#missing moment

[albaskies]

Tears ricochet

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid and noble.

.

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

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

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

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

.

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

‘He’s going to leave me.’

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

‘You all are.’

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

.

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m sorry, too.’

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#first thing I've written in 10 years #not sure where I found the courage to post it #I needed to let it out #hinny #harry x ginny #angst #ginny weasley #harry potter #half-blood prince #deathly hallows #missing moment #I guess? #how does this work #help a girl out

[nuninho2000]

During Half Blood Prince

Seamus : what kind of girl you like?

Dean : my girlfriend.

Seamus : what kind girl is she?

Dean : she's a nice girl.

[Seamus turns to Harry]

Seamus : what kind of girl you like, Harry?

Harry : Dean's girlfriend.

[ everyone laughs thinking it's a joke ]

[ Dean throws a pillow at Harry thinking that is joke ] : nobody likes a smart-ass.

Inspiration : https://youtu.be/y3ORLUqX6A4?si=R1LuchYBR_sufxM8

#harry potter #dean thomas #seamus finnigan #funny harry potter #missing moment #hinny #harry x ginny #harry and ginny #ginny weasley #hp #incorrect hp quotes #the beatles #The Beatles inspired interview

[startanewdream]

Set after Harry and Ginny's first kiss.

The door closes behind Neville — he mumbles something about forgetting a book in the Common Room that, for once, Harry does not find credible — and then it's just Harry, Ron and the silence in the dormitory.

It's not that Harry dreads this moment — he knows that Ron won't kill him, at least, and there was that nod that had to mean things would be right between them — but he supposed it would take longer. Days in the future, maybe, because having this talk with Ron is not how he wanted this perfect day to end — he would gladly stay with Ginny, hands linked, learning and giggling and just basking in that sunlit feeling that kissing her brings him—

And then a cough brings him back to reality, and Harry blinks, flushing. Ron is busy changing into his pyjamas, not looking in Harry's direction, but perhaps Ron could read his thoughts after all.

Or not. Considering how long Harry had been dreaming about Ginny, Ron would have said something before. Some dreams were quite... intense.

He mimics Ron, deciding that maybe readying himself for bed is the best idea. He just wants to lay in his bed, close his eyes, and relive every moment of the day, save it, rejoice it—every moment with Ginny has to be his new favourite memory...

"So—you and Ginny."

With his head halfway inside the shirt and with thoughts of Ginny's lips (warm smile, infectious laugh, deep kisses), this is not the best way to start this conversation.

He struggles to put on his shirt, and with his glasses all askew, he can't see Ron's face.

"Ginny and I," agrees Harry, in the most solemn voice he can manage. "We are dating."

He meant it to be formal, like a proper way to introduce himself as Ginny's boyfriend to a member of her family, but the fact he is dating Ginny overwhelms him and then that grin that had been his favourite expression takes control of his features.

Fortunately, Ron doesn't seem to find it offensive. If anything, with his glasses in place now, Harry would guess Ron looks... amused.

"Hermione told me you had a crush on Ginny for ages," he says. "I hadn't noticed it."

"I took a while to notice it myself," admits Harry. Ron nods as if he also understands how someone can be blind to their own feelings.

There is a moment of silence. Harry sits patiently, grin under control; and then Ron smirks.

"Did you see Dean's face?"

Harry isn't particularly proud to find himself smirking also.

"Oh, he got what he deserved," adds Ron, and there's a laugh that Harry follows heartily, feeling lighter than ever. Then Ron sobers up. "Will I find you and Ginny snogging behind tapestries?"

Harry thinks about the sun reflecting on Ginny's hair, and her perfume mixing with the spring flowers on the grounds. "Not a chance," he says honestly.

"Good. I would rather not see it."

That's a bold comment considering all of Ron's story with Lavender, but Harry will let it slip this time.

There's a moment of silence, but happily not an uncomfortable one. Harry lays down, eyes widened, looking to the starry sky outside and remembering how he and Ginny saw the first stars appearing in the sky, and how he traced constellations in her freckles and how she laughed and they kissed—

Ron coughs. "I'm not really tired," he says, bringing Harry painfully back to reality. "Do you wanna play a game of Exploding Snap?"

"Sure."

As Ron moves to grab the cards, he adds in a nonchalant voice: "You do realise that when I see you grinning now, I will know you are thinking about my sister."

"I may be grinning a lot from now on," Harry says fairly.

Ron shrugs. "It's better than when you are brooding," he says, and as Harry picks up his cards, he thinks he can agree with Ron on this one.

#Harry and Ron #Missing Moment #They are silly boys and I love them #Harry is so in love here I swear #Hinny #My fics

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

April 7: Jump

Day 7 of @hinnymicrofic

She used to jump whenever he walked into a room.

Ginny remembers the frantic skitter of her heart, pumping blood into her cheeks so that she could feel the heat emanating from them like a flame. Red, and stammering, and twelve. 

She doesn’t, anymore. She’s older now, better at hiding the skips of her heart with a grin and some banter. She’s gotten so good at it that she fools herself into thinking she’s as impervious to his presence as she pretends. 

They’re at a point now where she’s certain Harry considers her a friend in her own right. A good one, even. And when she pulled back the layer of liking him through the lens of an embarrassing childhood crush, she uncovered that she just liked him, as a person. He’s funny, in a dry, acerbic kind of way that catches her off guard sometimes. He’s reserved but surprisingly kind when opportunities present themselves to be. And of all the people she banters with, he’s secretly her favorite. 

There’s no room now for skittering hearts and glowing cheeks. She values their friendship, has very nearly convinced herself she’s content with it. 

But then. But then.

It’s Christmas Eve. The smell of roast lamb and cocoa lingers in the air. She saunters in from the den, where her brothers are still laughing uproariously at something Fred had said, and Harry’s at the counter pouring himself some more cocoa. He smiles at her when she enters. 

“Oi! You’d better have left some for me.”

He levels her a flat look. “Course I did. I like my bogeys batless, thanks.”

There it is again, the liking him. “I reserve that hex for the likes of Zacharias Smith. You’re welcome.”

“Good to know where I stand.”

They laugh. Her heart skitters at the sound, but her hands are still as she pours herself some cocoa, well-practiced in her performance of impenetrability. 

