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jiilys · 2 years

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quick fire

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The thing was, they weren’t married. They talked about it and then shrugged it off for later, because they had stuff on, because Mrs Weasley teared up even at the mention of an engagement, and mainly because it wasn’t worth the press. On Harry’s twenty-first birthday The Prophet had run a 5-page spread, summarising his life and accomplishments and attempting to interview anyone he’d even passingly interacted with. They’d printed their phone call with the Dursley’s in full, expletives censored.

When Ron and Hermione got married, 23 and beaming, they’d had to put so many privacy enchantments over the place that when Hagrid wandered out to find a bathroom he’d found himself magically apparated to the French country-side and missed speeches. However, The Prophet only did a three-page spread on the ceremony and managed to hold off referring to Harry as ‘The Chosen One’ until paragraph two, which as Ron pointed out, was something like progress.

Even apart from the press stuff, weddings were always strange mix of brilliant and sad. At George and Angelina’s, George’s best man’s chair had sat empty, and at Percy’s Andromeda had held a squirming Teddy until late at the back of the reception, exhausted, half-crying, the moon huge behind her.

But then, always, there was the great stuff, Mr Weasley grilling Mr. Granger about how to unclog a drain, Luna wearing something absolutely insane and trying to explain it to an uncomfortable Percy, George’s speeches, Victorie’s outfits. And then, you know, love and that. When Ron and Hermione had gotten married, and everyone cried so much during the ceremony Ron said later it seemed like it was a funeral – even though he was also crying, Bill would point out.

Anyway– the point was, they weren’t married. They would get to it later. Which was all fine, only then they got sloppy.

Later:

“I mean, should – do you want to get married?” Harry asked, passing her a tea.

“We don’t have to.” Ginny said, instantly, knowing her mother, father and every brother would likely disagree.

“I didn’t mean it like that– I meant, would you want to? Get married?”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t want to just because of this– because of this whole thing,” She could not bring herself to say baby aloud, make it that real, “It’s fine if we don’t”

“So, you don’t want to get married?”

“I don’t want to get married like this. I don’t–“ Hand through her hair, and she was so stupid, unbelievably so, small and silly ,but she couldn’t help it. Don’t marry me like this, not for this, “I don’t want to put pressure–“

Harry just got up and walked into their bedroom without saying anything, leaving her at the breakfast counter, which was so unlike him Ginny could only blink before he was back, sliding a small box across to her. There was a ring in it, a slim silver thing, shiny green stones set flat. She stared.

“I bought it ages ago, it’s been in my sock drawer,” Harry said, “I’m not asking because it feels like the thing we should do.”

Ginny couldn’t think. “How long is ages ago?” she asked, finally, voice scratchy.

“Two, three years ago? I can’t remember.” He looked at her, “Sorry, I mean– we’ve talked about it and I assumed you knew– should I have said?”

“No, no I just–“ It was one thing to joke about getting married, about how they’d have to do it in a submarine on a seabed with all the lights off to stop Rita from showing up, and another for Harry to be standing in front of her, hair everywhere, in a Harpies shirt, holding a ring he’d bought her years ago. That sure, for that long, about them.

“Two years ago?” she repeated, stupidly,

“Well, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head, hair even more everywhere, “I mean– I thought at some point we’d get around to it, and, uh–, it looked like you. Like it wouldn’t be annoying during matches or anything. So I just bought it.”

He’d thought of Quidditch. He’d thought of Quidditch and of her playing, wearing the ring. It looked like you. She slid it out of the box and put it on, magically adjusting to her finger, silver glittering, lighting the whole kitchen.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright, I’ll marry you.” She looked up into Harry’s face, dazzling, breaking into a grin. “Wedding and a kid.” The hugeness of it sort-of filled the room, stupidly big, dizzyingly insurmountable and yet entirely alright. She was totally out of her depth, of course, but then she had good company. Harry - leaning across the counter, hair trampled on, just looking at her. Lucky me, she thought, lucky kid.

“I can’t believe we just got engaged and I can’t even drink.” She said aloud, and Harry laughed.

“Ron’s going to kill me.” He predicted after a minute. “Bill and Charlie too. Oh, God,” he actually went a little pale, “Your mum–“

“Relax, we’ll get married quick, say I seduced you.”

“That’s true.” Harry said, seriously.

