere, she probably had a broken nose.
Maybe it wasn't a rogue bludger, maybe she was a little distracted.
Speaking of, her distraction came running over to her, elbowing Peakes out of the way.
"Gin, you good?" Harry asked.
Ginny grinned up at him, "Never better."
Harry quirked an eyebrow and turned to face the rest of the team behind them. "Practice is over, you are all dismissed while I help Ginny find her missing tooth."
Missing tooth?
Ginny ran her tongue across the top of her mouth.
Oh yup, there's definitely a new hole there. That explains the blood in her mouth.
She sat up as the rest of her teammates shuffled back to the changing rooms. She gave a two finger salute and mouthed "Fuck you" to Peakes when he turned his back to her.
Harry crouched down in front of her, blocking the setting sun, a halo of light encircled him. It was truly unfair how attractive he looked after practice.
"Are you actually okay, Ginny?" Harry asked, green eyes filled with concern. His hand reaching out to give her ankle a squeeze.
"It's so sweet you're worried, but this is nothing compared to the injuries I sustained when I jumped out of Fred and George's bedroom window when I was 9."
Harry shook his head at her, "And why would you do that?"
Ginny shrugged. "Fred bet that I wouldn't," she said, smiling at him.
"You look kinda silly when you smile with the missing tooth," Harry said, pointing to his front tooth.
"No, I look terrifying and attractive," Ginny countered.
"Yes, and kinda silly."
Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. His thumb traced circles on her ankle. The sun continued to give Harry a soft glow. His eyes roamed all across her face, focusing on her busted up mouth. Her brain tried to not focus on the fact that he didn't deny she looked attractive.
The moment was ruined when Ginny coughed blood up all over the front of her practice jersey.
Very attractive.
"Come on, Toothless," Harry stood, extending a hand to Ginny to help her up. "Let's go visit Madame Pomfrey. I know she misses us."
#does she smile or does she mouth fuck you forever#hinny#ginny weasley#harry potter#hp#hbp#hbp missing moment#am i going to try to find a taylor lyric to work in every one of these fics I write? yes yes I am? its my brand#harry x ginny
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changing tides
ao3 link above
Ginny learns more from a cheerful Harry than she expects. It's a good thing she has Romilda to hate for it.
The sight of Harry and Ron scampering through the Gryffindor Tower corridor, arms wrapped around each other, is startling enough. But when Ginny sees Harry snuggle his head into Ron's shoulder, she careens to a halt.
She figures there's context, but this would explain a lot about the two of them.
"Would you stop loitering about and help me?" Ron bursts out.
Ginny rolls her eyes and abandons her dark corner. "Harry finally confess his love to you?" she flashes a grin.
She doesn't hear the witty remark she expects. To her utter shock, a giggle reverberates through Harry's chest. His hand slaps swiftly on his mouth to hide it.
She frowns.
read here for more.
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Scent
@hinnymicrofic
“When did you finally figure it out?” Ginny asks. Her hair is fanned out around her, the red a shocking contrast to the green of the Quidditch pitch.
They’d been mucking about - flying, tossing a Quaffle, racing, perhaps brushing up against each other in the sky more than was strictly necessary for a casual scrimmage. They had finally headed for the ground as the sun made its lazy descent below the line of trees. Ginny had flopped down on the grass to watch it and Harry had joined her, the thrill of flying still singing in his chest. Or maybe that was just Ginny.
“Hmm?” Harry hums contentedly, watching the sky transition to a brilliant orange.
“When did you finally figure out that you fancied me?” Ginny asks, trailing her fingers through the grass.
The question startles him, because it seems to him now that he must’ve always fancied her, at least a bit, even if he was too thick to realize or too wrapped up in other things to notice. He’s still thinking when he answers, “When I wanted to throttle Dean.”
She laughs, which was what he’d intended. “Jealous, were you?”
“Mm,” he agrees, still mulling the question over.
Looking back on it, there are a great many glaring signals that Harry hadn’t recognized for what they were at the time. The way he’d longed for his summer with her to stretch on, the twinge of regret as she walked away on the train…
“That first Potions lesson, you were what I smelled in the Amortentia,” he muses. “That probably should’ve been a clue…”
He’d been thinking out loud, and only after he’s said it does he realize that was perhaps a more vulnerable confession than he’d intended to make. That’s a bit much, probably, when they’ve only been together a week.
“What?” Ginny says, and Harry wishes he could snatch the words back, wishes he could chew them up and swallow them to be buried somewhere deep in his gut where they belong.
