#microwave

So back in December, I picked up a couple of books full of writing prompts in the discount section of Barnes and Noble and thought it would be fun to share a prompt a week on the Harry and Ginny Discord. Just as a little something to encourage writers or those who are thinking about writing to get creative. This week’s prompt was: “You hate your best friend’s new partner. They are besotted. Do you pretend to like them or come clean?” This is what I came up with.

Harry looked at one of his best friends and sighed.  “Are you really going to see him again tonight?” he asked, not really expecting any sort of answer.  “I mean, he’s hardly the sort you would usually associate with.”  He looked around the room.  “Although I suppose there’s something to be said for proximity.”

A cool breeze blew in through the open window, raising the small hairs on on the back of Harry’s neck.  He heard soft rustling as Pigwidgeon flew into the Hogwarts owlery, a mouse almost as big as him clutched in his beak.

In front of him, Hedwig hooted in owlish delight, her yellow eyes seeming to gleam brighter as her tiny owl suitor landed on the floor, dropping the morsel in front of her perch.  Swooping down, Hedwig snapped up the mouse in her sharp beak, throwing her head back to swallow it whole.  Harry could have sworn that Pigwidgeon swelled twice his size with pride.

“Fine,” Harry said as the tiny owl snuggled up to Hedwig as she preened her snowy white breast feathers with her beak.  “If he makes you happy.”  

Hedwig looked at him, fixing him with her golden gaze and blinked once.  “I, uh, guess I’ll leave you to it, then,” Harry said, wondering if this was how fathers of newly dating daughters felt.  He left the owlery, looking back at the happy couple once more.

Things have been busy with the holidays and I haven’t posted anything in a while.  Here’s something I’m working on for the prompt posse on the HarryandGinny Discord.  I don’t know how far it’ll go, but it’s fun so far.  :D

Ginny walked quickly down Montague Street, her head down and chin buried in her scarf against the chill morning.  Just a few more minutes and I can stop at the cafe for a lovely hot mocha.  Stepping onto the pathway that ran through Russel Square, she saw something completely unexpected.

A thestral stood on the winter-brown grass, its skeletal figure seeming somehow appropriate for this gray, dismal day.  Ginny slowed her walk and stared at the creature, the mocha no longer quite as important as it had been a short time ago.  What is one of those doing here?  As she watched, the pupil-less white eyes seemed to grow sharper and the leathery wings shivered.  

A squirrel shot out of the flowerbed and the thestral pounced, looking like a bony, leathery cat with wings as it crushed the unfortunate squirrel beneath its hooves.  Ginny let out a shocked gasp and stood, transfixed as the animal bent its neck down, scooping up the morsel in its beak-like mouth, tossing its head back and swallowing the squirrel whole.  

“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” Ginny murmured as she continued on to the cafe.  The thestral was strolling slowly around the park, its wings tucked close to its body.  Glancing around, she saw that no one else seemed to see the beast and she briefly wondered if she should shoo it away.  The ones at Hogwarts were friendly enough, but those had been handled by Hagrid all their lives and she didn’t feel confident enough in her Care of Magical Creatures marks to walk up to a wild thestral and convince it that a park in the middle of London might not be the best place for it.

Shrugging, she went into the cafe and ordered her drink, her thoughts turning to her busy day at St Mungo’s, forgetting all about the strangeness of the squirrel-hunting thestral in Russel Square park.

It’s been a busy week and I haven’t had much time for writing, but I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head all week and I finally had some time this evening.  In a bit of a departure, this features Ron and Hermione.  I hope you enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!  

Ron left the bathroom, toweling his hair dry.  On his way to the closet, his eyes fell on Hermione’s book-covered bedside table.  As he walked past, the top one slid off and fell to the carpet with a soft thump.

He rolled his eyes at his wife’s insatiable reading habit as he bent to pick up the fallen book, pausing for a moment when he saw the one that had been underneath it.  “What’s this?” he said, picking it up.

On the cover were a couple locked in what looked like a very intense embrace.  The man had lost his shirt somewhere along the line and was in a very powerful position over the woman who looked like she was also having trouble keeping all of her clothing on.

Raising his eyebrows, he looked at the title, almost having to squint to make out the overly-stylized words.  “The Pirate’s Princess,” he read out loud.  “Well.  Let’s see what’s so interesting about you.”

He riffled the pages of the thick paperback, stopping short of the middle and began to read.

“You know my father will send his fastest ships after you,” Eliza said, dark eyes smoldering.  

Rodrigo shrugged and leaned back in his chair, resting the heels of his tall leather boots on top of the table in the captain’s cabin.  He lifted the cup of rum and drank, smiling at his captive.  “My ship is also fast.”

Eliza twisted, testing the ropes that bound her wrists and narrowed her eyes at him.  She tossed her head, sending her glorious chestnut hair tumbling down her shoulders.  “Your ship will need to be very fast indeed to outrun the might of my father.”

