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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 1 month

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I have only recently discovered your writing and was wondering if you've done a scene where Harry tells Ginny he smells her in his Amortentia?

I just think you capture their personalities so perfectly that I think you'd do the scene justice.

Anon, you're my new favourite person - so I dropped everything and wrote this for you 😘

AO3 or read below:

The smell hit her like a punch to the gut.

It had been lying dormant, in wait, hanging unseen in the air of the dungeon corridor, ready for Ginny to wander unwittingly into its trap.

She wasn't even taking potions this year, but Luna was, and the first day of Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts had been so lonely and unpleasant that she'd been unable to resist using the end of her free period to wander down here to meet one of the few friendly faces remaining to her in the castle when the school day officially ended.

It wasn’t the homely, comforting aroma of her mother’s apple pie that had the heart-wrenching effect on her, nor was it the damp, earthy fragrance that brought to mind the orchard after summer rainfall. The scent that had Ginny leaning heavily against the cool stone wall was more subtle, a faint hint in the air of something woodsy, evergreen and clean, and so intrinsically Harry that she suspected it would’ve taken her breath away even if she’d been expecting it.

The door to the potions classroom burst open, spilling a handful of her classmates into the dimly-lit corridor. Ginny forced herself to stand upright, before anyone could see a hint of her distress.

Despite their shaking, her legs carried her forward. Some invisible force summoned her; she pushed against the crowd exiting Slughorn's classroom, slipping through the doorway; ignoring Luna's puzzled gaze as she followed the scent to a golden cauldron sitting atop the nearest desk.

The surface of the potion within had an opalescent sheen, and the vapour rising from it was ascending towards the stone ceiling in distinctive spirals that would’ve allowed her to identify it even if the overpowering scent hadn’t already given away its identity.

“Amortentia,” Ginny read aloud, peering over the top of Ron’s borrowed copy of Advanced Potion Making from where she was sitting on the ground opposite Harry. “Sounds a lot more interesting than levitation charms.”

Harry looked up. Distracted from his attempts at revision, his head fell back slightly against the beech tree he was leaning against. “Slughorn brewed it for our first lesson this year. I could smell it before I even walked into the classroom.”

Ginny tossed the charms textbook she’d been pretending to read aside, giving him her full attention, which, really, he’d had from the moment he’d convinced her to leave the library in favour of the castle's sunlit grounds. “And what does Harry Potter smell when confronted with the world’s strongest love potion?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed and Ginny’s grin widened. Making him blush was a new, and favourite, activity of hers. “I’ll tell you next year,” he said evasively. “When you can tell me what you smell too.”

Fleetingly, she considered accepting his non-answer. It was, after all, a deeply personal question. But this was one of the few boundary-pushing questions that Ginny could ask, unlike the others that she unswervingly steered away from – what are you whispering with Ron and Hermione about? What are you doing when you’re summoned to Dumbledore’s office? Why do I feel like talking about anything further ahead than next Tuesday is tempting a fate that I’m not ready to face? – Amortentia, by contrast, seemed utterly tame.

She rolled onto her stomach, her elbows sinking into the grass, supporting her upper body and holding it upright. Her smile, she knew, was full of challenge. “I bet I can guess.”

Harry’s eyes wandered the length of her body, before returning to her face. He mirrored her smirk. “And if you can’t?”

Laughter rose, light and breathy in her throat, but Ginny swallowed it down, schooling her face into a look of total seriousness. “A forfeit of your choosing… and if I win, a reward of mine.”

Despite what half the school would probably say, Harry was absolutely terrible at hiding his smile. He shook his head. “Considering my choice of forfeit, and your choice of reward are definitely the same thing, there doesn’t seem to be much risk for you here?”

“Or you,” Ginny countered, conveniently ignoring the risk of him having to reveal a deeply personal fact.

The spark in Harry’s eyes told her he hadn’t forgotten the risk, though he didn’t say as much. “We should probably just skip to kissing then.”

There was nothing she could do to contain her laughter in the face of such a brazen statement; it rang out clear and bright across the grounds. A few weeks ago, when she’d been starting to wonder if he was going to tiptoe around this growing attraction between them forever, the idea of him saying such a thing outright to her would’ve been unimaginable.

She tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider the suggestion. It did sound tempting, but Ginny knew that neither of them would really agree to it. Lines had been drawn. A challenge laid out. Satisfaction must be granted.

She started with the obvious. “Treacle tart.”

Harry’s smile fell, clearly concerned by the speed with which Ginny had delivered a correct guess. He recovered quickly, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Been watching my dessert habits closely, have you?”