She reaches for the milk and brushes against him. 

It’s small. No elbows in butter dishes or dropped mugs. But nonetheless she notices, and the realization burns hot and sweet like cocoa on her tongue.

He jumped. 

#hinny fluff #canon compliant #hinny microfic #word count 355 #missing moment #hbp

[bobsfic]

jiara week day 7 - missing moment

Summary: JJ and Kiara are both dealing with the repercussions of what happened on the Coastal Venture. A missing moment from the early days of Poguelandia.

Word Count: 6,154

[jiara bingo - poguelandia]

------

“I’m mad at you, you know.” She doesn’t sound mad, but kinda sad instead, and JJ’s stomach churns uncomfortably.

He looks over at her and finds her staring at him. “What did I do?”

Her eyes flick to the barely healing gash on his forehead, and it throbs as though it can feel her pointed gaze.

“Oh. That.”

“Yes. That,” she bites out.

“He was swinging at you, Kie,” he says matter of factly. “I wasn’t about to let you get hurt.” It’s not rocket science. Protecting Kie is just ingrained in his veins, a part of his muscle memory.

Her throat bobs as she swallows thickly. “But you got hurt! You just fell off the side of the boat and–”

When her eyes grow shiny, he feels a tugging sensation in his gut, telling him that maybe she’s not actually mad at him. He shuffles closer, their elbows brushing, and she blinks a few times.

“And what? It was worth it, Kie.” She shakes her head at him, lips pursed into a pout. “I’d do it again.”

------

Read more on ao3!!!

#jiaraweek2023 #jiaraweek23 #jiara #jiara fic #my fic #my writing #outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #obx fanfic #obx fic #jiara fanfic #jj x kiara #jj x kie #jiarasource #jiarabingo #jiara bingo #day 7 #missing moment #poguelandia

[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.

#harry potter #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #ginny weasley #hinny #missing moment #half blood prince #hinny microfic

[turanga4]

For @hinnymicrofic Prompt 18: Stop WARNING IT IS SAD

Read here (but it's long-ish) or on Ao3.

It’s quiet behind him, but loud in his head. Harry remembers a time when he could slip away unnoticed, when the Burrow’s kitchen table rang with arguments and laughter. The voices now are low and tired—their exchanges, dull routines.

He needs to deal with a different set of words. Again and again they come to him, disembodied echoes, high and cold as they were that night, but heard now just by him.

You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself.

He shakes his head. It doesn’t help. The leaves have been fading on the trees in the distance, spring moving towards summer. More heat in the air. A bird is singing somewhere; the voice drowns it out.

You have permitted you have permitted

Harry blinks a few times quickly and looks around again. The Burrow’s mostly been restored, its wobbly gate set back on its hinges. Some things, though, were too broken to fix. There are other, smaller things where no one has bothered.  One window hangs cracked above the couch in the living room, with thin spidery lines like ice on a lake.

He should go back in: Mrs. Weasley might worry. He aches each time he thinks of her, because the watch that she gave him becomes the clock in his nightmares, and Fred’s hand is spinning as it tears into the ground. He’d stay outside forever if that would help, but it wouldn’t. Rather than face me yourself.

Harry’s fist clenches, still wrapped against his wand. “For fuck’s sake. I did face you. I killed you. You’re done.” 

The voice echoing inside of him laughs at him and shifts.

your friends

your friends

your friends to die

Hermione, glassy-eyed, staring at the kitchen floor when he crept downstairs in the hours before dawn. “It’s lunch time in Australia,” she whispered, turning away. Ron’s been looking constantly from face to face to face. George, cutting his hair and breaking two mirrors.

Then Colin’s mother, thanking him. Her warm ungloved hands, and how she let go of him mid sentence to dab at her eyes.  The casket, obscenely, was the same size as Remus's. But Remus, at least, had been a full-grown man. 

You have permitted you have permitted

He answers again then, just one word. He’s almost crying.

STOP.  

Harry isn’t sure if he said it out loud.  If it was a command, or a plea, or if it can even happen. The tree in front of him has just dropped three branches; he sees that before noticing that he’s not alone.

Ginny approaches and he realizes that it must have been out loud after all. “You hear him still, don’t you?”

Harry jerks his head back. She continues to step forward. 

“Even though he’s not speaking? Even though he’s dead? You hear him still, don’t you? You shouldn’t, but you do.”

She’s looking at him carefully. Not afraid, but something else.

“How do you know?”

Ginny draws herself up to her full height. Her eyes make his breath catch as her gaze locks with his. She raises one hand and ghosts it over his forehead.

Then seems to fall into herself, shrinking down. Her voice not her own, her eyes fixed on the dirt. They stand, facing each other, and there’s a promise of a future in the echoes of the past. He wants to hug her, to kiss her, to marry her, to heal with her. (They will do all of those things, some day. But not yet.)

Ginny’s picking at her thumbnail as he leans in to listen. 

“Funny the damage a silly little book can do, especially in the hands of a silly little girl.”

#harry potter fan fiction #see ao3 for credit list but thanks thanks so much #missing moment #post battle of hogwarts #harry x ginny

[queseraone]

just close your eyes (you'll be alright)

But now, the moment they’re in their safe space, alone together where they can just be, it comes screaming back. Lucy feels the way it starts bubbling up and up, until the sheer volume of it all is enough to have her knees buckling.

But Tim is there to catch her.

Read on AO3

(5x22 ‘Under Siege’ missing moment)

#chenford #chenford fanfic #chenford fanfiction #the rookie #the rookie fanfic #chenford fic #mine #mine: writing #tim bradford #lucy chen #5x22 #missing moment

[honeydukesheroine]

Stones 🪷

For @hinnymicrofic and @ginnyw-potter - your peer pressure worked! Sorry it's not fluffy though, I promise a fluffy one for you soon 🥰

Read below the cut or on Ao3

A missing moment from my WIP, The In-Between's (6th Year) - Honesty Shots

Ginny followed closely behind Harry as they exited the backdoor of the Burrow. 

He walked as far away from the house as possible, headed for the low stone bridge they knew to be the boundary of the Burrow’s protective enchantments. 

When they got there, Ginny sat on the low stone wall that flanked her parents’ driveway. It was all poorly maintained now as there was rarely a reason to come over here after the Ford Anglia went wild. 

