#blarg writes hinny

[gryffindormischief]

Thoughts on Olympic Swimmer!Hary?

A/N: How about a little ficlet?

Ao3

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eidolon

Silence under the water, complete isolation, one focus and everything in his body working toward that focus - that's what Harry loves about swimming. It's what lead him from swim lessons to swim team to private coach and now to the 2024 Summer Olympic Games.

Sponsorships and attention are more a means to an end than anything. He'd gladly pass that bit off to some poor sod who likes to grin and have his photo taken.

That's where he and his dad differed. His dad was captain of the UK hockey team back in the day and lead them to victory in a huge upset to everyone's expectations. And James Potter, by. his own admission, did go through a 'poncey period' before he met Lily Potter née Evans and she handed him his head at a charity ball. But even at his most humble, James Potter is a media darling.

Harry James Potter got all the sportsmanship, drive, commitment, perseverance, and whatever else it takes to be good enough for the Olympics. He did not, however, get any of the 'media darling' genes.

It worked when he started out. He was 'that cute shy newbie.' Now, he's twenty-six, competing in his second Olympic Games, had just shattered his previous record (along with the world record), and he is ready to toss up his breakfast at the thought of the press conference where he's about to be served up like a main course.

The dull rumble of conversation escalates to a roar when Neville shoves him into the room, camera shutters clacking loudly while reporters shout his name and random bouts of applause break out from the British press.

Apparently everyone's quite excited to win something.

Neville looms at Harry's side, then at his side glance, claims a seat just out of the heavy lighting meant just for Harry.

He takes a few questions, soft balls about how exciting it is to win, if he's proud of the achievement, what it means for the rest of the Games...

Then he catches sight of a flash of red in the crowd, and his heart starts pounding. He ignores a few new shouts of his name and pushes his glasses further up his face as he looks closer. It is her. Lingering off to the side, under the glow of the exit sign. God she's just so beautiful. Especially when she turns to him - like she is now - and her brown eyes glimmer like starlight.

And though Harry has learned to tune out the cacophony of sounds at a presser, his ear still recognizes sudden silence. It's almost comforting for a second, like when his whole body dips under the water, like when it's just the two of them with too much take away, a crackling fire, and no responsibilities.

Neville groans at his elbow, not like when he really screws up, but like when he grins and shakes his head because Harry's a loose cannon. He whispers, "Your mike is hot, and you definitely said that out loud."

Harry feels his face warm as he quickly looks toward Ginny, who's burying her laughter while the reporters turn to find Ginny Weasley, captain of the UK Women's Football team - currently the team to beat - lingering in the shadows.

She glances toward Harry and he grins. Ginny steps backward into the hallway, and disappears.

Harry chuckles. "Sorry - Ginny Weasley coming to watch me compete is still my biggest win."

[gryffindormischief]

how about figure skater!ginny? bonus points of it’s also hockey player!harry

A/N: I hope this satisfies! Just a fluffy hinny something :) I don't know hockey lol

Ao3

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concession

"I think you're forgetting I play professionally," Harry chuckles, adjusting the stance of his skates so he's circling Ginny slowly.

Ginny catches the edge of his stick with hers. "And I think you're forgetting I played all of my brothers since I was tall enough to hold a stick."

"Not quite the same, twinkle toes."

"Oi, you try a single let alone a triple toe," Ginny growls, "Or even imagine doing just what you do without being able to grunt and sweat and," Ginny waves one hand around as if she can grasp the end of her sentence.

"So fine - but we'll make this legit. If I get one past you I'll meal prep you for two weeks."

Ginny grins and steals the puck before swiveling to push and catch it in turn. "I'm listening."

"That's a first," Harry drawls, snatching the puck back and escorting it close enough to the net for a slapshot that echoes across the rink.

"Wait - why would that be your reward?"

"I like to cook," Harry hedges as he skates to retrieve the puck. His kiddie hockey team is trickling in toward the locker rooms and he returns their waves before refocusing on Ginny.

Ginny, who is currently looking at him like she - wisely - does not buy his explanation. "What if I get it past you?"

Skating closer, closer than they've been throughout the conversation. Close enough that Harry can almost count the individual flyaways that escaped her braid over the course of her impromptu practice.

She's had a lot of those lately - impromptu practices that just so happen to coincide with kiddie hockey. But before Harry can entertain that thought, Ginny steals the puck. "I'm waiting, Potter."

Ginny's close, much too close, and Harry's response is a strangled whisper. "A kiss."

Her eyes widen and pink rises in her cheeks. "From who?"

“A world class hockey god.”

“Oliver’s in town?”

"Get in the net, Weasley."

She does as ordered with a cheeky salute and some twizzles for panache, and centers herself in front of the goal. "Alright, ready."

Harry lines up his shot and smacks it clean across the rink. Ginny is pin point focused until it’s just a few feet away, at which point she swipes in the exact opposite direction of the puck, completely missing the pass.

Harry skates over, bringing himself to a halt with a spray of ice - thankfully aimed at the empty end of the goal. “Not your best, Gin.”

“I suppose I’ll have to accept the results,” Ginny sighs and retrieves the puck, “Now get in there, macho boy.”

When she’s in place, Ginny adjusts her grip on her stick carefully and ignores the whispers of Harry’s little team. She only glances at Harry once and he sends her a grin that’s meant to be encouraging but in actuality likely does more to send her stomach somersaulting. 

The puck shoots across the ice at a very high speed, thank you very much, but it feels like the entire world slows like they’re swimming through molasses. 

Ginny looks to Harry, but his eyes are pinned on the puck, ever the professional. Her gaze follows his, follows the puck as it slides toward his carefully placed stick, right where he can block it perfectly.

Then, in a split second, the puck slides home and the clatter of Harry’s stick hitting the ice breaks her from the spell. Vaguely, she hears the team shouting in shock, but she only has eyes for Harry, who’s already skating toward her with his discarded stick still sliding toward the wall.

“I hope you know how much I’ve sacrificed for you.”

“A little shot to your ego won’t hurt anyone,” Ginny teases, reaching for his hand.

“That was a chivalric sacrifice and I will not hear the end of it from the boys,” Harry murmurs, leaning in, “So if you’d like to collect now and at least give me a good visual for my explanation.”

Just as they come a breath apart, Ginny slips the fingers of her free hand between their lips and pushes Harry away just slightly. “No, I have no guarantee of a repeat performance and if it’s a one and done, I want a much better kiss than the Devon Otters can handle. I’ve waited years, Potter.”

Harry groans, “Bloody little tease - “

“Hey there Lonnie!” Ginny practically shouts over Harry’s shoulder, “Coach Potter was just about to get you all started.”

Before Ginny can skate away, Harry grasps her hand. He narrows his eyes at her and shouts, “Oi! Samantha! Get everyone started on warm ups. I need to confer with Ms. Weasley before she leaves for the evening.”

Samantha salutes, “Aye, aye Coach! You sorry lot - get your arses in gear!”

Ginny chuckles, “Salty for an eight-year-old - ”

“Gin,” Harry grumbles, “I am not discussing this. I’m walking you to the locker room and we are going to snog the life out of each other for five minutes and then we’re spending the night together,” Ginny chokes on a surprised laugh as they clear the ice and slip guards on their blades and Harry nearly falls when he realizes what he’s said, “I mean - to cook your meals for - ”

“Harry - Harry,” Ginny grabs the ties of his sweatshirt and pulls him to face her, “I am coming to yours because you have no flatmate and a stocked kitchen and every time something’s set to bake I’m going to grab onto that tight little bum for dear life while you make me see stars, alright?”

Harry grins, “Alright.”

“Now,” Ginny pulls him into the changing room and locks the door, “Think they can spare you for seven?”

[gryffindormischief]

Gamesome

A/N: Shorty something for Fresh Pickled Toad!

Also on Ao3 :) [log in required]

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“Oi! Potter! Elbows in.”

Harry startles and nearly drops the broom clenched between his thighs, but he complies with the barked order. He fights the urge to swipe at the sweat working its way down his face in salty rivulets. “Yes Captain.”

