#hp missing moment

[takeariskao3]

July 31, 1997 (Ginny's Version) a tpfy missing moment

Memory presses like a knife against her throat. She can almost feel the warm sun at the nape of her neck as images are wrenched violently to the forefront of her mind. The shade of the willow tree, the soft breeze rippling off the lake, the slide of his lips against hers. She knows without a shadow of doubt that Harry is remembering it too.

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[sybill-the-seer]

“Lovely to sit between comfort and chaos” (ceilings, by Lizzy McAlpine)

Harry and Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, 6th year.

Inspired by Surrender, written by the incredible @greenhousethree, specifically the snippet below (I hope you don’t mind me sharing this whole section!):

“Can I ask you something?” Her quill had been poised over her Defense essay, ink drying in the tip, for several minutes while she’d assembled the courage, tucked on the sofa in the dying light of the common room fire.

“Hm?” He didn’t open his eyes, head on her thigh while the rest of their House slept.

Her breath felt trapped, high in her chest. “About the prophecy.”

His eyes opened to meet hers, opaque where before they’d been light, fathomless. A flicker of betrayal stole across his features, replaced by something else. He sat up slowly. She felt suddenly cold in the absence of his weight.

“Please, Gin,” he croaked. Begged. “Don’t… don’t make me lie to you. I can’t.”

Horrible, sickly guilt spread down from her throat, flaring as she realized she’d shattered something unspoken. “Okay.”

He hugged his knees to his chest, staring eons through the table, saying nothing.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head bitterly, resting his chin on his shoulder and avoiding her eyes still. “Don’t be. I know it’s shitty of me.”

“It’s not,” she breathed. Surely his thoughts had strayed to Sirius, to his parents, to Ron and her father. Had they all known? “I get it.”

His lips pressed into a twisted grimace, and he snorted humorlessly.

Ginny abandoned her quill, holding her breath and summoning the remainder of her bravery to touch him. Fingers brushed through his hair, avoiding his forehead. He was still as she lifted her face to his, lips yielding. For a moment she thought he might push her away, but he softened, leaning in, clutching when she moved to straddle his lap, taking her face gently between his hands when they parted.

And now she recognized his pain, hidden carefully behind a look so tender and yearning that it startled her. It was killing him, not telling her.

[toorumlk]

all of gryffindor: look at our prefects dawg, we’re never winning the house cup

romione in their sixth year if i had it my way

[pooks]

(Seamus' favorite Irish Quidditch team lost and Percy attempts to cheer him up, as Prefect) Percy: C'mon now, Seamus. Think of a happy place! Now, what makes you happy? Seasmus: Being in the middle of a HUGE explosion! :D Harry: Less happy place, Percy! Less happy place. Percy: Um...think calming thoughts. I know, let's count back from ten! 10, 9, 8- Harry: NO! Ron: Duck! Hermione: NO!

[bihinnyshipper]

“Mum, dad? Can I talk for a second?” Albus Potter stood in the doorway of his parent’s bedroom. Ginny looked up from her book and smiled at her son. 

“Of course, Al.” She patted the bed in front of her. “What’s up?” 

Albus took a deep breath, sitting precariously on the edge of his parent’s oversized bed. His father had joined his mother sitting up, and now both sets of eyes were watching their son’s every move. “I don’t really know how to say it.” 

“Take your time.” Ginny shifted, glancing at her husband. 

A minute of silence and the teen spoke again. “You know Scorpius?” 

“Malfoy,” it wasn’t a question, but Albus nodded in response to his father’s statement. 

“Malfoy.” He confirmed. “He and I… Well, we aren’t just friends.” Harry and Ginny shared a glance. Albus couldn’t tell if it was amusement, surprise, confusion, or disgust. Maybe a mixture. 

“We know.” Harry spoke up. Ginny nudged him. 

