Day 1 of April Hinny microfics! @hinnymicrofic
Heâs happier this year.
Of course, the bar for such a thing isnât terribly difficult to clear, given how bloody miserable Harry had been the year before, but still. He is. Happier.
Sheâd mentioned it to Dean once, in passing, and regretted it immediately. Heâd asked her probing questions like what do you mean and why do you mention it and she couldnât give him proper answers, especially when the question he really wanted the answer to was why did you notice.Â
âForget it,â she had snapped, only he didnât and neither did she.
He jokes more easily, in the Common Room, at meals, during Quidditch practice. With her. Theyâd always found the same things funny; sheâd clung to that when she was stupid and eleven.Â
Now that sheâs stupid and fifteen, it clings to her instead. Her eyes seek him out whenever Ron says something ridiculous, when Hermione recommends different colored ink to color-code her notes, when Cormac McLaggen swaggers by. They share a look that asks did you see that and how could I not and she soon realizes that the world is twice as funny with a private audience of two.Â
â--you should really finish that essay, Harry, youâre already behind from the hospital wing andââ
âShould I?â Harry says mildly, barely looking up from clipping the twigs off his broomstick. âSnape is in mourning, he wonât have the time to grade essays.â
Hermione gives him an unimpressed sort of look. âIn mourning?â
âYep,â Harry says with a snip of his scissors. âHe paid off McLaggen to murder me, heâll be sulking that I only cracked my skull.â
Ginny snorts into her tea, and Harry meets her eye with a smirk that sends her stomach into an inappropriate freefall.Â
Zacharias Smith pays an unwelcome visit to the Gryffindor table at dinner to gloat about Gryffindorâs defeat. Harry clenches his jaw, and Ginny pretends that isnât the reason that she shouts, âOi, Smith. Perhaps we can plant McLaggen on the pitch for all of your matches, because maiming the other team is the only way youâll catch the snitch on your own.â
Smith retorts something stupid, and Ginny rolls her eyes and says, âGo gloat at your own table before I hex you.â
Harry meets her eye and they exchange that little smile, what a git and that was good and his jaw isnât clenched anymore.
âWhat a git,â Dean says, and Ginny nods, feeling inexplicably irritated by the comment. Sheâd already said that, except she hadnât. Not out loud, and not to him.
Harry catches her eye again across the table, and the corners of his lips twitch, and so do hers.
Itâs the first time she feels a sharp stab of guilt. Because sheâs stupid and fifteen and heâs happier this year and she knows what heâs thinking without words.Â
And when something makes her laugh she doesnât look for Dean. She looks for a flash of green and a private little smile that says itâs only funny when you think so, too.Â