“Never could resist the Harpies uniform”

“More what was under it, actually.” Harry mused, sipping his tea, and Ginny laughed.

“Everyone will say we’re having a shotgun wedding.”

“We are having a shotgun wedding.” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah but that’s none of their business.” Ginny said, “We can tell the paper’s we’re planning it quickly because you’re dying.”

“I feel like that creates more problems than it solves”

“I’m dying?”

“Again, I sense future issues.”

“Ron’s dying?”

Harry laughed, “Creates future problems, but mainly for Ron–“

“So ideal.”

“Let’s run it by him, see what he says.”

“Always so reasonable.”

“Yeah,” Harry said dryly, “That’s what everyone’s always said about me.”

He was very familiar with being afraid, but this was a different sort. There was no adrenaline in it, not useful, just low and poisonous and right in his chest. Thoughts of every dangerous thing he’d ever dragged Ron and Hermione into at school, unthinking, and Harry wanted to sit the Weasleys and Grangers down and apologise forever. You could fuck this, he thought, late at night, everyone asleep, how would you know how to be good?

A flash of when Ginny had told him, standing in the hall looking so nervous he’d thought she was deathly ill, and how his heart didn’t move for a minute. Three years older than my parents he’d thought, instinctively, and then imagined trying to do this at twenty, with a war on, prophecy hovering in the distance like a guillotine. His heart thudded, that dumb miracle back again, nothing like that, nothing like that ever again.

“We should elope” Ginny said, eating ice-cream, feet in his lap, ring flashing in the evening light. She’d almost worn it into practise before remembering that they weren’t telling people until they told her family, and then had to shove it into her sock before she’d gotten on the pitch. She’d told all this to Harry, who had laughed very hard.

“Brilliant.”

“Just us.”

“And Ron and Hermione.” Harry added, “And Teddy.”

Ginny nodded and then considered, “If the family doesn’t come Mum will probably never speak to us again.”

“Very true.”

“But just the immediate, no cousins. The boys and mum and Dad.”

“And their wives.”

“And their kids. Merlin, that’s like 20 already.”

“And Charlie’s plus one.” Harry grinned. Vivid memories of Charlie’s random date, sat in George and Angelina’s ceremony eating a piece of wedding cake, Mrs Weasley glaring so intensely she sparked a nearby bouquet.

“He is not getting a plus one”

“Neville and Luna.”

“They can have plus ones” Ginny allowed, “And Andromeda.”

“Hagrid, too”

“McGonagall.”

“And the team” Harry added, “Birch will never let me watch a game again if you get married to me without her.”

“We should probably have your office”

“We are not having the whole office–“

“Just Sam, then. And Peters.”

“Sam can come. Peters is still in Peru and is not someone I want talking to your mother.”

“What about Slughorn?” Ginny mused, “he’s a bit of a git but he’ll bring a great gift and will probably be more of a hassle if he doesn’t come. Oh Merlin, maybe Flitwick? I got a really good Charms OWL.”

“Great,” Harry was laughing, “We’re eloping with your entire family, half our year and all our old teachers.”

“Not all! Binns isn’t invited.” Ginny pointed out, grinning.

“Well, now it seems like we’re leaving him out.”

“And of-course, Nearly Headless Nick will need someone to talk too.”

“And Peeves.” Ginny agreed, grievously, watching Harry laugh.

Lights off, in bed, one arm against her side. In the dark, this quiet, the only way he could say it.

“You don’t have to take my name”

“What?” Ginny’s voice, half-asleep.

“You can keep your name, if you want. The baby could have yours too. I think you should.”

“I like your name.”

Stupid thrill to hear her say that. A dumb, half joke: Thanks, my Dad gave it to me. His jaw clenched, he had to say it:

“Anyone who doesn’t already know we’re together will know. The questions will be worse, it’ll be – you really won’t be able to get away from it. Ever.”

“Why wouldn’t I want anyone to know that I’m with you?” She said, “What are you on about? We’re both taking your name. There can’t be another Weasley on the Hogwarts roll, we’ll hit a limit or something. Think of the kid.”

The thing about Ginny was that if she was around, if she said it in her voice, it all became simple. I told the Prophet Luna was your press agent, who cares if they’re staring I wore a nice top, don’t be a git of course you’re sitting up front – how else are you going to see all the goals I’m going to score? After her first Harpies press conference when half the questions had been about him, he’d pulled her aside later, unable to stop apologising, and she’d just looked at him. I don’t care about all that stuff, it’s you and me now. Did you see Malcotti’s foul?