“Yeah,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.
Ginny rolls over and props herself up on her elbows, her expression a mixture of incredulity and mischievousness. “Did you really? What did it smell like?”
“A few things,” he says, unable to look at her and instead pretending to be utterly entranced with the sunset. “Treacle tart. Something that smelled like my Firebolt. And…”
He finally looks at her, and finds that her eyes are glowing brighter than the sun ever could. “You.”
She seems to be struck uncharacteristically speechless, and the moment hangs for several panicked heartbeats. Then, she shuffles closer and presses her sweet lips down to his urgently, and Harry reckons he can’t have mucked it up too badly, as she runs her fingers through his hair and presses herself against him.
She pulls away suddenly and stares down at him, her eyes pressing him down into the earth, and then she lets out a bark of laughter.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“You–” she cuts herself off, rolling back over and letting out a loud breath that floats up into the darkening sky. “You can’t say shite like that to me.”
He has no idea what to say to that, but luckily she spares him by continuing. “You can’t, it isn’t fair. I already like you too much.”
Harry wonders whether the sun has set directly into his chest. “Well, me too. Clearly.”
Ginny snorts, and Harry reaches for her hand. He breathes in deeply, wanting to drink in the moment, and he thinks he catches the faint flowery scent of her lingering traitorously in the air.
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I have only recently discovered your writing and was wondering if you've done a scene where Harry tells Ginny he smells her in his Amortentia?
I just think you capture their personalities so perfectly that I think you'd do the scene justice.
Anon, you're my new favourite person - so I dropped everything and wrote this for you 😘
AO3 or read below:
The smell hit her like a punch to the gut.
It had been lying dormant, in wait, hanging unseen in the air of the dungeon corridor, ready for Ginny to wander unwittingly into its trap.
She wasn't even taking potions this year, but Luna was, and the first day of Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts had been so lonely and unpleasant that she'd been unable to resist using the end of her free period to wander down here to meet one of the few friendly faces remaining to her in the castle when the school day officially ended.
It wasn’t the homely, comforting aroma of her mother’s apple pie that had the heart-wrenching effect on her, nor was it the damp, earthy fragrance that brought to mind the orchard after summer rainfall. The scent that had Ginny leaning heavily against the cool stone wall was more subtle, a faint hint in the air of something woodsy, evergreen and clean, and so intrinsically Harry that she suspected it would’ve taken her breath away even if she’d been expecting it.
The door to the potions classroom burst open, spilling a handful of her classmates into the dimly-lit corridor. Ginny forced herself to stand upright, before anyone could see a hint of her distress.
Despite their shaking, her legs carried her forward. Some invisible force summoned her; she pushed against the crowd exiting Slughorn's classroom, slipping through the doorway; ignoring Luna's puzzled gaze as she followed the scent to a golden cauldron sitting atop the nearest desk.
The surface of the potion within had an opalescent sheen, and the vapour rising from it was ascending towards the stone ceiling in distinctive spirals that would’ve allowed her to identify it even if the overpowering scent hadn’t already given away its identity.
“Amortentia,” Ginny read aloud, peering over the top of Ron’s borrowed copy of Advanced Potion Making from where she was sitting on the ground opposite Harry. “Sounds a lot more interesting than levitation charms.”
Harry looked up. Distracted from his attempts at revision, his head fell back slightly against the beech tree he was leaning against. “Slughorn brewed it for our first lesson this year. I could smell it before I even walked into the classroom.”
Ginny tossed the charms textbook she’d been pretending to read aside, giving him her full attention, which, really, he’d had from the moment he’d convinced her to leave the library in favour of the castle's sunlit grounds. “And what does Harry Potter smell when confronted with the world’s strongest love potion?”
Harry’s cheeks flushed and Ginny’s grin widened. Making him blush was a new, and favourite, activity of hers. “I’ll tell you next year,” he said evasively. “When you can tell me what you smell too.”
Fleetingly, she considered accepting his non-answer. It was, after all, a deeply personal question. But this was one of the few boundary-pushing questions that Ginny could ask, unlike the others that she unswervingly steered away from – what are you whispering with Ron and Hermione about? What are you doing when you’re summoned to Dumbledore’s office? Why do I feel like talking about anything further ahead than next Tuesday is tempting a fate that I’m not ready to face? – Amortentia, by contrast, seemed utterly tame.
She rolled onto her stomach, her elbows sinking into the grass, supporting her upper body and holding it upright. Her smile, she knew, was full of challenge. “I bet I can guess.”
