albaskies

[albaskies]

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.

#so beautiful

[albaskies]

Thank you to everyone who wrote a fic for Several Sunlit Daylights: The Tortured Potters Department. Here are all of the fics written for this celebration of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. Go read them all, leave a comment, and share the love!

I can fix him (no really I can) by @ginnyw-potter

Fresh Out the Slammer by @merlinsbudgiesmugglers

Two Hearts one Soul (based on Down Bad) by @tomjamesavery

loml by @starlingflight

Guilty as Sin? by @starlingflight

But Daddy, I Love Him by @albaskies

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart by @thenicestthingiveseen

can't have a conversation if it's not all about you (Down Bad) by @thenicestthingiveseen

But Daddy I Love Him by @takearisk-ao3

But Daddy, I Love Him by @briarpotter

She Can't Do It, Without Him by @nena-96

Clara Bow by @nena-96

Sping Again, Somehow (based on I Can Do It With a Broken Heart) by @pocket-lilacs

loml by @corneliaavenue-ao3

fresh out the slammer by @corneliaavenue-ao3

[albaskies]

loml

One accidental love confession text message sends Harry's friends into a tizzy trying to figure out who he was confessing his love to. Except, Harry didn't even realize he was confessing his love in the first place. Social media/Text fic AU

read here on A03!

#the banter!!! #is just!!! #PERFECT!!! #love love this!!!

[albaskies]

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.

read on ao3

#my heart #this is beautiful

[albaskies]

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.” 

#has christmas come early #because it certainly feels like it #this is just wonderful

[albaskies]

But Daddy, I love him!

Written for @corneliaavenue-ao3's The Tortured Potters Department - Several Sunlit Daylights Fest | Read here or on AO3:

Ginny is extremely pleased with herself for having somehow managed to turn the candles in her room back on. She hasn’t done it on purpose, of course, nor has she premeditated it - she simply squeezed her eyes shut, wishing so very hard that she didn’t have to go to sleep, and upon opening them, she found her room dimly lit again. She’s started to display her first signs of magic lately, and she’s very proud of having caught up with her brothers in that regard, of being one step closer to them. Sometimes she finds herself dreaming that, if she keeps up with this pace and maybe if she manages to practice a bit, she’ll receive her Hogwarts letter early and she’ll be able to join Bill and Charlie there…

A gentle knock on the door distracts her from her thoughts, and her father enters the room, his glasses slid down the tip of his nose, his smile drowsy. 

‘Ginny,’ he sighs, but still looking at her fondly. He seems to have decided to ignore the candles that are inexplicably lighting the room. ‘Shouldn’t you be asleep already?’

Ginny shrugs, a wry smirk painted on her face. She’s relieved that it’s her dad who’s found her still awake, rather than her mum. Her mum would hush her back to bed, not wanting to hear a single word - but with her dad, she knows she has more leeway, she knows that he’ll sit with her and watch her until she falls asleep.

‘Can you tell me the story of the Boy Who Lived?’

Her father sighs again, as he approaches her bed and sits down next to her. She scooches over, trying to leave as much space as she can for him to be comfortable.

‘Why do you like that story so much?’

‘Because,’ says Ginny, taking a big breath. ‘Well, because I love him, Daddy!’

Her dad’s eyes are bewildered as he lets out a hearty laugh. ‘Oh, do you now? And why’s that?’

‘Because he’s all alone, his Mummy and Daddy died and he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters,’ replies Ginny, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Mum said that he needs everyone’s love, so maybe I can give him some, too.’

Her father looks at her tenderly, almost in disbelief, as if he’s wondering how they’ve managed to raise such a kind and loving soul. 

‘You know what, Ginny, I think you’re quite right. I’m sure he could use some love from everyone.’ he tells her, gently stroking her hair. ‘Come on now, lay down properly and I’ll tell you the story.’

She beams at him, and soon falls asleep to the sound of words she knows too well; words about a dark-haired boy, a lightning scar, and the sheer power of love.

-

The storm has finally ended, and now a thick, shiny blanket of snow covers the orchard at the Burrow like a layer of frosting on her favourite desserts. She’ll be able to play outside tomorrow - building snow wizards and witches or snowball fighting with her brothers, and hopefully someone will enchant the snowballs just to add a little more fun to the game. But Ginny - elbows on her desk, head held between her hands, her eyes fixed outside the window - isn’t particularly excited about the prospect, or excited at all for that matter. Quite the contrary, actually - she is really, really furious with her brother for spending his second Christmas in a row away from home, leaving her alone once again. It was bad enough, last year - but, at least, her parents had taken her to Romania to visit Charlie, and she had become used to Ron’s absence anyway, so she had stopped holding a grudge relatively quickly. This year she’s home, and everyone else is home too, but Ron has chosen to stay at Hogwarts. He was not forced by the circumstances, or else - it was his conscious, deliberate choice.

The truth is that she’s not just angry about Christmas, but about the whole stupid term, too. After spending every single day of their lives together for ten years, and after waiting for twelve exasperating months just to join him, Ron has barely ever spent any time with her at school. She’s quite sure that he’s even tried to avoid her intentionally on a couple of occasions. To make everything much worse, it’s been rather challenging for her to make new friends this year - which is odd, she reckons, considering that she’s normally very outgoing and fun to talk to. She’d hoped that Ron could’ve helped, that’s all. But his new circle of very important friends doesn’t seem to have a spot for her now, and certainly it doesn’t help that one of these friends is -

Her heart sinks in her stomach. Somehow, she can’t shake off the strange feeling of disappointment over Harry not being here, either. She’d wished she were able to spend more time with him outside of school; she had even rehearsed a couple of things to say in his presence, and she was sure, so very sure, that she wouldn’t have blushed this time. Well, it hadn’t been her idea, actually, but she’d been positive it would’ve worked this time. The only friend she’s been able to make this year has assured her of that.

A casual knock on her door startles her, but she doesn’t turn around to check who’s entered her room. She knows all too well that only her father would bother to knock on a door that’s been left open anyway. 

‘Ready to come down, Ginny?’, she hears his voice say, confirming her suspicions. ‘Or do you intend to keep sulking up here for a while longer?’

