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The wind gave a howl, flutters of snow swirling wildly in the air before finally settling in the steadily growing pile outside. One particular snowflake landed against a window pane. It blazed into a brilliant yellow before the warmth of the glass melted it and, transformed, the water slid away. Inside, a cheerful fire was keeping the inhabitants warm from the blizzard, though they seemed to have no trouble stirring up a tempest of their own.
Ron arched an eyebrow at his companions. “Anyone want a sheep?”
“No!” Harry emphasized his refusal with his elbows banging against the table. “I don’t want your bloody sheep!”
Unfazed, Ron glanced at the others, receiving a scowl from Ginny and a firm head shake from Hermione.
“All right,” he said easily, using his port to trade in two sheep for a wheat. With a deft movement of his fingers, he exchanged his blue settlement for a city.
“Fuck,” Harry swore, much to the amusement of his friends and wife. He consoled himself with a furious swig of butterbeer.
They had learned the hard way not to have anything with more alcohol content.
“Harry’s strategy of building the longest road doesn’t seem to be panning out,” Hermione commented lightly.
“Hey, it works!” Harry said. Ron and Hermione shared a look.
“Yeah,” said Ginny dryly. “The one time.”
And he was going to prove it once again.
“At least I have a strategy.”
Ginny made an indignant face. “I have a strategy!”
Hermione cringed. “Yes, be chaos reincarnated.”
“At least you’re not like Malfoy,” Ron grunted. “Bugger builds alliances and then betrays you.”
Hermione flushed. “Ron!”
“Slytherin through and through.” He bit off the top of a liquorice wand, the wand wagging back and forth after being decapitated. “Neville told me about the time he and Pansy played with Malfoy.” Ron shuddered.
Harry recalled something about Malfoy getting tangled up in one of Neville’s more…sentient plants after inciting Pansy’s fury.
“Conveniently forgetting when you and Padma play,” Hermione shot back.
Folded arms
Hum the tune
Bet with draco - 10 consecutive wins later, he had to sing it
Harry and Ginny met each other’s eyes and looked away, laughing. Much as they hated to admit it, Ron was the king of Catan. Sometimes he’d even chant, “Weasley is our king” when he landed the coveted ten points. The only hiccup was when the queen was playing too. It would get very heated, both of them not backing down in their intensity. There would be none of Ron’s current laid back demeanor.
Though, Harry had a terrible suspicion that the fierce competition only improved their relationship. Especially when they got home.
“You could learn a thing or two from us. You’d be a lot more successful at the longest road if you had placed on a brick.” Ron gave his best mate a look of fond pity.
“Take that back,” Harry snapped, though he had been thinking the same thing for the past thirty minutes.
It was fine. His strategy could still work, Harry thought as he assessed the board and the number of cards in his hand. His four sheep could be traded for wood as long as a seven wasn’t rolled. He had a shot as long as he could get past his wife’s turn.
“Give them here.” Ginny extended her hand toward Ron.
“Patience, dear sister.” Ron tossed the Gryffindor-colored dice, and Ginny snatched them mid-air. She focused on the board again, shaking the dice in her cupped hands.
Harry held his breath.
She let the dice fly. They tumbled onto the colorful tiles, momentum slowing until—
“Not again!” Harry groaned as Ginny and Ron burst out laughing.
Hermione made a disgruntled sound, her hair seemingly frizzier in her frustration. “The number of sevens in this game has been statistically improbable!”
Harry’s eyes narrowed at the offending dice, contemplating a Finite Incantatem. “They’re cursed.”
“They’re not cursed,” Ron said with a shit-eating grin. He leaned back in his chair. “You’re just losing.”
Harry eyed the chair peg Ron dangled precariously on, considering giving it a much-needed nudge with his foot.
Ginny looked far too pleased with the turn of events. The way her amber eyes danced with mirth melted the irritation in Harry’s chest and almost made up for the travesty of what was happening.
Almost.
“Come on, discard,” she goaded with a snicker.
“Just when I finally got enough to make a settlement,” Harry muttered under this breath, reluctantly forfeiting his hard earned sheep and wheat.
Hermione similarly sighed as she dropped two rocks and two woods back into their respective piles.
Ginny picked up the rubber robber, rolling it through her fingers. She raised it menacingly. A pained groan escaped his lips as he watched her place it on the “three” wheat tile. Her eyes gleamed as she reached for his diminished hand.