Harry’s eyes wandered the length of her body, before returning to her face. He mirrored her smirk. “And if you can’t?”
Laughter rose, light and breathy in her throat, but Ginny swallowed it down, schooling her face into a look of total seriousness. “A forfeit of your choosing… and if I win, a reward of mine.”
Despite what half the school would probably say, Harry was absolutely terrible at hiding his smile. He shook his head. “Considering my choice of forfeit, and your choice of reward are definitely the same thing, there doesn’t seem to be much risk for you here?”
“Or you,” Ginny countered, conveniently ignoring the risk of him having to reveal a deeply personal fact.
The spark in Harry’s eyes told her he hadn’t forgotten the risk, though he didn’t say as much. “We should probably just skip to kissing then.”
There was nothing she could do to contain her laughter in the face of such a brazen statement; it rang out clear and bright across the grounds. A few weeks ago, when she’d been starting to wonder if he was going to tiptoe around this growing attraction between them forever, the idea of him saying such a thing outright to her would’ve been unimaginable.
She tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider the suggestion. It did sound tempting, but Ginny knew that neither of them would really agree to it. Lines had been drawn. A challenge laid out. Satisfaction must be granted.
She started with the obvious. “Treacle tart.”
Harry’s smile fell, clearly concerned by the speed with which Ginny had delivered a correct guess. He recovered quickly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Been watching my dessert habits closely, have you?”
Ginny ignored this, finding nothing worthy of denial in the question. “Now it’s a matter of narrowing down what you like more… flying seems an obvious choice, but there’s your fondness for Hedwig to consider–”
“Hedwig?” Harry burst out. He leaned forward, leaving the tree trunk behind as he looked at her disbelievingly. “I did not smell my owl in a love potion!”
“Well, it sounds weird when you put it like that,” Ginny said, fighting the urge to laugh once more at the outraged expression on Harry’s face. “Stop looking at me like that! She's an important presence in your life – I think she’s amortentia-worthy!”
Harry’s expression remained unchanged. “...She’s an owl.”
“Fine,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “But I think Hedwig would be deeply offended by your reaction.”
Harry released a snort of laughter, returning his back to the tree. “Well, it’s a good job she’s not as nosy as you, so she’ll never have to know.”
“Flying then,” Ginny pondered loudly, her fingers twisting in the grass as she let Harry’s comment pass without argument. When it came to her interest in him, ‘nosy’ didn’t quite cover it.
She fell silent for a moment, considering the many possible scents associated with flying. Her mind immediately went to the rich, leathery fragrance of a quaffle, but she dismissed this at once. She was a chaser, not Harry. Snitches, delicate and metallic, didn’t really smell of anything in her opinion. Being in the air had a unique smell, fresh and clear, but that wasn’t right either.
Flying, she knew, started before you got in the air. Flying was the sense of anticipation, flying was the rush of pushing off from the ground, flying was endless possibilities.
“Your broom,” Ginny said definitively after another moment of deliberation. Broomsticks were freedom.
Harry nodded, confirming her guess correct. Their eyes met, and she knew, without either of them speaking, that her reasoning was sound too.
“Two out of three…” Ginny mused, waiting for Harry to correct her if her calculations were wrong. He didn’t.
This time the silence that fell between them was charged with suspense, though Ginny suspected this might just be in her head. A flutter of butterflies had broken loose in her stomach.
She didn't need to be in the presence of a cauldron of amortentia to know that she would smell him. The way he looked at her, it didn't feel completely out of the realm of possibility that Harry would smell Ginny too, but they'd only been together for a matter of weeks, and she'd wanted him for years, and if she guessed herself, and he told her she was wrong, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take the blow.
“Not Hedwig…” she smirked with an air of confidence she definitely didn't feel, buying time, and coaxing a smile onto Harry's face that went some way to soothing Ginny's nerves.
“Definitely not,” Harry agreed.
“More food?” Ginny hedged, watching his face carefully for a reaction. “Or something like that? You do have a liking for butterbeer.”
Harry shook his head. His lips pressed together but Ginny could still see a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You're doing this on purpose.”
Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. “Doing what?”
Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you make me admit it, you don't win.”
Her butterflies were flying wildly now, swooping and diving within her. For once, Ginny found she didn't care very much about winning at all. “I want you to say it.”
“Fine,” Harry sighed. His hand found hers on the ground, fingers entwining together in the long blades of grass. Much to Ginny's delight, his blush made a return. “You… your hair, if you want me to be specific.”
