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norakelly · 10 days

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Guilty As Sin?

A/N: this is (extremely) mildly NSFW.

Dedicated to loml @merlinsbudgiesmugglers without her, I wouldn't have written it.

For @corneliaavenue-ao3 TTPD fest, I hereby conduct into evidence one very tortured Potter.

Read on AO3 or below:

It wasn’t unusual for him to find Ginny already there when Harry returned home from work. Her training schedule typically finished a few hours before he left the office. Normally, upon arriving home, he found her in the living room, pouring over the latest issue of Quidditch Times, or, if the weather was good, in the garden, flying like she hadn't spent her entire day doing that very thing. Harry did not, as a general rule, come home to find Ginny in their rarely-used dining room, leaning against the wooden table with a thin dragon-hide wallet clutched in her hands.

The smile that had automatically bloomed on Harry's face at the prospect of seeing Ginny quickly morphed into a frown as he inclined his head at the object in her hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“This?” Ginny didn't look the least perturbed by his expression as she held the wallet up, letting it fall open for Harry's inspection. “Like my badge, do you?”

“It's not your badge.” He felt a smirk tug at one corner of his lips, but Harry forced it down, intrigued to see what purpose she'd apparently pickpocketed him without his notice for.

“Of course it is,” Ginny pushed off the table, coming to stand directly in front of him. She held the badge up to his face, conveniently covering Harry's picture with her thumb, so that only the Ministry seal and his name were visible. “See, it says Potter, last I checked, that was my name – now, take a seat, I'm trying to conduct a very serious investigation.”

She pulled out the closest chair and directed Harry into it before he had an opportunity to protest. He watched, from his new seat, simultaneously confused and curious, as Ginny made her way around the table, trailing a finger slowly across the wooden surface before she took the chair directly across from him.

“What seems to be the matter, Auror Potter?” He heard himself ask. Ginny gave him an approving nod, as though he'd just perfectly delivered a line from a script he hadn't known he was reading.

Then her eyebrows pinched together in a look of extreme concern. “I'm sorry to tell you, there's been a murder committed in this house –” the pronouncement was accompanied by a wink that was obviously meant to allay the tension that gathered within Harry upon hearing it. “Geraldine is dead.”

A strong wave of relief rushed through him, quickly receding, giving way to yet more confusion. “Geraldine?” he repeated. “Geraldine the Fanged Geranium?”

The monstrosity of a plant had been gifted to them by Percy; Harry had hated it since the moment it had entered the house, its fangs barred menacingly at anyone who dared look at it. Ginny, on the other hand, in a display of surprisingly Hagrid-like behaviour had been enchanted by the horrid thing and had decided, inexplicably, to name it Geraldine.

“Yes,” Ginny confirmed. “I found her on the kitchen windowsill this afternoon – her leaves were drooping and her petals had fallen off – someone hadn't watered her.”

Harry tried very hard to maintain an innocent expression under the weight of her accusatory glare. “Maybe she's not dead, maybe she's sleeping.”

This suggestion was met by a deeply unimpressed look from Ginny which might have been believable if not for the crease at the corner of her mouth, which Harry knew meant she was trying not to laugh. “Plants don't sleep, Harry.”

“I thought you were an Auror, not an expert Herbologist?”

The crease deepened. “I have many talents.”

“Apparently not keeping plants alive.”

Ginny's eyes narrowed and Harry regretted the comment almost at once. She pushed out of her seat and crossed back around the table, looking down at him as she leant on the wooden surface beside him. “I didn't kill her… you didn't water her.”

“Yes, I did,” Harry protested.

Her arms folded over her chest. “Prove it.”

“That's not how it works,” Harry said through a laugh as he shook his head. “You're accusing me of something, you either need to get me to confess or you have to prove it.”

Unexpectedly, upon hearing this simplified explanation of the justice system, Ginny's smile finally broke free. There was a hint of triumph in it that made Harry's nerves stand on end.

Her hand slid against the smooth surface of the table as she lowered herself until her face was beside his, her lips almost brushing against his ear. “I guess I'll have to get you to confess then.”

Her breath caressed his skin as she spoke. Harry fought against the shiver that tried to creep down his spine. “Good luck with that.”

“Oh, I don't need luck,” Ginny said, sliding closer so that Harry was forced to push his chair back, giving her room to sit on the table directly in front of him. “I have plenty of powers of persuasion.”

Harry snorted in disbelief. “None that would be considered regulation.”

“Maybe not, but I play by my own rules.” As though to prove her point, she extended one of her legs, her toe sliding idly up the inside of Harry's calf. Her head tilted to the side; a wave of vivid red hair cascaded over her shoulder. “Now, are you going to cooperate or do I have to use force?”

Ginny's foot glided past his knee, towards his thigh; Harry inhaled sharply. His eyes met hers across the small distance that separated them and he could see the challenge she'd issued sparking with them. “I think you're going to have to use force.”

“That's a shame,” Ginny sighed as she pushed off the table, though everything about her languid movements suggested that was exactly what she'd wanted him to say. Her hand came to rest on the back of Harry's chair, supporting her as she leaned into him. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, so close but not actually touching him. “I was really hoping to put this case to bed.”

Harry kept his eyes locked on the bare stretch of wall over Ginny's shoulder, determined to ignore the three buttons she'd left open on her shirt, and the view it offered him from this particular angle as much as he was ignoring the insinuation in her words. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Undeterred, Ginny hummed quietly. Her free hand reached up, fingertips finding Harry's chin and forcing his eyes to meet hers again. The heat he saw building in them seemed to transfer to his blood which scorched in his veins. “Why make this harder than it needs to be?”

Her fingers trailed from his jaw to his neck, stroking lightly across his skin. Harry swallowed beneath her fingertips.

His hands gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles turning white, determined not to give her the satisfaction of touching her despite how desperately he wanted to. “Is this how you think interrogations work?”

She moved in closer, all but straddling him on the dining room chair. The tip of her nose brushed against Harry's cheek, her fingers wove up into his hair; his eyes fell closed at the contact. “I'm the Auror, I'll be doing the questioning.” The statement was punctuated by her teeth scraping against the shell of his ear.

His resolve snapped in an instant; Harry's hands left the arms of his chair, finding Ginny's hips instead. He pulled her to him, until her body was settled flush against his. Her mouth was still at his ear, her lips grazing over it, but Harry was rewarded for the bold move by a small sigh that escaped her before she could stop it.

“Really?” He asked doubtfully, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers dancing over her skin. “Because you haven't actually asked me any.”

Momentarily silent, Ginny's back arched into Harry's touch, guiding his hand further up towards her chest. She released another sigh directly into his ear. Harry bit his lip against a responding groan.

“Did you forget to water the stupid plant?” she asked, her tone confirming what Harry had always suspected; she didn't have the patience to be an Auror.

“If I confess, are you going to show me leniency?” he aimed for an amused tone, but Ginny's hips rolled against him as he spoke and his words came out audibly strained.

That small hint of weakness from him was enough for Ginny to regain some of her composure. Her smile was downright sinful as she pulled back from his neck, pausing with her face barely an inch from his. Her lips brushed softly against his as she spoke, “I never have before… but why don't you try it and see?”

Ignoring the suggestion, Harry surged forward, determined to turn her frustratingly light movements into a real kiss, but Ginny leaned back out of his reach. Her tongue darted out, licking against her maddeningly out of reach lips. One of her eyebrows quirked upwards, the gesture a silent command.

He hesitated for a moment, weighing his options, his gaze caught on Ginny's glistening mouth.

A second was all she allowed. One of her hands disentangled from his hair; her fingers slid down his neck, caressing against a spot beneath his ear where they both knew he particularly liked her mouth. “Of course, if this isn't working for me, I can try other, less physical methods to–”

“Guilty.”

Tne word burst from him before Harry could stop it. He couldn't really remember what he was confessing to anymore. He didn't care as long as Ginny was moving back towards him as she was currently doing, her sultry smile suggesting that he'd made the correct choice in letting her win this one. If this was the punishment –

“I'm definitely guilty.”

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norakelly · 10 days

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Oh god i love this. MADE ME TEAR UP WTF

Spring Again, Somehow

Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3's TTPD fest

Prompt: I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

It was supposed to rain that morning. One last disappointment before it was all over, one more thing to grit her teeth and power through, no matter how trivial. And yet, somehow, the drizzling clouds had parted just in time, and Ginny found herself only a few sparkling feet of water away from the end of her time at Hogwarts, in the same boat that had carried her towards the castle all those years ago. There were four of us in this boat back then, Ginny thought, and tried to ignore the dull ache creeping into her chest.