Lowering his feet to to the deck with a loud thump, Rodrigo leaned forward, closing the distance between them.  Up close, she smelled sweet, her scent a contrast to the smells of tar and sweaty me he lived with every day.  She stared back at him, defiant and he found his heart racing.  “My dear—”

“Ron?  Ron, are you almost ready?” Hermione called from the lounge.  Startled, Ron closed the book with a snap and set it back on the pile, putting the fallen book on top of it.

“Yeah, almost ready, love!  They won’t mind if we’re a little late.”  Ron grabbed a shirt out of the closet and quickly pulled it on, practically jumping into his pants and trousers.  A few minutes later, he was reasonably presentable and headed out into the lounge to meet Hermione, eyes drawn to the stack of books on Hermione’s bedside table.

In bed that night, Hermione was reading as usual, but not “The Pirate’s Princess”, he noted.  All night, he’d been thinking of Rodrigo and Eliza and what he was about to say to her when he’d been interrupted.  And how did they even get into that situation?  Who is Eliza’s dad?  Someone powerful, I bet.  I guess that’s them on the cover, so I guess things work out all right? 

His shifting around must have bothered Hermione as she closed her book and turned to look at him.  “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine.  Why?”

“You seemed a bit distracted earlier tonight and now you’re moving around like you’ve got ants in the bed.  What’s going on?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Ron sighed, pushing his fringe off of his forehead.

Hermione burrowed down into the blankets, her hair spreading out on the pillow.  “About what?”  

Ron’s face grew hot and he knew the tip of his nose was pink.  “Erm, Rodrigo and Eliza?”  That was clearly not the answer she was expecting as she blinked several times in surprise and he felt his face getting even hotter.  “One of your books fell and …” he trailed off, giving her a helpless shrug.

“The Pirate’s Princess?” Hermione turned to her table and picked up the book, showing him the cover.  “This one?”

“Yeah.  I read a bit and it was … interesting.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and opened the book.  “What part did you read?”

“They were on his ship, I guess?  And she was tied up.”  Interest piqued, Ron sat up.  “And all night I’ve been wondering how they got there and who her dad is and who is Rodrigo and how did he become a pirate and how fast is his ship and—”

Hermione put her finger against his lips, cutting off his stream of words.  “Let’s not keep you in suspense,” she said, turning to the first page.  

Eliza Thornton woke up to another glorious, Caribbean morning, the air coming in her window fresh and sweet,  she read, her voice sounding a little bit like when she read sections of Transfiguration textbooks to her students.

Sighing, she went to the window, carefully unbraiding her long, chestnut locks as she looked out onto the sunrise.  Her father’s fleet bobbed in the harbor and she felt a spike of longing, wishing that she could convince her father to take her on one of his voyages like he did once when she was a little girl.

Ron closed his eyes, listening to his wife’s voice as she read the book out loud to him.  

In a case of art imitating life, today’s drabble is brought to you by @thedistantdusk​ and the Shawarma Prince.  

“Harry, can we go to that shawarma place again?” Ginny asked.  

Harry looked over at her as they walked along the steep downhill slope.  “Again?  We just went there yesterday.”

“I know, but it was really good and I saw something else on the menu I’d like to try.”

He tried to visualize the menu, trying to figure out what about the place had Ginny so enchanted.  It was just a little hole in the wall he’d found last week when out for a jog.  Intrigued by the smells coming out of the small storefront, he’d suggested it for dinner the other night.  “All right.  Let’s go.”

They continued to walk in amiable silence, the brisk wind catching her hair and blowing it backwards.  Soon, he was able to catch the scent of Mediterranean food and his stomach began to grumble.  “I hope there isn’t a line,” Ginny said, echoing Harry’s thoughts.

Inside the shop, they stood looking over the menu posted above the busy counter.  “Do you know what you want?” he asked.  

Ginny nodded and gave him her order.  “Can we eat here?” she asked, nodding to a small table with two rather uncomfortable looking chairs.

“Wouldn’t you rather eat at home where it’s more comfortable?” 

“I’m starving—I don’t think I could get it home!”  Ginny sat down in one of the chairs and Harry shook his head, stepping up to the register to order.  Order placed, he sat down across from Ginny, handing her the cup of diet soda she’d asked for.  

As they chatted quietly, mostly about her upcoming exams and the fast-approaching Christmas holidays, Harry became aware that she wasn’t really paying attention.  “Are you all right?” he asked, squinting at her through his glasses.

“Hm?  Oh, no, I’m fine!” she said, truly focusing on him for the first time.  He noticed spots of red high on her cheeks.

“What’s going on?” 

“Nothing!  What makes you think …” she began, trailing off as she looked over his shoulder.

Turning around, Harry saw the young man behind the counter engaged in assembling their orders.  He was tall with a shock of dark hair and an easy smile and he shook his head.  “Are you serious?  That’s why you wanted to come here?”

Pink flooding her entire face, Ginny grinned at him.  “Um … maybe?”

Harry snorted and took a long drink of his own soda.  “Are you saying that I’m not good enough to look at?” he asked, leaning in towards her.  “That you have to stare at someone else, someone like this …” he said, searching for the right term.  “For this shawarma prince?”

“Harry, look at him.  He’s objectively hot,” Ginny said, meeting his eyes.  “Besides, who does he remind you of?”