She feels a little embarrassed by his question but, when she turns around to look at him, she finds with slight relief that his glare isn’t harsh or judgemental.

‘It’s not fair, Dad!’, she complains. ‘Why did you let Ron stay at Hogwarts for the holidays?’

‘He wanted to keep his friends company. I think that’s actually very nice,’ her father calmly replies. She knows that by his friends he really means Harry, because she reckons Hermione has a nice family to go back to. Although, it’s rather weird that she decided to stay, too - maybe she also wanted to keep Harry company? She bitterly concludes that she doesn’t know, nor she ever will, because nobody tells her anything, nobody includes her in anything, she’s always left behind.

‘Harry could’ve come over too, couldn’t he?’, she then asks without thinking.

‘Well, of course we would’ve been happy to have him, but I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.’

Not knowing what he means, she feels suddenly irritated, almost as if her father intended to suggest that Harry didn’t want to spend Christmas at the Burrow because of her. That would make sense, actually, given that she hasn’t been able to behave like a normal person every time they’ve been in the same room. What if she’s annoyed him beyond repair? What if he… hates her now?

‘But I really don’t understand why Harry wouldn’t want to -’

‘Maybe we should leave Harry and his business alone for the time being, don’t you think?’, suggests her father gingerly.

Another wave of humiliation rushes through her body, as she feels that her father’s just simultaneously exposed and dismissed one of her deepest secrets. But she has to defend it, doesn’t she, she has to stand up for herself -

‘But Daddy, I love him!’, she shouts, yet flushing, feeling more ashamed than ever.

Her father gives her a puzzled look, his lips pursed together in a thin line. ‘Don’t be silly, Ginny,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘Come on now, go wash your hands, dinner’s almost ready.’

Ginny gives him another sheepish look as he leaves the room without uttering another word, but she doesn’t obey straight away. Instead, she quickly grabs her diary like it’s a magnet, suddenly feeling the urge to let out all her frustration, shame and dejection. 

I love him, but nobody believes me, she writes, warm tears filling up her eyes. Nobody understands.

Within a few seconds, her words made of ink sink into the rough paper, and new ones slowly emerge in that all-too-familiar fashion.

I do understand you, Ginny, they read. I am the only one who does.

-

It almost feels surreal - to be home. To eat properly, to rest, to finally lower her guard; to escape from all the secrecy, the plotting, the sneaking around, and, well, yes, from all the punishments, the physical strain, and the emotional abuse. 

She hasn’t realised how drained she’s felt until she sinks in her favourite plush chair in the living room of the Burrow, surrounded by her family, feeling warm again. She even manages to avoid the prying eyes, quietly dozing off for a little while. But then she’s awakened by a soft thump - something small and smooth has been thrown into her lap.

‘Is it true, then?’, asks George, while she examines the familiar coin he’s passed on to her. ‘Have you reinstated the D.A.?’

Before she can answer, her mother glares at her with fire in her eyes.

‘I should hope not, Ginny.’

Ginny feels a sudden rush of annoyance tingling her body. Always the last, always protected, always underestimated. Always meant to be left behind.

‘Of course we have,’ she says mildly. ‘They’re torturing children for fun, you know.’

‘And what do you do when that happens?’, argues her mother sharply. ‘Do you take their place?’

As she does not reply, her mother’s expression changes from indignation to pure horror, her gaze darting quickly between Ginny’s face and that faded blue turtleneck jumper she’s wearing for the first time in years. She’s noticed, then.

‘Take off that jumper, Ginny.’

‘No.’

‘I said,’ her mother pleads, now shouting in fury. ‘Take off that jumper, now!’

Ginny isn’t really sure whether her refusal stems from her desire to spare her mother from further suffering, to protect her from the cuts, the bruises and scars she carries on her body like medals; or whether it comes from her own pride, her will to show that she, too, can fight. 

She storms off to her bedroom, slamming the door, and she’s surprisingly left alone long enough for her to lie down and enjoy some quiet, exhausted by her own anger. Her bed feels softer than she could remember, her room like her only sanctuary in all the chaos.

The knock on the door she’s been expecting is weak and hesitant, and her father enters the room cautiously, almost as if he expects something to explode at any moment. She takes advantage of the silence to observe him, to register every new line around his mouth, every new wrinkle around his eyes. He seems to have aged years in the span of just a few short months.

She raises her back and sits on the bed, still saying nothing. He breaks the silence first, watching her gravely, cutting straight to the chase.

‘Has your brother asked you to do this, Ginny?’, he asks, unable to fully conceal the bitterness in his voice. ‘Or Harry, for that matter?’

She shivers at the sound of his name, her eyes are now burning, but she doesn’t lower her gaze.

‘No, of course not.’

Her father exhales heavily, as if releasing a tension he’s been holding in his chest for Merlin knows how long, and sits down next to her on the bed.

‘Why do you do it, then?’, he asks her plainly. There’s no judgement in his voice, no resentment. ‘Why do you put your life on the line like that?’

This is when she immediately looks away, feeling a strange lump in her throat.

‘Why do you do it, Dad?’, she barely manages to say, her voice shaking. 

He sighs again, defeated. ‘You should lay low, Ginny. You’re already very much in danger as it is, being a Weasley. No matter all the stories we’ve made up to cover for Harry, Snape knows that our family is close to him, and that means you as well.’

Ginny scoffs. A few months ago, she would’ve found such a comment insulting, belittling, maybe even a little heartbreaking. But now she’s so full of it - she’s so full of having to endure people passing judgements on what she is or isn’t for Harry, so full of having to pretend that they are nothing, so full of being scared to death that she’ll end up convincing herself, too. She can’t resist the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all - or, even more so, the urge to let it all out, to say it exactly as it is, because she doesn’t owe it to anyone to remain on the sidelines, not her mother, not her father, especially not Harry.

‘Oh, it’s much worse than that,’ she hisses, her sarcasm tainted with pure spite.

Her father gives her a quizzical look. She fixes her glare on him now, her voice no longer shaking, her eyes no longer stinging with tears.

‘I love him, Dad,’ she says, then lets out another high-pitched laugh. ‘It’s sickening, isn’t it? It makes me fucking sick.’

