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Demelza insisted their chances of being asked to the Yule Ball would improve dramatically if they pierced their ears. Ginny only wanted a certain boy to notice.
A small shout-out to @ginnyw-potter for creating an ask game with a question about jewelry and inspiring the idea! Keep being wonderfully inspirational, girl!
I just know that Ginny and Harry were so clingy and annoying together. Harry was always seen with lipstick on face and shirt whitch irritated Ron especially cuz Ginny complained him for dating Lavender
R: so...if my ex and I were eels, what about them? (look at Hinny)
rip james potter you would have loved your son's wife
james who gives prehogwarts!ginny one on one chaser lessons at least once a month because she liked to fly and when the boys were home they don't let her play with them.
james who would let ginny sleep over at theirs sometimes when the boys were all at hogwarts and he'd watch her and lily make cookies and chit chat.
james who'd gift her chaser gloves and harpys merch for her birthdays, christmas, and other occasions even if her mother disapproved. (that might be because he gave her and ron a nimbus when they made it to the team)
james who ginny turned to talk to like she used to do with bill because james simply adores her and always wanted a daughter.
james who turned a blind eye to her pranks at harry and ron and always made sure to deflect her mother's wrath away from her.
james who was the first person to know when harry first fell inlove with ginny, and threatened him to not mess this up.
james who was the first person to know that ginny got accepted by the harpys
headauror!james who once dreamed of playing quidditch professionally intentionally manipulating watch schedules at the ministry so it doesn't coincide with Ginny's games. He'd throw freshauror!harry under the bus as a last resort if had to as long as he'd get to be there.
james who harry and ginny's first child was named after.
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I wrote this as a result of a conversation in the @ginnystrophyhusband Discord, so I'm going to claim it as a Hinny Microfic even though it technically doesn't include any of the prompts!
990 words, rated T, read it below or on AO3
There Was Only One Car Seat
Ron stares at Harry incredulously. “You’re serious?”
“Yep.”
Well, that sounded pretty definitive, but Ron still can’t quite believe it. “Absolutely, totally, one-hundred percent sure?”
“Completely.” Harry dangles the keys right in front of Ron’s face. “Now do you want to drive the bloody car or not?”
It’s a good point. Ron snatches the keys out of his best friend’s hand before Harry can change his mind. He’s been waiting for this opportunity for almost five months. Five whole months since Harry’s seventeenth birthday. Five whole months since Harry’s absolutely loaded and ridiculously generous godfather gifted him the car in question.
But it isn’t just any car. No, it’s a 1.8 litre Mazda MX-5 Phoenix Special Edition MX-5 two-seater soft-top roadster, in gleaming black, with sienna-brown full leather interior, fifteen-inch low profile alloy wheels, 146-brake horsepower, nought to sixty in 8.2 seconds. It’s an absolute wet-dream of a car, and ever since the first time Ron laid eyes on it, he’s longed to drive it.
Harry has always flatly refused.
Ron understands. Really, he does, because there are good reasons for Harry’s refusal. The main one is that Harry’s parents (well, Ron suspects mainly his mother) have absolutely forbidden it, along with any other even slightly dubious (aka fun) behaviour behind the wheel. As Harry tells it, she wasn’t at all happy that Sirius gave Harry the car in the first place, and she’s threatened to confiscate the keys if she ever gets even a hint of anything untoward going on.
Which, now Ron comes to think of it, makes this sudden change of heart more than a little bit suspicious.
“Why now?” He’s kicking himself even as the words come out of his mouth, because heaven forbid Harry changes his mind.
Harry shrugs. “Call it festive spirit. You drive us there, I’ll drive us home.”
Ron isn’t sure that ‘festive spirit’ really covers it, but he isn’t going to argue. The important thing is that he gets to drive Harry’s car to the Hogwarts college sixth form Christmas party. He was happy enough when Harry declared himself designated driver for the evening, but now Ron gets to pull up in front of the pub that’s hosting them for the evening, climb out of the sexiest car known to man and saunter into the pub in front of all his classmates like an absolute king.
