Over Boundaries

hermione's parents were still in australia, whole hours ahead and no memory of their only precious daughter, who's now a war hero and so much more than they'll ever know.

the weasleys still mourn fred and all they have lost. molly never imagined she'd be knitting less sweaters when it was her life's mission as a mother to simply make more.

harry, on the other hand had simply been zoned out and numb. really, had he ever even had a good christmas? everything had felt stagnant and dimmed down.

they would have dinner on the 24th outside the burrow, basking in the cool weather and warm presence of family. after, they'll quietly retire to their respective rooms, with the older weasleys turning a blind eye when hermione and harry switch rooms. they knew those four deserved to do whatever they wished after what they went through.

harry would quietly crawl in between ginny's arms, using her chest as a pillow and tapping lightly on her ribcage for every minute that passes by.

ginny would look down at the him every so often, humming a tune she and fred used to sing. she would stroke harry's hair and squeeze him sparingly, afraid he might be gone from her grasp again in a blink of an eye.

when the clock strikes 12, ginny's room is illuminated by the fireworks the nearby muggle village set up for christmas.

harry would look up at her and smile softly, knowing deep down, he'd go through all of that again if it meant spending every single christmas from then on in ginny's embrace

-

prompt: kissable

It's fascinating to see how much the wizarding world could evolve without an evil dictator pounding down society. For instance, in a span of four years, the magical portion of Britain was able to adopt the muggles’ television.

That’s where Harry found himself at the moment, slouched on a leather couch, in front of a MagiTV, and staring adoringly at the image before him.

He was still in his pajamas, a bottle of butterbeer in one hand and a pork skewer on the other. While the object of his affection in contrast, had her hair in a loose ponytail, and was wearing crisp, green robes.

Ginny hated the press, and often only does interviews such as these once in a blue moon. She was only doing this to help her teammate, who had to back out due to a family emergency.

Naturally, being Ginny Potter meant the entire wizarding population was watching.

Harry’s mouth twitched into a smile when he saw her crack a lone knuckle on the table, a telltale sign of irritation (that's usually not on his wife’s face) when the reporter asked something particularly invasive.

That amusement quickly died down when he himself processed that question.

It didn't help that Ginny suddenly had a massive grin on her face.

“Well of course, wizards and witches are quite curious people,” the reporter said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “So for the public’s most voted question to ask Ginny Potter on our Owler app: What or where is the most kissable part of the chosen one?"

Ginny chuckled, pressing her palm gently to her nose to contain any possible snort that might escape her.

“Unfortunately,” she drawled, purposely elongating her utterances, “that's only for me to know.”

The reporter groaned theatrically, but still plastered a practiced smile on their face. They knew it wouldn't do good to have the Potters of all people as enemies.

“There you have it folks! It was a stretch but they had to ask, anyway, the Falcons have—,”

Harry’s mind drowned out the voice of the reporter as he rubbed the skin behind his ear, his lips twitching. That area was sporting a rather large reddish-purple stain at the moment.

So did the skin between his neck and collarbone.

And his chest.

And his shoulder.

Heck even his thighs.

He sighed, pressing the freezing butterbeer closer to his swollen lips.

Short Missing Moment set after Bill has been attacked by Greyback.

-----

“Bill’s awake,” Ginny said as she stepped through the portrait hole.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in their favourite spot by the fireplace.

“I saw Fleur,” she continued, slumping into the seat next to Harry.

“She asked if I’d go up to keep him company — which of course I would, he is my brother,” she said, frustration dripping off every word.

“Honestly…” she sighed dramatically. “I’ve almost let myself accept that he’s going to marry her.”

She gave Harry a cheeky wink.Harry squeezed her hand and grinned back.

“Enough, you two,” Ron chimed in, looking pointedly at Harry and Ginny. “Let’s go now, before you start giving each other lovey-dovey eyes.”

Harry thought about that word — love — a lot while they were sitting with Bill in the hospital wing. He watched Ginny animatedly talking to her brother. He knew she was hurting, afraid for her family, for her friends. Yet watching her now — smiling, laughing with her brothers and Hermione, taking each moment as it came — he felt a warmth that made his chest ache.

He was in love with her. The feelings had been there, almost since their first kiss, but he hadn’t known what they were. Harry had never really heard the words I love you — at least, not that he could remember.

“You okay, Harry?” Ron’s voice sounded distant, almost muffled, like it came through water.

“Huh? I’m fine,” he mumbled, standing up. “Just need some fresh air.”

Resolutions

Harry flopped himself onto the sofa in the living room of the Burrow, the familiar sag of the old cushions cradling him as he let his head rest against the back.

He’d promised to stay up with the rest of them for New Year’s Eve and to help testing Fred and George’s new line of Valentine’s Day products. But as the fire crackled on and soft holiday music mingled with the sound of laughter, he wasn’t convinced he’d last until midnight.

