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i.
So, Fred and George aren’t taking the news particularly well.
As the door swings shut behind Harry and Ginny, the twins are still sputtering outrageously, wearing utterly identical expressions of gobsmacked. It’s honestly rather creepy.
“You’re telling me they’re - what, dating?”
“Is Ginny mad?”
“Is Harry mad?”
Ron can’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction at this. After all, it isn’t very often the twins are the ones who are caught off guard. And usually, he would be impressed with Ginny’s ability to effortlessly render them speechless, but that’s a bit hard to do at the moment seeing as she’s currently off with his so-called best mate doing things that Ron really doesn’t want to imagine. (Mum had put the necessary wards over Ginny’s bedroom, but there aren’t any out there.)
Fred turns to Ron and gestures to the door. “When did that happen?” he demands.
“The slug’s stupid party,” Ron mutters, still bitter over Hermione’s date with Dick-Laggen.
If Ron were, perhaps, a bit less of an averagely immature sixteen-year-old git, he’d admit that seeing his best mate and little sister happily together almost makes up for it - but seriously, McLaggen?
The front door opens much sooner than Ron had expected, and then, quite immediately, he realizes it’s because it isn’t Harry or Ginny that's come in. He’s practically assaulted with the sight of his future sister-in-law’s stunning blonde head, leaving him trying in vain to blink away the daze that always comes with her presence.
It really doesn’t get any easier.
“So was anyone going to tell me that Harry and Ginny are together?” Bill asks, following Fleur into the Burrow’s living room. “Or was I just supposed to walk by them snogging in the garden to figure it out?”
There’s an immediate outcry from the twins. “Walk by them what?”
Bill’s eyebrows shoot up. “Shit, I didn't just out their relationship, did I?”
“Language, William,” chides Molly, who has just stepped out of the kitchen. She takes Bill and Fleur’s robes, giving the latter a slightly uncertain smile as she does so. “And no, don’t worry - Ginny and Harry got together just about a week ago. Isn’t it lovely?”
“Oui,” answers Fleur, sounding fond. “Zey really do look so good together, no?”
Molly’s smile becomes more genuine at this. Meanwhile, Ron and the twins are too busy staring at Fleur to mime vomiting, which would be the usual response to such a statement if it had come out of anyone else’s mouth.
“It is too bad for Gabrielle, zen,” she adds with a sly smile, and Bill laughs.
“Quel dommage,” he says as they follow Molly into the kitchen.
Ron is left alone in the living room when the twins silently disappear upstairs to their room. It’s definitely ominous - Ron will be watching his back for the foreseeable future - but he breathes a sigh of relief anyway, thankful that they're too preoccupied with their little sister’s new relationship to tease him about Lavender further.
As he turns back to the cutting board, Ron absentmindedly wonders whether his gift to his girlfriend (chocolates) was too impersonal. What do birds even like, anyway? Ginny is easy - Quidditch stuff, and so is Hermione - books and quills, but as far as Ron’s aware, the only interest Lavender has is divination, and he just couldn't bring himself to buy any of those wooly books or tea sets or crystal balls. He has his limits.
His original idea was to get her a Uranus model, paying tribute to his legendary joke in fourth year. Ron amuses himself for a while thinking about what her reaction would have been. Unfortunately, he doesn’t think she’ll see the humor in it.
By the time Fred and George come down, Ron’s almost done with chopping the sprouts, and neither Harry have Ginny have shown their faces yet.
The twins are carrying a box of biscuits. It’s totally not suspicious.
But Ron stops worrying about possibly-pranked-biscuits just then, because the real ribbing starts. Some overprotective and naive part of him is thankful that Ginny’s currently outside; he does not want her hearing the things coming out of Fred and George’s mouths.
“Shut up!” Ron squawks, with lack of anything better to retort with.
“Real eloquent,” George says.
“Yeah, does La-”
Fred is cut off (thank Merlin) by the sound of the front door opening.
