#hinny post-war

[bihinnyshipper]

i saw a poll asking whether harry or ginny said ‘i love you’ first, and this is something i’ve thought a lot (a normal amount) about, so here’s my take.

harry felt that he loved ginny first. however, no one in his memory had ever really said ‘i love you’ to him (except for maybe hermione), and he hadn’t ever said the words, so not only was there a lot more pressure surrounding saying it for the first time, but he likely didn’t even recognize what he was feeling for a long time. i like to think he realized after ron or neville or even george maybe realized one day as they were drunk and said “you’re in love with her, aren’t you?” from then on, harry spent every waking moment obsessing over if it was true, and if it was, how he would tell her. finally, one day, he just blurted it out. because if i can defeat voldemort, i can tell her i love her, right? so he does. as soon as he says it, ginny says it back, blushing, because while she grew up hearing the phrase so often it could be suffocating, she’d never said it (or heard it) romantically. the look on harry’s face when she says it is so striking, she realizes with horror that he’s probably never heard it before. from anyone. from then on, ginny makes sure to tell him she loves him every chance she gets, which certainly doesn’t help their reputation as the nauseatingly affectionate couple.

[psychobrew]

"are you drunk?"

Link to full story ;)

“You know I’d never been to a funeral before Dumbledore’s?” he said abruptly, “which is funny, considering.”

“Considering what?”

He grinned, rueful, and she felt a near desperate surge of affection for him. 

“Considering nearly everyone I know is bloody dead,” he said.

Something occurred to her. She felt herself smile, which was odd, because it wasn’t a party, as Harry pointed out - it was a funeral.

“Harry,” she said, “are you drunk?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“That’s okay.” She squeezed his knee, which is something old married couples did at dinner parties, when someone said something off-color and they knew they’d talk about it later. “I am too.”

And the way he looked at her, like she held some sort of power or authority - which she never had, ever, in her whole life. The youngest of seven, the only girl, and Harry Potter - who she’d read storybooks about as a kid, who’d just saved them all - thought she could provide some sort of guidance.

“Can we really leave?” he asked, and Ginny was struck by how young he sounded. A little kid in the grocery store, pulling on his mum’s coat, asking if they could please go home.

But we are home, Ginny thought. Then, an unwelcome refute, not really. I don’t think it’s there anymore - not the same old one. 

She shrugged. “Don’t see why not.”

[pangaeaseas]

one thing that interests me about hinny is that like he literally thinks of her as he's going to die?? like that's a crazy intense experience for any relationship to have. it's not surprising to me that they might move quickly afterwards because they've had to make this literally life and death commitment--what is marriage and kids in the face of having walked to your death thinking of someone, with fighting and dying by someone's side. like no one else is ever going to have that experience with him. the last thing on his mind when he genuinely thinks he's gonna die will always have been her. even if they break up--like the next person has something crazy to live up to. and this is the case though not as extreme for all of the war couples because they've been forced into making life-or-death choices. this one fic I read years ago had this OC having to choose like her boyfriend or someone else's life and she chose the boyfriend. and then later they broke up because that choice ended up being too much? and also just like normal breakup reasons, but I think they were still hung up on each other bc they'd had this crazy experience together. which no one could ever match (at least you would hope not lol). so no wonder so many people get married after the war.

[norakelly]

Harry potter never grasped what he truly missed, until he had his own family.

The adorable giggles of his daughter as she tip toes across the wooden floor to jump in her parent's bed. Ginny in her towel wrapped hair, who reads Teddy’s letter from Hogwarts out loud, making Harry miss his godson more. The Loud and enthusiastic laugh of James' in the morning table as he tries to convince them to get a pet dragon. (A big fan of Charlie he was:)) Quiet and rare remarks of Al. Mostly over his favorite books, and maybe even about the Daily Prophet, (A habit he started very recently, which was not a shock to the family although he was five) where he’d read his mother’s name out loud whenever it appeared. Harry couldn’t quite yet comprehend how he, who woke up to the war being his concern, is now being awakened by tiny little hands who simply wants a breakfast. He beams proudly at them, and with a sense of gratitude for making those million thoughts that used to invade his mind fade away.

He was finally, home.

[hinnyfied]

Sparrows

As the funerals came to an end, so did the simplicity of their finding comfort in one another, and they were forced to confront the undeniable - the Harry and Ginny that had shared that kiss were gone, irrevocably changed during their time apart.

Read Sparrows Here!

