Fic: "Bad Day"
Title: Bad Day
Author: Tosca
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 3,056 words
Summary: It is not Ginny's day.
Notes: This is my (late!oops!) entry for hpgw_otp's Fortune Cookie Challenge!
Apologies for lateness, but life intervened, and then I just couldn't get the ball rolling. I hope you all enjoy!
My fortune: Your luck is just not there. Attend to practical matters today.
Ginny woke up chewing on the corner of her pillow, legs half off the bed. The bright summer sunshine was too hot on her face, and she jerked awake, throwing her body weight towards her left side, trying to find a cool expanse of sheet-
And promptly fell off the bed.
She landed with an oomph and a groan, opening her eyes and staring moodily up at the ceiling. Today was not going to be her day.
“Bloody fucking hell,” she muttered, arching her back.
She heard rustling above her on the bed, and Harry’s scrunched face appeared, lined from his pillow; his hair resembled a bird’s nest, ruffled up in all direction and falling into his slanted eyes. “Whud’you do that for?” he mumbled sleepily, yawning.
Frowning, she poked him in the forehead with her index finger. “Didn’t do it on purpose,” she grumbled, tongue dry and cottony. She had the distinct taste of feather and fabric on the roof of her mouth.
He grunted and rolled back onto the bed. “M’kay,” he mumbled, voice muffled by what must be a pillow.
Sighing, she heaved herself up and glanced at the clock, rubbing the small of her back. An hour earlier than her usual alarm-no point in going back to sleep now. As she headed for the bathroom, she stripped off her night shift and let out her hair from its messy ponytail. Usually, Harry would make some sort of appreciative noise, but not lately-
Deflated, she went to her lonely shower.
Twenty minutes later, she was making tea in the kitchen, skin red and tight from a too-hot shower that wouldn’t cool off no matter how much she twisted the nozzle. Her jeans were tight around her waist, a depressing sign of the week to come, and she had a blemish the size of a small moon on her chin, threatening to eat the rest of her face.
Perfect.
Harry stumbled into the kitchen just as she was taking her usual seat on the counter, leaning her head back against the cabinets and munching on her toast. The bowl of apples on the table gleamed green in the morning sun.
“Morning,” she said as he shuffled to his seat at the table, where she had his usual cup of tea waiting, still steaming hot from a well-placed Warming Charm.
He squinted at her, rubbing his eyes much like a child. “Morning,” he said, voice gravelly with sleep, sending hot shivers through her toes.
She blew air across the surface of her tea idly, watching him. “Any plans for the day?” she asked after a moment, stomach flip-flopping.
Shrugging, he reached for the paper, scratching his bare stomach lightly. “It’s my day off. Thought I might clean up around here a bit, run some errands,” he said.
She stifled a sigh and immediately took a long swallow of her tea-and promptly spit it back out as the hot liquid scalded her tongue. “Fuck--!”
“Hey, you all right?” he asked worriedly, getting up.
Tongue hanging from the side of her mouth, she kicked harmlessly at him. “I’m fine,” she muttered, setting the tea down and glaring mutinously.
Harry raised a brow, but sat back down. “Okay. Want an apple?” he asked. “Bought them yesterday at one of the markets in London.”
Working her jaw, she nodded mutely, rolling her tongue back into her mouth, pain still panging through her. He tossed her an apple, which she caught easily. “You’ve got practice today, right?” he asked, picking the paper back up.
“Yeah,” she said, tossing the apple nimbly between her hands. “Until noon. Then Mum wants to have lunch, just the two of us,” she added, glancing at him.
He didn’t even look up. “Sounds nice. When will you be home?”
“Around three, I think. I have to shower before lunch, or Mum will flay me, and then you know how she loves to talk,” she said lightly, skimming her fingertips along the apple’s smooth skin.
“If it’s about weddings, I can recite it word for word,” he said, flashing a quick grin over the edge of the paper.