He yawned, his eyes slipping shut, one hand spread over his stomach. He allowed himself to appreciate the feeling of fleeting complete freedom from school work, tracking Malfoy, and drawing up Quidditch plays. Instead just feeling lazy and stuffed with the overabundance of comfort food.

He might’ve fallen asleep entirely if he hadn’t heard the sound of Ginny’s shuffling footsteps or felt the dip of the cushion as she sat down beside him. 

Normally that would’ve done it.

His heart would’ve spiked into a sprint, his chest feeling tight and arms clumsy. But tonight, it only gave a slow, steady thump, like it was content to simply be aware of her.

“Sure you’ll make it to midnight?” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“N-no,” Harry managed through another yawn.

“Just so you know, if you fall asleep now, we’ll all draw on your face,” she said, finally making him open his eyes to look at her. “I wonder what you’d look like with a mustache.”

She was smirking at him over the rim of a lopsided, cylinder-shaped mug, its uneven ridges covered in splotchy painted shapes that if he squinted looked something like insects.

“Your mug is missing a handle,” he said, nodding toward it.

“That’s because I made it when I was ten,” she replied, lifting it to admire before resting it on her knee, her legs curled up toward her chest. “One of my hobbies when Ron left for Hogwarts. Some people read or cook… I had a beginner’s pottery kit and a glow-in-the-dark bug colony.”

“That explains the - er - paintings.”

“I can make you one, if you like. Can’t guarantee you a handle, though. Or an even bottom.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, grinning up at her. “I like my bottoms even.”

“How superficial of you.”

He tried to suppress the smile tugging at his face, just like earlier when he’d tried not to admire how good she’d looked when she came down in those pajama bottoms, or how easy it was to joke with her like this. He wondered if Dean had ever seen her in her pajamas or if they ever talked like this. Ever laughed like this.

Before his thoughts could spiral further he tore his eyes away, fixing them on the floor where Ron, Fred, and George were sniggering over a spread of cards from their game DoubleTaire: A Card Game for Couples Who Dare.

“So,” Ginny said, nudging him back into the moment, “do you have any New Year’s resolutions?”

“Same as usual,” Harry said, waiting until she took a sip from her lopsided mug. “Don’t die.”

Ginny snorted hot cocoa up her nose.

Harry’s chest warmed at the feeling of making her laugh, even if from the morbid joke. She wiped her nose with her sleeve, lips pressing and sliding together to catch the spill of chocolate, and Harry once again deliberately forced his eyes back to the card game happening below them. 

“That’s shitty,” she said once she recovered. “You should pick a new one.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Hm.” She hummed, thoughtful. “Mix it up. Go full positivity. Bright side, cheery, happy-go-lucky Harry. Total personality makeover.”

“You know how to make a bloke feel good about himself, don’t you?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like your personality,” she said, one hand pressed to her chest as she shifted. Her leg slid over the edge of the sofa, stopping only inches from his. “But some say a positive outlook makes all the difference. Who knows? Maybe this’ll be the year you ace your classes, win the Quidditch Cup, discover the cure for Dragon Pox, fall in love, and win the Grand Prize Galleon Draw.”

Harry huffed. “That’s it, is it?”

“You never know,” she shrugged. “Even one or two would be worth it.”

“Glass half full,” Harry said.

Ginny grinned at him over the rim of her mug. “Exactly.”

She lifted it again, both hands wrapped around the chipped ceramic and took another sip and Harry felt he must be going mad for being jealous of a cup. 

“So what’s your resolution?” he asked.

Maybe ditch your boyfriend?

“Resolutions are stupid,” Ginny said. “They never stick.”

“There’s the silver lining.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

written for the drunk/choccy milk prompts: “just how much eggnog have you had?” Aka Harry word vomits while intoxicated; gushes on about Ginny and how he’s gonna marry her one day @ginnystrophyhusband

Ginny had glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece more often than she wanted to count. Five minutes became ten, which became fifty, and before she knew it, Harry was over two hours late. 

For someone who was always reliable—if he was held up at work, he’d Floo, if he was in the field, he’d send a Patronus, if he promised to show up for dinner, he did—this was unlike him. So Ginny, who was anything but the anxious girlfriend that paced around her drawing room, waiting for her boyfriend to show up, was doing precisely that this evening.

Another half hour passed, and when her anxiety reached a fever pitch, she was considering going to the Ministry and checking up on him. 

The doorbell rang.

Ginny turned so sharply that her hair whipped her cheek. “Finally.”

She yanked the door open—

—and found Ron on her doorstep, cheeks red from the cold, hauling Harry upright by the back of his collar like a sack of potatoes. 

When he saw her, Harry’s eyes lit up behind his crooked glasses, a silly but blissful grin spreading across his features.

“Gin!”

Ginny stared at her brother and her boyfriend with disbelief.

Ron puffed out a breath. “Evening.”

“A bit late to be out drinking, isn’t it?” Ginny huffed. “Please tell me that he’s not—” 

“He is,” Ron said, shifting Harry’s weight, who was content to stare at Ginny and sway gently. “He is quite far gone, I’m afraid. Sobered me right up, having to mind him.” 

