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Harvest Dream | ||||
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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley Genres: Fluff, Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 5 Summary: Harry is moody. Ginny snaps him out of it, in her unique way. And from that sunny autumn day is born a dream. An autumn-themed short written for the Dumbledore's Armada Discord's Fall Equinox 2022 flash fiction challenge. Hitcount: Story Total: 1723 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights ? J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. Author's Notes: Prompt: harvest. Word limit: 2,000. Vibe: Autumn. |
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Under his favourite tree in his favourite corner of the Burrow’s apple orchard, Harry Potter brooded. Those familiar with his story - and that was whoever in Magical Britain hadn’t been living under a rock for twenty years - knew he had sufficient reason to brood. Those who know him well, knew he had ample reason to. And as for Harry himself, he thought… he didn’t deserve to. I’m alive, thought Harry. I’m whole. I have friends, family, a house my godfather left me, the love of a most amazing girl. Just over a year ago I thought I was going to die. So why do I feel this way? It was a sunny Saturday morning in late September, autumn was in the air, and - perhaps that was part of the problem. This was the first September he’d truly had to himself since he’d turned eleven, and Harry was perhaps still unsure what to do with it. Yes, he was an Auror, albeit a very newly-minted one… but that was just a job, not a life. Footsteps crunched in the grass behind him, a light tread he’d come to know well. And then Ginny Weasley slipped into view, elfin and slight under a baggy, faded tee and a fall of messy flaming-red hair, her warm brown eyes gazing fondly at him as she sat down beside him and hugged her knees. Harry managed a smile. “Mum told me you were out here,” said Ginny. “Are you alright? Did something happen at the Auror Office?” He shook his head. “I’m fine. I should feel fine. But… I’m not.” Ginny nodded, said nothing, just reached out and laid her small hand tenderly on his. A little warmth crept into his heart; Harry loved that Ginny knew, often, what to say to him without uttering a word. “Luna needs some help,” she said. “Oh?” “Her dad had an accident with a Lobalug, and has to stay in bed. But it’s time to get in the apples.” Ginny gestured overhead at the trees, empty of fruit; the Weasleys had picked all theirs already, and Mrs Weasley was busy putting them up. “Luna can’t quite manage all on her own.” She got up, dusted her jeans, and held out her hand. “Come on.” Harry took it, and let her pull him to his feet. “I remember the last time we were here,” growled Ron, looking around the Lovegoods’ home. “Shush, Ron, we’re here to help Luna and that’s all that matters,” said Hermione. The Lovegoods’ patch of land was as messy as their front yard, and much smaller than the Burrow’s. Half of it was taken up by apple trees, the rest occupied by a vegetable garden and a chicken run. As the Lovegoods’ house was built at the top of a hill, everything sloped down to its foot, where a stream wound its way round. The lopsided appearance this created was rather endearing, thought Harry, and well suited its zany owners. “Thank you for coming,” said Luna, resplendent in a bright yellow flower-patterned dress, radish earrings, and sensible green wellies. “It’s the Andalusian Buryberries we tried this year, they’re taking more care than we thought.” “The whats…?” began Hermione, but Ginny cut her off. “We’re your friends, Luna, you know you can count on us. Don’t worry, I know my way around, you look after your, um, berries.” “They’re really a kind of nut, Daddy thinks,” said Luna happily. “We can try some afterwards.” “Daddy is as well,” muttered Ron; Hermione stifled a laugh, and Ginny jabbed him with the point of her wand. “Shut up, Ron. Right, you lot,” Ginny said commandingly, “Ron, Harry, we’ll get started on the apples; Hermione, you do the hens, then we’ll move on to the vegetables.” Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. “Erm, Ginny,” began Harry, “Hermione and I, we’re from the city. We don’t really know what to do.” “Not to worry,” said Ginny briskly. “Mum made sure we learned a few of the really useful charms, even if we had to do it all by hand until we were of age. Let’s do it all together then. First, we’ll collect the eggs and muck out the chickens.” Harry had helped out round the Burrow enough to know about chickens - they poo. A lot. All over the place. And there’s no stink quite like the stench of chicken poo. But now he could sort out the enclosure that fenced in the Lovegoods’ chickens by wand, Scourgify the droppings with magical thoroughness. There were specific charms however which eased the chore of collecting eggs. “You can’t just cast the Summoning Charm unless you want them splattered all over you,” explained Ginny. “The Assembling Charm is more delicate.” She cast, and eggs began rolling over the ground towards her, from out of nests, under hedgerows, and out of the chickens’ coop, to gather at her feet. And then the eggs had to be cleaned, because after all, they came out of a hen’s bottom; and again, Ginny explained, Emundo was a better spell than Scourgify for that. Most of the chickens seemed pretty blasé about the process. One or two however took umbrage, and squawked and… “Ouch!” squealed Hermione, snatching back her hand and nursing it. “One of them pecked me!” “Which one?” asked Ron, glaring at the squawking birds. “We’ll roast it for dinner.” “Oh, er, that’s quite alright, Ron…” They scattered some feed, and then it was on to the orchard. The apples were ripe and full on the twenty-odd trees that marched down the hillside towards the stream, lending the trees a variegated appearance with their blushing green-red