“How?” Albus didn’t really know what he was expecting from his parents. He thought maybe they would have gotten mad, maybe screamed at him. His father may have been even more ashamed of having him as a son. Maybe they would have told him he didn’t know what he was feeling. Either way, the one thing the teen hadn’t expected was that they knew. 

“We may be old, but we’re not blind, Al.” His mother laughed. “We’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Your dad and I were young once, believe it or not. We know the signs.” Albus tried not to think about his mum thinking about his dad the way Albus thought about Scorpius.

“How close have you two gotten?” Harry entered back into the conversation.  

Albus turned Weasley red. “Why are you asking about my sex life, dad?” Harry was speechless.  

Ginny burst out laughing, while Harry turned almost as red as his son. “I don’t think he meant to. Your father was asking whether you just have a crush on him or if you’re dating.” 

“We’re dating.” Albus’ confidence returned to him. “Have been for about eight months.” Ginny and Harry exchanged another smirk, seeing the look on their son’s face as he talked about his boyfriend. 

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” 

“I didn’t know how you would react. Dating Scorpius is taboo.”  His parents looked confused, so he continued. “For one, Scorpius is a guy. I didn’t know how you would react to that. Also, he’s a Malfoy.” 

“Oh, honey. Scorpius being a Malfoy doesn’t matter. Your father is perfectly civil with Draco. As long as Scorpius makes you happy, we’re happy.” Ginny kicked her husband lightly under the blanket, prompting him to agree with her. 

Harry gritted his teeth. “Of course, that’s all that matters.” He got more comfortable. “As for him being a bloke, I really don’t have any room to tell you off in that category.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, exchanging another look with his wife. He had been wanting to tell his children for some time, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. 

Albus’ eyes grew wide as realization dawned on him. “You don’t mean… you’re gay?” 

“Bi.” Harry corrected him. “I’m married to, and very much in love with, a witch, if you haven’t noticed. But no, I’m not straight.” 

Seemingly having forgotten all about his situation, Albus pried his father for information. “Have you ever dated a bloke?” Harry shook his head. “So then, how do you know?” 

“How did you know, before Scorpius?” Figuring he was too far gone to keep anything from his son, Harry responded honestly. “I’ve kissed guys and had crushes.” 

“Who have you kissed?” Albus looked like he was in the middle of watching the best movie he’d ever seen. 

“That’s on a need to know basis, actually.” 

“Come on, dad. I won’t judge.” He pleaded, his voice coming dangerously close to whining. “At least tell me if it’s someone I know. Do you know, mum?” He directed his efforts to Ginny. 

“Of course I do.” 

“Please tell me!” 

“Can’t do that.” Ginny smirked. 

“Why not!” The fourteen-year-old Potter fell dramatically onto his parent’s bed. 

Albus’ show and his parent’s laughter attracted the attention of his siblings. 

“What’s going on?” James came around the corner, toweling his messy hair after a shower. Lily wasn’t far behind. 

Albus smirked. Even after all these years, Harry was putty in Lily’s hands. Albus knew he, or more likely Lily, could worm the answers he wanted out of his father now. “Dad likes blokes.” 

“Ah, finally fessed up, did you, dad?” 

“It wasn’t some well-protected secret,” Harry began before his youngest son cut him off. 

“Wait - you knew? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I figured it out on my own about two years ago. Despite being the resident straight of the family, I pride myself on my ability to detect when other people aren’t. Dad’s been unknowingly out to me since fourth year.” James smirked at his father’s raised eyebrow. “Though I will hand it to you, Al, dad was a lot harder to catch onto than mum. I had her labeled by the time I turned thirteen.” 

Ginny cleared her throat, sharing yet another look with her husband. “‘Labeled’ as what, exactly?” She opened her arms and Lily snuggled up next to her. 

“If you weren’t sickeningly in love with dad, I’d say you’d be married to a girl for sure.”

“You’re right,” Ginny answered. “I’m not straight, and if you must know, I do have a preference for women, but that doesn’t mean it’s your place to say that. And I wouldn’t trade my life and your dad for anything.” 

