#Missing Moment

[albaskies]

‘You didn’t have to do that, you know.’

His voice lingers in the air like a sweet scent of honey, and pulls her to a halt just before she reaches the stairs leading up to the dormitories. 

Ginny turns, drawn by the ever-familiar sound that still makes her heart sing despite herself, and finds Harry slumped in a solitary chair at the far end of the common room. His head rests in his hands, his shoulders seem stiff under the weight of his own exhaustion. And yet, his voice is soft - so soft that she wonders if she’s imagined it. It’s only when she notices his gaze fixed upon her that she has the confirmation that it was not just a trick of her mind.

The quiet in the room is mitigated by the gentle crackle of the fire, its warm glow flickering across the walls, and by the occasional whispers of a few lingering Gryffindors, not yet ready for sleep.

She smiles gingerly and draws closer to where Harry is sitting, the air around them feeling somehow thicker and thicker at every step she takes towards him. She is sure, quite sure, to notice his posture relax, his muscles loosen, and for a fleeting, desperately terrifying moment, she just knows — he feels it, too. 

She stops right in front of him, her knees slightly brushing his, and she realises she’s been holding her breath.

‘Do what?’

She knows what, of course, but her throat has suddenly gone dry under the weight of his unwavering gaze, never once leaving her.

He smiles tentatively, and it still feels unreal that she can make him do that, that she can be the reason for it.

‘Well.’ He shrugs. ‘Telling people off on my behalf.’

She hums, then winks at him. ‘You looked like you needed saving, and I do have a debt to settle.’

He snorts, the glimpse of a short-lived moment of lightheartedness brightening his eyes, then quickly shakes his head, coming back to reality.

‘Everyone is right to be disappointed, especially you’, he says, then pauses, staring at her intently, struggling to find the right words. ‘Because I-’.

What he did remains hanging in the air, his voice breaking right in the middle of it. She tries to contain the urge to sit on the armrest of his chair and to throw her hands around his neck, holding him tight, telling him it’s OK, he’s OK, and they’ll be just fine. 

Instead, she looks at him, faking a shrug to dissimulate a shiver.

‘You took orders from something someone wrote in a book.’

There’s another pause, a beat, and the air around them suddenly feels unbreathable.

‘Yeah.’ His eyes flash before her, and she feels them burning on her skin, like the scariest and yet most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. ‘I’m very sorry, Ginny.’

How do you tell someone, you know, I think I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been for the longest of times and damn you, damn you, for looking at me like that right now. Just when I had almost moved on, just when I had almost let you go. Damn you for having those eyes, that face, those hands. I’ve spent so many sleepless nights over the years, but your smile is the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen. I want to spend my days telling you about it, laughing with you, crying with you. I want to kiss that sad frown away from your face and make all this disappear. I want to take your pain away, I want to make you smile like you do until the air in my lungs runs out. I want the good, I want the bad, I want it fucking all.

I’m so screwed, she concludes. She gives in, stops resisting. I’m so fucking screwed.

[ginevra11]

It's not like he was stalking her. His eyes just happened to follow the scribble of her name to the astronomy tower. The glorious summer days at the burrow seemed a lifetime away; he had completely forgotten that Ginny was a year behind him. Back at Hogwarts, it was hard for them to spend time together, since she always seemed to be so busy with the OWLs, her friends, and, well, Dean.

The sun had just begun to set, the drowning rays pooled in a coral halo around her head as she tried to assemble a… kite?

Ginny suddenly squeaked and startled, causing him to snap out of his daze and haphazardly shove the map in the back pocket of his pants.

“Ha-Harry?!”

He belatedly realised that he may have stupidly babbled his musings. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ignore the violent heat wave flooding his face as he quickly made his way to sit beside her.

“Hi!” He breathed out, giving her a small smile.

She goggled at him for a few seconds and let out a surprised giggle, causing the chaotic frenzy from moments ago to settle into comfortable silence and content smiles.

Two patterned kites littered beside a reel of black string, some chocolate frogs, and a few tattered and crunched-up kites. A dusty-looking instruction manual was splayed on the geometric floor.

‘Tie a loop in the flying line, make a larkshead knot (double loop), pass the tow point through the knot, and pull tight—you're ready to fly.’

Ginny sat with her head resting on her folded knees, her eyes lazily drifting across the pamphlet while her fingers aimlessly twirled the string. She tilted her head towards him, slightly pouting.

Harry was suddenly overcome with this absurd urge to squish her cheeks together. He gave his head a little shake and wordlessly reached for the thread, his fingers brushing hers as he tugged the string out of her hands.

He worked silently. Trying to mimic the diagrammatic figures and instructions. His heart beat in a now-familiar rhythm as he felt Ginny scoot towards him and peer over his shoulders. Somehow steady, his fingers managed to loop the string into a decent knot that matched the diagram.

As he turned to Ginny with the project in his hands, he noticed the stupor on her face. He waved his hand in front of her face; her eyes languidly followed his fingers.

“Ginny?”

Her eyes instantly came into focus, and her face was suddenly awash in a rosy glow. She quickly took the kite out of his hands and turned it over as if to inspect it. She turned to him with a disdainful look and sneered.

“200 points from Slytherin,” she mocked.

He let out a startled laugh. Ginny had a way of making him crack up at the most inane words. Soon, they were both breathless, convulsing with laughter. He felt a smug grin involuntarily stretch across his face. They both were just catching their breaths when Ginny let out an exhilarated cheer and rose to her feet. She tossed a chocolate frog at him and grabbed the now-assembled kites and the reel. Ginny dragged him by his arm, and soon they were rushing towards the Quidditch pitch, with barely stifled giggles.

The Hufflepuffs had already scheduled the pitch for the evening practice, while Gryffindor practice was usually scheduled for the early mornings. The looming pressure of the fourth match of the season had both the houses fully occupied in rather intense Quidditch schedules.

Ginny was often left exhausted, continuously switching between the demanding studies of a fifth year and the rigorous Quidditch practices. The only time he could actually be with her was the morning practice, which became a religiously anticipated event of his day. Harry was still grateful for any glitch in the time that may have brought Ginny and him together on that late February evening.

They quietly sneaked into the broom shed and picked out two sturdy Cleansweeps. With the air occupied, they hovered around the edge of the pitch, brainstorming the potential airspace that could be utilised for their amusement. An idea sparked, and Harry spun his broom, Ginny following suit.

He made a quick detour around the Quidditch pitch, piloting towards the great lake. A limitless expanse of sky stretched out ahead of them, the sun spilling into pools of mauve and rouge.