She frowned, hopping off the counter and sucking in her stomach in vain, trying to relieve the press against the button of her jeans. The subject of weddings wasn’t one she enjoyed, no matter who brought up. “Right. Well, I’ve got to go. When will you be home?” she asked, apple clutched in her fist tightly.
He set the paper down in his lap, giving her such an unnervingly weird stare that she almost wanted to Apparate away. “Not sure. Sometime tonight, I think. And you won’t be home until three?” he asked.
The effort to figure him out, even after four years, was exhausting sometimes. “Yeah,” she said quietly.
“Okay. I’ll see you later, then,” he said with a smile, standing up and taking the few steps towards her to press a glancing kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Don’t fall off your broom.”
“See you later,” she muttered, brushing past him and out of the room, biting into the apple almost savagely, juice splattering on her chin.
*
Not two hours into practice, a Bludger accidentally glanced her thigh during a mix-up in flying patterns. She’d managed to continue on without much trouble, except for a throbbing ache, but once she hit the ground to go to lunch, the pain began shooting up her leg as she walked. She didn’t have time for a lengthy stop to the team healer, as she was already running late-all she had time for was a quick spell to numb her pain, and then she was off.
Her mother gushed on and on during lunch, asking about Quidditch, and how exciting it was that Ginny was finally a starter, after three years of playing back-up, and they had already renewed their season tickets-after a while, it all started to sound the same.
Until, of course, the marriage discussion.
*
Molly Weasley’s eyes gleamed in a very worrisome way as she glanced at Ginny from across the table.
“So, Ginny,” she said slowly as Ginny took a spoonful of stew to her mouth. “Any ideas on when Harry might ask you the question?”
Ginny chewed on an especially touch chunk of beef, frowning. Not even her bloody stew had come out right. “What question?” she asked wearily. “Because if it’s not when’s your first game? or what do you want for your birthday?, I don’t care.”
Arthur sighed and buried his face in his shepherd’s pie as Molly laughed. “Don’t be silly, you know what I mean,” she exclaimed, jabbing at her chicken with her fork. “When do you think he’s going to ask you to marry him?”
“Don’t know, Mum. Like I said last month,” Ginny said with a sigh, putting her spoon down. First her salad had carrots and radishes (both of which she hated with a passion), and now her stew was overcooked. Was she in a parallel universe or something?
“You know, Madame Malkin’s is having a sale on wedding robes as an end of summer special,” Molly plowed on.
Swallowing down a sudden bout of rage, she frowned, locking eyes with her mother. “Nice for them. Why don’t you buy them, if you’re so excited?” she said coolly.
She loved her mother, she really did-but there was something so stagnant about her that completely clashed with how Ginny felt about her own life. She felt like a horrible daughter, for not being the girly princess she knew her mother wanted, for not wanting to marry the hero in a huge, white, frothy wedding-but she wasn’t about to betray herself. On paper, it didn’t seem like a big deal-but this was the root of her struggles, of trying to be something other than what people wanted.
Molly sighed. “If only you’d give Harry a nudge, dear, I’m sure he’d come around.”
“Mum, I’m happy with what I have,” she said tiredly.
“I’m sure you’d change your mind if he asked,” Molly replied firmly, a certainty to her voice that tickled a nerve in Ginny’s gut.
Pushing her hair behind her ears, she sat back in the booth. “Mum, please let’s drop it,” she said quietly, the back of her neck hot and pink. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
She had to hand it to her mother; she waited a whole five minutes before starting up again.
“You know what people are saying, don’t you? About you and Harry living together?” she asked after a brief discussion of what Luna was up to in Poland (searching for a rare purple unicorn, of course).
Ginny couldn’t hold back a groan. “I’m an adult, and so is he. It’s our bloody business, and I don’t understand why you care so much, Mum!” she exclaimed.
“Because it’s my friends who talk about it! At least Ron and Hermione got married before they lived together,” Molly retorted, a flush high on her cheekbones.
