Hinny

The Gryffindor common room was a riot of scarlet and gold, vibrating with the kind of kinetic energy that only followed a Quidditch victory and a scandalous public display of affection. But for Harry Potter, the world had shrunk down to the size of the girl sitting between his knees by the fire.

Ginny Weasley was laughing, her face flushed a brilliant pink that rivaled the Weasley sweater she was wearing. Harry’s hand was resting comfortably on her shoulder, his thumb tracing the line of her collarbone. It felt right. It felt like the first time in sixteen years that the air in his lungs actually belonged to him and not to a prophecy or a Dark Lord.

"You realize they’re all staring, don't you?" Ginny whispered, leaning back so her head rested against his chest.

Harry glanced up. She was right. Seamus Finnigan was nudging Romilda Vane, who looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, and several third-years were whispering behind their Charms textbooks.

"Let them," Harry said, his voice thick with a newfound confidence. "I’ve spent five years being stared at for having a scar. I’d much rather be stared at for being the luckiest man in this castle."

Ginny turned in his arms, her brown eyes dancing with a fierce light. "The luckiest? Is that so?"

"I'm certain of it," Harry murmured. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small, velvet box he had been carrying for three days—an heirloom he’d retrieved from the Potter vault with the help of a very confused but supportive Remus Lupin.

He hadn't planned to do it in the middle of the common room. He had planned for the Lake, or perhaps the Astronomy Tower. But as he looked at her, the girl who had survived a Chamber of Secrets and fought Ministry officials without blinking, he realized he didn't want to wait another second. Life was too short, and the war was too close.

Harry slid off the sofa onto one knee. The room went silent instantly. The crackle of the fire sounded like a thunderclap in the sudden hush.

"Harry?" Ginny’s breath hitched.

"Ginny, I know we’ve only just started this, officially," Harry began, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. "But I’ve known you my whole life, and I’ve loved you longer than I realized. I don't want to waste time. I want to know that no matter what happens out there, you’re mine and I’m yours. Will you marry me?"

The silence stretched for a heartbeat before Ginny threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over. "Yes! Oh, Harry, yes!"

The common room erupted. Ron looked like he was having a minor heart attack, Hermione was sobbing into a handkerchief, and the roar of approval was deafening.

But in the corner, shrouded by the shadow of a tall bookshelf, Dean Thomas sat alone. His knuckles were white as he gripped the neck of a butterbeer bottle. Every cheer from the crowd felt like a physical blow to his chest.

"Unbelievable," Dean muttered, his voice dripping with bitterness.

Seamus, who had drifted over to his best friend, looked down at him with sympathy. "Rough luck, mate. They do look happy, though."

"Happy?" Dean spat, standing up so abruptly his chair scraped harshly against the floor. "He’s the 'Chosen One,' Seamus. He gets the glory, he gets the special treatment from Dumbledore, and now he gets the girl I was dating just weeks ago. Does he even have to try? Or does the world just hand him everything he wants on a silver platter?"

"It’s not like that, Dean," Seamus said quietly. "He’s been through a lot."

"We’ve all been through a lot!" Dean snapped, his eyes flashing with jealousy. "But Harry Potter doesn't have to follow the rules. Watch. He’ll be in her dormitory by midnight, and nobody will say a word because he’s the savior of the Wizarding World."

Dean turned and stormed up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, the sound of the celebration ringing in his ears like a mockery.

***

Later that night, the castle was cloaked in a heavy, velvet silence. The moon hung low over the Forbidden Forest, casting long, skeletal shadows across the grounds. Inside Gryffindor Tower, the fire had burned down to glowing embers.

Harry stood at the base of the spiral staircase leading to the girls' dormitories. In his hand, he clutched the silvery, fluid fabric of his Invisibility Cloak. He knew it was risky. He knew that if McGonagall caught him, he’d be in detention until he graduated. But the pull toward Ginny was like a physical tether, a golden thread tied to his ribs.

He threw the cloak over his shoulders and began the climb. The stairs didn't turn into a slide; perhaps it was because his intentions were pure, or perhaps the castle recognized a soul in need of comfort.

He reached the door to the sixth-year girls' room and gave a rhythmic, barely audible tap. A moment later, the door creaked open. Ginny stood there in her silk dressing gown, her red hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of copper. She didn't need to see him to know he was there.

"Harry?" she whispered into the empty air.

He pulled the cloak back, revealing his face. "I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about the ring. I kept thinking about you."

Ginny smiled, a soft, private thing that was meant only for him. She stepped back, pulling him into the room. Her roommates were behind heavy bed curtains, their rhythmic breathing signaling deep sleep.

"You’re going to get caught one of these days," she teased, leading him to the window seat that overlooked the lake.

"I have a map and a cloak," Harry reminded her, sitting down and pulling her into his lap. "And even if I didn't, I’d climb the outside of the tower to get to you."

Ginny leaned her head against his shoulder, her hand playing with the new ring on her finger. The small diamond caught the moonlight, sparkling with a cold, beautiful fire. "It’s all everyone is talking about, you know. 'The Boy Who Lived gets engaged.' I think Pansy Parkinson actually fainted in the Great Hall."