Every night since she’d told him he’d lain awake terrified of everything going wrong, of him being shit and unteachable and with no one to look to, but Ginny would be there, Ginny would be good. Sure and smart, firm and forgiving, the funniest person he knew. With her around, in her voice, he could be good too. Simple.

“Also, Potter is a very common last name. I could have married Julius Potter.”

“Who’s that?”

“The bloke I could’ve married.”

“I thought that was Dean Thomas.”

“No,” she rolled over, put her face into his chest, “He was too good looking.”

He laughed, “Ouch.”

“You’ve got other qualities.”

“Like making you look better in photos?”

She snorted and threw a leg over his, arm wrapped around his chest. “Exactly. By the way, Dean’s coming to the wedding, you can’t have Seamus without Dean.”

“Seamus is coming?”

“Well, then I couldn’t have Dean, could I?”

“We’ll have to move,” Harry said suddenly, coming into their room and leaning in the doorway, “We need a baby’s room.”

“Ugh, I hate moving.”

“Shouldn’t have been so seductive then.”

“It’s a curse.” Ginny shook her head over her magazine, “You know, babies are quite small, we could put them in the lounge.”

Harry smiled, “Yes, but they grow, you see.”

“You’re joking. Sick of this already.”

“Again, if you were less seductive.” Harry looked momentarily alarmed, “God, should we get a house?”

“You’ve already got two of those.” Ginny pointed out.

“Oh, true. We can’t live at Godric’s Hollow. Grimmauld Place?” Even as he said it he looked tense. She imagined them cleaning out Sirius’ room for a baby.

“No,” she said, “Let’s just get a bigger apartment or something. A house is a two-baby thing.”

His shoulders unknotted, back to joking, “That’s written down somewhere, is it?”

“Of course. We’ll sort it later, we’ve got ages.”

“Seven months and three weeks, actually.” They’d been to a muggle doctors last week, thinking that if they went anywhere near St Mungo’s it would immediately get out. They now had photos, unmoving, stuck on the fridge.

“Exactly, ages.”

Him, Ron and Hermione sat at in the back of a Ministry function, lights low, watching Helga Sprite whisper bitterly to Elise Lyle while glaring at Bruce Boyle.

“I mean, who brings a plate of food to a works do?” Ron asked.

“It was very thoughtful of her.” Hermione said, diplomatically.

“It was carrot sticks.”

Ginny looked over, across the room talking to Sam and someone Harry didn’t know but who had asked for his autograph in the bathroom earlier. She tilted her head slightly, tell them.

He stared. She raised her eyebrows

“I mean, it was silly, but Bruce shouldn’t have put them in the bin in front of her. She did bring dip-“

“She brought dip?”

Harry jerked his head at her, come here. She smirked, turned back to an animated Sam, who was likely talking about her awful boyfriend that everyone hated and who she was definitely going to try bring to the wedding. Unbelievable, and yet, wasn’t this always how it went? Anything important happened and Harry ended up in the back of some room, whispering to Ron and Hermione, that was how everything got real.

“It looked homemade.”

“Really,” Ron looked vaguely interested, “Which bin did it go in?”

Hermione smiled in spite of herself, “You are unbelievable. I’m not telling.”

“C’mon, Hermione, Oi- Harry, which bin-“

“I’ve got to tell you two something.” Harry interrupted, looking at the back of Ginny’s head like she would turn around. She didn’t. Unbelievable. He looked back at Ron and Hermione, who both looked so nervous he almost laughed. “It’s not bad.”

Hermione’s shoulders visibly unknotted. “You used the bad voice.”

“I’ve got voices?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “That’s the serious one that gets us in shit all the time.”

“Not recently-“

“The thing in Fenton Crescent-“

Harry was appalled. “That was ages ago.”

“- A year ago.”

“Oh Ron,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “You’ve quit the Ministry since then”

“Maybe that’s why I quit.”

“It wasn’t the terrible hours and awful pay?” She asked.

“Okay, that stuff, and the Fenton Crescent thing.” Ron allowed, and Harry grinned.

“Honestly, the way you talk about it, it’s like you did die there.”

“Hermione, he made me run into a pit of tarantula-bats-“

“I thought that that was classified.”

