ginevrahs

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Mary Oliver, from “Hum, Hum”, A Thousand Mornings

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harry.

He stood outside the door, waiting to go in. Or not waiting, exactly. There was nothing to wait for, nothing but the reluctance in each of his limbs to go inside. The door slightly ajar, he could see Ginny through the sliver that was open, her hands busy as she worked through a pile of laundry. Everything he wanted in life, through that door. It hurt to watch, knowing what he did. 

Harry steeled himself, as he had done so many times in life before. It had never felt quite this difficult. But he forced himself to open the door wider and step through. It was impossible to even try to echo her smile. “No. Couldn’t sleep that well last night, anyway,” he said, voice low, like he was afraid to speak at a level Ginny might hear. His eyes closed at the feeling of her lips on his cheek, a gesture they’d exchanged a thousand times over. He’d never been used to it, until Ginny, being touched. Harry had never had it, in any regular way, until they’d started dating. At first he’d been awkward, unsure of how to take her hand, brush her hair behind her ear, press his lips against his forehead. But he’d learnt it like a routine, one he’d never, ever gotten tired of. 

“Sure. I’ll take half,” he said. Before he’d quite realized it, he’d started smiling after all, the moment she had touched him.  “Don’t invent that spell. I’d miss this too much. You and me. Losing all our socks.” His smile creased, a pained twist to it as he let his eyes fall over Ginny’s hair, still so vibrant after all these years, and then down to the brightness of her eyes, the lines of her mouth.  He let himself soak in the moment for a few seconds more, taking in the comfortable silence with her.  Maybe it had been enough, that Harry had gotten this. "Gin… I had something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

So much has changed, since those initial meetings, but at the same time not much has changed a tall. Decades stretch between them, all of them so very blood-stained: in their first year of meeting, Ginny had been on the brink of death. How many times since, has it been touch and go? There’s almost an air of normalcy to the presence of inevitable death between them, their relationship built on a war that they had been fighting since they were children: there’s no before the war for Ginny and Harry. And yet, there’s this too. Sorting socks. Something you could almost call domestic bliss. 

That sleep doesn’t come easy isn’t a surprise, even if it remains a slight cause for concern. “Me neither,” she simply says. Ginny longs for the exhaustion that comes from a victorious Quidditch match, falling in bed after celebration and pushing your bodily limits for nothing but sport. Maybe if all worked out, they could have the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch back in their posession soon enough. The thought makes her smile, vaguely, despite the horrors that will inevitably come before they can succeed. And Harry smiles, too, and she returns to the laundry, to the simplicity. “Fine. Spell invention isn’t really up my alley, anyway. And I like a pair of mismatched socks.”

She’s holding vibrant that must be Lily’s when he breaks the silence, and she can feel her fingers bunch up the fabric. Then, she looks at him. She knows him too well. “What is it?” Lithe fingers fold the top and she places it on Lily’s pile, but she doesn’t pick up another item of clothing. Eyebrows have a slight crease, but she doesn’t jump to conclusions, doesn’t push, knows that backing Harry into a corner until he spills whatever he’s holding in won’t work. No, all she gives is her attention, her hands for him to take should he want to, and the space he needs.

[ginevrahs]

hermione.​

status: open, for order members !

where: scholomance, hermione’s classroom.

with how displaced her mind had been since discovering the crippling truth of harry being a living, breathing horcrux, she hadn’t been going through her work as swiftly as usual; it felt like she hadn’t put off so much coursework since being petrified in her second year at hogwarts. of course, such memories felt like a lifetime away, especially considering everything that’d happened since… even the thought of hogwarts left a bad taste on her tongue.

it wasn’t like her, to be so caught in her thoughts that she saw someone before hearing them, far too familiar with the sense of being on edge and hearing a pin drop in the next room or tensing at a speck of dust floating in her peripheral. hermione only noticed someone else’s presence in the room when they approached her desk, and the stack of papers left her feeling the need to explain herself, “please don’t think me remiss in my duties, i’ve merely been.. preoccupied. unfortunately i’m sure you understand, things have been quite chaotic within the order.”

Ginny moves through the underground hallways of Scholomance with a sheer determination that leaves her uncharacteristically ignoring students. Her footsteps are quick, her gaze focused, the way she dodges questions about Quidditch techniques almost methodical. But it’s not like she’s cold: Ginny Potter is ablaze, something furious, flames licking her heels as she finds her way to Hermione Granger’s office and enters without permission.

Because Hermione was the cleverest of them all, at least on paper, at least officially. Ginny enters the space assigned to her, closes the door and only meets acknowledgement when she’s in her periphery. The fire within blazes a little more. “Things, chaotic within the Order? When are they not, hm?” She continues to stand, growing a few centimetres as something like anger lifts her up. ( How very Molly Weasley of her. ) It’s not directed at Hermione, but what or who it is directed to in stead, she’s not sure of in stead. “So, I know. About Harry. And I know you know, too.” There’s a beat. “I won’t stand for it, whatever he’s planning.”

[ginevrahs]

with: @ncantatio​ where: dufftown safehouse when: april 22

It colours the very edges of existence, this deep kind of worry. Ginny does not tend to think of herself as a very nostalgic person, and yet here she is: thinking of that fight that turned the tide forever. The battle of Hogwarts, they called it, these days. Would the fight that came just be called the second iteration of it? Her fingers close around a glass of wine as she considers that kind of reality and then she decides that such things ( meaning: historical terms and whatnot ) are hardly her biggest concern.