Hermione sat in front of her, staring straight ahead at the spot on the shore where all the families of seventh-year students were waiting for them. To anyone else, she would have looked the picture of a leader: stoic and calm, chin held high. But Ginny could sense the slightly shallow breathing, the clammy palm that reached back to grasp her own, the small smile as Ginny squeezed her hand back. It was perhaps the first time Ginny knew exactly what Hermione was thinking. It’s over. It’s over. It’s finally, nearly over. Thank goodness. Thank goodness thank goodness thank goodness.

The boat hit the shore with a tiny jolt, and Ginny could hear a distant cheering. It was muffled somehow. Subdued. All Ginny could hear was the roar of the wind, the lapping of the water, her own heart pounding in her head. She thought she might be sick. There were so many people, all of them and none of them strangers, and yet she could already tell exactly who was missing.

She stood, unsteadily for a moment, as she stepped out of the boat and onto the shore. Towards the back of the crowd, a few familiar shocks of red hair made themselves visible above everyone else, and Ginny hardly registered the looks, the chatter, the whispers she’d grown far too used to as she headed straight for them, relief crashing over her.

Her parents reached her first, their eyes shining with tears as they wrapped their arms around her and squeezed her tight. Sometimes, these days, she couldn’t tell if their hugs felt tighter or weaker. Some strange combination of both, maybe. One she’d never known before last year.

When they finally pulled apart, her mother was furiously wiping away the tears streaming down her face.

“Oh Ginny, I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I– ”

“You’d have cried no matter what, I think,” Ginny said softly. “Me being the last one and all.”

This only made her mum cry harder, though she did crack a slight smile. Her dad chuckled softly and pulled her close again.

“It’s strange, that’s for certain,” he said.

Ginny could only nod into his chest.

Her brothers greeted her next, with varying degrees of enthusiasm and teasing. Even Charlie and Percy had come, which, in the past, would have meant that all of her brothers were here. She hugged George, thankfully less skinny than he’d been at Christmas, and tried not to think.

And there, standing behind the rest of the family (as she was sure he’d insisted), glasses glinting in the sunlight, was Harry. She made a beeline for him, barely registering Ron muttering something to Hermione, and nearly threw herself into his arms. She kissed him, not unlike he had after that Quidditch final her fifth year, only this time there were no whoops, no whistles, no surprises. Just Harry.

He was warm, and he smelled like home, and Ginny could have stayed there forever, forgotten everything that had happened, everything that was to come. All the letters they’d sent, all the sneaky meet-ups in Hogsmeade, all the hours they’d spent together over Christmas and Easter were nothing compared to the months and years they would have from that point on.

“Hi,” she said as she pulled back, face flushed.

“Hello to you too,” he said. His eyes were shining, his grin broader than she’d seen in a long time.

There were so many things she could have said, so many thoughts racing through her mind. She felt like she might explode, or fold in on herself, or crumble into pieces until she was small enough to be whisked away by the wind.

“Do you want to go walk by the lake?” she said instead. “Get away from this crowd?” For old times’ sake.

He nodded, pressing his lips to her hair and steering them both toward an empty green spot down the shore.

For the first time since stepping out of the boat, Ginny could see the castle. Like a painting, the clouds had parted just over the grounds, sending great beams of light down, reflecting pearlescent blues and pinks and golds off of the lake and the trees and the castle towers. One year ago, those towers had still been smoldering, the gaping wounds obvious even across the lake. But there it stood, imposing as ever, the place of bloody walls and soaked stone floors and pleading whimpers and screams and sobs in pitch-black dungeons. Of glorious feasts and laughter by the fire and misty sunrise flying and sunny days on the grounds with Harry.

The place that destroyed her, and the place that made her, too.

She shivered slightly, the rain-chilled wind grazing her face, and felt Harry’s arms hold her tighter.

“What’re you thinking?” he murmured into her hair.

Ginny paused for a moment.

“I didn’t think I would miss it,” she finally said. “So many times, I just wanted to leave and never come back. This year, first year, every year at some point, honestly. I couldn’t wait to get off that boat today, and yet…”

She trailed off, leaning her head against Harry’s shoulder. Part of her still hoped he couldn’t notice the lump growing in her throat.

“I don’t think that sounds strange,” he said. “I’m, y’know… not always the best judge of that stuff, but–”

Ginny chuckled and grinned into his shoulder.

“That makes two of us,” she said.

Harry grinned. “At least we’ve got a choice now. You’ll be busy with Quidditch, I’ll be doing my work, and we’ll never have to be back here until Teddy’s the one finishing school.”

“Oh god,” Ginny laughed. “We’ll be so old by then.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, but he was smiling. That lovely, soft smile that made her heart swell.

I get to see that smile for the rest of my life, Ginny thought. Suddenly she was crying, and laughing again, somehow. And Harry was laughing too, pulling her close, the castle fading into the sunlight.

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norakelly · 11 days

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THIS SO GOOD😭!!! EVERYONE READ THIS!

loml

Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3 TTPD Several Sunlit Daylights challenge.

Read on AO3 or below:

I. lesson of my life

Every illusion Ginny has ever had is shattered over the course of a single night.

She doesn't go into the chamber willingly. She claws, and scratches and fights against Tom's commands with all her might. She cries, and she struggles, but in the end it makes no difference. She isn't strong enough. As the darkness swallows her up, her final childish hope is for a rescue she knows isn't coming.

When she opens her eyes again it doesn't feel like a miracle. The cold from the stone floor has seeped through her skin, a chill has settled deep in her bones and she knows, with absolute certainty, it will never fully go away.

Of course Harry is there, holding a mighty sword, a dead monster behind him. The very image of the conquering hero she's always fantasised about, but this isn't like one of Ginny's fantasies. He's covered in blood, and his eyes are wide with the same terror that's taken root deep within her soul. There's no triumph in this moment, only horror.

This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare. One that Ginny won't fully wake up from for a very long time.

She learns many lessons that night, but the most important one will come later. After she's spent weeks, months, years putting herself back together, because Harry might have rescued her from the chamber, but, as Ginny will come to realise, the only person who can really save you is yourself.

II. light of my life

Harry's never known a darkness like this. It starts when he watches Sirius fall through the veil, tiny tendrils of black slowly leaking out from his heart, unfurling with increasing urgency until he's overwhelmed by a cold, empty abyss that he's sure nothing will ever penetrate again. How can it when Sirius is never coming back?

He doesn't even notice the first ray of light. It happens so quickly. He's in the hospital wing, trying very hard to let Hermione's commentary on the latest news from The Prophet distract him from the aching chasm in his chest, and the unbearable weight of the prophecy, when it happens.

Luna says something completely ridiculous about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks – whatever they are – Harry can feel Hermione's exasperation from across the small gap that separates her bed from Ron's. Ginny's chocolate eyes meet his, and something happens that he'd assumed would never happen again.

Harry smiles.

It's fleeting, lasting less than a second. There's very little time to dwell on it before they're looking away from one another, and the grief washes over him again, a tidal wave that steals the air from his lungs.

That's just the beginning though… or maybe the beginning had been years ago. Maybe the blush he'd once thought of as the setting sun had actually been the opposite; Ginny's light rising, her warm, rosy glow beginning its ascent into his life.

She continues to rise that summer, forcing the darkness back with her sheer brightness. Her smile turns black to grey; her laugh is powder pinks and bright oranges; the jokes she coaxes from him are pure, cloudless blue.

When she runs at him across the common room months later, she's blazing, burning red. When she reaches him, when Harry finally kisses Ginny, the sun reaches its apex and his whole life is awash with bright, brilliant gold.

For a few shining weeks there are only sunlit days.

III. loss of my life

Fittingly, they're at a funeral when it happens. Ginny always knew he had great comedic timing. She's not laughing, however, as Harry lays out all his stupid, noble reasons why they can't be together. She's not crying either, though; that feels like a small mercy. The only one she's going to get for a while.

She does cry when she finally makes it home. It's silly, she knows. Silly, foolish, naive Ginny Weasley, a familiar, cold voice whispers through her mind. For once, she doesn't try to argue with it, but she doesn't try to stop either.

Instead, she buries her face into her pillow and lets herself sob until her eyes run dry. Her tears aren't just for her broken heart, but for everything Ginny's already had to sacrifice; her childhood, her innocence.

It isn't until weeks later that she realises the true magnitude of what she stands to lose.

