#blarg writes gattara

[gryffindormischief]

gattara - part 2/2

A/N: MUCH DELAYED PART 2!  Checking this off the list of WIPs that I really should not keep adding to.  I'm a mess, but hopefully this is not. :)  Thank you to all who read/helped with this.  I tried to consult some cat experts but I am not one so...if Toothless does anything weird lets pretend he’s a magical cat.

Part 1 here

Also available on FF and Ao3

By the time exams end, Harry’s ready to cocoon himself in one of Sirius’ ‘de-stressing’ knit blankets. Though it’s hard to figure out what Sirius has ever been stressed about; he’s in a perpetual state of occasionally excessive chill. Maybe the knitting works .

Regardless, Harry hungry and so tired he can’t even sleep.

Toothless wanders over, nosing at Harry’s hand until he lifts his palm cup around his little furry head. He earns a purr in reward and he’s not afraid to admit it’s quite gratifying.

Maybe he should be more hesitant to admit that, but he doesn’t see people much these days. Except other zombie-like students wandering between wherever they sleep (or don’t sleep) and their next exam. Including one impatient, cat-whisperer neighbor whose schedule seemed the exact opposite of his own. Every time he was heading out into the fray, ready to batter his brain with another three hour session of terror, she was slipping onto the lift to study or maybe grab a few minutes of shut eye.

They’d exchanged a few casual words, he asked about her studies, she asked about his ‘houseguest’, and then they parted ways. When Harry’s mind managed to fight through the exhaustion, it summoned up a phantom Ginny in his dreams, mostly doing things like making fun of him and then in the best ones, ending the teases with some other teasing.

He’s somewhat hopeful, that maybe sometime after they’re both less dead on their feet, this little will-they-won’t-they will become a firm will they.

For now, he’s going to satisfy his other appetites with an overabundance of Chinese takeaway delivered from his favorite spot and an evening of Netflix and chill with his favorite tripod.

He’s barely fired up his laptop when there’s a knock at the door. It’s as if the frequency of Harry’s orders has created some sort of telepathic bond and a near ability to transcend space and time to deliver his double order of Kung Pao and all the fixings.

Stomach rumbling, Harry pads toward the door and it’s with mixed emotions that he finds it’s the usual the minimally interactive deliveryman with his brown bag full of deliciousness. Normally, Harry feels a strong sense of elation at the arrival of his order, but his mind unintentionally flitted to someone else he wants to also call delicious, but moderately feels it should be filed under the ‘true but creepy’ thoughts category of his brain.

This whole internal questioning process takes long enough that the delivery man raises his hand and raps on the door a second time before fiddling with his cap. Harry tugs the door open and fumbles for the bills laid out his entryway table.

They do that awkward little dance where food and payment are exchanged and give each other little grunts in farewell and Harry’s stepping back inside when a wry, disembodied voice sounds. “Little cheap for such quick service.”

Harry shuffles the bag more firmly in his arms. “What the - did you bug my flat or something?”

Neighbor Ginny peers around her door jamb messy braid dangling and cheeks flush with exertion. “Nah, these walls are just super thin.”

“ Or you’re super nosy.”

“Or you’re super loud,” she shoots back, brows twitching up in challenge.

Harry eyes her for a moment, in an impressively calculating and non-attraction related manner. Her gaze dips down to the bag in his arms more than once, and her nostrils flare as if taking a subtle whiff of the aromas emanating from the parcel. “If you’re that hungry I could be persuaded to share.”

Eyes widening, Ginny straightens and steps out into the hall slightly, “I will give you one chance to take that offer back.”

In a surprisingly suave moment of inspiration and execution, Harry winks and shoots a quick, “See you in a few,” over his shoulder before disappearing back inside.”

Ignoring the slight tremble in his hands as he unpacks the veritable feast neatly packed away for delivery, Harry then retrieves a couple of plates, assesses the beverage situation (two mismatched beers, half a bottle of ginger ale, and some sports drinks). There’s another knock at the door and Toothless emerges from his impromptu nap, yawning widely and winding between Harry’s legs as he moves to admit Ginny.