skins and scenting the air with promises of fresh apple crumble in the near future. Ginny led the way to the nearest tree, turned to glance back; Harry caught her eye and the flash of her grin as she tossed her mane of flaming-red hair in the bright morning sun. Something unclenched inside his chest, and he realised for the first time that he had a smile permanently etched on his face, and it felt… right. “These are Worcester Pearmains,” remarked Ron, looking appraisingly from tree to tree, “and those are Elton Beautys - we have a few of those too.” “An apple’s an apple to me,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “You’ll have to tell me all about the different varieties, Ron dear.” Catching Harry’s eye, Ginny mimed a sickeningly-sweet simper, and rolled her eyes. “Don’t pick up any apples that have fallen, we can’t use those,” she said. “Only pluck apples off the trees. The charm is Reopan, and it’s quite simple - you focus your mind on the apples, say the incantation, and do this.” She demonstrated the motion, a kind of curved right-to-left sweep; a dozen apples detached themselves at the stems and floated down to rest at her feet. “Then put them in these boxes. Don’t bruise them or they’ll go bad.” Hermione mastered the Harvesting Charm easily, her spells plucking apples off the tree in threes and fours. Harry tended to jerk his wand rather than sweep it, but when he got the charm right, he managed to pull off as many apples as Ron and Ginny did, who regularly got around a dozen apiece. In minutes they had stripped one side of the tree, and went round the other side to get at the others. Harry found he enjoyed the work. He found something tremendously calming in the rhythmic sweeps of his wand; the sight of the rosy apples piling up; the fruity, floral aroma of the apples perfuming the air… suddenly overpowered by another, more familiar flowery scent as a small hand closed around his, and Ginny murmured huskily into Harry’s ear: “The wand motion is like this.” Flashback to Charms practice, in those heady days and weeks in Harry’s sixth year, as he “helped” Ginny with preparing for her O.W.L.s… and Harry became intensely aware of her body pressed against his back; he could feel every inch of her; the soft curves, firm youthful flesh, hard muscles from Quidditch training… and other, more recent memories were awakened now to which sixth-year Charms practice paled in comparison… Ginny held the embrace, making a tiny little purring noise deep in the back of her throat… and then suddenly she was gone, dancing away with a wicked wink to the next tree. “Keep practising, Harry!” she called over her shoulder. Harry watched her go dazedly. Then recovered himself, sat down, and laughed and laughed. By late afternoon they had done nearly all the apple trees, and Luna joined them with sandwiches and bottles of pumpkin fizz. Ginny and Harry trailed their feet in the cool water of the stream that ran round the Lovegoods’ hill, at the edge of the orchard, watching as Luna showed Ron and Hermione how to fish for Plimpies by hand. Harry smiled as he listened to Ginny talking about how they would tackle the vegetable garden after lunch. “You really are a country girl, aren’t you?” he remarked. “You know everything about working on a magical farm.” “Not everything,” Ginny shrugged. “Not the dairy stuff. We didn’t have cows or sheep. Too much bother, Mum said.” “Thank you for snapping me out of my funk,” said Harry. “You… saved me from myself.” “You did the same for me, once,” replied Ginny. “Anyway, I enjoyed it.” “So did I. It was the first work I’ve ever done with a wand that wasn’t anything at all to do with hunting Dark wizards,” said Harry. And as he said it, he realised how true this was. “It’s been a while since I appreciated how wonderful magic is.” Ginny studied him intently. “Is the Auror work that bad?” she asked softly. “You can quit at any time…” “And what, come out here and live on a farm… with… with you?” “Farming. It’s something I could do besides sit on a broom and throw balls into hoops, couldn’t I?” “I could sell Grimmauld, or I dunno, rent it out,” said Harry, smiling. “We could have an orchard too, ducks and chickens, just like at the Burrow.” “I’ve some ideas for the vegetable garden. I always wanted more sugar snaps...” “Maybe cows, why not?” “We could try!” “It’d be fun!” Ginny smiled back shyly as Harry gazed lovingly at her. Running through the playful fantasies were the coy unspoken words, we’d be together, maybe as more than boyfriend and girlfriend and they both knew it. A life together, a life of love, of peace, away from danger, away from pain… There was a flutter of wings, and a small, sleek owl dropped down on the grass beside Harry, and stuck out its right leg. Attached to it was a letter in the Auror Office’s signature red. Ginny looked down. “Harry, is that…?” “Fast owl,” said Harry. “Could be an all-hands alert.” A gleam of excitement entered his eye. He looked over at the middle of the stream where Ron stood in waist-high water, and called, “Did you get one?” “Yeah.” Ron waved back, holding a similar letter. Harry turned to Ginny and said, “I”m sorry, we have to go.” “I know. Don’t worry, Hermione and I’ll finish up here with Luna,” said Ginny, with ruthless practicality. The dream had been rudely interrupted, but Harry wouldn’t let it die. “This won’t be forever,” he said. “One day…” “If ever you feel…” began Ginny. Harry circled his arms around Ginny, pulled her close, and they shared a kiss worthy to remember each other by, beside that stream under the sunlit September sky. Then he was away, running up the hill with Ron, running back to the fight. Leaving Ginny once again. But she smiled as she watched them go. Their harvest holiday, this all-too-brief respite, was over. But from it had sprung a shared dream of peace and hope and love - and Ginny could hold that in her heart, and be content. |
| Reviews 5 |
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