He really hopes that Hermione’s around to see it.
Speaking of Hermione, Ron’s hoping tonight is the night; her parents are away at some dental convention for the weekend, and she’s made a point of explaining that she’ll have the house to herself.
“Assuming I’m coming back here, obviously,” he points out, aware that he sounds more than a little smug, and not giving even the tiniest bit of a shit about it, because tonight is shaping up to be the best night of his life.
Harry just smirks at him. “Yeah well. I’ll be rooting for you.”
Ron doesn’t reply. With a sigh of satisfaction, he opens the door and slides into the driver's seat. He takes his time adjusting the seat, the steering wheel and the mirrors for his taller frame, enjoying every single second, but soon enough he’s ready to go—and now that he’s ready, he wants to get on with it.
Harry, though, is still loitering on the battered concrete forecourt outside the Burrow, the farmhouse that Ron has called home his whole life. What the hell is he waiting for? Ron opens the passenger door window (electric, of course! What a luxury! He’s far more used to getting a decent upper arm workout wrestling with the manual winders on the Weasley’s elderly landrover) so that he can encourage his best mate into the car when the front door to the house opens and Ginny skips down the steps.
“Sorry!” she declares. “I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?”
Ron’s surprised to see her. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I wasn’t. But Harry talked me into it.”
Ginny picks her way towards them across the uneven concrete in her knee-high heeled boots. She’s wearing a glittery black mini dress that skims the top of her thighs and she’s put tinsel in her hair. “That dress is a bit short, isn’t it?”
She sticks her tongue out at him. “Like that’s any of your business. And don’t let Hermione hear you saying crap like that if you want to get laid tonight.”
Ron flicks a finger at her—and then a thought occurs to him. “Wait a minute. You didn’t think Harry was giving you a lift, did you?”
“Yes?” she says, slowly and loudly, as though she’s talking to someone extremely stupid.
“But there are only two seats!”
“Yes Ron. I can count, thank you very much,” she shoots back. “I’ll sit on Harry’s knee.”
Ron can’t help but laugh, because there is no way that Harry is going to risk his future use of the car by breaking not one but two of his mother’s inviolable rules on one night—except Harry is already climbing into the passenger seat next to Ron, and doesn’t object when Ginny positions herself on top of him. “We’re only going two miles,” he says. “Just don’t crash.”
This is bloody typical, thinks Ron—Ginny’s always got away with shit like this, her entire life. He shakes his head in disgust as they attempt to fasten the seatbelt around the pair of them, a process that takes far longer and much more irritating giggling than Ron thinks is strictly necessary.
But, finally, they’re ready to go. Ron puts his foot on the clutch, turns the key in the ignition and feels the engine roar to life. A huge smile spreads over his face. Yes, tonight is going the be the best night of his life.
It never occurs to him that it might just turn out to be Harry’s too.
Ginny Weasley spent thirteen years in France attempting to heal after the Chamber of Secrets. Upon returning to England for a clinical fellowship in Dark Magic Trauma, she found Harry Potter again and discovered a man who had survived Voldemort, survived a war, but somehow never learned how to survive himself.
Because I legit have very little self-control. This sprung from my obsession with The Pitt. While I'd love to write me some Kingdom, I think I'd miss my Hinny babies too much.
A LOT has changed from canon, so be patient as all the facts of what went down since the Weasleys moved to France unravel.
Summer 1998. Ron's back from Australia, to find that things have changed in his absence.
The Burrow was quiet as Ron let himself into the kitchen. Which was weird, because the Burrow was never quiet. Just one more example of the way the world was strange these days, in the months after the war.
He dropped his bag on the tiled floor. “Hello? Is anyone home?”