Ginny ignored this, finding nothing worthy of denial in the question. “Now it’s a matter of narrowing down what you like more… flying seems an obvious choice, but there’s your fondness for Hedwig to consider–”

“Hedwig?” Harry burst out. He leaned forward, leaving the tree trunk behind as he looked at her disbelievingly. “I did not smell my owl in a love potion!”

“Well, it sounds weird when you put it like that,” Ginny said, fighting the urge to laugh once more at the outraged expression on Harry’s face. “Stop looking at me like that! She's an important presence in your life – I think she’s amortentia-worthy!”

Harry’s expression remained unchanged. “...She’s an owl.”

“Fine,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “But I think Hedwig would be deeply offended by your reaction.”

Harry released a snort of laughter, returning his back to the tree. “Well, it’s a good job she’s not as nosy as you, so she’ll never have to know.”

“Flying then,” Ginny pondered loudly, her fingers twisting in the grass as she let Harry’s comment pass without argument. When it came to her interest in him, ‘nosy’ didn’t quite cover it.

She fell silent for a moment, considering the many possible scents associated with flying. Her mind immediately went to the rich, leathery fragrance of a quaffle, but she dismissed this at once. She was a chaser, not Harry. Snitches, delicate and metallic, didn’t really smell of anything in her opinion. Being in the air had a unique smell, fresh and clear, but that wasn’t right either.

Flying, she knew, started before you got in the air. Flying was the sense of anticipation, flying was the rush of pushing off from the ground, flying was endless possibilities.

“Your broom,” Ginny said definitively after another moment of deliberation. Broomsticks were freedom.

Harry nodded, confirming her guess correct. Their eyes met, and she knew, without either of them speaking, that her reasoning was sound too.

“Two out of three…” Ginny mused, waiting for Harry to correct her if her calculations were wrong. He didn’t.

This time the silence that fell between them was charged with suspense, though Ginny suspected this might just be in her head. A flutter of butterflies had broken loose in her stomach.

She didn't need to be in the presence of a cauldron of amortentia to know that she would smell him. The way he looked at her, it didn't feel completely out of the realm of possibility that Harry would smell Ginny too, but they'd only been together for a matter of weeks, and she'd wanted him for years, and if she guessed herself, and he told her she was wrong, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take the blow.

“Not Hedwig…” she smirked with an air of confidence she definitely didn't feel, buying time, and coaxing a smile onto Harry's face that went some way to soothing Ginny's nerves.

“Definitely not,” Harry agreed.

“More food?” Ginny hedged, watching his face carefully for a reaction. “Or something like that? You do have a liking for butterbeer.”

Harry shook his head. His lips pressed together but Ginny could still see a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You're doing this on purpose.”

Her heart was beating frantically in her chest. “Doing what?”

Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “If you make me admit it, you don't win.”

Her butterflies were flying wildly now, swooping and diving within her. For once, Ginny found she didn't care very much about winning at all. “I want you to say it.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed. His hand found hers on the ground, fingers entwining together in the long blades of grass. Much to Ginny's delight, his blush made a return. “You… your hair, if you want me to be specific.”

“My hair?” She asked, somewhat breathlessly. Her free hand reached out and pulled a strand of her hair to her nose. “It just smells like hair.”

Harry's cheeks turned from a faint rosy pink, to flushed crimson. “It smells like flowers.”

“Flowers,” Ginny whispered, elevating the word to the height of the world's greatest compliment in her mind. She was certain her smile looked completely ridiculous, but she was incapable of caring. She pulled herself upright, careful that their hands remained clasped together. She shuffled forwards on the grass until her face was inches from Harry's. “Really? My hair?”

“Yes,” Harry laughed; there was a hint of nervousness beneath the usually carefree sound. “Can you stop looking so pleased with yourself?”

Ginny's smile remained in place as she shook her head. “No, I don't think I can.”

“This can't be news to you,” he protested, apparently gathering some confidence from how clearly delighted Ginny was about this revelation. “Have I not made my feelings clear?”

She supposed he had, in a very Harry-ish way. Kissing her in the centre of the full common room had been a fairly loud declaration, even if no words had been exchanged at that particular moment, and he'd been very attentive from that moment onwards, but this was different. Amortentia was magic; pure, and ancient, and undeniable.

“I’m ready for my forfeit now,” Ginny announced, not waiting for any further instructions before leaning forwards, her lips finding his, eager to make her own feelings clear in what time they had left before lunch ended–

“Miss Weasley!” Professor Slughorn's voice pulled Ginny abruptly back to the present.