“Did you know?” Harry asked, turning towards her. “That Hermione hasn’t told her parents anything?”

“No,” Ginny said, shaking her head.

No wonder Hermione had been so nervous to bring her parents to the Burrow. Ginny figured it was just because of her feelings for Ron. 

If Hermione had only told her, Ginny might’ve been able to help change the subject back in the kitchen. Even if the Grangers really should’ve known, Ginny was well coached in the honorable duty of covering for one’s siblings. 

“Why do you think…?” Harry asked.

“This may come as a shock to you, Harry,” Ginny said, she wasn’t about to lie to him. “But you lot have been involved in some dangerous shit.”

Harry breathed out in a kind of acknowledgement before shoving his hands into his pockets. He began to lightly kick at the base stones of the wall.

“They all seemed to be getting along before that, though,” Ginny added, trying to lift his mood. “Could’ve sworn they were about to discuss wedding dates.”

Harry said nothing. He continued to scrape at the padding of grimy moss with the point of his shoe.

Before thinking twice about the ramifications of the statement, she chanced saying, “They seemed confused that you’d never been to one of them before, a - a tooth Healer.”

“Dentist,” Harry said, kicking the rock over. “Yeah, usually that’s the sort of thing Muggle parents take their kids to.”

Ginny thought back to her Muggle Studies class in second year when they’d learned about different types of Muggle health services. It’d been during her second year, when all she could think about at the time were sharp fangs jutting out of a monstrous snake head.

“Are they the ones that put tiny spears in your mouth?” 

Harry nodded.

“Sounds like you got lucky then,” she said.

Harry made a face and Ginny wondered if she’d gone too far. Maybe she should’ve just kept her mouth shut.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Harry said eventually, still kicking the ground. “Sometimes they even pull your teeth out.”

“That’s a profession?” Ginny asked, encouraged that he had at least responded. “Why not just give people Hagrid’s rock cakes?”

He finally gave her a small smile, which made her glad she’d said it. 

Harry reached down to pick up a handful of stones. Taking one in his right hand, he tossed it up and down a few times before taking a step back and chucking it down the driveway. It sailed several meters before coming in contact with the invisible shield, evaporating with a sizzle. 

“Do you ever think about what things would be like if Tom Riddle never existed?”

“All the time,” she said.

Harry looked at her for a long moment, no doubt recalling their conversation from when he came to sit with her in Myrtle’s bathroom. They’d both had yet to acknowledge their talk there since then.

“Your parents wouldn’t need these protective charms,” he said, turning away and throwing another stone. “I’d have grown up in Godric’s Hollow… Maybe it’d be my parents in there too.”

Harry bent down to pick up several more. He seemed frustrated more than angry, like Ginny remembered feeling after taking one too many hexes from the twins in D.A. practice. 

Before now, she never would’ve pegged Harry as someone who preoccupied his time with what if’s and could have been’s. He always seemed so stoic and focused on what was directly ahead. 

She supposed he had to be like that, Tom made sure of it.

Harry threw several more rocks, each throw with a little less effort. She watched them lob and disappear with a satisfying hiss. 

Ginny shifted on the stone wall to get more comfortable and said into the silence, “But still no dentists.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, letting the rocks fall. He walked over to lean against the wall close beside her. “Still no dentists.”

“You don’t need one anyway. You should keep all your teeth, I think they’re nice,” she said, and her face burned.

“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his feet.

“Give me one of those, will you?” She said, indicating a one of the rocks he’d dropped. When he did so, she clambered up on the unsteady wall and turned in the direction of the pond which lay just a few paces from the Granger’s Volvo. 

She and her brothers used to play a game where they aimed for the lily pads in the pond. When Harry stood up beside her, she told him the scoring system, and they spent the next twenty minutes plonking stones in the pond.

One poor throw slipped from Ginny’s hand, ricocheted off the stone wall, and hit the side of the Granger’s car just above the tire.

“Oh shit,” Ginny laughed and hopped down from the rock wall in a mild panic, pulling Harry down into a duck behind it as they heard raised voices coming from the Burrow’s kitchen. The next moment, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were marching toward their car, Hermione at their heels. 

Harry and Ginny listened to the confrontation between Hermione and her parents. When the car revved to life, they hurried out of the driveway, heading instead for the garden. 

It wasn’t until Ron came by about a half hour later that Harry said anything again. But until then, Ginny stayed with Harry as they paced the garden rows of bright green leaves bursting to life, and a patch of purple flowers that were waiting for their chance to reach full bloom.

#missing moment inception #missing moment #the in betweens #hinny #hinny microfic

[seriouslysam8]

Brumous Missing Moment

Missing Moment One: Late September 1996

You guys can give a big thanks to @bellmel for legit getting this less than 24 hours ago and editing it like a fucking champ. She's amazing! Another special thanks can be given to @myrtlewarren for the idea!

If there's a missing moment from Brumous you would like to see, send me an ask. I don't guarantee I will write it, but inspire me enough and I just may. Please no prompts that heavily involve Hermione though.

Also, I made a new banner for the Missing Moments series that's similar to the original one. I had to have a different banner, right???

Brumous

Petrichor Series

Also on ff.net

#seriouslysam #hinny #harry potter fanfiction #hinny fanfic #harry and ginny #sirius black #petrichor series #sirius lives au #harry x ginny #hinny fanfiction #missing moment

[nodirectionhome-ao3]

Umm what if Lily was sort able to hear Harry in her coma or something (but she doesn’t remember it because she’s asleep) like idk her dreams or something and since we now now molly visited her

Thanks for the request! This one BROKE MY HEART, but here goes...

The Trees, The Flowers, The Grass

A Kindly Stopped for Me missing moment.

After the attack that killed her husband, Lily languishes in a coma for almost 14 years. This is what she dreams.

1,936 words! (Below the cut)

Swirls of white light.

A flash of green.

The boom of some nearby explosion. 

Snippets of sound carried along on rolling clouds of fog.

Lily stood motionless in the middle of some great open space, and though she was still, it felt as if she was falling. A baby was crying, somewhere she could not see. The sound pierced through her, burning through her heart like physical pain, though Lily did not know why she felt so desperately sad…so horribly scared.