“Why me?” He pulled away from her, already scrambling to shuffle his cards.
“Yes! Why there? It’s a three. Do I have to explain probability again?” Hermione interjected, yanking at her hair. She gestured at the much more lucrative “six” of rock with the exam-prepping intensity of her school days. “More importantly, Ron is winning! You should go after him!”
“Harry has brick,” she said, as if it were that simple.
“Do not,” Harry lied.
Ron whistled, entertained. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as they darted between the four cards in Harry’s hand. They glared at each other, Harry fighting the way his lips curved up at the glint in her eye that made him want to reach for her and—
She plucked his precious, hard-earned brick from him.
Ginny whooped with joy as he cursed loudly. He had mushed four wheats into that brick. Hermione shook her head while Ron laughed.
“Ginny,” Hermione said, clearly pained. “You’re going to let Ron win again.”
“Hey, no one lets me win,” said Ron, rocking back on his chair with a grin.
Ginny lifted her chin and stuck her tongue out at Hermione. “I play the way I want to play.” She then dropped a wood and Harry’s brick down, swapping for a road.
Harry sat up in alarm, his eyes sweeping across the board. She was going to try to block his longest road. “You! Don’t you dare.”
Her eyes flashed. “No one tells me what to do.”
Harry knew that well and good. Better than anyone else. Despite the surge of competitive fire in him, he couldn’t stop the surge of pride at his wife’s words. He had learned the hard way to respect her independence. And he wouldn’t change that about her for the world.
Something must have shown on his face because she was giving him one of those famous burning looks of hers. His eyes flickered down, watching as the tip of her tongue slid across her lips. He glanced back up to meet her gaze, where he was met with a knowing look.
She hadn’t been so opposed to giving up some control the other night.
“Oi!” Ron waved his cards between Harry and Ginny’s faces. “No, no, no — rule number one of Catan nights! No heated eyes while we play!”
“He has a point,” Hermione said, coughing.
“Rich, considering you and Malfoy last time,” Ginny snorted. Hermione flushed, her mouth dropping in protest.
A loud thump made them all stop and look up. The look on Ginny’s face matched the way Harry’s insides felt.
He pushed to his feet, more instinct than conscious thought, but Ginny had barely managed a swear before the door swung open.
Lily barreled into the room, her face flushed to go with her wild, windswept-looking hair. Just like her father’s. Her chubby face was set with a look of determination that so reminded him of her mum.
“MUM!” she screamed, her voice fierce and high pitched.
“Lily! What are you doing up?” Ginny cried.
“Not ti’ed,” she declared, thumping towards Harry. His daughter raised her arms, and he instantly picked her up.
Ginny rose with a sigh and brushed Lily’s hair out of the way to check for a fever. She murmured to Harry, “Warm but no.”
Lily was only two and already a such a handful. She had probably been tossing in her crib. Lately, she’d been exhibiting some exhaustion-inducing accidental magic, managing to escape.
“Lily-Lu, it’s bedtime. Don’t you want to keep Mora and Stewart company as they go sleepy time?”
Usually mentioning her favorite stuffed magical animals (a knitted water mythical creature from her godmother, Luna, and the stuffed Hungarian Horntail from Uncle Charlie) worked, but Lily was too distracted. She leaned out of Harry’s arms like a resistant cat, neck craning as she tried to get a better look at what they were up to.
“Pway,” she said, pointing to the colorful pieces. Her chubby fingers opened and closed in the direction of the red pieces that Ginny always claimed.
“It’s boring down here,” Harry cajoled. “Wouldn’t you rather have quiet time upstairs?”
“Um, Unkl Won and Ant ErrrMeanNee um um pwaytime,” she accused.
“She’s a sharp one,” Ron snorted. Ginny kicked him under the table, making him yelp.
“Ung-kle Won, I pway?” She turned her big eyes and pouty face to him.
“Do you want to choose Uncle Ron’s next moves?” Hermione asked. Ron gave her a narrow look as Ginny snickered.
“Hnnnnng,” Lily said, looking confused by the question, her fist making its way into her mouth.
“Come on, Lily luv,” Harry tried again, bouncing her in his arms to rebalance her. “It’s bed time.”
“Not sweepy,” she repeated, though she curled up near his neck.
“It doesn’t seem that way,” he chuckled, his heart melting.
“But yuer kwnot as’eep.”
“Lily, it’s bedtime,” Ginny said, more sternly. Lily seemed to pick up on her tone because her flushed face screwed up in fury.