Finally writing again after a super long break and kicking it off with some Summer of '98 angst. ♥️

[carolinelayne]

Can I Hug You?

Summary: Harry and Ginny reunite in the Great Hall after the Battle of Hogwarts. Mini One-Shot.

…

The Great Hall was crowded, but all Harry could see was Ginny standing before him. She looked up to him, her light brown eyes filled with tears.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn’t. There was too much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to express… but no words came out.

She moved towards him gingerly, as if not believing he was truly there. She spoke in a soft whisper.

“Oh Harry... I thought you were dead.”

Every pair of eyes in the Great Hall were on him and he didn’t notice… it was like that moment where they kissed for the first time in the Gryffindor common room, a lifetime ago. The restless hall faded; the entire world went with it. All he could see was her... There was nobody else. There was never anybody else.

He needed her touch, to know that she was real, to know that she wasn’t going to be ripped away from him. He finally found the words he wanted to say.

“Gin… can I hug you?”

Ginny blinked, and gave him the ghost of a small smile.

“You don’t have to ask Harry. I’m always going to say yes.”

He felt a blush creep to his face, but it was comfortable and warm. It reminded him that he was still very much alive.

And so he pulled her into his arms. Harry held onto her so tightly, burying his head into her hair that still smelled so sweet. He never wanted to let her go. This embrace was the safest he could ever remember feeling.

He never wanted this moment to end, never wanted her to be away from him again, and yet he heard himself saying...

“You can always change your mind Gin.”

Ginny pulled away just enough to gaze up at him. Her eyes were filled with tears, and yet her look was burning. They both very well knew what he was talking about.

“It’s a lot,” he started. “I’m a lot. He’s gone, but it’ll always be… I’ll always be–”

Ginny put her hand gently over his mouth, and Harry felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck.

“I’m never changing my mind. Not ever.”

With this, Harry thought inexplicably of the moments before he thought his life was going to end, how his very last thoughts were of kissing the girl in front of him. Harry wanted so many things now that he had the rest of his life to live… and they could all be consolidated down to one person. Ginny.

“Me neither.” And without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her. That's how it always was.

[fl0-333]

The Last Thought - Flo_333 - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

“Of course, I wouldn’t spend the past year needlessly pining after you or not shutting up about you to Ron but never actually doing anything about it.”

“No that would be-” She began to say but he cut her off “Insane really.” His voice was low and soft, his eyes still burying into hers and she couldn’t look away. 

“Yeah” the word coming out no more than a whisper. Their eyes met and she felt like she might combust. 

“And I’m definitely not thinking of kissing you right now.” 

“No?” The word came out as a question. 

His face was so close to hers, their noses almost grazing. 

“I wouldn’t dare.” 

Read the rest on AO3

Word count: 2905

Rating: Teen

Warnings: one use of a mild swear word.

[blinkngone]

light years.

Silence resides like an unwelcome guest in the Burrow. On the days he doesn’t go to the Ministry, Harry mostly sits at the table in the Burrow’s kitchen, picking the skin on his lips. New post-war commodity at the Burrow: dirty dishes populating the a sink that has always been spic and span. A glass of water on the table that he never drinks. Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding World, rotting in the kitchen of a crooked, sun-bathed house. Out of the corner of his eyes, past the kitchen window, there is a blur of red and ivory. Sometimes he watches this blur flit back and forth between the frame of the window, sometimes he puts his head on the table, closes his eyes. Wills himself to remember her skin on his, the smell of her on his jaws. She feels a lifetime away. Centuries pass before he lifts his head back up again. The slant of the sun lengthens on the table. Near the edge, G.W is inscribed on the wood, below it, the initials of her brothers. These words belong to another time, when pain came from breaking elbows in the yard, gnome biting their toes, bee stings from the hives sticking to the trees. These days, pain comes from things they shouldn’t have even experienced.

“Your childhood was robbed from you,” Kingsley told Harry one time when they were repairing the greenhouses at Hogwarts. Amid the havoc of the war, green plants shot up regardless.

So much more than just his childhood was robbed from him, Harry wanted to tell the Minister. His life was almost snatched from him. His future, his people, all the love he could’ve had. He didn’t say anything, just shrugged. After, as he stood near the lake smoking a cigarette, squirrels scampered away from him. Like they knew this life he had, was more tinted with death than any eighteen year old life should be.