“And then what does she think's going to happen? Someone else will kill off Voldemort while she's holding us here making vol-au-vents?”

The fork Ginny is holding almost slips from her grasp. Her heart falters in her chest. Harry playing his flippant comment off a joke does nothing to return it to a steady rhythm.

It plays round and round in her mind that night. Her knuckles are ghostly white where they grip her bedsheet. Vaguely, she'd known what he'd planned to do, but vague notions and knowing with absolute certainty are two very different things. The task Harry brought up so nonchalantly in the kitchen is nothing short of a suicide mission. It hits Ginny with the force of a barrage of stunning spells, knocking the air from her lungs; Harry might not come back to her.

Two days later, when she kisses him in her bedroom, it doesn't feel like she's saying happy birthday, it feels like she's saying goodbye.

When Harry follows Ron out of her bedroom door, he takes a piece of Ginny with him, one she prays she hasn't lost forever.

IV. longing of my life

She haunts him like a ghost. What was once screaming colour and pure unfiltered brightness is now just a memory, a pale imitation permanently stuck on repeat in his mind.

Harry moves stoically from one hiding place to another and, though they're separated by miles, Ginny follows him to every single one.

He can hear her laugh in the wind that shakes the canvas sides of the tent. He can see her smile in the sunlight that penetrates the thick canopy of the forests they move between. At night, when he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend the sheet brushing against his skin is her fingertips.

It's worse when he has the locket on. Then, he's tormented with visions like the one he'd imagined on his birthday; of her moving on. Finding someone else. Living a life that can never be his.

Horcrux or no, he can't stop himself thinking about her. Aching for her. Longing for her.

He clings to memories of Ginny like scraps of driftwood, the only thing keeping Harry afloat when he's been set adrift.

V. lament of my life

It's like the chamber all over again. Ginny's whole world is flipped upside down in the space of a single night.

She doesn't see Fred go. She doesn't know the last time she sees her big brother that it's the last time.

“Take care of yourself,” he'd shouted over his shoulder as Ginny had gone hurtling down a corridor in pursuit of a Death Eater.

“Don't I always?’ she'd called back.

What if she'd told him to do the same? Would he have listened? Would he still be there?

There's very little time to dwell on such questions in the middle of a battle. Especially not when every passing second brings another devastating loss.

Lupin. Tonks. Colin.

Ginny's heart shatters into a million little pieces until it doesn't exist at all. Or so she thinks, until she sees Harry's body cradled in Hagrid’s arms.

Then she knows she still has a heart, because it's in unbearable agony. She doubles over from the pain of it. His name escapes her lips on a scream, as though she might be able to call him back to life through sheer desperation.

Tom Riddle talks; for the second time in Ginny's life, she's unable to hear him, but this isn't like the Chamber at all. This time Ginny wishes she was dead.

When the battle resumes, she jumps straight into it with wild abandon. Ginny's lamentation is not filled with tears, or wailing. It's fire and rage for everything that's been taken from her. Tom Riddle already stole her past. Now he's taken her future. She will take everything she can from him, or die trying.

VI. lowest of my life

He's never truly let himself imagine what it might be like to actually defeat Voldemort. If he had, Harry doubts he would have pictured it like this.

If it's a win, why is there so much loss?

He doesn't know whether the grief or the hope is more overwhelming. They mingle together, like waves in the ocean, swelling and breaking, threatening to pull Harry under.

He can feel it crash over him as he stands in the great hall the day after the battle. The bodies are still there; all the people who don't get the second chance Harry does are laid out in front of him. Lifeless eyes staring, unseeing, up at the enchanted ceiling.

The guilt and the pain sweep through him like ice water, filling his lungs; rising up in Harry's throat until there's no possible room for air. He takes a step back, desperate to flee somewhere he can sink down into the cold, lonely depths.

Before he can, a hand, small and warm, slips into his, pulling Harry back to the surface. He releases one, long, deep breath before looking at her.

Ginny's attempt at a smile is tinged with sadness, sunlight peeking through dark grey clouds.

Only hours ago, he'd contemplated all the things he needed to say to her, but now no words are exchanged at all. Only a look. It's all they need. All they've ever needed. Everything has changed. But he's still Harry, and she's still Ginny.

Instinctively his arm comes around her. Ginny buries her face in his chest, sagging slightly against him, as though she was waiting for this moment to let herself rest. Like she needs him as much as he needs her.

Harry's head rests against hers, the floral scent of her shampoo is faint, lingering beneath everything that's happened. It makes his heart falter anyway. He holds her tightly to him, something he never thought he'd get the chance to do again. As he's come to expect, time seems to stop for her. They stay like that for what might only be seconds, or possibly an entire lifetime passes.

Eventually, Ginny pulls out of his grasp. It takes less than a second for her hand to find his again, fingers entwining. She pulls gently, silently commanding him to follow her. Harry almost asks where they're going, but he doesn't really need to. He's free to go wherever he pleases now. He'll follow her anywhere.

Ginny looks up at him as they walk towards the double doors. He can still see the embers of her blazing light smouldering in the dark depths of her eyes. He was right, there will be hours, days, and years in which to talk, but he doesn't need her to say a word now to know where she's taking him. He lets her pull him forward, lets her light guide him to a future he's still not sure he deserves to have.

VII. loser of my life

For a while, Ginny thinks she'll never recover from the loss, from the grief and the heartache. It's not the first time she's felt this way, but this time she doesn't have to face it alone. Once she has Harry back, he doesn't leave her side again.

They fall back together naturally. They stitch themselves back together slowly until one day, years later, the sun is blazing brightly in the sky, the pleasant summer breeze is ruffling the grass beneath her feet, and Ginny feels whole again.

“Ready?” Her father asks, holding out his arm out to her.

“Ready,” Ginny agrees, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow. Holding her colourful bouquet of wildflowers in front of her with her free hand.

There have been times, in her darkest moments, when she wished she was someone else. A girl who hasn't dwelt in a darkness that most people don't ever see even in their worst nightmares; a witch who hasn't looked into the eyes of evil and refused to bend, refused to break; a woman who hasn't lost things that can never ever be replaced.

Now, as soft music begins to swell in the summer air, and her gaze locks on Harry, waiting for her at the end of the makeshift aisle formed by the rows of chairs that have been put out in her parent's orchard, Ginny doesn't regret any of it. Everything she's lost is a step she's taken towards this.

She can feel dozens of heads turn towards her, but Ginny only has eyes for Harry, and he, it appears, only has eyes for her. His smile makes the sun look dim in comparison. Still, the corner of his mouth trembles; even from a distance, Ginny can see emotion well up behind his glasses.

‘Don't you dare,' she mouths, feeling her throat tighten as she does. Her arm stretches out, lifting her bouquet like it's a wand, miming hexing him. She's closer now. She can hear the tremor in his laugh as he puts his arms up in mock surrender.

It's too late; the laughter she's coaxed from him doesn't stop the tear that slips down his cheek. Of course, one of her own escapes only a half a second later.

“We look like such losers,” Ginny informs him, shaking her head, as her fingers slip from her father's arm into Harry's awaiting hand.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, quietly enough for only her to hear. He's still smiling as another tear slides unconcernedly down his face. His free hand reaches up, his thumb swipes away the ones that are currently leaking traitorously from Ginny's eyes. “But you're my loser.”

It takes her a moment to regain her breath. A fleeting second in which she can't quite believe they're here; that they made it. Then she smiles even wider than before. “Not officially – not until we get through this ceremony.”

Harry's gaze holds hers. Ginny almost forgets they have an audience. The world reduces down to just the two of them, grinning madly at one another. Harry's fingers squeeze her hand. “We'd best get on with it then.

VIII. legacy of my life

Books are filled with what many consider to be his finest achievements. Tales of thrilling battles, speculations on unsurvivable curses, and records of great victories are inked across the pages of history.

As are the many titles thrust upon Harry; The Boy Who Lived, Chosen One, Saviour. To him, they're little more than noise, assumptions from people who don't really know him, and never will.

When he slips the wedding ring onto Ginny's finger, Harry gets the first title he's ever chosen for himself: husband. Her husband.

Not long after, he gains another one, this one unplanned, but no less momentous. James, tiny, and so precious, is placed into his arms, and Harry becomes a father.

His real legacy begins there. It's not just his, it's hers too. Their legacy.