She was standing beside the golden cauldron; her knuckles had turned a ghostly white from the strength with which she gripped the edge of the desk. She was breathing deeply, taking in great lungfuls of the heady scent emanating from the potion.

Slughorn was frowning at her, his face a mask of concern and pity. Ginny wasn't sure which sentiment she hated more.

“Sorry,” she said, using all her force of will to take a definitive step away from the desk. “I was just looking for Luna.”

“I'm here,” Luna said from the doorway. Her eyes were wide, piercing. “Did you want to go to dinner?”

Ginny nodded, now that she'd come to her senses she was desperate to remove herself from the dungeons and the heavy miasma that surrounded her.

Slughorn cleared his throat uncomfortably before she'd taken even a step towards Luna. “Are you sure you're alright, Miss Weasley? I wouldn't want you to go up to dinner if you're not feeling yourself… there's a lot of observant eyes in the great hall these days.”

“I'm fine,” she lied, ignoring her thundering heart, and schooling her face into a mask of perfect neutrality she was already fed up with wearing after only one day of term.

“Very well,” Slughorn nodded, though he still looked reluctant to let her go. His eyes travelled between Ginny and Luna. “The weather's still quite fine for this time of year,” he said, his tone observational. “I always find a walk around the grounds to be a pleasant prelude to one's dinner… There's nothing quite like fresh air to clear the mind.”

#oh my god #this is so gooood

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 1 month

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In Another Life - Chapter 2

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The Wizarding World's most popular wireless host, Lee Jordan, is joined by special guest, Holyhead Harpies Chaser, Ginny Potter, but she's not here to talk to you about Quidditch, and she definitely won't be discussing her marriage, though we don't doubt Harry Potter will be tuning in anyway...

#SHE DOES IT AGAIN #WHAT'S HAPPENING #IDK BUT I CANT WAIT TO FIND OUT #hinny #fic rec

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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In Another Life - Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Summary:

Everything about Ginny Weasley's new home feels wrong. The street is too neat, the house is too quiet, and something that she can't quite put her finger on is missing. She should probably give the whole thing up as a bad idea; there's just the matter of the mysterious neighbour with the bright green eyes that she's utterly unable to walk away from and who seems intent on dragging her into a fantastical world that can't possibly be real.

Everything about Harry Potter's life is perfect. He's married to the love of his life, his and Hermione's werewolf reforms are finally gaining traction, and no self-proclaimed dark lords have tried to kill him in years. There would be nothing for him to complain about, if not for the small matter of the nightmares coming to life, bleeding into reality with deadly consequences not just for him, but for the Wizarding World as a whole.

Sequel to Someone Else's Life.

DISCLAIMER: I'm posting once per week this time (...or maybe twice per week).

#A SEQUEL?!?#hinny #the scream i scrumpt #she does it again

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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ALREADY GONE Chapter 13

Ginny didn’t know what she expected after their tense agreement next to the kitchen sink. Perhaps that Harry would whisk her away to a variety of places full of deep import and emotional significance. Or that an array of friends and acquaintances would parade through the sitting room at steady intervals to provide personal anecdotes and affectionate recollections. What she got instead was a loose routine that was neither earth-shattering nor particularly interesting.

chapter 1 // chapter 13

#hinny #oh my god #DEF CON THIRTY #ITS HAPPENING #hinny fanfic #fic rec

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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Ginniversary Drabble 4

Prompt: O65 - you dont think that was just lemonade in your glass do you?

The volume in the great hall had reached a clamorous level; the buzzing din and the blood pounding in Ginny's ears, mingled until she was sure the noise was going to drown her.

She tried to catch her breath; her Quidditch robes were suddenly too tight, making her efforts pointless. The sea of students surrounding her was nothing more than a blurred, faceless mass.

A touch on her hand, so light she shouldn't have been able to feel at all, brought her surroundings sharply into focus.

“You need to eat,” Harry said quietly.

Wordlessly, Ginny nodded. She kept her eyes on her plate in front of her, refusing to let them wander to the Ravenclaw table at the opposite side of Hufflepuff. The toast Harry had placed in front of her was swimming in butter. It felt dry as cardboard as it protested its journey down her throat.

She reached for her glass, swallowing a mouthful of sugary-sweet lemonade that did nothing to ease the dryness.

“There's no need to be nervous,” Harry said, using the same quiet tone that Hermione was directing at Ron across the table. Words that were only meant for one person. “If you lose, everyone will blame me… Everyone should blame me.”