He looks at her, transfixed, too appalled to scold her for her language. After so many years, it still surprises him. But there’s something different in the way she’s said it now, something that wasn’t there when she was five or eleven years old. Acceptance, disillusionment, anger, sadness. Maturity. 

His eyes glimmer as if he’s just finally laid the final piece in one of his Muggle puzzles, and the full picture finally comes to life. He seems, somehow, to understand it all at once. 

‘And he loves you too, I suppose?’

Ginny feels a familiar, but long forgotten heat creeping on her cheeks. For a short moment, it feels good to blush again.

‘I reckon he does, yes,’ she whispers. Those words feel weird exposed to the real world - she’s never acknowledged it out loud, and Harry certainly has never told her. Hers is just a hunch, a gut feeling, maybe an innocent hope, something she’s never dared to question. Now that she’s said them, those words don’t lose their meaning, as she feared they would - rather, they resonate even stronger in her, they just click, everything falls into place, but they don’t make her nearly as happy as they probably should have.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says bitterly, before her father can say anything. She reads it all over his face - the doubt, the concern, the suspicion. She shrugs. ‘He’s already taken care of it.’

For a short moment that seems suspended in time, they look at each other - a daughter that’s had to grow up way too soon, a father who’s understood that there are things he cannot shelter her from. 

He then awkwardly pats her on her back, stands up, and leaves her room in silence, at a loss for words. 

She, for one, is grateful that he hasn’t doubted her heart this time.

-

Their wedding is a rather small affair. 

The marquee that had been previously used for Bill and Fleur’s wedding feels bigger than ever, now hosting barely thirty of them between their massive family, a handful of grandchildren, and their closest friends. 

It has been Ginny and Harry’s desire to throw a modest party in the orchard, without making too much fuss, avoiding lavish and crowded celebrations. After all, the saviour of the Wizarding world marrying an internationally renowned Quidditch player is exactly that kind of event a horde of journalists and curious onlookers would throw themselves at, like a swarm of bees on a honey jar. So they’ve decided to keep it low and simple - just like their whole romance, after all.

If it were for Ginny, she would’ve got married wearing Muggle clothes somewhere deep in a forest, standing on a random rock, for all that she cares. But she didn’t want to rob her parents of the joy of walking their only daughter down the aisle, or her brothers of the opportunity of celebrating their only sister on one of the happiest days of her life. And Harry has happily obliged - ultimately, it is his family, too.

‘I just want to marry you,’ he said once, grinning madly, his green eyes flashing like the day he kissed her for the first time, that tenth of May of exactly five years ago.

And so here they are now, under the marquee, everyone either dancing, running around or mingling, champagne bubbling in their goblets (‘I’d still fancy a posh drink at my own wedding, thank you very much’), married at last.

Ginny smiles as she watches her (she feels heat all over her body to even fathom the word) husband trying to dance with her mother, his new mother-in-law, who is sobbing rather uncontrollably on his shoulder, dampening his new elegant robes. Harry has the most loving look in his eyes as he gently pats her on her back, and Ginny can’t help but notice that he’s a little choked up, too.

She’s so mesmerised by the two of them, so full of love, that it takes her a while to notice that her father has joined her, and is now staring at her with a knowing look painted on his face.

‘What?’, she laughs.

He grins at her tenderly, putting an arm around her shoulders.

‘You love him, don’t you?’

Ginny lets out another laugh. ‘Oh, d’you reckon? Whatever gave it away?’

Her father smiles again, wider this time, squeezing her tightly. 

‘You might have mentioned it, you know, once or twice.’

#severalsunlitdaylights #the tortured potters department #happy hinny/taylor swift day everyone #hinny

[albaskies]

Fresh Out the Slammer

I blame this entirely on @starlingflight who convinced me to write something for @corneliaavenue-ao3's TTPD fest Several Sunlit Daylights.

I guess I'm a Swiftie now??

Words: 1074

Read on AO3

Snippet:

The holding cells at the Ministry of Magic were down on level ten, near the courtrooms. It was an inconvenient distance from the Auror office, but one that Harry Potter had travelled many times before.

He hadn't been planning to travel the familiar path tonight, though. He’d been out at the pub, the Leaky Cauldron to be precise, when Dunn, one of the new first year trainees had appeared, out of breath and requesting his urgent presence at the Ministry.

“You’d better come too, Minister,” he’d said gravely to Kingsley as he drained his beer, but the Minister of Magic had shook his head with a too gleeful grin and clapped Harry firmly on the shoulder.

“Sounds like a job for the Head Auror to me.”

Harry grimaced at the reminder of his recent promotion, which had meant more paperwork and less time in the field, and tonight was surely to add to the pile of parchment waiting on his desk.

When they arrived in the atrium, he dismissed Dunn to return to her night shift post in the Auror office and made his way downstairs.

Two Magical Law Enforcement officers were waiting for him at the holding cells, not looking any more thrilled to be there than he was. 

“Quite a handful, this lot,” Jameson, the taller bloke muttered as he led the way.

Harry had no doubt they were.

#i absolutely freaking love this

[albaskies]

I can fix him (No really I can)

This is written for The Tortured Potters Department, also part of the Several Sunlit Daylights Challenge! @corneliaavenue-ao3 Read below or on AO3

I can fix him.

Ginny could see other people think it, sometimes they said it out loud. Not literally, but they said it all the same.

I can make you happy.

I can make you forget all your troubles.

I can make the scars fade.

They very well could. They all looked at Harry and saw a man in need of change. They wanted to fix the scars, inside and out. They wanted to take him on adventures and make him forget all the things he had gone through. They wanted to placate him. They wanted to chase the nightmares away and replace them with wonderful dreams. Some others wanted him to embrace his fame for once, or rise to power, be the man they thought he could be.

Ginny looked at him and saw someone she already loved.

She didn’t try to make him happy.

She didn’t try to make him forget all his troubles.

She didn’t mind the scars, the way he didn’t mind hers.

She loved on the scars the way she loved on the rest of his body. They were marks of his past, of the things he had been through, not things to hide or be ashamed of. Their existence didn’t scare her.