It's recorded in baby books and photo albums rather than history books. It's memorialised in finger paintings and handmade Christmas ornaments (made under Ginny's expert supervision) instead of plaques and statues. It's hundreds of little memories of their family that will never see the inside of a newspaper, but that doesn't make them any less noteworthy, not to Harry, who'd never dared to imagine that this life could be his one day.

IX. love of my life

“Dinner!” Her mother calls from the back door of The Burrow, her voice ringing out across the garden.

The sun is setting, dipping below the topmost branches of the orchard. The sky is a tapestry of pinks, purples and golds, stretching out for miles above them.

“What do you think?” Ginny asks as her feet meet the ground, dismounting from her broom. “Could I make it as a pro?”

Harry lands beside her. His eyes sweep appraisingly over her. Ginny's stomach swoops like she's still in the air. “I don't know,” he says thoughtfully. “The League is brutal. It requires rigorous training.”

Ginny shrugs unconcernedly, hoisting her broom onto her shoulder as she does. “Do you know any Quidditch captains who might be interested in helping me with such an undertaking?”

“I know one who might be able to make some time for you this summer,” Harry says as he falls into step beside her. He inclines his head towards her broom.“I can take it for you?”

Ginny's eyes narrow, prepared to tell him she's perfectly capable of carrying her own broom, but, when she turns, the way he's looking at her makes her heart race, and the words die on her tongue. without her permission, her expression transforms into a grin. “Very chivalrous of you.”

A weight is lifted from her as Harry settles her broom beside his on his shoulder. “That's kind of what I'm known for.”

“Only ‘kind of’?” Ginny's eyes wander to the quickly darkening sky above them as she laughs. “In that case, I'll be sure to let people know of this latest act of heroism – personally, I don't think you get enough attention.”

“Well, if that's how you feel, you could always give me more.”

Ginny stops midstep. Her head turns sharply back to Harry. She should keep walking, the words that are on the tip of her tongue will lead to something that neither of them planned for on this particular summer evening.

Harry's eyebrows rise upwards; even in the dusk, Ginny can see the challenge sparking in his eyes. Unbidden, she takes a step towards him. “Are you flirting with me, Potter?”

He doesn't back down, but he doesn't make a move towards her either. The brooms he's holding clatter together as he shrugs with just a bit too much tension in his shoulders to be truly nonchalant. “I might be.”

Ginny's blood thrums in her veins as she takes another step towards him. “Need I remind you that I'm spoken for?”

“How could I forget?” Harry's head lowers despite her reminder, until he's so close Ginny can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “I suppose he's deeply in love with you?”

“Yes,” she nods with absolute certainty. “And I feel the same about him.”

Harry's head dips lower, the determination in his eyes making his intention clear. Ginny rises on her tiptoes, unable to fight the pull that always inevitably beckons her to him.

Barely an inch of space remains between them. Her heart flutters wildly–

“Oi!” The loud, obnoxious shout comes from the far end of the orchard, making Ginny jump. She turns towards it and finds a lanky figure glaring at them from where he leans against the fence. “When you're done being disgusting, Nanna says to hurry up – dinner’s ready and the rest of us aren't allowed to start without you.”

James doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and marching back towards the house.

Ginny rolls her eyes at her son's retreating back. Her hand slips into Harry's, the most contact they're getting, at least until after dinner. “Remind me again why we had children?”

Harry sighs, allowing her to lead him towards the gate James has just departed from. “You said they'd be cute.”

“Well, they used to be,” she says fairly as she pushes the gate open with her free hand. “I wasn't thinking as far as them becoming teenagers.”

Harry nods seriously. “Really, who could've predicted such an unforeseeable outcome.”

Ginny looks up at him as he follows her through the gate. Brown eyes meet green through the burgeoning twilight. Two identical smiles bloom like flowers in spring.

“Certainly not you, judging by your appalling Divination grades.”

#harry x ginny #hinny

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norakelly · 21 days

Text

A Night at the Club (Part One) Written for the Ginnyversary Bingo Challenge: #G57 — “But this is the only thing that's made the last three years bearable." Read on: AO3 Harry felt truly alive as the club's speakers blasted deafening music in his ears, the floor shaking under the heavy bass. It was one am on a Saturday evening, Ron, Seamus, and Dean had managed to convince him to accompany them to a newly opened nightclub in central London. And he had happily accepted since days like these were the only thing that had made the last three years bearable. Harry normally wasn’t the going out type, if he did, he preferred it to be with his close mates, so they at least had a good time.

And tonight they were having one hell of a good time. The bright lights flashed, red interchanging with purple, and Harry felt like he was gliding, his feet wildly moving on their own accord. He was slightly tipsy, which made his movements a bit sluggish, but his senses were still sharp, his mind clear and wary.

His eyes scanned the club, he was on the dance floor, Ron not too far from him, a glass of bright red liquid in his right hand, as he was dancing with a blonde girl Harry didn’t know, his left hand up in the air. He was clearly enjoying himself, Harry knew that he was still pining after Hermione, but she would come around one day, Harry was sure of that, so right now the light distraction was good for his best mate.

He found Seamus and Dean madly snogging in a corner of the Club and only shook his head, unable to hide the smile crossing his features, those two… they just couldn’t keep their hands off each other no matter where they were, it was adorable.

Harry was abruptly thrown from his thoughts as an obviously drunk bloke crashed into him, almost making him tumble. He just about caught himself, swiftly spinning around to face the man, but the guy had already disappeared into the crowd of dancing people again. Harry only shook his head, taking a long swig from his beer, and the room lit up as he felt the cool liquid breathe more life into him. His eyes now wide open he fell back into the rhythm of the blaring music, resonating with the quick beat of the pop-hip hop track. He hadn’t expected how much he needed this.

He danced on his own, not caring how he looked to the others, simply closing his eyes as he lifted his hands high, breathing in the vibe around him, this was his night, something about this evening was special. He listened to his heart as it seemingly beat to the sound of the music around him.

A strange heat surrounded him, he was the centre of the world, floating through open space, as suddenly an electric current shot through him, now feeling goose flesh on his skin his eyes snapped open. And he was blinded.

A burning flame before him, a thousand shades of red, brighter than the sun on a summer day. The club, the people, the lights were gone, it was only her. She had her eyes closed, as she moved with the music, a mere two inches from him, a short green dress framing her body perfectly, her skin flushed and glistening from the heat of the air.

His mind was blank as he watched her, and his body took over. She was dancing with him, no one else near them. And he fell into her pull, her every step, every move resonating through him. Her energy controlled him, and as she opened those eyes of deep brown, long lashes framing the almond shapes, they moved closer, swinging their bodies in uni-sense, slow circles, the world was folded around the two of them. This was their night, their moment.

Her lips curled mischievously, the deep brown orbs disappearing behind dark cloaks again as her hands came up to his, slowly moving over his arms, the sensation of her touch making him levitate. He felt her heartbeat, as his eyes fell shut as well. Beats in quick succession, speeding up with the sound of the music that moved the two of them. He felt her hip on his as her hands landed on his shoulders, he was hers.

A quick spin, swift steps, and he was clutching her waist, feeling her hot breath on his chest. They continued to dance, as he felt the soft fabric of her dress under his palms, endless moments of bliss, they yearned for each other, bodies moving closer. Her hands now tightly clutching the shirt on his back, he felt her nails on his back and it made his skin burn in desire.

They moved like this for many minutes, it might have been hours, and Harry felt like he had known this woman for his entire life, this connection between them, it was like his soul yearned for hers, his body living on her warmth. He finally decided to open his eyes again, the club now lit brightly, he took in her blinding beauty, that hair so red, the wildest forest fire could not compare, those freckles on her milky skin, those long lashes.

His mouth went dry, and his movements slowed down, she already was his everything. She must’ve felt something change with him, and her eyes snapped open, brown pools of chocolate. But suddenly her lips parted, surprise crossing her flushed face.

“Harry?”

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norakelly · 22 days

Text

The thing is,

You can see HBP from Ginny's pov as the emotionally excruciating process of dealing with coming to terms with still having feelings for Harry, feelings that are now reciprocated after years of pining, mixed with an intense sense of guilt over poor Dean's unfortunate position in the whole mess...

(and this is a lot more fun)

You can see it as Ginny being in the middle of one of those classic teenage tv series love triangles. On one side there's the good guy, the reasonable choice, the one no fan if not a couple of delusional ones is rooting for because he is kind of boring. And on the other side, you have the fan favourite, the dark brooding guy with light eyes who would let the world burn to save the girl. Rationally he is kind of a terrible choice but the girl is obviously in love with him and, let's face it: there wasn't really any competition to begin with.