Once Ginny’s inside, she grins at him for a moment before immediately dropping to the floor and lifting Toothless into her arms. Because of course the damn cat likes her more than him.

Though it’s hard to blame him.

“So what’s for dinner?”

“Take your pick, but I get at least half of the dumplings.”

Ginny’s laying on her back now, Toothless nuzzling his nose against hers, when she smirks. “You know, I’d make fun of you for acting like I would eat twelve dumplings, but it’s actually a pretty accurate assumption. I’m impressed.”

“Rest assured I like you a lot if I’m surrendering half,” Harry says, realizing about three seconds later how very clear he’s made his feelings. Her eyes dart over to his and her lips part, which leaves her vulnerable to a cat paw in the mouth, but she keeps the connection and Harry feels as if his heart will pound out of his chest. So he does the brave thing and completely changes the subject. “So how were exams? I uh - was pretty zombie like so I may have hallucinated seeing you in the lifts.”

Ginny blinks and sits up, letting Toothless go (Harry’s fairly certain he gets a distinct look of disappointment from the feline) and accepts the plate Harry passes her way. As she scoops a few spoonfuls of fried rice onto her plate, Ginny goes along with the subject change and sketches her last two weeks in broad strokes. With special little commiseration themed asides for added humor.

Harry’s just finished bemoaning his professor who enjoys telling his students half the exam will be ‘multiple choice’ and then foisting twenty options per question on poor, unsuspecting zombies just looking for a degree.

Sighing, Ginny spears a piece of Kung Pao chicken with one of her chopsticks and pops it into her mouth. “I was so tired after my last exam I couldn’t even sleep. I watched half of the BBC Pride and Prejudice series and drank about two litres of chamomile before my heartbeat even dropped to a reasonable rate.”

Harry scoops up a fork full of rice and swallows it down. “Never seen it.”

With a gasp, Ginny droops back in her seat with an air of drama and says, “You should be forcibly removed from England.”

“My school assigned Emma instead,” Harry answers with a shrug, “I’ve been exposed to Austen.”

“Yes, but has Austen been exposed to you ?”

He takes a gulp of Gatorade and makes his best attempt at a flirtatious grin. “Now that’s a very personal question Weasley.”

“Guess we know what you’re doing over break.”

“Which is?”

“Maybe your brain did turn to mush at the end of term,” Ginny drawls, gesturing toward Harry with the neck of her bottle, “You cannot enter a new school year with such a deficiency on your record. You can borrow my copy. Copies . Read the book, watch the series, then the movie with Keira . Make sure you have a complete and informed education.”

Toothless reminds them of his presence by butting up against Harry’s shin and mewing pitifully until Ginny lifts him into her lap. “Anyway, I’ll be around to protect my investment and supervise your studies.”

Wincing, Harry droops in his chair. “Ugh, no studying. That’s a banned word in this home.”

He gets a slow blink in response before Ginny keeps the conversation moving, something innocuous about campus events over the break and that one dryer in the basement laundry room that eats t-shirts.

Harry meanwhile, takes the opportunity to mentally berate himself for his completely idiotic response to something he really hopes was a little bit of a flirty come-on. Toothless seems equally disappointed. Really, Harry’s never considered just how much mortification a cat could pack into a single expression, but he’s quickly learning it’s a lot.

Honestly, he can’t blame the judgmental little thing.

It’s just past two when Harry arrives home from a leisurely lunch with his parents (lots of cheek from dad and a probing questions from mom) for an afternoon of being a human blob with cat sidekick.

But when Harry pushes the door open, there’s no triped whining loudly for attention and an early dinner, and it’s an immediate red flag. Toothless is predictable in at least one aspect - his complete and all-consuming need for attention at all times. It’s a good thing he’s so adorable.

Right now though, that adorable little feline is MIA and Harry is not happy about it. Aside from whatever worry the average pet owner normally has when confronted with this type of situation, it’s compounded by the knowledge that if anyone but Harry finds the little escapee, it’s going to mean blackmail or finding a new place.