Heaving a sigh, Ginny rolled her eyes. “We’ll get married when we get married. I’m not going to move out just because Witch Weekly says we’re living in sin. I know I’m going to be with him, so what does it matter whether I’ve got his last name or not?” she said fiercely.
“Don’t you want a wedding, dear? It would be so lovely-you liked Hermione’s wedding, didn’t you?” Molly wheedled.
Ginny gritted her teeth. “Mum, it was lovely to see Ron and Hermione get married. But I don’t want that,” she said tightly through her lips. “And Harry doesn’t either.”
Taking a bite of her shepherd’s pie, Molly shrugged. “I wish you’d just let me show you some ideas, or themes-“
“If I get married, it’ll be without a theme, Mum!” Ginny exclaimed, frustration getting the best of her. “Maybe I won’t have a wedding at all!”
Molly pursed her lips, looking like she used to when she caught Ginny sneaking rides on Bill’s broom. “I can see you’re getting worked up,” she said. “Just know that an elopement isn’t what you want. Don’t be silly.”
Why not? Ginny added silently, staring moodily off into the air as her mother changed the subject.
No, today was not her day.
*
Sighing, Ginny stumbled into the living room and immediately flopped onto the couch, unbuttoning the top button of her jeans. She’d eaten quickly after her row with Molly, and gotten home earlier than expected. Nothing was working out for her today, and her mother’s consistent haranguing was stuck on repeat over and over like a bad Weird Sisters tune. All she really wanted to do was eat a whole chocolate cake and hide on the couch for the rest of the day, perhaps go out with Harry, catch a Muggle film-if Harry would bloody come home, that is.
Above her, the floorboards creaked. She sat up, frowning, and waited. At more creaking, she got up, jeans still undone, and headed upstairs silently, a talent born from six older brothers and a keen-eared mother.
The door to their bedroom was ajar, and without hesitation, she popped her head in.
Harry moved around the room nearly on his toes, placing bouquets and vases of bright blue and purple irises on the windowsills and dresser tops. He was dressed-up nicely, in a green button-down he rarely ever wore and khaki trousers, his hair actually combed-back and off of his forehead, and as he turned and saw her there, he looked nervous.
“Ginny! You’re home!” he exclaimed, a bouquet of irises clutched in his hand.
Stomach dropping to her ankles, she pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. It suddenly felt like the temperature had jumped a hundred degrees, despite the cooling unit throughout the whole house.
He swallowed hard, skin bright in the yellow afternoon sun. “I didn’t think you’d be back until three,” he said.
“I’m early,” she replied softly, fists clenched.
Throwing her a crooked grin, he shrugged. “Surprise,” he said sheepishly.
“Harry, what is all this?” she asked.
He sighed lightly. “Well, I didn’t plan this all too well-I wanted to put them all over the house-irises are your favorite, I remembered-and have it all ready when you got home-“
“Is that why Mum wanted to have lunch?” she asked, pursing her lips.
Pushing his glasses up with his index finger, he came over to her and handed her the flowers. “Not exactly. It worked out this way,” he said seriously, keeping her gaze.
Licking her lips, she fixed her eyes to the slants of sunlight spreading across the hardwood floor, bringing the flowers up to her nose. The scent was fresh and soft in her nose. “Why?”
He took her hand; his skin was warm and damp, like it had been the first time they’d walked the corridors of Hogwarts hand-in-hand. “I wanted to make this special,” he said, voice low and quiet, sending shivers through her. “I want-Ginny, please look at me. Please.”
She glanced up; his eyes, fierce and green behind the thick lenses, held her fast. “Marry me,” he said simply, pressing something circular and cool into the palm of her hand.
Heart beating hard against her ribs, she pulled her hand back and opened it; the platinum band glinted up at her, three diamonds completing the simple design. It was perfect, and it was hers-
A vision of her mother with caterers and cake designs and flower arrangements, with shades of orange for bridesmaids robes and lace, filled her vision, clouding the ring, and Harry. She immediately felt nauseous, looking away, chest constricted.