A soft breeze danced around them, fragrant with something floral, something distinctly Ginny. The wind was definitely blowing in his favour.

“Here,” said Ginny, holding the kite out to him.

With a hand steadying the broom, he took the kite from her and handed her the reel. He turned with his back to the wind, facing Ginny, and held the kite as Ginny slowly spun the reel and let out the line. They both swiftly moved away from each other. Once the string between them slackened, Harry let go of the kite and flew to her.

The kite gently swayed with the breeze. Ginny gently pulled the string, and the kite rose higher.

They took turns, working in synchrony. Holding the reel, letting loose the line, and tugging the string occasionally. They watched in silent wonder as the kite soared with the wind, with only the slightest effort on their part.

Here, at a few thousand feet above the ground, Harry, for the first time, experiences the beauty of silence. He fleetingly recalls the decaying silences of the past, filled with unending loneliness and longing. He also reminisces of the other silences with Ginny, when she used to be a stuttering, blushing mess around him. A pale crescent moon now shares the dusky lavender sky with the drowning sun. A strange twinge gnaws at his heart as he looks at Ginny. Her eyes are lit up in wonder, her smile is radiant, and her hair is twirling with the wind. She is bliss, beauty, and unattainable. But as their eyes meet and her smile brightens, his heart soars somewhere higher than the nearly invisible kite.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Auburn

A microfic written for Day 1 of Jily Week 2024, run by the very lovely @sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee, and inspired by the theme Love is in the Hair - one of those iconic 'wow' moments!

647 words

Rated G

A flash of red catches James Potter’s eye for the very first time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James Potter was twelve years old the first time he really noticed Lily Evans’s hair. Obviously, he’d seen it plenty of times before, just like he’d seen Sirius’s hair or his Mum’s hair. The difference was that he hadn’t ever looked at it properly before. 

The day it happened, he and Sirius were in their usual seats in the Potions classroom, at the bench in the back right corner; the one that was least visible from Slughorn’s desk and therefore offered the most potential for messing about. 

Sluggie had finished his opening lecture on the topic of Swelling Solution - or at least that was what James assumed he’d been talking about, since that was what was written on the board, but he honestly hadn’t heard a word; he’d been too busy scribbling notes to Sirius. In fairness, Swelling Solutions did sound like they could be quite entertaining, and the idea of slipping some into the pumpkin juice at the Slytherin table convinced him that it might be worth actually putting a bit of effort in for once.  

He and Sirius played Spell, Shield, Serpent to decide who had to go and get their ingredients from the supply cupboard. Sirius lost, and made a rude gesture at James as he scraped his stool back along the stone floor. James smirked at him, then started to flick through his textbook looking for the right page, when a flash of red caught his attention; Evans, sitting next to that greasy loser Snape at the bench immediately in front of him, had flipped her hair back over her shoulders.

Her hair, he noticed, was remarkably thick and shiny, and James idly considered asking what Sleekeazy products she used. It was a very unusual colour, too. Auburn, he thought it was called; not an obnoxiously bright red, like the Prewett twins, but a darker, richer shade altogether. It seemed to change as she moved her head, the lamplight creating rose gold highlights and purple-plum shadows amidst the rich chestnut. 

As he watched, she picked up three sections from near the front, and began to weave them together, nimble fingers dancing a fascinating waltz down her head. She deftly pulled more and more strands into the pattern as she went, and the repetitive movement was oddly hypnotic. It left James entranced.

She’d just reached the nape of her neck when Sirius returned.

“How the hell is she doing that?” he muttered. 

“How is who doing what?” asked Sirius, dismissively.

“Evans.” He nodded towards her. “Doing that with her hair, behind her head, without a mirror or a charm or anything.”

“Oh. I dunno. Oi, Evans!” called Sirius. “James wants to know what you’re doing?”

Quite unexpectedly, James felt his skin heat with embarrassment at the thought that Evans might know he’d been looking at her. It was the strangest feeling, one that was completely unfamiliar. James decided that he didn’t like it, not at all. 

Lily shot them a disdainful look as she secured the tail of her hair with a band. “I’m plaiting my hair, obviously. You know, so it doesn’t get in the way while I’m brewing.” She looked pointedly at Sirius’s collar length locks. “Maybe I should teach you?”

Sirius looked horrified. “What? Like a girl? No way!”

Evans rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the ingredients on the bench in front of her. 

“Why are you so interested in Evan’s hair all of a sudden?” asked Sirius, curiously.

“I’m not,” huffed James.

And he wasn’t. He had far more important things to think about after all, like Quidditch trials, for instance, and how he and Sirius were going to sneak their Swelling Solution out of the classroom without Sluggie noticing. Resolute, he started measuring out dried nettles to add to his mortar. He wasn’t going to think about Evans’s hair ever again; he was sure of it.

[merrymagicalmenagerie]

Oh look, I actually wrote something! Harry/Ginny Incognito Elf Exchange 2024 for Macknificent101

More under the cut, or check out the link to my AO3

Like Her Paper Chains 

It’s Christmastime at the Burrow and Harry can’t sleep as usual. The cozy home was quiet, despite the many guests filling the rooms. Harry stared up at the violently orange ceiling for yet another night. His mind still raced over the comings and goings of Snape and Malfoy. The previous night’s dream of a particular ginger-haired girl didn’t help much either. Resigning himself to make something to drink, Harry quietly slipped out of bed. Moving around in Ron’s room wasn’t a difficult task, but he did worry about the landing and that one odd step that needed to be skipped.

As Harry quietly descended the stairs toward the kitchen, he heard an odd shuffling and crinkling sound coming from the living room. Ever the detective, he put his back against the wall and silently moved toward the sound, wand at the ready just in case. What greeted him was quite a sight–the room was covered in cut-up strips of paper of every color. Harry had never seen such a vast amount of paper in one place, let alone so many different varieties of color and patterns. He scanned the room for a moment before he spotted her.

Ginny was sitting in the middle of the vast crafting project, her back to him. He was awestruck by the way her hair glittered under the candlelight. He watched as she reached to the left and, without looking, snatched up a small handful of colorful strips. She let out an exasperated sigh and mumbled something that he couldn’t quite make out. Harry knew, of course, that Ginny liked making paper chains. But he always assumed it was something she did over time, like a quiet task to wind down for the night. But this—this was insanity.