She knew he didn’t need an adventure, didn’t need to escape his life. He didn’t want to forget his loved ones, dead and alive. He spoke of enjoying time in the garden, and long walks enjoying the setting sun. Some things that some people may find terribly mundane, but it meant everything to him. They didn’t understand why it was important to him.

His temper was difficult for people to deal with, but Ginny always met him with equal power. She did not back off, and she wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth. She didn’t need to placate him, she needed to push back and meet him in the middle.

When he had a nightmare, she didn’t tell him it wasn’t real. She held him and sat with him until he felt better. They would talk about it and mull it over and let out bitter laughs over their misery. The nightmares followed a long time after the war was done, and she’d be there to work through them. Slowly but surely, tirelessly.

She didn’t want him to embrace his fame and attend event after event, knowing how it would torture him. She didn’t want him to grab power he never wanted. He did not crave it, he did not go looking for it, and she did not expect it of him.

Harry never asked to be changed. He didn’t need to become a new person, didn’t need to escape his life. He held onto the memories of lost loved ones and honoured their memory every day. He did not want the fame, or the power. And on most days, he just wanted to be normal.

But that’s not what people expect of him. They can fix him, or at least that’s what they think.

She did not need to fix him. Some scars never faded but they did not hurt him. Having his own home and settling him brought him peace. It gave him a place to come into his own and grieve the people he had lost. Sometimes it was the simple things, like hanging a framed picture up in the living room or making their favourite food. A place where he could be himself, where he wasn’t worried and where his emotions could flow freely. A place where the nightmares got soothed by comforting arms and softly spoken words, a cup of hot cocoa or a refreshing glass of water. And they could exist, and be talked about, and it would help him. A place where no one expected him to take the lead and have an answer to every question.

He spoke to her, softly whispered confessions in the middle of the night. She held him, and he kissed her softly.

“You make me so happy.”

She carded her fingers through his hair.

“You make me forget all my troubles without even trying,” he sighed. “You make me feel at peace.”

She pressed a kiss against his temple.

“You helped me love all of my scars.”

He never needed to change. She always loved him, flaws and all. Time healed many things, and she was there for it all, but he was never something to be fixed.

I can fix him , she thought. No, really; I can. It was never my intention; I would have loved him all the same.

“You fixed me.”

She shook her head and smiled at him. “I love you.”

He looked at her fondly and pulled her a little closer. “I am pretty sure that’s the same thing.”

#the feels #this is so beautiful

[albaskies]

falling back in love with your hobbies feel like a second chance at life.

[albaskies]

Reblogging this because I'm becoming a Midnights girlie this days and:

The 'You're losing me' bridge feels Ginny-coded to me for some reason (Fighting in only your army, really, I can't 😭)

'Bigger than the whole sky' is so Harry's POV after the breakup (and Ginny's too, tbh) - You were bigger than the whole sky/ you were more than just a short time, my poor loves, gets me every time 💔

My toxic trait is that I can twist almost any Taylor Swift song into being about Hinny if I try hard enough. Sometimes it’s canon thoughts and sometimes it’s headcanon. Sometimes it’s specific fics I’ve read or ideas for fics I’d love to write. But I cannot even listen to Taylor swift anymore without thinking of the ways each line could connect to a hinny moment. I’m driving my son to daycare and I’m like, wow yes when she kissed him goodbye in DH it’s exactly like wildest dreams. “Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room and all of your friends were making fun of you but 15 seconds they were clapping too” yes Ginny did in HBP. “One look, dark room, meant just for you” HARRY AND GINNY SHARING ALL THEIR LITTLE LOOKS. Anyways, I’m perfectly fine and this doesn’t consume a large part of my brain.

#there's certainly more #but these are the vibes these days #the taylor swift/hinny mashups are the therapy I knew I needed

[albaskies]

here’s the Taylor swift hinny playlist I made like a year ago:

gold rush (crush stage)

Sparks Fly (basically HBP)

Everything Has Changed (also HBP)

The Archer (the breakup or right before)

Wildest Dreams (the kiss in the bedroom)

Eyes Open (DH)

This Love (post battle)

peace (summer post war)

Daylight (happily ever after)

There are other songs I think fit their relationship really well (I think he knows, dress, end game, sweet nothing, lover), but these are the ones I can’t listen to without at least slightly thinking of like a specific hinny moment

[albaskies]

And if I didn't know better

Or: One evening, Ginny reflects on her choice to step up for Teddy, while trying to navigate her grief for the loss of those who never could. Read here or on AO3:

She isn’t quite so sure what made her decide to step up for a child when she was hardly an adult herself. Not that she’d done much at first - she’d barely ever been there during the first year of his life, and she’d only gathered the courage to rock him to sleep a few months after she’d moved back home. It was more of a feeling, as if she’d accepted the responsibility deep in her heart before she could even trust her own limbs to hold him properly. 

It feels like a lifetime away, now, as his little body is curled up against hers and his turquoise hair shines in the dim candlelight. They lay on several cushions and blankets scattered on the floor; an old white sheet stuck on four chairs hanging on top of their heads, covering the ceiling. They’ve built a fort, you know. Right after playing dragons and running around on invisible broomsticks (‘Feet on the ground, Teddy, please’). All in their living room, all after having dinner. 

Harry’s sent word that he’ll be home late - problems at the office. He sounded very disappointed to miss out on having Teddy over for the night, one of his favourite weekly activities. He usually sleeps over on Fridays, but they might have to switch it to Saturdays if Harry keeps on getting held back at work.

Ginny is seriously doubting that her strategy to try and wear Teddy out before bedtime has been effective, as Teddy’s eyes are still wide open and shimmering with energy. The cup of warm milk she’s offered him hasn’t quite done the trick, now left unfinished and forgotten on the floor right next to him. But then again, Teddy’s undergoing that toddler phase where nothing in the world can get him to wind down unless he decides to, thank you very much. How did Hermione call him? A threenager? Where did she even hear such a ridiculous thing?

She looks down at him again, as he has started to move his tiny hands and notice the corresponding shadow movements reflected on the sheet. His expression is full of wonder, not a care in the world, and she’s so grateful for the look in his eyes (and, yes, for the rare moment of quiet as well) that she feels her heart could explode.

