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Fem!Harry/Male!Ginny - “all these new feelings are scaring me”, please?

What’s this? Me breaking my fic writing break because I adore this prompt so much. You betcha. No one call me out. I loved this pairing so much! Thank you @displayheartcode for the prompt! I never would have considered them without you. I hope you enjoy this!

Also, for the sake of not wanting Ginny’s name to be too different, my headcanon is that Arthur loves the muggle drink so much that he named his youngest son after it.

Thank you @women-inthe-sequel for looking over this!

Tease

Harry is avoiding him.

He isn’t exactly certain why. Or, more precisely, he’s got a good guess as to why she’s avoiding him, but he isn’t entirely positive just yet. He’s got a theory that he’s in the middle of testing, one that involves counting the number of times her cheeks tint pink when he smiles at her and the various injuries she’s acquired over her sudden clumsiness that only seems to pop up when he’s around.

He knows he’s being a little shit. Ron has unhelpfully told him so.

But being the youngest of seven boys, Gin is prone to being a little shit from time to time, which he made sure to tell Ron when he was confronted. It's his favorite personality trait, and the only thing that’s really his with the amount of hand me downs he’s used to receiving. He’s told Ron this too, only to receive the response that it doesn’t make sense, seeing as it’s not as if a personality can physically be handed down.

Gin had agreed that this must be true, for if Ron could possess another personality, Gin is mostly certain that he would jump at the chance. Ron had punched him in the shoulder for making such a remark, for which he is now sporting a nice bruise.

It aches as he knocks on Harriet’s door. More specifically, his door, since he’s had to give up his room for the girls and retire to the sitting room couch.

Like the gentleman that he is.

“Harry?” Gin questions, knocking again after there’s no response. He knows she’s in there. She hasn’t come down all morning, which is unlike her. Harry doesn’t miss a meal if she can help it. Gin suspects they have the Dursleys to thank for that. The girl is practically religious over meal times.

When another minute passes by without a response, Gin decides to press his luck by propping the door slightly ajar. Surely if she’s changing, she would have simply locked the door or shouted at him that she isn’t decent the first two times he’s knocked.

He knows that she’s careful about that sort of thing after basically growing up with his family. The boys practically barged room from room without even considering who is or isn’t decent. Gin recalls having to have a sit down conversation as a family where his parents told them they couldn’t do things like that with Harry and Hermione staying during the summer breaks.

“We don’t want to scar the poor girls,” his mum had said.

Gin had found it funny then. He had never thought of Harry having to change in his room before. But still, he made sure to be more respectful and to knock at least twice.

That’s the rule when the girls are over. Twice as warning and then you can barge in.

Though this time he lets the creak of the door serve as a third warning, just in case. His cheeks burn at the thought of her not being decent.

It’s more than likely that she’s fallen into a slump again, though, which has been her new normal since the war.

When he opens the door fully, it’s to find that he’s right. She’s still in bed. His bed, he thinks, his heart pounding. She’s got the covers pulled up over her head, and she’s curled into herself.

He frowns.

As much of a little shit as he’s been the past week, he still finds himself growing concerned for her when she’s like this. She’s come back from the war like part of her is missing sometimes. Much quieter and more brooding than he’s used to.

She had been so withdrawn when she came back that when he first noticed the effect he had on her, he had been so shocked to see something so human on her again that he just...kept doing it.

It had started with the simple burning of her cheeks when he brought her oatmeal one morning, and sort of spiraled from there.

He’s made sure to wear his most charming smile ever since, and whenever something needs to be done specifically for Harry, Gin makes sure to always be the first to volunteer.

Always, always her blush would deepen around him and she would sputter over her words.

It thrills him.

Harry had become so detached from her humanity when she came to the Burrow to recuperate after the war, that to see her have such a reaction around him elated Gin. He could cause that. Only him.

“Go away, Gin,” Harry’s voice grumbles, muffled from the blankets. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

He smiles. He can’t help it.

Ignoring her, he crosses the room, crouching down next to the bed.

“Why don’t you come out of there and tell me what’s bothering you?” Gin coaxes, trying very hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. He fails. Spectacularly so, if Harry pulling down the covers just enough to properly glare at him is any indication.

His grin widens.

“You,” she hisses. “You are what’s bothering me!”

“Hmm,” Gin hums because he knows it annoys her, and in her annoyance she doesn’t fold into herself. “How am I doing that?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Harry tries to pull the covers back over her head, but she’s thwarted by Gin propping his elbows on them so he can rest his chin on the palm of his right hand as he looks at her.