It’s Harry, alone. He seems particularly reluctant stepping into the room - and for good reason, because Fred and George descend on him as soon as he’s inside. Harry glances behind him as if wishing that Ginny was there to protect him from the twins’ wrath.
“Doing lots of flying out there, Potter?” George asks expectantly, crossing his arms.
“Or were you too busy groping our baby sister?” demands Fred.
Harry looks at Ron imploringly, but Ron just smirks back at him.
Harry clears his throat uncomfortably. “Listen,” he starts. “I gave you two your starting loan, so I reckon you can let this slide, yeah?”
Fred and George share a look.
“He knows how to play,” George admits. “Seems like he’s picking up some tricks from our Slytherin sister.”
Fred looks disappointed. “All right,” he reluctantly decides. “We’ll be lenient.”
“You’re not that rubbish, as far as people go, Harry,” George allows.
“Ginny could do worse.”
“Though we still have to give her a talk about her taste in men.”
“No offense to you, that is.”
George claps Harry on the shoulder. “Fancy a biscuit?” he offers, holding out the box. They look innocent enough, and are even in the shape of cute little snowmen. Ron half-heartedly hopes that Harry’s gullible enough to eat one.
Harry chuckles darkly, shrugging off George’s hand. “You must think I’m stupid.”
A pause.
“He set himself right up for that one, George,” Fred remarks.
“Of course we think you’re stupid,” George says. “You’re dating our sister.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Georgie?” Ginny’s voice pipes up from behind them.
The boys turn to see her standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and a dangerously pleasant smile on her face.
“Nothing,” the twins reply in unison.
“Good chat, Potter,” Fred says.
“We’ll be watching you, though,” warns George.
“An entire joke shop is at our disposal, don’t forget.”
“And Bill knows a ton of fun curses.”
“Charlie is just one letter away from setting a couple of dragons on you.”
“Ron could… well, actually, I dunno. What can he do?” George wonders.
“Sod off,” comes Ron’s retort.
“Yeah, that,” Fred says vaguely. “So don’t be getting too handsy.”
“We don’t need you two becoming a Ron and Lavender 2.0,” George adds.
“I- sod off,” Ron says again.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Ginny says sweetly. “We’ll be even worse.”
Before Ron or the twins can verbally express their disgust (or perhaps, threaten Harry some more), Mum’s voice calls from the kitchen to tell them dinner’s ready.
ii.
It’s shaping up to be Remus’s worst Christmas since 1981.
He sighs and feels miserable (really the only two activities he ever does these days) as he makes his way towards the Burrow’s front porch on the twenty-fourth of December.
At least you’re not spending Holidays with Greyback, he tells himself in an attempt to cheer up.
It doesn’t work. Not that he really expected it to, or anything.
But his mood does faintly lift when he sees one of the twins chase a gnome running out onto the side of the house, closely followed by the other twin, Harry, Ginny, and Ron, who has a carrot in his hand.
Fred (Remus thinks it’s Fred, anyway) manages to close the distance between him and gnome only to be bitten on the ankle for his efforts. Ginny’s the one who shoots off a stunner and hits the gnome in the chest. Harry mutters something to her that makes her laugh, and Remus watches, surprised, as Harry positively grins back at her.
What the fuck.
At this point in Remus’s life, it seems like nothing can take him by surprise anymore. Except, apparently, his dead best mate’s son not acting like a surly angst-ridden teenager.
“‘Lo, Professor Moony,” George calls in greeting, the first one to finally notice Remus’s arrival.
At this, Harry turns away from Ginny and gives Remus a smile. He seems to have grown even taller, somehow, and combined with the happy energy radiating off of him, he looks more like James than ever. Remus blinks away the image.
“I’ve been by your shop recently,” Remus tells the twins. “I happened to miss you two, unfortunately, so I didn’t get to tell you then - but it looks brilliant.”