Harry waved at her cheerfully, quite unaware that he was the object of their discussion. “Hey, Gin.” 

Ginny narrowed her eyes with disapproval. “Harry James Potter.” 

“That’s me,” he simply said, taking a wobbly step in her direction. 

Ginny caught him automatically, hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of him, the faint smell of ale, the heavy sag of his body when he leaned into her as if he trusted her completely. 

“Well,” Ron cleared his throat, grinning suspiciously wide. “He’s your problem now. Officially.” 

Before she could ask him what he meant by that, her brother was already backing away from their doorstep. “Good luck with him. Hydrate him. Don’t kill him.” 

He Disapparated with a crack, leaving Ginny in her doorway with a very drunk Harry leaning heavily into her. She pulled him inside and shut the door with her foot. 

Harry swayed a bit, then steadied himself by putting both hands on her waist.

“Gin,” he whispered. “I told Ron a secret.”

Ginny, who was currently focused on leading him safely to their bedroom, was listening with the limited concentration that her task could allow. “Oh? Which secret?” 

Harry frowned, squinting at the painting in their hallway as they passed it by. “I’m not supposed to tell you.” 

“Oh?” Ginny used the arm that wasn’t holding Harry upright to turn the knob of the bedroom door. 

“But I want to,” she heard him whisper. 

“Okay,” Ginny said slowly. “You want to tell me.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” she said, leading him to the bed. “How about you sit right here and drink some water? Then you can tell me your secret.” 

He didn’t argue, so she took it as a sign to summon a bottle of water and bent down to undo his shoes and pull off his socks. All the while, Harry watched her with a typsy adoration that made her want to kiss him senseless.

“Drink more,” she instructed him, forcing him to take a few more gulps of water. 

When she unbuttoned his shirt, he hummed softly, and Ginny paused.

“What,” she said, finally remembering what he’d said earlier. “You said you wanted to tell me a secret?” 

Harry concentrated hard for a few moments before his face lit up. “I told Ron that I’d turn vegan if you asked me to.” 

“What?” Ginny huffed with amusement. “I don’t want you to turn vegan, Harry.” 

“I would, though, if you asked.” His absolute certainty and devotion were endearing, to say the very least. “I told him that I’d stop eating entirely if you asked.” 

Ginny shook her head, proceeding to undo the button on his trousers. “Well, I don’t want you to starve. You wouldn’t live very long if you stopped eating.” 

Harry frowned, suddenly displeased with that idea. He shook his head emphatically. “No, that wouldn’t do. I have to stay alive if I want to marry you.” 

Ginny froze. 

“What did you say?” she asked. 

“I can’t tell you, Gin.” Harry was already crawling away from her and folding himself into their blanket. “I told Ron that I’d only tell you at Christmas. Y’know, after dinner, in the snow…” 

“What will you tell me at Christmas?” she asked him, every beat of her heart growing more erratic by the second. 

“...words. I want to say good words.” Half of his words blurred into the pillow. She reached out to pluck his glasses off his nose. “I run out of the best words around you. But I told Ron that I want you forever. As my wife…”

Ginny made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and dropped onto the bed in front of him. “Harry, you absolute idiot.” 

“D’you think she’ll say yes?” 

“Yes,” Ginny whispered, her eyes brimming with tears—because every bit of longing, every night apart, every day of uncertainty, and every bit of hope for their future had them here, to this moment—where their dream was within reach. And she wished she could tell Harry that he never needed any good words to woo her. Because all she’d ever wanted was a future with him. And so, how could she ever say anything but yes? 

“I think she’ll definitely say yes,” she assured him. 

When he drifted off to sleep, Ginny pressed a sweet, soft kiss against his brow. And then, one last time, she whispered into the room. 

For @ginnystrophyhusband drunk prompts. People noticing Harry’s pining before hinny get together

The bottle of firewhiskey had appeared shortly after dessert had been cleared from the table.

Arthur had summoned it from the liquor cabinet in the adjoining living room, along with half a dozen glass tumblers.

Remus had accepted his measure gratefully, clinking his glass against Bill’s before letting the warmth of the amber liquid sink into his chilled bones.

They’d made it through three rounds of drinks, their discussion growing animated with each pour of the bottle, as they’d given their opinions on the state of the world, on the Dark Lord’s movements, on the distressing news Remus had to share from the Werewolf community.

By contrast, Ginny’s bright grin upon sidling up to the table, brown eyes wide as she directed them at her father, was a welcome sight indeed.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

Arthur, swaying slightly from his fourth glass of firewhiskey, pulled Ginny into a one-armed hug. “Merry Christmas, darling – have you had a wonderful day?”

Ginny nodded, smiling, while she carefully extricated herself from her father’s grasp. “Yeah, mum’s turkey was really good this year –”

“Your mother is a sensation in the kitchen.”