Someone help him, she thought desperately. Please, God, someone help him…

Her feet gave way, and suddenly Lily was sitting — though she could not feel the ground beneath her. And as she sat there, wrapping her shaking arms around her legs, another sound joined the fray. A man’s voice…one she was sure she recognized.

No…no…JAMES!

The voice was so broken…so horrified and scared. And Lily knew who it was, though she could not seem to find the name…

James, please…James…JAMES…

Lily was weeping. And she was cold. So bloody cold. The man’s voice broke completely, and suddenly all Lily could hear was screaming. Heartbreaking, tooth-rattling, uncontrolled wailing. And another voice too, a deeper one…with a West Country accent…

I know, Sirius, I know…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…

Lily buried her head in her lap, pressing hard against her ears to block out the sound.

And then it was gone, and Lily looked up — staring into the bright white nothingness as the voice started up again, this time much closer. 

Lily…

His voice was barely above a whisper — a garbled, choked-out sound that filled Lily with a surge of protectiveness she could not understand. This man was her friend, she realized, she loved him…

Give Harry to me, Hagrid. I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him…

Can’t do that, Sirius. I’ve got me orders, from Dumbledore…

Please, Hagrid, please. He’s my godson, Hagrid, please. I can’t — You have to—

He’s to go to his aunt an’ uncle’s. Dumbledore’s orders…I’m sorry, Sirius. 

The voices were getting farther and farther away, growing muted and strained and unintelligible to Lily’s ears. It was as though she was being pulled backwards through a long tunnel…and the clouds of brilliant white fog began to swirl almost violently around her…

A new voice shattered through the haze. A deep one, distant and unknown. 

Hang on, this one’s alive…pulse is weak, fetch the healers…

And suddenly, Lily’s ears were exploding with sound. Sirens…screams…chatter she couldn’t make sense of…

And the bright light of the void around her was shrinking, darkness clouding around the edges. An image began to flicker around her, familiar surroundings taking shape…

We’re losing her! 

She’s not breathing…

The Hogwarts Great Hall formed around her, and Lily’s heart soared when recognition at the sight. Everything was much cleaner than she remembered it, bathed in a thick film of bright white light. And there…standing by the Gryffindor table with a teary-eyed, horror-struck look on his face…

Lily broke into a run, heart bursting with palpable relief.

“James!” she cried out. “James, you’re here!”

But James wasn’t getting any closer, no matter how fast Lily ran. A tear streaked down his cheek as he looked at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lily couldn’t hear the words…

Her surroundings began to shake…flickering with tendrils of blue electricity…

She’s still crashing, another shock…

“James, what’s happening?” Lily demanded. “I don’t understand…” 

But James wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was sinking to the ground, sobbing into his hands.

“James, what—”

Another tremor shook the room, and then the Great Hall disappeared entirely, replaced by the bright white void once more.

I’ve got a pulse…she’s back…

Renervate. Renervate!

Why isn’t she waking?

I don’t know…

We need help. We can’t—

Call the Head Healer…

Lily was laying down now. At least, it seemed as though she was. She couldn’t feel much of anything. The ground was nonexistent, but she was horizontal.

It was as though something was hovering right above her, some knowledge she should be able to grasp. Her mind was a jumble of missing puzzle pieces. Something inside her was irreparably broken, but she didn’t know why.

After a while, she began to hear voices again — brief snatches of floating conversation. None of what she heard made sense to her, but all of it made her cry.

What do you mean, she’s not waking up? There has to be something you can do…you’re just standing there! 

Mr. Lupin, please—

What the fuck is wrong with you? Why aren’t you doing anything? Why aren’t you saving her?

Mr. Lupin…

Someone was crying. A man. A friend. Lily loved him too, she knew she did. A prickling sensation brushed against her cheeks…two calloused hands, holding her face.

Lily, wake up. Wake UP, Lily…

Mr. Lupin…

FUCK. Lily, come on. You have to wake up. We need you, Lil, wake up. Harry needs you. I fucking need you…You can’t do this. You can’t…LILY!

Mr. Lupin, stop! This isn’t helping…

It was too much. Too much. Lily couldn’t take it. She closed her eyes, a silent prayer filling her up. She wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else…

The ground solidified beneath Lily, as if she had willed it to do so. When she opened her eyes again, the empty void was no more. * * *

A soft breeze blew through the air, bringing with it a biting chill. It rippled through Lily’s hair, prickling uncomfortably against the back of her neck. She shivered.

She sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the feel of the fresh air as she brushed her hands over the soft flowers that surrounded her. They were white flowers, dotted with flecks of yellow around the spot where the stems met the petals. Lilies she remembered, somewhat giddily.

She stood up, craning her neck to take in her surroundings, and was pleased to see that the lilies extended as far as her eyes could see. It was a happy place, she thought. A field of lilies. A sky full of fluffy clouds. A distant sun setting over the horizon of rolling hills. 

A vague scent of antiseptic clung to her nose, like something one might find in a hospital, but Lily didn’t mind — not with a view as lovely as the one that stretched before her. She didn’t know how she got there, but she was sure she never wanted to leave.

She was alone in the field, but the trees seemed to talk to her. She became rather accustomed to the voice, and found she quite liked it. It was a woman’s voice — motherly in nature, and as gentle as the breeze that rustled through the flowerbeds. 

Good morning, Mrs. Potter. It’s Miriam again, your healer. Today would be a great day to wake up, dear, the sun is shining…

Good morning, Mrs. Potter. I’ve just read the newspaper. Did you know your baby is famous now? They’re calling him the Boy Who Lived…

Sometimes, the voice in the trees would announce that someone else was there, and Lily would feel a great rushing in her heart as the flowers began to talk to her. She loved the voice in the flowers, but she didn’t know why it always sounded so desperately sad.

Lily, it’s me. Can you hear me? I miss you, please wake up…

Lily, we have to have the funeral. Please wake up. I need you there…

Lily, I’m so sorry…I’m so fucking sorry…

Good morning, Mrs. Potter, Remus brought you flowers again…

* * *

Lily walked and walked through the field of flowers, but nobody ever crossed her path. She was vaguely aware that time must be passing, though she wasn’t quite sure what that meant. The voice in the trees announced the changes, but for Lily, it was all the same. Sun, grass, clouds, flowers…all the time, wherever she looked, with no variation.