‘Look, Teddy,’ she says, joining her thumbs and wiggling the rest of her fingers. ‘Isn’t that an eagle? Oh my, how did it get here?’.

Teddy squeals with laughter, unable to contain his excitement - the sweetest sound in the world.

‘Again, Ginny, again!’.

She regrets it, to have hesitated back then. It’s not that she didn’t care for him when he was a baby - quite the contrary, actually. She’d known she loved him so much since before he was even born; that one Christmas morning when Tonks had grabbed her hand and had gently placed her on her pregnant tummy.  But she was scared, terrified of messing it all up, of not being good enough. She still is sometimes - she’s just learned to cope with it better, or maybe to hide it better. She reckons that nobody really knows how to deal with a child from the beginning, especially when it’s not their own; and they are all a bit broken now anyway. But it doesn’t really matter, does it, as long as they’re there for each other, as long as Friday nights are still about dragons, invisible broomsticks and animal shadows on a fort sheet ceiling.

.

Harry had dived into the role with all his seriousness and solemnity because, well, what else do you expect. He’d tried so hard to get Teddy to like him from the start, as if there could ever be the risk that he wouldn’t. He’d show up to Andromeda’s house bearing so many gifts that she’d had to beg him to stop once and for all, for the love of Merlin. 

‘I just want to do something nice for him, you know,’ he’d told Ginny later, his brows furrowed and his glare focused on his tea mug.

‘But you already do,’ she’d said, her hand gently squeezing his thigh. ‘You’re there for him. That’s as nice as it gets.’

She could tell she hadn’t fully convinced him, just as she knew that he hadn’t been exactly truthful either. He wanted to do something nice for Teddy, sure, stepping in those daunting godfather shoes as smoothly as possible. But he wanted to do something nice for himself too, for his much younger self, trying to give away all the love and attention he’d been missing all his life. And she couldn’t really blame him for that, now, could she.

‘Gin,’ he’d murmured, his whisper almost pleading. ‘I don’t think I know what I’m doing.’

She’d moved her hand from his leg to his jaw, resisting the urge to cut him off with sarcasm, ‘Have you ever, though.’

‘Nobody asks that of you right now, Harry. You’ll figure it out.’

He looks at her, still unconvinced. ‘But Tonks and Lupin -’

‘No,’ she’d shushed him, gently pressing a finger on his lips. ‘Not even them.’

That’s the thing - nobody had asked her to, either. And it’s not that she’d felt compelled to act as an unofficial godmother only because of her relationship with Harry. He’d certainly never expected that of her. 

She’d felt hurt when her mum had implied that once. As if that ring that Harry had placed on her finger dictated all of her choices, as if she had to have a reason to desire to care for Teddy. As if she hadn’t known Tonks and Lupin, too. 

No, Teddy's become part of her life because of a very careful and important choice she’s made. It has been so incredibly natural, and it has required quite some effort, both at the same time. But it’s always been there, no matter what. 

There hasn’t been a single Quidditch match she’s played without looking for him and Harry in the stands; there hasn’t been a single house she and Harry have looked at without thinking about what room could become his for when he stays over. There hasn’t been a single time she hasn’t thought of him when looking at the clear blue sky.

.

‘And what about this?’, she asks him, still twisting her hands to give life to dark shapes on the sheet.

Teddy lets out a sweet chuckle. ‘A rabbit!’.

‘Good job, Teddy!’’ 

He claps his hands in excitement and his hair seems to have become an even brighter shade of blue.

‘More, more!’

‘Let’s see. What about…’ Ginny says, continuing to move her fingers. ‘This?’

He seems to think about it for a second, squeezing his eyes, wrinkling his nose. Then he beams.

‘A wolf!’

A beat.

‘Er - no, it’s a dog -’

‘No, it’s a wolf!’

‘Teddy -’

And before she knows it, he starts howling. 

‘Wolves aren’t scary, Ginny! You shouldn’t be scared!’

She looks at him in horror. Total panic. Her mind blacked out. That’s the one thing she hasn’t brought herself to do with Teddy yet - talking about his parents. Or even mentioning them, to be frank. She’s quite selfishly left that to Harry, because what does she know about this stuff, he’s a child, she doesn’t want to mess it up for him. She’s quite sure that she would, if she tried. She can’t even think straight after he’s seen the shadow of a wolf rather than a dog, after all. What a stupid way to react to a child acting his age, playing and having fun. Stop this. Don’t be a git, please stop this.

It’s almost as if Lupin and Tonks never enter the bubble that she creates when she’s with Teddy - which is absurd, nonsensical, completely idiotic. But,  well - her insides knotting in guilt at the mere thought - it’s easier this way. She feels ashamed of herself, absolutely fucking revolted. Now that he’s inadvertently brought it up though, a three-year-old braver than she’ll ever be, and he’s opened Pandora’s box (some famous Greek witch, she reckons), she's at a loss for words. It’s so subtle that she should just let it slide - she must, actually. He hasn’t even asked her anything, he hasn’t even made the connection. He doesn’t even know. 

Her mind is racing out of control and he hasn’t even done it on purpose. She’s the one who’s acting like a lunatic. She doesn’t know why she feels like she should say something, doesn’t even know what, because it would all sound wrong anyway.

You know, Teddy, she almost hears herself saying, but you know, Teddy, what exactly? Why can’t she get this thought out of her head? He’s blissfully unaware, and he’s just a child that is playfully pretending to be a wolf, what the hell wrong with you, Ginny, pull yourself together. 

She continues spiralling as she notices that he’s stopped howling, and is now observing her with curiosity. 

Fuck, you’re going to traumatise him, aren’t you. 

As she looks at him more closely, she notices that his eyes, that have been blue like his hair for months now, have now turned darker - a warm, chocolaty brown. And instead of feeling even more horrified, she simply calms down, her panic gone.

Funny how Lupin can offer her comfort even in death.

.