He tempted fate and quietly called to her. “Ginny?” She jerked her head similar to a cat caught being naughty, eyes wide. Harry couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight. “How come you’re up so late doing…this?” he gestured to the paper forest on the floor.

“What? You expect Father Christmas had House Elves decorate every home before Christmas morning?” Her nose scrunched up as she giggled at him causing his heart to skip a beat. “You’re up late too, you know. Come help.” She shoved a small pile of multi-colored striped cuts on her left further aside and patted the floor.

Caught like a mouse, he obliged. Grabbing a pillow from the sofa on his way, he sat down next to her—too closely, but it was the amount of space she allowed him. Ginny looked at him expectantly. “Can’t sleep, pretty normal for me. You don’t need to worry; ’m fine.” He felt his face growing warm as he struggled to look directly in her eyes, but something told him that it was important to do so.

“If you say so,” she hummed. She finished her current link of the paper chain and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Help me get through this then. I’d be up for ages if you didn’t. Phlegm has totally taken over my room; otherwise, I’d normally be already done.” She handed him a Pritt Stick from her box of supplies and grinned widely.

“Hadn’t used this in a while. Didn’t think wizards would have glue sticks like Muggles do,” Harry replied as he reached for some strips of paper in front of him, returning her smile.

“Oh no! Daddy actually just got me a bunch of these for my birthday and some other muggle stationery. Before, I’d just use a sticky paste that I had to make myself. This is so much more handy!” Harry took a mental note to buy her crafting supplies for any upcoming gift-giving. By the way she smiled, he would spend all his gold in Gringotts getting her every paint, paper, glue, and glitter known to wizard and muggle alike.

Waving a few strips in the air between them, Harry spoke earnestly, “Well, Ms. Paper Chain Queen, you will have to show me how you do these ‘cause I have no clue.”

In response, Ginny brought her hand to her upper chest and gasped, “Nonsense! How can you not know how?” She dramatically sighed as she leaned over Harry’s lap to grab a glittery green strip, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she went. “Let me show you…”

He didn’t dare move an inch, didn’t dare breathe until she was upright again.

He tried, honestly. He tried to pay attention as she twisted the strip of paper through the existing red link and glued it together. But her hands…her soft hands that held remarkably few calluses despite playing Quidditch with such fervor. Small, delicate fingers weaving paper as if it were nothing. Were they warm or a little cold? How would they feel—

"See? Easy! Surely you can manage,” she interrupted his thoughts, holding her addition in the air proudly.

He couldn’t recall if she did anything in particular. Harry was far too preoccupied with staring at her hands to watch what she was doing with them. Certainly nothing that wouldn’t haunt his dreams later. “I think so? Does color matter...?” He looked away, shuffling through the nearest strips of paper to hide the red that he knew was spreading across his face. “...this deep blue is my favorite…” he mumbled, hoping to escape the hell he was creating for himself.

“I’ve got you. I’m always here for you, Harry.” Ginny spoke solemnly as she squeezed his upper thigh. Alarms rang in his ears. Before he could fully turn his head, the moment passed as quickly as it appeared. Harry couldn't help but stare as she pulled her silky tresses through a hair band with ease as if she said nothing remarkable at all.

After a beat, Harry quietly said, “You look pretty good with your hair up like that.” Realizing what he said, he hastily went back to trying to glue up the blue bit of paper he was holding in his hands to a mustard yellow one.

“Didn’t know you were so into fashion. Maybe we should set up a meeting with Witch Weekly?” Ginny teased, bumping his shoulder again, seemingly oblivious to his heart beating out of his chest.

“Ha! You’d love to take the mickey out of me on that one.” Harry chuckled as he bumped her shoulder back, silently hoping to transfer the energy of his pounding heart to her. “Let’s get these done. I’ll make some hot chocolate when we’ve finished.”

“What a gent!” Ginny flicked her hair, long even in a ponytail, dramatically over her shoulder.

She had to know what she was doing to him, surely. How much more could he take before he said or did something stupid? He was certain that she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. Perhaps this is the moment to say something, he thought before reminding himself but she's still with Dean. At this moment though, it didn’t matter really. Nothing but sitting next to her did. Harry shook his head and smirked before returning to his feeble chain.

A few hours passed in glorious small talk. They made crude jokes about Ron and Lavender, gossiped about Hermione’s scandalous date with McLaggen (he would most definitely need to talk to her when they return to Hogwarts), talked shop about Quidditch strategies—anything and everything that came to their minds. It was as if no one else existed; Harry’s whole world was in the living room with Ginny alone. He could stay in this moment forever and be content.

The dark sky was giving way to an inky blue when all of the colorful paper chains were put together and the pair was finishing draping them across every surface in the room. Ginny was standing next to Harry, hands on her hips, as he secured the last link over the entryway to the kitchen. “How about that hot chocolate then?”

The next evening, the Weasley's and their guests were sitting in the living room, which everyone assumed Ginny had decorated so lavishly in a paper chain explosion alone as she always did. No one knew that Harry helped into the dawn hours. She discreetly winked at him when he came down the stairs for dinner, and he smiled in return. It was their little secret.

Despite his misgivings about his feelings toward Ginny and the eternal debate in his mind, Harry felt as if they grew a little closer the previous night. Something seems to have shifted between them, moving them forward toward some unknown goal, as if they were linked together like her paper chains.

[kay-elle-cee]

*cough* um.....willabeth angst anyone?

(Happy 17th birthday to At World's End! I wish I had a picture of the Will Turner shirt I made and wore to the premiere!)

She had killed a man. The guilt, oddly enough, came not from taking the life itself. Elizabeth’s hands gripped the wood of the railing as the nausea threatened to overwhelm her again. She’d been making nightly excursions to this gangway, out of sight of the skeleton crew Captain Barbossa kept for the overnights as they sailed towards Singapore. Sleep was not a luxury that came easy to her since her day of reckoning; a clear mind and settled conscience even less so. Soft footsteps approached, then stopped. She made an effort to conceal her face, turning it away from the sound. “Elizabeth…”

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

April 7: Jump

Day 7 of @hinnymicrofic

She used to jump whenever he walked into a room.

Ginny remembers the frantic skitter of her heart, pumping blood into her cheeks so that she could feel the heat emanating from them like a flame. Red, and stammering, and twelve. 

She doesn’t, anymore. She’s older now, better at hiding the skips of her heart with a grin and some banter. She’s gotten so good at it that she fools herself into thinking she’s as impervious to his presence as she pretends. 