A scoff sounds from somewhere over his shoulder, but no more instructions are leveled his way so it feels like a win and he tosses the weighted quaffle directly from his chest to Lee who winks and throws it right back. Captains with brooms up their arses are a staple in quidditch.

“Alright, drop ‘em!”

Groans sound from around the pitch as the rag tag bunch sinks down toward the grass. They all start lurching toward the locker rooms like a hulking mass of undead witches and wizards, rather than a team of wizarding ‘celebrities’ who’ve played quidditch on some level at some point in their lives.

Lee comes up alongside Harry and claps a hand on his shoulder, the other holding a practice quaffle against his hip. “Rough one eh? It’s like she forgot that I hold the people in the palm of my hand.”

Harry snorts and drags his arm across his forehead.

“Don’t guffaw, I have their ear! I can make or break anyone on this field. I am beloved by the public.”

“Not arguing the point, Lee. You’re nothing if not capable of self-promotion,” Harry laughs, ducking away when Lee takes a swipe at him, “My point is, today made it pretty clear that she can make or break anyone on this field in a much more painful, physical way.”

“You have no vision, Potter.”

“He’s just smarter than you, Jordan,” a new voice joins the conversation and even underneath the smell of grass and sweat and fresh paint around the stadium, he gets a whiff of her flowery scent.

Lee stiffens, comedically ‘at attention’ as he twists to face Ginny. “Captain.”

“Jordan?” Ginny eyes him head to toe and back.

“Yes?”

Quicker than should be possible, she darts forward, grabs the quaffle, and tosses it in the opposite direction from the changing rooms with all the force a professional player can pack.

“You suck.”

Ginny snorts, “Do I hear a request for bleacher runs tomorrow?”

Lee jogs off toward the quaffle, chuckling as he calls over his shoulder, “Drunk with power doesn’t look good on you, Weasley.”

Ginny flips him off while Harry murmurs, “I dunno, it seems pretty hot to me.”

“I know it does,” Ginny winks and throws her arm around Harry’s neck. “The second most motivating factor in today’s practice.”

“Captaining the winning team at a charity tournament is clearly the first,” Harry says, voice weighty with sarcasm as they pause at the entrance to the lockers.

“Obviously,” Ginny agrees, eyeing him up and down in a much more lingering fashion than with Lee, “But I’ll see you for a one-on-one cool down.”

[gryffindormischief]

Ohhhh!! i want to know about the olympics one, but also the wedding one , but also the interactions one! Aghhhh, there are so many to choose from, i want them all 🤡, surprise me with a sneak peek from one of the hinny ones and i’ll be forever grateful!!

(ps long time lurker who loves your writing, excited for whatever you write!)

It's that fic writer feel for me write now, where I wake up and I'm like oo I want to read the rest of that fic about ....oh right.... I have to decide what happens LOL <3 thank you for lurking. I hope you like the snippet below.

This is a hinny sneak peek (but from neither of those fics, this is the Christmas snapshots one):

“Someone better tell me where the bloody hell Crookshanks is.”

Harry stifles a laugh as he takes in the empty kitchen, dishes laid out to dry from a full Weasley clan dinner. All the dishes seem to have been used and cleaned except one covered plate settled on the counter and covered with a checked towel, his name embroidered across the top. 

Molly is crafty - and a bit cheeky - and he’s late a lot.

“Ron - where’ve you hic- put him?”

Whatever answer Ron comes up with is drowned out by Ginny’s entrance into the kitchen - stumbling and decidedly un-graceful when compared to her usual ‘I’m a sportswoman’ gait.

“They’re about to go at it,” she mutters over her shoulder, filling a glass nearly to the brim at the sink.

“Go at it like fight or - ”

Ginny winces at the idea conveyed by his pause. “Honestly with them, one usually follows the other - you know better than anyone.”

[gryffindormischief]

Hi! I’m sending this for some Hinny fluff. ❤️

“I have the day off.”

A/N: this got like...vaguely sultry? So heads up for that. I hope you like it!

Happy Friday :)

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“I have the day off,” Harry mutters, face squished into his pillow, Ginny’s hair working it’s way into his mouth.

He works his lips in an attempt to remove the unwanted strands from his mouth without moving the rest of his body.

Not that he has much choice.

Ginny adjusts just barely from her place sprawled atop him and chuckles. “I know. It’s Saturday.”

Before today, Harry assumed any scenario where Ginny’s body was pressed against his would be inherently sexually exciting. But now, as Ginny starfishes her limbs over him, palm to wrist, foot to calf, head to shoulder, and so on, Harry finds himself proven wrong.

“Gin.”

She hums and wriggles a bit, like she’s getting comfortable. 

At least someone is.

“Gin - I love you.”

Ginny kisses his neck. “Right.”

“But - ”

Ginny knits her fingers with Harry’s. “But - ”

“I am so dead tired,”Harry gasps out against the pillow, “and I can’t breathe.”

With a chuckle, Ginny pushes herself up on hands and knees and walks herself back to her side of the bed. “I understand - intellectually.”

“I promise to make it up to you later.”

“Such an old man already, turning down Quidditch - refusing to make breakfast,” Ginny sighs with an air of drama, “Though I am proud of you for speaking up.”

“Thanks for the recognition,” Harry snorts.

“Such a good boy,” Ginny hums against his knuckles.

Letting out an almighty groan, Harry flips onto his back and drags Ginny back atop him - in a better overall position this time. Once they’re settled, Harry props his head on his hands and ever so slightly lifts his hips. “Off you go.”

“I thought you were ‘dead tired.’”

“I can’t play Quidditch, but I can lie here while you - ‘ride the broom’ as the kids say.”

Ginny leans forward, nips at Harry’s jaw. “Kids?”

Her hands skate down his sides, grasping tightly when she slips them beneath his hips. 

Harry tilts again, earning a gasp from Ginny, before he answers with a grin, “I dunno - anyone who writes dirty jokes for Quidditch Weekly is a kid to me.”

“Yet you quote it,” Ginny teases, rising to her knees and leaving Harry just as pent up and impatient as she hopes. 

“Gin.”

“Magic word?” Ginny dips her hips, drags her lips up the side of his neck.

“Please,” Harry manages to grind out as a strangled moan, hands leaving his pillow to grasp at Ginny’s waist desperately.

Ginny blows lightly in his ear and murmurs, “Not that one. The word.”

“Oh for fucks - ”

“Uh-uh,” Ginny says against his lips, “Be a good boy.”

She nips his lip and Harry lets out a low growl. “Pancakes.”

“What about them?” Ginny asks, gripping his wrists and pinning them on either side of the pillow.

“I’ll make the damn pancakes Ginny - just -”

“All I needed to hear, love,” Ginny grins and presses a gentle kiss to his lips, “Now lie back - I am en expert at riding brooms.”

“My broom,” Harry mutters, petulant.

“My broom,” Ginny corrects, “Get ready Potter. You’re about to get the full treatment from the Harpies season MVP.”

[gryffindormischief]

Hey if you are still looking for requests for Hinny fluff can you please write something about Harry being hit on by muggles and him being confused because he is not “the chosen one” in the muggle world, and Ginny having to explain that he is good looking?

A/N: idk what even happened to this lol xD I hope it brings a laugh or two.

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"That looks amazing on you.”

Harry startles and turns, putting an end to his examination of his own reflection. “I - thanks.”

Refocusing, Harry fumbles for the tag. It’s a bit too pricey, honestly. He just saw it on the mannequin in the window and Harry nearly mistook it for Sirius. It feels childish, really, to impulse buy a coat because it reminds him of his godfather.

Then again he does need - 

“Especially with your styling.”

His fan club has grown - two women linger just off to the side, watching. All Harry can think is this is one of those fancy shops where salespeople earn commissions.

“I’m not quite sure but - ”

“Well you should be,” the dark haired woman steps closer and brushes her hand over his shoulders, “It fits like a glove.”

Harry stiffens and sidesteps away, pulling the jacket off and reclaiming his own. “What’s your return policy?”

“Return - ” shoulder toucher shoots a glance toward her friend, “Oh well we actually don’t work here.”

Harry pauses his retelling and ruffles his hair.

“So then what happened?” Ginny prompts.

“They asked me to dinner!” Harry yelps, earning a couple of odd glances from patrons nearby.

