written for @ginnystrophyhusband june microfics (part of an ongoing series called magic doesn't last)
Harry saw the crowd as soon as he rounded the corner onto Main Street. The cafe where Ginny worked could barely hold six people comfortably, but what looked like a dozen people spilled out the door in a messy queue. They were all dressed in some sort of formalwear and chatting as if they knew each other.
Peering over the tops of the heads in front of him, he tried to make out the figures inside the front windows. The shop was just as full as the footpath, with various hats and bouffants obscuring Harry’s view of the cash register. He did think he saw a shortish person rushing around behind the counter.
Politely as he could, Harry nudged his way through the group of smartly dressed people. Navigating the rickety tables and full skirts was no easy feat, but he made it to the back of the room without treading on anyone’s toes.
His original assertion was correct. Ginny rushed around behind the counter, moving between machines in a harassed sort of way. However, her expression brightened when she caught sight of him behind the pastry display.
“You…” Harry tensed as he realized the bloke waiting in front of the till was watching him with a glare. Probably because he thought Harry was trying to skip the queue. “You okay?”
“Massive wedding up the street,” She muttered as she refilled a kettle.
“Do you need help?”
“I already called the owner,” Ginny wiped her forehead on the back of her hand. “She’s in Brighton on Holiday and the closing guy is a complete flake. Never answers my messages.”
Harry made his decision in less than a second. Grabbing a spare apron from the hook, he threw it over his head. “What can I do?”
He was put in charge of the kettle. He tossed milk, sugar, and tea bags into takeaway cups without truly measuring. But it helped. That left Ginny in charge of the coffees and the espresso machine which was definitely out of his area of expertise. Before long, the wedding goers had dwindled by half. Then not long after that, they sent the last groomsman out the door with a carrier of cappuccinos.
“Fuck’s sake,” Ginny slumped against the sink with a sigh. “That was a fiasco.”
Harry couldn’t quite agree. He thought Ginny handled herself rather well all things considered. He hung his apron back on the hook and shot her a grin.
“So, now that they’re all sorted, I’ll have a–”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Ginny cut in.
Harry laughed and helped himself to a drip coffee instead of his usual.
“I probably broke about fifty health codes just then. Not including labor laws having you back here when you’re not on the payroll.”
Harry shrugged her off. “Did you make good tips at least?”
“Oh, that reminds me,” she rushed over to the till and reached into the jar of spare pounds and pence by the specials board. “I need to split these with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Harry scoffed.
“I’m not!” Ginny argued, shoving a fistful of notes at him. “I’d still be making that smarmy bloke’s triple-shot, heavy cream, half soy, light foam, sugar free vanilla whatever if it weren’t for you!”
“I’m not taking your money,” he replied firmly.
Her shoulders slumped with an agitated huff and she dropped the quid back into the jar. “Well, I owe you one, anyway.”
He gazed at her hopefully. “Treacle scone?”
Ginny snorted, but immediately grabbed her tongs. Harry sipped his coffee while she warmed it in the oven, then served the pastry up on one of the antique plates.
“There you are,” she handed it over. “A well-earned treat.”
Harry set his coffee aside and went to take it from her, but even after it was in his hand, she didn’t let go. Ginny stared up at him with an indiscernible look on her face. It was like gratitude, and apprehension and determination all in one.
In one fluid movement, she pushed up onto her toes and pressed a light kiss to Harry’s cheek.
There was no other way to describe it—as her closeness invaded his senses and her lips connected with his skin, a deranged lunacy took over and he turned his head just enough to catch her mouth with his. It lasted maybe two heartbeats before Ginny’s sharp intake of breath brought reality crashing down around him.
They broke apart and she gaped at him with wide eyes. Harry panicked.
“Oh, fucking hell. Oh shit, I’m so sorry.”
“Wha–” she began breathlessly. “What for?”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” his sentences were fragmented, just half formed thoughts said in a rush. “You probably think I’m– and Ron will– Christ, you have a boyfriend–”
Ginny blinked several times in quick succession. “No, I haven’t. I broke it off weeks ago.”
“You–” The tension in Harry’s chest morphed from dread to hope. “You didn’t mention…”
“I didn’t know it mattered.”
“Didn’t know it–” He vaguely understood he was only repeating her statement just to buy himself time. Because from his point of view, nothing else had mattered more. Once his brain processed this dissonance, however, he lunged forward, caught her face in his hands, and kissed her again.
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written for @ginnystrophyhusband june microfic
(how do we feel about a coffee shop au?)
It started innocently enough, just Ron mentioning that his sister had started working at a coffee shop a little ways down the road. Good brew was hard to come by at Sandhurst and so Harry and Ron began to frequent the little cafe as often as their schedules allowed.
In hindsight, he should’ve noticed the way her eyes followed him across the room. Or the way her cheeks flushed pink when he ordered his usual. But he’d still been smarting after his break up with Cho, and constantly preoccupied with thoughts of their superior officer who had gone missing, so he hadn’t.