They’re at a point now where she’s certain Harry considers her a friend in her own right. A good one, even. And when she pulled back the layer of liking him through the lens of an embarrassing childhood crush, she uncovered that she just liked him, as a person. He’s funny, in a dry, acerbic kind of way that catches her off guard sometimes. He’s reserved but surprisingly kind when opportunities present themselves to be. And of all the people she banters with, he’s secretly her favorite. 

There’s no room now for skittering hearts and glowing cheeks. She values their friendship, has very nearly convinced herself she’s content with it. 

But then. But then.

It’s Christmas Eve. The smell of roast lamb and cocoa lingers in the air. She saunters in from the den, where her brothers are still laughing uproariously at something Fred had said, and Harry’s at the counter pouring himself some more cocoa. He smiles at her when she enters. 

“Oi! You’d better have left some for me.”

He levels her a flat look. “Course I did. I like my bogeys batless, thanks.”

There it is again, the liking him. “I reserve that hex for the likes of Zacharias Smith. You’re welcome.”

“Good to know where I stand.”

They laugh. Her heart skitters at the sound, but her hands are still as she pours herself some cocoa, well-practiced in her performance of impenetrability. 

She reaches for the milk and brushes against him. 

It’s small. No elbows in butter dishes or dropped mugs. But nonetheless she notices, and the realization burns hot and sweet like cocoa on her tongue.

He jumped. 

[hinnyfied]

Fireside

@hinnymicrofic June 19th prompt: Parents

It's not as micro as I originally intended, but I couldn't help myself! Read on AO3 here or below!

***

Ginny was in the throes of OWL preparation, and it was severely limiting her time with Harry (much to her irritation). They did their best to find ways to spend extra time with each other, even if that meant just quietly doing schoolwork together.

They were in the common room late one evening, curled up next to one another on the sofa nearest the fireplace. Harry was reading through his copy of Advanced Transfiguration and making additions to his notes from class while Ginny attempted to cram more Potions information into her brain – though she was convinced she was simply out of room up there at this point.

She felt Harry yawn beside her, and she looked up at the old clock on the mantle. It was nearing midnight, and apart from the two of them, the common room was entirely empty.

“Ready to call it for the night?” she asked him.

“Only if you are,” he said, stubbornly suppressing a second yawn.

“You don’t have to stay up with me, you know.” Ginny smiled.

“I know,” Harry said with a shrug. “I want to though.”

Ginny snuggled up closer to him, resting her head on his shoulders.

“I think Mum and Dad started going out during OWL year. I don’t know how the hell they found the time and still got good marks,” Ginny mused, wishing she could toss her book in the fire and spend all her time with Harry by the lake instead.

“Mine got together in their NEWT year,” Harry said, catching Ginny off guard.

Harry had never spoken to Ginny about his parents before. Everything she knew about them came from Hermione or brief mentions in books that touched on Harry and You-Know-Who or passing comments made by Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

“They must have had a hard time too then.” She raised her head, looking up at his face.

Harry nodded, his eyes staring off into some far away place, perhaps wondering – like Ginny – if they too had spent nights like this, studying together by the fire.

She thought she ought not to push Harry for more, but she had the tiniest inkling that tonight was different, that she might get away with a gentle nudge.

“Tell me about them,” she said softly.

Harry looked at her for what felt like ages, his expression difficult to read.

Without a word, he got up, leaving his things on the sofa and walking up towards his dormitory. Taken aback by the sudden departure, Ginny worried at first that she had overstepped, but Harry returned shortly after, holding a small bound book.

He sat back down next to her, staring at the book in his hands for a moment before hesitantly handing it to her.

Ginny opened what she now realised was a little album to the first page, and her heart clenched. There were James and Lily Potter, holding a little boy who could be no older than six months or so. He had round, happy cheeks, smiling as big as he could as his parents cuddled him affectionately.

“You really do look just like him.” Ginny said, looking at James and feeling a sense of warm familiarity despite never having met him. Harry smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Where did you get this?” she asked as she slowly flipped through the pages, pausing to absorb every detail she could from each photograph.

“Hagrid,” Harry said. “He reached out to people who might have pictures of them and gave it to me at the end of my first year.”

Ginny felt an extra swell of affection for Hagrid, alongside the bittersweetness of it all.

She turned another page, and her heart sank. It was a wedding photo, and beside the elated couple was Sirius, looking far more carefree than Ginny had ever seen him.

“She’s beautiful,” Ginny said with a whisper, clearing her throat and pointing to Lily. She was radiant in her wedding dress, full of happiness and hope for the future. It almost hurt to look at her, knowing what was to come.

Harry didn’t say anything in return, just pulled Ginny in closer.

There was a lot she wanted to say, and even more she wanted to ask, but she knew this wasn’t the time for it. That he brought her the photo album at all meant more to Ginny than she could say.

They sat in silence together, Harry watching her intently as she went through the album twice over, soaking up every bit of Harry’s little family that she could.

[builder051]

NaNo 2024 day 8: A hairbrained scheme

Avengers Infinity Saga canon/missing moment

Right before they put the time through the Scott

Humor without plot

————————

Bruce sits behind the control panel in his lab. Scott’s van is backed into place in front of him, and many wires and cords run from its trunk to his computer.

That’s not his focus at the moment, though. A video chat window dominates his screen.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Bruce implores.

“Nope.” Tony replies succinctly. “I already told you. And I haven’t changed my mind.”

“It’s still not too late. We can delay launch until you get here,” Bruce offers. “Come on. The team’s back. We need you to help save the world.”

“I need to be in the backyard,” Tony says. “Got to blaze the fire pit. Morgan already has the tent. We’re camping out tonight. You know, play a little banjo, melt some marshmallows. Way more important than your hairbrained scheme.”

“Can I get your blessing at least? If it works, I’m taking all the credit.” Bruce tries for a light, friendly tone. He doesn’t want to be angry with Tony. He doesn’t want to be angry at all. “If it fails… Well, it was Scott’s idea.”

Both men laugh, but they quickly sober when they make eye contact again. Tony’s hand comes into the camera view, and the feed cuts off.

“Hey!” Scott calls from across the lab. “Why were you laughing at me. This is a great idea.” He gestures at the van. “I’m the only one with an idea.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Bruce says. “It’s just…Tony. He’s spent too much time alone. I think it’s an entrepreneur thing.”

“So he’s really a no go?” Scott asks. “For sure?”

“Yeah,” Bruce sighs. He closes the tab for the video chat and returns his attention to the time machine’s programming. “At this point, he may as well be on another planet.”