His words sparked a fire within her that had been dangerously close to dwindling out a moment before. Ginny looked up sharply from her crumb-covered plate. “We're not going to lose!”

“Right,” Harry agreed at once, one corner of his mouth twitching, threatening a smile as his eyes met Ginny's. “So there's nothing to worry about, is there?”

She felt one side of her own mouth tick up. “Who said I was worried?”

Harry's smile bloomed fully, and the sight did more to ease her nerves than any encouraging words would ever be able to. His smiles had been frustratingly infrequent since the incident with Malfoy; every one that Ginny had managed to coax out of him felt like a victory all of its own. She suspected this one was for her benefit.

“The only thing you should be worried about is how you’re going to deal with your horde of admirers once you win the cup for Gryffindor.”

Ginny's laughter escaped her without her permission, as did the words she spoke next, “and will you be among them?”

Harry took a bite of his crumpet in a very obvious attempt to delay answering. His eyes flicked across the table to Ron, who was too busy listening to whatever soft words of encouragement Hermione was whispering to him to pay attention to what Ginny and Harry were doing.

He swallowed the crumpet. “I'll be the Head of the Ginny Weasley Fan Club.”

It was probably indecent to smile as widely as she currently was in the face of the biggest match of her life.

“Well,” she said, now breathless for entirely different reasons. “Given that my win is a foregone conclusion, I hope you're ready to take the responsibilities that come with your new position very seriously.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, but his gaze was steady, unwavering where it met Ginny's. “The season will be over; I'll have plenty of spare time to dedicate to it.”

“You don't have to convince me.” She laughed again, despite the way her stomach was twisting itself into knots. “The job is yours, if you want it.”

Their eyes remained fixed on one another. If the students around them had been faceless to her before, it was like there was no one there at all anymore; like they were the only two people left in the world.

“I'm just letting you know,” Harry said quietly. no longer smiling. “In case anyone else was interested in the position.”

Ginny's voice dropped to barely a whisper. “No one else is being considered.”

A beat of silence stretched on for what could have been eternity for all she knew. Harry didn't look away. She wasn't sure she would be capable of doing so even if she'd wanted to. Whatever this thing was that had been building between them was teetering dangerously close to a precipice and she was about to fall–

“Ginny!”

Dean's voice broke the spell that had fallen over them with jarring abruptness. Harry blinked, and then his attention turned to the half-eaten crumpet on his plate.

Resisting the urge to scream in frustration, Ginny turned in the direction her name had been called from.

“Are you ready to go down?” Dean asked.

Ginny didn't need to turn back to Harry to know he'd tensed beside her.

“You go ahead,” Ginny said smoothly. “I’ve still got some toast left.”

“You can eat on the way,” Harry said quickly. “You should probably take the others down before they get too deep in their own heads.”

She hesitated, wanting to protest the suggestion of leaving Harry up here, alone, while the rest of them went down to the pitch, yet knowing his logic was sound. Ginny's eye met Katie's further down the table, a short nod was enough to instruct her to gather the rest of the team and begin ushering them out of the hall.

Hermione's hand wrapped gently around Ron's forearm, guiding him from the table. Harry stood, and Ginny followed him, wishing she could recapture the moment they’d been so forcefully removed from.

“You've successfully boosted my confidence,” she said as they made their way towards the door. “Consider your Captain duties fulfilled.”

“That wasn't me,” Harry said with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You don't think that was just lemonade in your glass, do you?”

“That little trick won't work twice,” Ginny assured him, unable to summon her own smile now their moment of separation was here.

It didn't matter, she promised herself, forcing a grin despite her mouth's reluctance, the match – and Harry's detention – would be over soon, and once she had the cup, everything would fall into place.

#hinny #she does it again #hbp missing moment #the TENSION

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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The Worst Murderer

It’s not that he wants to have killed someone. At least, not exactly.

James had tried to make light of it the first time he had.

“It’s like he was trying to die. Fucker stumbled into it, wasn’t even aiming for him,” he’d said, taking a drag from a cigarette. Sirius had grinned, but noticed the way the cigarette trembled slightly in James’ fingers all the same, the way he took a particularly long drag afterward.

He’d reckoned that was just James, though. “Ever the man of honor,” Sirius had mocked aloud but quietly coveted.

But then, Remus had come back from a mission with a haunted look in his eye a few weeks later. “Flint’s dead,” he’d reported quietly, while the rest of him - his slumped shoulders, white lips - screamed and I killed him.

There must be something to it, then, Sirius had thought. Killing must change you, no matter the scum at the other end of the spell. He’d tried to use that thought as a comfort, when he’d felt shamefully envious of them.