Dinner arrives and Harry barely registers any of it until his napkin-bundled silverware nudges his hand. “It actually is dinner time Potter.”

Harry glances up at Ginny, who’s currently buttering a roll, apparently without a care in the world. “Why are you - ”

“Did you buy the jacket?” Ginny asks, eyes rolling back a bit when she bites into her roll. “You won’t like these - I’ll go ahead and eat them. Spare you.”

“You aren’t - ”

“Surprised? Upset?”

He grabs a roll and breaks off a piece, the scent of baked cheddar tickling his nostrils. “Well. Yeah. I was,” a pause while he chews - the roll and the thought, “it was a muggle shop!”

Ginny finally does look surprised and perhaps a bit upset, pausing halfway through her second roll to stare across the dimly lit table. “Are you - ” she blinks slowly, “You’re not fucking with me?”

“Well - ”

“Don’t say ‘not currently’ and wriggle your eyebrows.”

Harry pouts.

“Do you not know you’re fit?” Ginny finally asks after a few false starts.

“I’m alright - less scrawny than I was at Hogwarts,” Harry shrugs, sipping his cider.

“No I mean you’re fit Harry,” Ginny says with a shake of her head, “Like brooding rockstar throw you my knickers fit - you get knickers owled to you!”

“Maybe don’t shout that in a muggle pub, dear,” Harry laughs, “But really that’s my point. Those women didn’t know I’m The Boy Who Lived. I get knickers because of my reputation.”

The waiter chooses that beautifully perfect moment to check in about the status of their entrees and Harry barely manages to carry on the back and forth. It’s essentially a one man conversation as Ginny has dissolved into giggles and poor Henry is blushing head to toe.

Once he departs with promises of imminent food delivery and a refresher on their drinks and Ginny’s tears let up enough for her to dab them away, she pins him with a long look. “Harry, Boy Who Lived or no, you are an absolute treat for the eyes.”

“I’m a treat?” Harry smirks.

“Delicious,” Ginny nods with an answering grin.

“Yummy?”

“I could eat you up,” Ginny confirms with an exaggerated wink.

“Am I lickable?”

A choking sound followed by the clattering of some dinnerware comes from somewhere over Harry’s shoulder and he turns to find Henry covered in what appears to luckily be two fresh ciders as opposed to a roast chicken and accompanying sides.

When said meal does appear, a nervous busboy does the honors, and later the expected bill is brought by Fatima, who apologizes for Henry’s abrupt ‘personal emergency’ and subsequent departure before the close of their dinner.

[gryffindormischief]

Hello, I see that you are looking for a prompt for hinny fluff. Can you write something about Harry and Ginny taking Teddy somewhere Harry always wanted to go as a kid? Thanks!

“Why is your backpack so heavy?”

Harry glances up from the half sorted pile of mail and smirks. “Thought you were Ms. Big Tough Chaser.”

“Don’t be mad I beat you at arm wrestling.”

Harry tosses an ad for kneazle food aside. “I was inebriated. You took advantage.”

“All I’m hearing is I bested you in drinking as well,” Ginny says with a haughty chuckle. “Anyway, the backpack?”

“Oh! I went to Gringotts.”

“And withdrew your entire fortune?”

“I exchanged for Muggle money.”

“Shall I ring Hermione and have her remind you the definition of an explanation?”

“Teddy’s visiting tomorrow.”

“He really shouldn’t wish in that many fountains,” Ginny says, recalling their near expulsion from Regent’s Park when Teddy - and Harry - got a bit too invested in their wishing activities.

“We’re going to the arcade!”

Ginny reaches in the pack and pulls out a coin. “Why does the face look so - rodent like?”

Harry sets Quidditch Monthly into the ‘keep’ pile and looks a bit bashful. “I - those are tokens.”

“And you have them now because?”

“I’ve been stocking up.”

“So you can show off to me and Ted?”

Harry bites his lip, hesitant in that way he only is when he fears stoking Ginny’s wrath. Not toward himself necessarily.

“What’s the look Potter?”

He fiddles with the edge of an envelope. “I - I never got to play. They took me once but I had to sit and watch. No tokens.”

Ginny takes a deep breath. Her boiling rage will have to simmer for now. “Well.”

“That’s all?” Harry blinks at her.

“Well I guess this gives us a true shot at genuine competition.”

Harry grins. “And fun with Teddy.”

“Teddy loves watching me destroy you.”

“Sure.” His grin is softer now. Just like she knows sometimes he needs her fiery anger, and sometimes - sometimes he knows how bad things were and just needs her to know.

Ginny runs her fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching lightly. He leans into her palm and sighs. “Thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

Harry presses a kiss to her wrist. “Nothing at all.”

[gryffindormischief]

For the Hinny prompt: “Rough day? Can I make it better?”

A/N: I hope this is fun and fluffy <3 I am gonna post on Ao3 and FF later!

I would still love more hinny one sentence fluff prompts!

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The cottage appears empty when Ginny arrives, lights dim, fireplace unlit, no wireless, no telly, no -

Until the banging begins. Or more than likely resumes.

If her guess is correct, Harry's strop has lead him to the a grumpy perusal of the contents of every cabinet, drawer, and whatever other compartments in their cozy kitchen.

Once, after he had been soothed and with a 3 day waiting period, Ginny summoned up her nerve to ask. She had theorized it was some sort of soothing outward expression of internal angst. Which it turns out is partially true. In Harry's mind though, he thinks he's just "browsing" for something to eat.

She takes in the cottage in a little more detail - many barely begun tasks left lying about. A half folded t-shirt on the couch and a full basket of laundry next to it. Tricycle for Teddy, partially opened. Mop and accompanying bucket propped against the loo doorway.

This is a next level, capital 'M' Harry Mood.

Ginny kicks off her trainers and takes a steadying breath. Nobody does a mood like Harry, but luckily she’s got quite a bit of experience at this point.

She pauses at the door and takes him in, shoulders tensed around his ears, and clears her throat. “Alright there Potter?”

One shoulder droops but his fist is still clenched on the countertop. “Gin.”

Hm. Said too softly to be real personal angry. 

“Rough day?”

Harry grunts.

Ginny takes a step closer and gently places her hand next to his on the counter, staring at the wall alongside him. Her pinky finger brushes against his just barely. “Can I make it better?”

He grunts again. “Not sure there’s much to make better. I’m just - ”

“Annoyed?”

“Everything this week has just been so - ”

Ginny smirks and links her pinky with his, squeezing lightly. “Annoying.”

“I’m old.”

“Take that back, I’m only a year younger, sir,” Ginny chuckles, checking her hip into his.

“We are old Gin - not dead, not incapable, but life is different,” Harry sighs, “We have grandkids for fucks sake.”

Resisting the urge to shiver excitedly when Harry swears is still a work-on-progress skill. He smirks and turns so he can sit on the countertop, pulling Ginny between his knees.

“I’m not eighteen anymore - hell I’m not fifty anymore Ginny!” “Your body is yummy enough to be.”

“Better than I was at eighteen, all gangly.”

“You were cute.”

Harry drops his forehead to Ginny’s shoulder. “I do have better hip flexibility now than at fifty.”

“I find you foxy in all forms,” Ginny says softly.

“Would you find me foxy if I do less?” Harry asks, quiet and nervous like he isn’t very often, “If I change a bit?”

“I found you foxy covered head to toe in the fertilizer for Neville’s greenhouses, dear.”

Harry laughs and lets out a deep breath.

“You can do or not do or try or whatever - ” Ginny lifts Harry’s face so she can stare into those emerald eyes, “Whatever you want.”

“Right now I want - I want takeaway.” 

“Done.”

“Greasy takeaway.”

“I’m not going to fight you on that - especially if we crack open that tequila Dudley brought from Mexico.”

[gryffindormischief]

Prompt: After a busy period in their respective works, married hinny cant find time to be intimate even though the kids are at hogwarts and they have the house all to themselves. Finally having enough of not seeing each other, one of them storms into the office of the other

A/N: A combo of 3 prompts (other 2 listed below)! I won't say any of the are exactly following the prompt because that would be a definite lie. I got carried away with the inspiration and this happened. Hope you like! It's my first hinny in what feels like a super long time??