Because Harry’s not operating under the mistaken impression that he is in any position to give up the little furball. So he searches the entire flat from top to bottom, even going so far as to upend each and every cushion, book, and anything else not nailed down.

He’s just finished searching the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, rifling through spare chopsticks like somehow Toothless will be hidden between the packets when it clicks. There is one other person who can help.

After Harry’s knocked on the door three separate times, he’s once again angry at himself that his failure to procure Ginny Weasley’s phone number. Though this time it’s not the whole ‘I’m sad and lonely and she’s beautiful’ motive.

Harry drops his forehead against the door, dejected, when it opens and nearly sends him sprawling. As he regains his footing, Harry takes a few seconds to get his first look at Ginny and she’s...rumpled. Hair piled in a messy bun with escaped tendrils curling around her flushed face, overlarge men’s t-shirt barely hitting halfway down her freckled thighs, feet bare and - oh god.

“Are you - uh,” Harry flushes and feels like he’s about to sick up because first Toothless and now Ginny probably has some strapping six-foot-something man in her bedroom… “I interrupted.”

She pushes her hair back from her face and Harry’s about three seconds away from a self pity abyss, when he remembers why he came and steps closer, voice barely above a hiss. “ He’s missing .”

She takes barely a moment to catch on and grabs for a pair of beat up trainers piled against the wall. As Ginny’s pulling the door closed, Harry stutters out, “Do you - do you need to tell your uh. Guest. That you’re leaving?”

Ginny quirks her brow, unimpressed with his not-so-subtle attempt at snooping. “Well since I didn’t have a ‘guest’ and I just finished my yoga session, I think we’re good to go,” she drops her voice, “Now when did you see him last?”

Together, they manage a full search of the entire floor, the stairwells, and the hallways above and below with no success and Harry’s beginning to truly believe he’s lost Toothless. Listless, Harry leans against the wall next to his door and surrenders his keys to Ginny.

She squeezes his hand gently and unlocks the flat, prodding Harry until he slumps inside.

On auto-pilot, Harry wanders into the living room and drops onto the couch while Ginny putters in the kitchen, presumably putting the kettle on. He settles there in a daze, barely aware when Ginny presses a warm mug into his palms and perches on the windowsill where a light breeze spills in through the window. The open window. Shite.

It seems Ginny’s mind has followed the same train of thought and she’s pushing up the window and clambering out onto the fire escape in a matter of seconds. By the time Harry’s crossed the room, Ginny’s slipping back inside, a small black and white bundle in her arms. “I can’t believe you left the bloody window open and didn’t check the fire escape.”

But Harry’s too caught up, relieved, and overjoyed to put much thought into defense and somehow ends up gathering Toothless, and consequently Ginny, into his chest.

It’s all a bit overwhelming, the happiness, Ginny’s slight body against his, the scent of her wrapping around him. Apparently terror and relief brings out the poet in him.

Toothless yowls, apparently unhappy with his current identity as the filling in a Harry and Ginny sandwich, so Ginny steps away, only just barely, and Harry presses a kiss to the top of his little arsehole cat’s head. “You can’t just come and go as you please young man.”

If cats can roll their eyes, Toothless just did it.

Crouching down just enough, Harry lets Toothless free, this time perch atop the sofa back like a lion surveying his kingdom. When Harry stands, Ginny’s still very close. But if she’s okay with it, he’s not going to argue.

Still, he’s not a Potter if he doesn’t manage some level of adorable awkwardness when confronted with someone he’s very attracted to. So he ruffles his hair, nearly elbows Ginny in the face, and then whispers, “Thanks for helping me.”

Matching his tone and holding her ground, Ginny murmurs, “I’m just here for the cat.”

Harry laughs and suddenly is highly aware of his hands. “Yeah. He is the best.”

They’re quiet for a few breaths and Ginny drops her gaze to the left with a sigh. “You really don’t pick up hints.”

