#HINNY MICROFIC
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Scent
@hinnymicrofic
“When did you finally figure it out?” Ginny asks. Her hair is fanned out around her, the red a shocking contrast to the green of the Quidditch pitch.
They’d been mucking about - flying, tossing a Quaffle, racing, perhaps brushing up against each other in the sky more than was strictly necessary for a casual scrimmage. They had finally headed for the ground as the sun made its lazy descent below the line of trees. Ginny had flopped down on the grass to watch it and Harry had joined her, the thrill of flying still singing in his chest. Or maybe that was just Ginny.
“Hmm?” Harry hums contentedly, watching the sky transition to a brilliant orange.
“When did you finally figure out that you fancied me?” Ginny asks, trailing her fingers through the grass.
The question startles him, because it seems to him now that he must’ve always fancied her, at least a bit, even if he was too thick to realize or too wrapped up in other things to notice. He’s still thinking when he answers, “When I wanted to throttle Dean.”
She laughs, which was what he’d intended. “Jealous, were you?”
“Mm,” he agrees, still mulling the question over.
Looking back on it, there are a great many glaring signals that Harry hadn’t recognized for what they were at the time. The way he’d longed for his summer with her to stretch on, the twinge of regret as she walked away on the train…
“That first Potions lesson, you were what I smelled in the Amortentia,” he muses. “That probably should’ve been a clue…”
He’d been thinking out loud, and only after he’s said it does he realize that was perhaps a more vulnerable confession than he’d intended to make. That’s a bit much, probably, when they’ve only been together a week.
“What?” Ginny says, and Harry wishes he could snatch the words back, wishes he could chew them up and swallow them to be buried somewhere deep in his gut where they belong.
“Yeah,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.
Ginny rolls over and props herself up on her elbows, her expression a mixture of incredulity and mischievousness. “Did you really? What did it smell like?”
“A few things,” he says, unable to look at her and instead pretending to be utterly entranced with the sunset. “Treacle tart. Something that smelled like my Firebolt. And…”
He finally looks at her, and finds that her eyes are glowing brighter than the sun ever could. “You.”
She seems to be struck uncharacteristically speechless, and the moment hangs for several panicked heartbeats. Then, she shuffles closer and presses her sweet lips down to his urgently, and Harry reckons he can’t have mucked it up too badly, as she runs her fingers through his hair and presses herself against him.
She pulls away suddenly and stares down at him, her eyes pressing him down into the earth, and then she lets out a bark of laughter.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“You–” she cuts herself off, rolling back over and letting out a loud breath that floats up into the darkening sky. “You can’t say shite like that to me.”
He has no idea what to say to that, but luckily she spares him by continuing. “You can’t, it isn’t fair. I already like you too much.”
Harry wonders whether the sun has set directly into his chest. “Well, me too. Clearly.”
Ginny snorts, and Harry reaches for her hand. He breathes in deeply, wanting to drink in the moment, and he thinks he catches the faint flowery scent of her lingering traitorously in the air.
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Boyfriend
Written for @hinnymicrofic November 2023 - Prompt 1
So this didn't go in quite the direction I thought it would, and ended up being a bit less micro than I expected. Hopefully the Hinny isn't too tangential!
It was late by the time Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor dormitory. This had nothing at all to do with his desire to avoid both Ron and Dean, and everything to do with spending as much time with Ginny as physically possible - but he couldn’t deny it was a very happy side effect.
He took a moment to make sure his shirt was properly buttoned again, and tried to flatten his hair in a futile attempt to make it look like he hadn’t spent the past however-many-hours with Ginny in a variety of locations around the school grounds resolutely not discussing the Ravenclaw match.
In the distance, he heard a door open, followed by a chorus of high-pitched squeals that cut off sharply as the door closed again. Clearly Ginny had reached her own dormitory. A soppy grin spread over his face as he thought of her again, no longer needing to imagine the taste of her lips, or the feel of her body pressed close to his. Unfortunately, this thought ensured that he needed to take a few more moments to compose himself before heading into his own dormitory.
When he finally pushed open the door, it was to discover that there was both good news and bad news. The good news was that Neville was already fast asleep, and (even better) neither Dean nor Seamus was there. Quite where they were given it was now well past curfew was a problem for someone else - Harry was perfectly happy to take the win.
The bad news was that Ron was very definitely there, and even more definitely awake. He was lying on his bed, fully clothed, hands behind his head, trying (Harry thought) very hard to look nonchalant.
Ron acknowledged his arrival with a nod. “Evening.”
“Evening,” replied Harry. He paused momentarily, then tried just as hard to look nonchalant as he strolled over to his own bed, and opened his truck to put his cloak back inside. Maybe, he hoped against hope, Ron wasn’t going to say anything else.
“So,” said Ron.
Fuck, thought Harry.
“You and Ginny.”
“Uh huh. Me and Ginny,” replied Harry, hoping that his tone was as light and non-committal as he intended.
“You’re her boyfriend now, then?” asked Ron.
Ron sounded conversational. Unconcerned. Calm. Harry was not fooled, not for one second. He shrugged awkwardly. He closed his trunk, then took as long as humanly possible to locate his pyjamas under his pillow. “Umm. Yeah. I guess so.”