“My hair?” She asked, somewhat breathlessly. Her free hand reached out and pulled a strand of her hair to her nose. “It just smells like hair.”
Harry's cheeks turned from a faint rosy pink, to flushed crimson. “It smells like flowers.”
“Flowers,” Ginny whispered, elevating the word to the height of the world's greatest compliment in her mind. She was certain her smile looked completely ridiculous, but she was incapable of caring. She pulled herself upright, careful that their hands remained clasped together. She shuffled forwards on the grass until her face was inches from Harry's. “Really? My hair?”
“Yes,” Harry laughed; there was a hint of nervousness beneath the usually carefree sound. “Can you stop looking so pleased with yourself?”
Ginny's smile remained in place as she shook her head. “No, I don't think I can.”
“This can't be news to you,” he protested, apparently gathering some confidence from how clearly delighted Ginny was about this revelation. “Have I not made my feelings clear?”
She supposed he had, in a very Harry-ish way. Kissing her in the centre of the full common room had been a fairly loud declaration, even if no words had been exchanged at that particular moment, and he'd been very attentive from that moment onwards, but this was different. Amortentia was magic; pure, and ancient, and undeniable.
“I’m ready for my forfeit now,” Ginny announced, not waiting for any further instructions before leaning forwards, her lips finding his, eager to make her own feelings clear in what time they had left before lunch ended–
“Miss Weasley!” Professor Slughorn's voice pulled Ginny abruptly back to the present.
She was standing beside the golden cauldron; her knuckles had turned a ghostly white from the strength with which she gripped the edge of the desk. She was breathing deeply, taking in great lungfuls of the heady scent emanating from the potion.
Slughorn was frowning at her, his face a mask of concern and pity. Ginny wasn't sure which sentiment she hated more.
“Sorry,” she said, using all her force of will to take a definitive step away from the desk. “I was just looking for Luna.”
“I'm here,” Luna said from the doorway. Her eyes were wide, piercing. “Did you want to go to dinner?”
Ginny nodded, now that she'd come to her senses she was desperate to remove herself from the dungeons and the heavy miasma that surrounded her.
Slughorn cleared his throat uncomfortably before she'd taken even a step towards Luna. “Are you sure you're alright, Miss Weasley? I wouldn't want you to go up to dinner if you're not feeling yourself… there's a lot of observant eyes in the great hall these days.”
“I'm fine,” she lied, ignoring her thundering heart, and schooling her face into a mask of perfect neutrality she was already fed up with wearing after only one day of term.
“Very well,” Slughorn nodded, though he still looked reluctant to let her go. His eyes travelled between Ginny and Luna. “The weather's still quite fine for this time of year,” he said, his tone observational. “I always find a walk around the grounds to be a pleasant prelude to one's dinner… There's nothing quite like fresh air to clear the mind.”
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Written for @hinnymicrofic 's prompt #24, Hobby
Word count: 418
Harry impatiently scanned his Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook. His essay was due the next day, and he had to finish it before the scheduled Quidditch practice.
"Hey."
Harry gave a little start as someone stood in front of him. It was Ginny. Her long hair was tied into a messy braid and she had stuck a large, feathery quill behind her right ear. Harry couldn't help notice that she looked really, really pretty.
He sat up straight, pulling his large stack of books towards him to make space for her to sit beside him on the large, squashy couch.
"Hi, what's up?"
Ginny tucked a loose strand of flaming hair behind her ear as she sat on the couch. "I just wanted to tell you that I won't be able to join the practice today. I have my career advice session with McGonagall scheduled this evening."
"Career advice? I didn't have mine till May. I had Umbridge lurking in McGonagall's office during my session."
"Ugh, why?"
"Does she even need a reason? She kept clearing her bloody throat in that ridiculous way 'til McGonagall asked her if she needed a cough drop."
Ginny laughed. "You'd already decided by then, hadn't you? That you want to become an Auror?"
"I did, but I wasn't too sure. I don't think I'm sure now either. I'll need an 'O' in my Potions and Transfiguration NEWTs for them to accept me. Either way, the Ministry isn't exactly happy with me anyway, is it?"
"Eh," she said dismissively. "Why would they even reject you? You have more talent and grit than most of the current Aurors put together."
Harry tried not to blush. "What do you want to do after school?"
To his surprise, Ginny turned pink. "You won't laugh, will you?"
"'Course I won't."