A weight drops in Harry’s chest as he reviews the last few minutes and takes a large step back, “I uh - sorry I was too close - ”

Her laugh is abrupt, almost like it surprised her too. “Oh my God.”

Now, feeling as if he’s really stepped in it, Harry’s trying to figure out what he stepped in and how his life suddenly went so far off the rails. Not even two hours ago he was sipping lemon water and fighting his Dad for the last breadstick. And now, he’s lost and recovered a cat and somewhere in the process, ticked off his lovely neighbor.

She’s smiling a bit, tongue running over her teeth as she considers him, and Harry’s fairly certain he’s about to be destroyed. And then, he is. But in a much more enjoyable way than he would have guessed.

Because Ginny Weasley of flat 11G is stepping closer and her nose is brushing his and Harry might be thick, but not enough to miss this. So he closes the miniscule distance that remains and slants his lips over hers, too caught up to think about the usual things - have I put on enough deodorant, is my breath tolerable, are my lips chapped. And any time his sinapses start to fire enough that he might get close to such considerations, Ginny Weasley does this thing (that will now be forever known as The Thing in Harry’s mind) with her tongue that comes dangerously close to making him utterly weak-kneed.

Finally, he knows what to do with his hands, his arms banding around her middle and dragging her to him so there really isn’t any space left between them. Hers rise to his shoulders, fingers knitting through his hair and scratching just so at his scalp.

She rises on tiptoe, her front dragging over his slowly and he walks them a few fumbling steps until her back is pressed against the wall. Ginny’s hands drop from his hair, grasping at his shoulders and he’s just on sensory overload of her . But he doesn’t quite trust his judgment at the moment and he’s fairly certain anything she did would feel utterly brilliant, so he can’t help but pull away. “You’re - this is ok?”

Ginny’s breathless, eyes blown wide, and more than a little irritated. “God, Harry, do I need to dip myself in honey and lay across your bed like the damn snack that I am?”

There’s a smile tickling at her kiss-swollen lips and Harry’s hand rises to cup her jaw, thumb stroking along her freckled cheek. “I mean I wouldn’t object.”

She rolls her eyes and Harry laughs quietly. “So after finals?”

“You mean when I practically invited myself in for dinner and volunteered to spend over eight hours in a row with you and you still didn’t ask me out?”

Harry flushes and Ginny’s about to answer, likely with more teasing (but if she kisses it better, he’ll take it) when she starts to laugh. He’s confused for a moment, swiping at his face, when she prods his shoulder and gestures toward the kitchen table.

Apparently, at some point during their little interlude, Toothless took his rightful place as king of the flat and perched himself atop the stack of textbooks piled on the far end of Harry’s table. He gives them a slow once over, which again, Harry was not aware cats could be this smug, and then leaps from the table to saunter toward his coat-closet haven, tail in the air.

Ginny drops her forehead against Harry’s shoulder, finishing out the last of her chuckles, and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “You’re lucky your cat has more game than you.”

[gryffindormischief]

gattara

A/N: Helloooo this is from a prompt blog on tumblr here and then @annerbhptold me to do it and then with the assistance of annerb and @celtics534 I wrote this mess of a thing. I'm wanting to do a part 2...

Also on FF and Ao3!

Some people just have one of those faces. That ‘tell me your life story at the check out’ face, or the ‘Of course I would like to help you move’ face or in Harry’s case the ‘make puppy dog eyes at me and yes I will take care of you forever’ face. It stems mostly from Harry’s tendency to feel he can and should fix everything for everyone - Sirius calls it his hero complex.

It started when he was about five and a half with his holiday friend Gary Frampton’s ill-fated sandcastle in Mallorca and continued right up through his school years which meant many nights spent as designated driver and whatever other borderline codependent type things Harry could undertake.

Really though, it’s never been too terrible or permanently life altering. His mum was very big on making sure he took care of himself and didn’t let people take advantage of him and his ‘sweet, warm heart.’