“I-I just don’t-,” she stammered, a flush rising on her collarbones. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” he said with a small grin, closing his hand over hers.
She sucked in a deep breath, mouth dry. “I don’t want a wedding,” she said finally, meeting his eyes.
Looking a little bowled-over, he frowned slightly. “Er… okay? I don’t know what that means.”
Sighing, she walked past him and set the ring gently on the top of her dresser. “I don’t want a wedding,” she repeated, turning to face him, still holding the flowers close to her chest. “I don’t want the big dress and the cake and all the guests who we don’t even like-I can’t do that, Harry. I’m just telling you now because I’m not changing my mind,” she said practically, skin hot.
He stared at her wide-eyed. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Why does that matter?”
She blinked, mouth slightly ajar. “Well-I just-you’re asking me to marry me, that’s usually an indication of a wedding,” she said.
“No, I just want to marry you,” he said pointedly. “I don’t need show and tell.”
After a moment, she smiled, biting the inside of her lip. “So you don’t need the big wedding,” she said softly.
He smiled, walking over to her. “My whole life was a production for a while,” he said, sliding his hand over her shoulder to cup her cheek. “I’m fine with quiet, and simple, and anything that means I don’t have to dress up or try to control my hair,” he said dryly.
Flushing, she tucked the flowers closer. “Okay then,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”
His face broke out into a wide smile, and he leaned down to kiss her, the smell of cotton and sandalwood rising off his skin and stuffing her chest with light, fluffy air, so much so she thought she was having a heart attack. Fingers twisting lightly in her hair, he tugged her closer, crushing the flowers between their chests, and she laughed into his mouth, eyes shut as the scents of irises flooded her nose.
“Why today?” she asked breathlessly when he finally pulled away, smiling and flushed.
He shrugged, snatching up the ring and taking her hand. “I’ve had it for months now, but no time ever seemed right,” he said as he slipped it onto her finger. “You seemed to be having a horrible day today-I thought it would cheer you up.”
She looked down, wiggling her fingers. The ring flashed jovially in the sunshine, sitting perfectly on her hand. “So my mum doesn’t know?” she asked.
Sliding his fingers through her hair once more, he shook his head. “I reckoned that might make you mad, if I told her,” he said with a wry grin.
“It would,” she said with a smile, leaning up to kiss him again. “Let’s keep it quiet for a while. Can we?”
He kissed her hotly, lips slick against hers. “We can elope today if you really want,” he mumbled.
She stopped at that, pulling back. An idea itched at the back of her neck, crawling up towards her head. “Elope today,” she repeated, tasting him as she licked her lips.
Skin brightening to a pink, he ran a hand through his hand, mussing it up completely. “Well-“
“It would be practical,” she mused, grinning at him.
He raised a brow. “You want to elope to be practical? Bit of an oxymoron there, don’t you think?”
“Harry, how amazing would that be?” she said excitedly. “No one else around-and we can keep it to ourselves for a while, maybe tell Ron and Hermione-“
“Ron’ll never keep it quiet,” Harry interjected, a toothy grin on his face.
Laughing, she dropped the flowers and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing flush to him. “You’ve made this day so much better already,” she said softly. “If we do this, I’ll be able to forget my overcooked stew and the Bludger that hit me in practice.”
“You got hit by a Bludger?” he asked, mouth twisted in a frown.
“I got it looked at, don’t change the subject!” she protested impatiently, pressing her breasts against his chest, corners of her lips turned up just slightly. “Come on, Harry.”
Sighing, he looked at her hard, arms secure against the small of her back. “I think you need to convince me,” he teased with a warm smile.
Smirking, she kissed him, tongue flickering against the roof of his mouth as one of her hands traveled south. Today looked like her day after all.