/

Now, the sounds from outside populate the silence of the Burrow. With Ron and Hermione in Australia, Mrs. Weasley at the Shell Cottage, and the others at the Ministry, the house seems to be an extension of the aching loneliness he feels. Lately, he is consumed by the need to do something, anything except attend hearings at the Ministry and helping at Hogwarts. There is a constant restlessness between his ribs. In bed sometimes, he cannot feel his body anymore, feels like he is becoming more and more unmoored from this plane of existence. In the bathroom that mostly smells of shampoo that Mrs. Weasley makes from the flowers from the Burrow’s orchard, he looks at the reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink, and is unable to locate himself.

Ginny, he observes, embodies his restlessness. She is wild that summer, Ginny. He sees it. She prowls around the Burrow at night, lithe and haunting. A ghost. In daylight, she is as fleeting as an afterthought. She is gone before he’s up, and thinks no one notices how she is beginning to disappear, parts of her falling off and getting lost. Untended grief settling in those empty spaces. Harry becomes increasingly concerned, but no one has taught him how to prevent another person from disappearing into darkness. Framed in the window of his room in the attic, he too, looks ghastly. If it weren’t for the throb of pain in his open wounds, the sting of summer on his red burns, he wouldn’t be able to tell if he were human, Harry thinks.

He remembers their days at Hogwarts, how she’d demand he sit against the trees and watch her fly. Eyes glinting, and a wicked grin on her face, she’d deftly braid her hair into a plait. Broom between her legs, she’d say, “Top this, Potter.”

And he watched, because how could he not. After everything he’d seen in his sixteen years of life, she was a miracle. Later, he’d unbraid her hair, lips on the column of her neck, tasting the wind on her skin.

These days, the only forms of interaction between them are: their dirty cups stacked on top of each other, strands of hair she sometimes leaves in the bathroom sink, her clothes and his tangled in the laundry hamper.

/

It happens on an ordinary afternoon. He stops a few feet away from the Burrow, near the chicken coup to smoke a cigarette. Today, he met Kingsley at the Ministry. He offered Harry a spot in the Auror Department.

They sat opposite each other at the table in the Minister of Magic’s office. He told the Minister, “I have to think about it.”

“Yes, Harry. Take your time. Maybe wait till Ron and Hermione are back.”

“Ron and Hermione, yeah,” he said. It dawned on him that he’d never taken an important decision without them by his side. He was so wholly inadequate without the two of them.

The birds chirp in the orchard now, the breeze heavy with humidity. Dragonflies buzz over his head. Hermione once told him, when she was little, she’d look out the window of her bedroom in the hopes of seeing dragonflies.

“Dragonflies mean heavy rain!” her Mum used to tell her. In his last letter, Ron wrote Mrs. Granger’s memory was proving difficult to be restored. She was still unable to remember Hermione.

It sure feels like heavy rain today. He blows the smoke out, slowly. Taps his finger against the cigarette and watches the column of ash fall away.

“What’s that?”

He turns around to see Ginny, broom against her hip, standing where the orchard gives away to tall and wide grass blades. Her voice sounds different, rusty from the lack of use.

“Cigarette,” he tells her.

“What?”

“Muggle shit.”

She just lifts her eyebrows, her mouth perched on the brink of laughter. Her hair is wild, sweat shining on her face. For a few seconds they look at each other. He is afraid to look away.

“Want to try?” he asks her.

She shrugs and steps forward. He covers the distance between them in three long strides.

/

The floating foliage of the leaves makes shadow patterns on their bodies. The sunlight feels old, slightly muted. She he likes the way the yellow light catches the tiny hairs on his arms, bringing out the dark butterscotch of his emerald pupils, makes his face look unbelievably beautiful. They pass a cigarette back and forth, the both of them lying on a patch of asymmetrical sunlight, the dew from the grass wetting the back of their thin shirts. He blows the smoke from the corner of his mouth, so that the left side of his face disappears momentarily in this white smoke, then reappears in the very next instant. She can smell the scent of her own hair, like wildflowers, and wishes he smells it, too, over the smell of his cigarette.

He doesn't speak much, nor does she. But his lingering looks burn into her skin, make her feel more than a wound that won’t scab, not even at the edges. Yesterday she took him to the pond, and they sat near the edge, with their feet in the water. Green weeds curled around their calves. Their shoulders were touching.

He said, “I thought about you, a lot. You know, when I was away.”

She blinked at him and wondered if it was too early to tell him about hurting in his dorm, seeing his face every time they shot a Cruciatus at her, willing to die than divulge any information that might be used against him.