Whenever she launched into one of her mini rants on the subject, his dad’s face always tightened a bit and he became uncharacteristically quiet, just grunting out a short, ‘your mum’s right’ and not much more. Though the rest of the day would predictably be characterized by noticeable closeness and affection often termed ‘hovering’ by Mrs. Potter and ‘normal demonstrations of love’ by Mr. Potter.

Harry knew some of that back story, the friendship turned sour, the hate and slurs and anger that rang the relationship death knell. The closest he’d ever gotten to gory details came courtesy of a late night drink with Sirius and Remus. The short, simple version was sweet, loyal, brave, fierce Lily being tossed over for racist, asinine, violent gang members. And James had some involvement in the final blow up that he’s certainly not proud of, regrets to this day. Though, taking the full story into consideration, Harry thinks James probably showed a pretty high level of restraint. Sirius barked out a laugh at the recollection of ‘fourteen-year-old prat James’ and Remus assured Harry most of the regret was from a very ill advised date invitation.

After getting that much information Harry was first, not interested in hearing more about the greasy little arse, and second, fully understanding about his parents’ reluctance to discuss the whole story.

When he’d said as much - more like slurred, since it was his first foray into the land of dark liquor - Remus’ lips twitched with a grin and Sirius slapped him on the back and called him a chip off the old block.

Somehow, all this floods Harry’s brain in the first few moments he sees the little ball of fluff curled on his windowsill.

At first, he thinks Mrs. Henley three doors down was right and the building is infested with vermin. It’s a more distressing thought than most people really would think, removed from the situation. Having a rat in your home might not seem a big deal in the abstract. But once you see it curled up mere feet away from the couch where you dozed off in a post-midterms haze just a day or so before, it’s a viscerally distressing thought.

Luckily, Harry quickly reaches the conclusion that if the invader were in fact a rat, it would have to be of the R.O.U.S, giant swamp rat variety and he’s fairly certain that bit of the Princess Bride was part of the fantasy element.

Or at least he’s hoping.

And apparently, it’s his lucky day because the little thing rises onto three little paws and does the most adorable yawn-squeak-stretch combination Harry’s ever seen. He blinks twice and steps closer to confirm that yes, it is a three-legged little cat, enjoying the late afternoon sun leaking in through his open window.

He’s far from an expert, but if he were pressed, it seems like the feline’s just barely past the cusp of kitten and Harry’s instantly hit in his achilles heel - except instead of the proverbial puppy dog eyes, the cat blinks up at him with wide green eyes and lets out a soft mew.

And so, like the soft touch he is, it took all of about thirty minutes for Harry to decide not only that he was keeping the tiny ball of fluff, he’d named it Toothless. Damn, Sirius will not let this go .

It should be noted, that Harry being somewhat of a pushover when his heartstrings are tugged he’s more than a little bit of a troublemaker. So when he realizes a vet should probably check his new flatmate out the thought that he’s technically not allowed to keep said flatmate is a brief idea he really only takes into consideration in the sense that he lures the thing underneath his coat and keeps it tucked there as he skulks from the building.

Of course, his luck used up by the whole ‘not a rat’ thing, Harry runs into one of his neighbors as she’s stepping off the lift. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s his fit and utterly fanciable neighbor with hair like a sunset and a grin that sends his heartbeat ratcheting up to what has to be an unhealthy tempo.

But the rose colored glasses of a fancy-from-afar don’t keep him from noting the circles beneath her eyes, the tired slump of her shoulders. He’s grateful in a sense, since his self preservation instincts are in complete agreement with his protective ‘mother hen’ tendencies and seem to demand he let her pass with a short smile and a dip of his head.

She answers in a similarly non-interactive manner and shuffles off toward her flat.

The first weeks pass in a haze of Netflix and cuddle with his new best friend, too much revision work, revision that turns to cat googling, and then more snuggling. Sirius, the ultimate pro-dog fanatic, feels the entire thing is a personal affront and Harry feels bad for half a second until Toothless clambers up on his chest and sniffs at his patchy ‘it’s almost finals’ beard and curls up in a little ball. Then, all Harry can feel is a disgustingly warm feeling in his belly so Sirius can stuff it.