She is staring at the empty desk in front of her. The bell has rung and all her classmates have left already, but somehow she can’t bring herself to get out of the classroom and head to lunch. Not yet, because she is staring at the empty desk in front of her so intensely, almost as if she could get it to talk to her. She remembers sitting there, less than a year ago, just before her memory had gone blank into one of her many blackouts. She remembers opening her diary on her lap, bored to death at the sound of Professor Lockhart’s pompous voice, she remembers jotting down a few thoughts pretending to be taking notes. Then she remembers a voice, his voice, and nothing more. Maybe if she stares at the desks hard enough, it will come back to her, maybe she will remember how she got from the classroom to Hagrid’s shed and then back to the castle again… 

‘What are you still doing here, Ginny?’.

She blinks once, and then once again, trying to bring Professor Lupin’s greyish frame into focus. She isn’t sure since when he’s been sitting on the chair in front of her.

‘Are you looking for something?’, he asks, watching her carefully. She must look rather lost, because he quickly adds: ‘You did well in class, today.’

‘I - er, no - I mean, thanks,’ she blurts out. His dark brown eyes are still focused on her, studying her in detail.

She clears her throat, as if to gather her courage. There is something she’s been wanting to ask him, actually, but she isn’t even sure that she should bring it up. Percy has made it clear that she shouldn’t talk about it with anybody, but Percy doesn’t really understand what it feels like, doesn’t it? To lose control, to not know.

‘I suppose you were wondering what happened on the train a few days ago?’, says Professor Lupin bluntly, as if it’s the most obvious thing on the planet.

‘How do you -?’

‘You wouldn’t be the first to ask.’

As she observes him a little more closely than ever before, she realises he must be much younger than he looks. He has a few grey locks of hair here and there, his face is tired and emaciated, but he doesn’t have wrinkles around his eyes and mouth like her dad. 

He smiles, encouragingly. She clears her throat again. 

‘My brother Percy’s told me about the Dementors,’ she mutters, her glare back on the desk. ‘I know they make people feel bad. It’s just -’.

She suddenly hears it again, that low, yet so familiar voice, telling her she should not be frightened. Then flashes of light, blood, screams, and her clothes are unexplainably damp. 

She shivers, subtly patting her robes. She’s fine. She’s fine.

‘I did some things last year,’ she hears herself say. She doesn’t even know how she’s managed to gather enough strength to.

‘I just fear - well, I guess I worry that the Dementors will make me do them again.’

Professor Lupin falls silent for a few seconds. He continues to watch her, but has now stopped smiling.

‘From what I’ve heard, you haven’t chosen to do any of those things.’

He’s heard, then. She doesn’t wonder why - she reckons stories must travel fast among Hogwarts staff, too.

She would normally be ashamed, but now she can’t help but feel a hint of relief, stemming from Merlin knows where. After all, yes, he’s heard, but he’s still talking to her like she isn’t any different; he’s heard, and he’s still offered her chocolate. 

‘Don’t worry, Ginny, Dementors can’t make you reenact your bad memories. They surely make you relive them, though,’ he furrows his brows, as if an unexpected thought has suddenly crossed his mind. ‘Do you - er - have enough support here?’

She’s taken aback by this question, shame creeping on her cheeks. ‘I’ve got four brothers here,’ she quickly responds, but she knows that this isn’t what he means. She sighs. He seems to understand.

‘I’m working on it,’ she sputters, defensively. ‘It’s not exactly easy to make friends when all the girls in your dormitory think you’re a freak.’

It comes out spontaneously, but she immediately regrets using that tone with a professor. However, to her great surprise, he bursts into laughter.

‘I guess you’re right,’ he says, throwing her an enigmatic look. ‘But believe me when I say that friends are the most precious gift that Hogwarts can give you. Real friends will help you overcome all the hard times; and if they think you’re a freak, well, they’ll choose to be freaky with you.’

He stops smiling, suddenly looking rather thoughtful, but then quickly shakes his head. Somehow, she ends up with the strange feeling that he’s no longer having this conversation only with her.

‘Might I suggest,’ he adds, now back to his reassuring tone. ‘That you perhaps try to talk to other students that might have had - how to put this - a similar experience to yours? Harry’s a good friend of your brother’s, isn’t he?’

She feels it coming - the blush. One of the big ones. One of the bad ones.

‘No! I don’t think -’, she hisses, suddenly horrified, redder than she’s ever been in her life. ‘I don’t think that would work.’

He raises his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth slightly twitching.

‘Well, you never know,’ he states matter-of-factly. He then stands up, patting his hands on his legs. ‘But now I must really let you go. I wouldn’t want you to feel unwell during your next class because you haven’t had any lunch.’

She nods, grabs her things, mutters an awkward ‘Thanks’. Just when she’s about to leave, she hears him speak again.

‘It may be hard to understand now, but what happened to you doesn’t define you. Please, don’t ever forget that.’

It’s true, she doesn’t understand that quite just yet, but she will remember those words for the rest of her life.

For now, she’s busy spending the next few days ridiculously terrified by the thought of Professor Lupin telling Harry about their conversation. She imagines Harry looking at her with pity, disgust even, as a stupid little girl who can’t bring herself to make some friends. But this doesn’t happen - Harry barely ever looks at her, and when he does he seems, well, normal. She’s quite glad of that, for one. She’s also so incredibly glad that Professor Lupin respected her enough to keep her secret, that he could be trusted.

Years later, she’ll regret never having told him that she and Harry had fallen in love. She’ll reckon he would’ve liked to know that, he might have even been delighted. She’ll figure, as a punch in her stomach, that she’d assumed they’d have more time.

.

‘You know what, Teddy, you’re right,’ she finally says, gently stroking his hair. ‘Wolves aren’t scary.’

He beams, looking rather satisfied with her answer, and pulls up his back to sit against a big pillow.

‘Let’s play another game!’

Ginny sighs at his never ending source of energy; her hopes that relaxing under the fort would somehow make him drowsy are completely shattered. She quickly glances at the clock on the wall - if Andromeda finds out that Teddy's been up so late, she’ll never hear the end of it.

‘Time out, Teddy,’ she says, faking a yawn. ‘We should really go to bed now.’

Teddy frowns, pouting his lips and wrinkling his little nose.

‘What if we read the story of Babbity Rabbity?’, she then intervenes tentatively, hoping to jump in just in time to prevent a tantrum. ‘Come on, you love Babbity Rabbity…’

But Teddy isn’t having it. He shakes his head fervently, now crossing his arms.