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norakelly · 23 days

Note

drunk prompt time!

jealous!harry + karaoke

It was his fault really. If he'd just agreed to go to the Three Broomsticks like a normal wizard, none of this would've happened. Of course, Harry wasn't a normal wizard by anyone's definition of the word and that was why he'd insisted on doing something in the Muggle world, his thoughts firmly occupied with thoughts of dinner, or maybe showing Ginny and the others the wonders of the cinema… he had not expected for one minute that Hermione would suggest they go to a karaoke bar.

Two glasses of wine, that was all it had taken her. Two glasses of wine and she'd dragged the whole bloody DA to a dimly lit bar in the centre of London. Harry had been able to hear the music from the other side of the street, beckoning him to his doom.

“Do you understand what Karaoke is?” He asked Ginny as they walked through the door.

She laughed over her shoulder at him, leading him to a booth which already housed Angelina, Katie and Alicia. “You defeated the darkest wizard to ever live, and you're afraid of a bit of singing?”

“I’m not afraid.” He was terrified.

“Ginny!” And there was Dean, practically beaming at Ginny, and carrying a tray full of shot glasses. “Tequila?”

“Of course!” Ginny replied, plucking a tiny glass from the tray. Harry strongly doubted she knew what tequila was. Still, when she grabbed a second glass and thrust it at him, Harry didn't resist. He was going to need the whole bottle to get through what was sure to be the most painful night of his life.

Michael’s bland head popped up over the divider that separated their booth from the one next to it. He grinned at Ginny with a smile that was, in Harry's opinion, entirely too familiar. “Do a song with me?”

Why exactly had he let so many of Ginny's exes into his extremely secret resistance group? True, they hadn't been Ginny's exes at the time, but really Harry should've had more foresight.

His arm snaked around Ginny's shoulder. She shot him an unamused look, but it didn't matter, he could see her smile trying to break through, and it wasn't for Michael Corner that was for sure. “You don't know any Muggle songs,” Harry reminded her.

“They put the lyrics up on those little screens,” Michael said helpfully.

“See, they put the lyrics up on those little screens,” Ginny repeated, openly smirking at Harry now. “Michael, choose our song, I would be honoured to perform with you.”

“Maybe I’ll do a song with Cho.”

Harry picked up another shot of tequila from the tray Dean had left in the centre of the table and downed it, hiding how unwilling he was to actually follow through on the threat.

Ginny turned, eyes narrowed as her hand found his knee below the table, tightening painfully. “Maybe you won't.”

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norakelly · 23 days

Note

I'm really missing Chasing! isthere any chance we can get a little sneaky peek of the next chapter? hope all is well with you

thank you so much, anon! chapter 5 is getting some finishing touches and has so many fun snippets to choose from, it's one of my favorites so far.

spoiler-free sneak peek below! (catch chapters 1-4 here)

The longest day of '97 had been a Saturday. He'd been released from the dungeons with hours of daylight to go, she'd skived off revising so they could both hide from Hermione on the grounds. Grasses still lush from May rains, midges wandering sleepily through humid air. Under a blazing sun he had drifted toward sleep and back again, tangling her hair around his fingers, brushing a knee against her thigh. "D'you ever feel a little disappointed I didn't ask you out properly? Take you to Hogsmeade, sit around Puddifoot's..." She had grinned toward the sky. Lifted a chain of yellow flowerd from Luna off her neck, slung it across his chest. "All the time, actually. Really lacked fanfare, you know, way we kicked things off..." "... Bollocksed that right up, I reckon." She'd rolled to one side for a better look; he had gone a bit red— maybe from the sun or maybe from talking about it— but either way he'd looked at her with something reflecting back, that same desperate, overwhelming ache she could reach by reminding herself he was hers. "You can make it up to me," she had murmured, nudging his knee back. "Next year."

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norakelly · 24 days

Text

Ginniversary Bingo N41 - Lost things Also on AO3

Luna had the kinds of wisdoms that weren’t always obvious to other Ravenclaws, but Ginny could always appreciate them. One of the things that Luna had told her, she held onto during that dreadful year leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts.

One time Luna had told her that ‘Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect’. It became Ginny’s mantra. The year of losing things became the year of hope. The year of torture became the year of fighting back. And she had to have faith.

Many things were lost during the Battle, ones she did not expect to find their way back. Her brother’s death weighed heavy on her, as did the deaths of Tonks, Remus, Colin and too many others.

One thing did come back to her, not in the way she expected at all. The young, innocent and hopeful part of her had expected a dramatic happy reunion where she jumped into Harry’s arms and nothing else mattered. It did, though. Everything mattered, it tore through her painfully, and he knew it too. He did not offer more than a comforting smile and a squeeze of his hand.

If she was honest with herself, the darkest part of her had expected him not to return at all. Something she had lost would be gone forever, no matter what Luna said.

The man that settled down beside her now was one that refused adamantly to be changed by the war, even if inevitable. He did not falter in his convictions and fought against the darkness every time. She could not have expected it, because she could not have fathomed what he’d have to go through.

He sat on the side of her bed silently. She had asked him to come.

“Did you sleep alright?” she asked him.

“No.” He shook his head and looked up at her. “Did you?”

“No.” She looked at him for a long moment. “You’re not going to run off again, are you?” It was half a joke, but something inside her was looking for reassurance.

“Never.”

Green eyes focused on her securely and tenderly. Suddenly the hope bloomed almost violently in her chest, threatening to break through her ribcage. Her lips crashed onto his with desperation. It only took him a moment to react and then his arms came around her. Everything that loomed over them before was gone, barriers lifted. Promises he could not make that got stuck on his tongue at the last moment, longing looks that led to nothing… They were a thing of the past.

His hands ran up her back and her neck. He cupped her face gently and put just enough space between them to speak. She held his gaze.

He breathed out and his breath landed on her lips. “I want to tell you…”

She shook her head. “You will tell me later.” The tilt of her chin was both a question and an order. Later, much later for all she cared—they had time.

He inhaled sharply as if he realised it too. “Later,” he agreed.

His lips landed back on hers and when his hand carded through her hair, it reminded her of long-lost moments by the lake.

#beautiful

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norakelly · 25 days

Text

Just wow😭

Tears ricochet

It occurs to her all at once, her nose buried in his chest, his arms tight around her shoulders.

‘You’re alright,’ he whispers. ‘You’re alright.’

When she looks up to him, sees his eyes shut and his pained lips, she immediately knows he is not trying to reassure her. He is reassuring himself.

He’d found her in the Common Room, not long after he’d disappeared with Professor McGonagall behind the doors of the hospital wing. He’d walked straight to her as soon as he’d seen her, ignoring Ron and Hermione’s worried looks, and he’d held like he had not seen her since before he’d left the school with Dumbledore. He’d clung to her like he’d only just realised that they had been apart during a battle, that he’d been too far away to protect her, that he cannot be in two places at once. And it pains him, she can tell, it takes his breath away.

This must be it, she thinks - she knows. She clenches her fists, pressing her body onto his only for him to feel that she’s alive, she’s safe, she’s real. She won’t leave him, not until he’ll ask her to.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid and noble.

No, she understands. Really, she does. It must’ve been somewhere hidden in the fine print on dating the Chosen One. Right under He will set off to top-secret missions with old wizards that end up dying, it’d say: He’ll push you away to keep you safe, and then: He’ll leave you behind, whatever that means. And finally: You must let him.

After all, her feelings are irrelevant in the bigger picture. There’s a war raging out there, for Merlin’s sake. Why would she even waste time fantasising about a boy she fancies when Dumbledore has died and her brother has been maimed? It’s only selfish to even fathom those silly feelings in a time like this, right? Right?

She forces her head back under the hot stream of the shower, lets the water flood her face and blur her vision, trying harder than herself to shut down that one intrusive thought she knows has now started creeping in the back of her mind. But she can’t. She can’t because she already knows, not so deep down, that he’s not just some boy she fancies, that her feelings aren’t silly, that what they share is there and it’s real, whatever it is.

Her mouth tastes bitter now. Ironic how Tom has ruined this for them, too.

She tells Hermione the following morning, when the boys have run off to find some lunch for them to eat under a tree. She’s not sure what she expects to get out of her, but she says it anyway.

‘He’s going to leave me.’

Hermione opens her mouth but nothing comes out, her eyes sombre. Ginny realises she has been holding her breath.

‘You all are.’

Still, the warm July sun bathes the castle grounds as if summer does not care, as if it is all some cruel joke.