FF // Ao3

“I am very young, very foolish, and very in love with you.”

AHEM do one where uh AHEM Harry and Ginny are left alone while everyone else is buying their Christmas presents and they ᵇᵃⁿᵍ and Ginny is like ᵃ ᵇᵒᵗᵗᵒᵐ and they almost get caught but like they dont and the next day Ron finds out and is pissed NEY livid at Harry and Hermione and Neville calm him down Jus wondering man 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

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Operose

It sounds great when your supervisor says ‘shadow me’, at least theoretically it does. Experience, new learning opportunities, the unspoken expectation that this means promotions are in your future. Even better when your husband gets a similar offer from his supervisor and you start to sound like a power couple even if you feel a bit like an imposter, like the 14-year-old version of yourself woke up in your 22-year-old body, like you’ve secretly fooled everyone into thinking you’re competent.

But really that’s not the worst of it, because Ginny’s become a bit of an expert in talking herself out of that kind of mindset. It’s peaks and valleys. The real sticking point of trouble is the fact that between work and family, she and Harry haven’t had that magic combination of time, energy, and privacy to allow for a conversation about everything, let alone some bonding that’s less conversational in the traditional sense.

Regardless, Ginny hardly has enough time to think about what she wants to be doing since she barely has time enough to do what she must. And it might seem the best option is drawing boundaries with the family but it’s nearing Christmas and she can’t resist the little puppy dog looks starting with Molly and running all the way through the group to Teddy and Victoire. Sometimes, in her sleep deprived stupors looking over more gameplay strategy charts than she ever dreamed of as captain in her 7th year, Ginny wonders if Ron’s convinced them all to join his conspiracy to prevent her from getting any. Lucky for her brother, Ginny knows her judgment has to be clouded, because it’s quarter past eight and she’s actually excited she might wrap up ‘early’, which lately has come to mean before ten.

With a long suffering sigh, Ginny lifts her pen - a fancy muggle style one from Harry - and resumes her notes. The inky little players flit about the page when Ginny taps it with her wand and she scribbles away until the door behind her slams open with a heart-stopping bang.

Ginny has her wand at the intruder’s throat in seconds, her wheely chair squeaking across the floor until it thuds against the wall. “What the fu- Harry?”

“Gin - I miss you. Even though we’re together and we share a bed and - ”

“Oh hell Harry,” Ginny groans, surging forward to wrap her arms around Harry’s neck.

Ginny of a few months ago might’ve been shocked, but she wants to hold him more than anything else. In fact three minutes ago Ginny probably would’ve thought her first reaction would be to drag Harry toward her until she hopped her little bum up on the desk and then - maybe she still does want that.

But first she just wants to smell him.

“Miss you too,” Ginny finally mumbles against his neck, “So much.”

“I know you’re busy - I managed to wrap up my must do’s for the next fourteen hours. And Robards is emotionally torn about my overtime and his own improved sleep schedule.”

“So?”

“So he told me to go home.”

Ginny snuggles closer. “And?”

Harry laughs against her hair. “And be back at ten tomorrow.”

“What a guy.”

“Stand up bloke,” Harry agrees dryly, “Are you…”

“I guess…I guess my sense about what is and is not absolutely time sensitive might have become a bit suspect lately.”

“Which means?” Harry asks, pressing his lips to her temple.

Ginny leans back and teases her fingers through Harry’s messy waves. “Which means you and your friend down below can get reacquainted with me and my - ”

With a low groan, Harry hoists her onto the desk and runs his hands up her back, dragging her t-shirt up with them. Ginny follows his lead, picks up on it even, deepening the kiss until Harry pulls away.

“Why’d you pull away?”

Harry’s thumb brushes along her cheekbone, his eyes soft and searching like he’s trying to memorize every inch of her face. “I am very young, very foolish, and very in love with you.”

“Not that young gramps,” Ginny laughs, flicking at the handful of greys that have appeared at his temple.

“Twenty three, Gin! I can’t control my hair’s inability to count years.”

Sighing, Ginny tugs him closer by tightening her legs around his hips. “I’m not complaining, not really. Except your new haircut and those little silvery bits - I nearly tackled you at Sunday dinner last week, family or no. It’s quite disturbing.”

“Well I’m sorry I’m so sexy,” Harry says with a chuckle, brushing her hair back from her face, the softness a direct contradiction to his brash words.

“On days where I can’t do anything about it, me too.”

“So does that mean - ”

A large feline - Ginny’s not a zoologist - patronus leaps into view and immediately pulls Harry’s gaze. His clear disappointment and slumped shoulders are something of a comfort but Ginny can’t really summon up much emotion beyond a long growl. Disappointed rather than satisfied unfortunately.

“I could - ”

“You can’t Harry. Remember one of the things I like so much about you?”

“My arse?”

“Hmm that is a good bit,” Ginny says with a smile, “But the part - the thing I want you to remember no matter how annoyed and short tempered and grumbly I may ever get, I know your desire to protect and do the right thing is part of you.”

He laughs a little, self deprecating, and Ginny brushes her thumb along his jaw. “Not that I won’t say you get carried away at times. But I love you, even the bits that tend to give me unresolved desires.”

Harry leans in, gives her a long, lingering kiss. “Paused, not abandoned.”

Ginny pats his cheek, then nudges his face sideways with a playful tap. “I’ll save your place.”

And she does, at least in her mind, fingers reaching up to toy with the place on her neck Harry had abandoned with tangible devastation. It’s a small comfort as she powers through a few more tasks before bundling up and returning to their flat for a quiet night.

A quiet, lonesome night.

She’s exhausted, sore, and admittedly partaking in something of a pity party, so she’s in bed within 30 minutes of arriving home. Her limbs are weighty with sleep when she wakes to Harry slipping between the sheets as quietly and gently as he can manage. Which she has learned over their year or so of marriage is not much. Mostly, she finds better rest knowing he’s home and safe.

Somewhat clumsily, she reaches backward to encourage some kind of cuddle-style physical contact and Harry takes the hint, slinging one arm over her waist and pulling her close. His breath is warm across her neck when he murmurs some string of unintelligible words that includes her name.

The last vestiges of stress melt from her muscles with Harry’s light squeeze and quiet, “Love you,” until Ginny drifts back off to sleep.

Despite growing knowledge that it’s bad for their health in all senses of the idea, Ginny and Harry’s schedules don’t really let up. They gripe, eat rushed dinners in each other’s offices, melt into exhausted heaps in bed, and to Ron’s great annoyance share heated looks across the family table.

“It’s not even noon and there are children present,” Ron barks one Sunday as winter winds whistle around the Burrow.

Harry jolts from the sudden sound but his gaze is slow to leave hers. In fact he’s still half looking her way when he growls back, “You’re the only one who seems to have a problem with me looking at my wife.”

Charlie muffles his laughter behind a forkful of quiche and nudges Ginny’s side. “Frustrated Harry versus embattled Ron.”

“Hermione’s still not letting it go?”

“You didn’t see how long he paused when she unveiled the matching hats.”

Ginny snickers and looks up since she can practically feel Harry’s eyes on her. He’s smirking like he can guess some teasing of Ron is taking place, Harry has something of a sixth sense for it.

“How bad were they?”

Charlie shakes his head. “So many pom poms, Ginny. He looked like a Pygmy Puff.”

He laughs, but stops almost immediately and shoots a furtive glance toward Hermione.

“Worse than a Horntail when she’s mad, eh?” Ginny whispers, grabbing two drop biscuits and passing one to Charlie. “Eat up. If she heard that little observation it might be your last meal.”

Charlie’s reply is lost to Molly and George’s rising voices. “What do you mean coming over tomorrow?”

“Angie’s parents, it’s not a big deal.”

Angelina flicks him in the forehead. “I told you to tell her a week ago.”

“I know but - ”

“You said you did!”

Molly shoves away from the table, nearly tipping it in her rush. She would have without Bill’s quick grab. “Mum!”

Arthur gives a warning shake of his head in Bill’s direction and rises next to Molly. “Dear we can - ”

“I don’t even have gifts for them yet - they’ll think I don’t - George!”

