G/H fic. Score.
A G/H for nova25. I can't believe I'm actually being efficient enough to respond to any requests. *is shocked*
It's Sunday, and he's wearing a green sweater that sets off his eyes rather nicely. Ginny doesn't usually bother to notice these sorts of things anymore, or if she does, at least, she doesn't tell anyone about it. The last thing she needs is Hermione giving her that aggravating, I-know-what-you're-thinking-Ginny-Weasley sort of look. Please. As though she'd be interested in Harry again, after wasting away with unrequited love for over two years. She isn't an idiot.
And she isn't sure what gives Hermione the right to make that look, anyway. Maybe Ron's on to something when he rants about how she could drive anyone mental.
So Ginny sits at the table, nibbling absently at the corners of her toast even though she doesn't like bread crust very much, and she watches him. He's alone - Ron and Hermione are up in the common room. They'd been arguing when Ginny had headed down to breakfast. She wonders if they've progressed to snogging yet. Probably not, knowing them.
He doesn't seem to mind it, being alone. Since Sirius died, he's been different. Quieter, and a bit more detached. She grew up with six brothers, and understands the value of alone time far more than most probably do. Still, she's not sure this particular kind is healthy.
So, feeling a bit daring, she abandons her toast - quite willingly; it's a bit too crisp - and wanders nonchalantly further down the table, sinking down across from him. He looks up at her but doesn't say anything. His eyes really are striking when he wears green. For a second, she feels ten.
"Hello," she says, and smiles as pleasantly as she can manage.
"Hi," he replies after a moment.
"Ron and Hermione still fighting, then?"
"Guess so. They're quite good at it."
He's not eating anything, she notices. Just sitting. A bit further down the table, she can hear Lavender Brown burst into giggles at something Seamus Finnigan says. It all seems a little ridiculous, and aggravating, in a way -- that they can joke and flirt, perfectly delighted on just another Sunday morning, while she sits and makes strained conversation with a boy whose name she used to draw hearts around.
"So," she says, simply becuase there's not much of anything else.
"Yeah," he agrees.
She studies the pitcher of pumpkin juice and contemplates what sort of reaction she might be rewarded with if she 'accidentally' knocks it over onto him. Maybe he'd even go so far as to blink.
He was just generous like that.
"Oh, Seamus, stop it!" Lavender cries, very shrill, and delighted laughter spills down the table.
Ginny rather wouldn't mind kicking her at the moment.
"Oh, Harry!" she mimics, comedically high-pitched, and kicks him under the table. "Stop it!"
Lavender glances at them and wrinkles her nose; Harry smiles, just a little.
It's Sunday, and he's wearing a green sweater that sets off his eyes rather nicely. Ginny doesn't usually bother to notice these sorts of things anymore, or if she does, at least, she doesn't tell anyone about it. The last thing she needs is Hermione giving her that aggravating, I-know-what-you're-thinking-Ginny-Weasley sort of look. Please. As though she'd be interested in Harry again, after wasting away with unrequited love for over two years. She isn't an idiot.
And she isn't sure what gives Hermione the right to make that look, anyway. Maybe Ron's on to something when he rants about how she could drive anyone mental.
So Ginny sits at the table, nibbling absently at the corners of her toast even though she doesn't like bread crust very much, and she watches him. He's alone - Ron and Hermione are up in the common room. They'd been arguing when Ginny had headed down to breakfast. She wonders if they've progressed to snogging yet. Probably not, knowing them.
He doesn't seem to mind it, being alone. Since Sirius died, he's been different. Quieter, and a bit more detached. She grew up with six brothers, and understands the value of alone time far more than most probably do. Still, she's not sure this particular kind is healthy.
So, feeling a bit daring, she abandons her toast - quite willingly; it's a bit too crisp - and wanders nonchalantly further down the table, sinking down across from him. He looks up at her but doesn't say anything. His eyes really are striking when he wears green. For a second, she feels ten.
"Hello," she says, and smiles as pleasantly as she can manage.
"Hi," he replies after a moment.
"Ron and Hermione still fighting, then?"
"Guess so. They're quite good at it."
He's not eating anything, she notices. Just sitting. A bit further down the table, she can hear Lavender Brown burst into giggles at something Seamus Finnigan says. It all seems a little ridiculous, and aggravating, in a way -- that they can joke and flirt, perfectly delighted on just another Sunday morning, while she sits and makes strained conversation with a boy whose name she used to draw hearts around.
"So," she says, simply becuase there's not much of anything else.
"Yeah," he agrees.
She studies the pitcher of pumpkin juice and contemplates what sort of reaction she might be rewarded with if she 'accidentally' knocks it over onto him. Maybe he'd even go so far as to blink.
He was just generous like that.
"Oh, Seamus, stop it!" Lavender cries, very shrill, and delighted laughter spills down the table.
Ginny rather wouldn't mind kicking her at the moment.
"Oh, Harry!" she mimics, comedically high-pitched, and kicks him under the table. "Stop it!"
Lavender glances at them and wrinkles her nose; Harry smiles, just a little.