“He still covers the insurance, right?” Scott squirms in his vermillion hazmat suit. “If I die on the job, somebody’s got to get the payout to Cassie. I, uh, haven’t been great at that college fund thing. Do a cashier’s check. And delivery receipt.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Bruce reassures. “It worked last time.” He taps a few keys, finishing up the last line of his equation. “You survived the dust after all.”

“Mm.” Scott nods. “Will it be like jet lag, do you think? If I come back all woozy, wave some horseradish under my nose. That’ll kick me out of any kind of time coma.” He takes in Bruce’s blank look. “You have condiments here?” He tilts his head toward the fridge in the back of the lab.

“I don’t know,” Bruce says. “Natasha does the groceries. I usually eat out.” He hovers his finger over the power switch. “It’ll go fine. You ready?”

“Wait!” Scott stalls. “We should get something tonight. To celebrate, you know? After this thing works? Your treat. You have Doordash?”

“We have to actually do it first.” Bruce flicks the switch. The equipment in the back of the van lights up. “Then tonight we’re eating on Tony’s ticket.” He grins at Scott. “Do you like s’mores?”

[turanga4]

For @hinnymicrofic Prompt 18: Stop WARNING IT IS SAD

Read here (but it's long-ish) or on Ao3.

It’s quiet behind him, but loud in his head. Harry remembers a time when he could slip away unnoticed, when the Burrow’s kitchen table rang with arguments and laughter. The voices now are low and tired—their exchanges, dull routines.

He needs to deal with a different set of words. Again and again they come to him, disembodied echoes, high and cold as they were that night, but heard now just by him.

You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself.

He shakes his head. It doesn’t help. The leaves have been fading on the trees in the distance, spring moving towards summer. More heat in the air. A bird is singing somewhere; the voice drowns it out.

You have permitted you have permitted

Harry blinks a few times quickly and looks around again. The Burrow’s mostly been restored, its wobbly gate set back on its hinges. Some things, though, were too broken to fix. There are other, smaller things where no one has bothered.  One window hangs cracked above the couch in the living room, with thin spidery lines like ice on a lake.

He should go back in: Mrs. Weasley might worry. He aches each time he thinks of her, because the watch that she gave him becomes the clock in his nightmares, and Fred’s hand is spinning as it tears into the ground. He’d stay outside forever if that would help, but it wouldn’t. Rather than face me yourself.

Harry’s fist clenches, still wrapped against his wand. “For fuck’s sake. I did face you. I killed you. You’re done.” 

The voice echoing inside of him laughs at him and shifts.

your friends

your friends

your friends to die

Hermione, glassy-eyed, staring at the kitchen floor when he crept downstairs in the hours before dawn. “It’s lunch time in Australia,” she whispered, turning away. Ron’s been looking constantly from face to face to face. George, cutting his hair and breaking two mirrors.

Then Colin’s mother, thanking him. Her warm ungloved hands, and how she let go of him mid sentence to dab at her eyes.  The casket, obscenely, was the same size as Remus's. But Remus, at least, had been a full-grown man. 

You have permitted you have permitted

He answers again then, just one word. He’s almost crying.

STOP.  

Harry isn’t sure if he said it out loud.  If it was a command, or a plea, or if it can even happen. The tree in front of him has just dropped three branches; he sees that before noticing that he’s not alone.

Ginny approaches and he realizes that it must have been out loud after all. “You hear him still, don’t you?”

Harry jerks his head back. She continues to step forward. 

“Even though he’s not speaking? Even though he’s dead? You hear him still, don’t you? You shouldn’t, but you do.”

She’s looking at him carefully. Not afraid, but something else.

“How do you know?”

Ginny draws herself up to her full height. Her eyes make his breath catch as her gaze locks with his. She raises one hand and ghosts it over his forehead.

Then seems to fall into herself, shrinking down. Her voice not her own, her eyes fixed on the dirt. They stand, facing each other, and there’s a promise of a future in the echoes of the past. He wants to hug her, to kiss her, to marry her, to heal with her. (They will do all of those things, some day. But not yet.)

Ginny’s picking at her thumbnail as he leans in to listen. 

“Funny the damage a silly little book can do, especially in the hands of a silly little girl.”

[thenicestthingiveseen]

day 8: alone

canon/hbp/164 words

written for @hinnymicrofic

“I swear to Godric if he doesn’t ask you out soon, You-Know-Who won’t have to worry about the Chosen One because bludgers will have killed him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ginny says but she can feel her face flushing despite her forced nonchalance. “But if I did, I’d tell you to shut up.” She hisses while looking towards the other side of the locker room.

“We’re alone now, you know?” Katie giggles as she packs away her kit. “Everyone’s already on their way back to the castle. I just don’t know how many more bludger hits I can watch. He’s never been like this before. It’s mad.” 

Ginny doesn’t say anything. She packs up and heads out and fights the smile that threatens to break across her face. Katie doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Hermione doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Dean didn’t know what he was talking about either. They’re all mad. 

Harry Potter doesn’t fancy Ginny Weasley.

Impossible.

[albaskies]

hehe i loved your short hinny fic!! it was soo great!! ❤️❤️❤️ can you please write another hinny fic, maybe hbp and include lots of yearning from harry 🙈🙈 whether that yearning is satisfied is completely up to you!!

thank you so much, anon, that's very kind ❤️ i managed to scramble something up based on your prompt, and had lots of fun doing it. i couldn't make hbp work, so i hope you don't mind i went with early dh instead. i hope you enjoy some angsty yearning courtesy of our very own hj potter!

***

Don’t look at her.

Harry repeats those words to himself like a mantra as he absent-mindedly stacks different kinds of desserts on his plate. The air under the marquee has become thicker now that several guests have stood up to dance, and Harry has started to feel very uncomfortable in Barny Weasley’s sweatier-than-normal body.

He grunts at the dessert selection available on the buffet table, wondering what kind of boring wedding does not serve treacle tart. But then again, he has never been to a wedding before, so what does he know, really.

He walks away in search of somewhere to sit down, carefully trying to shut down his peripheral vision, his gaze dutifully fixed right in front of him. 

Don’t look at her.

Since after the ceremony, he has decided to avoid looking at the dance floor at all costs. He is convinced this is the safest way to keep his mind clear, without being distracted by stupid promises made to stupid best mates, or by the temptation to throttle big-headed Quidditch players - nobody in particular, of course.

He slouches in the first empty chair he finds, his eyes focused on his plate and the assortment of sweets he is never going to eat. He nervously starts drumming with his fingers on the table, while conversation and laughter bubble all around him.