Ginny continued to nod, biting her lip in an effort to smother a smile, Remus suspected.

“She is,” Ginny agreed, her finger running slowly over the tabletop. She peeked at Arthur, her expression wide-eyed and innocent. “And her Christmas pudding was amazing – I’m really full now…”

Bill lifted his tumbler, eyeing the amber liquid within appreciatively. “She always makes sure we line our stomach before the drinks start flowing.”

“Exactly.” Ginny nodded sagely before returning her pleading expression to her father. “So, Dad, we were wondering if maybe you’d let us have some firewhiskey too, please? For Christmas…”

A flicker of movement from the far end of the table confirmed that the ‘we’ in question included Harry and Ron who were casting furtive looks from the chess match they were pretending to be engrossed in.

Arthur’s expression turned thoughtful, he looked to Bill who shrugged unconcernedly. “Not my call.”

Another moment passed, in which Arthur scrutinised Ginny’s wholesome expression. “Not firewhiskey,” he said finally. “Your mother wouldn’t like that.”

“All right,” Ginny agreed immediately. “What about some of the buck’s fizz from this morning then?”

Remus suspected, from the speed with which Ginny had suggested the compromise, that this had been her goal all along, but the innocent look she was still levelling at Arthur would never betray such an admission

“Well Buck’s Fizz should be fine.”

Arthur looked to Bill who shrugged again. “It’s barely even alcohol – besides, they’re definitely getting hold of worse than that in the Gryffindor dorms.”

Ginny didn’t disagree, and both the pink tinge upon her cheeks, and Remus’ own experience as a Gryffindor confirmed the truth of Bill’s statement.

“Help yourself,” Arthur said, gesturing for Ginny to proceed. “But if you’re sick in the morning, you’re cleaning it up yourself – without magic.”

“Thank you!” Ginny placed a kiss on her father’s cheek, quickly throwing her arms around his shoulders in a brief hug before she backed away, heading determinedly for the bottles of Buck’s Fizz on the kitchen side.

She picked up two of the glass bottles, holding them triumphantly above her as she returned to Harry and Ron at the far end of the table.

“I told you I could get them,” she hissed at Ron, evidently underestimating the hearing of her elders.

“I never doubted you,” Harry said, accepting one of the bottles from her.

Ginny clinked the rim of her bottle against his, offering nothing to Ron. “And that’s why you’re allowed to share in the spoils of my victory.”

“I’m honoured.” Harry’s eyes remained locked on hers while he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a drink straight from it.

Ginny winked at him before taking a sip from her own bottle.

Ron scowled, glowering at Ginny across the table. “Harry will share with me.”

“Oh no!” Harry shook his head, clutching the bottle protectively to his chest. “ I’m not going to betray my star chaser – what Ginny says goes.”

Ginny shot a satisfied smile at Ron, an expression that turned softer as her eyes met Harry’s. “Correct answer, Captain.”

“Merlin,” Bill murmured into his glass before tipping the whole measure back in one swallow. “Do we have any mistletoe hanging around? Seems like those two might need a clue.”

Remus laughed softly. “Sirius always insisted there was something there.”

He’d sworn, last year, in the dank surroundings of Grimmauld Place, that the way Harry looked at Ginny was so painfully obvious, he couldn’t understand why no one else could see it.

‘Just like Lily,’ Sirius had said. ‘The way she used to look at James.’

Remus hadn’t been able to see it last year, but it was undeniable now. The soft glimmer in Harry’s green eyes was undeniably Lily when she let her walls down in the way she’d only ever done when James was there.

A/N: the Ministry hosts lots of galas so we fic writers can indulge in lots of festive fluff! On that note, Alexa, play The Way You Look Tonight…

Ginny hadn’t felt nerves like this since the last time she’d found herself facing off against a Death Eater.

On that occasion, her fear had been justified. The killing curse that had passed her by mere inches had demonstrated with bone-chilling clarity, just how close she’d been to mortal peril.

Of course, she was in no such danger now.

It was astounding, really, how much circumstances had changed from one Christmas to the next. Last Christmas Eve, she’d spent the night in her bedroom, tossing and turning, unable to stop her restless mind from wondering…

So many questions had plagued her: where were Harry, Ron and Hermione? Were they safe? Would she ever see them again?

Now, just one short year later, returned to the very same bedroom where last year she’d buried her head in her pillow to smother the sounds of her desolate sobs, she had the answers to all of her questions; and while her hands were trembling, it was not sorrow that caused Ginny to shake.

“You look perfect!” Fleur declared. Clapping her hands together in delight, she took a step back to admire the image of Ginny in the mirror affixed to the wall in front of them.

“Are you sure?” Ginny resented the nervous quiver to her voice.

It was ridiculous, utterly stupid really, to be so consumed by nerves at the prospect of attending a frivolous Christmas Ball, but no matter how much Ginny told herself as much, the flutter of fairies currently swirling madly in her stomach refused to settle.