For a moment, there was only silence—and then came the thunder of feet on the stairs. Seconds later, Molly Weasley barrelled into the kitchen. She didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate even the tiniest bit, just kept on propelling herself across the kitchen until she collided with her youngest son. Ron just about managed to brace himself and keep them both upright as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight,
“Ron! Oh, my little Ronniekins! When did you get back?” she sobbed into his chest.
“This morning.”
She pushed herself back, grasping his biceps and looking up at him, eyes watery with tears. “And you couldn’t have warned me? Oh, if only I’d have known! I’d have made sure everyone was here to meet you!”
“I wasn’t sure how long the aeroplane would take or I would have owled ahead.”
She shuddered. “I still don’t like to think of you in one of those metal tubes, all the way from Australia.
“They’re perfectly safe, Mum,” Ron informed her, as though he hadn’t expressed exactly the same sentiment to Hermione back in Sydney a mere thirty-six hours beforehand.
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I will never understand how Ginny gets more hate than Snape. He was obsessed with Lily even after she died. His Patronus was the same as hers, if the roles were reversed and that was Ginny people would call her a stalker and a creep. Don’t even get me started on how he bullies children and makes them feel stupid and small, because apparently that’s okay because he did it all for love. But if my girl bat bogey hex’s someone for saying things about someone she cares or loves, well she’s labeled as abusive bully. The misogyny is unreal. 
Ginny is so respectful about her crush on Harry the whole time. Yes, she sends him a valentine's day message but she's really shy about it. She never expects anything from Harry and most importantly, she has integrity.
When Harry asks her to the Yule Ball, she already has a (platonic) date to the ball and she doesn't go back on her promise and doesn't drop Neville in favour of Harry. That girl would kill to be able to go withhim but she stays with Neville, because he's her friend and they already had agreed to go together.
She always respects that he's not interested in her. She doesn't seek him out or asks for his attention specifcally, and when she's younger gets really shy around him. When she's older and gets more secure around him, she is still just keeping it merely platonic and talks to him as a friend without expecting more.
She dates other guys and gives it a genuine try because she knows Harry is not an option, until he is. Snape could never. He was bitter about Lily and never moved on from her or even tried to do so.
A lot of the generally good characters are ready to throw hands at all times. Yet Ginny gets called out for it. She stands up for what's right and defends those who need help. We see that in her restarting and coleading the DA. She can and will help and if you get on her bad side, she'll deal with you. That doesn't make her abusive and most of the other characters are aplauded for behaviour that is suddenly wrong on her.
What kind of abuse do you think Harry experienced at the Dursley's? Do you think it was more emotional or physical abuse. We know he was abuse physically when he states that he got good at ducking to avoid Vernon.
Do you think there was any kind adult in Harry's life before the age of 11 (besides Mrs. Figg)? Do you think he had any kind teachers?
I believe it was more emotional than physical; i don't think they hit him very much but yes they treated him roughly (head smacking, holding him tightly, throwing things at him)
Nina Norton had wanted to be a teacher since she was seven years old.
She'd told everyone. Her mum, her dad, her nan who smelled like lavender and always listened. She'd practiced on her stuffed animals, lining them up on her bedroom floor, giving them gold stars cut from wrapping paper. She'd meant it the way children mean things — completely, without condition.
At twenty-three, with her first real classroom and thirty laminated name tags and a display wall she'd stayed until eight o'clock on a Sunday to get right, she still meant it.
She believed in children. She believed in what you could do for them if you paid attention. That was the thing, she thought. Most people just didn't pay attention.
Nina paid attention.
***
She noticed Harry Potter on the third day.
Not the first — the first day was chaos, small bodies everywhere, someone crying because they wanted their mum, someone else crying because they didn't want to sit next to Tyler, and Nina moving through it all like she was conducting something, keeping her voice warm and steady even when she didn't feel it.
Not the second day either. The second day she noticed Eliza Payne had nits and she had to manage that quietly, diplomatically, without Eliza knowing she'd noticed.