He could take a look at the dancefloor, he reckons, just to check that Ron and Hermione have not started bickering. A quick peek won’t hurt anybody, right?

Do not. Look. At her.

Except that he cannot not look at her. He cannot help but make silly excuses to steal a glance at her every now and then; he cannot help but look for her in the colourful crowd. He cannot help but know exactly where she is under the marquee, even when he is talking to somebody else, when he is eating a bite, or when she is joining Luna in her extravagant dance.

Because Ginny is pure, burning light. He is drawn to her like a flower is drawn to the sun, and he does not know how to contain this dangerous feeling building up in his chest. It’s powerful, urgent, and it makes his heart ache like never before. 

Defeated by his own sorry arse, he looks up and quickly scans the room, trying to convince himself that he is actually checking on Ron and Hermione. He is not fooling anyone, really. 

It only takes him a split second to find her. Because this time she is not talking to somebody else, or eating a bite, or dancing with Luna. This time she is right there in front of him. No, she is actually walking towards him.

Oh bloody hell.

The room seems to blur around her, its noise and chaos fading to a hum as Harry helplessly watches her drawing closer and closer.

He wishes he had the strength to stop her, he really does. But there’s only so much that a man can do when the woman he loves walks towards him surrounded by that golden aura of light, so painfully beautiful, so painfully real.

And just like that, she sits in the empty chair right next to him. She doesn't say anything, yet he understands everything. 

Silence has always been easy with Ginny. It has been easy for longer than he can remember. 

He really should have known, the miserable prat. He should have known that love is a quiet, secret language shared through the simplest of glances. Love is moving together without speaking and understanding each other in a way that no one else ever could. He should have known that clammy hands, fumbling conversations and awkward silences over hot chocolate at Madam Puddifoot’s are an absolute pile of nothing compared to this.

And yet - he couldn’t have known, could he, that he would have found love in a hard, blazing gaze, in the sweet sound of laughter lingering in the air, in little elbows and butter dishes, in a gloriously setting sun. Maybe the realisation would not have struck him so hard, if he had. And maybe, with Ginny, he cannot have it in any other way.

He does not know for how long they remain sitting like that, a foot from each other, without uttering a single word. Their bodies are not remotely touching, and yet he feels engulfed by her, by her flowery scent, by her blazing and unwavering light. Their bodies are not even touching, and yet he feels her warmth everywhere on his body, under his skin, brushing his soul.

The other guests might think he looks like a miserable sod, stiffly glued to his chair just to be around her, just to drink her in for one more minute.

Or maybe they just think he is the weird cousin who creeps on younger girls at family functions. Whatever. He is not even sure he cares.

After all, she has not left yet. She is, too, sitting there on the edge of her chair, incapable of walking away. She stays, and that’s all that matters to him.

A sudden glint of yellow, and Harry notices Luna waving at Ginny from the crowd, calling her to the dance floor. 

They both sigh. The spell of silent and blissful oblivion around them is broken once again.

‘I think I’m going to join Luna,’ Ginny says quietly. 

He is so grateful, like a pathetic, smitten idiot, to hear her voice again. Even if what she says rips a hole through his heart.

When she finally does get up from her chair, it looks like she is wearing a weighted vest around her shoulders. He feels something breaking inside of him.

‘Oh.’ He chokes, clears his throat. ‘Yeah. Have fun.’

Her beautiful, sad eyes linger on him for a moment too long before she gives him a curt nod, and slowly walks away.

What a stupid thing to say, he tells himself. What a stupid, idiotic thing to say, when all he should have done instead was ask her, please stay. Please don’t go, please don’t leave me. I can’t bear to be away from you, I just can’t let you go. I’m sorry. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. I am so sorry.

A miserable man, he is. A miserable, miserable man who is about to go on a suicide mission but has to push away the only person who makes him feel truly invincible. 

Would it be so bad to dive into the crowd, grab her hand, hold her close to his chest, and drown in that blissful oblivion again? Would it be so bad to kiss her soft, burning red lips, horrifying all the guests and the Weasleys together, hearing someone try and remedy the scandal by explaining that Oh but he’s not really a cousin, you know, more of a distant relative.

Maybe he really should go in there, ask her to run away with him and be just the two of them forever, forget about Dumbledore’s instructions, sod all this Chosen One nonsense. Choose his own happiness, just this once.

But then a silver lynx brings the news that the Ministry’s fallen and chaos unravels. He later ends up wondering to himself if those stupid, idiotic words will be the last ones he will ever say to her.

[honeydukesheroine]

Stones 🪷

For @hinnymicrofic and @ginnyw-potter - your peer pressure worked! Sorry it's not fluffy though, I promise a fluffy one for you soon 🥰

Read below the cut or on Ao3

A missing moment from my WIP, The In-Between's (6th Year) - Honesty Shots

Ginny followed closely behind Harry as they exited the backdoor of the Burrow. 

He walked as far away from the house as possible, headed for the low stone bridge they knew to be the boundary of the Burrow’s protective enchantments. 

When they got there, Ginny sat on the low stone wall that flanked her parents’ driveway. It was all poorly maintained now as there was rarely a reason to come over here after the Ford Anglia went wild. 

“Did you know?” Harry asked, turning towards her. “That Hermione hasn’t told her parents anything?”

“No,” Ginny said, shaking her head.

No wonder Hermione had been so nervous to bring her parents to the Burrow. Ginny figured it was just because of her feelings for Ron. 

If Hermione had only told her, Ginny might’ve been able to help change the subject back in the kitchen. Even if the Grangers really should’ve known, Ginny was well coached in the honorable duty of covering for one’s siblings. 

“Why do you think…?” Harry asked.

“This may come as a shock to you, Harry,” Ginny said, she wasn’t about to lie to him. “But you lot have been involved in some dangerous shit.”

Harry breathed out in a kind of acknowledgement before shoving his hands into his pockets. He began to lightly kick at the base stones of the wall.

“They all seemed to be getting along before that, though,” Ginny added, trying to lift his mood. “Could’ve sworn they were about to discuss wedding dates.”

Harry said nothing. He continued to scrape at the padding of grimy moss with the point of his shoe.

Before thinking twice about the ramifications of the statement, she chanced saying, “They seemed confused that you’d never been to one of them before, a - a tooth Healer.”

“Dentist,” Harry said, kicking the rock over. “Yeah, usually that’s the sort of thing Muggle parents take their kids to.”