“C’est magnifique.” Fleur stepped back to her, adjusting the flowing cape that fell from the back of Ginny’s emerald, off-the-shoulder gown. “Tu es magnifique.”

“And my hair is–”

Fleur reached up, halting Ginny’s hands before they could tug at the carefully arranged strands where the top had been pinned back. “It is striking. All eyes will be on you.”

Far from being reassuring, this statement caused Ginny’s heart to thud more erratically. All eyes would already be on her, that much was inevitable when one attended an official Ministry function as the date of the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Already, she was anticipating the articles that would be dedicated to her in Witch Weekly over the coming weeks. Ginny was under no illusion that they would be any more flattering than the ones she’d been the subject of in the summer, when she and Harry had first been photographed – without either of their knowledge – together in Diagon Alley.

People, of course, expected the Chosen One to be with someone sophisticated; someone glamorous; someone whose idea of good time was slightly more high brow than a game of pick-up Quidditch in the orchard with her brothers.

Suffice to say, Ginny had not been judged by the general population to meet those lofty standards.

Looking in the mirror now, however, Ginny hardly recognised the hollow-eyed, sallow skinned, morose girl that had appeared unwittingly in print a few short months ago.

Fleur had worked a miracle more powerful than magic.

The silk dress she was wearing – borrowed from Fleur – hugged curves Ginny didn’t even know she possessed. The bodice was tight fitting, the waist cinched flatteringly and the skirt flowed gently to the ground. A charm of Fleur’s own invention – as she’d informed Ginny proudly – caused the light material to shimmer faintly with every slight movement Ginny made.

Her usual careless mass of waves had been battled into uniform loose curls, and the front had been pulled back in a complicated braid that had been secured with two gold and emerald pins that she was already panicked about the prospect of losing before she could return them to Fleur tomorrow.

Her assumption that Fleur would be less than helpful with makeup, given her genetic predisposition to require none, had proved patently incorrect. In truth, Ginny wasn’t even sure if whatever potions and tonics Fleur had covered her face in technically counted as makeup.

Ginny still looked like herself, all her defining features – including the multitude of freckles she usually attempted to disguise – were still perfectly visible, but every imperfection she tended to dwell on seemed to have faded into obscurity, leaving an overall impression that she was struggling to find fault with.

“You are ready,” Fleur said, her tone leaving no room for Ginny to argue.

She might look the part, but she certainly didn’t feel it. The dress, the hair, the makeup, were all a façade, one she was sure would crumble under even the lightest of scrutiny.

Suddenly, going head to head with a murderous Death Eater didn’t seem like the worst option.

It wasn’t an option at all. The only option Ginny had was to allow herself to be led out of her bedroom by a triumphantly grinning Fleur, whose grasp on her hand was vicelike and utterly inescapable.

They reached the Burrow’s rickety staircase; Ginny’s free hand gripped the bannister for dear life. She descended, willing herself to remain steady on the unfamiliarly high heels that had seemed the perfect compliment to the gown in her bedroom, and now seemed like a death trap designed to bring about her public humiliation.

Thankfully, mostly due to Fleur’s graceful lead, she made it to the bottom of the stairs still upright.

“Wait there,” Fleur commanded, finally dropping Ginny’s hand. “You will make a grand entrance.”

“I don’t want to make a –” But Ginny may as well have made her protests to the wall. Fleur had already pushed open the kitchen door and peeked her head around it.

“She is ready,” Fleur announced.

And then, without further delay, she opened the door fully, and stood aside, gesturing for Ginny to proceed.

“It’s just me,” Ginny said, shaking her head as she stumbled into the kitchen. “There’s no need for all the –”

Her mother’s loud gasp drowned out the rest of her sentence. It was quickly followed by a general murmur of surprise from the rest of her family assembled in the kitchen.

Briefly, she was aware of Mum’s hands covering her mouth, and her eyes widening in silent shock, and Ron’s quietly muttered ‘bloody hell’ but none of it really registered; Ginny’s eyes had bypassed them entirely, falling immediately on Harry.

He was sitting in the chair beside Ron’s at the kitchen table, both of them were already outfitted in sharp black dressrobes, and Harry had made some attempt to tame his hair, though disobedient tendrils were already starting to escape, begging Ginny to run her hands through them.

“Wow,” he said, stopping Ginny in her tracks before she could follow that particular urge. His eyebrows lifted high over his glasses and his mouth was slightly agape. The way his eyes roved over her made her previously frantic heart stutter and fail. “You look… wow.”

At least she could assure herself that the burning in her cheeks had surely turned them a festive shade of red. “Is that a good wow or..?”

“It’s a really good wow.”

A smile that had not felt anywhere close to surfacing for most of the afternoon broke free on Ginny’s face, and even Ron’s obnoxious voice couldn’t hope to banish it. “All right,” he nudged Harry on the shoulder. “Stop looking at her like that.”

But Harry’s eyes remained glued to Ginny, not even flinching as though Ron was nothing more than a mildly annoying fly. “Like what?”