“Oh.” She touched her chest with her palm. She looked out at the pond, listened to the croaking of the frogs on the green pads of leaves bigger than the sun in the sky. She wanted to give him her heart, knew he’d cradle it in his rough palms delicately, with the kind of tenderness that touches you once in twelve million light years.

“I stole your jumper,” she told him. “Wore it to bed.” Every night.

She turned to look at him the same moment he looked away. She caught the shy upturn of his smile sideways, for a fleeting moment, and revelled in it for the entire night.

She turns to him now, props herself on her elbows. He looks up at her. There are a million things she wants to tell him. The most important of which, perhaps, is that she loves him. Wants them to heal together.

“Harry.”

He stubs his cigarette in one quick motion. The contours of his lips, the wetness of his tongue are painfully familiar. Beautifully so.

[regheart]

i keep trying to make a list of my favorite characters from harry potter, but i can't even decide on a criteria myself

i always tell people (non-fandom people, that is) that my favorites are either professor lupin or ginny, because it is easier than explaining my obsession with sirius black's brother who lived and died out of page

the top 3 that i have on the desktop version of the blog is my marauders era top 3: remus, lily and regulus. they are the ones i usually want to read and write about, i love to decipher small details about them and twist and stretch possibilities of who they might have been. i want to build entire AUs about them

and i love remus as the character he is on page, through harry's eyes. missing moments about him and tonks, or sirius, or hermione, or harry are some of my favorites to read

from the main era i love harry, obviously, and he's probably the character i love the most as he is on the page. i tend to be picky about the fanfiction i read with him. i care about him a lot and i want him to happy so most of the times i read "fix-it" fics with him being raised in a loving household (and i abandon all pretense at canon compliance lol) or post-war healing and rom coms or him learning more about his parents (which is probably the origin of my interest in marauders fics tbh). i read a lot of gen fics with him, love harry & sirius, harry & ron & hermione, harry & dudley, harry & snape, and for shipping it's usually ginny, draco or neville

then my other two favorites are ginny and neville, individually and with each other, i love their friendship and i don't mind them as a weird couple. i wish i had a thousand fics more focused on their experience of war and their processes of healing, they are so dear to me and have always been

i love the gryffindors in general and i have a special attachment to parvati and dean. i'm always trying to read more fics centering them or having them in more prominent roles. also lover oliver wood and my favorite weasley, percy, individually and as couple, i'd read a perciver anywhere, anytime

this is perhaps my most controversial fave (or is it reggie?) but dumbledore has always had and will forever have a very special place in my heart. he could be the worst person in the series (he isn't) and i would still love the whimsy diva of a war general. i need to read more with him. i refuse to watch or even learn about fantastic beasts

other than that i love the black family and i have an unreasonable affinity for narcissa out of everyone. i like alphard when he's an old queen. i'd eat up any sincere approach to orion and walburga. i think phineas is criminally underrated

the first war is arguably my favorite period and i'm interested in everything from that time. i'd read anything with moody, he's a rockstar and one my favorites as well. i like frank and alice and think they should be the protagonists more often. i'd read any interesting premise involving the order, but i tend towards my girls dorcas, marlene and emmeline. i unironically think mulciber and evan rosier are interesting. i love to hate crouch sr. and jr.

and you can't read the books without loving voldemort, i'm sorry, i don't make the rules and it's not my fault he has so much juice

so if i had to make list 1) remus 2) lily 3) harry 4) regulus 5) ginny 6) neville 7) dumbledore 8) percy 9) moody 10) voldemort (then it's narcissa, parvati, ron&hermione, etc) (OH GOD AND TONKS TOO)

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Don't Need No Credit Card To Ride This Train by orphan_account Pairing: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione Rating: T Word Count: 918 Podfic available here Read by: @blackestglass, @esbielle, idellaphod, @TinyBlueBirdCloak, @aowyn, & @sophinisba Length: 0-10 minutes Some things are better than money and fame. Like bantering with your friends and your girlfriend at the Quidditch World Cup.

[honeydukesheroine]

Holy Ground 🍃🎓🌤️

Another installment of #SeveralSunlitDaylights and for @corneliaavenue-ao3!

“Remember the first time we came here?” Ginny asked, swaying on the spot, making the long black graduation robes swirl on the ground around her. She tilted her head lazily to the side, reminiscing up at the brilliantly blue sky. Harry watched the movement of her hair as it cascaded down to the small of her back, almost golden in the light. 