The truth is that he purposely avoided Fred and George when he made his brief visit; it was Sirius’s birthday, and Remus managed to sneak away from the camp for a few short hours. He wanted - or at least, convinced himself that he wanted - to mope around without anyone’s company. Maybe he would have appreciated a certain pink-haired woman’s, but he was too cowardly to do anything about it.
Yes, Sirius would have loved the shop, and no, Remus did not end up visiting Dora. Remembering neither of these is doing anything to improve Remus’s abysmal mood.
It really doesn’t get any easier.
“Cheers,” says Fred, grinning. “Highest praise, coming from you.”
Remus forces a smile back. “Right, I’ll leave you guys to your carrot-picking.”
Molly greets him with a kiss on the cheek as he comes into the house before rebuffing all of his offers to help prepare for dinner, leaving Remus sitting with Arthur at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of hot tea. It’s the best drink Remus has had in ages.
“How are you, with everything?” Arthur eventually ends up asking.
Remus hums noncommittally. Arthur doesn’t seem convinced, but before he can press, Remus says quickly, “Harry seems to be in remarkably good spirits.”
Arthur arches an eyebrow, an uncharacteristically calculating look on his face. “Does he?”
Remus is starting to feel like he really is missing something, and that heightens when he catches Molly’s wistful expression.
“Him and Ginny are dating now,” she says to him, fondly.
Remus feels his eyebrows shoot up, the news catching him off guard. He knows he’s definitely more surprised than he should be, but there’s just a certain novelty about Harry being involved in normal teenager things.
“That’s… well, it’s always nice to hear some good news these days,” Remus replies, and hides a wince when he realizes how unintentionally bitter he sounds.
He’s not upset about Harry and Ginny’s new relationship - far, far from it - because really, Harry deserves all the happiness he can get. But now it’s just an unpleasant reminder of Remus’s own lack of success regarding romance, and sure enough…
“Tonks still hasn’t responded to my letter inviting her over for Christmas,” Molly tells him casually.
Remus feels his heart thud and is promptly mortified at how much just hearing her sodding last name affects him. He takes another sip of tea.
“And Charlie isn’t coming home either, and Percy, well…” Molly sighs and Remus stays silent, offering her what he hopes is a sympathetic smile, though now he doubts his mind can rid the image of Dora’s sad smile the last time they talked-
Remus stares into his cup. He can well imagine Sirius, “come on, Moony, you wanker - what have I always said about your inferiority complex?” and James, “just grab her and snog her and Bob’s your uncle. Are you a bloody Gryffindor or not?”
But it isn’t that simple. Something his two best friends have never truly understood, even though they were at least better than most.
Or maybe they’re right and Remus is just a martyring tosser.
“Thanks for letting me come over, Molly,” Remus says finally. And he means it. Merlin knows how depressing it’d be spending the holidays with just him and his ghosts for company.
Of course, there are ghosts at the Burrow, too.
“But you are normal!” Harry says, later that night. “You’ve just got a- a problem-”
Remus doesn’t know whether to burst out laughing or crying.
He goes with the former. “You really do remind me of James,” he tells Harry, like he’s been wanting to all day, really. “He called it my ‘furry little problem’ in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit - oh, thank you, Arthur,” he says, accepting his third glass of eggnog that night. He’s becoming spoiled. “But that’s not the only thing you seemed to have inherited from your father,” Remus continues, turning back to Harry. He raises his eyebrows and pauses, trying his best to channel Sirius. “Fancying of redheads one of them.”
Naturally, Harry looks sheepish. But not displeased.
“Oh, go on - tell me about her,” Remus says, amused. “How’d it happen? Let’s have some lighthearted conversation.”
Harry’s smile is a bit embarrassed but a lot just plain happy. Remus definitely isn’t jealous of this sixteen-year-old boy. Not at all.
“Well, I- I dunno, I sort of asked her to that Christmas do Slughorn forced me to go to and now I’m just hoping her brothers won’t kill me,” Harry says. His tone is nonchalant, but Remus sees his eyes linger on the other side of the room, at Ginny’s laughing face.