“Like your eyes have been replaced with love hearts,” Ron replied. “No offense mate, but it’s disgusting.”

“Don’t stop looking at me like that,” Ginny disagreed.

She couldn’t argue with Ron’s assessment of Harry’s current expression, but, far from finding it as revolting as her brother did, Ginny’s nerves seemed to be melting beneath the warmth of Harry’s adoring gaze.

His mouth curved into a smile that set her heart racing once more. “I wasn’t going to.”

“I want photographs!” Mum declared, already bustling into the living room, evidently to fetch both Ginny’s father and the ancient camera housed in the cabinet.

“I will help with the lighting,” Fleur declared haughtily, following after Mum.

“I’m going to pick Hermione up,” Ron said, giving Harry another shove as he stood from the table. “I’ll see you at the Ministry – try to wipe that expression off your face before then; you’re going to put me off my dinner.”

“Nothing has ever put you off your dinner,” Harry replied, standing and lightly returning Ron’s shove.

“And you’ll be too busy looking at Hermione to care what we’re doing,” Ginny added.

Ron had no reply to this, most likely because of the accuracy of the statement. He merely shrugged, giving the pair of them a silent wave before slinking out of the backdoor.

Alone now, Harry crossed the kitchen to her side.

“You really do look beautiful,” he said earnestly, his hands falling to Ginny’s waist to pull her closer.

At that moment, she suspected she was capable of glowing without the aid of Fleur’s enchantment.

She shrugged as she lifted her arms, letting them come to rest around Harry’s neck. “Well, you know, Christmases in recent years have just been so magical, I knew topping them would be a challenge, but I decided to rise to it.”

Harry huffed in dry amusement. “You really didn’t have to do anything to beat the freezing cold tent, or the really festive Christmas at Grimmauld Place complete with depressing hospital visit.”

Ginny shook her head, biting her lip against a smile that broke through anyway. “Ah, but what about the year you got in a fight with the Minister for Magic? I know that was a personal highlight for you.”

Harry’s forehead came to rest against hers, so that his lips almost brushed Ginny’s when he spoke. “I’m not really sure it’s a compliment, but this dress even tops that.”

She was still smiling as his mouth found hers. The warmth spreading in her chest was caused by much more than Harry’s kiss. It had nothing to do with their inappropriate jokes, or their finery. It was simply that they were both here, wrapped in one another’s embrace, with a lifetime of happy but uneventful Christmases stretched out before them.

The very prospect had seemed so impossible just a few short months ago, that the certainty of it now made Ginny’s head spin.

As was usual, she had no opportunity to find balance before they were interrupted.

“Ginny! Harry!” Mum’s voice called from the living room. “Come in here, your father is going to take pictures in front of the Christmas tree!”

Reluctantly, Ginny pulled her head away. Harry’s grip tightened on her waist, silently confirming that he too recognised this was to be their last moment of peaceful solitude for several long hours.

“Ready?” Harry asked, one of his hands slipped from her waist and entwined with hers.

Ginny nodded, keeping her eyes locked with his to combat the nerves threatening to resurface within her. Everything would be fine, she knew, as long as he was there. “Just don’t let go of my hand.”

-that one time when we didn’t have enough chairs to sit everyone and you just put Ginny in your lap all night and held her there even when a chair became available

-you’ve kissed 5 times since we got here, Ron hasn’t kissed me yet

-you’re holding hands under the table right now

- oh my god. Your legs are literally intertwined. YOU’RE SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER

- sometimes when people are talking to you, you do this thing were you just stare at each other. It’s very uncomfortable for us. Like we are interrupting a moment

-If you were zoo animals, parents would cover their kids eyes thinking you’re about to mate

-sometimes I think you are doing it just to get a rise out of Bill

And when Harry kept denying that none of those were that bad, George finally looked at him and yells

“You literally squeezed her boob earlier”

….”but I did it when no one was watching”

“obviously not mate”

Already written here! But I wrote a bit more for you.Ron watched as his sister ran across the room and threw herself into Harry’s arms. His jaw dropped slightly as Harry - his best friend - didn’t even hesitate in catching her and kissing her, right on the mouth, no shame.

Ron’s mind seemed to go very blank as he looked at them. Their eyes closed, Ginny lifted off the ground slightly, Harry attached to her face. 

That’s my sister, Ron thought vaguely, but for some reason, he wasn’t consumed with the same fury he had experienced with Dean or Michael. 

His eyes flickered open slowly. It took him a while to adjust to the brightness of the place, and he became aware of a throbbing pain in his head and side. The hospital bed was familiar - he was back in St Mungo’s yet again.

‘All right?’ came Ron’s voice, and with a lot of effort, Harry turned to look at him.

‘Did we arrest him?’ he asked.

Ron grinned. ‘Yeah, course we did, right after he knocked you out. You got a nasty hex on your side too.’

‘Oh.’