*
Author: Tosca
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 3,056 words
Summary: It is not Ginny's day.
Notes: This is my (late!oops!) entry for hpgw_otp's Fortune Cookie Challenge!
Apologies for lateness, but life intervened, and then I just couldn't get the ball rolling. I hope you all enjoy!
My fortune: Your luck is just not there. Attend to practical matters today.
Ginny woke up chewing on the corner of her pillow, legs half off the bed. The bright summer sunshine was too hot on her face, and she jerked awake, throwing her body weight towards her left side, trying to find a cool expanse of sheet-
And promptly fell off the bed.
She landed with an oomph and a groan, opening her eyes and staring moodily up at the ceiling. Today was not going to be her day.
“Bloody fucking hell,” she muttered, arching her back.
She heard rustling above her on the bed, and Harry’s scrunched face appeared, lined from his pillow; his hair resembled a bird’s nest, ruffled up in all direction and falling into his slanted eyes. “Whud’you do that for?” he mumbled sleepily, yawning.
Frowning, she poked him in the forehead with her index finger. “Didn’t do it on purpose,” she grumbled, tongue dry and cottony. She had the distinct taste of feather and fabric on the roof of her mouth.
He grunted and rolled back onto the bed. “M’kay,” he mumbled, voice muffled by what must be a pillow.
Sighing, she heaved herself up and glanced at the clock, rubbing the small of her back. An hour earlier than her usual alarm-no point in going back to sleep now. As she headed for the bathroom, she stripped off her night shift and let out her hair from its messy ponytail. Usually, Harry would make some sort of appreciative noise, but not lately-
Deflated, she went to her lonely shower.
Twenty minutes later, she was making tea in the kitchen, skin red and tight from a too-hot shower that wouldn’t cool off no matter how much she twisted the nozzle. Her jeans were tight around her waist, a depressing sign of the week to come, and she had a blemish the size of a small moon on her chin, threatening to eat the rest of her face.
Perfect.
Harry stumbled into the kitchen just as she was taking her usual seat on the counter, leaning her head back against the cabinets and munching on her toast. The bowl of apples on the table gleamed green in the morning sun.
“Morning,” she said as he shuffled to his seat at the table, where she had his usual cup of tea waiting, still steaming hot from a well-placed Warming Charm.
He squinted at her, rubbing his eyes much like a child. “Morning,” he said, voice gravelly with sleep, sending hot shivers through her toes.
She blew air across the surface of her tea idly, watching him. “Any plans for the day?” she asked after a moment, stomach flip-flopping.
Shrugging, he reached for the paper, scratching his bare stomach lightly. “It’s my day off. Thought I might clean up around here a bit, run some errands,” he said.
She stifled a sigh and immediately took a long swallow of her tea-and promptly spit it back out as the hot liquid scalded her tongue. “Fuck--!”
“Hey, you all right?” he asked worriedly, getting up.
Tongue hanging from the side of her mouth, she kicked harmlessly at him. “I’m fine,” she muttered, setting the tea down and glaring mutinously.
Harry raised a brow, but sat back down. “Okay. Want an apple?” he asked. “Bought them yesterday at one of the markets in London.”
Working her jaw, she nodded mutely, rolling her tongue back into her mouth, pain still panging through her. He tossed her an apple, which she caught easily. “You’ve got practice today, right?” he asked, picking the paper back up.
“Yeah,” she said, tossing the apple nimbly between her hands. “Until noon. Then Mum wants to have lunch, just the two of us,” she added, glancing at him.
He didn’t even look up. “Sounds nice. When will you be home?”
“Around three, I think. I have to shower before lunch, or Mum will flay me, and then you know how she loves to talk,” she said lightly, skimming her fingertips along the apple’s smooth skin.
“If it’s about weddings, I can recite it word for word,” he said, flashing a quick grin over the edge of the paper.