“Reckon Slughorn got a kick out of that,” Remus muses. “Your mum was one of his favorite students, you know.”
“I know,” replies Harry wryly, eyes swinging back to Remus. “He tells me.”
“Yeah, not so much James, though,” Remus carries on, taking another swig of eggnog. “He never took potions seriously, and absolutely hated the parties. Just like you do. Thought, if there wasn’t any alcohol, what was the point?” He shakes his head fondly, then pauses. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be telling you that, Harry-”
“It’s no problem, professor.”
Remus snorts. “I suppose you owe it to Slughorn now for starting your relationship.”
Harry looks indignant. “I could have asked her to some… to some other thing, maybe.”
“Would you have?”
“Probably not,” Harry sighs. “But, well…”
“We can’t all just ask out who we fancy in the middle of levicorpus-ing our archnemesis, can we?” says Remus, smiling in a part-amused and part-exasperated way that he misses. Oh, James. “Levicorpus was that spell, you know, the one that-”
“I know what levicorpus is,” Harry says, cutting him off.
“I suppose Latin does make it pretty self-explanatory,” Remus concedes.
“No - I mean, yes, I suppose so - but I actually saw it in this old potions book someone wrote in…” Harry says, looking hopeful for some reason. “You said my dad didn’t take potions seriously, how about you?”
“Me? Godric, no. It was my worst subject - why else do you think I had to rely on Sniv-” - the old nickname comes tumbling out before Remus can stop himself - “Severus for Wolfsbane?”
“Oh, yeah, well... not Sirius either, then?”
“Definitely not.”
“Right, he’s a pureblood, so I should have guessed,” Harry says, seemingly to himself. What Sirius’s blood status has anything to do with potions, Remus doesn’t know - until Harry asks, “you’ve never heard of anyone called the Half-blood Prince, have you?”
Remus blinks. “Half-blood Prince?” he repeats, incredulous. “What kind of bloody nickname is that?”
“You’re one to talk,” Harry retorts.
Remus smiles into his mug. “Touché,” he mutters. “But even we didn’t have people call us royalty.”
“No, just the opposite.”
“Our group name wasn’t as distinctive as ‘the Chosen One,’ I’ll admit.”
“Oh, shut up,” Harry says. “It’s not like I came up with that stupid title.”
“You think we came up with ‘marauders’?’” asks Remus. “It was McGonagall, our second year, I think-”
“Bet she regrets that now,” George says, suddenly appearing by Harry’s side with Fred as if they were summoned by the word “marauder.”
“So, Harrykins, how are you finding your first Christmas at the Burrow?” Fred says.
“Pretty swell,” Harry says neutrally, focusing most of his efforts on tugging his mug closer to his chest as if worried the twins might drop something into it.
“He seems well enough, Fred,” says George. “Though not as happy as he could be if it weren’t for that ward across Ginny’s bedroom door.”
Harry’s jaw drops in disbelief. “There’s a ward?”
“Oh yes,” Fred replies cheerfully. “No nonsense under this roof, mum says.”
“But we asked her, how about the countless other places that aren’t her bedroom?”
“How about Hogwarts?”
“They’ll be dying to get it on as soon as they leave the house, won't they?”
“How would she stop them then?”
“Hmm, Harry?”
Harry - poor sod - looks like he’s begging his armchair to swallow him up.
But sometimes, the best way to deal with the twins is just to ignore them.
“So Remus,” Harry says, now pretending that neither Fred or George are there, despite the evident flush across his neck. “Did I ever tell you about the ‘there’s no need to call me sir, professor’ incident?”
He did, as a matter of fact. But Remus lets him continue anyway. It’s always nice having a laugh at Snivellus.
That’s one thing that hasn’t changed in the last twenty years, at least.
Some time later that night, after a few too many eggnogs (which Fred and George may or may not have managed to spike, despite Harry’s best efforts. They work in mysterious ways):
Harry has his hair in his hands. “I’m probably going to cock it all up,” he’s saying. “And- and Ron and Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, too, it’s all going to end terribly - what was I thinking?”