Ron was still in his Auror uniform, so Harry guessed he hadn’t been out long. He frowned. ‘I don’t remember anything after storming the building.’

‘Yeah, you were a bit confused when we brought you in. You kept asking for Dumbledore.’

‘I did?’

‘Yeah, said he needed to know. You didn’t seem to remember anything after fourth year. It was a bit of a worry.’ He looked concerned. ‘You remember everything now, right?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

‘Oh good,’ said Ron. ‘I really wasn’t looking forward to explaining about Voldemort coming back after the Battle of Hogwarts.’

Harry gaped at him for a moment. Then, ‘oh, you arsehole!’

Ron laughed. ‘Look, if you’re going to worry me like that, I get to worry you back. I thought you were going to die, mate.’

‘I thought you were getting used to it? That’s what you said last time.’

‘Yeah, that’s true,’ said Ron. ‘Anyway, you’re telling my mum what happened.’

‘She can’t shout at me if I’m in a hospital bed,’ mumbled Harry, feeling sleepy again. ‘Thanks for sitting with me.’

The drawing room had been quiet except for the ticking of the carriage clock, and slow, rhythmic breathing, but Harry starting muttering after a couple of hours, his voice low and mumbling. Ron had been staring at Hermione, and even in the very low, orange streetlight that had slipped in from the street, he saw her eyes snap open and look over at Harry in panic. 

‘Get used to it,’ he whispered at her, with a slight grin. Her eyes now flicked down to his. ‘He talks in his sleep all the time,’ Ron reminded her. ‘I’ve told you that.’ 

‘What’s he saying?’ she whispered. 

Ron paused, and strained his ears - after so many years of sharing a room with Harry, he was more able to decipher the apparently incoherent ramblings. ‘Some of it’s parseltongue…’ he said, noting the occasional strangled, hissing words. ‘And then… something about the pensieve, something about Dumbledore… horcrux stuff.’

Harry muttered again, right on cue, and Ron was sure he could make out the words ‘tortured them in the cave’.  

Hermione looked horrified, disturbed, and Ron rolled over slightly to look at Harry’s dark, lumpy figure, his back to him, his shoulders twitching slightly. 

Ron looked back up at Hermione, and grinned again. ‘He’s pretty creepy, isn’t he?’ 

‘No!’ hissed Hermione, looking aghast. ‘No, don’t say that, that’s not what I mean-’

‘I know, I’m just teasing,’ said Ron soothingly. ‘I know you’re just worried.’ 

‘I am,’ she admitted. ‘This is why I didn’t want to be on my own, I can’t sleep for worry, Ron, about him, about you, about everyone at the wedding; I just can’t stop thinking-’

‘That’s always been your problem,’ he said, and whether it was some kind of early hours, sleep deprived bravery or whether it was simply that she was panicking and he could tell she needed it, he reached out and took her hand. 

He wasn’t sure, but he thought she gave the tiniest of gasps. ‘Why are you still awake?’ he asked him softly. 

‘’Cos that knobhead is chattiest when he’s unconscious, apparently,’ said Ron, jerking his head at the still muttering Harry. When she gave him an exasperated smile, and a slight roll of her eyes, he lowered his voice still further and said, ‘yeah I’m worried too.’

‘They’re safe,’ she said firmly, her thumb running circles over the back of his hand. ‘We know they’re safe.’ 

He swallowed, and nodded. 

‘Cup, locket, snake… hassth shee-ath… Ravenclaw…’ 

‘Should we wake him up?’ 

‘If I woke him up every time he started talking in his sleep, he wouldn’t get any at all. I only mention it to him if he says something new or weird - he’d be embarrassed if I told him he was talking about Sirius or Cedric or someone.’ 

‘Does he do that?’ Hermione asked, her voice barely more than a breath. 

‘Yeah, sometimes,’ said Ron gently. 

He saw her press her lips together, and the grip on his hand tightened. ‘What’s going to happen to us all, Ron?’ she asked. 

‘It’ll be all right,’ he said, hoping his voice sounded reassuring. ‘We’ve been left a job to do, and we’re going to get on with it, aren’t we?’ She nodded, and he nodded too. 

He stared at her silently. The light seemed to wash out her face, it gave her an eerie sort of look, but she was still devastatingly beautiful, her elegant eyebrows furrowed in concern, her hair splayed out around her like some wild halo. Some of it fell over the sofa cushions on which she lay, the twists and curls just centimetres from his face. It occurred to him that he had never slept anywhere near this close to her, never in the same room, even, and but for the couple of inches she was raised above him, they might as well be sleeping together…

With Harry still muttering spookily right behind him. The thought of it almost made him laugh, though that would be wildly appropriate when he and Hermione had just talked about how worried and scared they were, but he couldn’t help pressing his lips together in a failing effort to keep the smile away. 

‘What?’ Hermione whispered, ‘what’re you smiling at?’ 