Happy Christmas, Mrs. Potter, said the trees.

Happy birthday, Lily, said the flowers. 

It’s our three-year anniversary, Mrs. Potter, announced the trees.

Harry turned five today, whispered the flowers.

After a while, the flowers stopped speaking entirely. A deep ache tore through Lily at the silence, but the trees were there to keep her going.

Good morning, Mrs. Potter, You’ve got a very special visitor today.

When the flowers spoke again, it was with a new voice — a voice she didn’t know, but loved instantly. The high-pitched voice of a child…a child she longed to see.

Hi Mum, the flowers said. It’s—er—it’s me. Harry…your—your son…I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t…say anything last time…I just didn’t know what to…I’m twelve now…I’m in Gryffindor, like you…Hagrid says I look like…like Dad…

Lily smiled, crouching down to brush her fingers through the nearest flowerbed. Harry, she thought giddily. Her Harry…her baby. She craned her head, searching for him. Why wasn’t he there? Why couldn’t she see him?

An unfamiliar feeling surged through her as she sat there…something like panic. A tightness in her chest, a searing in her lungs…

“Harry!” she screamed, but nobody heard her. Nobody ever heard her.

Her pulse is spiking, the sky spoke from above. What’s going on?

Her son visited today, the trees whispered in response. D’you think it’s that? D’you reckon she heard him?

No kidding. Harry Potter was here?

Yeah, he spoke to her this time…

Lily stood up, setting off at a run through the field. “Harry! Harry!” 

But she never found Harry, not there in the field. A sweet taste filled her mouth, like some kind of potion, and the field faded into darkness.

* * *

When awareness returned to her, she was back in the field.

She walked aimlessly through the flowerbeds, trying to ignore the distant tugging that starting up at the back of her mind. The tugging of distant memories, struggling to break free. She didn’t want to remember. She didn’t want anything beyond the flowers and the trees and the beautiful sunlight.

The trees continued their pleasant conversation, and pretty soon there was a new voice too — a woman’s voice, calling up to Lily through the grass.

Lily, dear, the blades spoke. Is it okay if I sit with you? Our sons are friends, you know. My name is Molly…

The grass told her stories — stories of a red-haired boy, a boy with glasses, a girl with an unusual name. The stories delighted her and worried her all at once, and Lily wished she could remember them. But they faded with the wind, whenever the grass stopped speaking…and Lily kept walking through the field. 

Happy Halloween, Mrs. Potter, said the trees.

Your Harry saved my Ginny, sobbed the grass.

Hi Mum, said the flowers.

The flowers were by far Lily’s favorite, and she listened eagerly — pausing her endless walk.

It’s me—Harry—your son…er…I’m doing okay, I guess. I’m thirteen now…I’m here with my friends…

That was the last time the flowers spoke. 

Lily laid down amongst them — yearning, waiting, hoping. But the flowers stayed silent. Silent and still…

Good morning, Mrs. Potter, chirped the trees.

Happy Christmas, dear, whispered the grass.

The flowers said nothing, and Lily cried.

Happy thirty-fifth, Mrs. Potter, exclaimed the trees.

The third task is today, I’ll give Harry a hug for you, promised the grass.

The flowers said nothing, and Lily cried again.

And then suddenly, with no warning...the field faded away.

Silence fell.

And Lily Potter awoke with a start.

#kindly stopped for me #missing moment #dreams

[whinlatter]

hope (harry/ginny) | a microfic

for @hinnymicrofic day 14 | prompt: hope (slightly nsfw!)

They lug their trunks across the Burrow’s yard in sweaty, stony silence. ‘Beautiful evening,’ her mother remarks, as her children clamber back over the threshold of the rickety old house. ‘I do hope we get more of this lovely sunshine.’ 

Stupid thing to say, she thinks, stupid thing to hope for. There's a wishbone out drying on the kitchen window sill. Wonders if her mother plans to waste it wishing for more good weather in the middle of a war.

Dinner is shepherd’s pie - her old favourite, a Molly classic, and yet it tastes like dust, like ash, like nothing. ‘I know you’ve had a tricky time, dear,’ her mother says gently. She stiffens, glares at Ron, traitor, but then - ‘what with your exams being cancelled - and right when you’d done all that work -’ so she's safe, then, goes back to moving mash potato around her plate. ‘Made of real shepherds,’ her dad says, weak smile, trying his best. She gulps down her mouthful and excuses herself, slams the bedroom door shut, finds she's shaking.

Lying on her back on her bed, staring at the sunset’s stains on the ceiling, the only sound the late summer birdsong out of the open window. Quiet, too quiet, for a house this full. Downstairs, the kitchen’s all whispers. Every now and then she hears an unfamiliar footstep creak on the landing, strangers on the staircase. Headquarters, now. The war’s come home, and it’s using their loo.

She’d got her hopes up, that's the thing. First mistake, stupid. He’d been telling the story of Ron’s camp-bed collapsing in on him that time, lying back on his elbows under their tree with his hair ragged, handsome. She’d laughed, see, and said well, maybe this summer we’ll spare you the indignity of the campbed and being dense, he’d said well Fred and George’s room was nice if you don’t mind the smell of soot. She’d rolled her eyes, said Potter can you really not notice when a girl’s trying to get you into her bed. He’d gone red, then, stammered a bit, but it was all over his face: the wonder, the want. Your mum will go ballistic, he’d muttered, but he’d said will not would, and his hand had toyed with her hip, fingertips trailed her thigh. He’d wanted it too. He’d thought they’d have it, thought they'd get the summer, at least. 

We could’ve had ages, he’d said. Months, years, maybe. Stupid, stupidest thing, hope. No use for it.

It’d have been cramped. He’d have had to sneak down from Ron’s room, under the cloak. She’d have shown him her Harpies poster, now this is what a proper team looks like, Potter, worn her nice pyjamas, the ones with the shorts, asked him to take them off. Cleared a space for his glasses on the bedside table. He'd have slept on the right, nearest the door, ever on guard, and stroked her cheek with his knuckles, looked at her that way, like she’s precious. It would have been like that time they’d fallen asleep under their tree, heads together - the time she’d slipped up, let herself imagine it: two bodies in a bed in a house with a garden, laughter, little people running around who’d look a bit like them both. 