Remus yawns. “You weren’t, I reckon. That’s the issue.”
Later:
“Are you a house-elf or something, Harry?” says Ginny, smiling in amusement. “How did you manage to get sloshed on eggnog?”
Harry blinks, slightly dazed. “I… I think those two twin brothers of yours somehow slipped something into my drink after all.”
She tuts. “At this point, I don’t even feel sorry for you.”
“That’s right - constant vigilance, remember?” Remus adds, words slurred.
Ginny turns to him in surprise. “You too, professor?”
Later, still:
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve it - you know, happiness.”
“Me too, Remus.”
Even later:
“And then- and then I said to him, ‘there’s no need to call me sir, professor-”
Remus laughs. “Nice one, James!”
Later again:
“What do muggles call it?” Remus asks, seemingly to no one, squinting blearily. “Something like - the Oedipus complex?”
“What’s that?”
“Huh?” Remus says, forgetting his previous line of thought. “What was I saying?”
“Dunno,” Harry shrugs, unbothered. “Anyway, so Malfoy says…”
Later later later:
“I never got the proper sex talk, you know - because I didn’t have any parents and all - and so I’m kind of scared I might be missing something with it.”
Remus blinks. “Okay, Harry, I think it’s time we go to bed.”
“Oh- right,” Harry mutters, yawning. “Well, Happy Christmas, Remus.”
As they clumsily make their way back to their respective rooms, Remus claps James - no, Harry - gruffly on the shoulder.
“Happy Christmas.”
iii.
England can be charming sometimes, Fleur admits to herself on Christmas morning. The windowsill of Ginevra’s room is covered in white snow, and looking out of it, she can see the entire orchard coated with it as well - tinted slightly peachy, almost, because of the rising sun. It’s very peaceful.
It’s certainly not France - the first time Fleur’s ever seen snow was when she went to Hogwarts for the tournament - but maybe, she considers as she holds her new jumper in her hands, she has to try loving England for what it is instead of wishing it was different.
She examines the jumper critically for what seems like the twentieth time since she woke up ten minutes ago. It’s probably the most unflattering thing she owns. Then again, Fleur knows she’d look good in a rubbish bag, so sod it, she thinks, and finally pulls the sweater on.
It frizzes up her hair a bit, but it’s soft and comfortable, and the lavender color is rather pretty. Plus, she is in dire need of some clothing that will actually fare against the bitter British weather.
Fleur traces the hand-stitched flower on her chest, and smiles, thinking the jumper did surprisingly well at warming her up - and maybe not just physically.
Turning back to her pile of presents, she begins to unwrap the second gift from the Weasley family - a large bulky rectangular thing. She doesn’t feel anything other than mild curiosity and slight weariness for it, until she pulls out a ginormous book. The Complete Illustrated Birds of England, the title reads.
Fleur stares at it in astonishment, and, to her horror, feels tears prickling in her eyes.
It really doesn’t get any easier.
She hears Ginevra shift awake on her bed.
“Happy Christmas,” Ginny says, yawning. After blinking herself awake for a few seconds, she pushes back her blankets and promptly grabs the package that Fleur knows is her own jumper.
“This was your idea, I take it?” Fleur asks softly, gesturing towards her gift.
When Ginny glances at the tome, she smiles. “Yeah, it felt right at the time.”
The two girls’s eyes meet. “Merci, ma chérie,” Fleur says.
“Don’t you mean ma soeur?” Ginny teases, pulling on her emerald green jumper.
“Soon enough,” Fleur replies, the excitement in her stomach growing as she thinks about the impending wedding - and seeing her family again. “And now, open mine!” she adds.
Ginny raises her eyebrows and turns back to her pile, picking up the most elegant-looking package, a dainty-looking box in floral wrapping paper. Ginny unwraps it perhaps a bit more carefully than she would have for any other present.
“Fleur,” she breathes disbelievingly, gaping at the lacy sage lingerie set she’s just pulled out.