When it finally happens, at least she is not caught off guard. She manages to hold back her tears, just as she promised herself on countless occasions, because he does not deserve any more pain. He does not deserve any of it.

Funny how she is the one who is getting her heart broken, but she is still more concerned about his well being than anything else. Maybe this is what love is, she finally realises. It must be.

She reckons this is not the best time to tell him. Wonders if she’ll ever get the chance to.

On the train ride back home, she’s finally alone and free to let out all those tears she’s so stubbornly managed to hold back until now. She’s only human, after all.

She feels it all so distinctly now, the pain, the grief, the hurt, the hopelessness. But there is something almost peaceful about the deep-rooted, ever-present, plain old sense of acceptance that sits right on top of her stomach.

She knows it too well that the time has come for the Chosen One to prevail over Harry. The Chosen One has things to do, riddles to solve (Really, Ginny?, she thinks, half-smiling despite herself), and Harry has to oblige, head down, feelings buried, a wasted adolescence. It must be hard to love the Chosen One, that self-sacrificing, reckless, stubborn, noble git. But loving Harry, the real Harry, is the easiest thing in the world.

As for her - well, she knows she deeply cares for them both. Hell with that, she knows she loves them both. And, yes, she understands them both. She knows all too well what her role is, in all this mess. She really does know that the Chosen One really had no choice but to break up with her before doing whatever he is set to do. She also knows that Harry never would have.

This is the only thought that will keep her going even months from now, when she will be fighting her own resistance battle.

As soon as she sets foot into her home, the all-too-familiar smells flooding her senses, she just knows she won’t be able to sit through an entire dinner without giving away too much. She’s too tired to lie and pretend.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she mutters to nobody in particular. ‘I’m not hungry,’ and: ‘Yes, I’m fine, I’m just knackered.’

Her mother stiffens, ready to let out a protest, but she turns on her heels towards the stairs before anyone manages to say anything. She can feel Ron’s eyes on the back of her neck, just as she’s felt his silent and constant gaze since they’ve gotten off the train not so long ago. And when she feels his heavy steps behind her, following hers, she’s not even surprised.

They stop on the first floor landing, just in front of her bedroom door.

‘I’m fine, Ron,’ she quickly tells him, suddenly worrying that he’ll jump right into one of those how dare my best friend hurt my sister kind of rants. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

But instead, when she looks at him she realises that he’s not going to do any of that. His expression is miserable, sure, but it doesn’t take long for her to learn that he understands, too.

‘I’m so sorry, Ginny,’ he blurts out, no need to add more.

And that’s when it hits her, again, but much stronger this time. Maybe it’s because it’s someone else who is putting it in front of her, making it more real, or maybe it’s because she’s back home and the void left by Harry's absence is slowly starting to burn her gut. Maybe both, or maybe neither. It doesn’t even matter, that's for sure.

‘I’m sorry, too.’

He must have felt that something has changed, her voice has shifted and her eyes have filled with tears. She can read it all over his face - the distress, the panic, the what do I do now. She reckons she hasn’t cried in front of him since that train ride on her way to school in her second year. Must be new for him, must feel weird.

But even if his expression doesn’t seem to have a clue, his body certainly does - he stretches out his arm towards her and she grabs right away, as if they have never really gotten rid of the long forgone habit of holding each other. He engulfs her in a warm hug, the Big Brother Hug, crumbling the last piece of guard she has managed to hold up until now. And then she just cries - she cries ugly, sobs and snot and all that. She feels like she’s twelve all over again.

Later, in her childhood bedroom, she sinks deep into her bed, ready to doze off into what she hopes will be dreamless oblivion. In that dark, quiet stillness, she can’t stop her mind from wandering to a time (or a fantasy, she isn’t quite sure) when this will all be over. He will slip into the very same tiny bed, squeezed right next to her, his hands gripped on her waist, lips pressed onto hers, then on her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. Or maybe - no, maybe she will rest her head on his chest, listening to the sound of him breathing, and he will gently stroke her hair as if he’d never really stopped. Or maybe (and here she can’t help but feel a soft blush tickling her cheeks), maybe their bodies and souls will find each other, bare, warm, breathless.

‘I can’t believe I got this lucky,’ he’ll tell her, you know, after. ‘I can’t believe I get to live this life.’

‘Been dreaming of getting in my bed for long, now, have you,’ she’ll tease, her sardonic tone merely hiding her immense relief.

He’ll let out a small smile - small, yes, but finally light, free, and easy, so, so easy.

‘All those Veelas didn’t quite hit’, he’ll draw some imaginary quotation marks in the air and throw her a knowing look. ‘The spot, you know.’

She’ll snort a laughter in disbelief, and she’ll be so fucking glad, because as though everything will have changed, so much will have just stayed the same.

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norakelly · 29 days

Note

Hiya friend!

Do you think Harry calls Ginny by her full name when he wants to be a little shit?

Also, just want to say that I love the way you write Ginny plus the bestie moment between Ron and Harry.

❤️

Anon, this ask did something to my brain.

Firstly, thank you so much! That's so nice of you to say 🥰

Secondly, yes, I think Harry says it to wind Ginny up, and I think he gets more than he bargained for when he does.

To demonstrate, have this unhinged one-shot (drabble? Almost) I stayed up until 3am writing, in which Harry discovers he has a certain... effect on Ginevra...

AO3 or read below:

The first time he'd said it had been at Hogwarts; not during a sunlit day, but in the peaceful hour between day and night, when dusk had been gathering around them as they sat, wrapped up in one another, beneath their favourite beech tree.

The temperature had dropped as the sun had receded behind the tree line of the Forbidden Forest. She'd protested at first, when he'd tried to give her his jumper, but Ginny's objections had been half-hearted, and Harry's determination had been absolute, and eventually she'd slipped the soft green material over her head.

Despite the rapidly lowering temperature, something warm and content settled in Harry's chest at the sight of her, swathed in the soft folds of his jumper.

She shuffled closer to him, her smile impossibly bright in the growing darkness. “I'm keeping this.”

His arms wrapped around her instinctively, keeping her near as a teasing smile grew on his own face. “If you ask nicely, I might let you.”

Her head tilted thoughtfully; her eyes were like twin pools of firewhiskey, reflecting what little light remained as she moved. “I'm not asking, though. I'm merely informing you.”

Harry tried for a severe expression but the effect she had on him was too much; he doubted there was a substance on Earth as strong as her. His smile stayed in place. “That's stealing, Ginevra.”

He watched, secretly delighted, as her lips parted slightly in surprise at the use of her full name. His blood thrummed with anticipation, eager to see how she might respond. Idly, he wondered if he might have been wise to draw his wand.

The thought was fleeting, erased from his mind, as Ginny shook her arm free of the too-long sleeve of his jumper. Her hand reached out slowly; Harry watched its progress across the small gap between them, until her fingers curled around his chin, and his eyes closed for the barest of seconds at her touch.

Her hand guided him forward. Harry followed her silent command instinctively, closing the gap between them until it was hardly large enough for air to pass between them.

“Don't call me that,” she whispered warningly, her breath tickling his lips.

She kissed him before he could see the smile threatening to break out on her face.

◇◇◇

He heeded the warning for just over two years before saying it a second time.

They'd gone immediately from Platform Nine and Three Quarters to Grimmauld Place, which had been utterly transformed from the dark, dour dwelling it used to be.

He was leaning against the windowsill in his bedroom – their bedroom – watching with utter fascination as she zipped from one side of the room to the other unpacking her Hogwarts trunk for the final time.

She was talking a mile a minute, catching him up on everything that had happened during her final term. Harry was trying to listen despite the lump forming in his throat, and the trembling in his hands, and the overwhelming sense of fragility that was threatening to engulf him in the face of such a momentous occasion.

Her hair potion joined his aftershave on the dresser. Harry swallowed thickly.

Ginny didn't seem to notice, or perhaps she was letting him reach an equilibrium in his own time, either way, she flashed him a heart-stoppingly beautiful smile as she hung her dressing gown on the back of the door, right beside his. The effect was immediate. He felt himself relax.

The blood pounding in his ears receded, and Ginny's words came sharply back into focus.

“...I skipped half of my classes the week leading up to the final,” she told him with a sly smile that coaxed him into the easy rhythm of their usual back and forth. “Hermione was horrified, but I decided the extra flying time was more important.”

The corners of Harry's lips tugged upwards, momentarily returning her smirk. “I'm disappointed to hear you weren't taking your academics seriously, Ginevra.”