Stupid, stupid thing. Grips the bedspread in both fists, banishes it: all of it, all the hope. File away that future, bury it. Kill your darlings, push them out to sea.

Knock at the door. Ron, with two cups of tea and a half-empty box of Caramel Kappas. ‘Thought you might want some company,’ he mutters, sheepish, sitting on the bed. She sighs, no fight in her, and so brother and sister sit, sipping, in birdsonged silence. 

‘How are you doing?’ he asks. She means to snap - how do you think I’m doing - but takes one look at him and finds she’s fresh out of spite. ‘You’re going away with him, aren’t you?’ she says, instead. Ron nods, and it’s awful, all ache, terrible, gaping grief, all this filling in the blanks of everything that she’s losing. 

‘I just hoped,’ she says, eventually, eyes on her knees, ‘we’d have more time. I know - I know it was stupid.’

That’s all of it, really, isn’t it: her great failing, uttered aloud. Crumples, then, beside her big brother, and cries, heaping earth on all the hope as they lower it into the grave. Stupid thing, useless thing.

She thinks about the wishbone downstairs on the window sill. Thinks how stupid, how stupid it is, for something to die, and someone to make wishes out of its bones.

A/N: did not intend to write this, blame @brightlybound for this one - turns out gentle demands for a ginny's pov companion piece to yesterday’s fic will absolutely work on me, also Twenty-Two Days remains the h/g dual pov love story of all time for me so wanted to do a tribute. enjoy/sorry! back to regular writing now i swear!

now up on AO3 here | ask me anything

#really am stopping now #i'm so sorry gin #alexa play lorde - stoned at the nail salon #nobody is enjoying their shepherd’s pie #hinny #hinny microfic #ginny weasley #harry x ginny #harry potter #writing #missing moment #HBP #DH #microfic

[thenicestthingiveseen]

day 8: alone

canon/hbp/164 words

written for @hinnymicrofic

“I swear to Godric if he doesn’t ask you out soon, You-Know-Who won’t have to worry about the Chosen One because bludgers will have killed him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ginny says but she can feel her face flushing despite her forced nonchalance. “But if I did, I’d tell you to shut up.” She hisses while looking towards the other side of the locker room.

“We’re alone now, you know?” Katie giggles as she packs away her kit. “Everyone’s already on their way back to the castle. I just don’t know how many more bludger hits I can watch. He’s never been like this before. It’s mad.” 

Ginny doesn’t say anything. She packs up and heads out and fights the smile that threatens to break across her face. Katie doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Hermione doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Dean didn’t know what he was talking about either. They’re all mad. 

Harry Potter doesn’t fancy Ginny Weasley.

Impossible.

#as the late great whitney houston once said impossible things are happening every day #microfics #hinny #missing moment #half blood prince

[startanewdream]

The ink fell over the parchment. Ginny looked at the black dot with a frown before resting the quill. Words hadn’t come for the last ten minutes and she doubted she would feel inspiration any time soon to write back the letter.

And if there was something that Ginny hated was doing things because she was supposed to. She would write to Dean when she felt like it.

But without the letter to distract her, there wasn’t anything else. Not for the first time that week, she wished summer would be over already; at least at Hogwarts she would have things to distract her, and she would be far away from prying eyes—

“There you are,” a voice said, and she raised her head to meet Harry. He was grinning at her; his black hair was windswept as if he had just gone down from his broomstick—which he had, she realised, noticing the Firebolt that Harry let rest against the tree trunk. She couldn’t help but think that Harry should fly more; there was something charming in the way he looked afterwards, and he shone as if he were bringing all the warmth from the sun with him. Or, at least, the scent of his cologne when he sat next to her on the ground. “Not fancy flying today?”

Ginny shrugged.

“Hermione wasn’t up to it.”

“She never is.”

“I wasn’t either.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sick?” She shook her head, and Harry let out a breath, as if he had been truly concerned about her health; Ginny almost smiled with it. “Then—” He lifted his hands as if to get away from her. “There is only one explanation for that. You are not Ginny.”

The corner of her lips trembled. “Is that so?”

“I have everything figured out. Polyjuice Potion.”

“Oh, no, nobody grabbed any strand of my hair.”

“They might have taken while you were distracted—you lose a lot of hair, did you know that?”

“I do not!”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry to break this to you, but—” He jerked forward, his hand running through the extension of her hair, fingertips brushing her face; she couldn’t help the goosebumps that arose on her skin, jumping to get away from him.

“Oh, sorry.” He looked suddenly embarrassed. “I just—look, hair?”

It came out more as a question than anything. Ginny looked down to see Harry was holding a few strands of her hair that had fallen from her head indeed. Her skin still felt too raw, but she forced herself to ignore this.

“Fine, maybe someone could have taken my hair,” she said placatingly. Harry breathed out evenly now, clearly glad that she wasn’t mad with him. “I guess you need to ask me the security question we previously agreed upon for situations like this.”

“Oh, that question,” Harry agreed, nodding with a fake somberness that almost made her laugh. “I remember the question, of course.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Oh, right—what’s your signature spell?”

“That’s a terrible question. Draco Malfoy could answer you this question, trust me.”

Harry smirked for a moment, as if imagining that scene. “Fair enough. Wait, let me think—at least there isn’t a pet secret name—”

“What—oh, no.” She threw him a sympathetic glance. “You heard Mum’s security question from Dad?”

Harry gulped. “Yeah, and I would trade anything in the world to forget it.”

“You and I, Harry, you and I.”

He smirked suddenly. “No fun of pet names, are you? Dean never called you Gin-Gin?”

“Only if he didn’t want a girlfriend anymore,” she snorted, eyes narrowed, which only made his smirk increase. “Ginny is all I can accept.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Ginny is already your name, that doesn’t count.”

Ginny sighed heavily. “No, it’s not, prat.”

“What is it then?”

“Ugh. It’s Ginevra.”

“Ginevra,” he repeated, the word sounding foreign in his voice as it always did when someone would say it aloud. “Ginevra,” he tried again, a smile curving up his lips now.

Annoyance flooded her. “I need to remind you I have a signature spell—”

Harry raised his hands in defence. “I wasn’t making fun of you! It’s—it’s nice, actually.”