It’s an older piece that Fleur never got around to wearing - green never was her color, you see - and she feels a delighted satisfaction rising within her. Yes, this was an excellent idea. She can’t wait to do it with Gabrielle once she’s old enough.
“‘Arry vill adore it, non?” Fleur says, smiling.
Ginny freezes. “We- we’ve been dating for four days!” she hisses.
“Oui,” Fleur says, unbothered. “Perhaps he will not ‘ave the privilege of seeing you in this now, but it is always a possibility in the future.”
Ginny flushes as Fleur waits patiently. Maybe she’ll have to give Ginny some actual sex tips too, Fleur thinks, like that wonderful charm that gets rid of-
“Just... don’t let Bill know this is what you got me, alright?” Ginny says finally.
Fleur answers with a tinkling laugh.
“Joyeux Noël, ma soeur.”
iv.
She’s waiting for him in the kitchen alone when he finally comes back in from the garden. The intimidatingly angry expression on his face almost makes her feel bad for Rufus Scrimgeour. Almost.
“That motherfucker,” Ginny says without preamble. She doesn’t know whether she’s referring to Percy or the minister or both.
That startles a laugh out of Harry, his expression easing slightly, which she’s pleased to see. He glances around the room. “Percy didn’t last long, then?”
“Against those spouts, he didn’t have a chance,” she says as Harry takes the chair next to hers. “Mum isn’t pleased.”
His smile fades.
“Oh, don’t get all broody on me now,” Ginny says. “Christmas was going so well. Even mum and Fleur were getting along.”
Harry groans. “Why can’t things just be bloody boring for once?”
“You wouldn’t like it boring.”
“I made your mum cry, Ginny.”
“You didn’t,” she says, while some part of her registers that he’s more worried about her bloody Mum instead of the fact that he just majorly pissed off the Minister of Magic. Idiot. Harry looks unconvinced. Ginny winds her hands in his jumper. “Stop it.”
“I don’t know,” Harry says. “It feels like… you guys are choosing me over him.”
“That’s daft.”
Harry’s quiet for a bit while he stares at her hands. “He’s right, you know,” he says finally. “I am dangerous for your family. He still cares about you, it’s just-”
Ginny freezes. “When did he say that?”
“Oh,” Harry says, looking briefly confused, and then uneasy. She keeps her gaze on him until he eventually relents, “yeah, it was in a letter to Ron, y’know, after he got prefect. But practically everyone hated me at that point, so it’s not like it was a really big deal...”
Suddenly Ginny wishes she did worse to Percy than just shove some parsnips up his arse.
“He’s wrong,” she says.
He raises his eyebrows, skeptical. “Is he, really?”
“Yes."
Occasionally, Ginny wonders how different their lives would be if Ron didn’t just happen to sit in Harry’s compartment on the Hogwarts express six years ago. Maybe it’d be less exciting, less eventful, and yes, probably less dangerous, but honestly, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
So she tells him, “we wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Harry doesn’t smile back like she half-expects. She nudges his hand lightly.
“Sometimes I just think I’m not… worth the effort,” he says uncomfortably. “Or risk. Or something.”
Something in Ginny’s heart constricts. “You’re an idiot,” she states. That draws a reluctant smile out of him, and she rolls her eyes, scooting her chair closer to his.
Without thinking about it much, she lies her head down on his shoulder. Her fingers trace the snitch stitched onto his jumper - it’s green, like hers.
Ginny senses him tense a bit at her touch, and suddenly she feels absolutely mortified. Before she can lean back to stammer out apologies, though, she feels Harry relax and lean his head over hers.
A smile threatens to form on Ginny’s mouth as she snuggles further into his neck. “I forgot to tell you earlier, but you look good in green,” she murmurs, and feels the vibrations from his chest as he laughs.
“You look good in green.”
“Then it’s pretty lucky my everyday uniform is green, innit?”