Ron’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know so?” he asked, sharply.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Uh - no, I am,” he scrambled. “I definitely am.”
Ron cocked his head to one side. “Huh.”
Silence. Merciful silence. So why, Harry thought, was he suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to fill it? He fought it as hard as he could but ultimately, failed dismally.
“I mean, I asked her, officially, if that was what she wanted. And she said yes. So… Yeah, I’m her boyfriend. And… I really like her. I have done for ages. I… I’m not just messing about.”
More silence. Ron nodded thoughtfully.
“So are we… y’know, are we still good?” asked Harry, hopefully.
Ron gave him a hard stare. “Well that depends, doesn’t it?”
Harry swallowed hard. “It does?”
Ron’s brows wrinkled. “Yeah. Obviously.”
“Umm… what on?”
Ron looked at him as if he was exceptionally dim. “Harry, come on! She’s my sister! There are rules!”
Harry felt his heart sinking. This was the exact thing that he’d been afraid of, that had held him back for so long. And just when everything seemed to be falling into place. “There are?”
“Yeah. Rules,” confirmed Ron.
Harry couldn’t help himself. It was like he could see the headlights of the approaching lorry, and he just couldn’t seem to get out of the way. “And the rules would be….?”
Ron sighed. “Okay, if you’re going to make me spell it out for you.” He held up his hand, fingers splayed, ready to count them off. “Firstly, you don’t hurt her. Ever. In any way.”
Well that one was straightforward enough. “Got it.”
“Secondly,” counted Ron, “whatever it was that I saw in the common room before, I don’t want to see that ever again.”
Well, that one might be a touch trickier, but he was sure they could be discreet. “Er… Okay?”
“Thirdly,” continued Ron, pointing at his middle finger, “you have to escort her to and from all her classes, carry her bag and her books, serve her at mealtimes, give her your coat if she’s cold, do any shopping she needs. You know, just generally look after her properly.”
Harry frowned. That sounded a bit full on, but even then, it wasn’t so much that he wouldn’t do it, more that he couldn't imagine Ginny letting him. “Er, Ron?” he began.
But Ron wasn’t listening. “Fourthly, you can’t be alone with her at any time. You need a chaperone, permanently.”
Harry blinked, hard. How on earth did Ron think that could possibly ever work? “What? Ron, I don’t think…” he protested.
Ron just ignored him. “Fifthly, you don’t touch her. Ever. Anywhere. I’ll let you off with the common room thing because we hadn’t talked, but you can’t lay another hand on her. Or any other bit of you, for that matter.”
And at that point, Harry decided he’d had enough. “Oh come on, Ron! This is ridiculous! You can’t really expect…” he began, hotly.
But before he could continue, a horrible strangled noise came from Neville’s bed, making him jump. He jerked his head towards the sound, then realised that Neville was shaking violently under his blankets.
“Oh my god, Ron! I think he’s having a fit!” Harry dashed to Neville’s side, visions of Ron convulsing in Slughorn’s study flashing through his head. Where was he going to get a bezoar this time?
Harry pulled back Neville’s blanket and rolled his friend onto his back. Neville’s face was bright red and screwed up as though he was in pain. Except wait - no, that wasn’t pain, was it? It was… hang on, was it laughter?
Utterly confused, Harry turned to look at Ron, to find that he, too, was now laughing so hard he was practically doubled up with it.
“I’m sorry, Ron,” gasped Neville. “I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. That was brilliant! I don’t know how you kept a straight face.”
“Oh, Harry - your face! It was priceless!” said Ron, tears running down his cheeks. “Don’t worry, Neville. I was running out of fingers anyway.”
“You mean… all those rules? You were making them up?” Harry couldn’t decide whether he was furious or relieved.
“We were talking while you were out, about how far Ron thought he could push you,” confessed Neville.
“Well, you just snogged my sister in front of pretty much everyone,” agreed Ron. “I reckoned I deserved a bit of payback.”
“So you’re not pissed off with me?” Harry checked.
Ron shook his head. “Nah. If you’re nuts enough to actually willingly go out with Ginny, I reckon that’s punishment enough.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Though I really would appreciate you keeping the snogging to a minimum while I’m around.”
Finally, relief won out, and Harry’s face split into a grin of his own. “Deal.”
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Sunlight Through the Curtains
She was well past ready to get up.
She didn’t know how long she had been lying there awake, but it was long enough that the slant of bright sunlight slicing through the gap in the curtains had moved in an arc across the ceiling. From the angle of the light, she calculated it was likely at least half-past ten, but she couldn’t see the clock from here. Her bladder was fit to burst and there was a rumble in her stomach as she contemplated what to cook for breakfast and hell, but she could murder a cup of tea right now.
Still, she didn’t rise.
Her head turned to look at the sleeping face on the pillow beside her. He’d fallen asleep with his hand on her breast. His breath moved in and out through his nose in long, soft snores. Harry always could sleep like the dead on a Sunday morning.
She looked back to the ceiling, feeling the weight of his hand holding her there as though, even in sleep, he feared losing her. It was sweet. But damn, she really had to pee.