Sirius had done a lot of damage, sure. Been involved in countless missions. But no one had died at his hand, that he knew of. And it felt, in the height of war, like he wasn’t pulling his weight. Like he was missing out on the action. Like killing was a right of passage.

Peter had been predictably squeaky about it when he’d finally done it, trembling and shaking and whimpering. Sirius had thought he was being overdramatic - the man had been crushed by accident, it’s not as though Peter meant to do it… but James had comforted him. Sirius wonders now whether it had all been an act. Or maybe that first accidental kill was the one that gave him a taste for it.

He wasn’t particularly squeaky about blowing up that street, anyway. All the smoke. The Muggles. That sickening, metallic scent of blood in the air. Peter hadn’t spared much thought about killing twelve innocent people, had he?

Never mind the thoughts he hadn't spared for James and Lily.

For all that he’d secretly wished for his chance to do it, Sirius knows now: killing is ugly. It’s final, it’s dirty, and it rankles the soul.

He’s sure that if he’d managed it, it would be all the Dementors would leave him to dwell on. He should be grateful he hadn’t. Still, though. As he sits in the cell that will be his coffin, imprisoned as the worst murderer in wizarding history… the irony isn’t lost on him.

The worst murderer, alright.

It’s a joke so depressing even the Dementors can’t suck it away.

#sirius black #hp microfic #canon compliant #maurauders fanfic #idk what this is #but have it anyway

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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And so, Someone Else's Life comes to an end.

Read the epilogue here.

Read from the beginning here.

I know I've posted this fic with unhinged frequency (which I now regret because I'm sad it's over), but I just want to say how fun it's been! Thank you to everyone who gave kudos, commented, or sent me an ask/message, you are the reason this fic was done so quickly!

It's been a complete joy getting back into the Hinny fandom after such a long break, and I have so much love for this little community.

Now, I'm going to go and figure out what to do with my life when it's not completely taken over with this story...

#hinny #that last line tho #this was the most fun adventure #fic rec #read this

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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Warning: contains copious amounts of Weasley sibling fluff and two soulmates being obnoxiously in love.

Read chapter 14 here.

Read from the beginning here.

#I can’t believe it’s over #hinny #if you haven’t read this yet #READ IT

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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Priorities

A/N: I swear I'm going back to SEL now, but I sat down at my keyboard and this just came out of nowhere. Please accept this fluff filled HBP missing moment in penance for my procrastination:

Read on AO3

“Dean!”

Harry's stomach dropped at the sound of Dean's name from a voice that was unmistakably Ginny's. He turned to find her hurrying towards them across the common room, her school bag hanging haphazardly from her shoulder, and her eyes bright despite the early hour.

He wanted to keep walking. He'd thought he'd finally seen the last of her and Dean together since their break up a week ago, and he had no desire to witness more of it now, but Seamus stopped, and Harry had agreed to go to breakfast with both of them in place of Ron and Hermione, who were both busy with prefect duties.

Reluctantly, Harry halted beside Seamus, trying to look at anything but the way the morning sunlight slanted through the common room's high windows and made Ginny's hair look like it was glowing where it framed her face.

“I hoped I'd catch you before you left the common room,” she said. Harry tried not to listen, but it was impossible, it was like his ears were attuned to the exact, musical frequency of Ginny's voice.

“Did you?” Dean asked sceptically. “We've not really spoken since we��”

“Well, I've been busy with Quidditch, and OWL work,” Ginny said, and even without looking Harry knew she'd be waving a hand unconcernedly in front of her. “But I wanted to give you this back.”

Beside Harry, Seamus sucked in a sharp breath. Harry’s neck moved without any permission from his brain, forcing him to look.

She was holding an article of claret coloured clothing out to Dean, one that Harry recognised immediately. Something integral inside him had taken great offence the first time he’d seen her wearing Dean's West Ham jumper; he'd not grown to appreciate it any more on any of the following, mercifully infrequent, occasions either.

“You can keep it,” Dean said now, looking extremely caught off guard. “I didn’t expect you to give it back.”

Ginny shook her head. “No, it's yours. I meant to give it you last week, but I've been–”

“Busy,” Dean finished for her. “You said.”

He took the jumper, clutching it awkwardly against his body. Harry looked away again. Seamus cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I'll just put this in the dorm,” Dean said. “No point carrying it around all day.”

“I’ll come with you,” Seamus offered. Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on a tapestry of a witch petting a unicorn hanging on the far wall.

“Bye, Ginny.”