She frowned, hopping off the counter and sucking in her stomach in vain, trying to relieve the press against the button of her jeans. The subject of weddings wasn’t one she enjoyed, no matter who brought up. “Right. Well, I’ve got to go. When will you be home?” she asked, apple clutched in her fist tightly.
He set the paper down in his lap, giving her such an unnervingly weird stare that she almost wanted to Apparate away. “Not sure. Sometime tonight, I think. And you won’t be home until three?” he asked.
The effort to figure him out, even after four years, was exhausting sometimes. “Yeah,” she said quietly.
“Okay. I’ll see you later, then,” he said with a smile, standing up and taking the few steps towards her to press a glancing kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Don’t fall off your broom.”
“See you later,” she muttered, brushing past him and out of the room, biting into the apple almost savagely, juice splattering on her chin.
*
Not two hours into practice, a Bludger accidentally glanced her thigh during a mix-up in flying patterns. She’d managed to continue on without much trouble, except for a throbbing ache, but once she hit the ground to go to lunch, the pain began shooting up her leg as she walked. She didn’t have time for a lengthy stop to the team healer, as she was already running late-all she had time for was a quick spell to numb her pain, and then she was off.
Her mother gushed on and on during lunch, asking about Quidditch, and how exciting it was that Ginny was finally a starter, after three years of playing back-up, and they had already renewed their season tickets-after a while, it all started to sound the same.
Until, of course, the marriage discussion.
*
Molly Weasley’s eyes gleamed in a very worrisome way as she glanced at Ginny from across the table.
“So, Ginny,” she said slowly as Ginny took a spoonful of stew to her mouth. “Any ideas on when Harry might ask you the question?”
Ginny chewed on an especially touch chunk of beef, frowning. Not even her bloody stew had come out right. “What question?” she asked wearily. “Because if it’s not when’s your first game? or what do you want for your birthday?, I don’t care.”
Arthur sighed and buried his face in his shepherd’s pie as Molly laughed. “Don’t be silly, you know what I mean,” she exclaimed, jabbing at her chicken with her fork. “When do you think he’s going to ask you to marry him?”
“Don’t know, Mum. Like I said last month,” Ginny said with a sigh, putting her spoon down. First her salad had carrots and radishes (both of which she hated with a passion), and now her stew was overcooked. Was she in a parallel universe or something?
“You know, Madame Malkin’s is having a sale on wedding robes as an end of summer special,” Molly plowed on.
Swallowing down a sudden bout of rage, she frowned, locking eyes with her mother. “Nice for them. Why don’t you buy them, if you’re so excited?” she said coolly.
She loved her mother, she really did-but there was something so stagnant about her that completely clashed with how Ginny felt about her own life. She felt like a horrible daughter, for not being the girly princess she knew her mother wanted, for not wanting to marry the hero in a huge, white, frothy wedding-but she wasn’t about to betray herself. On paper, it didn’t seem like a big deal-but this was the root of her struggles, of trying to be something other than what people wanted.
Molly sighed. “If only you’d give Harry a nudge, dear, I’m sure he’d come around.”
“Mum, I’m happy with what I have,” she said tiredly.
“I’m sure you’d change your mind if he asked,” Molly replied firmly, a certainty to her voice that tickled a nerve in Ginny’s gut.
Pushing her hair behind her ears, she sat back in the booth. “Mum, please let’s drop it,” she said quietly, the back of her neck hot and pink. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
She had to hand it to her mother; she waited a whole five minutes before starting up again.
“You know what people are saying, don’t you? About you and Harry living together?” she asked after a brief discussion of what Luna was up to in Poland (searching for a rare purple unicorn, of course).
Ginny couldn’t hold back a groan. “I’m an adult, and so is he. It’s our bloody business, and I don’t understand why you care so much, Mum!” she exclaimed.
“Because it’s my friends who talk about it! At least Ron and Hermione got married before they lived together,” Molly retorted, a flush high on her cheekbones.