Slowly, so as to avoid waking him, she rolled to her side, intending to swing her feet over the edge of the bed. His hand slipped down to rest over her navel as she did. Reflexively, without waking, Harry let out a soft sigh, wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her backwards against him. Her body moulded against his snuggly, arse pressed firmly against his pelvis. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, feel each exhale tickling the hair at her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the resigned smile stretch across her lips.
She groped blindly for her wand on her bedside table. When at last her fingers had managed to grasp it, she flicked it at the curtains. The gap snapped shut with a slight clatter of the rings, and the streak of sunshine flickered out.
Her bladder could wait a little longer.
(Also on AO3 here)
#wishing you a lazy sunday morning with someone you love#harry potter fanfiction#hp fanfic#hinny microfic#hinny fluff#hinny#harry potter#ginny weasley#or insert your blorbo here I suppose
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Adorable
@hinnymicrofic
Prompt: “You’re adorable, you know that?” “What?” “Nothing...”
Harry watched as Ginny scrunched her nose with frustration as she tried to dry her hair with her wand. With a chuckle, “Here, let me help.” He offered. Resigned to her fate, Ginny walked over to Harry, handing him her wand, and turned around so that he could dry her hair.
With a simple flick of the wand, Ginny’s hair bounced back to her natural curls. “Thanks.” She sighed in relief. He gave her wand back, and with a grin, he said, “You’re adorable, you know?” “What?” But Ginny didn’t seem to hear him as she walked over to the closet, looking for suitable clothes to wear. “Nothing.”
“I heard that.” Ginny called. Harry could hear the smile in her voice. “Heard what?” He feigned innocence. “Your compliment. You called me adorable.” “Because you are! You are so adorable and I want it all to myself.” “Harry!” Ginny whined. “You know I don’t like being called adorable! I’m Ginny Weasley, Quidditch Player Extraordinaire, Fierce Witch with the best Bat Bogey hex known to man!”
“Ginny Potter now.” She felt strong arms engulf her and a husky voice in her ear, making her blush. She whirled around in his arms, grabbing his shirt and pressed her lips to his. She kissed him like there was no return, passionate, and bruising. She felt like she could kiss him forever, and felt safe in his arms in a way that she never had before. She was Ginny Potter, and she completely melted in Harry’s arms.
#harry potter#hp fandom#hp#ginny weasley#harry james potter#hinny#harry and ginny#harry x ginny#harry potter fandom#hinny microfic#ginevra weasley#ginevra molly weasley#ginny potter#married hinny
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@hinnymicrofic - July 2023
Prompt no.6: Desperate (ao3)
“I was so proud that day, y’know…”
“Which day?” Harry looked down at her.
“When you kissed me,” Ginny smiled at him, “after the match.”
Harry grinned. “I am sure you were.” He looked up at the clear sky and the stars and slung an arm around her. They were sitting a few yards away from the rest of the Weasleys, who were all lounging lazily after a gruelling Quidditch match. “You showed the entire school that you weren’t just an amazing Chaser but also a very talented Seeker.”
Harry looked surprised when Ginny swiftly nudged his side. “That’s not what I am talking about!”
“Then?” Harry frowned.
“I was proud that I waited, got over you but still managed to bag you,” she said, raising her chin.
He laughed. “You have no idea how much I was pining after you that year.”
“Oh, stop joking.” When Harry simply smiled at her, she asked, “Wait- really?”
“Yes, really,” Harry chuckled. “Ginny, I was desperate .”
“Look at that,” Ginny grinned, throwing her arm over his shoulder. “We were both losers.”
“We kind of were.”
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Enough
@hinnymicrofic , December 30th prompt (same as title). 350ish words. Thanks thanks to the hosts for so much love and effort for such a long time! 💕
“You barely touched your cake tonight,” Ginny said softly.
A pall dropped over Harry’s face. “Did your mother notice? I’m sorry. I tried.”
They both looked down then, from the roof down to the garden. She wondered if he was remembering the same things that she was, beneath their halting conversation about the day’s events. His birthday was the first party they’d all had since the War ended; of course they’d both be thinking of the one a year ago.
Purple lanterns, purple streamers. His godson still a secret: Tonks’ belly, Tonks’ hand. Fred had caught a gnome again, and tried to make it sing.
She remembered how urgently he had kissed her back.
His quiet confession brought her back to the present. “I didn’t think I’d have this. Any of it, really. It’s…it’s a lot.”
“Too much?” she asked, voice gentle.
He sighed. “Just….just, more.”
“Let it be just enough for tonight, Harry. Please.” As she reached into her pocket, her throat tightened around all the things she couldn’t say. The things she knew her mother had put in the birthday cake, the sweetness that Ginny had kept wrapped up in gold cloth for him. He still didn’t eat quite as much as he used to.
“One bite. Close your eyes. I did that, sometimes, last year.” The need she’d felt came back to her—to make that little world, to take strength from being fed. How carefully she’d imagined the things that had grown and come together to lead to that small moment, her alive in a castle with salt on her tongue.
Butter. Sugar. Flour. Grief. He did just as she’d said, and it almost hurt to look at him, like it hurt to look at Teddy. To see grass over Fred’s grave. She pulled her eyes away from him before he opened his.