“I WAN TU PWAY!” Her voice somehow raised with each additional word. Harry winced away, his ears being the closest to her piercing screams.
“Lily!” Ginny chided. “What did we say about raising your voice?”
She began to cry, large tears rolling down her baby cheeks. Harry was struck by the ridiculous urge to take a photo. It was almost comically cute.
“But—pwaaaaaay,” Lily cried. Ron and Hermione smiled sympathetically, not unused to her toddler tantrums.
“We’ve talked about this,” Harry said, backing Ginny up. He patted her back soothingly, but his tone remained unyielding. “Do we get what we want by screaming?”
She hiccuped between sobs, leaning into his shoulder. “But, but—”
“Do they?”
“Nooooooooo,” she continued to cry, as if her answer devastated her.
“And you’re a good girl aren’t you?” Harry continued, rocking her back and forth. She nodded wetly into his neck, her cries quieting down to sniffles. “What do good girls do when they want something?”
“A-as’ n-nicely.”
“Yes. And what do we say when we do something wrong?” Ginny asked.
Lily pouted. “Mmmmm…sworrie.”
“Thank you,” he agreed, pressing a kiss against her hair. “It’s dark outside, which means it’s too late for Lils to play because it’s bedtime.”
“Dun alone,” she sniffed.
“How about I go up and read you a bedtime story?”
She perked up, her round eyes shining with unshed tears. “Stowee? Mum and bwad guy, um, ummm, how she—”
“Oi, no spoilers!” Ron interjected.
The adults laughed as Lily looked confused.
“Yes, we can do that one,” Harry said, indicating to Ginny that he had this covered. She gave him a grateful smile in return. She’d had her hands full with putting Lily to bed when he had an unexpected late evening yesterday.
“Good night, Lily.” Hermione and Ron waved as Harry carried her back upstairs.
In Lily’s room, he recounted the story of how he and her mum reunited, all because of a mad stalker threatening her life. He was careful, of course, to skip some of the more…colorful moments, but stayed true to the heart of the story.
“An’ den mummy–”
“Yeah.”
“Woaaaaah…” Lily always was impressed with this part. Her eyes began to droop. Her arms were curled around the long Romora. Luna had heard about her god daughter’s tendency to escape her crib and subsequently sent them the plushy of a guardian of seafarers that anchored ships. “And demn mum safe…?”
“That’s right, mum was safe and sound,” he reassured quietly.
“That’s good,” she murmured. Finally, her eyes fluttered closed. He waited in anticipation, listening to the steady breathing of his daughter. Her chest rose and fell in the telltale sign of slumber.
He felt the ground beneath his feet. Took in the room—the soft pink colors, the flowers that he and Ginny painted one hot summer day in preparation for their daughter. She had insisted on doing it the Muggle way because she preferred the imperfection. That was what made it theirs. He’d stared at his newly pregnant wife, the blazing confidence in her eyes, the flickers of white paint on her freckled face. His chest had filled with a pressure that constricted his throat and took away his breath.
Just like that summer day, Harry now stared in awe at the glow of their daughter in the yellow-orange light, looking so peaceful in sleep and far from the fireball of passion she was during the day. Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe this was his life. From being alone in a tent, staring at a dot that seemed impossibly far away, to this. He brushed back a wispy strand of Lily’s hair. Sometimes it still felt too good to be true. Like he was living someone else’s life.
He smiled. Ginny would call him a numpty.
A quiet incantation later, the light went off. Harry descended down the stairs to the kitchen, where he could see his best friends and Ginny at the dining table. She said something that made Ron laugh and Hermione shake her head with a smile.
She rose, empty Butterbeer in hand, heading to the kitchen. Upon noticing him, she raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching upward. “What are you ogling at?”
“My beautiful wife,” he said without missing a beat.
Ginny groaned. “That’s so soppy, Harry. You’re losing your touch.”
He pulled her into his arms, something he had been craving to do for what seemed like hours. His fingers slid up her slender back, sending shivers up her spine. “I don’t know… you don’t seem to mind.”
She arched an eyebrow, her fingers curling around his shirt. “Prove it.”
Harry was never one to back down from a challenge.
He leaned in and kissed her the way he had wanted to all night. He breathed her in. Tonight, the subtle smell of flowers was mixed with sugar and cinnamon, from the baking session with Lily earlier. It effused him with a warmth that threatened to bring him to his knees.
