HP Fic: "Chestnut"
Title: Chestnut
Rating: Everyone
Words: 574
Summary: An entry for the hpgw_otp "Colors of the Rainbow" challenge on LiveJournal. Harry and Ginny, sitting in a tree....
There is a big old chestnut tree in the front garden of the Burrow. Its spreading branches provide a relatively snow-free spot in the winter, and welcome shade in the summer. It also provides a certain amount of privacy during those summer months, especially when two young, agile people in possession of flying broomsticks manage to secret themselves in the upper branches.
He straddles a particularly large limb, his feet resting on a medium-sized one placed a comfortable distance below. She sits with her back to his chest, toying with a big, prickly chestnut husk and swearing as its sharp points occasionally poke too hard into her capable-yet-amazingly-soft hands.
"If you weren't playing with something so prickly, you wouldn't get hurt," he says, with amusement in his voice.
"I love chestnuts," she says, turning the husk over in her hands. "My favourite thing to do is to roast them in the winter, and then crack them open while they're still so hot that they burn your hands, and you juggle them back and forth until they're cool enough to eat, and they warm you all the way through."
He doesn't say anything, because he's not entirely sure what that has to do with poking her hands with prickles, and doesn't want to destroy the moment with questions. He'd sworn he would stay away from her, anyway; but the wedding is tomorrow, and he and Ron and Hermione are leaving directly afterward, and somehow, he feels that he desperately needs a happy memory to take with him on the long journey.
She turns carefully, looking at him over her shoulder with a smile on her face. "I love you, too, Harry," she says quietly. "Despite your prickles."
A sudden, hot feeling clenches in his chest, and for a moment, it's hard to breathe. He blinks, swallows, then says with careful teasing intonation: "I suppose you'd like to roast me over a fire as well? And juggle me until I'm cool enough?"
She must have heard the unspoken fear, for her smile softens. "No," she says, "because I know you'd never burn me. But I also know you'd warm me all the way through, if circumstances gave us the chance."
He knows then what it is she's asking, and his heart swells because he wants it more than anything in the world. But they both know they can't. Not yet. Not now. So he takes her left hand and kisses her ring finger gently, tenderly. "Yes," he says, gazing into her eyes and trying to communicate his meaning to her, without having to say it. "I will."
"Good," she says, and pulls one leg over so she's sitting sideways on the thick limb instead of straddling it. She slides one arm behind his back, and he wraps his around her, holding her against his chest. He prays that she will not ask to go with them, for he knows he cannot say no if she does, and he would do anything in the world to keep her safe. Yet, she is not the type to be kept safe; that is part of what he loves about her. So he leaves the matter in her hands and kisses the top of her head, settling back against the trunk of the chestnut tree. The preparations for Fleur and Bill's wedding are proceeding apace below them, but right now, he decides he'd much rather think about his own.
Rating: Everyone
Words: 574
Summary: An entry for the hpgw_otp "Colors of the Rainbow" challenge on LiveJournal. Harry and Ginny, sitting in a tree....
There is a big old chestnut tree in the front garden of the Burrow. Its spreading branches provide a relatively snow-free spot in the winter, and welcome shade in the summer. It also provides a certain amount of privacy during those summer months, especially when two young, agile people in possession of flying broomsticks manage to secret themselves in the upper branches.
He straddles a particularly large limb, his feet resting on a medium-sized one placed a comfortable distance below. She sits with her back to his chest, toying with a big, prickly chestnut husk and swearing as its sharp points occasionally poke too hard into her capable-yet-amazingly-soft hands.
"If you weren't playing with something so prickly, you wouldn't get hurt," he says, with amusement in his voice.
"I love chestnuts," she says, turning the husk over in her hands. "My favourite thing to do is to roast them in the winter, and then crack them open while they're still so hot that they burn your hands, and you juggle them back and forth until they're cool enough to eat, and they warm you all the way through."
He doesn't say anything, because he's not entirely sure what that has to do with poking her hands with prickles, and doesn't want to destroy the moment with questions. He'd sworn he would stay away from her, anyway; but the wedding is tomorrow, and he and Ron and Hermione are leaving directly afterward, and somehow, he feels that he desperately needs a happy memory to take with him on the long journey.
She turns carefully, looking at him over her shoulder with a smile on her face. "I love you, too, Harry," she says quietly. "Despite your prickles."
A sudden, hot feeling clenches in his chest, and for a moment, it's hard to breathe. He blinks, swallows, then says with careful teasing intonation: "I suppose you'd like to roast me over a fire as well? And juggle me until I'm cool enough?"
She must have heard the unspoken fear, for her smile softens. "No," she says, "because I know you'd never burn me. But I also know you'd warm me all the way through, if circumstances gave us the chance."
He knows then what it is she's asking, and his heart swells because he wants it more than anything in the world. But they both know they can't. Not yet. Not now. So he takes her left hand and kisses her ring finger gently, tenderly. "Yes," he says, gazing into her eyes and trying to communicate his meaning to her, without having to say it. "I will."
"Good," she says, and pulls one leg over so she's sitting sideways on the thick limb instead of straddling it. She slides one arm behind his back, and he wraps his around her, holding her against his chest. He prays that she will not ask to go with them, for he knows he cannot say no if she does, and he would do anything in the world to keep her safe. Yet, she is not the type to be kept safe; that is part of what he loves about her. So he leaves the matter in her hands and kisses the top of her head, settling back against the trunk of the chestnut tree. The preparations for Fleur and Bill's wedding are proceeding apace below them, but right now, he decides he'd much rather think about his own.