Happy very-belated birthday, Kat, darling!
Harry and Ginny sat by the stream. The water gurgled nosily, filling in the comfortable silence that hung between the two.
Harry watched the back of Ginny's head from the stump he was sitting on. Her legs were in the river, some spray splashing onto her rolled up pant legs, and the summer breeze rushed by, blowing her flaming red hair all around her like a burning inferno.
(Harry watches her burn up like a fire and thinks to himself that she is hothothot.)
Ginny laughed as the coldcoldcold water ran over her bare feet, the stony bottom of the river smooth under her legs. She stood up and walked, sloshing over to the other side.
She reached up to a drooping branch hanging right in front of her, and picked off a tiny pink flower. "Heather," she mumbled.
"What is it, Ginny?" Harry asked, seeing her stick one in her hair and pick a handful more. She whirled around, creating a mini whirlpool around herself.
"They're heather flowers," she explained. "Mother loves them." It was left unsaid that Mrs. Weasley definitely needed some more happiness in her life, with Fred's late death and whatnot.
"Aren't they pretty?" Ginny climbed out of the shallow brook, dumping the load into Harry's arms.
Harry smirked, unable to miss the opportunity. "Not as pretty as you."
Ginny blushed a color similar to the plucked blossoms. Her voice seemed to stop working. She had thought that he wasn't actually serious about her, since he hadn't said anything about their relationship after the war.
"It's true though," Harry added, as she wasn't saying anything. He was running on nothing, in the spur of the moment, and he just had to reassure her that he still loved her, that he still had feelings for her. "You're beautiful, you know. You're gorgeous. You're exotic. You're-"
Ginny quickly leaned forward and pecked Harry on the lips, silencing him. She left him stuttering, completely red in the face as if it was December instead of the middle of summer.
She smiled softly, and Harry swore that he saw a fire in her eyes. "Thank you...for making me feel beautiful."
Harry this time initiated the kiss, capturing her lips in his quickly and passionately. It was dangerous, to play with fire, but what was Harry Potter without danger?
A/N: This is a really weird mix of fluff and angst and I'm not even sure what this is.
Done for:
400 Fragrant Prompts Challenge-Day Nine
Fantastic Beasts Challenge-Red Cap