“There’s still a bit left,” murmured Harry, pressing the fork down the center of the crumb. “And you didn’t have much, either.”
She matched his fragile smile and they finished off the cake.
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Written for @hinnymicrofic 🧶🐑
Read here or on A03
Harry was kneeling in front of the fire, stirring the red embers with a poker, his gaze far away.
He was wearing his dad's sweater, the one he had found when he was sorting through Remus' belongings, in a worn box with "James" written on the side. The jumper was very scratchy, it smelt strongly of sheep and something more like burnt wood but it reminded him of the sitting room at the Burrow, a familiar scent.
It seemed a bit odd that the old woolen sweater was too short for Harry and kept riding up his back. It never occurred to him that he could be taller than his father.
A moth had made a small hole in the left wrist and several stitches were missing. He tried to keep his fingers off it but it was so tempting to play with it, and now the hole was already widening.
Ginny had been surprised the first time she saw him wearing it, the classical cable knit jumper was not the kind of fashion Harry usually liked. It would be more like Arthur Weasley to get one of those, keeping it year after year, a special outfit to hang around in the shack late at night, rummaging through Muggle artifacts.
She leaned over to the back of Harry's neck, moved the collar aside and dropped a small kiss on the warm skin there.
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Gryffindor
written for @hinnymicrofic sort of nsfw (blame @brightlybound & @corneliaavenue)
Ginny loosened the knot in the old necktie, one end of the scarlet and gold fabric remaining fastened to the headboard.
“You hated that,” Ginny said with a wry twist to her mouth. “Didn’t you?”
Harry rubbed feeling back into his wrists. “No…”
His lie didn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears, and Ginny gave him a flat look, not budging from her spot straddling his hips.
“Not if you liked it?” he finished.
She blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“If you liked it,” he shrugged, “then I liked it.”
“Harry,” Ginny shook her head. “We’re both supposed to like it.”
When he didn’t answer right away, she reached out to scratch her fingers through his hair. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and a tingle shuddered down his spine at the contact.
“I like this more,” he muttered, chasing her touch.
She leaned in closer, ghosting her lips against his. “This too?”
Humming his assent, Harry trailed his hands up her hips to her waist, holding her firmly to him as afterglow reignited into sparks. He pulled his tongue across her jaw, nipping and sucking around her pulse point.
“Unbelievable,” Ginny whispered through a hitch in her breath. “I was going to offer we tie me up and try again, but you’d probably just do this, anyway.”
“Hey–” Harry leaned back enough to meet her eyes. The prospect of Ginny having to keep her hands to herself wasn’t overly exciting, but he could still think of few ideas. “I’ll try anything once.”
She snorted. “Spoken like a true Gryffindor.”
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@hinnymicrofic June Day 5: Dirty
Harry always came back from his playdates with Ron Weasley extremely dirty.
Molly had tried to apologize to them about that once. Lily had laughed it off. “Boys will be boys,” she’d told her son’s best friend’s mother.
“We’re sorry about Harry getting Ron into all this trouble,” James had added. “I’m sure he’s the instigator.”
Thus had borne the friendship between the adults as well.
This last one, though, had had her eight-year-old son grumbling like never before. “It’s not going to be just Ron and me this time!” He complained. “His whole family will be there.”
“Sounds like fun to me,” Lily had said, trying to wrangle him into decent clothes rather than the garish monstrosities he liked to wear at home. James’ influence, certainly.
“It’s not,” Harry whined. “Fred and George are cool, but Percy is the worst. He doesn’t like playing and is all smug about going to Hogwarts and is always lecturing Ron an’ me about getting so dirty!” He sniffed and crossed his arms. “And Ginny’s a girl!”
“What’s wrong with that?” She asked amused. “I’m a girl, I’ll have you know.”
Harry waved it off with childish imperious impatience. “You’re Mummy,” he said importantly, like those things were mutually exclusive. “’S different.”
“Oh, is it?” Lily began tickling her son mercilessly. “I’ll show you what girls can do!”
Harry began to giggle helplessly, attempting to fend her off. “Stop, Mum! Dad! Dad, help!”
It had grown into an all-out tickle and pillow war, with the boys ganging up on her before she trounced them handily.
“Don’t underestimate girls, son,” James had groaned at Harry, who nodded miserably in reply.
They’d sent him off with hugs and kisses through the Floo, and Molly came in their fireplace to announce his safe arrival.
“He loves Ron,” James assured her. “And he’ll get over the others being there. He’ll have fun.”
Lily smiled at him mischievously. “And whatever will we do while he’s there?”
They had plenty of fun themselves, and were waiting for Harry to come through three hours later.
He was practically glowing, despite being so incredibly dirty.
“She’s amazing!” He said, starstruck.
They exchanged a look with raised eyebrows. Their son looked to be in love. “Who is?”
“Ginny, of course!” Harry exclaimed, like they were ridiculous for not knowing when he hadn’t ever expressed anything like this. “She played awesome! She was on my team, and we beat everyone!” He beamed.
“Wow,” James said enthusiastically. “She sounds great.”
Harry nodded wildly. “And she flies really good, Dad. Better than you, even!”