“Yes Mummy?” George answers with just the right amount of sass to truly send Molly into a tailspin.

Luckily, Percy of all people jumps in and quells the rising fire. “Mum, why don’t you head to the shops, get prepped for tomorrow. It’s still early!”

​​”The parents, the grandparents, the cousins! Family deserves heartfelt knitting.”

“They can have a couple of hats,” Hermione mutters, narrowed eyes darting toward Ron.

“Bloody Buggering hell, I like the fu- ”

“Ron I may cross with your brother but I’m not deaf.”

Harry quietly excuses himself to the garden, and Ron watches him go longingly, “Mate I’ll come - ”

Harry waves him off while Hermione scoffs and disappears with a pop. Bill’s just picked up Victoire and started ushering Fleur to the fireplace so he nudges Ron in the back on his way past, “You have duties elsewhere. The Boy Who Robbed Gringotts can handle himself for a bit.”

Somehow, Angelina and Arthur manage to broker a peace between their spouses and Ginny really wants to avoid accidentally being invited to the impromptu nightmare of a shopping trip so she pats her mother on the shoulder and grabs an armful of dishes. “Go on Mum, I’ll handle things here.”

Soon, sooner than Ginny thought possible, the Burrow is quiet save the slow rush of water as she scrubs each dish by hand. It’s perhaps more manual labor than necessary, but Harry’s got her hooked on - Harry. She nearly drops the plate in her hand when she realizes she and Harry are alone together during the day for the first time in a hideously long period.

With quick, decisive strokes of her wand, Ginny soon has plates hovering over the soapy water and the scrub brush and towel working away. Leftovers are next, packed away and shuffled into the icebox like little soldiers marching off to their barracks.

Then she’s tucking her wand away and practically sprinting out to the yard to find Harry. Only to run directly into him and nearly knock them both unconscious with the force of the blow.

Instead Ginny’s left with a smarting tailbone and a half dazed husband currently looming overhead. She’s not completely displeased.

Laughter slowly rumbles from Harry’s chest. He buries his face in her hair and finally sighs. “Great minds?”

Ginny scratches lightly at his back. “Great minds end up in a heap on the floor?”

Harry runs his fingers down Ginny’s arms ‘til they reach her hands. He presses a short kiss to her lips. “Not much to complain about.”

As she plants her feet on the floor, rag rug soft beneath her toes, Harry drags her arms overhead and holds them in place with gentle firmness.

Her eyes dart to his and he waits, breathing suddenly strained, until she gives a brief nod. At her approval, Harry presses lightly, a quiet instruction to keep her hands in place while he begins exploring behind her ear, down her neck, along her collarbone.

For a moment, Ginny forgets herself and one hand ends up knit through Harry’s soft locks but she soon earns a low growl that sends her heart pounding. “Gin.”

Obedient, she raises her hand back overhead, though she does lift her hips lightly. She’s never good at complete patience.

Harry laughs against her lips while he palms her rear, bringing her hips flush with his. While he continues his exploration of the deep v of her t-shirt, Ginny grasps desperately overhead, one hand finally finding a chair leg she holds onto for dear life.

The rough wood reminds her of their precarious location, the numerous options at their disposal that would suit their needs much better. But it’s been too long and she’s so desperate and half believes if they try and relocate it’ll all fall apart.

Right now, she would like to do the falling apart herself.

Warmth pools low in her belly as Harry presses kisses over her shirt, like he’s too mad with need to even pause to pull it overhead. His thumbs have snuck under the hem, drawing distracting circles above her hipbones, teasing below the waistband of her shorts.

Ginny lifts her hips again, this time without Harry’s prompting and he groans, fingers finally fumbling at the snap on her shorts.

She’s halfway gone already and he hasn’t even discovered she’s wearing his favorite polka-dot knickers yet.

And then, like all good things, the gorgeous interlude is interrupted by her most obnoxious and untimely brother.

“Bloody hell!”

Ginny tips her head backward as much as she can manage, hairs catching on the wood floor. “Can we help you Ron?”

His shock is a bit overdone, in Ginny’s opinion. He’s seconds away from dropping the plate in his hands and they haven’t even unbuckled trousers yet. What a drama queen.

“In the kitchen Gin? In front of my biscuits?!” Ron gestures with the dish wildly enough that an oatmeal raisin drops to the floor.

Harry’s buried his face in the valley of her chest, though it seems it’s more to calm himself than titillate. “Ron?”

Ron truly appears near tossing up his brunch when he answers, “Yes?”

“Buzz off.”

Green pallor turns red as Ron slams the biscuits on the table. “That’ll teach me to try and help my ex best mate.

After one final deep breath, Harry sits up on his heels and levels an unimpressed glare Ron’s way. “Oh bugger off you’re just avoiding Hermione.”

“No biscuits for you! And you can finish the yard yourself.”

Harry nudges Ginny’s knee and she tilts her head back to a comfortable position. Once she’s recovered from the bit of vertigo, she finds Harry looking at her meaningfully. She can only hope her interpretation is correct.

Quickly enough, she learns she knows her husband’s looks quite well since he’s reaching for one of her hands to help her to her feet and gesturing to the kitchen and yard with his free arm. “Ron, since you’re here you can finish up right? Good.”

Ginny only has a half a moment to enjoy Ron’s fish-like gaping before she feels that tell-tale tug behind her navel and watches the kitchen disappear and landing with one pop in their quiet flat.

“Up you get, Potter,” Harry instructs, gesturing toward the bed with a tilt of his head.

She pauses long enough to take Harry in - hands on hips, the twisting cords of muscle in his forearms - and then follows instruction and hops up with a few squeaks of bedsprings. “Come and get me.”

[gryffindormischief]

Salubrious

This is a self prompt from super long ago and I honestly can't remember why I thought of it. But now it's here and I hope you enjoy :)

Available on FF // Ao3

---

“Weasley.”

A grunt.

“Oi. Weasley.”

Ginny tears off one of her shin guards and tosses it aside haphazardly. It’s intended to put a stop to Tanith’s endless prodding but Ginny’s so dead on her feet the guard just clatters against her half open locker. Can a person be dead on their feet if they’re currently splayed belly down half on half off a changing room bench?

“Alright there?”

“I’d have to be dead a week to be alright,” Ginny mutters, sucking in a shallow breath to keep the drool from passing her lips.

Tanith sits somewhere in the vicinity of Ginny’s feet and chuckles. “I never thought I’d have mixed feelings about getting on the National Team - almost makes me wish we’d shown less potential last season.”

“Don’t let Gwenog hear you - she’ll have you running the bleachers again,” Ginny says, finally pushing herself up into a seated position. Mostly she motivates herself with the thought that the longer she lies there without showering off and changing, the further she is from a hot meal and soon after her warm bed. Maybe if Harry’s feeling generous she can combine the two.

She rips her remaining gear off with heavy, tired hands and shuffles to the shower for a much needed wash to rinse away the grime and sweat earned after an extended-extended practice. It’s almost impossible to tell how much time passes while the suds pool and swirl down the drain at her feet, but it’s at least brief enough that the water stays warm and her fingers don’t prune up.

In ideal circumstances, Ginny goes straight from a warm shower to a fluffy towel (held open by one Harry James Potter) and following a very thorough drying, slips between freshly washed sheets (sans clothing and once again this bit includes Harry James Potter).

Instead, as a side effect of her profession, Ginny’s best case scenario is often an oversized Harpy tracksuit and being shuffled into another dreadful Q&A session with the press.

As luck would have it, today she’s free from press duty so once she’s tucked back in her sweats, Ginny’s only a quick review of the three D’s away from the flat she shares with Harry. And even better, a delicious, warm meal served up by her lovely husband.

She manages to remain upright through dinner but quickly - and unsurprisingly - melts to the floor soon after.

“You know I think someone should remind Gwenog that a dead but extremely prepared team is still dead,” Harry muses.

Ginny grunts from her place on the floor as Harry pops open another tupperware and pours cooled sauce in with gentle nudges from his spoon.

“It’s my own fault for pointing out how many National Team contenders we have on the Harpies. I would tell you to find somewhere more comfortable but I know you’d just say - ” Ginny cuts in to finish his sentence halfheartedly, “I’ll only make the sofa stink of human misery.”