Noticed that is.
Noticed her.
It came to him gradually. Stupidly. Moronically. He started finding his way to the coffee bar during his Sunday R&R and it became a sort of standing appointment. Harry would wander in around ten in the morning, after Ginny’s morning rush but before the lie-ins crowded in around noon.
It was surprising—disconcerting, really—to talk with her without Ron around. The absence of their boisterous sibling rivalry gave way for Ginny’s witty barbs and cleverness to shine through in different ways. Harry learned so much about her in those stolen hours. About her family’s farm, and her goat named Arnold. About her love of sports and her desire to be a journalist. About her classes at university and the bloke who kept undermining her in front of their Political Writing professor.
She had a fire in her eyes when she talked about most everything. Her football team, the nice customer from the day before, her eldest brother’s girlfriend.
In fact, it took so long for Harry to figure it out that by the time he did, he was too late.
She said it so casually, so innocuously, that he almost didn’t catch it.
“My boyfriend and I are headed to Wiltshire for a hike tomorrow evening. There’s supposed to be a meteor shower–“
My boyfriend and I…
My boyfriend…
The punch to his gut gave him no heads up, no warning, before it knocked all the air from his lungs. He gripped his fork so tight in his hand that the tines dug into his palm. And if Ginny noticed for the rest of the morning that his smile was tight and his laughter was forced, she didn’t let on.
He didn’t stop going though.
Nope. The next Sunday, he ducked through the cafe door just like always.
Harry didn’t even care if it was pathetic. However, he did hope Ginny had convinced herself that he just liked the coffee. Or the scones.
written for @ginnystrophyhusband june microfics (a day late here, sorry guys! part of the ongoing series magic doesn't last)
A horridly shrill noise permeated the languid darkness and pulled Ginny violently from sleep. She tolerated the alarm for approximately four more seconds before poking her pillow in the ribs.
"Hrmph," Harry grunted from beneath her cheek.
"Turn it off," Ginny mumbled back. "Or I'll throw it out the window."
He swore, apologized, then much to her chagrin, lurched up into a sitting position. It couldn't have been later than six in the morning, the light peeking through her curtains was still dim and grey-twinged.
“I can’t miss the bus,” Harry whispered in a rush, grabbing his trousers and pulling them on roughly.
Ginny collapsed into her bed pillow. It was fluffy and plush. It still wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his chest had been.
Once he was dressed (albeit, haphazardly), Harry pressed an urgent kiss to her lips. “I’ll ring you later?”
She nodded sleepily, but inwardly, her mind was thrown back to the night prior. To every kiss, and every touch, and every whisper in the dark. As he hurried out the bedroom door, she hid her face in her blankets, overtaken by the giddy feeling growing in her middle.
written for @ginnystrophyhusband june microfics (an ongoing series called magic doesn't last. read parts 1, 2, 3, 4)
“Bloody hell!”
Harry and Ginny sprang apart, both whipping around to take in the figure framed in the cafe entrance. Harry had been so wrapped up in the feel of Ginny’s fingernails scraping along his scalp, he hadn’t heard the rattle of the bells on the door.
“Is this what you get up to when I’m not here?” Ron asked incredulously. Indignantly. Bitterly.
“What? No–” Harry started but Ginny spoke over him.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” she shot, her expression taking on a hard edge.
“Sister! Best mate!” Ron gestured between the two of them in humorless bewilderment. “That’s the very definition of my business!”
Ginny rolled her eyes.
Ron crossed his arms over his chest, narrowed his eyes, and overall tried to look menacing. It was undercut by the fact that they had been bunkmates for going on six years, so Harry had seen him in all manner of decidedly not menacing scenarios.
“How long has all this been going on?”
“Er…” Harry glanced down at Ginny. “About three minutes?”
Opening his mouth, then closing it again, Ron stared blankly for a few moments before uttering a soft, “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Ginny clipped. “So bugger off, will you?”
“Hang on just a moment,” Ron’s tone changed from incensed to elated. “Are you going to—you know—go out?”
Ginny turned to Harry. “Is he for this? Or against?”
Harry shrugged. “Can’t tell.”
“Well,” Ron interjected. “Answer the question!”
Keeping his focus on Ginny, Harry pulled his mobile from his pocket and handed it to her. “Can I call you after your shift?”
“You didn’t even have her number?” Ron blurted. Harry and Ginny both ignored him.
She saved her contact and then handed the phone back with a smile so warm and full of affection, Harry felt it lance through his chest like a beam of summer sunlight.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he assured, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.
Moving away from her, he walked around the counter and approached Ron with a scowl.
“C’mon,” he grumbled, giving Ron’s shoulder a prod.