James just shrugged. 

“The point, Al” Harry cleared his throat, “Is that your mum and I love you and will love whoever you love, even if they are a Malfoy.” 

Albus rolled his eyes. “Okay, dad. But don’t think you’re getting away without telling me who you’ve kissed.” 

“Dad’s only kissed mum, Alby!” Lily chimed in from between her parents. 

Laughter erupted from the rest of the family as Harry kissed the top of his daughter’s head and then leaned over to kiss his wife, much to the protest of his sons.

[ratabrasileira]

For today? A colored sketch of Hinny kissing

Tomorrow? Who knows…

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

Smile

A HBP missing moment for @hinnymicrofic Day 1! 423 words

"Ginny, I am so sorry!" Peakes shouted at her hunched over body on the ground. He landed down next to her, reaching a hand out to comfort her.

Ginny smacked it out of the way.

His stupid, rogue bludger bashed into her face, putting her into this position. Judging by the pain in her face and the blood, well, everywhere, she probably had a broken nose.

Maybe it wasn't a rogue bludger, maybe she was a little distracted.

Speaking of, her distraction came running over to her, elbowing Peakes out of the way.

"Gin, you good?" Harry asked.

Ginny grinned up at him, "Never better."

Harry quirked an eyebrow and turned to face the rest of the team behind them. "Practice is over, you are all dismissed while I help Ginny find her missing tooth."

Missing tooth?

Ginny ran her tongue across the top of her mouth.

Oh yup, there's definitely a new hole there. That explains the blood in her mouth.

She sat up as the rest of her teammates shuffled back to the changing rooms. She gave a two finger salute and mouthed "Fuck you" to Peakes when he turned his back to her.

Harry crouched down in front of her, blocking the setting sun, a halo of light encircled him. It was truly unfair how attractive he looked after practice.

"Are you actually okay, Ginny?" Harry asked, green eyes filled with concern. His hand reaching out to give her ankle a squeeze.

"It's so sweet you're worried, but this is nothing compared to the injuries I sustained when I jumped out of Fred and George's bedroom window when I was 9."

Harry shook his head at her, "And why would you do that?"

Ginny shrugged. "Fred bet that I wouldn't," she said, smiling at him.

"You look kinda silly when you smile with the missing tooth," Harry said, pointing to his front tooth.

"No, I look terrifying and attractive," Ginny countered.

"Yes, and kinda silly."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. His thumb traced circles on her ankle. The sun continued to give Harry a soft glow. His eyes roamed all across her face, focusing on her busted up mouth. Her brain tried to not focus on the fact that he didn't deny she looked attractive.

The moment was ruined when Ginny coughed blood up all over the front of her practice jersey.

Very attractive.

"Come on, Toothless," Harry stood, extending a hand to Ginny to help her up. "Let's go visit Madame Pomfrey. I know she misses us."

[mrsnerdygirl]

Sixteen year old Tom Riddle stood frozen in front of the destroyed house . It was scary , dark and abolished , just like his life , his soul , this was his legacy . He approached the huge house , noticing the dead snake on the doorframe , that was hanging there , its eyes opened , two dark slits , warning everyone who dared to try and enter the mess , that his mother used to call home , or at least he thought she did . Tom had never met his mother , he didn’t know what she looked like , nor how her touch felt , how her voice sounded , but that was amazing . Words couldn’t describe how mad he was with her, how much rage he held against his birth giver . For some reason though , his rage towards his mother couldn’t compare to the many emotions he held against that man , that man that was the reason he is Tom Marvolo Riddle .

When he entered he met his uncle , the man that without knowing it had changed his life . He went there to take a piece of that bloodline with him , the bloodline that would end soon , because he couldn’t continue it, not with the curse on his back , not with his own name following him around , like a ghost whose destiny was to hunt him . He came out knowing where his father lived , knowing that a piece of his own DNA was alive , breathing every day , knowing that Tom existed , never bothering to look for him . “Of course not , thought the young boy , he wouldn’t look for the witch’s son.”