“Elaborate, please,” Gin presses. “Let’s just assume I’m ignorant for a second.”

Harry snorts. It’s a pretty sound.

“You’re anything but ignorant. Calculating, that’s what you are.”

She gives up her fight for the covers and sits up against the headboard instead, pulling her legs up towards her. She’s left enough room for him next to her, and Gin assumes it’s intentional. He slides in next to her like it is, smiling softly.

She smells like cinnamon and honey and he has to fight the urge to bury his nose into her hair. She’d likely call him a creep and smack him.

He’d deserve it.

“Stop,” Harry groans, turning away from him. Her blush is back. It paints her gaunt cheeks pink. It gives her life. “You’re doing it again.”

Gin blinks. He’s not as ignorant as he wants people to believe he is, but he enjoys putting on a show.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me...like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like...like a boy…” Harry trails off, biting her lip. He can tell she doesn’t want to finish the sentence, and he knows he’s partially to blame. He’s teased her a bit, and good natured or not, he knows she feels slightly frustrated with him.

He figures with as much as he’s put her through, he can at least show her some mercy here.

“Like a boy in love?” Gin finishes for her, bumping his shoulder against hers.

Her head whips around to look at him, her raven ponytail flicking around wildly.

“Don’t… don’t joke about that,” she says, her voice wavering. “It’s not something to joke about.”

“I’m not joking,” Gin protests. Harry’s emerald eyes narrow at him. “I’m not!”

“You’ve been joking since I’ve gotten here. You’re worse than Fred and George sometimes. And I — I’m not…”

“Not what?”

“I’m not in a place to be feeling the things that I’m feeling right now! Or, at least, I shouldn’t be. Not so soon. I mean, I just got out of a war. A war where I died somehow, but also somehow didn’t die. It’s so complicated, and I should be worrying about that and not about how I feel about you. But all I can think about is you. And what's worse is you know, and you think it’s funny—”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Gin says, cutting off Harry’s rambling. “I mean, I find you amusing, sure. I always have. And not just to tease. You’re extremely funny and witty. I’ve always thought you were funny. But I don’t think what you’re feeling is funny at all. Because it’s —it’s the same thing I’m feeling.”

Harry casts her eyes down to where her hands are twisting the bedsheets, but he knows she’s listening by the deepening of her blush. He’s never seen her react this way to anyone else, and it does awful things for his ego.

“All these new feelings are scaring me,” Harry whispers. “How are they not scaring you?”

Gin smiles. “Because they’re not new. Not to me, at least. I’ve had a crush on you for years now.”

“Then why are you being such a jerk?” Harry asks, but she laughs slightly. “You’ve been doing things to purposefully make me embarrass myself. I cracked an egg all over myself yesterday trying to help your mum with breakfast. All because you blew a raspberry on my neck.”

“I’m sorry,” Gin apologizes, though he doesn’t feel all that sorry. He’s been fascinated with her neck for a while now. He can’t get the feeling of her body shivering and curling against his as he blew a raspberry out of his mind. “In my defense, we used to play that game as kids.”

“Back when I was like twelve and you were eleven and I didn’t know what a crush even was! And blowing a raspberry isn’t a game. It’s just...it’s gross.”

Gin smirks, giving into the urge to nuzzle his nose against her neck. She doesn’t pull away. She has the same reaction to it as she did the raspberry.

“What if we came up with a new game then? Something less gross I can do to your neck?”

He feels Harry swallow.

“Like — like what?”

Harry shudders against him, unable to keep her voice as composed as she would like, Gin knows. He places a kiss against her neck at the spot where the hair that is too short to fit into her ponytail wisps around.

“Something...less mean,” he says, placing another kiss further down her neck to where her pulse point is running wild. “But just as teasing.”

“You shouldn't get off on teasing me so much,” Harry chides, though she slides down the bed, allowing Gin to position himself just slightly overtop of her. Her fingers find his hair, tugging slightly when he nips just above her collarbone.

She likes that, the scrapping of teeth against her skin.

He does it twice more and gets the same reaction.

“I adore teasing you,” Gin says, lifting his head back up so they’re nearly nose to nose. He smiles. “I adore you. So much.”

“I’m rather fond of you too,” Harry sighs, as if this is exasperating to admit. It likely is. “Even though you’ve been a little shit recently.”

Gin laughs, his eyes positively lit up, before Harry pulls him back down towards her and silences his mirth with her lips.

#hinny fic

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