“You smell alright to me.”

“Emotional stink.”

Harry bites his lip and flicks his wand at the empty pots and pans, setting them to soak in the sink. “How about we take care of the ‘stink’ as you put it so dramatically.”

“Can’t,” Ginny mutters, face still smushed against the cool tile, “Too dead.”

A couple more swishes from Harry’s wand send the containers toward the now open fridge and he takes one last look to confirm the stove is switched firmly to the ‘off’ position to avoid a fiery blaze acting as an end to their Thursday. Harry squats down and prods Ginny with one cautious finger. “I’ll help you.”

“I do love a good watery tryst,” Ginny says with a long sigh, “But I’ll just slip and kill us both.”

To much protest and groaning, Harry rolls Ginny onto her back and puts those extra hours at the Ministry training in ‘the muscular arts’ - Neville’s term, generally used in the context of ‘I am not one for the muscular arts’ while he repots another deadly something or other - to good use. Ginny lets out a minor protest, oddly compliant when he slips one arm behind her back and the other under her knees.

“This is better than the manhandling style you normally use,” Ginny murmurs into his shoulder.

“You have said on multiple occasions how much you enjoy my ‘manhandling’,” Harry says with a chuckle, settling her gently on the toilet - that he’d ensured was closed first naturally. She teeters a bit but stays upright as Harry twists the bath taps with a few squeaks.

“If you set me in there I’ll get so relaxed I may drown.”

Harry gets to his feet, hands finding the drawstring of his joggers, dropping them to the floor and tugging off his socks, shirt, and pants in quick succession. “Fear not. We’re about to have a very non-sexy shared bath.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't have done that little strip for me.”

He snickers and begins working on Ginny’s clothes - socks, joggers, and her braid are the first to go. Once she’s down to her sport bra and knickers the non-sexy promise is a bit harder to remember. Especially when she’s fiddling with the zip on her bra and doing that little smirk. Tempting. Utterly tempting.

Until he sees the dark circles beneath her eyes and the scrapes and bruises that litter her legs and arms. If he wasn’t so firmly in the ‘respect Ginny’s professional autonomy camp’ Harry’d be tucking her in bed and sending Gwenog Jones a howler to rival that of Molly Weasley.

Much to Harry’s chagrin, this course of action is not one he can take. So instead, he slides the zip down while Ginny runs a finger softly down his cheek. When their gazes lock, Harry pats her knee and reaches behind her with his other hand, grasping for her favorite bath soap. “Just a few minutes now.”

He squeezes a healthy dose of bubble bath into rising water and tests the temperature, swirling two fingers below the rising suds. Satisfied, Harry extends one hand to Ginny. “Up you get.”

“So bossy.”

“Want me to manhandle some more?”

“Always,” Ginny says with a grin, but rises nonetheless, and pads toward the tub, slowly slipping one foot and then the next into the water.

Harry follows behind, armed with a brand new sponge and Ginny’s favorite bar of lavender soap. Ginny settles against his chest while he slowly begins working the soap up her arms in smooth circles. She takes the sponge once he’s scrubbed all the bits of her front he can reach, and works it over her legs. “I miss my silky legs.”

“You have gorgeous legs.”

“But my body butter.”

“Can still be used.”

Ginny hums contentedly as Harry reclaims the sponge and swipes in large strokes over her aching back. “Yes, but not the same.”

“What’s a little bonus hair in the face of bonus shut eye?” Harry murmurs against her temple. “Now let's get the rest of you squeaky clean. Pass me that shampoo, eh?”

After Ginny’s scrubbed from head to toe, Harry manages to get them both extricated from the tub, dried, and yes, body buttered. Ginny waits, relatively pliant save the stroke of her toothbrush over her teeth. “I think my teeth are even too tired for this.”

“Want me to jump in there and finish up.”

“Mm no,” Ginny, “You’ve already buttered me up enough - and I mean that literally.”

She rinses and manages to pull on an overlarge Weasleys Weezes t-shirt before collapsing in bed, Harry close behind in full mother-hen mode. “What time do I need to wake you?”

Ginny snuggles further beneath the covers. “Ideally five. No later than half past.”

On soft feet, Harry shuts up the flat for the evening, doors and windows locked tight and lamps shut so the inky night is only lit by the moon’s glow.

When he follows Ginny beneath the covers, she quickly inches close enough to koala bear around his waist. Her nose is cold against his jaw. “Love you.”

Harry kisses her forehead. “Love you back.”

--

Anyone with the thought that Gwenog’s training regimen for the team would settle into a more relaxed lineup as the season wore on was disabused of the idea after their first win. She’d been happy, elated as Ginny’d ever seen her, but their spectacular success only cemented her belief that sweat equity was the only relevant tool for the season.

Ginny for her part did find her body adjusting to the strenuous schedule, muscles sore but overall she felt less dead on her feet - and sometimes not even that - after their first game. Which was a huge improvement, but didn’t mean she suddenly had energy to spare for unnecessary tasks. So things like taking out the trash, eating like a normal human, doing her laundry - the latter of which she never much did in the first place - and even shaving her legs fell by the wayside.

She hadn’t given the changes much thought overall and Harry was an adaptable, understanding, supportive type, who knows how much she wants to make the National Team, so all is well.

Until Gwen gets her an interview that will ‘boost her brand’ which allegedly helps out with the National Team stuff as much as performance on the pitch. Ginny’s just changed into her practice kit - they go wild for her ‘wild muggle fashions’ - when the photographer zeroes in on her legs. “What is that?”

Ginny raises one brow. She’d never been a fan of shoots, even less so when they were run by Cormac McClaggen’s cousin Dan who was somehow more of an idiot, so she’s particularly prickly when she asks, “What’s what?”

“Don’t be coy. Your legs.”

“That’s good, you can identify basic human anatomy.”

“The hairs - “ he gestures again, nose wrinkled, “ Is that some statement?”

“Is it a bloody - ”

--

“And then you bat bogeyed him, right?”

“No.”

“Well in my head, that’s what happens next.”

Ginny laughs, sipping her Firewhiskey float - a treat she decided she’d earned after today’s undertaking - and pats Harry’s shoulder. “Mine too. But the verbal evisceration I delivered was a pretty close second.”

“I’ll preface this by saying I have absolutely zero problem with your new grooming practices,” Harry says, fingers brushing over her calf. “But what prompted it? It’s more than the time thing. I saw you taking bags out to the bins yesterday. Some of that energy is back.”

“I like that you call my newfound will to live ‘energy’. And I dunno - things have been going so well since I stopped...like not 5th year Quidditch Cup good…that hairband is a miracle worker.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a smirk.

“So I’m feeling a little - ”

Harry laughs. “Irrational?”

“Superstitious,” Ginny shoots back, pinching his side.

“So what did you say in your interview?” Harry asks, propping his feet up on the table and slouching back.

“I said whether or not I shave is nobody’s business,” Ginny grumbles around a mouthful of french vanilla. “And some other stuff about women’s bodies and autonomy and value being about more than socially mandated physical beauty. And I might’ve railed on about how the rules are arbitrary and the standards can be emotionally damaging.”

She’s swiping her finger through the melted ice cream that lines the inside of her glass and doing her utmost to act unaffected and Harry decides to honor the effort. Mostly.

“That’s probably important for Witch Weekly’s reader base to hear.”

“And maybe a few other people too,” Ginny adds, taking another swallow and staring into the milky depths of her drink. “Seriously - sometimes I feel like being silky and sometimes I want extra sleep and warm little coats on my legs. Why the hell does it matter to anyone? Least of all Dan.”

Harry toys with the hairs on her legs - now grown out enough to be more in the soft and fuzzy phase rather than the rough and prickly. “Got that right. Want me to braid ‘em?”

“Stuff it.”

“I’m not complaining. If I get the privilege of running my hands all over your lovely body the status of your hair follicles is not really a primary concern.”

“Good."

[gryffindormischief]

Leitmotif | Part 1

A/N: Me: hey lets only work on WIPs and not start anything new. Also me: what about another hinny Drabble series. hehe hope you enjoy these...these will all be canon universe with a running theme

FF // Ao3

---

“Did you read this article in Witch Weekly?” Harry asks from his perch, lounged comfortably across Ginny’s bed.