He was so close to his blood , to his living relatives . He never knew how his mother looked like , but when he left the Gaunt house, the ring of Salazar Slytherin tightly wrapped on his hand , he knew, nothing like him , because Tom and his father shared more than their name , they shared a face . As he went up the hill , he hoped that the mad man was wrong , that he was mistaken , because Tom couldn’t think of a worse curse than having to live with the image of that muggle .

He stood in front of the mansion , it was beautiful , well kept , the opposite of the house that stood not too far way . He gazed through the window , looking at the grant entryway , filled with expensive souvenirs. He opened the door , and put a silencing charm on himself , insuring that whoever occupied the house wouldn’t be able to hear him . On that richly decorated hallway , stood young Tom Riddle , gazing back at his own face . On top of the grant staircase hang the portrait of a boy , who must have been his age . He sat on a chair , in the middle of his haughty looking parents . They were like all the rich people Tom had met , haughty , wealthy , rude and full of themselves , so sure on their riches , that they forgot about everything else . They were not on the level of the pureblood families , the children of which he associated with . Tom stared in his own eyes , painted perfectly on the boy’s face , no not just any boy , his father , the man who abounded him , who left him alone in poverty , to suffer while he ran off to his rich family .

The curse was real , he shared the same filthy blood , name and face as the muggle . Without knowing why he went through the wooden door on his right , where he clearly heard voices . The drawing room matched the outside of the house , rich looking , impressive even . Three heads turned his way . The older man , who he saw in the portrait got up first , like his wife and son , still in his dinner clothing , looking shocked and angry : “Who are you ?” , his voice was loud , harsh and rude . Without thinking much about it , he lifted his wand , and a shiny lightning came out , hitting him straight to his chest . The woman screamed , but soon , not even a second later , she too dropped dead , eyes opened , staring at the ceiling . “Mother ? what have you done ? what in the bloody hell are you ? “ , Tom stared at eyes as dark as his , at features the same as his , he never cared about his looks , not until he realized he could use them to get what he wanted , but for some reason now he was angry at the looks of this man . His “father “ raised his hand , and Tom noticed a wedding band . Perhaps he was engaged , perhaps married, and that just made him madder , because someone got to have this man in his life , a child got to have this man , when all Tom wanted as a kid was for his dad , or a relative even , to come and take him away forever . Someone like him , who understood his ideas , because they were the same , they were just like him . He waited for so long , not knowing that the hero he wished for didn’t care , the hero had forgotten about him , hadn’t bothered thinking beyond the muggle village . Tom smirked at Tom senior’s expression , and this time he spoke , feeling the wave of power radiate through his arm to the wand ; “Avada Kadavra “ .

It wasn’t the first time he used the spell , it wouldn’t be the last , but it surely felt different . He killed his father’s family , his own blood , made a Horcrux , separated a part of his soul once again , and blamed Morfin Gaunt for everything . He walked away from the houses ,leaving Little Hangleton behind , together with his family history , vowing to build a name for himself , one that would have nothing to do with his past , one that people would fear and would recognize as great and powerful , one that would be his and his only .

So , i dont know how accurate this is but in my opinion, Tom didnt know his dad lived in the village, because noone knew who his dad was , so noone could have told him about it . I think he just went in the village to see his mum's house as well as get the ring . I also think that he didnt want to kill him uncle to make the Horcrux , but i dont know who he was planning to kill , maybe a muggle and then frame his uncle ? Anyways so yeah that was my version of what happened to the Riddles .

[rmwb-fanfics]

Harry was very aware of footsteps. He had to be.

He’d needed the skill to determine which of his relatives had come to wake him up every morning.

He’d needed to know if he’d receive dust coming down from the stairs as his cousin jumped up and down obnoxiously above.

Or perhaps the rapid knocking of his Aunt Petunia. Forever impatient with Harry’s groggy morning tendencies.