Ginny wonders if this is the time to be a bit more assertive with him, if she could dare, even. Sometimes she feels like she’s still tiptoeing around him - she’s the one giving him all the fun and games, but when it comes to discipline, she finds that she’s quite rattled. He’s not her child, after all; she fears it’s not her place. Most of the time, she finds herself wondering how Lupin would deal with his son’s tantrums; she would love to see what Tonks would do. She reckons she would do anything to learn a bit more about parenthood from them both, even though (and to only remotely fathom this, her heart sinks) they haven’t had the chance to be parents for long. They would’ve been brilliant at it, though - this is merely her fantasy, sure, as she actually doesn’t know. Tonks and Lupin will remain fundamentally pure in her memory, because she doesn’t like to remember their flaws, especially not in relation to Teddy, and it won’t do any good to anyone, anyway.

‘Why don’t finish up your milk first?’, she tries again, pointing at the abandoned mug on the floor. With a flick of her wand, she mildly warms it up again. 

He nods enthusiastically, but something goes wrong when he grabs the mug and he spills all the remaining milk all over himself and the blanket. He immediately looks up at her, his eyes filled with remorse and anticipation, almost as if he’s realised he’s gone a step too far. Ginny is aware that Teddy’s clumsy to the point of exasperating his grandmother, and that he might even expect a scolding for his little distraction, but she feels a sudden rush of affection towards him instead.

‘All right,’ she says, standing up and taking him in her arms. ‘Time for another bath.’

She could easily scurgify and dry up his pyjamas, but she remembers how good it would feel when her mum would bathe her and then wrap her in a warm towel, always offering her snuggles and kisses along the process. She repeats the same ritual with Teddy, even playing with some dragon and quaffle toys in the water with him, just as her mum used to - only that the toys, at the time, were old and faded, sometimes missing a paw or an eye. 

She wraps him in the softest towel she can find, swings him in her arms while dancing across the hallway to reach her bedroom, and pretends to drop him on her bed. He laughs so hysterically and uncontrollably that his hair becomes curly. Her heart couldn’t be any more full.

She retrieves his pyjamas bottoms with a quick ‘Accio’ and helps him wear them, but decides to leave his milk-stained t-shirt on the bathroom floor. She ransacks first Harry’s, and then her own clothes drawer in search of something clean for Teddy to wear that isn’t the top of Harry’s Auror uniform, a pair of mismatched socks, a bra or some old Christmas jumpers. 

That’s when she sees it, stuck in the back of the drawer - a hint of green. She touches the cotton fabric and seizes it. It still feels soft, despite having been left unworn and forgotten in a drawer for years.

She realises her hands are shaking. She’d never thought she could’ve forgotten.

.

Ginny had never assumed she could smell dust before, but now she’s quite positive she’s been in the wrong all her life. As she sits in the dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place, taking a break from the massive amount of cleaning her mother has decided to subject her to since they’ve moved here (no exceptions, not even today), she feels like every inch of her body is covered with dust. Her hair, her fingers, her nose - to the extent that she thinks she can actually smell it. And it’s not great, considering that the more extensive the efforts they make to clean up the house, the more the house seems to turn out filthier than before.

Today it’s only her and her mother on cleaning duty, though. Everyone else is too preoccupied with what’s going to happen tomorrow - the tense whispering and nervous pacing are becoming almost unbearable. Her mum is worried too, of course, but she reckons that trying to tidy up this wreck of a place is the only way she knows to distract herself at the moment. Ginny is, for one, happy to oblige. She’d never thought she’d say this, but she’d rather dust every single one of those house-elf heads hanging on top of the stairs with a toothbrush rather than giving in to everyone’s anxiety.

Amused by the thought, she gets up to go and do just that, but someone barges loudly in the room from the door behind her back.

‘Wotcher, Ginny,’ says a ringing voice. ‘So, where's the party?’

Ginny smiles at Tonks, who has styled her hair in a bright purple ponytail today. Before she can say anything, Tonks hands her a little parcel, wrapped in crumpled paper that must have once belonged to an issue of the Daily Prophet. She recognises some of the scattered, black-inked words - ‘The Boy Who Lies?’, or: ‘Let’s hope he hasn’t got a scar on his forehead or we’ll be asked to worship him next’, and: ‘Delusional teenager’, ‘Better skilled at seeking attention than golden snitches’,  ‘Expert Circe Bryce confirms that orphaned children often employ cunning strategies to cope with their abandonment complex (more on page 8).’

‘Sorry,’ utters Tonks with an apologetic half-smile. ‘That’s all I could find.’

Ginny shrugs and lets out an unlikely high-pitched cackle. Laughs at the irony of it all. Everything seems to be overflowing with Harry these days, even her birthday presents. 

She rips out the paper, unsure whether she’s more eager to see what’s inside or to get those stupid printed words out of her sight. The first thing that she finds is soft and bright green, an unmistakable green, and she already knows what it is.

‘You didn’t!’, she cries out in complete disbelief. ‘No way!’

‘Heard you’re a big fan.’

Ginny wields a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt in her hands as if it’s a trophy, her most prized possession, and her eyes are sparkling.

‘The design is from 1981, the year you were born, I s’pose,’ continues Tonks with a satisfied look on her face, pointing at the golden print on the front of the t-shirt. It reads Holyhead Harpies in a curly font, never seen before. ‘I thrifted it from a small shop in Diagon Alley. I should take you there some time.’

Ginny nods with excitement, although she’s only listened to half of what Tonks’s said, too busy marvelling at her new t-shirt.

‘Come on now,’ adds Tonks, sounding very amused, pointing at the half-opened parcel. ‘There’s something else in there.’

Ginny opens her eyes wide and immediately dives her hands into the wrapping paper. She finds something thin and folded - when she opens it, it reveals a moving picture of Gwenog Jones darting through the air on her broomstick.

‘She’s a badass, isn’t she,’ comments Tonks. Ginny doesn’t respond right away, too busy mentally scanning the walls of her bedroom back at the Burrow to decide where to hang the picture.

‘Blimey, you’re spoiling me, Tonks,’ she manages to let out after a bit, still holding the t-shirt with one hand and her new poster with the other. She then throws her arms around Tonks’s neck, squeezing her tight. ‘Thank you, so much.’