Ginny thought back to her Muggle Studies class in second year when they’d learned about different types of Muggle health services. It’d been during her second year, when all she could think about at the time were sharp fangs jutting out of a monstrous snake head.

“Are they the ones that put tiny spears in your mouth?” 

Harry nodded.

“Sounds like you got lucky then,” she said.

Harry made a face and Ginny wondered if she’d gone too far. Maybe she should’ve just kept her mouth shut.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Harry said eventually, still kicking the ground. “Sometimes they even pull your teeth out.”

“That’s a profession?” Ginny asked, encouraged that he had at least responded. “Why not just give people Hagrid’s rock cakes?”

He finally gave her a small smile, which made her glad she’d said it. 

Harry reached down to pick up a handful of stones. Taking one in his right hand, he tossed it up and down a few times before taking a step back and chucking it down the driveway. It sailed several meters before coming in contact with the invisible shield, evaporating with a sizzle. 

“Do you ever think about what things would be like if Tom Riddle never existed?”

“All the time,” she said.

Harry looked at her for a long moment, no doubt recalling their conversation from when he came to sit with her in Myrtle’s bathroom. They’d both had yet to acknowledge their talk there since then.

“Your parents wouldn’t need these protective charms,” he said, turning away and throwing another stone. “I’d have grown up in Godric’s Hollow… Maybe it’d be my parents in there too.”

Harry bent down to pick up several more. He seemed frustrated more than angry, like Ginny remembered feeling after taking one too many hexes from the twins in D.A. practice. 

Before now, she never would’ve pegged Harry as someone who preoccupied his time with what if’s and could have been’s. He always seemed so stoic and focused on what was directly ahead. 

She supposed he had to be like that, Tom made sure of it.

Harry threw several more rocks, each throw with a little less effort. She watched them lob and disappear with a satisfying hiss. 

Ginny shifted on the stone wall to get more comfortable and said into the silence, “But still no dentists.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, letting the rocks fall. He walked over to lean against the wall close beside her. “Still no dentists.”

“You don’t need one anyway. You should keep all your teeth, I think they’re nice,” she said, and her face burned.

“Thanks,” he said, looking down at his feet.

“Give me one of those, will you?” She said, indicating a one of the rocks he’d dropped. When he did so, she clambered up on the unsteady wall and turned in the direction of the pond which lay just a few paces from the Granger’s Volvo. 

She and her brothers used to play a game where they aimed for the lily pads in the pond. When Harry stood up beside her, she told him the scoring system, and they spent the next twenty minutes plonking stones in the pond.

One poor throw slipped from Ginny’s hand, ricocheted off the stone wall, and hit the side of the Granger’s car just above the tire.

“Oh shit,” Ginny laughed and hopped down from the rock wall in a mild panic, pulling Harry down into a duck behind it as they heard raised voices coming from the Burrow’s kitchen. The next moment, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were marching toward their car, Hermione at their heels. 

Harry and Ginny listened to the confrontation between Hermione and her parents. When the car revved to life, they hurried out of the driveway, heading instead for the garden. 

It wasn’t until Ron came by about a half hour later that Harry said anything again. But until then, Ginny stayed with Harry as they paced the garden rows of bright green leaves bursting to life, and a patch of purple flowers that were waiting for their chance to reach full bloom.

[seriouslysam8]

Brumous Missing Moment

Missing Moment One: Late September 1996

You guys can give a big thanks to @bellmel for legit getting this less than 24 hours ago and editing it like a fucking champ. She's amazing! Another special thanks can be given to @myrtlewarren for the idea!

If there's a missing moment from Brumous you would like to see, send me an ask. I don't guarantee I will write it, but inspire me enough and I just may. Please no prompts that heavily involve Hermione though.

Also, I made a new banner for the Missing Moments series that's similar to the original one. I had to have a different banner, right???

Brumous

Petrichor Series

Also on ff.net

[adenei]

Sparks Fly

Written for Microfic Mayhem! A good old GOF AU/Missing Moment (ish?)

Thank you @cruelsummer-ficfest for helping me find my writing groove again and hosting a FABULOUS fest

Song: Sparks Fly

Ship: Romione

Read on AO3

The way you move is like a full on rainstorm

And I'm a house of cards

You're the kind of reckless that should send me running

But I kinda know that I won't get far

“‘Next time there’s a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!’” 

Hermione brushes past Ron, heat rising in her cheeks and tears stinging her eyes. She only makes it a couple of steps before he grabs her by the arm and pulls her back. The room is starkly empty all of a sudden.

“Let me go, Ron,” she warns, but he doesn’t.

“You weren’t a last resort.” The words are barely audible. She wouldn’t have believed he actually spoke if she hadn’t seen his lips move.

“Oh, really?” She yanks her arm out of his grasp and steps forward so that they’re nose to nose again. “So, what? You just needed to ensure I was, in fact, a girl first?”

“I’m well aware you’re a girl,” he responds through gritted teeth.

And at that exact moment his eyes drift down, settling on the tiny bit of cleavage heaving up and down from her breathing before snapping back up to her face. Flattered as Hermione is, her nostrils flare and her cheeks flush with anger. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? No, I—” His ears are scarlet now and he steps back to shed the outer layer of his robes. “C’mon, Hermione. Trust me, I noticed.”

“Yes, well, don’t seem so shocked. I’m fully capable of wearing form-fitting clothes or undoing an extra button on my shirt. I just choose not to.”

“Why?” Ron’s eyes widen slightly, giving away that he didn’t mean to ask the question out loud.

Hermione sighs. “Because I’ll never be as desirable as Fleur or Lavender, so why bother trying?”

She’s not sure where the honesty comes from. It must be all the Butterbeer she’s had tonight that’s finally catching up to her.

“You’re clearly desirable. Viktor fucking Krum took you to the Yule Ball.”

“If only he were the one I wanted to go with,” she admits in a whisper.

Ron scoffs. “Yeah, right. Sure didn’t look like that in the Great Hall.”

“I’m not saying I had a horrible time,” Hermione snaps. “It’s just—” 

“Just what?”

I'm on my guard for the rest of the world

But with you, I know it's no good

She shudders, but doesn’t know if she can tell Ron. Sure, he’s her best friend, but admitting this would be a step too far. But he gives her that look and her heart melts a little more before the words come tumbling out. 

“I was having a good time until the end of the night. He tried to kiss me and I—I turned away.”

Ron balls his fists at his side. “He what?”

