A/N: I know it's not Valentine's day but I forgot I saved these in my Documents and so here they are! Written for various prompts by lovely tumblr users on Valentine's Day c:
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter but I did write the ridiculously wonderful poem at the end and so I own that, at least. (In defence of my poor poetry skills; Harry has proven himself to be a terrible poet.)
Ever since that awful, cringe-worthy poem incident in her first year at Hogwarts, Ginny Weasley had been vehemently against the idea of Valentine's day. It was pointless, stupid, and full of disgusting couples that only wanted to show off how… couple-y they were.
Honestly, it was as if people needed an excuse to love each other. Why couldn't you just show affection to your partner any day of the year? Why did there have to be a specific day? Was love unacceptable on any day other than February the 14th?
It was no secret that Ginny Weasley hated Valentine's day. What made it all the more unbearable for her was the fact that Harry loved Valentine's Day, and he also loved to celebrate Valentine's day. He would always plead her to go to fancy restaurants, insist on sending her flowers, and (perhaps worst of all) attempt to persuade her to watch the same tedious muggle Rom-Com's all over again.
It was an endless cycle. Every year they'd go through the same dull routines. He'd beg her to go out. She'd refuse. He'd do some more begging. She'd rant about the trivial aspect of it all, how it was a complete waste of time. He'd use his puppy eyes on her. She'd remain resolute. They'd compromise by getting hilariously drunk on wine and eating all the chocolate in the house.
But this year had been different. Harry seemed determined to get her to agree to dinner at a fancy restaurant near the River Thames. He wasn't giving up as quickly as he usually did (he was currently on his fifth round of begging), and she soon came to realise that she wasn't going to win this one. Begrudgingly, she had accepted the request when he confessed he already had their reservations.
After the meal, which admittedly had been rather good, Harry insisted they go for a walk down the river. She had been partly expecting this- why not go through the whole process if you were going to go through some of it? What she hadn't been expecting was for Harry to get down on one knee and open a small box containing an equally modest, but quietly beautiful, ring. Ginny clapped both hands to her mouth as Harry began to recite:
"Your hair is as red as a fresh tomato
Your eyes are as brown as an oak tree
I want to be yours, I'll beg on all fours
Please Ginny, will you marry me?"
And even though he was by far a worse poet than even she had been, the answer was still yes.