Lily highly doubted a seven-year-old girl flew better than someone who could have gone professional, but amused at their son’s gushing, they humoured him. “Oh really?”
“I’ll have to fly against her, then.” James said, smiling.
“She’ll beat you,” Harry assured them. “She’s the best. I told Mrs. Weasley that she should always be there to play with us.”
“So she’s a better friend to you than Ron?” James asked.
Harry looked conflicted, before his face cleared. Lily couldn’t wait to hear his reply. He adored Ron from the bottom of his heart, but it looked like Ginny was his first crush. She couldn’t believe her baby was so grown up already.
“No!” He exclaimed. “Ron’s my best friend. Like Uncle Sirius is to you, dad!”
“And what is Ginny?” He asked.
“She’s what Mum is to you!” Harry said, obviously very pleased with himself. Lily and James both choked, in laughter and shock. “I’m gonna marry her someday!”
Lily recovered first. “Sure thing, big boy,” she ruffled his hair and he pouted up at her. “But now you need to go wash and get all that dirt off you.”
He nodded easily – he was an obedient child except for his wild streak – and made his way up the stairs to his room. Lily and James stared at each other.
“His first crush,” James said, sounding half-pained, half happy.
“Apparently, he’s going to marry her one day,” she said, experience the same mixture of emotions. “Let’s not tell him kid crushes don’t usually work out.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” James grinned at her. “Mine did.”
“Oh, shove off!” Lily grumbled playfully, but she was smiling.
“I was eleven years old when I got my first crush, and I did end up marrying her.” James continued. “Who’s to say Harry won’t?”
“Who’s to say indeed,” Lily laughed, kissing her husband.
Harry and Ginny’s story would certainly prove to be interesting.
Lily couldn’t wait to see that and the rest of her son’s life unfold.
#hinny#hinny microfic#jily#fanfiction#fanfic#harry potter#harry james potter#james potter#lily evans potter#lily evans#jily lives#kid fic
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June Prompt #1: Blue for @hinnymicrofic (post-war, canon compliant. Roughly three years after the war) Read on AO3
He damn near has an existential crisis when he overhears Ron and Hermione arguing over his favorite color some weeks before his birthday - red Ron said, no, green Hermione had said. And all Harry could think is - fuck, neither.
But then, why can't he answer which is his favorite color? And that's when the almost existential crisis begins.
He supposes he understands why Ron and Hermione are confused. His entire wardrobe is outfitted in jumpers of scarlet and emerald, all lovingly knitted by Mrs. - Molly. She certainly has a penchant for dressing him in Gryffindor colors if she isn't trying to match his eyes, she claims she can never get the color just right. He hasn't bought himself clothes since he burned everything that summer after the war was over, and what he bought back then was all basic black, white, and shades of those in between. All the color he wears comes solely from Molly's knitting basket.
How does one determine their favorite color anyway? Is he supposed to just know? Maybe Ginny would know. She's intuitive like that.
He leaves Ron's cubicle, not having even interrupted their argument to review the case file in his hand. It can wait til the morning. Ginny was likely prepping dinner as it is. He practically runs out of the floo, stumbling through the lobby of their wizarding complex to the lifts, impatient as the ancient piece of machinery rumbles up to their fifth floor flat. He should have taken the stairs.
"Gin!" he calls, shucking his cloak and heavy boots at the door. "Ginny, what's my favorite color?"
Her laughter tinkles out from the kitchen, "What is this, our new security question?"
Damn, that's probably a good idea. Seeing as he can't even answer the damn question himself, it'd confuse the fuck out of imposters.
"Ron says it's red and Hermione says it's green, but…" he cuts himself off and wrinkles his nose, Ginny mirroring him as she rounds the doorframe.
"Don't be silly, it's clearly blue."
And fuck, if the floor doesn't come out from under him. Another color to consider? Although…
He realizes Ginny's prattling on about colors and he's missed about half of what she's said. He jerks back to focus on her words.
"...Mum's obsession with your eyes. And she's not wrong, of course, your eyes do look drool worthy when you wear green, but that hardly means green's your favorite. Honestly, Hermione thinks she's so observant but she doesn't see how cocky you are on days you wear your blue boxers or how giddy you get when you discover I'm wearing one of my blue knicker sets. Nor should she, mind. Knowledge of our under things is for you and me alone. And neither of them were with us when you tried to fill the buggy with every blue towel at Tesco. You always pick blue ink when you aren't filling out your department forms…What? Why are you smiling at me like that?"
He can't help the goofy grin plastered on his face listening to Ginny ramble about all the little ways she's determined his favorite color. He likes knowing she's paid such close attention to his habits, his preferences, that she knows him so well.
"Yours is yellow," he blurts, determined to show he notices all the little things about Ginny just as much as she does him. Merlin help him if he's wrong.
"You always pick the yellow wildflowers when you make those little flower crowns. Always pink and white for the one you make Victoire, but just yellow for your own. And when you're sick, you always pick the yellow blanket to curl up under, even if you have to dig out of the wash. Yellow dresses make you twirl instead of just swish the skirt."