Or, worse still, Uncle Vernon’s lazy opening of the cupboard door. A mumbled “Get up,” as he shuffled off to the kitchen.

Harry had come to know Sirius’s steps as well. They were quiet. Years of sneaking around after hours and running from the Ministry had left him a master of going audibly unnoticed.

Though, when Harry caught it, it was always his heels that gave him away. Scraping on the floor as the man trudged down the many flights of stairs in his childhood home. His old prison regaining its title for caging the pride of Sirius Black.

That knowledge held within Harry’s mind was worthless now, however. Because as the June sun beat down on his tired skin, Harry knew that he’d never hear those footsteps again.

He’d never hear that lazy slide of a heel. Not from Sirius, anyway.

Because those footsteps were lost. Tumbling back behind a veil Harry no longer cared to understand.

It should’ve been Bellatrix, or Wormtail, or anyone other than the one man who had stood up for him. Who had reached through the darkness of Harry’s mind and pulled him to safer, warmer shores.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was. The prophecy, the war, the scars on the back of his hand.

It wasn’t fair to his friends, who had grown attached to a boy doomed to become a murderer, or die in his refusal to do so.

It wasn’t fair to his parents, who had sacrificed their lives for a chance at destroying a shell of a man too afraid to let the inevitable claim his wounded soul.

Harry’s eyes are closed. The light and colour of the world shuttered behind the impenetrable red glow of the back of his eyelids. His back pressed against a tree that had lost so much of its comfort in light of the memory of a boy tormenting his classmate. Of friends and future loves saying things only his nightmares could’ve imagined.

He didn’t care about that now, however. All he thought now was that Sirius had once sat here. His eyes alight with mischief and life. Something Harry had only seen glimpses of. Like a ghost at the end of an unending corridor.

The ebb and flow of the shallow waves from the lake kept his mind at bay. It’s murky depths maintaining his sanity. Letting them hold him up.

He hears footsteps, then. Grass getting pressed into the ground under determined steps. Twigs cracking and bending to the sheer will of whoever was coming.

Harry releases a pained sigh. The tranquility of the moment slipping away with each impending step.

They are neither graceful nor clumsy. Each fall is deliberate, understanding. They’re light, which means it isn’t one of the boys, unless Colin Creevey had come looking for an autograph.

It isn’t Hermione, who marched anywhere she went, while somehow managing to be delicate and hesitant.

Then, as the steps near his place, seated against a tree, they stop. He hears the rumple of robes, and the staticky sound of thousands of strands of grass being folded down under the weight of someone sitting down.

Harry’s irritation swells in his chest. He’d came here to be alone. To sink in his despair and let the world take hold of him. He’d made himself very clear without saying a word to his friends. They’d understood. He’d seen it in Ron’s eyes and Hermione’s frown.

He hears the creak of leather bindings, and the ruffle of pages. Then, the unfamiliar click of a muggle pen. A sound he hadn’t heard in years, really. Save for Mr. Weasley’s incessant questions on the things over the summer.

His throat dry, his voice harsh, Harry says, “I don’t want to talk,”

There’s no immediate response. Just the sound of someone scribbling away on parchment.

“I know,” his mysterious companion mumbled. Her voice like a song in the breeze. He shouldn’t be surprised now, after a year full of them, that it was Ginny Weasley.

She continues to write, and Harry keeps his eyes shut. He can feel the tickle of hair dancing on his right arm. The wind blowing it onto his bicep.

“What are you writing?” he asks as the dull scratching becomes a monotone ringing in his ears.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk?” Ginny’s writing stops, and Harry feels his lips quirk upward slightly.

He doesn’t respond. Instead choosing to shift his legs into a more comfortable position. Giving his knees a break and letting the blood move through them.

“I’m writing a story,” she explains after a long silence filled with the distant cheers of simpler lives and waves rolling up a gravelly shore.

“What’s it about?” Harry asks, his voice lighter this time.