She doesn’t quite know what she’s done to deserve Tonks’s affection after knowing her for barely over a month. It’s true, they spend most of their days together under the same roof, but they seem to have just instantly connected regardless. Tonks embodies everything that she aspires to be one day, plus she’s bold, unbelievably funny, and doesn’t coddle her. It feels good to be surrounded by women that aren’t her mother for a change - soothing, even. For what may be the first time in her life, this summer she’s truly felt the urge and longing for female companionship - maybe because she’s finally started getting used to it, back at school and here at Grimmauld Place. And now that Hermione’s back to fussing over Harry with her brother, and her mother is too busy running around yelling at people, she’s really only got Tonks to rely on. What amazes her is that Tonks doesn’t seem to mind - on the contrary, she appears to be rather thrilled to spend time with her when she can, unbothered by their age gap, almost taking her under her wing. In a time of her life in which she feels left out, a spare, Tonks has chosen to give her some purpose, to make her feel necessary. She doesn’t know why she does it, only that she’ll be eternally grateful for it.

‘Ah, it’s nothing,’ smiles Tonks, gently pulling away from her to give her a pointed look. ‘I’m sorry that we didn’t celebrate you more, though.’ 

She doesn’t need to add more about lingering wars, resistance movements and impending Ministry hearings.

‘What are you talking about,’ says Ginny, brushing those thoughts off quickly. ‘This birthday’s been dashing. Even your cousin’s made me a card.’

That’s quite true, actually. Her mum's baked a cake and everybody (well, except some angsty black-haired teenager, know anyone?) gathered around the table to sing her ‘Happy birthday’ first thing in the morning. Then she's opened her gifts - a jumper from her parents, quite a few boxes of Honeydukes from all her brothers, and the unexpected birthday card from Sirius, with the handmade drawing of a flying hippogriff that waves hello and smirks at her. Hermione's got her a book, unsurprisingly - but that’s frustrated her a little, because she knows she won’t be able to reciprocate on her own birthday, except with a stupid singing card and (if she’s lucky) with a box of chocolates stolen from one of her brothers. 

Tonks chuckles lightly. ‘Has that special boy wished you a happy birthday?’

Ginny shrugs, and just as she’s about to mutter a resentful ‘Barely’, she realises with a pinch of guilt that Tonks is talking about - well, another boy.

‘Michael’s sent me an owl,’ she says, blushing softly. ‘Said he misses me.’

‘Bet he does,’ remarks Tonks, observing her very carefully all of a sudden, as if she wants to read her mind. She waits a few seconds and then, rather out of the blue, she simply adds: ‘Don’t ever settle, all right?’

Ginny frowns, puzzled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Tonks doesn’t answer, but winks at her, laughing. ‘You’ll understand with time, you’ll see.’

And indeed, she will.

.

Ginny wonders if the small shop in Diagon Alley is still there after the war. She’d like to find it now, pay it a visit, maybe purchase something in Tonks’s honour. They’d never managed to go together, in the end.

She exhales heavily and taps the vintage Holyhead Harpies t-shirt with her wand, shrinking it just enough to fit Teddy perfectly. She reckons he should keep it; she doesn’t seem to have it in her to wear it, anyway.

Teddy falls asleep peacefully wearing that t-shirt and maybe it’s pathetic, maybe it’s irrational, but she can’t help hoping that his mother’s touch will comfort him in his dreams tonight. 

She’s so deep in her thoughts that she doesn’t notice that Harry’s arrived home until he plants a gentle kiss on the back of her head.

‘Tough evening?’, he asks softly, gesturing towards Teddy.

Ginny sighs, leaning her head on his chest. ‘It was fine.’

He seems to understand, though, and decides not to push further. They hold each other in silence for a while, their eyes captured by the little boy snuggled under the blanket and asleep in their bed. Staring at the past and the future, all at once.

#ginny weasley #teddy lupin #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #hinny #Harry x Ginny #flashbacks #no plot just feels

[albaskies]

[albaskies]

This is very important.

#alexa play wildest dreams during the goodbye kiss in DH

My toxic trait is that I can twist almost any Taylor Swift song into being about Hinny if I try hard enough. Sometimes it’s canon thoughts and sometimes it’s headcanon. Sometimes it’s specific fics I’ve read or ideas for fics I’d love to write. But I cannot even listen to Taylor swift anymore without thinking of the ways each line could connect to a hinny moment. I’m driving my son to daycare and I’m like, wow yes when she kissed him goodbye in DH it’s exactly like wildest dreams. “Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room and all of your friends were making fun of you but 15 seconds they were clapping too” yes Ginny did in HBP. “One look, dark room, meant just for you” HARRY AND GINNY SHARING ALL THEIR LITTLE LOOKS. Anyways, I’m perfectly fine and this doesn’t consume a large part of my brain.

[albaskies]

Geminio by @turanga4

Our next Ginny mini is here from turanga4! A poignant moment between Ginny and Cho, post-battle.

Snippet and link below!

The tea smell suffuses her as Ginny leans in to stroke her mum’s hand—earth and malt and cream. Her nose scrunches against it as she pulls back from the cup’s warmth. Ginny fights the memories of chipped mugs at the Burrow as she blinks the Great Hall back into being. “I’ll be back before your second cup. Promise.”  A weak nod in response; she figures it’s enough.

The castle doors have been left open. Light through shattered windows, light through gaping doors.  

Ginny runs.

The courtyard, again. Spots of blood where she’d found the girl. Everything was still broken. Too quiet and too loud.

None of them had planned for this—the first day of peace. In her mind, Ginny ticks all the boxes just like her mother does, bending her fingers as she counts the family off. Then Neville. Luna. Seamus. (Harry.) Everyone, she knows, is with everyone else.   

What does it mean that I’m here on my own?

#this is so beautiful

[albaskies]

harry + forgiveness

[albaskies]

#happy ginny day to those celebrating #I am in awe #this is amazing

Forgetting by @starlingflight

Our first fic for our celebration of Ginny Weasley is an insight into Ginny's thoughts following Harry's forgetful blunder in OOTP.