The small stack of books she'd been carrying to her nightstand tumbled from her grasp to the floor. She crossed to him in three quick steps, forced to rise onto her tiptoes, and even then not matching Harry's height. Her eyes smouldered as they met his. “I told you not to call me that.”

Something about the way she was looking at him turned his blood molten in his veins. “I'm just trying to make you feel at home.”

Her fingers curled around his t-shirt, pulling him to her. “I am home.”

He kissed her before she could see the smile threatening to break out on his face.

◇◇◇

Almost another year passed before he said it a third time.

Harry was in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty bowls, cracked eggshells, and streaks of flour that ran along the counter top. The recipe book Molly had given him for Christmas was propped open in front of him.

"Something smells good," Ginny announced, breathing deeply as she entered the kitchen, still dressed in her training robes.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth in greeting, the gesture so natural now that he did it unthinkingly.

“Attempt number six,” he informed her, inclining his head towards the oven, where his latest endeavour at a birthday cake for Teddy was baking.

Ginny's eyebrows rose in surprise. “You've been busy.” He'd been on attempt number three when she'd left for practice.

“I can't get it to rise properly.”

He didn't fool himself into believing she couldn't hear the edge of frustration in his voice. Her hand squeezed his arm in silent reassurance. “Andromeda said she was happy to make it.”

“I know, but she does so much already.”

Ginny's fingers slid from his arm, moving upwards, not stopping until they found his cheek, turning his head and forcing him to look at her. “So do you.”

He nodded, unwilling to agree verbally, but knowing she wouldn't allow him to argue. Still, he couldn't stop himself from saying. “I want to get this right for him.”

“Well, I've yet to discover the thing you can't do when you set your mind to it,” she said encouragingly, her hand leaving his cheek, and heading for the countertop. She shot him a wink that had the contrary results of soothing his agitation, and making his heart rate speed up. “Besides, I have a good feeling about this one.”

Her finger ran along the inside edge of the mixing bowl, collecting a sticky coating of cake mixture on the tip.

Impulsively, Harry grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand towards him, and licking the sweet mixture off her finger before she could. “You're supposed to wait for the cake to finish baking, Ginevra.”

Her eyes darkened, lips parting around a sharp intake of breath, confirming a suspicion Harry had been harbouring since the last time he'd said it. She liked it.

“If you call me that again, I'll hex you,” her voice was low, dangerous. Seductive.

“You can try,” Harry said, in a tone that matched hers. His fingers tightened around her wrist, pulling her to him. “But it's only fair to warn you you're dealing with a highly trained Auror.”

Ginny's head tilted thoughtfully, eyes sweeping over him like she was sizing him up; his skin heated everywhere her gaze touched. “You're forgetting I know all of your weaknesses.”

Harry hummed against her lips, unable to disagree. She did know all of his weaknesses, that much was undeniable, but he had definitely just confirmed one of hers. He could tell she knew it too. It was obvious from the way her eyes sparked as they met his, silently daring him to test her.

“You wouldn't fight me though, would you, Ginevra?”

He accentuated every syllable of her name, drawing it out, enthralled by the way her whole body stiffened in response.

A beat of tension-filled silence followed, stretching for what felt like eternity, before Ginny surged forward. Their matching smiles broke free a moment before their lips met, and Harry sank into her kiss.

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norakelly · 30 days

Text

hinny, hinny, hinny

Harry y Ginny en sus 20's. Puede ser una reunión importante para las Holyhead Harpies en la que Harry presume con orgullo lo maravillosa que es su novia o alguna ceremonía importante del ministerio que los involucra por ser los salvadores del mundo mágico. No lo sé. Lo único que sé es que Harry y Ginny están enamorados. <3

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norakelly · 1 month

Text

WELCOME BACK TO THE PAGE PALS PROJECT! AS A REMINDER, THE "PAGE PALS" PROJECT IS A GROUP RE-READ OF CASTLES. FOR MORE INFORMATION, PLEASE READ THIS POST HERE.

THIS WEEK, WE'RE DOING CHAPTER 2. BELOW, YOU'LL FIND MY THOUGHTS AS A CONVERSATION STARTER. FEEL FREE TO SEND IN ASKS IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS/THOUGHTS, AND TO JOIN OUR DISCORD SERVER FOR FURTHER DISCUSSION.

HANDY LINKS/INFO:

chapter: ii. out of ash (ashes twirl)

wordcount: 10, 476

playlist: notes here

castles FAQ: here

g e n e r a l t h o u g h t s:

for a very long time, this chapter used to be my favourite, and i still hold it in very high regard. i don't know what it is about it, it just feels like ✨vibes✨. it's both incredibly funny at times, and incredibly sad, and i feel like it really exhibits that awkward post-war happy/sad balance that is so important to castles. even if it's no longer my favourite cause i'm not quite sure which is my favourite anymore, i still think chapter 2 has some of my best writing in this fic. i'll go through a few chosen bits below but i feel like it has that general sense of messiness and melancholy that i really like in the early days of this story.

just like with chapter 1, you might notice a few changes i've made along the way, depending on when you read it last. again, i don't think it's anything major but if you do notice, you'll see that i didn't actually delete anything, just moved things around a bit. i think it flows better that way. i also added some stuff - i'm curious to see if you'll spot it. let me know!

having said that, omg, i'd forgot how SLOW the pacing is in this chapter. don't get me wrong, i think it needs to be slow for the purposes of telling the story, but it's very much like: this is them leaving the hotel, this is them having breakfast, this is them testifying - it is very step by step lol. i worry about my pacing in the later chapters, sometimes, but i clearly forgot about this one lol.

g i n n y:

Generally, reading this just this morning, I couldn't help but feel this raw sense of panic in Ginny, throughout this chapter. I think obviously, it's something that only really makes sense and becomes apparent on re-read, but there's this way you really feel how fucking terrified she is that Harry will find out. I hate to say this, but the way she acts with him, that summer, is almost reminiscent of her "relationship" with Amycus, actually. She is watching his every move, everything he says, everything she says, trying to make sure he doesn't find out. And, I don't think the pretending and the lying comes easy to her, I think it basically tears her apart, but those are skills that she "learnt" with Amycus. Being cued into his every emotion, expertly toying that line between saying too much and too little. She is almost manipulating him, into thinking they have this connection, and that them not talking is the Right thing for them, and it's not really her fault, it's how fear has wired her to function, but I find it chilling.

h i g h l i g h t s:

A year later, roses bloom once again in the gardens of Ottery St Catchpole and Harry’s still holding her. Some things in life never change, he muses, although, of course, everything else has changed. They’ve both fought in a war that should never have been theirs and one of her brothers has died, leaving the start of the summer to mend itself without them, trapped in a combative attempt to shovel the little hope it has left down their throats. When Harry caresses Ginny’s skin, the summer of ‘98, she’s naked next to him, the both of them tucked in her small, twin bed at The Burrow. They try to be quiet (always, despite the silencing charms they cast) but they each have a side, now, an oddly domestic habit, and after they have sex, Harry often lies with her body wrapped around him, so close that he’s never quite sure where her limbs start and where his end. Her bed’s pushed up against her window - along the skin of his left arm, he feels the morning dew build as the night chill leaves the air; it trickles down the single-glazed glass. They watch the sun rise together - early mornings and milky skies.

I LOVE THIS PARAGRAPH SO MUCH. idk, jokes aside, i think it's one of my favourite things i've ever written. there's a flow to it i really like and i adore the end of "early mornings and milky skies". and i think it's the beginning of this motif that sort of comes back in chapter 17 where the two of them are always touching, comfortable in bed. the chill of early summer mornings and OH I LOVE IT.

'I'm not a Healer, Harry.'

so, this is actually a line i added in reaction to a) the people in my comments being mad that ginny wasn't weeding secrets out of harry and that being "ooc", and b) a conversation i later had with @btelling. i think there's this misconception in fandom about ginny being a "healer". this idea that she's almost harry's therapist after the war, the only one that can get him talking, etc. and i think firstly, there's very little evidence of that in canon. ginny asks for explanations, often, but she very rarely ever gets them. and secondly, there's this general view of women as healers in general, tending to "sick" men and making them better, which i don't particularly enjoy. so, i guess that was me reacting to all of this.