“Bye, Dean.”

Harry felt rather than saw Seamus move away from him. He heard the simultaneous footsteps of him and Dean making their way back to the dormitory. He didn't look away from the tapestry until he heard the door to the staircase open, when he did, it was to find Ginny looking at him apologetically.

“Did I just doom you to a solitary breakfast?”

Harry shrugged, ignoring the flutter of butterflies rising in his stomach. “Not if you come with me?”

Thankfully, Ginny grinned in response to this suggestion, meaning Harry was spared from dying of embarrassment that morning.

“Come on then. I need to report back to Mum that you're eating properly.”

“Why would I not be eating properly?” He followed her to the portrait hole.

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know, it's Mum, she thinks everyone's not eating properly.”

The corridor outside Gryffindor Tower was deserted. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way towards the staircase.

“Sorry if that was really awkward,” Ginny said, throwing a glance over her shoulder, obviously checking for Dean, who did not appear to have come back down from the dormitory yet. “I've been carrying that bloody jumper around in my bag for days trying to find a time to give it back. I had to take the opportunity when it was presented to me.”

“Honestly, I'm just glad it's gone,” Harry said, before his brain could engage his mouth. Ginny's eyebrows rose about as much as Harry's heart plummeted. “It's killed me to see you in West Ham colours,” he said quickly.

Ginny frowned. “I didn't realise you were such a big football fan.”

Well, he was going to have to pretend to be now. “I live with Muggles, don't I?”

“You've never mentioned a football team,” she pressed.

Harry could feel her eyes studying his face like a physical touch. His heart was hammering in his chest; his brain had conveniently chosen that moment to stop working; he couldn't name a single football team even with a wand to his head.

“I–”

“Actually, I have a more important question!” Ginny announced, saving Harry from whatever stuttered nonsense had been about to come out of his mouth. “Do you even have a Quidditch team?”

They were at the staircase now, Ginny was a few steps ahead of him, making their height difference even starker than usual as she looked up at him curiously.

“Er, Gryffindor?” Harry tapped the Captain's badge pinned to his jumper.

“No!” Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation. She paused, waiting for Harry to catch up to her. “An actual team – a professional team?”

“Oh, I guess–”

“Don't say it!” Ginny said, ending Harry's sentence once more. Her eyes narrowed. “If you tell me Ron's converted you to the Cannons, I'm going to disown you.”

“Disown me?” he repeated, his smile growing in response to the one gracing Ginny's face. “I wasn't aware you owned me to begin with.”

“Weren't you?” She looked away from him, taking the next flight of stairs two at a time. “Well, now you are.”

“Unless I tell you I'm a Cannons supporter?” Harry increased his pace to keep up with her. “And then you're going to disown me?”

“Exactly.”

Was she blushing or was that just in Harry's head?

“I'd better not risk it then.”

She was definitely blushing. Or, more likely, he had started with waking delusions to match the near constant ones he had about her in his dreams.

Ginny stopped on the step directly below him. She turned, placing her hand lightly on Harry's chest, halting both his descent, and the beat of his heart.

“Let me tell you why you should be a Holyhead Harpies fan.”

“Is this your sales pitch?” It was a wonder he could speak at all when his lungs had stopped working.

She nodded. She was so close, her head tilted up to look at him, and her hand on his chest spreading warmth throughout his entire body. It would be so easy to lean down and–

Ginny took a step backwards, letting her arm fall away from Harry as she continued down the stairs. Her eyes, however, never left his.

“One.” She lifted a finger in the air beside her. “Choosing the only all-female team in the league will make you appear sensitive, and extremely attractive, to most girls.”

“You want me to make a decision as important as this based on what girls might think?”

Somehow, he managed to keep to himself that he was on the verge of doing just that, based on what one particular girl might think.

Ginny shrugged. “It's a sales pitch, I'm trying to appeal to your top priorities.”

“Well, the opinions of unknown girls isn't one of them.”

“Good to know.”

“Is it?” He hadn't meant for his voice to drop so low, but he definitely liked the way Ginny's smile grew in response.

“Yes, it helps me figure out my angle.” She raised a second finger in the air. “Two: their colours are green and gold, which my mother would assure you are your colours too.”

Harry laughed; the sound bounced off the ancient walls surrounding them. “So, upon hearing I'm not making this choice based on the opinion of girls I might, hypothetically, want to impress, your next thought was your mum?”

“No!” Ginny protested through a laugh of her own. “My next thought was that you look good in green!”

Harry's laughter died as his breath was stolen from him once again.