He pulled her closer, even as her fingers found their way into his hair, her nails sliding against his scalp. Her hips pressed against his in a way that told him she had been yearning for this all night as well. But her heat was diffused with the gentleness of her lips against his. A familiarity, like a cartographer who had mapped their hometown.
Despite the years, he still felt the way he did in the common room when she ran towards him with blazing eyes. But they had grown more complex, tender, open; the depth of his feelings had deepened. Their bond no longer based on intuitively trying to understand one another, but on communication, time, and trust.
Slowly, they pulled apart. He felt her slow exhale whisper against his skin.
“Trying to distract me, Potter?”
His lips tugged up. He had honestly forgotten about the Catan game. “I don’t know, Mrs. Potter.”
“Nothing is going to prevent me from trouncing you. No matter how nice your arse is.” Her hand reaching behind and giving his bottom a firm pat.
Harry laughed. “Same to you.”
She pressed one more kiss against his lips before pulling away.
“Grab that?” She indicated the snacks as she pulled out two more Butterbeers.
With a wave of his wand, he refilled the bowls with snacks before they started to head back. “Want to team up against Ron?”
The reason why I think Harry thought of Ginny before he went to die is because she helped him relief the weight of the world on his shoulders, especially with her lips.
i am. so sorry if i have ever used the phrase “i have an au where—” and led you to believe that there is an actual fic out there for you to read rather than, at best, a post where i explain the concept, and at worst it is simply something that lives in my brain
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Being silly on a Sunday instead of writing - I created sports!Ginny and pining!Harry because oh god, just look at Ginny, she is sunshine and Quidditch and everything nice (yes, that’s Harry’s internal monologue and yes, he thinks he’s hiding his pining).
Bwahaha, I wish I could find another picrew to have Ginny match Harry’s style or vice versa, but sharing because @fightfortherightsofhouseelves wanted to see what silliness I was up to.
hi!! I was rereading your works, and I wanted to ask something. In the third part of the Armistice Series you say: “They chat a while about mutual friends, Neville filling them in on Luna’s latest trip and how Seamus and Dean are doing. A lot of his stories are peppered with mentions of Hannah, as he seems to eat most of his meals at the Leaky these days.”
Was this a foreshadowing for HannahxNeville? I thought Hannah might have been ace but maybe she is not aro? I was just curious and Neville is an excellent character in Changeling-verse. Thank you in advance!!
Ahhhhh, you had to ask me about this. My great regret. So, like. I may have mentioned there having been a plan at one point. Of a fourth armistice. and then a Dudley fic. And then maybe another armistice fic. Well AFTER THAT, there was supposed to be a NEVILLE fic. My darling. This fic. the one I have all of 1000 nonsensical words scribbled about and am pretty sure will never get written.
In general, it's supposed to be a 'Augusta Longbottom dies and Neville inherits the house and tries to deal by spending all his time in the gardens and greenhouses of the old manor while various of his friends move in and out as needed' fic. Neville deciding if being an auror was really for himself or for his Gran. For his parents. And, yes, Hannah, his best friend of nearly a decade, being there to help every step of the way. It's how they both find a roundabout way to the paths and dreams they both thought closed forever to them, and fall in love along the way, even if it doesn't look quite the way they've been told it's supposed to.
You can have what little I have, if you want! Snippet of the unnamed fic below. (cw: death of a family member, grief)
Augusta Longbottom dies the way she lives her life—on her own schedule, exactly when she is ready, and with complete dignity.
Neville speaks to her one last time the evening before, sitting by her enormous bed in a stiff, uncomfortable chair. He isn’t close enough to touch her, but close enough to hear her words, quiet but still laced with steel.
“You’ve made me proud, Neville. Walking in your father’s footsteps, completing his fight. Taking up the work that needs to be done.”
It’s an ending, certainly.
The thing she doesn’t tell him is what’s supposed to come next.
**
At the wake, Ginny is there, pregnant and impatient while trying not to look like she is, Harry a bit wide-eyed and terrified when he isn’t looking at her with the soppiest grin Neville’s ever seen.
It’s been eight years since Ron and Hermione got married, but Harry and Ginny still haven’t shown any inclination, even as her belly swells. Their friends are smart enough not to say anything about it, even if the press is as stupid as ever.
Ginny reaches out and holds his hand.
“I need to go tell my mum and dad,” Neville says as the guests start to depart. He isn’t sure why he hasn’t gone yet.