“Will your children be there?,” she looks up at Neville, then opts for a long and hefty sip of her glass. There’s exhaustion colouring the edges of her existence, too, as reminiscence catches up to her the closer this fight gets. She will not fight her children on their decisions, no matter the way they pain her ( either way they do: the sheer fact that there’s a decision at all is a painful thing, after all ). There are things she wants to say. About Harry, mostly. ( My husband intends to die, one of these days, did you know that? ) She does not say them. “It will be strange, won’t it? To be back at the castle.”

[ginevrahs]

with: @scarredsaviour where: grimmauld place. when: april 20, early early morning.

The rumours might be true: Grimmauld Place 12 is haunted. And if not the place, at least the inhabitants are. Ginny can feel memories sticking to the floorboards and wallpaper, even if the place looks more Weasley than Black these days. Take this room, for example: some decades ago, the bedroom had been Harry and Ron’s and in that corner facing the east-window, Ginny had accosted her now-husband for his forgetfulness on her now relatively short-seeming time of being posessed.

The work she does in it now is arbitrary. Laundry sorting, mindless morning work that seems incredibly futile but even in war, you do not want to end up with someone else’s knickers in your drawers. But still, this is done out of sleeplessness, not need. The sun’s not even up yet, but all the longing to close her eyes has left her body: there’s only worry, anticipation, frustration. And a creak of the floorboards, too. Ginny looks up, expecting any of the inhabitants of the safehouse but smiling softly when she sees Harry.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” She tosses a pair of briefs on the Harry pile, doesn’t consider how messy her way of laundry sorting is compared to her mother’s old ways, and turns to him fully, hands extending and brushing his lower arms, placing a small kiss on his cheek. “Everything alright? Wanna help? I’ve half a mind to invent a spell that reunites stray socks.” If only life could be these little worries. Ginny does not move back to her laundry piles, though, in stead remains close to Harry, soaking up his warmth.

[ginevrahs]

{ cis woman, she/her } huh, who’s JESSICA CHASTAIN? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually GINNY POTTER. she is a 48 year old PUREBLOOD witch. she is the biological child of ARTHUR & MOLLY WEASLEY. she is known for being TEMPESTUOUS, STUBBORN, and HEEDLESS but also INDEPENDENT, SPIRITED, and COURAGEOUS. i hear she is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on her. { mar, 24, gmt+2, she/they }

                           ↪ stats. pinboard. @mortemsignalboost​.

INTRO.

( tw for parental death / mourning throughout! )  

the battle of hogwarts sees ginny orphaned and one brother short and let this be known: grief does not sit well on her. there’s something icy about her, those first months. there’s simply too much death to grasp, here — so many of those old DA members, gone. at least there is work to be done, though. a safehouse to build, a long, long list of former fellow students to worry about, a family to clutch onto. there is no sitting still in war, not even after so many losses. so, ginny keeps moving.  

if anything, dedication runs true. i think it’s in these years, as ginny goes from teenagehood to young adulthood, that the comparisons to the late molly weasley start: that bossiness, that short temper, that warmth. she hates hearing it, as she does not think herself half as kind as her mother, but still tucks it away somewhere. ( molly would tease her with it, and that makes her smile. )   

there is of course, harry. harry and the horcruxes, that they try and run after together. harry who seems to slot into her life perfectly at one point, a hey, there you are again. maybe some healing was needed before this could grow, but grow it does. there’s a wedding, there’s three pregnancies and three perfect, gorgeous children. ( mum, she thinks, how did you feel bringing children into a war? ) it’s funny: she does exactly what her mother once did, a war ago. she takes a small step back from the order and focuses on this small bit of family. harry and her try to make sure there’s always someone that stays behind.  

scholomance reminds her of the DA, in a way. she stands behind neville, takes initiative where she can, offers to teach the kids in areas she excells. mainly offensive & defensive magic and, of course, flying: the kids need to have some fun, right? but oh, it does get harder to laugh and cackle, sometimes, and ginny finds it hard to find some kind of balance there. bouts of pessimism start to plague her as she watches the effects of growing up in a war take hold on her children’s faces. she knows, what it is to be terrorised at a young age ( eleven years old and posessed, remember? she does: she never forgets ) and how that changes you.  

guilt trails behind her, though perhaps not in the same way it does her husband. ginny goes over the last fight with her parents, over the same fight she has with her own children, wanting to keep them away from the war while knowing it’s a cruel request. there’s guilt in not having ran and then guilt in thinking that thought. there’s guilt in every second of harry’s tenseness in situations where he should be relaxed.   

but most of all, there’s fight and fire. pessimism and guilt tug at her, begging her to be dragged down, but ginny rises every day with spirit. she makes sure there’s firewhiskey in all the safehouses, to drink on both victories and losses. she keeps fun anecdotes up her sleeve for anyone who might need it. she tries, so hard, to emminate what her mother once brought, even if she’s an absolutely shite cook and hardly as merry as her. but the fight is not done, and a fight cannot be fought without some fire, so ginny vows to blaze until the very end.

[ginevrahs]

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JESSICA CHASTAIN in THE 355 (2022) dir. Simon Kinberg