“Hmm?”

“I’m feeling very neglected,” Harry teases, nudging her ribs with his socked foot.

“Oi! There’s a sewing needle in my mouth,” Ginny grumbles around said sewing needle, “Are you trying to kill me?”

Heedless of her warning, Harry prods Ginny again. “This article, it’s about you.”

“Of course it is,” Ginny hums, “I’m amazing.”

“Apparently you’d be more so if you kicked me to the curb.”

Ginny picks up a new section for her quilt and lets her needle fly with sure, confident strokes. Though minute and less athletic, Harry has often mused on the similarities between Ginny’s technique as a chaser and a quilter - lightning fast and graceful. Intimidating for most, a bit of something else for Harry.

“So I need to ditch you because?”

“Apparently I break your focus while simultaneously ignoring you to a degree that shows I don’t appreciate your talent. It’s going to ruin your chance at getting captain.”

“Guess I hallucinated that meeting with Gwenog and Sylvie on Friday.”

“Well Rita did say you were a demonic minx with delusions of grandeur in last week’s article.”

“I like the demonic minx bit.”

“Band name,” Harry agrees, flipping through the magazine haphazardly.

“If I ever play an instrument,” Ginny adds, needle dipping in and out of the green and gold fabric.

“Or sing.”

“Without causing ears to bleed.”

“Maybe I should end it - find some tempting songstress to sing me to sleep while I weep over my tragic childhood.”

“Romilda’s article?”

“Pure poetry.”

[gryffindormischief]

raconteur | chapter 8

A/N: little hinny Drabble!

Engaged hinny fluff!

“You must be the reason for global warming because you’re hot.” “Actually it’s primarily because of too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.”

I hope your studying is going well, this is a hard time and personally I'm struggling a bit with uni, but it's normal! So, for when you have a bit of time, I'm sending you this soooooft prompt “We are in public!” “We’re just holding hands??” for hinni? I feel like we see more easily jily being cuddly so here it is

FF // Ao3

The bar is dimly lit, a bit more upscale in classiness than his usual haunts. Less sticky floors, more double digit mixed drinks, plus less than half the starters are fried. Healthy, clean, and definitely a little disappointing. But he’s got good reason to hang about. At least for the time being.

He’s been a bit of a ghost lately, the type of bloke that proposes to his girlfriend, gets a yes, and then promptly leaves the continent. And to make it all the more horrendous, Ginny’s been understanding and loving and supportive. As usual.

Which is why he’s here, in a stuffy bar, and wearing his best dress robes at that. The worst part about the robes is his own fault. The very stiff, starchy collar that stabs him remains overly stiff and starchy because of his refusal to wear them without being wrestled into their dark, non-breathable depths.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Harry swallows the last of his firewhiskey - a disappointing half sip - and shakes his head. “Just one - ice this time.”

A bit of smoke pours out of his ears as he takes another swallow, ice clinking against the sides of the glass, when a pair of arms wraps around his shoulders and his finger finds the new bit of jewelry cool against his touch. Ginny.

“You must be the reason for global warming,” her lips brush his ear, “Because you’re hot.”

She blows out a long, steady breath as her arms wrap tighter around his shoulders and Harry inhales, getting a very definitive indication that Ginny’s far ahead of him in the drinks department.

His hands find her wrists, lifting one to his lips. Her compliance with his shifting of her position is indicator number two about her alcohol consumption. “Actually, it’s primarily because of too much carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.”

Ginny nips at his ear and sighs. “Smart Harry is so sexy.”

He hums and Ginny rounds his barstool, palm holding on the back of his seat so he’s somehow surrounded by her. “So’s Surprise Harry. I didn’t expect you tonight.”

His hand finds her free one, fingers knitting and unknitting between her fingers, his thumb sliding against her knuckles.

“Why Harry, we’re in public!” Ginny murmurs in an exaggerated, scandalized tone.

After taking another swallow of his drink Harry lets his knees part enough that he can pull Ginny closer. “It’s just hand holding.”

“Not when you look at me like that.”

“This is how I always look at you.”

“Exactly.”

[gryffindormischief]

Hi please start writing hinny getting together au's again i love your writing so much

A/N: mmmm maybe you will like this? I'm planning to do a casual series of one shots fresh pickled toad style except AU! Hinny isn't together here yet but it'll get there yes?

My favorite line in this fic is a direct quote of @inakindofdaydream

FF and Ao3

---

“So what do you and Ginny talk about?”

James shoots Harry a sidelong glance that goes unnoticed and smiles. Apparently Aurors aren’t necessarily perceptive in all areas of life. Or gifted in translating investigative techniques to familial scenarios.

“Not much,” James finally answers, light and breezy. “Quidditch, family, how you fancy her to the moon and back.”

“Shit!” Harry’s rhythmic chops end with a fumbled thunk against the cutting-board.

Perhaps teasing should be saved for times when his son isn’t wielding a 7-inch blade.

Harry’s already grabbed a nearby tea towel and wrapped it around his finger. “The hell Dad?”

“Give me your hand.”

“I think part of it is on the counter can you grab it?” Harry deadpans while James pulls at his wrist.

“Aurors used to be tougher in my day,” James teases with a grin. Though his eyes immediately focus in on Harry’s hand once it’s revealed, healing spells on his lips to cleanse and knit the skin back together.

“You mean Mum’s day?” Harry shoots back. “Mr May.”

“I played quidditch,” James corrects with a sigh.

“Played quidditch and did topless calendar photoshoots,” Harry says, wriggling his newly healed fingers.

“One calendar - and I was in uniform,” James adds, “Mostly.”

“I’ve seen the photo. Half in uniform at best.”

“Well I had to get your Mum’s attention somehow,” James says as he begins heating the wok.

Harry lets out a long sigh as he pushes up onto the countertop, heels thudding against the cabinet doors. “I’m not much for photoshoots.”

“But you do have the Potter physique that has been known to drive women to matrimony.”

“That is a lie,” Lily says, lingering in the doorway. “The bit about what it’s known to do anyway. You do look like quite your Dad.”

She steps into the kitchen and toward Harry, running her hand down his shoulder before grasping his hand. “Dad learned that little spell from me.”

“I do it better - the principles that make it work are more like transfiguration than charms. It’s really misclassed.”

Lily shares a glance with Harry and rolls her eyes. “Nerd.”

“Jealous,” James shoots back.

“Of what exactly?”

“Dunno,” James answers, tone light with faux thoughtfulness. “Maybe my O in Transfiguration 7th year?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Lily mutters, snatching a few sliced carrots from the towering veggie pile.

She crunches down on a few and gives Harry a lingering look. “So what’s up?”

Harry and James’s responses are a conflicting cacophony, with the latter firmly in the ‘nothing’ camp.

James sets the veggies sizzling and gives them a preliminary toss. “We were talking about Ginny Weasley, contrary to what my son the liar says.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, is what I mean.”

“Lies.”

“I heard you held hands.”

Harry jolts. “From whom? I think I would remember that.”

“Fleur,” Lily answers easily, watching Harry. “At Dominique’s christening.”

“Wow,” Harry grumbles. “You all need a life.”

James scoffs. “More like you need some game.”

Lily stifles a laugh and shoves James’s shoulder. “Leave him be.”

“Besides,” Harry says, focusing intently on the hole wearing through the knee of his jeans, “We held hands for the prayer. That’s like - “

“Congrats,” James says with a grin, “You’ve made it to Shakespearean first base.”

“I - what?”

“Palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss,” James quotes as he gives the veggies another toss.

Whatever follow up Harry might have formed dies when he spots the utterly nauseating look his mother is currently giving his father. “Really?”

She startles but doesn’t look the least bit guilty. “Yes?”

“That - gross.”

“Don’t be jealous your Dad wooed,” Lily says finally, patting Harry’s shoulder. “You may be older but he was a bloody mess. It took quite a bit of meddling.”

“Please don’t.”

James frowns. “I want grandbabies.”

[gryffindormischief]

Bubbles

(Hinny bubble smut fun?) maybe...