"I don't care about them," Harry said, kissing the top of her head. "I just want us to be married. As soon as school is over. Maybe sooner."

"Harry, we have to finish the year," Ginny said, though she sounded like she was trying to convince herself. "Mum will have a fit if we don't at least get our N.E.W.T.s."

"I’d marry you tomorrow in the middle of the Quidditch pitch if I could," Harry vowed.

They sat in silence for a long time, watching the Giant Squid break the surface of the water in the distance. For a few hours, the war didn't exist. There were no Horcruxes, no Death Eaters, and no dark prophecies. There was only the warmth of her body against his and the promise of a future.

***

The next morning, the Great Hall was buzzing. News of the engagement had spread faster than a wildfire in a dry forest. When Harry and Ginny walked in together, hand-in-hand, the volume of the room spiked.

"Look at them," Dean Thomas said to the table at large, his voice loud enough to carry. "Surprised they didn't have a parade led by a phoenix."

Harry stiffened, his grip on Ginny’s hand tightening. He tried to ignore it, pulling out a chair for her at the Gryffindor table.

"Morning, Dean," Ginny said coolly, her eyes narrowing. "Lovely weather for being miserable, isn't it?"

Dean glared at her, his eyes darting to the ring on her finger. "Fast work, Ginny. I didn't realize you were in such a hurry to become a trophy wife."

The table went dead silent. Ron, who had been mid-bite of a sausage, dropped his fork with a clatter.

"Watch it, Thomas," Ron warned, his face reddening.

"Why? Because he’s Harry Potter?" Dean stood up, his height intimidating as he leaned over the table. "We all see it. He gets whatever he wants. He breaks the rules, sneaks around the castle at night, and then plays the hero. What makes you so special, Harry? Besides the scar?"

Harry stood up slowly. He didn't feel the flash of anger he usually felt when provoked. Instead, he felt a strange sense of pity.

"I don't think I'm special, Dean," Harry said calmly. "And I didn't 'get' Ginny. She chose me. Just like she chose to leave you."

A few people in the hall "oohed" softly. Dean’s face contorted with rage.

"She chose the fame!" Dean shouted. "She chose the Chosen One! Who wouldn't? It’s a great story for the Daily Prophet, isn't it? The hero and the sidekick’s sister."

Before Harry could respond, Ginny was on her feet. She didn't reach for her wand; she didn't need to. Her presence was enough to command the space.

"I chose Harry because he knows me," Ginny said, her voice vibrating with power. "He knows I’m not a 'sidekick’s sister' or a trophy. He knows I’m a warrior. You spent our entire relationship trying to help me through portrait holes and treating me like I was made of glass. Harry knows I can break the glass myself."

She stepped closer to Dean, her eyes fierce. "You’re not jealous because of the fame, Dean. You’re jealous because he has the courage to ask for what he wants, and you’re still sitting here complaining that life isn't fair. Life isn't fair. A Dark Lord is trying to kill us all. So excuse us if we don't want to wait around for your permission to be happy."

Dean looked around the hall. Most of the students were looking at him with disapproval. Even Seamus was looking down at his porridge, unwilling to meet his eye. Defeated and humiliated, Dean grabbed his bag and marched out of the Hall.

Harry felt a surge of pride so strong it made his chest ache. He looked at Ginny, who was still breathing heavily, her chin held high.

"You’re amazing," he whispered.

"I know," she said, a small smirk finally breaking through her anger. She turned back to the table. "Now, pass the marmalade, Harry. We have Transfiguration in ten minutes."

As they sat back down, the tension in the room began to dissipate, replaced by the mundane sounds of breakfast. But the message had been sent. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley weren't just a couple; they were a force.

As the weeks went by, the sneaking into dormitories continued, though with more care. They spent their evenings in the library, ostensibly studying, but mostly holding hands under the table and whispering about their wedding. Harry wanted something small, perhaps at the Burrow. Ginny wanted a cake so large that Fred and George could hide inside it to prank the guests.

Even the looming threat of Voldemort couldn't dampen the glow surrounding them. For the first time, the Gryffindor common room felt like a home rather than a fortress.

One evening, while sitting by the fire, Harry pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. It was a list of names—people he wanted to invite.

"We’re really doing this," he said, looking at Ginny.

"We are," she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. "And Dean can stay in the dormitory and sulk all he wants. We’re moving forward."

Harry looked toward the window, seeing his own reflection in the dark glass. He saw the boy who had lived in a cupboard, the boy who had fought basilisks and dementors. But next to him, he saw the man who had found a reason to fight even harder.

"I love you, Ginny," he said, the words feeling more powerful than any spell he had ever cast.

"I love you too, Harry," she whispered back.

In the corner of the room, Dean Thomas watched them one last time before turning away. He realized then that it wasn't about the fame or the destiny. It was about a connection he could never understand—a bond forged in fire and sealed with a promise.

Harry Potter had everything, not because he was the Chosen One, but because he had chosen to love in a world consumed by hate. And as the two of them sat together, silhouetted by the dying fire, they looked less like a legend and more like two people who had finally found their way home.