But the third day, during free drawing, she noticed Harry.
He was sitting slightly apart from the others — not excluded, exactly, just... positioned that way, like he'd chosen it himself and expected no one to question it. His jumper was grey and enormous on him, the sleeves rolled up multiple times and still pooling at his wrists. He was small for six. All angles, somehow, even at six — sharp little shoulders, a watchful face under a mess of black hair.
He was drawing. Not the house-and-sun-and-stick-family that most of them drew. He was drawing a snake in very careful, deliberate lines, giving it scales one by one.
Nina crouched down next to him. "That's brilliant," she said, and meant it.
He looked up at her — and that was the thing she'd remember later, when she was going over it all. He didn't smile the way children smiled at praise. He looked at her first. Assessed her. Like he was checking whether she meant it.
Then, apparently satisfied, he looked back at his drawing. "Snakes are good," he said. "They don't bother you if you don't bother them."
Nina didn't know what to say to that. She gave him a sticker — a gold star, the shiny kind — and moved on.
At the end of the day she found it on the corner of his desk, left behind. She told herself he'd just forgotten it. She picked it up and kept it anyway.
***
His cousin was in the class next door.
She knew this because on the fourth day, at lunch, she heard Dudley Dursley before she saw him — a large, loud boy orbited by two others, the three of them moving through the lunch queue with the confidence of people who had never once been told no. She recognized Harry's address and gurdian details on the register and put it together.
She watched Dudley take someone's pudding. The dinner lady looked away.
She looked for Harry. Found him at the end of a table, eating methodically, alone, his tray half-empty in a way that suggested his portion had started that way, not that he'd left anything. He wasn't watching Dudley. He was watching the door.
***
By the third week she had a list in her head, though she hadn't written it down yet.
The jumper — always too big, always the same one or one exactly like it, worn at the elbows.
The shoes — trainers that didn't fit properly, the left one split at the toe.
The way he ate at lunch. Quickly. Neatly. Like someone who had learned not to draw attention to hunger.
The bruise on his forearm that he'd said was from falling. Which it might have been. Children fell.
The way he flinched — just slightly, just a small tightening — when she raised her voice at the class for something. She'd stopped raising her voice after she noticed that. She told herself it was good pedagogy. She knew it wasn't only that.
He was quiet. Not the shyness of children who wanted to speak and couldn't — she knew that kind, she'd been that kind. This was something else. He chose his words. He watched before he moved. He was careful in a way that no six-year-old should have had to learn yet.
But he was brilliant. That was the thing that kept catching her off guard. His reading was years ahead. When she did maths on the board he'd already done it in his head and was waiting, patient, for the others to catch up. He'd ask questions that made her pause — real questions, not showing-off questions. How can airplanes stay up if they’re so heavy? If the Earth is spinning, why don’t we fall off?
He wanted to know things. Despite everything she was quietly beginning to suspect, he still looked at the world like it might have answers worth finding.
She found that almost unbearable, somehow. The hope in it.
***
She went to Cora Meyers in week four.
Cora was the year three teacher, had been at St. Giles Primary for nineteen years, knew every family in a two-mile radius. If anyone would know about the Dursleys, it was Cora.
"Harry Potter," Nina said, in the staffroom, keeping her voice low. "Year one. Do you know anything about his home situation?"
Cora looked up from her marking. Something crossed her face — recognition, and then a kind of practiced neutrality. "Potter," she said. "Yes. He was flagged a few years back, I think. I was not his teacher, but I've heard."
"Flagged how?"
"Oh, you know. Concern was raised." Cora said it the way you said things that hadn't gone anywhere. "Nothing came of it. The Dursleys are very..." She paused. "Respectable. The mother keeps a very clean house."
Nina looked at her. "He comes in hungry."
"Children that age are always hungry."
"His clothes don't fit."
"Some families have less money, Nina." Cora said. Not unkindly. Patiently. The way you spoke to someone young.