He tells him so, gets a proud huff in return, and the issue mostly drops.

As exams near, term papers pile up, and Harry’s new best friends are JSTOR, his four pack of heavy-duty highlighters, and anything with high levels of caffeine.

Which means poor Toothless begins feeling neglected and shows his distaste for the current state of his life by meowing loudly and frequently. It’s not too much trouble, once Harry enters that haze of focus that only comes during the final week of term so aside from a pang every time Toothless gives him a pitiful look across the mounds of textbooks and stray papers and whatever else litters the table he’d picked up at a flea market the week he moved in.

He’s woken from a dreamless accidental kip post-exam four by increasingly loud slams at his door. Toothless is perched on the farthest sofa cushion looking guilty, but Harry’s barely lucid enough to remember what day it is, let alone guess what the cat might’ve been up to while he slept.

The banging renews and and Harry stumbles to his feet and makes his way toward the door, yanking it open quickly enough that he nearly gets a fist to the face care of a certain gorgeous redhead.

He ruffles his hair. “I uh - I hope whatever’s bothering you hasn’t lingered long enough you wanted to slug me.”

That earns him a blink and something close to a smile before her expression hardens and her hands clench into fists. “You - I don’t want to be a prat but,” she shoots a glance up and down the hallway, “I’m not a total arse. This is a conversation for inside.”

Harry leans up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “So you interrupt my study session,” he pauses when she eyes his bedraggled hair and clothes, “You interrupt me, violate the quiet sanctity of my home, and then invite yourself in?”

She snorts. “Quiet. Right. I’m asking for your own benefit. Is it that much of a problem to let a friendly neighbor inside?”

“Seemed more panicked than friendly,” Harry corrects, glancing up and down the hall, “Is the building on fire?”

“Just let me in, 12G, yeah?”

“Mum always told me not to let strangers inside.”

“Ginny Weasley. Year Four. Currently regretting most of my life choices which include a lot of extracurriculars and neglecting my personal hygiene.”

Harry’s eyes narrow but he steps back with a nod, though not before a pointed sniff in her direction, “You smell alright.”

Ginny scoffs and tugs a chair out at his kitchen table, planting herself on the seat like she owns the place. It’s an odd thought to have, but Harry finds himself not minding, feeling like maybe she does own the place a bit.

“Of course I smell alright. I’m a gift. Now bring it out.”

“Bring what out?”

“The elephant in the room,” Ginny starts, then pauses, her eyes darting down toward Toothless as he trots in, “Or perhaps kitten in the room would be more appropriate.”

“I’m watching it for a friend.”

She fiddles with one of the many pencils strewn across the table - No.2 for practice tests. “Sure. Regardless of whether I choose to believe that poorly crafted lie, the bylaws of the building are pretty explicit about the whole ‘no living things other than humans and houseplants’ thing.”

Harry sets the kettle on, Toothless lingering close at his heels and watching Ginny with wide, lamp-like eyes. “Ah. So you’re one of those strict, memorize the rule book and throw it at my enemies types.”

“Pretty much none of that is true - except I do kind of want to throw something at you. No need for it to be a rule book though. I’m flexible.”

“So this is...just your way of making friends?”

He takes out a couple of mugs and gestures toward Ginny with one vaguely. She nods and Harry drops a tea bag in each.

“Can I get at least a partial free pass for being knackered out of my wits?”

The kettle screams and Ginny winces at the sound as Harry pours the steaming water into each mug before retrieving any and all tea-doctoring accoutrements he keeps stocked. Ginny takes some care clearing a space at the table and Harry shrugs as best he can with a heavily laden tray in hand before tipping his chin toward the den. “How about we settle in on the couch?”

“Making a move on me? First the fancy tray and now a cozy couch session?”

“Sirius said he couldn’t have me living like a heathen with no tea tray for guests,” and to answer Ginny’s barely formed question he adds, “Sirius is my godfather. Much less murdery than the Godfather godfather.”

“Interesting, because as soon as you said ‘loves tea trays and living a proper life’ I thought, ‘Hm, this Sirius fellow must be a criminal mastermind and murderer.”