“You’d look good in any color, Ginny,” Harry says. And it’s not in a romantic or sweet tone, but instead laced with something almost like long-suffering, as if he’s exasperated with her for thinking otherwise. Ginny thinks he might have even rolled his eyes.
Merlin, she better not be blushing.
“False flattery,” she accuses, face thankfully still hidden from his view. “You’ve never seen me in pink.”
“I’m sure I have - there are pictures, I’ve seen them,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Your Christmas jumpers used to be pink before, weren’t they?”
Ginny tilts her head up so he can see her narrowing her eyes. “Thank Merlin Mum stopped and finally managed to pick a decent color. Not for Ron though - hah.”
“The maroon is iconic now,” Harry says. “You missed out.”
“You know, I was the one who chose the color of the one you got in your first year,” she finds herself telling him. “We all know how terrible my mum’s taste is, I was worried she would pick something horrid like Chudley orange or, I dunno, plum-”
“So you picked green?”
“It matched your eyes,” she says stiffly.
Harry blinks, then lets out a laugh.
“I- stop it,” Ginny mutters, her face coloring as his laughter continues. “It’s not that funny!”
“Sorry, it- it’s not like that,” Harry manages, smiling. “Just… that’s, like, really sweet.”
Ginny feels her blush deepen even more. “Shut up,” she says. “The next time some girl asks me about your tattoos I’m going to tell them you’ve got a pygmy puff on your arse.”
He raises an eyebrow incredulously, still grinning. “They’ve been asking you that?”
“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” she says. “It’s one of the nicer things that they’ve been asking me, anyway-”
Harry stiffens. “What do you mean?”
Oh, fuck. She hadn’t really meant to hint at that - not yet, at least.
“What? Nothing-”
“Ginny.”
“Fine, just some stupid stuff about me love potioning you-”
“Ginny.”
She holds his gaze for a moment, and decides that it’s her turn to relent. “Y’know - calling me a slag and such,” she says, shrugging her shoulders perhaps a bit too casually. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Harry’s silent. His eyes are angry, but there’s guilt in there, too, and before he can apologize for something else that’s not his fault, she finds herself saying, “You’re worth it, Harry.”
It’s startlingly honest. Part of her wishes she could have said something like “I don’t care” or “it’s not your fault” instead, because she doesn’t know what the expression on his face means.
He opens his mouth, maybe to say something, but then he seems to decide against it because he’s kissing her instead, and his hands are threading through her hair, and his heart is beating against her hand, and so she sighs into his mouth, tightening her fingers around his jumper.
When Ginny gets back to her room that night, she eyes the lingerie pieces still laid out on her bed and fingers the expensive fabric before thinking - sod it - and tosses it into her school trunk.
It’s coming back to Hogwarts with her.
v.
“Drink up, Ronnikins,” Fred says, filling up Ron’s glass with champagne until the bubbles spill out. “1997’s going to be a big one, I reckon.”
“Oh, it's going to be,” agrees George, sounding wistful. “Our Bill’s all grown up, getting married, on his way to becoming a stuffy old dad…”
“Here’s to all the women he’ll never get a leg over!” Fred toasts, lifting his glass.
Harry's slightly surprised to see that Fleur actually giggles at this. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, he thinks, while taking a sip from his own glass.
They’re all lounging in the Burrow’s backyard, under a layer of warming charms and floating orbs of light. Fred and George’s timed New Year’s themed fireworks are sitting on the side, waiting to go off at midnight. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retired to bed about an hour ago, leaving the twins as the unofficial alcohol moderators, and naturally, they aren’t doing a very responsible job. Even Ginny’s a bit tipsy.
“Yeah, cheers,” Bills says, mockingly raising his glass to mimic Fred’s pose. “Here’s to Fred’s eternal bachelorhood.”
“And here’s to Gryffindor’s Quidditch Cup victory,” Harry joins in, grinning at Ginny.
She raises her eyebrows, looking unbothered. “You’ll be eating those words,” she says calmly.