She turned to look at him, hand still clutching George’s flask to her shoulder, impatient for him to answer. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I was so nervous.” He looked around the sturdy wooden bench, where he now sat watching her. Appreciating the rocky hidden path, the wild overgrown leaves and scattering of purple flowers that framed the view of the lake. 

“I could tell,” she snickered, crinkling her nose the way she always did when teasing him. 

Harry smiled up at her, “You were worse than me.” She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to retort, but caught her foot on a root that sent her stumbling backwards. He reflexively reached for her hand to steady her, pulling her close. Through it all, she’d managed to save the contents of the flask.

“Dance with me,” she demanded, but her voice was soft, breath smelled like Firewhiskey. 

“You know I don’t dance.”

She giggled gently, “Not according to the Ministry Newsletter, Christmas Edition of 1998.”  She leaned her whole body weight into his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped snuggly around her waist, breathing her in, he allowed himself to instinctively match her rhythm. “I came here a lot this year… and last year,” she said after a while.

He’d known that it had all been on her mind that day, saying goodbye. Even through her outward insistence that she “could leave and give two fucks if I ever came back.” He knew it wasn’t that simple. That’s why he’d helped her knick George’s flask.

“I know.” 

They continued to sway, the warmth of the sun surrounding them. This had been their spot. 

But now it was one of their spots, he reminded her. Along with the little stone bridge not far from the Burrow, that greasy pub she loved so much in Muggle London, that secret beach along the coast they could only reach by broom. 

But really, he knew that his spot was wherever she was. 

[politicalunicorn]

yall should I post a snippet of my fic

[pangaeaseas]

finally read castles by @pebblysand all the way through (i'd read most of it already but never in one sitting) and ohhhh my god it's one of the best takes on postwar hinny and Harry and ginny's characters and also like. the legacies of war i've found everyone go read it. and also I want to shout out the excellent prose and the structure of it (like some of the chapters could stand alone as short stories) and the way it's always super conscious of Harry's POV (it feels very much like a story with a narrator if that makes sense).

[norakelly]

Harry and Ginny head-canons <3

Some light hearted ones:)

(Did i type this out while ao3 was down? YES)

Harry for sure sneaked in to Hogwarts under the invisibility cloak to see Ginny during the day (Imagine him in auror robes and her in the quidditch uniform!!!)

Harry befreinds a stray cat during one of his first missions, and gives it to Ginny during their first Christmas so that she can take it back to Hogwarts. The cat stays with them until James starts school. (Along with many other cats of course)

Ginny was recruited as a trainee for Harpies after her second match during the last year, where she managed to break a scoring record of 11 years. She trained while in school, going back and forth from Hogwarts to Holyhead, a few days a week.

Harry loved his job minus the paperwork. He was quite good at it and succeeded to make many new friends out of his coworkers.

Harry and Ginny always held hands. Like always. Some physical touch was a must if they are staying close together. And she had a habit of leaning her head on his shoulder whenever as well, cause it was MADE for their height difference.

They went on a lot of roadtrips after Harry bought a vintage car that was on sale. He taught Ginny to drive and she got her license at 19. Somehow she became a better driver than him by the end. They used the car to go on muggle trips and to drop the kids at muggle primary schools.

They had a very small wedding at the burrow garden. Very private and surrounded by close friends and family only. They later registers in the muggle way as well, alone at a small church.

Ginny would throw a fit whenever Harry decides to shave his beard but always ends up liking it.

She gets a lot of hand and shoulder cramps due to her physically demanding profession as a chaser. So Harry helps her around with whatever she needs, specially during the quidditch season. He loves coddling her even though she acts as if she hates it.

He ends up in St Mungos quite often as well. And every time, Ginny would scoop up with him in the bed side by side. This became a habit after the children as well, where she would extend the bed so that they can hop in together with him (without disturbing of course)

Want more head canons? Lmk:)

[di-daynamic]

@hinnymicrofic

September Prompts Day 21: Murderous

Harry was the Man Who Conquered. The Head Auror.

And he had never faced a situation quite so tense.

Ginny fixed him with a murderous gaze before slowly moving her eyes to her brother. “Which of you was it,” she said in a low, dangerous voice that typically preceded hexes, most likely the Bat-Bogey variety. “I want the truth. Now.”

Harry was used to making decisions on the fly, but this was ridiculous.

“Answer the question, boys,” Hermione said disapprovingly, perching on the couch, her book closed for once.

Harry made an executive decision.

“It was Ron,” he threw his best mate under the bus with no small amount of remorse.