“We’ll go with you,” Ginny says, voice fierce in that way that says she will not be argued with.
He doesn’t bother trying.
**
When Luna returns from her latest expedition a few months later, she moves into one of the spare bedrooms. Rolf—not her boyfriend or husband or anything else, he’s told—visits at times, but rarely for long. Luna seems pleased with the arrangement, like Rolf is someone who understands all of her, takes her just as she is and demanding nothing more.
Neville’s glad.
A few months after that, Ginny’s back to work after giving birth and recovering, and Harry is home with the baby. He comes by a few times a week. Harry claims it’s for his own sanity, but Neville still can’t help but feel like maybe he’s checking in on Neville, whose leave from the Aurors has stretched into its ninth month without any sign of ending. Rosier, at this point, has stopped asking.
It’s kind of weird to see Harry like this, baby bouncing on his lap, just as sure and capable as in a fight.
There’s been things in the papers, of course, Henpecked Potter Stuck Home on Nappy Duty, all about how Ginny has unmanned him. Or how disappointingly unambitious Harry has turned out to be, after showing so much early promise. Wiling his days away at home. As if they hadn’t spent the last decade terrified of him, of what he might try to do.
Morons, the lot of them.
Then again, most people have no idea how much Harry quietly continued to do for all of them behind the scenes, [redacted for spoilers!]
To most people Harry is aimless and dominated by his quite possibly evil wife.
Harry doesn’t seem to care less what people think.
It occurs to Neville that to most people Neville is the one who looks properly focused, but he’s really completely adrift, whereas Harry looks like he is exactly where he wants to be. It’s the same stupid feeling that’s always been there, that the two of them are somehow two sides of the same coin. Warped reflections of the other.
You know it could have been you, Harry once confessed to him during a late night together spent pouring over reports trying to run down a particularly nasty artifact. Just as easily as me.
But that is as inconceivable as ever, that Neville could in any way be anything like Harry.
Neville is in awe as always, that Harry could walk away from the ministry. Just like that. Just decide there is something else he wants, damn prophecies and expectations and gossip all the same.
When he mentions it, Harry just lifts his daughter up to his face, blowing a raspberry on her pudgy cheek. “There’s always more work to be done. And it will still be there when I get back. This little one won’t.”
Neville can't argue with that, even if he were inclined to.
**
Spending so much time at the manor, Neville inevitably finds himself in the garden. It’s not neglected, exactly. There are people paid to care for the perfectly manicured rows of shrubs and lawn and flowering perennials. To sweep the paths. Like the one he bounced down the first time he showed any inkling for magic, Great Uncle Archie’s cackle echoing behind him.
He’s never liked the garden, is the thing. Not that he’d ever been brave enough to even think it.
Gran gave him a corner in the large conservatory for his plants, and so long as he kept it contained there, she never said anything about his silly habit. It was enough. Or so he always told himself.
He’s thought about it, is the thing. Just selling the manor. Moving into a flat somewhere. Just leaving it all behind--the memories, the expectations. But it also feels like he’s been leaving too much behind as it is.
So on the one-year anniversary of Gran’s passing, a year since he tanked his career through cowardly attrition, he speaks out loud to the rigid rows and lifeless paths the truth festering in his heart: “I’ve never liked this garden.”
The next week, he asks the gardeners into the parlor and starts making a new plan.
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Already finished Chamber of Secrets and I have a lot of Ginny feelings 💔 also, trying to draw these characters in their 90s outfits is my favorite thing
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Harry's nearsightedness really makes Hinny so much sweeter
Imagine Harry waking up morning and nearsightedness making him focus on Ginny's beautiful face and her adorable freckles, while Ginny catches him looking at her 😍😍😍
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Here are some complaints and rants! If you mind, don’t read any further 🤧🤧🤧
Recently, I saw something that upset me and realized I hadn't mentioned this before—I'm an OTP purist for both Harry and Ginny. I can only accept Harry being single or with Ginny, and the same goes for Ginny—she's either single or with Harry.
That is to say, I don’t appreciate you mentioning other ships involving characters like Harry or Ginny in the comments section of my Hinny fanart.（Especially, please don’t say that my art looks like Harry is with another woman or Ginny is with another man in a romantic relationship…）
I acknowledge that every ship is interesting and believe that every fanart creator is talented and outstanding. If you prioritize other ships or dislike my fanart, you are more than welcome to look for other artists instead of criticizing my ship in front of me.
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