Her grin matches his now and he knows he's nailed it. She reaches for his collar the same moment he reaches for her hip and they pull each other in for a sloppy kiss, giggly and carefree, and so in love.
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Someone's Mum
For @hinnymicrofic -Day 20 "Mom"
The poster unfurled, a Quidditch star winked with sass and smile
“Lucky him,” they’d say in passing
She never cared what they said
But Albus was two and he didn’t speak
“Are you miserable?” Words raw, a fear hidden, only uttered under the blanket of night.
“No,” she dared whisper, a confession in the dark. “When I’m there, I’m thinking about here. When I’m here, I’m thinking about there. Not miserable… mediocre. I never half-arsed anything that mattered and now I’m mediocre.”
Her fingers sought his, tangled in sheets.
“I catch a Quaffle and I miss the boys and I miss the hoop and I’m not crushed because my dream has become just another day with another Quaffle and another hoop and another number on another board and I miss miss miss when it mattered.”
Who was she without it?
Someone’s mum
James turned the page
another and another and another
“Again!”
another and another and another
“And down once more, but not so fast- “ *
Her shoulder needed to be iced
“They’re on their way to bed at last- “
How many times did they have to hear this story?
“The day is done they say goodnight- “
How many times would they want to?
“And somebody turns off the light- “
How many nights until they were too old
and she would
miss miss miss when it mattered
“The moon is high- “
Albus was two and still didn’t speak
“The sea is deep- “
Thumb in mouth, his green eyes followed her finger tracing the words
“They rock- “
James nestled closer, elbow jabbing the Bludger-sized bruise on her hip
“And rock- “
It hurt
Her finger trembled as it traced
“And rock- “
Albus, two, not talking, lifted enormous green eyes to hers
“To sleep- “
Green eyes that spoke sonnets
His Mum
He grinned
She was the center of his world
“What can I do?” Never one for words, he had long ago learned to ask. “What can I say?”
Sheets rustled as their fingers laced.
“What will you see, Harry?” She muttered. “I know what everyone else will see and I’ll pretend it won’t matter. But what will you see when you look at me?”
He rolled on top of her, cupping her face between his hands.
“The woman who bat-bogeys reporters and fought in a war and loves so fiercely her heart swells and splits and bleeds.”
Soft kisses to chin, cheek, eyelid.
“The effortlessly funny companion who can commentate two snails crossing the porch and have us all cheering the one with the hilariously tragic backstory.”
He lowered his forehead to hers.
“The girl who wrote in the diary who married the boy who slept in a cupboard. Neither of them have anything to prove, Gin.”
A tear escaped, rolling into her hairline.
“A Mum?”
She dared to whisper, a confession in the dark.
Irrelevant to the world
The world to three
“I’ll see you, Ginny. And I will love you until my last breath.”
The day was done, the edges curled
The Quidditch star winked as the poster furled
*Excerpt from “The Going to Bed Book” by Sandra Boynton
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flower(y) | a hinny microfic
@hinnymicrofic day 10 | prompt: flower
‘So.’
‘…so - ’
‘That was - ’
‘ - sorry it was - y’know - in front of everyone - ’
‘Be fair, not quite everyone. Just all our mates, my ex, my brother - the girl who drugged my brother - ’
‘I know - sorry - it’s just - you were right there - ’
‘Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry. Are you sorry?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘So - do you - shit, I’m still in my kit, I probably smell - ’
‘You don’t. Smell, I mean. I mean, you just smell like you.’
‘- I beg your pardon?’
‘You know. Sort of - flowery.’
‘I smell flowery?’
‘Yeah. I mean. I don’t know. You smell - nice, you always smell nice.’
‘I always smell nice - ?’
‘ - there's an echo in here - ’
‘You do not get to take the piss, Potter, not when you apparently know what I smell like - ’
‘That’s weird, isn’t it. Sorry. Sorry, I’m bad at this - I'll get better - ’
‘I’m pulling your leg, you muppet. Will you stop saying sorry? You don’t need to be sorry, it’s me.’
Two dumb big grins behind a tapestry in a deserted corridor, faces on fire, hearts going the same way. She’s taking his hand, she's here, it’s real, this is real. Yeah, he thinks, it’s you.
#happy anniversary babies#wishing happy anniversary to fictional characters on the internet what am i like#hinny#hinny microfic#ginny weasley#harry x ginny
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Hair
Written for @hinnymicrofic November 2023 - Prompt 10
School year 96/97, told through the medium of Hair
He first noticed Ginny’s hair in October, at Quidditch practice. Well, not so much noticed, because of course he had noticed before that she had hair in a general sense. She obviously wasn’t bald, was she? No, it was more like he paid particular attention to her hair, specifically. It happened when she dived sharply for a loose quaffle, twisting as she went, and whatever she’d used to clip it up to her head came loose. Suddenly, her hair was tumbling behind her, first as she hurtled towards the grass, then as she soared upwards, aiming for the hoops. It caught the late afternoon sun, and almost seemed to glow, like flames streaking through the air behind her. Ron saved her shot (with his face. Classic.), and as she pulled up in front of him, face alight with laughter, her hair fell forward, like a cloud around her shoulders. Harry decided the odd feeling in his stomach was hunger - must be time to head back up for dinner.
