#hbp

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.”

“You'd think people had better things to gossip about,” said Ginny, as she sat on the common-room floor, leaning against Harry's legs and reading the Daily Prophet. “Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.”

Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her it's a Hungarian Horntail,” said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. “Much more macho.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning. “And what did you tell her Ron's got?”

“A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where.”