“No, it’s not,” insisted Ginny. Harry was frowning now, not looking as if he agreed with her. “You still owe me a security question, come on.”

He mouthed her name once again, smiled once again, but relented. “Er—what did Fred and George send you before you started Hogwarts?”

She laughed with the memory. “A toilet seat. Mum confiscated it, though.”

“Madam Pomfrey confiscated mine, they tried sending me one also.”

“Repeating the same idea? Tsch tsch.”

Harry was still smiling; it was a nice smile, carefree and easy, the kind he has most favoured ever since coming to the Burrow. If anyone would ask her, Ginny would sincerely say that Harry was made to smile like that, without any gloomy cloud over his head.

If he had smiled in her presence like this, a few years ago, she’d have taken it as a sign of fate, certain that Harry was finally starting to reciprocate her feelings, and then—then Ginny would have done nothing, because she would blush and her ability to talk would be gone.

She sighed. She had moved on, and if Harry’s smile was a sign of anything, it was of how great they worked as friends.

“Ginny?”

She glanced back at him. The concern was back at Harry’s eyes, and she couldn’t help but notice how more attentive he was, especially to her; last year she had talked him down when he’d forgotten about her possession by Voldemort, unable to look past his own problems. In a way, Harry had really matured since then.

“What’s wrong?”

If they were friends — and they were, Ginny told herself sternly, just friends and she was glad about this, she was —, she knew like she ought to be honest with him.

“I’ve been feeling a little down since the letters from Hogwarts came,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“The booklist annoyed you?” he tried, looking at her to gather her reaction. Ginny gave him a small smile.

“No, not exactly. I’m just… a little disappointed, I guess.”

“Then—” He glanced at his broomstick, suddenly flustered. “You wanted to be Quidditch captain?”

Mortification filled her. “No, I mean, yes, someday, not—I knew you would be the captain, of course, it was you or Katie, there was no way it could be Kirke or Sloper, and Angelina and Alicia have graduated so the only reasonable choice was—”

“Ginny?”

She pressed her mouth shut for a moment. “I’m babbling, right?”

He nodded somberly. Ginny fought an urge to hide her face between her hands.

“Anyway, no quarrels about captainship, you truly deserve it.”

Harry frowned. “I didn’t even play last year.”

“You did, you won a match, and I told you that your ban would lift as soon as Umbridge was out.”

He tried for a smile. “I guess Professor McGonagall doesn’t care for Umbridge’s decrees.”

“No,” she agreed, but the mention to Professor McGonagall sent that doubt through her anyway. Harry probably saw in her face, for he sat closer, watching her intensely. He was really close, his pinky finger touching hers; it was only a brush, not really as if he was aiming to hold her hand, but Ginny felt warmth spreading through her cheeks anyway, and she found herself blurting out: “I’m upset over not being made a prefect.”

“Oh.”

He straightened his back, pushing himself a bit far from her; Ginny let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“You wanted to be a prefect?”

“That’s it—no. Fred and George would tease me non-stop, it seems a bit boring from what I’ve seen from Percy and Ron, and I swear I can deal with Mum’s obvious disappointment, but also—Bill was one, so prefects can be cool, right? And I may get in a little trouble because of my temper, sure, and I’m not a perfect model student like Hermione, but then—”

“Then neither Ron nor Hermione have a clean record and yet they were both made prefects,” Harry finished for her with a strange smile.

“Yeah,” she agreed, a little baffled. “How did you know?”

“It’s what I thought last year,” admitted Harry. “I never knew whether I wanted to be prefect or not—never really thought about it—until I saw the letter and there was no badge for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“It was one of the few things I didn’t yell about last year.” His attempt at self-depreciation was met with a hard unimpressed stare by Ginny. Harry shrugged. “I wouldn’t be a good prefect. I usually have… other things in mind."

"So you are okay with it now?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded, watching something she couldn’t. “It helped to find out that my father wasn’t one.”

“Well, Dad wasn’t either.” Ginny bit her lip for a moment, hesitating for a heartbeat. “From what Sirius told us, I got the idea that he and your father were like Fred and George.”

“That’s a good definition.”

She glanced at him; Harry looked wistful, but not unwilling to discuss the subject as he always seemed to be when Hermione mentioned Sirius around him.

“Pranks, detentions and just making everyone laugh?”

“A little bit, though I saw… I heard they could get a bit carried away sometimes. But they got over it, they became… better people.”

“So there is hope for Fred and George also?” she teased.

“They are not that bad.” Harry looked at his Firebolt for a moment, and Ginny suddenly remembered it had been Sirius who had gifted it to Harry. “He was a Quidditch player also. My dad, I mean. Sirius—Sirius once said I fly as well as my father did.”

“Well, Sirius always said you look just like him.” She smiled, waiting until Harry returned it. “Was he a Seeker also?”

“I—I know he played with a Snitch, but no, I never… I never asked—”

“That’s okay,” said Ginny reassuringly. “When we get back to school, we can search through the records.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell Hermione we are planning to go to the library before school has ever started.”

Harry joined her conspiracy. “Only if you don’t tell Ron, he would never forgive me.”

Ginny laughed heartily. Harry’s eyes sparked as he watched her reaction, his fingers twitching as if he were refraining a movement.

“I think my dad would have liked to meet you,” he said, voice warm, and then there was a flush in his cheeks. “Not just you, I mean, Ron and Hermione, and certainly Fred and George.”

“They would be best pals,” agreed Ginny. “Mum might not approve, though.”

“She seems to be okay with the twins now.” He bit his lips. “Between us, they are the kind of example I wanna follow.”

“Fancy opening a joke shop?”

Harry laughed. “Maybe not, but they are doing what they love, right? They didn’t care about grades or badges at Hogwarts, and I guess it doesn’t really matter afterwards.”

“Hmmm.” She thought about it for a moment, strangely aware that Harry was watching her. “I’d rather be the girl sending toilet seats than forbidding others from doing it.”

He grinned, satisfied. “You and I both.”

They fell in silence then, but Ginny thought it was a nice silence then. For some reason, when she was with Harry, there never seemed to be any tension in the air, nothing heavy between them.

She let her gaze wander to the garden, enjoying the peacefulness of that summer day, and regretted ever wishing that the summer would end sooner.

“Do you wanna fly?” she asked.