“Three,” Ginny said quickly, raising a third finger into the air. “This one is the most important.”

“Go on,” he managed to say.

They were almost at the marble staircase now. Ginny halted their progress by leaning against the balustrade that overlooked the entrance hall. Harry lingered beside her, finding nothing to complain about in spending longer in her company.

“In a few years, when they sign me – which is definitely going to happen – you don't want the inner turmoil of choosing between your loyalty to another team and me.”

“There would be no inner turmoil,” Harry said, acutely aware that he should shut up, but finding himself completely incapable of doing so when Ginny was looking at him like she currently was. “I would obviously choose you.”

Her smile was almost too brilliant to look at, yet Harry couldn't look away. “Oh, so you'd say I'm quite high on your priority list?”

He didn't know if she took a step closer, or he did, all he knew was that the gap between them had decreased significantly, and that his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest.

“Fairly high, yeah.”

Ginny's eyes bored into his; Harry was transfixed. He waited, barely breathing, to see what her response would be. The corner of her mouth twitched–

“There you are!” Ron's voice crashed into him with the force of a lightning bolt.

Harry jumped back from Ginny, whipping his head around to see Ron and Hermione approaching, Ron grinning broadly, and Hermione looking almost as pained as Harry currently felt.

“Have you eaten?” Ron asked.

Harry glanced at Ginny to find her glaring at Ron. “We were just on our way to breakfast.”

“Excellent,” Ron said obliviously. “We're done with rounds.”

He continued walking, without stopping, in the direction of the marble staircase, apparently secure in the knowledge that Harry and Ginny would join him and Hermione. A fair assumption, Harry reminded himself, pushing off the balustrade.

“I'm going to tell him,” Ginny said, quietly enough for only Harry to hear as she fell into step beside him. Harry's stomach sank, his brain leaping into overdrive, imagining Ginny informing Ron that he'd just spent the whole walk from the common room treacherously flirting with his sister. “...that you've betrayed the Cannons in favour of the Harpies.”

“I don't think I actually agreed to that yet.” He hoped his shaking voice was only detectable to him.

If Ginny noticed, she didn't show it. She was smiling again, her eye catching his. “You as good as did,” she said as they crossed the entrance hall. “But don't worry, it can be our secret for now.”

#oh my god #you look good in green #Ginny you riotous flirt #hinny #hbp missing moment

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

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Y'all need to thank @merlinsbudgiesmugglers for being the most supportive, wonderful person, without whom this chapter (read here) would not be being posted right now.

Also, the eagle eyed will have noticed this is now a 15 chapter fic, because of pacing and my inability to shut up about Hinny

#please never shut up about hinny #hinny #fic rec

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ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey · 2 months

Text

Rose

Written for @hinnymicrofic February 2024, using December 2023 Prompt 28

Written with love, because everyone gets busy sometimes, and the world always needs more hinny! Also - as usual, stretching the definition of micro!

Rose sat on the bench, watching as the flock of pigeons pecked in the dust at the foot of Nelson’s Column. She enjoyed watching the birds. Everyone else seemed to hate them, to regard them as a menace, but she always found them comically amusing.

She tried to come here most weeks, though it wasn’t as often now. The journey was too much for her aching hip. But she’d force herself if she possibly could, because what was the alternative? Sitting alone in her little flat? Rose much preferred to be out in the fresh air, especially on a day like this.

Besides, coming here, to Trafalgar Square, always made her feel closer to her Stanley. It reminded her of trips to see the paintings in the gallery behind her, when they were first courting. They didn’t know much about art, her and Stanley, but the gallery was free, and neither of them had much spare cash in those days. Besides, it made her feel very posh, dressed in her best frock and hat, looking at the paintings. Afterwards, he’d buy them an ice cream, and they would sit together on these very benches, watching the pigeons, laughing together and falling in love.

She sighed to herself. He’d been gone eleven years now, and it still felt like she was missing a limb, but sitting here, on a bright, sunny day, he didn’t feel so very far away. She smiled to herself, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply as she allowed herself to imagine that he’d left her for just a minute to go and buy those ice creams from the little kiosk by the steps.

Her eyes drifted open once more, and wandered over the other people gathered in the square. There was a group of school children, racing back and forth, and scattering the pigeons, while their increasingly harassed teachers attempted to corral them. Three young women that she thought were probably nannies chatted in Spanish as they pushed their young charges in buggies in the direction of Admiralty Arch and St James’s Park beyond. A man in a smart business suit carrying a briefcase was talking to someone on one of those new-fangled mobile phones.