Harry glanced at him again and turned back, shrugging at her.  “I dunno.  Some bloody actor?”

“Well, maybe, but look.  He’s tall, has dark messy hair—” Her litany was interrupted by the sound of a bell indicating that their orders were ready.  

“Shall I go collect our food from the prince?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.  “Or would you rather do it?”

“No, it’s fine.  You get a good look at him and then tell me if you think he’s hot.”

“Ben would be a better judge than me,” he said under his breath as he collected the tray.  He gave the kid the once-over, automatically returning his smile.  

“So, what did you think?” Ginny asked as she picked up her wrap.

“I think you have questionable taste in men,” he said, spearing a falafel.

She grinned at him, her nose wrinkling in that way he found adorable.  “Well, that much is known!”  She took a bite of her wrap and chewed, eyes straying once more to the Shawarma Prince.  From now on, we’re getting takeaway!

So, Discord strikes again.  @focusly mentioned that she had something pop into her head the other day where Harry and Ginny move in together and “he gets weirded out by all the hair she sheds everywhere” and @thedistantdusk said she wanted a story about her bobby pins.  Well, this isn’t quite about bobby pins, but … Let me know what y’all think!

Yawning, Harry walked into the bathroom, looking forward to a hot shower.  As the hot water beat down on his shoulders, he finally began to feel more awake and opened his eyes, reaching for his bar of soap.

Only to find that it wasn’t in its usual place.  His hand came down on a bottle instead of a bar and he frowned, looking at the pink stuff inside.  Mrs Snyder’s Petal-Soft Body Scrub, he read.  Uncapping it, his nose was assaulted by the very aggressive scent of apples and he sneezed.  He thought for a moment and shrugged, squirting a generous dollop into his palm.

Moments later, he’d decided that he much preferred his good old bar of soap.  “Why do women feel the need to scrub their damn skin off?” he asked the shower as he rinsed the punishing liquid off.  He thought briefly of trying her shampoo, but didn’t feel like treating his scalp to unexpected punishment.  

Skin tingling, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, drying off before wrapping it around his waist.  Using his wand, he cleared the fog from the mirror and grabbed his toothbrush, once again finding that it wasn’t his.  Ginny insisted on using a motorized one, telling him that it cleaned much better than the old-fashioned one that Harry used.

“Hermione showed it to me.  Her mum and dad recommend them to all of their patients,” she’d said proudly, showing him the device.  He eyed it dubiously and then shrugged, smearing toothpaste on it.  Shoving it into his mouth, he pressed the switch, taken aback at the aggressive buzzing and scrubbing.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, determined to not be defeated by this instrument of torture.  He kept at it until the device buzzed at him in a repeating pattern and gratefully turned it off, feeling as if he’d just assaulted his mouth with angry bees.  

He looked at himself in the mirror, pulling back his lips and inspecting his teeth for damage or increased cleanliness.  “That didn’t make any difference at all.  She scrubs off her skin and practically files down her teeth!  And for what?”  

Shaking his head, he looked down at the bathroom counter, searching for his comb.  The counter was covered in various products in slim, brightly-colored bottles and he picked them up one by one, marveling at the purported uses.  “Pre-conditioner, leave-in conditioner, shine enhancer, wave enhancer, high control, low control …” he muttered, putting them all in a neat row.  

Finally finding his comb, he dragged it through his mostly-dry hair, frowning at the result.  He usually didn’t care all that much about what his hair did, but he’d caught a few looks from Ginny lately that made him think that maybe he ought to.  Surveying the bottles arrayed in front of him, he picked one up that said it could “tame the wildest locks” and squeezed out a good sized dollop.  This one smelled like Ginny and he rubbed his hands together before sweeping them over his hair, taking special care with the part that always seemed to stick up at the back.

In the mirror, his hair seemed to have an unaccustomed sheen and he shook his head from side to side.  Hm, maybe this stuff does what it says, he thought when his hair didn’t immediately fall into its usual disarray.  

Finished with his morning ablutions, Harry looked around the bathroom, taking in all of the changes that had occurred since Ginny had moved in.  In addition to the myriad products in the shower and on the sink counter, there was another towel hanging on the towel rack and more extra loo roll than Harry had seen in his entire life.  He found he was constantly finding loose bobby pins and hair ties strewn around the flat and had on more than one occasion pulled a long, red hair out of his pants.  

Back in the bedroom, his eyes fell on Ginny, still sound asleep.  She was cocooned in the blankets with only that glorious mane of dark red hair showing.  He gave a brief thought to simply getting back into bed with her and burying his face in that hair, but he couldn’t avoid his early morning meeting.  We’ll do something fun tonight, he thought, entertaining a vision of her on top of him, her hair tumbling all around her shoulders.

Sighing, he turned away and opened his top drawer, pulling out a pair of boxers.  He dropped the towel and pulled them on before grabbing a shirt out of his closet.  As he shrugged it on, he felt a tickle down by his bollocks and shifted around, trying to get rid of it.  The sensation only intensified and he reached into his pants, feeling around until he found the culprit and pulled out a single long red hair.