summary: 'You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.'
rating: R, i s'pose
pairings: harry/ginny, harry/draco, harry/luna (implied ron/hermione, obviously)
word count: ~1312
disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and ideas herein are the property of JKR and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
notes: for myself because i'm clearly fucking psychotic. there are notes at the bottom. please don't look before you read this. summary shamelessly taken from dirty valentine by richard siken. and imprintofadream... i don't have words for her anymore.
“Harry,” Ginny giggles, leaning her body against his, warm and soft and smelling like Muggle aftershave and apples and magic and Harry. “I, I can’t believe you bought me dancing. This is...this is the most cli-cliched,” her sentence is interrupted with a hiccup and she takes another gulp of her firewhiskey to soothe it away, “thing in, like ever. And now I’m drunk! Haven’t been drunk since fourth year, during DA meetings.”
Harry grins, sloppy-drunk, and kisses her hard on the lips when they get back on the dancefloor, because he doesn’t really want to remember Dumbledore or Armies or Decrees or the rest of his life.
Hi. How are you?
He and Ginny have sex that is somewhere in between, because they’re both really fucking pissed and it takes a lot of effort and pure determination for him to fully get hard. Ginny doesn’t want to move much and Harry doesn’t want to move at all, so they rest on their sides, forehead against forehead, and he thinks that she has very beautiful eyes and he might love her, right now.
“Let’s get married,” he tells her the next morning, bodies pressed close together and sweating and the sheets are kicked down to their feet and some of Harry’s come has dripped down her thigh.
She smiles, says nothing, and she kisses him, hand wrapped around his cock until he’s forgotten any types of heartbreaking notions and only asks for her name and her mouth.
I’m good. You?
They’ve been asking about you. Wondering why we broke up.
“You want to be an Auror and I know it sounds really selfish, God, Harry, I’m so sorry, but I can’t deal with that anymore. I just need to figure out who I am and being with you is, honestly, going to place limitations on me that I’m not sure I can emotionally handle right now.”
“I refuse to become Mrs. Harry Potter. I’d rather be Just Ginny and we both know that won’t happen.”
He never becomes an Auror.
She never says yes.
It wouldn’t have worked out.
I want to see you.
Owl Delivery: RETURN TO SENDER
“So what do you three do in your free time?
“Read. Teach certain people how to properly play the piano.”
“Quidditch. Learn how to play the piano.”
“I’m still trying to figure that one out.”
“Ma’am, you’ve been seen buying baby garments, toys, cribs. Do you have any statement for the rumours?”
“Would it make a difference if I did?”
“...I’m not sure, actually.”
“In that case, I’m expecting triplets. I’m not sure what species.”
“Oh, shut up, Ronald.”
“Mr Weasley, witnesses have spotted you frequently hanging about Hogwarts lately. Are you taking classes due to your inactivity during the Second War?”
“Why are people calling it the Second War? It wasn’t even five years ago. What’s with the whole avoidance thing we’ve got going on? Why act like we aren’t still grieving? There’s a chunk of Hogwarts still being worked on, there are still Death Eaters on the run and I’m not even going to lie: it took us two years to be able to all sleep at the same time in separate rooms. Constant vigilance, mate. We may act like we’ve forgiven, but don’t bloody well act like we forgot.”
(“Can I like, get a butterbeer? I’m parched.”)
“Mr Potter, sources claim that you and Mr Weasley’s sister have broken off your relationship. Have you a comment for us?”
“Her name’s Ginny Weasley. Not ‘Mr Weasley’s sister’ or ‘Harry Potter’s latest fling’. Ginny Weasley. She’s a hard person to miss in a crowd and with too beautiful a face to forget. So how about you don’t.”
They take pictures and Harry has Hermione on his back and Ron is kissing her cheek, arm-in-arm with Harry and when they tell him to smile, he doesn’t even have to fake it.
Why now? God, why now?
This Ill-Fated Friendship Receives No Compliments From Us
“Potter,” he says, and when Harry looks over, it’s Draco Malfoy’s fingers that’ve grasped at the last box of fairycakes.
“Malfoy. I wish I could act like a good person right now and let you have the entire box, but I really don’t feel like it so how about you let go, yeah?”
“Those cakes were made specially for me,” Malfoy responds, not letting go of the plastic package. His fingers are blue; it’s his own fault for stepping out in this weather without gloves.
“Bullshit,” Harry calls him out and he... he doesn’t expect the unabashed grin on Malfoy’s face, but that doesn’t mean that he minds.
“So how about we share?”
Harry looks at him incredulously, slate-grey eyes not as frigid as the weather and maybe that’s what it was. He’s never quite figured it out. “You know how to share? Really.”
Malfoy smirks, raises an eyebrow and fuck, Harry can feel his eyes roaming up and down his body and isn’t this surrealistic: Draco Malfoy wants to fuck him.
“I guess I could learn how.”
Malfoy isn’t cold everywhere.
His cock stays flushed red and leaking against his stomach as Harry fucks him raw on his bed in No. 12 and he wants to make Malfoy feel him for days, wants to make him remember that he spread his legs as far as they could go for Harry and it’s not even about demeaning Malfoy in any way possible.
Afterwards, Malfoy sits naked at Harry’s kitchen table with his legs crossed primly, eating a cake and when some of the cream falls down onto his stomach, Harry really doesn’t mind using his tongue to help clean it up.
It sounds like a cliche, Harry thinks, but Draco’s (there are only so many ways you can be inside a person before formalities fall away, after all) cock is warm and heavy in his mouth and he couldn’t possibly care less.
They burrow under the sheets and Harry casts Lumos! and Draco tells him old pureblood wives’ tales and they hold hands and Harry’s laughter sounds mad when they get to the Three Brothers but so does Draco’s when Harry starts reminiscing about Snape’s detention ideas, so it’s nice that they’re both fucked up beyond repair.
Harry’s nightmares have calmed and Sirius and Teddy and Fred stop pointing accusing fingers at him when he closes his eyes and Ron and Hermione are engaged, finally, and they don’t freak when they hear about Draco and Narcissa Malfoy makes him tea and Lucius Malfoy doesn’t even say anything and he almost loves Draco, right here.
Naturally, it doesn’t work out.
But We Still Got Pictures!
Harry isn’t sure he can do this.
He paces and he works out his excess magic (Luna taught him that, Merlin) and he stares at their wedding photo and they’re smiling, happy and she’s beautiful; it was windy that day so her hair is back from her face, ruining all of Fleur’s hard work and photo-Harry conjures a jacket for her to wear around her dress and they kiss and it’s not too hard and not too careful and he knows that he really, really loves her.
He locks the front door and he goes into his room with a tall bottle of butterbeer and that photo album that Teddy, with help with pretty much everyone, had made for his birthday last week.
LIFE AND TIMES OF HARRY JAMES POTTER, it says.
I’m here. In London.
He doesn’t move when the knocking starts.
this video inspired this fic so much that's it's not even funny, Chist. but it's not a songfic because i don't write songfics and i don't like songfics. it's a videofic or something, idk, but i will deny it being a songfic for the rest of forever and that's why i put this at the end cause of like... bias and stuff.