They’d put up the camp bed, and Hermione was unpacking her things. Ginny would have offered to help, but she had long since learned that Hermione was very particular about Where Things Went, even if it wasn’t actually her bedroom. So she simply sat cross-legged on her bed, happy to chat.

‘Are you in on this plan for Saturday?’ Ginny asked her.

‘Yes,’ said Hermione grimly. ‘I saw the polyjuice being brewed downstairs. It’ll be odd, to say the least.’

I’m sure it will be fine, is what Ginny wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure. ‘He’ll hate it,’ she said, a wry smile crossing her face.

Hermione glanced at her as she unrolled a dress from her trunk and put it onto a hanger. ‘He told Ron and I what he did. At Dumbledore’s funeral.’

‘Yes,’ said Ginny, she looked down at Arnold, who was rolling around happily on her lap.

‘I’m so sorry, Ginny.’

Ginny, who had gone through various emotional stages of crying, snapping at people who didn’t deserve it, telling Ron that Harry was a stupid prick, crying some more, and finally acceptance, appreciated that Hermione didn’t try to fix it for her, or suggest anything at all. She breathed deeply, steadying herself. ‘Well, makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s a very Harry thing to do.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ Hermione hesitated. ‘He… er… He asked me to spread some rumours. Get the word out.’

‘Make it worse than it seems?’ said Ginny dully.

‘Yes. I think he’s worried people won’t believe it.’

Ginny nodded. ‘Yeah… What shall we say? Cheating?’

‘That just puts someone else at risk. I was going to suggest that he just… Got what he wanted, and then was bored of you.’

A flare of annoyance rose up in her chest, she couldn’t help the expression of irritability that crossed her face. ‘That would have been something at least.’

Hermione raised an eyebrow. ‘The pair of you didn’t…?’

Ginny pursed her lips. ‘Didn’t quite get to that stage.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Hermione, collecting a large quantity of socks in her arms and walking over to the drawers.

In spite of herself, Ginny laughed. ‘Rooting for us, were you?’

‘Well of course I was! You know I have been for years. And the pair of you were just so full of sexual tension the last few months, I just assumed you would leap right into it.’

Ooh, it was tempting. It was so, so tempting to bring up Ron. But no - that always made Hermione shut right down, and she was enjoying speaking freely.

‘We leapt into some stuff,’ said Ginny, grinning wickedly. ‘But there’s not a whole lot of privacy in that castle, and we never exactly had much time, did we?’

Hermione looked at her out of the corner of her eye, smirking, as she bent over her trunk again. ‘What stuff?’

‘Hermione,’ said Ginny, in a faux-shocked voice. ‘It’s very private… I won’t talk about the size of Harry’s penis to you.’

Hermione shrieked with laughter, burying her face in the pile of t-shirts she was carrying. Ginny laughed too - she had missed their conversations that would shock the boys, even though they had last spoken like this only a few weeks ago. But it felt like it had been such a long time since they giggled together in the girls’ dorms.

‘Oh no,’ gasped Hermione, looking up with a kind of amused horror. ‘If I have the polyjuice, I’ll know, won’t I? And so will everyone else!’ Ginny howled with laughter so loudly that Arnold squeaked and hid under her pillow. ‘Oh, he’s really going to hate it!’ Hermione continued, breathless with laughter.

‘Well it serves him right for ditching me!’ said Ginny, stubbornly. ‘If he’s going to be all noble and self-sacrificing about it, it’s only fair that six other people see his willy.’

He didn’t even look up when she entered the Common Room. He sat alone, brooding into the fire, his fingers fumbling over something golden. She approached him cautiously. 

‘What’s that?’ she asked. 

He blinked and looked up as he shoved whatever it was into his pocket. ‘Hi,’ he said, his voice hoarse. She studied him for a moment. She knew better than to continue to ask what it was - if she had been able to know he would have told her, and pushing him would only upset him. 

Happy birthday! I saved this til today for you, cos you shouldn’t have to share someone else’s birthday fic. xxx

‘How was detention?’ Ginny called, as he strode across the warm grass towards them, gathered beneath the beech tree. She was leaned against the tree, while Hermione sat cross legged with a book out on her lap, and Ron was sprawled lazily across the grass.

‘Oh, you know,’ Harry said with a wry smile, dumping his bag unceremoniously. ‘Had the time of my life, as I do every Saturday. Snape and I really bonded. I think he might adopt me.’

‘Isn’t that just the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen?’ said Harry. Ron looked up from his apple crumble to see Harry taking a slice from the treacle tart, sticky strands of the filling stretching as he slowly pulled it away and added it to his plate. 

‘Harry,’ said Ron sharply, ‘I need you to tell me that you’re not going to fuck that tart.’

‘I don’t have to tell you anything,’ said Harry, slowly drizzling double cream onto it. 

‘Yeah, and then apparently he told her he “had enough to cope with” at the moment without her crying all the time-’

‘Oh my God, what a complete arsehole!’

‘I know!’

‘What did Cho say?’

‘Told him to go off and cope with it then.’

‘Good for her.’