“Hey, Gin,” Bill calls, his words slightly slurred. “Didn’t I warn you not to go snogging feckless Gryffindors? Back in your first year?”
“Don’t worry, Bill. Harry’s only feckless when it comes to captaining his Quidditch team,” Ginny replies easily, reaching her arm out to ruffle Harry’s hair. He scowls at her and catches her hand, batting it away from his head.
“Oi,” he says. “Do you want me to stop helping Reiko?”
“She doesn’t need anyone’s help now,” Ginny retorts.
“And that’s thanks to who?”
“Where’s your Gryffindor chivalry?” she demands. “Oh, wait, you didn’t have any in the first place. Didn’t you know, Bill? Harry only helped Reiko with seeking because he wanted to get into my knickers.”
“Ginny,” Harry groans, dropping her hand.
“He wants to what?” Fred and George exclaim.
“I- no, it is not like that,” Harry insists. The looks on Ron, Bill, Fred, and George’s faces are making him genuinely fear for his life.
“Oh, that’s right,” Ginny says mildly, and Harry would have thought she was coming to his defense if she didn’t look so bloody pleased with herself. “What did you say, Harry? What was your reason for offering to help Reiko with Quidditch, again?”
She smiles innocently at him, and Harry looks balefully at her before sighing. “Because I’m a desperate wanker and just wanted more chances to be around you.”
“You bloody sap!” George accuses.
Ginny beams and grabs Harry’s neck to reward him with a fierce snog, while her brothers all groan dutifully in the background. Harry, brain a bit fuzzed-up due to the alcohol consumed that evening, momentarily forgets about their audience and reciprocates enthusiastically. At least until Fred empties the entire rest of the champagne bottle over his head.
“Oi, you’re wasting the booze!” complains Bill as Harry blinks his slightly stinging eyes.
“I’ll just lick it off of him, then,” Ginny replies, her hands still in his hair.
“Ginny!”
“Oh, like you and Fleur are so much better - sorry, Fleur,” she adds. “Don’t know how he convinced you to go out with him, honestly.”
“I can say the same about you and Harry,” Ron says, snickering. “Remember the elbow in the butter dish?”
“Do I need to remind everyone of the time Ron here tried to ask out his future sister-in-law?” Ginny says loudly.
Ron flushes and avoids looking in Fleur’s direction when he counters, “well- well, what about when Harry snogged Chang while she was still crying over her ex-boyfriend?”
“Or when he ditched their Valentine’s date to go give The Quibbler some Chosen One propaganda,” George adds while Harry flips them off.
“Hope you have some more tact than that when it comes to Ginny, Harry,” Fred says.
“He doesn’t,” Ron says, delighted. “He was so scared about mucking up their first date that he asked me to punch him just so he could miss it.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Harry groans.
“And this is the guy that’s supposed to save us all from You-Know-Who?” Bill asks.
“Ginny can be a lot scarier, to be fair,” George reasons as Ron nods his head in agreement.
“Or maybe you’re just a coward,” Ginny shoots back. “How I’m the only non-Gryffindor in this family, I’ll never know.”
“You’re right,” says Fred. “Ol’ Percy should’ve gone to the snakes.”
“Take that back!” Ginny demands. “We don’t want him!”
Harry smiles to himself as the Weasley siblings continue to exchange good-natured jibes, and they’re still arguing when the fireworks finally go off, signaling the official start of the new year.
The bickering quickly turns into cheers of “happy New Year,” and Ginny’s retort to George cuts off as she spins around towards Harry, looking at him expectantly with her eyebrows raised. He grins, for a moment just appreciating how absolutely bloody beautiful she is, before he cups her jaw and kisses her, tasting hints of champagne as she smiles against his lips.
“Happy New Year,” he murmurs, before she’s pulling his mouth back down on hers, and as George’s whining about how “there’s no more alcohol to dump on them” gets drowned out by the crackling fireworks lighting up the dark sky, Harry has hope that with Ginny there with him, 1997 might be his one blissful, almost-normal year.
If only.