“You never know - his mum was batty.”

Ginny snorts and squeezes a bit of lemon into her tea, then stirs some honey. “Anyway. I did want to complain about your cat - I don’t really care if you’ve got an unapproved hotplate or whether you’ve got the required rug-to-square-foot ratio happening in here, but he’s meowing all the time .”

“Ah. Well that’s my fault. Also what time would that be?”

“Yes. Unapproved cat. Belongs to you. It meows and wakes me up. Your fault,” Ginny ticks off on her fingers before blowing on her tea and taking a tentative sip, “It’s about half past eight.”

“No, I mean he’s normally fine. I’ve had him for a while and the meowing only started when I got too busy to play.”

Ginny clucks her tongue. “What a terrible cat dad you are.”

“Oh and you’re some expert, Miss Rules and Regulations?”

“Well I’ve never gotten that one before.”

Harry laughs, fumbling through the detritus that litters the table before his fingers finally settle on the half-demolished tin of biscuits sent in his latest care package. No matter how many times Harry pointed out that he came home often enough that mailing the boxes was kind of unnecessary, his parents were united in the idea that sending the box and getting a special gift from them in the interim between the visits was half the point. ‘A little piece of home.’

It did feel a little illogical, but Harry admitted in the privacy of his mind that getting the notice from his building and finding the overly large package of things to spoil him did warm his chest. And he might have a box full of their notes - Mum’s love and advice, Dad’s reminders about having a good time, and Sirius’ updates on the family coupled with as many dirty jokes as he could get on the page without anyone noticing.

All that said, Harry loves these biscuits, the little taste of home they bring. His dad has been making them since Harry can remember and James Potter has never been one of those ‘if I make it all the time, it won’t be special’ people. If Harry asked for Dad’s spicy gingersnaps, Harry got them. Lily warned that he would spoil Harry to death, but James loved to skirt the edge of safety and propriety, and Harry wasn’t about to agree that he was being spoilt.

To this day, twenty some odd year old Harry feels like he’s back in that warm kitchen, the cottage walls cozy and warm around him while he and James prepare to watch whatever football match was scheduled for the afternoon.

So when he breaks the tin open and offers it to Ginny, it’s a big deal. He’s not due for another fix before he goes home for a visit at the end of term and he’d been rationing the horde to the best of his ability since the package came just after Easter.

But he does, and if he really thought about it, the motivation is half her cheeky repartee and half the teasing glint in her dark eyes he could get lost in.

But she’s far from the level of distraction Harry’s reached thinking about her freckles and her hair and her - “Gone a bit cat-atonic there neighbor?”

“Harry - my name’s Harry.”

Her lips twist in a smirk. “Paw-don me.”

“Trying to get me to agree your defining characteristic is puns rather than being a stick in the mud?”

“I’m very claw-ver.”

Toothless wanders back over and pounces into Harry’s lap, sniffing at the biscuits, purring contentedly as Harry’s free hand scratches between his ears. “This is disturbing. Because all I’m hearing is you’ve been sitting in your flat angrily thinking of cat puns for - how long?”

“You’re telling me copious amounts of caffeine, stress, and revisions have never made you get punchy?”

“Yes, so I eat jello and laugh when it wiggles,” Harry smirks, “I don’t sit in my room plotting revenge by puns.”

Ginny takes another swallow of her tea and tsks. “Barely ten minutes in a room with me and already underestimating my skills. Not the first person to make that mistake.”

She trails off and Harry quirks his brow. “See you said that like you’re about to murder me. And you’re probably low on sleep and patience. If the banging is anything to go by.”

“Not all of us have the luck of deep, impenetrable sleep cycles,” Ginny grumbles, swiping another ginger snap.

“Clearly you have a lot of thoughts on my abilities as a cat dad.”

“Generally it’s frowned on to sleep through your child crying.”