“Harry!” Ron cried out in betrayal as both women honed in on him with murderous gazes and flared nostrils akin to bloodthirsty hellhounds (he ought to know; he had a case related to them not two months ago).

“Did you do it, Ron?” Ginny asked, now very calmly. Somehow, this was worse than the angry tone. Hermione was fingering her wand as she stood up, also very calmly.

Harry loved his girlfriend and best friend. He really, really did.

He was just also extremely scared of them, as any sane person would be.

“I cannot believe this,” Hermione intoned lowly. “From you of all people. I would’ve expected this kind of impulsivity and short-sightedness from Harry—”

“Hey,” Harry cut in broodingly, because doing suicidal reckless things was kind of in his nature, but shut up when Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“But not from you,” Hermione shook her head sadly, ignoring Harry completely, which he was grateful for, but also a little offended by. “How could you?”

“Hermione, c’mon, I didn’t mean to do it!” Ron cried out desperately, confirming his guilt and sealing his fate.

Then he proved just how little Harry’s friendship meant to him.

“Harry was the one who brought it up, anyway.”

“Ron,” Harry said hoarsely, disbelievingly, as the girls’ murderous looks were trained once again on him.

“You started it, mate,” Ron shook his head sadly too, proving he spent far too much time with Hermione.

“Harry,” Ginny said slowly. “Did you bring up the party to Mum?” Hermione stared at him incredulously.

Harry saw his life flash before his eyes.

He could lie to the press, the whole world, his coworkers, the Weasleys, even Ron and Hermione and Teddy, but he couldn’t lie to Ginny.

He took a deep breath. Steeled himself.

“Yes. I did.”

“How could you?” Ginny whispered. Harry could swear there were tears in her eyes, but Ginny Weasley never cried. “Do you realize what this means for us, Harry? What the next three months of our life are going to be like?”

“I know,” Harry nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Hermione sighed. “Of course you didn’t,” she murmured.

Ron made an indignant noise. “Why is it when Harry’s to blame you two go all soft and when I am you look murderous?” He complained.

The girls threw scathing looks at him. “We haven’t forgotten that you’re the one who dealt the final blow, brother,” Ginny said threateningly.

Ron gulped and shut up, because he had a sense of self-preservation.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, because despite how ridiculous it sounded, he could display some self-preservation too. Occasionally.

“I know you are,” Ginny said soothingly, murderous expression disappearing, as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. Hermione sighed and sheathed her wand.

“I hope you know we’re leaving all the work to you,” Hermione informed them.

Harry and Ron blanched, exchanging looks.

“We know nothing about party planning,” Ron said flatly.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before promising Mum our help,” Ginny smiled, showing all her teeth. “Unless you’d like to also be the one to tell her we can’t.”

Harry would, quite frankly, rather face Voldemort again.

Ever since the extended Weasley family (which consisted of most of the Order and the DA along with the actual blood family) had started marrying and having children, getting together on days such as Christmas and birthdays had become nigh impossible.

Mr. Weasley had discovered the American holiday of Thanksgiving, and his wife had decided that was the one day every single person of their acquaintance would sequester themselves in the Burrow and celebrate.

It was the most exclusive event of the year, according to Witch Weekly, and Mrs. Weasley’s mania regarding it exceeded even her grief after the war and the craziness of her children’s weddings.

And Harry and Ron had just promised to help her plan and organize it, something the others took literal vacations to avoid (George and Angelina were currently in Botswana; Percy, Audrey and Oliver were pretending to be sick while definitely not being so; Bill, Fleur and Victoire had escaped to France; Neville was apparently swamped with work at the office while Harry knew he was tending to plants in his terrarium all day; Teddy had suddenly started throwing tantrums with destructive accidental magic again according to Andromeda; Kingsley was assigning himself paperwork, which was truly desperate).

“We’ll do the work,” Harry said defeatedly, Ron nodding morosely beside him.

Nothing for it, after all.

Ginny smiled and kissed him, which made his outlook a lot more positive.

She was worth the entire world.

Even spending his days buried in invitations, letters from various great-aunts and fifth and sixth cousins, gifts, catering orders and décor options.

[hpseeker99]

Ginny, on the phone with Harry: Turn around Ginny: No the other way Ginny: No wait now the other way Ginny: Okay one more time Harry: OH MY GOD, WHERE ARE YOU?!?! Ginny: Oh I’m not there yet, but the thought of you aimlessly turning around in circles amuses me