Harry nodded eagerly. “Always.”

“Good. You better watch out. I might not want to be a prefect — but I'm setting my goals to steal your Captain badge next year."

Harry winked at her. “I will try my best."

#Hinny #Missing Moment #2k of what I don't know what #Hinny during HBP is just so cute #they are pining even when they don't know it

[adenei]

Sparks Fly

Written for Microfic Mayhem! A good old GOF AU/Missing Moment (ish?)

Thank you @cruelsummer-ficfest for helping me find my writing groove again and hosting a FABULOUS fest

Song: Sparks Fly

Ship: Romione

Read on AO3

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm

And I'm a house of cards

You're the kind of reckless that should send me running

But I kinda know that I won't get far

“‘Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!’” 

Hermione brushes past Ron, heat rising in her cheeks and tears stinging her eyes. She only makes it a couple of steps before he grabs her by the arm and pulls her back. The room is starkly empty all of a sudden.

“Let me go, Ron,” she warns, but he doesn’t.

“You weren’t a last resort.” The words are barely audible. She wouldn’t have believed he actually spoke if she hadn’t seen his lips move.

“Oh, really?” She yanks her arm out of his grasp and steps forward so that they’re nose to nose again. “So, what? You just needed to ensure I was, in fact, a girl first?”

“I’m well aware you’re a girl,” he responds through gritted teeth.

And at that exact moment his eyes drift down, settling on the tiny bit of cleavage heaving up and down from her breathing before snapping back up to her face. Flattered as Hermione is, her nostrils flare and her cheeks flush with anger. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? No, I—” His ears are scarlet now and he steps back to shed the outer layer of his robes. “C’mon, Hermione. Trust me, I noticed.”

“Yes, well, don’t seem so shocked. I’m fully capable of wearing form-fitting clothes or undoing an extra button on my shirt. I just choose not to.”

“Why?” Ron’s eyes widen slightly, giving away that he didn’t mean to ask the question out loud.

Hermione sighs. “Because I’ll never be as desirable as Fleur or Lavender, so why bother trying?”

She’s not sure where the honesty comes from. It must be all the Butterbeer she’s had tonight that’s finally catching up to her.

“You’re clearly desirable. Viktor fucking Krum took you to the Yule Ball.”

“If only he were the one I wanted to go with,” she admits in a whisper.

Ron scoffs. “Yeah, right. Sure didn’t look like that in the Great Hall.”

“I’m not saying I had a horrible time,” Hermione snaps. “It’s just—” 

“Just what?”

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you, I know it's no good

She shudders, but doesn’t know if she can tell Ron. Sure, he’s her best friend, but admitting this would be a step too far. But he gives her that look and her heart melts a little more before the words come tumbling out. 

“I was having a good time until the end of the night. He tried to kiss me and I—I turned away.”

Ron balls his fists at his side. “He what?”

“No, no! He tried, but he didn’t. Being his date to the ball was one thing, but—I don’t know, I just couldn’t…he’s not who I wanted to share a first kiss with.”

Silence hangs thick and clouds the space between them until Ron finally speaks. His hands are no longer clenched and his jaw is more relaxed.

“You’ve thought about who you want to share a first kiss with?”

Hermione lets out a derisive laugh. “Of course I have! I am fifteen, you know. Even if I don’t always act like it…I would like the experience of kissing a boy at some point.”

“But you didn’t kiss Viktor.”

“I did not.”

“So who then?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Her lip turns up into the slightest smirk, and perhaps it’s still the Butterbeer coursing through her veins, but she’s pretty sure the proximity to Ron is getting to her. That’s the reason she’s brave enough to say, “Rumor has it, he thinks I’m a nightmare.”

Their fingers brush and she hears a slight hitch in his throat and—did he just move closer? She’s so busy contemplating it that she almost misses his lips brush hers. It may not be a true kiss, but it’s pure heaven. Hermione closes her eyes and sparks fly, but before she can bask in the moment, it’s already gone.

“He definitely doesn’t.”

They remain frozen like that for a beat, and Hermione wishes he’d move back in and truly kiss her this time. Now that she’s had the smallest taste, she wants more.

But Ron pulls away instead. Running a hand through his hair, he grabs the discarded robe, and backs toward the boys’ staircase. Hermione is left reeling in the common room, frozen in place as she watches him leave. She leans on the back of the sofa for support, almost missing when Ron flashes a lopsided grin at her before disappearing up the staircase, and she’s left wondering if all of this is real.

Regardless of whether it did or didn’t, the question still remains:  Now what?

Gimme something that'll haunt me when you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

#romione #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #hp fanfic #hp gof #missing moment #slight au

[bobsfic]

Summary: A few missing moments from 3x05 and 3x06 as Kiara attempts to deal with the fallout of everything that happened.

A/N: This spiralled out of control (as all the most frustrating yet rewarding fics seem to do) from me noticing how quiet Kie was in the truck post motorcycle crash... and here we are 9k later! I've never really written a missing moment that fit properly into canon like this, so I hope I've done it justice!

A super huge thank you to Diana (@jojameswinter) who betaed this three separate times, which she insisted wasn't insane. I still think it was, but this fic wouldn't be the same without her help so I guess she may have been right in the end. Thanks for everything you do!!

Word Count: 9,141

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As the moment stretched on, she felt something else bubble up inside of her the longer they silently stood there. She fought to breathe properly, to calm her racing heart, to push back the tears threatening to fall. Her relief quieted into something deeper, more solid and heavy, as he shifted his weight back and forth, having the good sense to look a bit embarrassed the longer she glared at him.

They’d already gone through this once, in the lifeboat, his face pale and unresponsive as she screamed at him to wake up, panic clogging her throat. She couldn’t keep doing it.

“Don’t… don’t you ever do that again,” she said lowly, in a voice she barely recognized, amazed that it only wobbled slightly.

She wanted to say more, to make sure he knew how afraid she was, the stabbing pain in her chest that wouldn’t go away even though he was right there in front of her. How much she needed him, relied on him, always looked to him, but she couldn’t seem to find the words.

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#my writing #my fic #jiara fic #jiara fanfic #outer banks fic #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #jiara #outer banks #obx #outer banks season 3 #jj x kiara #jj x kie #obx fic #jiarasource #missing moment #heists #3x05