"I was thinking– maybe… you know, I was thinking of trying out for professional Quidditch. I know it's stupid, more of a hobby, and I need to choose some realistic caree–," she said in a rush.
"You're rambling, Gin," said Harry. "I don't think going pro is unrealistic for you," he said sincerely.
"Really?"
"You're the best chaser I've ever seen. You have a great aim and you don't panic easily. You're really passionate about it. It's much more than a hobby to you. You'll do great as a professional player. Any team will be lucky to have you."
Ginny smiled a beautiful smile that made Harry's insides flutter like an overdrive snitch.
"Thanks, Harry."
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Completely and utterly in love
Harry spotted Ginny sitting in the sunshine by the lake, hidden away by the trees when you didn’t know where to look. He picked up his pace as he spotted her. He walked past the first tree and that’s when she saw him. She was using her robes to sit on to keep the rest of her uniform clean. She smiled brightly, closing the book she had been reading.
He let himself drop dramatically beside her and groaned, which caused her to laugh. He turned on his side to look at her.
She leaned on her elbow and looked at him. “How was divination?”
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” he asked her.
Her hand brushed through his hair. “Bad then good.”
“Well, next week I will die a most brutal death, but the week after things are looking up for my romantic life so...” He rolled onto his back. “Not all bad.”
Ginny pulled him into her embrace. “My poor Harry.” She kissed him and smiled. “So will I be dating a ghost in two weeks or..?”
Full oneshot on AO3 (640 words)
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#1 - Smile, for @hinnymicrofic. Around 500 words.
(So excited about this!)
The sound of the giggles made Ginny huff and throw an annoyed glance at the Fourth Year girls reunited around a table in the Common Room; Crookshanks, until then napping quietly on her lap, woke up with an indignant meow.
“Sorry,” she asked, patting him under the chin until the cat lied down again.
“What’s bothering you?” Hermione asked, peeking from her book.
“That stupid poll.”
“Oh.” Hermione smirked. “It’s not finished yet?”
“They are counting the votes.” She rolled her eyes. “I just wished they’d do it quietly. Harry is not even around.”
“If he were, he would be hiding.” Hermione laughed; she was enjoying this too much for Ginny’s taste. “He is not keen to find out what is his best feature according to a selected pool of eleven to seventeen-year-old girls and boys.”
“We all know what’s going to win. His eyes.”
“That was my vote,” agreed Hermione, unashamed. “Ron voted on his hair, but I think he was just teasing.”
“Harry’s hair is okay,” Ginny said, distracted. “It’s dark and messy, makes you want to ruffle it—”
“Does it?” Ginny bristled with the teasing. “That’s what you voted on?”
“No,” Ginny replied dignifiedly. “That was a stupid poll, I told you.” Under Hermione’s piercing gaze, she flushed. “And his best feature wasn’t even an option anyway.”
“What did they miss? Even his scar was there.”
“That was bad taste—and it’s obvious. It’s Harry’s smile.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Smile? Are we talking about slightly moody, prone to snap, Harry? Or are you thinking about his oddly arrogant smirk ?”
“No, his smile. Normal smile. Happy smile. Lips curved, eyes lightened, dimples at the corner of his mouth.” A blush came to her cheeks and Ginny looked down quickly, glancing down to her pile of books to revise. “He smiled like that a lot during summer break, but I guess he has other things on his mind now.
“Or maybe he doesn’t have the same reasons to smile so much. You also seem less excited than you were in the summer.”
“You mean when I had no worries about exams and revisions and—”
“And Dean.”
Her blush intensified. “I smile around Dean,” she said. Maybe Dean had been annoying her lately more often than not, sure, but still, he made her happy—though she couldn’t recall the last time she’d met him and beamed… Wait, he’d told Seamus a joke the previous night and Ginny had laughed: did that count?
“I’m just saying,” Hermione noted calmly. “Maybe Harry’s smile is not viewed as his best feature because he saves it for special moments.”
She was going to reply, but then the portrait door opened, and Harry entered the Common Room with Ron. They were talking, an easy expression on Harry’s face, but when he caught Ginny’s eyes, his face lit up and there it was: the smile that Ginny associated with hot and bright summer days.
And then she understood why no one would notice it, because Harry quickly bit his lip, waving at her rather awkwardly, and looked away, the smile carefully hidden.
Around the table, Romilda let out a loud giggle as she announced they had the final result. Ginny rolled her eyes again and pulled a book to herself; that pool would never reveal Harry’s best feature.
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