Then a young couple caught her eye. They approached from the direction of Whitehall, walking hand in hand, and eating ice creams. Hers was chocolate, and his was strawberry - exactly what she and Stanley would have chosen. She wasn’t sure exactly how she knew, but it was immediately obvious to her that they were very much in love. Perhaps it was the easy way that the girl tilted her head into the boy’s shoulder, or the way he dropped occasional kisses into her hair. It warmed Rose’s soul to see it.

They made a handsome couple, she thought. The girl was extremely pretty, petite, with a wicked smile and the sort of hourglass figure that Rose had so envied in her youth. She had long red hair that tumbled down her back, and a healthy crop of freckles dusting her skin both above and below her denim shorts and stretchy strapless top. Some of her friends at the bridge club might have had something to say about the substantial amount of skin the girl was showing, but personally, Rose thought she looked cute as a button. She liked to see the young making the most of their youth. It was gone all too soon.

Her boyfriend was tall and slender. At first glance, you might think he was skinny, but the lean, whip-like muscles visible down his arms below the sleeves of his faded green t-shirt told a different story. His hair was black, and very messy, and he was wearing wire rimmed glasses that reminded her of the ones Stanley used to wear. As she watched them, the light breeze caught his hair, and Rose saw a strange scar running down his forehead and through his eyebrow. She frowned, wondering what could have caused such an injury. It was a shame, she thought, that such a handsome face was so badly marked, but the girl didn’t seem to mind and that, supposed Rose, was all that mattered.

Together, they wandered across the stone paving, stopping to look up at the statue of Nelson as the boy tossed the last of his wafer cone into his mouth. The girl gazed upwards, frowning as though confused, and the boy dipped his head to say something to her. The girl looked even more puzzled, then her face cleared, and she nudged the boy playfully, clearly catching him in some joke at her expense. The boy caught her wrists, grinning at her, and she giggled, then protested when he leaned forward to lick her ice cream. They were both laughing when he released her, and she offered him the remains of her cone. He made short work of it, and then drew her towards him, crashing his lips into hers.

Now that’s a proper kiss, thought Rose. The two of them stayed there, locked together, as though they were the only two souls in the entire city, and when they finally broke apart, Rose could see a look of euphoria on the girl’s face. Grinning broadly, she took a pace backwards, spread her arms wide, tilted her chin to the sky and began to spin around. She appeared to the woman as the embodiment of pure joy.

The boy just stood and watched her, his own expression making it clear just how besotted he was. His hand dropped into the pocket of his jeans, and even at quite a distance, Rose could see him swallow hard, as though he was bracing himself for something. A moment later the girl stilled, facing him. Rose thought perhaps he might have called her name. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, the boy dropped to one knee, and in the same movement pulled a small red box from his pocket, presenting it to her.

The girl’s hands flew to her face, which flushed bright pink, a vivid shade that clashed violently with her hair. She nodded vigorously, and her eyes brightened with tears. Gently, the boy took her hand, and slipped a ring onto her finger, then stood and pulled her back into his arms once again. A few minutes later, arm in arm, they began to stroll back up towards Charing Cross Road, passing quite close to Rose as they did so.

“Congratulations,” she told them.

“Oh! Thank you!” exclaimed the girl, beaming. The boy said nothing, only grinned.

Rose sat and watched them go. They both seemed so young, perhaps not even into their twenties. Once again, she was reminded of her and Stanley. They’d married young too, but then again, so had most people back then, eager to put down roots after the war. Stanley had worn his RAF uniform on their wedding day, and he had looked so very handsome. They’d been separated for so long, Stanley aboard a Lancaster bomber as a navigator, while she did her bit on the home front, working as a nurse at a city hospital during the Blitz, each of them facing terrible danger every single day. She remembered how terrified she’d been that he might never come back to her, and when she saw him standing at her door on that wonderful day when he did, the wave of relief was so powerful that her knees buckled underneath her. They’d been married six months later, battered and bruised and very much not the same innocent couple eating ice creams in their Sunday best in Trafalgar Square, but perhaps loving one another more fiercely because of it.

Twisting her shoulders, Rose could just pick out long red hair alongside a messy black head in the crowds, silently wishing them every happiness. She was glad they would never have to know the horror of a war that threatened their very existence, or the pain of an enforced separation where neither could be sure whether the other was even still alive. They would make a beautiful bride and groom, she was sure.

The shriek of a delighted toddler, racing through the flock of pigeons momentarily pulled her attention away. When she looked back, the boy and the girl were gone.

#hinny #hinny microfic #this is so good #I love an outsider POV Ginny

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