Ginny huffs a quiet laugh. “You don’t get the details. You can read it once it’s finished,”

Harry unwinds his arms and let’s them fall comfortably into his lap. “Will I get a free copy?”

“Maybe,” is Ginny’s shrewd response.

Again a silence lapses between them. Harry’s chest rises and falls with every breath.

Every breath he is still here, on one side of a veil.

“It’s about a girl,” Ginny says eventually. He swears he can see her tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her freckled nose twitching in the breeze. “She’s awake and she knows what she wants. She’s happy,”

Harry nods slowly, his eyes stay shut.

“I hope you let me read it some time,”

“Maybe,”

And for hours there was nothing but silent writing, and Harry’s thoughts strayed from Sirius, from the prophecy, and from his parents.

He wanted to know about the girl who knew what she wanted. Who was happy.

[turbo-tsundere]

This game just keeps on gaming huh

[cemeterydrive5]

confession as a harry girly i never got over my grudge w percy weasley after tgat note he sent ron shit talking him in ootp

like i know he was just worried about his brother but at the same time fuck that noise what was he being messy for 😭

[takeariskao3]

written for THE TORTURED POTTERS DEPARTMENT fic fest hosted by @corneliaavenue-ao3 Prompt: But Daddy I Love Him

Arthur found her at the edge of the wards, half hidden by the tall summer grass that rippled golden in the dying sunlight. The bright copper of her hair stood out from the flaxen surrounding her and an ache of deja vu lingered in his chest.

The memory felt rough--coarse around the edges--of Ginny, newly eleven and sobbing into skinned knees.

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[hpseeker99]

Harry: Go big or go home! Ron and Hermione: We are begging you, just this one time, go home! Harry, jumping on a dragon: Imma go big

[astralprisms]

*howling like a great wind through a canyon, it engulfs your mind, drowns your senses. Above the howl rises a screech, gleeful and maniacal. It is the way and the truth. Absolute.*

The Emperor: Leave - them - alone.

*the screech quiets, the howl fades. Your mind is hollow, save for one lone voice.*

The Emperor: Bane's Chosen has fallen - his Netherstone is yours. You have done well.

Xa'rok: I heard the Absolute scream.

The Emperor: You heard the Elder Brain. It's regaining its autonomy. It cries not from pain, but exaltation. We must stop it, before it breaks free.

The Emperor: One Netherstone remains - Orin's. We must find her and take it from her. After that, we take control of the Brain. You should start wondering what you will do then.

Xa'rok: I'll decide once we get there.

The Emperor: ...sometimes, you surprise me with your wisdom.

[hinnyfied]

Fireside

@hinnymicrofic June 19th prompt: Parents

It's not as micro as I originally intended, but I couldn't help myself! Read on AO3 here or below!

***

Ginny was in the throes of OWL preparation, and it was severely limiting her time with Harry (much to her irritation). They did their best to find ways to spend extra time with each other, even if that meant just quietly doing schoolwork together.

They were in the common room late one evening, curled up next to one another on the sofa nearest the fireplace. Harry was reading through his copy of Advanced Transfiguration and making additions to his notes from class while Ginny attempted to cram more Potions information into her brain – though she was convinced she was simply out of room up there at this point.

She felt Harry yawn beside her, and she looked up at the old clock on the mantle. It was nearing midnight, and apart from the two of them, the common room was entirely empty.

“Ready to call it for the night?” she asked him.

“Only if you are,” he said, stubbornly suppressing a second yawn.

“You don’t have to stay up with me, you know.” Ginny smiled.

“I know,” Harry said with a shrug. “I want to though.”

Ginny snuggled up closer to him, resting her head on his shoulders.

“I think Mum and Dad started going out during OWL year. I don’t know how the hell they found the time and still got good marks,” Ginny mused, wishing she could toss her book in the fire and spend all her time with Harry by the lake instead.

“Mine got together in their NEWT year,” Harry said, catching Ginny off guard.