They barely swallow any food. For the other two’s sakes, Harry tries to hide the knot in his stomach, can tell that Hermione is anxious enough for the three of them - she keeps tapping an annoying rhythm against the table with the tips of her fingers, doesn’t even seem to realise she’s doing it. Her make-up is minimal, the varnish on her nails a plain but shiny transparent. His mind drifts back to Ginny again, how she always painted her nails in bright colours in school, reds and oranges, and golds, performed complicated charm work on them so that it would stick. ‘If I don’t, it always chips with Quidditch.’

i noticed this on a previous re-read but, i don't think i wrote this intentionally but i love the way harry is so infatuated with ginny in this. like, i think this is one of the moments where the fact that he totally idealises her and is very teenage-infatuated-crazy-about-a-girl really shines through. he literally looks at hermione's nails and is like: oh and by the way GINNY does her nails like this. it's so silly but it really shows how obsessed he is with her, but also how shallow it kind of is. he thinks it's deep, because when you're that age you think you're so deep, but it's actually not.

‘When we get there, it’ll be like the craziest circus you’ve ever been to,’ he speaks, quick, before he runs out of words. There is an urgency to the things that he needs to tell them both, ones that they don’t necessarily want to hear. ‘It’ll be dozens and dozens of people standing in a crowd, clapping and screaming, and wanting a piece of you. They’ll want to thank you, insult you, ask you questions, tell you personal stuff about themselves. They don’t mean anything bad by it, they just don’t really realise you’re a person. The press will be there, too, and they will be flashing their cameras just about five inches from your face to try and get a good shot,’ he adds, raising his hand close to his own cheek, showing them the distance. ‘They’ll want to touch you, have you sign stuff, and they’ll keep talking at you from the moment you step out of that fireplace to the moment you get into the lift. We’ll have an escort of Aurors to try and hold them back but I honestly doubt that they’ll be able to do much. It’ll feel like you’re in the longest tunnel you’ve ever been through and you can’t see the exit. At least, wear that scarf over your head, it’ll hide your face and your eyes from the cameras, protect you a bit. Ron, you can use the hood at the back of your robes.’

i think honestly, this is one of my favourite harry moments in the whole fic. i can't possibly tell you how much time i spent on this paragraph, back then. i see it as one of those post-war moments where harry actually does start growing into his own skin and also where you start being faced with the reality of the post-war world. there's this sort of "bubble," i think, throughout chapters 1&2 where they're all very removed from the outside and inside their little burrow bubble, and that obviously bursts big time, with the commission. there's something very brutal about the way harry speaks that day, and i think it really fits.

‘Why were we never kids?’

ah, another castles classic line people quote all the time. yuuup. 💔

That evening, the both of them eat Pad Thai takeaway and sit on the floor in front of the muted hotel telly. They laugh at funny Hogwarts stories of Romilda Vane and crazy things that Harry remembers Luna saying. They drain a few cans of bitter and wait for Ron to come home.

i've always loved this moment loads because it's 1) harry-and-hermione-my-babies!!!! but also 2) it has these trio-codependency vibes that are very present in the early chapters of feeling lost when the three of them aren't together. the way they "wait for Ron to come home" breaks my little heart for them.

Love in its million different forms, the way Dumbledore preached it. Harry loves Hermione the way he loves Ron, like the boy who introduced him to chocolate frogs and the girl who cried in the loo and faced a troll.

again, trio vibes. love, love, love.

l a s t l y:

okay, so i love, love, love the rest of this chapter but also i'm having a hard time articulating precise thoughts so i'll leave it at that for now. please do not hesitate to send me asks if there's anything else you'd like me to comment on, though. very excited to hear your thoughts.

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norakelly · 1 month

Text

Ginniversary drabble 15

Prompt: #I19 -- The girl shouldn't have been sacked but if he said anything he'd make it worse.

Read on AO3 or below:

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was packed almost to bursting. Harry's plan to sneak under the invisibility cloak was swiftly abandoned; there was no room to manoeuvre. It didn't matter, he slid through the door and was immediately swallowed by the crowd.

The year-long closure had done nothing to dull the shine of the shop. Harry still didn't know where to look, he was captivated by a cacophony of colourful flashes, smoke-plumed bangs, and the sparkling whizz of a hundred different products all fighting for his attention.

His eyes wandered from one bright distraction to another as he navigated the crowd, only stopping when they fell on her.

She was, in his opinion, brighter than any firework could wish to be. The magenta staff robes that he had always thought clashed horribly with the signature Weasley hair, dulled in comparison to Ginny's smile until they were hardly noticeable.

Harry paused by a display of edible Dark Marks (clearance: buy one get one free), watching as Ginny directed a stack of skiving snackboxes onto a free topshelf with her wand.

An elderly woman was talking to her, holding up a fanged frisbee which looked to have been roughly torn from its packaging and now had several fangs missing.

“I'm sorry,” Ginny said, still smiling despite the scowl the woman was throwing at her. “I can't take it back without a receipt.”

“I don't have a receipt!” The old lady practically yelled.

Ginny's knuckles turned white where she gripped her wand. “I know, that's why I can't–”

“Oi, miss!” A middle-aged wizard with a grey beard and two children in tow barged up to Ginny.

The corners of her smile twitched. “I'll be with you in a–”

The bearded wizard shook his head. “I've been looking everywhere for an assistant.”

“Yes, if you could just give me a–”

He interrupted her again, apparently oblivious to the dangerous undercurrent in Ginny's voice that Harry found unmissable. “Does anybody actually work in this shop?”

Even Harry couldn't deny that the red flush slowly creeping over Ginny's face clashed jarringly with the magenta robes now. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Yes, people do work here,” she hissed. “It might have escaped your attention, because clearly you think the world revolves around you, but we're actually quite busy today.”

The elderly witch gasped dramatically. Harry resisted the urge to grin.

The bearded wizard didn't have the good sense to appear affected by Ginny's tone at all. He crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. “I want three bottles of Otter's fizzy orange juice.”

“I want a refund!” The elderly witch chimed in.

A tiny huff of indignation escaped Ginny. Harry was strongly reminded of the puffs of air he'd seen escape an angry dragon's nostrils on more than one occasion. “Well, I want a lifetime supply of fizzing whizzbees, a pet unicorn, and five minutes free of entitled demands, but it looks like none of us are getting what we want, are we?”

The elderly witch clutched at her chest in a great show of shock. The bearded wizard's hands curled into fists. Harry took a step forward, pushing through the crowd in a bid to reach Ginny before the situation escalated.

George got there a moment before Harry did, appearing smoothly from the crowd and clapping a jovial hand on the wizard's shoulder. “Free of charge,” he said, offering three bottles of luminous orange liquid to the man before turning to the elderly witch with a smile that Harry had previously thought was reserved for Mrs Weasley. “If you go and see Verity at the counter, she'll be happy to refund you.”

“What?” Ginny burst out as both the wizard and the witch, apparently pleased with George's offers, melted into the crowd. “A refund? It's missing half its fangs because her grandchild is more feral than the product!”

George laughed loudly; his fingers dug into Ginny's shoulder pulling her back towards the wall. Harry followed, receiving only a short nod from both of them in acknowdgement of his arrival.

They turned to glare at one another in a way that suggested this wasn't their first argument in the four hours since Ginny had taken up employment in the shop. Harry hovered a few steps away.

“Ginny, you're fired,” George said, immediately confirming Harry's suspicions.

Ginny's eyes flicked to him, but Harry remained silent. He didn't think she should be sacked, but if he said anything he'd make it worse. He knew better than to come into in the middle of a Weasley sibling argument.

“You can't be serious!” Ginny fumed. “Because of a few egregiously rude customers?”

George laughed again, a sound that only served to increase Ginny's ire, judging by her expression. “That wasn't egregiously rude… once I had a woman ask me if I wanted to explain to her child why I'd decided to ruin Christmas, because we'd sold out of aviatomobiles.”

Her arms folded and she glared at the polished wooden floor. “Well, that kid's christmas was probably already ruined by having awful human beings for parents.”

‘Thats not the point,'' George persisted. "You made Wally Dixon cry."

"Wally Dixon cries at everything." Ginny shrugged, looking up at George defiantly. "I can't be held responsible for that."

"And I can't have crying patrons fleeing my shop – its bad for business."

“Fine!” Ginny declared. “I didn't want to work here anyway!”

She didn't wait for George to respond, already taking off into the crowd, her hand brushing against Harry's as she sidled past him, presumably to rid herself of the magenta robes.

George watched her go, shaking his head as he turned his eyes upon Harry. “Is it her charming personality that you're attracted to? Or is there something else I'm not seeing?”

#so cute #hinny

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