-----------
Ginny was grateful to Dean, checking over her Charms essay, really she was, but honestly, it was a bit dull, just sat there in the common room, waiting. Her gaze fell idly on the table in the corner, where Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting, deep in conversation. Harry had his back to her, and, for want of anything better to do, she traced the line of his hair with her eyes, where it fell, curling just slightly towards his collar. She imagined running her finger there, feeling where his hairline met the pale skin of his neck, and she shivered slightly.
“It’s pretty good, Ginny. You just need to add a bit more about the Substantive charm’s practical uses and then I think you’ve covered everything.”
Ginny jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice, suddenly feeling very guilty about the direction of her thoughts, and more than a little surprised. I mean, where the fuck did that even come from?
-----------
The Slug Club Christmas party was every bit as appalling as Harry had feared. Luna’s company helped to make it just about bearable, as did the amusing spectacle of Hermione attempting to avoid McLaggan. The biggest problem was that no matter how many utterly terrifying/incredibly dull/undoubtedly influential (delete as applicable) people Slughorn seemed determined to introduce him to, Harry found his attention constantly drawn to the flashes of long, red hair from across the room, everytime it caught the candlelight. It was impossible to miss, a beacon that always drew his gaze. But as always, Ginny remained just out of his reach.
-----------
At breakfast, before the Hufflepuff match, Ginny watched Harry carefully. Sure enough, she quickly picked up the signs that he was stressed. Losing Katie was bad enough, but Ron’s (ahem) mishap and Cormac’s subsequent recruitment was significantly more concerning. It seemed like every few seconds, he’d run his fingers through his hair. Long, slender, strong fingers, oddly delicate despite the callouses from his wand and the handle of his firebolt, though why her stupid brain insisted on noticing that, she had no idea. Well okay, maybe she had a bit of an idea. But anyway, the constant agitation made his hair stick up in spiky black tufts, even more unruly than usual - which was really saying something, wasn’t it?
Maybe it would be neater if he cut it shorter? she thought - but he wouldn’t like that, would he? Because if it was shorter, it wouldn’t flop down over his forehead, covering his scar. And, now she came to think about it, she wouldn’t like it either. There was something strangely hot about he always looked so dishevelled, like he had perennially just got out of bed. She wondered, not for the first time, whether it was as soft as it appeared? She imagined running her own fingers through it, the feeling of it against the delicate skin between her fingers and… oh crap, she didn’t just sigh out loud, did she?
“Everything okay, Ginny?” enquired Hermione, her tone solicitous, but her expression irritatingly knowing. “You look a bit… flushed.”
“Yes, fine,” she answered, smoothly, returning Hermione’s arched eyebrow with one of her own. “Just a bit warm in here, isn’t it?”
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By the time Harry arrived at The Burrow at Easter, he knew he was in real trouble. Being in such close proximity to Ginny was… problematic. Everything about her was just so bloody attractive, and it did things to him. Case in point: when Hermione was finally persuaded to make up the numbers for two-aside Quidditch. Harry honestly didn’t expect this to be an issue - after all, he’d played Quidditch with Ginny countless times, and okay it was often a bit distracting, but this was something else. Obviously, her lips didn’t help, pink and slightly parted as she concentrated on stealing the quaffle from under his nose, but the main difference was the way she was dressed, in the unseasonably warm weather. Those unnecessarily short shorts, and the way her t-shirt stretched over her chest… well, anyway. He needed something else to focus on, and fast. Ron! Yes, genius. Thinking of Ron, instant mood killer. Ron with his ginger hair. It was the exact same shade as Ginny’s ginger hair, wasn’t it? Ron’s ginger hair, which was cut short, and not at all like Ginny’s which was long and thick and shiny, and currently braided into a thick plait, hanging down her back towards… Oh Merlin! This isn’t helping AT ALL!
“Harry! Look out!”
Unfortunately, Hermione’s warning came way too late, but at least sorting out the minor cuts and bruises from his collision with the tree branch and subsequent tumble to the ground gave him something else to think about.
-----------
The moment they stepped through the portrait hole, Harry pressed her against the wall, his mouth on hers. With only a moment of hesitation, Ginny allowed her hands to slip up his back, feeling his shoulders tense at her touch, before sliding them through his hair.
Yeah, I was right, she thought to herself, it really is as soft as it looks.
After that, she really didn’t do much in the way of thinking at all.
#hinny microfic#ginny weasley#harry potter#harry x ginny#hinny#Not really micro is it?#Got a bit carried away with this one#School year 96/97 told through the medium of hair
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Nov 13 - Creation
@hinnymicrofic
She caught sight of Harry and the familiar tuft of aqua blue hair belonging to three year old Teddy and grinned. Racing down, she landed on the grass just as Teddy broke away from his godfather's grasp and launched toward her.
"Auntie Ginny, Auntie Ginnyyy," elongating her name and reaching for her in the cutest manner possible.
She caught hold of him and spun him around, her green Harpies jersey loosely coming undone. Teddy let out a scream of giggles that felt almost as good as her fifteenth, and final, goal of the day before the snitch was caught.