Heaving a sigh, Ginny rolled her eyes. “We’ll get married when we get married. I’m not going to move out just because Witch Weekly says we’re living in sin. I know I’m going to be with him, so what does it matter whether I’ve got his last name or not?” she said fiercely.
“Don’t you want a wedding, dear? It would be so lovely-you liked Hermione’s wedding, didn’t you?” Molly wheedled.
Ginny gritted her teeth. “Mum, it was lovely to see Ron and Hermione get married. But I don’t want that,” she said tightly through her lips. “And Harry doesn’t either.”
Taking a bite of her shepherd’s pie, Molly shrugged. “I wish you’d just let me show you some ideas, or themes-“
“If I get married, it’ll be without a theme, Mum!” Ginny exclaimed, frustration getting the best of her. “Maybe I won’t have a wedding at all!”
Molly pursed her lips, looking like she used to when she caught Ginny sneaking rides on Bill’s broom. “I can see you’re getting worked up,” she said. “Just know that an elopement isn’t what you want. Don’t be silly.”
Why not? Ginny added silently, staring moodily off into the air as her mother changed the subject.
No, today was not her day.
*
Sighing, Ginny stumbled into the living room and immediately flopped onto the couch, unbuttoning the top button of her jeans. She’d eaten quickly after her row with Molly, and gotten home earlier than expected. Nothing was working out for her today, and her mother’s consistent haranguing was stuck on repeat over and over like a bad Weird Sisters tune. All she really wanted to do was eat a whole chocolate cake and hide on the couch for the rest of the day, perhaps go out with Harry, catch a Muggle film-if Harry would bloody come home, that is.
Above her, the floorboards creaked. She sat up, frowning, and waited. At more creaking, she got up, jeans still undone, and headed upstairs silently, a talent born from six older brothers and a keen-eared mother.
The door to their bedroom was ajar, and without hesitation, she popped her head in.
Harry moved around the room nearly on his toes, placing bouquets and vases of bright blue and purple irises on the windowsills and dresser tops. He was dressed-up nicely, in a green button-down he rarely ever wore and khaki trousers, his hair actually combed-back and off of his forehead, and as he turned and saw her there, he looked nervous.
“Ginny! You’re home!” he exclaimed, a bouquet of irises clutched in his hand.
Stomach dropping to her ankles, she pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. “Yeah,” she said after a moment. It suddenly felt like the temperature had jumped a hundred degrees, despite the cooling unit throughout the whole house.
He swallowed hard, skin bright in the yellow afternoon sun. “I didn’t think you’d be back until three,” he said.
“I’m early,” she replied softly, fists clenched.
Throwing her a crooked grin, he shrugged. “Surprise,” he said sheepishly.
“Harry, what is all this?” she asked.
He sighed lightly. “Well, I didn’t plan this all too well-I wanted to put them all over the house-irises are your favorite, I remembered-and have it all ready when you got home-“
“Is that why Mum wanted to have lunch?” she asked, pursing her lips.
Pushing his glasses up with his index finger, he came over to her and handed her the flowers. “Not exactly. It worked out this way,” he said seriously, keeping her gaze.
Licking her lips, she fixed her eyes to the slants of sunlight spreading across the hardwood floor, bringing the flowers up to her nose. The scent was fresh and soft in her nose. “Why?”
He took her hand; his skin was warm and damp, like it had been the first time they’d walked the corridors of Hogwarts hand-in-hand. “I wanted to make this special,” he said, voice low and quiet, sending shivers through her. “I want-Ginny, please look at me. Please.”
She glanced up; his eyes, fierce and green behind the thick lenses, held her fast. “Marry me,” he said simply, pressing something circular and cool into the palm of her hand.
Heart beating hard against her ribs, she pulled her hand back and opened it; the platinum band glinted up at her, three diamonds completing the simple design. It was perfect, and it was hers-
A vision of her mother with caterers and cake designs and flower arrangements, with shades of orange for bridesmaids robes and lace, filled her vision, clouding the ring, and Harry. She immediately felt nauseous, looking away, chest constricted.
