This is a collection of nine drabbles, or one hundred word stories. It’s just snippets of what I think life at the Weasley’s home must be like for Harry in the summer before sixth year.
Ron and Hermione were already dead. Harry’s look of pain was illuminated by a sickening green blast. A handsome face gloated over the still form of the Boy Who Lived. Pale features shifted to serpentine; brown eyes reddened, canines became fangs, lips scaled over, nostrils lengthened to slits. A forked tongue tested the air before Ginny’s face. She was held fast by Death Eaters but defiantly stared down the wand that would finish her. It was hard to see around her sorrow. Harry had come to save her. He’d failed…
Ginny awoke, bathed in sweat, her pillow soaked with tears.
Harry scanned the air, but only saw the snitch after Ginny had gone into a dive. Flattening himself against his broom, he stretched his arm and sidled up to Ginny. A glance at her face told him she was intent upon the golden flash before them. He stretched out his hand and grazed its wings. Ginny surged forward and both of their hands closed in unison. She had the snitch; Harry had her wrist. She gently slipped from his loosening grip, laughing merrily while she zoomed away. Harry was flushed with adrenaline and smiling widely.
“Good game.” He called earnestly.
Hermione threw down the book she was reading with a loud thunk and glared at Harry, the fist around her wand shaking in agitation. Her voice was soft and menacing.
“If you ever mention the name Draco Malfoy, or any variation thereof, in my presence again, I swear I’ll hex you.” Harry scowled in reply.
“You know, he does make some good points.” Ginny assuaged cautiously. Hermione stomped off, taking her book with her.
Once they were alone, Ginny turned back to a now smirking Harry.
“But so does she.” The girl shrugged apologetically, following Hermione before Harry could speak.
“Hey, Ginny?” Harry asked, his voice distant. The redhead sat up from where she was sprawled on the floor to look over at him. Something was wrong.
“How do you forget?” He continued, too lost in thought to notice whether she was listening.
“Forget what?” Her stomach clenched, but she kept her tone light.
“I’ve faced him every year, twice with you beside me. The scenes play out in front of my eyes constantly. How do you forget the chamber and the ministry?” He pleaded miserably.
“You don’t.” Ginny whispered. “You remember, but keep going.”
He turned away sharply, crying.
Harry sat at the table hurriedly. Ginny was across from him, next to Fred and George. He noticed her glance at him surreptitiously. She scrunched her freckled nose prettily and giggled. He blushingly beamed back. Ron averted his eyes, though grinning. Fred and George exchanged knowing looks, smiling widely before returning to quiet plans of their next prank.
Mrs. Weasley came bustling in and had the food on the table in a wink.
“Harry! Your eyes are silver!” Molly gasped suddenly while surveying the family. Hermione smirked at the rectification of an earlier slight. Ignore-ance, at least, was indeed bliss.
Ron stared at Harry as though he were seeing someone with three heads.
“Are you cracked? Ruby Rose is the best singer ever!” Ron exclaimed.
“Well, I guess her voice isn’t terrible, but her songs? They’re so…” Harry struggled for a kind word.
“Vapid?” Ginny supplied unexpectedly. “Harry, if you ever want to actually listen to music rather than my brother fawning over his newest sex goddess, feel free to borrow anything you like from my collection.” With that, she vanished from the doorway as swiftly as she had appeared, leaving a flushed Ron absolutely no time for a comeback.
Harry stared into the fire. It had been a bad day. Ron and he had fought over something pointless, which had been compounded by a prank from Fred and George. Ron had stormed off to bed, refusing to speak to Harry. Harry’s stomach turned; he briefly imagined a familiar shaggy face appearing in the fireplace, and wanted to cry. He jumped when something rough but warm slipped around his shoulders. Turning sharply, he nearly butted heads with Ginny. Her eyes were sad, but her arms were strong. She held him, warding off the night chill while silence stretched between them.
Rain pounded the Burrow relentlessly, as it had for several days, lending a paradoxical restless melancholy to the atmosphere.
Ginny sighed, her wandering gaze catching Harry daydreaming in the window seat. The Chosen One alone seemed unaffected by the weather. She rolled her eyes, momentarily envying him before recalling the events in his life that probably gave him his current calm. Her face warmed with shame and she quickly stood.
Harry glanced over at Ginny, noticing the direction of her attention from the corner of his eye. He smiled wistfully out the window while she hurried to leave the room.
Harry reclined in the bath, releasing the cares of the day along with the grime. He contemplated each member of his family individually. The pictures paused when they came to one particular redhead. He pondered why while taking stock of the emotions that Ginny’s image produced. His giddiness at her remembered smile shocked him. He felt his cheeks warm despite the cooling water. He shook his head to clear it before draining the tub. While toweling off, he savored the feeling of having a little sister whose happiness meant so much to him, pushing all other possibilities from his mind.