Harry had never spoken to Ginny about his parents before. Everything she knew about them came from Hermione or brief mentions in books that touched on Harry and You-Know-Who or passing comments made by Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

“They must have had a hard time too then.” She raised her head, looking up at his face.

Harry nodded, his eyes staring off into some far away place, perhaps wondering – like Ginny – if they too had spent nights like this, studying together by the fire.

She thought she ought not to push Harry for more, but she had the tiniest inkling that tonight was different, that she might get away with a gentle nudge.

“Tell me about them,” she said softly.

Harry looked at her for what felt like ages, his expression difficult to read.

Without a word, he got up, leaving his things on the sofa and walking up towards his dormitory. Taken aback by the sudden departure, Ginny worried at first that she had overstepped, but Harry returned shortly after, holding a small bound book.

He sat back down next to her, staring at the book in his hands for a moment before hesitantly handing it to her.

Ginny opened what she now realised was a little album to the first page, and her heart clenched. There were James and Lily Potter, holding a little boy who could be no older than six months or so. He had round, happy cheeks, smiling as big as he could as his parents cuddled him affectionately.

“You really do look just like him.” Ginny said, looking at James and feeling a sense of warm familiarity despite never having met him. Harry smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Where did you get this?” she asked as she slowly flipped through the pages, pausing to absorb every detail she could from each photograph.

“Hagrid,” Harry said. “He reached out to people who might have pictures of them and gave it to me at the end of my first year.”

Ginny felt an extra swell of affection for Hagrid, alongside the bittersweetness of it all.

She turned another page, and her heart sank. It was a wedding photo, and beside the elated couple was Sirius, looking far more carefree than Ginny had ever seen him.

“She’s beautiful,” Ginny said with a whisper, clearing her throat and pointing to Lily. She was radiant in her wedding dress, full of happiness and hope for the future. It almost hurt to look at her, knowing what was to come.

Harry didn’t say anything in return, just pulled Ginny in closer.

There was a lot she wanted to say, and even more she wanted to ask, but she knew this wasn’t the time for it. That he brought her the photo album at all meant more to Ginny than she could say.

They sat in silence together, Harry watching her intently as she went through the album twice over, soaking up every bit of Harry’s little family that she could.

[whinlatter]

Orchards (Harry/Ginny) by whinlatter

The orchard is a wild, thousand-flower, crumpled-gate, fall-down-fence sort of place, where things grow that you’ve never asked for, that you’d never expect. The summer of ’96, the story of something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow. (Harry/Ginny, HBP)

notes: oops i tripped and fell and wrote 15,000 words on how harry potter fell in love with ginny weasley and didn't notice, the summer of '96

always wanted to write this! only took me seventeen years to get the courage to give it a go. also comes with a playlist because summer songs banish january blues

It was everywhere that summer, looking back. The truth. He thinks he knows, now, what it felt like. Straggled grass brushing bare calves, heat under palms skimming the staircase bannister. The rap of knuckles on a new, old door. The truth slipped in quietly. No fanfare, no fuss. Maybe if it hadn’t, he’d have known. Instead, the truth nudged itself towards him, all small, knowing smiles. Kind eyes, amused. It didn’t so much whisper in his ear as it did lightly hum: muffled, soft, but sure, totally certain. It was there, wasn’t it, all along: strewn across that wild orchard of hard breaths and harder quaffle passes, nestled among cushions between worn sofa whispers and drooping eyelids, bubbling away in the politics of dining table chatter and clatter. Right there, in the sodding butter dish, after all. Would he have known what to do with it, though? The truth. He imagines it, like the keen sting of a surprise ball tossed last-minute, caught hard in unready fingertips. He wouldn’t have dropped it though, he thinks. He’d have caught it, wouldn’t he? He’d have kept it. Clung on. When it’s thrown your way - when it matters - you don’t fumble. You take it as it comes. You run with it. You soar. It twinged, the truth, that summer. It throbbed. It lightly itched.