“Allegedly” Ron added, and they both laughed, “Harry allegedly made me run into a pit of tarantula-bats.”

“I’m sure it was necessary at the time.”

Ron looked at her in disbelief, “How much wine–“

“Listen,” he bit his lip, still grinning, depth breath, make it real: “Ginny’s pregnant.”

Ron’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline and Hermione made a noise he associated with being at Hogwarts and telling her he was about to do something insane. Several people looked around, and before he could do anything Hermione had launched herself across the table at him, knocking over every wine goblet.

“Oh! Oh, Harry-”

“Thanks, Hermione” He patted her back, awkwardly, “Ah- everyone’s looking-“

“Sorry! - sorry-“ She pulled herself back into her seat, eyes shining, her tear-turnaround truly incredible. Harry’s pants were sopping with wine. Ron was frozen, unblinking.

“We’re getting married, too” Harry added, “I mean, I asked- not just because of- but- yeah. She said yes.”

Hermione made another absolutely inhuman noise and then put a hand over her mouth like that would do any good. Ron kept staring at him. Thinking, dumbly, of watching Ginny at Quidditch practices and then looking at Ron to see if he’d noticed.

“I mean- Blimey, mate. Fuck.” Ron’s voice, disbelieving, looking at him, every unsayable thing.

“I know.” He was meant to be dead so long ago, and yet somehow was still right where he grew up: sitting in the backs of rooms with Ron and Hermione, telling secrets.

“Congratulations,” said Ron, eyebrows returned, “Fuck, congratulations. What the hell.”

Hermione looked like she didn’t trust herself to open her mouth, eyes huge and full of tears. “Oh Harry,” she whispered, finally, hand on her chest, voice impossibly watery, as familiar as his hand. He smiled at her.

“I know.”

“Told them, did you?” From nowhere, Ginny slid into the booth next to him holding a butterbeer. “Merlin, why is this wet?”

Hermione jumped, “Ginny! Congratulations! Oh God, Harry there’s wine all over you, why didn’t you say?” Harry watched unhelpfully as Hermione fixed it all without blinking.

“Are you allowed that?” Ron asked, eyeing the butterbeer.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, “They serve this to children.”

“Yeah, but- ‘beer’”

“Oh for God’s sake Ron-“

He held a hand out, “Just in case-“

“Sod off, get your own.”

“Fuck that,” Ron stood up, still the tallest, and dropped a kiss onto Ginny’s head, hand on her shoulder, squeezing “Unbelievable. We’re getting Firewhiskey, sorry Gin.”

Ginny grinned, “Git.”

“Well Hermione spilt all the wine-“ Ron said, disappearing to the bar.

“And woke up half of England” Ginny added.

“Sorry! I was surprised.”

“Us too,” Harry admitted, half-laughing.

“Well, of course, but, oh- this is the best. You must be so excited. Of course, you’ll have to move-“

Under the table, Ginny’s fingers knotted with his own, thumb over his knuckles. Ron arrived, holding four Firewhiskeys.

“I can’t have one.” Ginny pointed out as he sat down.

“I know, they’re for me.” He pushed the other two towards Harry and Hermione, “A baby. Blimey.”

Ginny smiled, “You can’t say anything to anyone yet”

“Till when?”

“Two- and a-bit weeks.”

“He’s already had three wines, the whole bar will know in an hour” Harry predicted, and Ron flipped him off over his glass.

“Bill and Charlie are going to skin you.”

“You won’t?”

“Eh,” Ron shrugged, half-smiling, “Undecided.”

“Oh God,” Hermione looked worried, “You don’t think anyone noticed anything strange before? I was quite loud.”

“Quite?” Harry repeated, grinning.

“Don’t worry,” Ginny said, “They probably just think you’re bereaved. I’ve started a rumour that Ron’s dying.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she said, as Harry almost spat up his Firewhiskey laughing, “It’s all part of my bigger plan.”

#harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny fic #also for the record: jk rowling is vile. like truly a posionous figure in politics. fucking unbelievable #but the point of this: harry potter is a kind kid who should only ever be written laughing. everyone knows i believe this but #i will KEEP saying it #carolineswritingtag #love this fucking kid! and his fucking jock gf who makes him fucking laugh! theyre ultimate!#otp: several sunlit days #dont give jk rowling any cash dont do drugs you think might be spiked and ALWAYS j-walk!! holy trinity baby

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