A/N: I had this queued to post in the morning, and then I thought no we don't do impulse control for hinny sultry times we post after 11 at night.

FF and Ao3

For you @breaniebree <3

Bubbles

Since the summer after the war - much earlier really - Harry Potter has been head over heels infatuated and fully in love with Ginny Weasley.

It took almost dying multiple times, dying, coming back, and embarrassingly a few more months after to actually realize it was in fact love that simmered in his chest somewhere behind his ribcage. Even then, it was nine days until the simmering feelings boiled up and over so his first “I love you” was said over the top of Teddy’s soap suds and peanut butter covered head.

But Ginny has always had that effect, the slow burn of a wick ignited by her smile, a cheeky comment, everything that she is, until he’s snogging her in the Gryffindor common room without a second thought.

Or in this case, pressing her against a hotel room door and flirting with violating public decency laws.

“Harry.”

He hums against her throat and pops another button on her sundress open.

“Harry,” she says again, louder this time. It’s more the grip on his cheeks and the pulling that gets his attention though. He flounders a bit, open mouthed like a dim witted guppy before he finds words.

“Yes?”

“There’s a whole room waiting to be debauched just a key turn away.”

Despite her instructions, Ginny does absolutely nothing to aid Harry in his efforts to open the hotel room. In fact, it begins to feel as if she’s catalogued what exactly makes Harry’s brain and consequently coordination go to pot.

The fourth time he drops the key, he lets out a long sigh as Ginny chuckles against his neck. “Problem?”

“You do it!” Harry grumbles, hands already busy with the hem of her dress when she picks up the key.

By the time they’re inside, Harry feels like he’s half a minute from making a fool of himself in his pants and Ginny seems to be of the same mind. The one track type.

At least he thinks so before she gently extricates herself from his hands - pulls them from beneath her skirt - and kicks off her shoes.

He takes some comfort in the fact that her eyes do look a bit glassy and wild, even as her voice is even when she rips his heart out and says, “I think I’ll have a bath.”

Now guppy-Harry is dejected and depressed rather than dimwitted.

Harry rather robotically steps out of his shoes and takes a long steadying breath. Ginny’d certainly shown all her usual signs of being fully on board with the proceedings. Not that a change of mind isn’t possible but -

“Harry.”

He startles and half turns. “Yeah?”

“Are you coming?”

“Am I - “ Harry starts, turning the remainder of the way to find Ginny watching him from the doorway, expectant and very, very naked.

Her gaze drops and she smirks. “I guess I could use my eyes and answer my own question.”

“I’m not that out of control,” Harry answers with a grin. One that Ginny mirrors before disappearing back into the loo, followed by the sounds of her twisting the taps on the bathtub.

“Harry,” she drawls again, and he’s not one to make her wait twice, so Harry quickly strides across the room leaving random bits of clothing in his wake.

By the time he reaches the bathroom, the tub is half full with a little mountainscape of bubbles growing across the water’s surface and Ginny is leaning against the sink, absently twirling her hair around one finger. And still very, very naked.

“Thought you were going to keep me waiting all night, sock boy.”

He glances down and confirms that yes, he is indeed wearing his socks, and only his socks. “Sexy, right?”

“I’m all aflutter.”

“You will be,” Harry shoots back with a shocking level of bravado considering Ginny is standing in front of him and clearly rearing to go. He steps closer until his palms land on the cool white marble on either side of Ginny’s hips. The sharp sound of her intake of breath brings back his grin in full force.

When he chuckles, Ginny pinches his finger. “Don’t act all haughty. I know what almost happened in the hall.”

“I admit it,” Harry murmurs, lips against her collarbone, “But I also say you’re just as gone for me, or are about to be.”

One hand slips from the counter, skates over her hip, brushes where she’s most sensitive, and draws a long sigh from her lips. He nips at her shoulder while her fingers grasp his, then slips into his hair. “Harry.”

As he slowly brings her to the edge, then inches away and back again, Ginny’s breaths become short, her words desperate. Harry drags her close to him, hefting her onto the countertop when her legs nearly give out with trembling, until she buries her face in his neck and lets out a long, low sigh.

He pulls his hand free and rests it against her knee while the other moves to cup the back of her head as Ginny’s breathing evens out. “You’re a monster, Harry James.”

Harry hums. “You’re welcome.”

After another deep breath, Ginny sits straight, some sort of retort on her lips. Though what it was he’ll never know because the next sound he hears is a surprised snort. “Guess we got a little distracted.”

She nods her head behind him and he turns to follow her direction, only to find half the bathroom covered in a snowstorm-like blanket of bubbles. Warm bathwater laps at his feet and Harry’s laugh joins Ginny’s.

“What now, Gin?”

Slowly, she slips down from the counter, her fingers tickling below his belly button. “Can’t let all those bubbles go to waste.”

[gryffindormischief]

Hinny professor/student au?😘

A/N: lets see what you think 😏

“I have another class.”

He hears her step closer, trainers a low squeak on the marble floor. “I know.”

Harry refuses to turn from his needless pper shuffling. “I do keep office hours.”

Professional. Professional. Professional.

There’s a laugh in her voice when she says again, “I know.”

“So I can see you then regarding whatever question you have.”

“My first question is whether you’re physically incapable of turning to face me.”

He can’t help the chuckle that leaves his throat. “More like emotionally.”

Now she lets out a long sigh, they’ve discussed and discussed and it’s one of the few things they can’t seem to agree on. Or at least understand one another. “Harry - ”

He grunts.

“Really?” Another sigh “Fine, Auror Potter - I know you’re my instructor.”

Harry hums in agreement. Only flinches slightly when her hand finds the crook of his elbow.

He can’t help but comply when she guides him to face her. He can also hear students milling in the corridor.

Ginny squares her shoulders and gives him that blazing look like she’s going to snog him or whip out her wand. “I know you’re my instructor but you’re also my bloody husband and I think we’re allowed to acknowledge that.”

“But Kingsley said- ”

“Kingsley can shove it,” Ginny shoots back, “Now give me a kiss. I’m off to practice.”

“Remember the protective- ”

She leans in and presses a kiss to his lips. “See you later sir.”

[gryffindormischief]

one word prompt: laundry :) a bit vague, but hopefully you can draw some inspiration!

Laundry

Ginny's call for Harry echoes in the silent flat. She sighs and drops her bag among the shoes that litter the cramped entryway. The past few weeks had been that type of unbearable, baking warmth that make her regret living in the city. Until Harry orders takeaway from around the corner and she's crunching into a fresh egg roll in under thirty minutes.

Still, she's sticky and claustrophobic and if she spends one more day doing more press than training, Ginny is going to explode.

She takes a deep breath and wanders into the kitchen in search of something cold and preferably alcoholic, when a stray bit of parchment on the table catches her eye.

With your mum. Come.

-H

Ginny can practically taste Molly Weasley's signature summer salad, filled with fresh cherry tomatoes, cucumber, mint leaves, and many other bits of veg and whatnot Ginny just enjoys, never questions.

She only pauses long enough to swap her professional clothes for a crop shirt and even more cropped shorts, feet slipping into a pair of worn leather sandals.

Then Ginny's disappearing into the floor, tolerating the warmth of the flames only because a delicious meal and maybe a dip in the pond. With Harry and without clothes, if her parents nod off early enough.

As it is, she arrives to another quiet house, though as expected a large covered bowl rests on the counter and a rotisserie chicken is cooling next to the stove.

When she picks her way into the yard - definitely without swiping a cherry tomato as she passes - Ginny's not quite sure what she's expecting. But she's definitely surprised when she finds her mum and Harry sitting in a couple of lawn chairs, sipping lemonade while her knickers fly in the breeze.

Yes, currently her husband and her mum are enjoying a nice chat swathed in the shade of her unmentionable bits and bobs.

"What is this?"

Harry's face brightens at the sound of her voice. "Lemonade."

Molly starts to rise, hand already on her wand, presumably to summon another glass. "Want some, dear?"

Ginny nods and turns to Harry. "You know what I mean - my pants in the wind?"

Molly waves her hand. "Nonsense. We've always done it this way."

"Not you and Harry together - it's..."

"Laundry," Harry and Molly finish together.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Sure."