“Noted. But I will say the little rascal was being melodramatic,” Harry says, as Toothless turns wide green eyes on him and looks utterly betrayed. “Well you were. Full bowl and water dish, endless toys,” he glances up at Ginny, “I even got him a cardboard sleigh with catnip in it.”

Toothless walks a few small circuits in Harry’s lap before settling down in a little ball, purring contentedly.

Ginny sets down her mug and begins working her hair into a loose plait. “Well I think you have your answer there,” she gestures toward his lap while twisting the end of her braid with a tie, “Somebody’s lonely.”

Harry’s eyes dart to hers and Ginny’s cheeks flush. “Cats are pretty social, when they want to be, I mean.”

“I uh- I mean I am lonely I guess,” Harry says with a nervous chuckle, “Who else decides to keep a cat that snuck in their open window?”

“And in a flat that doesn’t allow pets, no less.”

“God - for someone who looks like they want to die when I say it, you really are obsessed with rules.”

“Only when they exist to protect my already completely shite sleep schedule,” Ginny grumbles, “Now be a good host and offer me more tea before I pass out on your table.”

Grinning, Harry does as he’s told and heads into the kitchen to refresh their teas. Maybe he’s not the only lonely one.

By the time he returns with two steaming mugs, somehow Ginny’s managed to get Toothless eating out of the palm of her hand. Literally.

“Do you - I think cats aren’t supposed to eat ginger cookies.”

“No they’re not.”

Harry blinks, stuttering to a halt so hot tea splatters over his fingers. “What the - are you poisoning my cat?”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “God, no. I had some cat treats - here,” she waves him closer and grabs the tea towel from the proper godson tea tray. She lifts one mug and then the other from his hands, cleaning each and then reaching for his hands, “I stole some from my brother’s girlfriend over the weekend. Thought I could get the loud cat to shut it with some ‘carrot.’

Harry’s ‘a pretty girl is close’ nerves are ratcheting up pretty quickly and he’s really hoping Ginny’s not one of those people who uses casual contact to take someone’s pulse. It’s particularly difficult when said pretty girl is staring into his eyes while slowly swiping at his fingers. His brain manages to grind into action. “And I get the stick?”

While Ginny laughs softly, Toothless weaves his way between their legs before pushing up on his hind legs and prodding Harry’s shin, which luckily brings him back to reality and away from the shockingly detailed fantasy his overtired brain managed to work up in the last half a minute.

He clears his throat and Ginny takes a step back, gaze darting down to his hands - which she still hasn’t released. “No burns?”

“Nah, I think I’m alright,” Harry says, lifting his hands away and yes maybe he lets his thumb brush along her palm, but it’s been established. He’s lonely and tired and she’s not telling him to shove off -

Before he can get up the nerve to do whatever he was going to decide to do that involved an eventual date and perhaps snog as the end game, a loud ringing sounds from the pocket of Ginny’s joggers and she tosses the tea towel aside and grabs for her mobile.

With a heavy sigh, she silences the shrill noise and smiles ruefully. “That’s my cue. Another exam tomorrow at noon and I’m only about halfway through revisions. I’ve grown to hate the sound of that alarm. May need to burn my phone.”

Wincing, Harry passes her mug over and pats her knuckles as she accepts it. “My sympathies. I’ll uh - Toothless and I will keep it down.”

As if to show his agreement, Toothless rubs his little black and white spattered nose along Ginny’s leg, purring contentedly.

“Hm, that would be good. And maybe I’ll get some snuggles to buy my silence?”

Harry chokes. “I - snuggles - ”

She bites her lip and crouches down to scratch behind Toothless’ ears, then under his chin on that little tuxedo style patch of white. “Maybe you can explain to your poor hairless cat dad that I meant kitten cuddles?”

Flushing, Harry somehow manages to get Ginny out the door without much more embarrassment. Where had salty, overtired Harry gone? He was at least capable of carrying on a semi coherent conversation.

Harry’s so busy with the self-flagellation that he nearly misses Ginny pressing a short kiss to his scrubby cheek. When she pulls away, it’s with a wink for Harry and a little wave in Toothless’ direction. “See you later boys.”