“I haven’t even gotten a coffee yet,” Ron complained. The look in his eye was anything but chagrin, however. He looked more like he couldn’t wait to take the piss out of Harry every moment of every day for the rest of their lives.
written for @ginnystrophyhusband june microfics (same coffee shop au as before, and maybe we will hang out in this story for a bit??)
“He didn’t.” Harry stared across the counter in disbelief.
“He absolutely did,” Ginny deadpanned while steaming a measured portion of milk.
Harry laughed so loud the only other occupied table in the café turned to stare at him. He could hardly drum up the self-consciousness to care. The story was far too absurd, and Ginny’s way of telling it far too enthralling.
“Ask him about it sometime,” she continued with a wicked grin. “I’m fairly certain it’s Ron’s proudest moment.”
Shaking his head (and holding in more laughter), Harry watched her brew his standard order as the warm, mushy feeling in his chest spread out to his limbs. However, this calm was quickly overtaken by heart-pounding anticipation as Ginny set down the cup and saucer in front of him. The top of his latte was adorned with a perfect foam heart.
“So,” she leaned forward onto the bartop. “Treacle Scone with your coffee today, Captain?”
Harry groaned at his new title. “Ron told you?”
She shrugged, her eyes going soft around the edges. “He figured someone outside the Academy ought to know.”
Harry fiddled with the curved handle of his mug, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. There was no doubt that Ron had the best of intentions. That he was only sharing Harry’s promotion of rank as one friend to another.
Because Harry and Ginny were friends.
Just friends.
Harry was painfully aware of that particular fact. He was also tortuously cognizant that Ron would probably deck him in the nose if he ever found out Harry wanted more.
“He’s very proud of you.” Ginny’s smile was genuine, and her tone had lost all trace of teasing.
Eyes snapping up to meet hers, Harry took in her expression with an ache he’d hardly allowed himself to feel. The amber golden glow of the shop sconces contrasted perfectly with the glimmer of copper hair cascading from Ginny’s ponytail, and a little wriggle of utter panic sliced through him as their gazes held.
Even that wasn’t enough for Harry to look away, though. Something was passing between them, he was sure of it. With each second of prolonged silence the surface level connection—that he’d convinced himself was one-sided—deepened. Tangibly. Like he was getting pulled into her orbit in a way that couldn’t be undone.
The bells hanging from the front door knob jingled, Ginny pulled in a sharp breath, and Harry blinked, returning his attention to his coffee.
He sucked down a messy sip, but the burn of the liquid grounded him somehow. Lifted the fog of whatever spell she’d put him under.
Ginny was stepping away, moving toward the till to take the new customers order. But as she went, she quipped over her shoulder, “Ron also said he can’t believe someone with your abysmal eyesight has made it so far in life.”
Harry snorted, choked on his drink, then proceeded to have a coughing fit for the next minute and a half.
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written for @ginnystrophyhusband june microfics
(magic doesn't last: parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5)
They meandered down the park path, comfortably full from their dinner at some Italian bistro where everyone knew Ginny by name, and were now walking (rather slowly) back to her place near the edge of the village.
Harry shouldn’t have been surprised by how easy the night passed. Talking with Ginny felt like the epitome of effortless, but because of that, it was now ending too soon. They’d be at her front door within minutes. He’d have to wait a whole week until his next day off before he could take her out again. He didn’t want to have to live off calls and messages to get his fill. He wanted…
He wanted to spend every spare moment he had with her. Forever.
Which was a ridiculous thing to think on a first date.
Didn’t stop it from being true though.
As they stepped out of the boundary of the park and into the glow of the street lamps, Harry reached for Ginny’s hand and laced their fingers together.
She glanced down at their intertwined hands and then darted her eyes up to meet his with a contented smile on her face. They walked the rest of the way hand in hand, Ginny chatting about her new mentor at the paper who was trying to get her to swap from sports to political journalism.
All too soon they turned onto Ginny’s street and came to a stop outside her front stoop.
“I had fun tonight,” she said happily.
“Me too,” Harry agreed readily. “I always have fun with you.”
Her soft smirk grew into a grin. Before he could adjust to the fizzing in his lungs at making her smile like that, she leaned up and kissed him. It was only the second time they had kissed, and had nothing of the urgency or desperation of the first go around.
Harry sunk into the feel of it. Of her soft lips, and the tease of her tongue, and the scent of her hair on the evening breeze. He didn’t want it to end. Why did it have to end?
“Do you want to come in?” she murmured against his mouth.
He was not proud of how long it took for her question to permeate his addled brains. But once it did, he froze in a sort of paralysis. Had he accidentally said that anguished question out loud?
“The twins are up north for a conference this weekend,” she continued breathlessly. “I’ve got the flat to myself.”
He pulled back just enough to take in her expression. What he found matched the yearning in his own chest; the very same longing.
Heart pounding, blood pumping, and hand’s slightly trembling, Harry murmured a quiet, “Yeah, okay.”