"He flinches when—"
"He's a troubled boy." Cora said it simply, like she was offering a diagnosis. "I taught his cousin last year. Very different child. Harry's always been a bit..." She made a vague gesture. "You'll find your footing with him. They're not all easy ones."
Nina was not convinced but smiled. Said thank you. Took her mug back to her classroom.
Troubled boy. She sat with that for a long time. Turned it over. Looked at it from different angles, the way Harry looked at things, like there might be an answer in it somewhere.
Troubled like it was something he'd done. Something he'd arrived with, packaged and sealed, nothing to do with where he slept or what he ate or whose house he went home to.
She didn't go back to Cora after that.
***
She called social services on a Tuesday in November.
She'd written notes by then. Actual notes, in a small notebook she kept in her cardigan pocket — dates, observations, specific things. The split shoe. The lunch. The flinch. The Tuesday in October when he'd come in with a mark on the back of his hand he couldn't explain and looked at the floor when she asked.
She had it all written down. She was prepared. She was calm.
She picked up the phone in the empty staffroom and dialed.
And then—
She stood there for a moment with the receiver in her hand, the dial tone going, and she thought: what am I going to say, exactly?
She knew what she was going to say. She had it in the notebook. But the thought slid away from her strangely, like trying to hold water, and she found herself thinking about her lesson plan for Wednesday, the shapes unit, whether she had enough of the orange card—
She put the phone down.
She stood very still. She picked it up again. Dialed.
His shoes don't fit, she thought, very deliberately. He flinches. He ate half a lunch in October because someone had—
The thought went sideways again. Softly, like a hand guiding her away from something. Wednesday. Orange card. The shapes.
She put the phone down.
She was shaking slightly, she realized. That was strange. She didn't feel frightened. She felt— redirected. Like a river that had been turned.
She tried four more times that afternoon. Once she got through to a recorded message and opened her mouth to speak and simply couldn't remember why she'd called. Once she sat down to write a formal letter of concern and wrote three words and then got up to water the classroom plants, which didn't need watering.
The last time, she stood at the phone with her notebook open in her hand, the specific page, Harry's name at the top, and she read each entry out loud to herself quietly, like an incantation.
She said: "Hello, I'm calling to raise a concern about a child—"
And then she was sitting at her desk with her coat on and her bag in her lap and it was five-fifteen and the school was empty and she didn't know how she'd gotten there. The notebook was in her pocket. She checked. His name was still there, all the entries, her own handwriting.
She sat in the empty classroom for a long time.
On his desk, in the front row — he always chose the front, another thing she'd noted, easiest to see the board, farthest from the door — there was a drawing he'd left. A forest, done in pencil, with tremendous patience. Hundreds of tiny careful trees.
In the middle of the forest there was a small figure. She had to squint to see it. It wasn't doing anything. It was just standing in the trees, very small, looking out.
Nina Norton put the drawing in her notebook, between his pages.
She went home. She told herself she would try again tomorrow. She would find a way around whatever this was — whatever kept redirecting her, whatever kept turning the river. She would try again.
“You are protected, in short, by your ability to love! The only protection that can possibly work against the lure of power like Voldemort’s! In spite of all the temptation you have endured, all the suffering, you remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of eleven…” Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Ginny cried when she took that picture of Harry with their kids after he got back from a mission, safe and sound. They were his most powerful shield.
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Do I have complicated feelings about this show? Obviously. But the part of me that spent the years before OotP and HBP gathering crumbs about Ginny and Harry is also so excited for this bit in the trailer:
Yes obviously he's watching Molly hugging Ron, but the fact that they ensured Ginny was in the reflection shot, the way Harry's eyes in the reflection are towards her, and the fact that this shot is in the trailer at all, gives me hope that with the end game obvious, they'll do better by Ginny. And Ron, honestly, becaue the part where Ron asks if he's really Harry Potter and does the cute little scar explosion is my favourite part of the trailer.
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