“No, no! He tried, but he didn’t. Being his date to the ball was one thing, but—I don’t know, I just couldn’t…he’s not who I wanted to share a first kiss with.”

Silence hangs thick and clouds the space between them until Ron finally speaks. His hands are no longer clenched and his jaw is more relaxed.

“You’ve thought about who you want to share a first kiss with?”

Hermione lets out a derisive laugh. “Of course I have! I am fifteen, you know. Even if I don’t always act like it…I would like the experience of kissing a boy at some point.”

“But you didn’t kiss Viktor.”

“I did not.”

“So who then?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Her lip turns up into the slightest smirk, and perhaps it’s still the Butterbeer coursing through her veins, but she’s pretty sure the proximity to Ron is getting to her. That’s the reason she’s brave enough to say, “Rumor has it, he thinks I’m a nightmare.”

Their fingers brush and she hears a slight hitch in his throat and—did he just move closer? She’s so busy contemplating it that she almost misses his lips brush hers. It may not be a true kiss, but it’s pure heaven. Hermione closes her eyes and sparks fly, but before she can bask in the moment, it’s already gone.

“He definitely doesn’t.”

They remain frozen like that for a beat, and Hermione wishes he’d move back in and truly kiss her this time. Now that she’s had the smallest taste, she wants more.

But Ron pulls away instead. Running a hand through his hair, he grabs the discarded robe, and backs toward the boys’ staircase. Hermione is left reeling in the common room, frozen in place as she watches him leave. She leans on the back of the sofa for support, almost missing when Ron flashes a lopsided grin at her before disappearing up the staircase, and she’s left wondering if all of this is real.

Regardless of whether it did or didn’t, the question still remains:  Now what?

Gimme something that'll haunt me when you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

[whinlatter]

hope (harry/ginny) | a microfic

for @hinnymicrofic day 14 | prompt: hope (slightly nsfw!)

They lug their trunks across the Burrow’s yard in sweaty, stony silence. ‘Beautiful evening,’ her mother remarks, as her children clamber back over the threshold of the rickety old house. ‘I do hope we get more of this lovely sunshine.’ 

Stupid thing to say, she thinks, stupid thing to hope for. There's a wishbone out drying on the kitchen window sill. Wonders if her mother plans to waste it wishing for more good weather in the middle of a war.

Dinner is shepherd’s pie - her old favourite, a Molly classic, and yet it tastes like dust, like ash, like nothing. ‘I know you’ve had a tricky time, dear,’ her mother says gently. She stiffens, glares at Ron, traitor, but then - ‘what with your exams being cancelled - and right when you’d done all that work -’ so she's safe, then, goes back to moving mash potato around her plate. ‘Made of real shepherds,’ her dad says, weak smile, trying his best. She gulps down her mouthful and excuses herself, slams the bedroom door shut, finds she's shaking.

Lying on her back on her bed, staring at the sunset’s stains on the ceiling, the only sound the late summer birdsong out of the open window. Quiet, too quiet, for a house this full. Downstairs, the kitchen’s all whispers. Every now and then she hears an unfamiliar footstep creak on the landing, strangers on the staircase. Headquarters, now. The war’s come home, and it’s using their loo.

She’d got her hopes up, that's the thing. First mistake, stupid. He’d been telling the story of Ron’s camp-bed collapsing in on him that time, lying back on his elbows under their tree with his hair ragged, handsome. She’d laughed, see, and said well, maybe this summer we’ll spare you the indignity of the campbed and being dense, he’d said well Fred and George’s room was nice if you don’t mind the smell of soot. She’d rolled her eyes, said Potter can you really not notice when a girl’s trying to get you into her bed. He’d gone red, then, stammered a bit, but it was all over his face: the wonder, the want. Your mum will go ballistic, he’d muttered, but he’d said will not would, and his hand had toyed with her hip, fingertips trailed her thigh. He’d wanted it too. He’d thought they’d have it, thought they'd get the summer, at least. 

We could’ve had ages, he’d said. Months, years, maybe. Stupid, stupidest thing, hope. No use for it.

It’d have been cramped. He’d have had to sneak down from Ron’s room, under the cloak. She’d have shown him her Harpies poster, now this is what a proper team looks like, Potter, worn her nice pyjamas, the ones with the shorts, asked him to take them off. Cleared a space for his glasses on the bedside table. He'd have slept on the right, nearest the door, ever on guard, and stroked her cheek with his knuckles, looked at her that way, like she’s precious. It would have been like that time they’d fallen asleep under their tree, heads together - the time she’d slipped up, let herself imagine it: two bodies in a bed in a house with a garden, laughter, little people running around who’d look a bit like them both. 

Stupid, stupid thing. Grips the bedspread in both fists, banishes it: all of it, all the hope. File away that future, bury it. Kill your darlings, push them out to sea.

Knock at the door. Ron, with two cups of tea and a half-empty box of Caramel Kappas. ‘Thought you might want some company,’ he mutters, sheepish, sitting on the bed. She sighs, no fight in her, and so brother and sister sit, sipping, in birdsonged silence. 

‘How are you doing?’ he asks. She means to snap - how do you think I’m doing - but takes one look at him and finds she’s fresh out of spite. ‘You’re going away with him, aren’t you?’ she says, instead. Ron nods, and it’s awful, all ache, terrible, gaping grief, all this filling in the blanks of everything that she’s losing. 

‘I just hoped,’ she says, eventually, eyes on her knees, ‘we’d have more time. I know - I know it was stupid.’

That’s all of it, really, isn’t it: her great failing, uttered aloud. Crumples, then, beside her big brother, and cries, heaping earth on all the hope as they lower it into the grave. Stupid thing, useless thing.

She thinks about the wishbone downstairs on the window sill. Thinks how stupid, how stupid it is, for something to die, and someone to make wishes out of its bones.

A/N: did not intend to write this, blame @brightlybound for this one - turns out gentle demands for a ginny's pov companion piece to yesterday’s fic will absolutely work on me, also Twenty-Two Days remains the h/g dual pov love story of all time for me so wanted to do a tribute. enjoy/sorry! back to regular writing now i swear!

now up on AO3 here | ask me anything

[thisbluespirit]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/River Song Characters: Twelfth Doctor, Data Ghost River Song Additional Tags: Ficlet, Flash Fic, Prompt Fill, Missing Scene, Episode: s10e12 The Doctor Falls, Regeneration (Doctor Who), Death, Ghosts, Kissing, Vignette Summary:

River Song/Twelfth Doctor, kiss on a falling tear.