Holding up his sign in his hand, Teddy said excitedly, "Auntie Ginny do you like my creation?!"
She caught sight of the sign, which looked like he took hold of a paintbrush and painted Harpies green across as much white space on the paper as he could find.
She laughed, "Looks good, mate. What is it?"
He screwed up his tiny face, considering the sign. "It's you scoring, Auntie Ginny!"
She laughed and put him back down. "Oh, obviously. Your godfather's eyesight must be wearing off on me."
"What about mine?" Said godfather asked, walking up next to her and pulling her into a deep hug. She felt her tense muscles relax.
She looked down to his larger white sign and snorted.
Ginny Weasley is Hot
"Dunno...think his was a bit more creative, to be honest."
Harry laughed and bent down to kiss her cheek. "You were brilliant," he whispered in her ear.
She mouthed a silent thank you as he grinned back at her.
Breaking apart from her and pulling Teddy up on his shoulders, Harry said: "Okay, who wants to get ice cream at Fortescue's and go bug Uncle George?"
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Prompt 21: Fresh
Writing at the pace my life permits, have prompt 21 real late, @hinnymicrofic
He’s decidedly an idiot, and a blind one at that.
How in the bloody fuck had it taken him this long to notice? She’s attractive in an obvious, you’re-a-prat-for-not-seeing-it sort of way, to the point that he’s beginning to question his sanity.
They’re at lunch, and the beaming sunlight catches her shiny hair, and he’s staring. They’re at Quidditch and she’s arching her back to urge her broom faster, and the only thing that causes him to look away is the bludger that strikes his chest. They’re in the common room, and she’s laughing heartily with Demelza, and he decides right then and there that he’s gone.
Because he catches himelf thinking fuck, she’s beautiful, subconsciously plotting how he might make her laugh like that at practice later, and he’s a ponce and an idiot and he should be committed to St. Mungos for evaluation because how could he have gone this long without seeing it?
She’s Ron sister, only he can’t tell anymore whether that’s a respectful boundary, a weak defense, or a pitiful excuse.
Their practice is miserable, or would be if she weren’t there. The rain is falling in sheets, soaking them all to the bone, and Harry calls it early.
As they’re walking back to the locker room, Ginny walks next to him. She snatches his glasses from his face, and he’s on fire despite the cold.
“How in the hell do you see in the rain with these?” she demands.
“Impervious Charm.”
“Ha!” she says. “That’s cheating, captain.”
He can’t see anything at all, but he knows she looks adorable as the blurry shape of her dons his specs.
“We’ve got to practice in all conditions!” she says, and he realizes with a jolt that she’s nailed his Surrey accent. “I don’t care if you’ve got to swim to the goal posts!”
He laughs, as do Katie and Jimmy Peakes.
She abandons his accent as she says, “Blimey, you’re blind, aren’t you?”
He nearly chokes - yes, so fucking blind - but manages to pass it off as a laugh. “I prefer visually impaired.”
“A Seeker with shit eyes. Who made you captain of this team, anyway?”
“Excuse me,” he says, pretending to be affronted. “I’ve got eyes as green as a fresh pickled toad.”
He doesn’t know what compelled him to say it; he’s never once alluded to the poem she’d written about him when she was eleven. He panics internally that he’s gone and stuck his foot in it.
Instead, she lets out a surprised bark of laughter, and he laments that he can’t see her expression with his shit pickled eyes. “Hey, I still stand by that, by the way,” she says, unfazed. “They’re very green.”
“Very green and very shit. Got it.”
She laughs and hands back his glasses. He puts them back on and can see her once again, hair dripping wet, Quidditch robes plastered against her, and something like a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. Perhaps not as unfazed as she sounded, but utterly, devastatingly fit all the same.
Yeah, he thinks. Very, very shit eyes.
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@hinnymicrofic - July 2023
Prompt no.4: Crush (ao3)
“Honestly, I always thought Harry would be an arrogant boy before I met him,” Fleur said, breezily.
“Yeah,” George agreed. “One would think with all this talk about being,” he consulted the magazine “ ‘Britain’s own heart-throb bachelor’ would get to his head.” He looked teasingly at Ginny, who was busy piling up her plate.
“Give that to me.” Harry snatched the magazine from George’s hand and placed it under the soup pan, effectively hiding the front page bearing his huge face.
“Do you really think this many birds have crushes on you, Harry?” George nudged him.
“No, they don’t!” Harry exclaimed. “They just think they like me…”
Ginny piped up from her seat opposite him. “Yeah, there’s not much to like there, anyway.”
Harry caught her mischievous smile and smirked. “Besides,” he turned back to George, “they never write me poems.”
“Poems, you say?”
“Hmm-mm.” Harry took a big bite of his pie.
“Harry, stop.” Ginny warned him, her voice low.
“I mean,” he continued, “how can you expect me to fall for them when Ginny here writes me such original poetry?”
Fleur leaned over. “That is so romantic,” she cooed, pretending to delicately wipe a tear. “You write poems for Harry, Ginny?”
“It was a long time ago,” Ginny yelled. “Will you stop-”
“His eyes are as green as fr-” Harry spluttered, wiping the scoop of ice cream that had just hit his face.
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