“I-I just don’t-,” she stammered, a flush rising on her collarbones. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks,” he said with a small grin, closing his hand over hers.
She sucked in a deep breath, mouth dry. “I don’t want a wedding,” she said finally, meeting his eyes.
Looking a little bowled-over, he frowned slightly. “Er… okay? I don’t know what that means.”
Sighing, she walked past him and set the ring gently on the top of her dresser. “I don’t want a wedding,” she repeated, turning to face him, still holding the flowers close to her chest. “I don’t want the big dress and the cake and all the guests who we don’t even like-I can’t do that, Harry. I’m just telling you now because I’m not changing my mind,” she said practically, skin hot.
He stared at her wide-eyed. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Why does that matter?”
She blinked, mouth slightly ajar. “Well-I just-you’re asking me to marry me, that’s usually an indication of a wedding,” she said.
“No, I just want to marry you,” he said pointedly. “I don’t need show and tell.”
After a moment, she smiled, biting the inside of her lip. “So you don’t need the big wedding,” she said softly.
He smiled, walking over to her. “My whole life was a production for a while,” he said, sliding his hand over her shoulder to cup her cheek. “I’m fine with quiet, and simple, and anything that means I don’t have to dress up or try to control my hair,” he said dryly.
Flushing, she tucked the flowers closer. “Okay then,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”
His face broke out into a wide smile, and he leaned down to kiss her, the smell of cotton and sandalwood rising off his skin and stuffing her chest with light, fluffy air, so much so she thought she was having a heart attack. Fingers twisting lightly in her hair, he tugged her closer, crushing the flowers between their chests, and she laughed into his mouth, eyes shut as the scents of irises flooded her nose.
“Why today?” she asked breathlessly when he finally pulled away, smiling and flushed.
He shrugged, snatching up the ring and taking her hand. “I’ve had it for months now, but no time ever seemed right,” he said as he slipped it onto her finger. “You seemed to be having a horrible day today-I thought it would cheer you up.”
She looked down, wiggling her fingers. The ring flashed jovially in the sunshine, sitting perfectly on her hand. “So my mum doesn’t know?” she asked.
Sliding his fingers through her hair once more, he shook his head. “I reckoned that might make you mad, if I told her,” he said with a wry grin.
“It would,” she said with a smile, leaning up to kiss him again. “Let’s keep it quiet for a while. Can we?”
He kissed her hotly, lips slick against hers. “We can elope today if you really want,” he mumbled.
She stopped at that, pulling back. An idea itched at the back of her neck, crawling up towards her head. “Elope today,” she repeated, tasting him as she licked her lips.
Skin brightening to a pink, he ran a hand through his hand, mussing it up completely. “Well-“
“It would be practical,” she mused, grinning at him.
He raised a brow. “You want to elope to be practical? Bit of an oxymoron there, don’t you think?”
“Harry, how amazing would that be?” she said excitedly. “No one else around-and we can keep it to ourselves for a while, maybe tell Ron and Hermione-“
“Ron’ll never keep it quiet,” Harry interjected, a toothy grin on his face.
Laughing, she dropped the flowers and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing flush to him. “You’ve made this day so much better already,” she said softly. “If we do this, I’ll be able to forget my overcooked stew and the Bludger that hit me in practice.”
“You got hit by a Bludger?” he asked, mouth twisted in a frown.
“I got it looked at, don’t change the subject!” she protested impatiently, pressing her breasts against his chest, corners of her lips turned up just slightly. “Come on, Harry.”
Sighing, he looked at her hard, arms secure against the small of her back. “I think you need to convince me,” he teased with a warm smile.
Smirking, she kissed him, tongue flickering against the roof of his mouth as one of her hands traveled south. Today looked like her day after all.
*