First I suppose I should apologise for not updating TsoJP in such a long time, but I've hit a block! I have no plot for third year at all, and if I don't think of one soon, it may just be a plotless year!
Anyhow, in the meantime, I've been writing something else, and little H/G one-shots like this: incredibly short and fluff-packed.
There was one rule about the bathroom door at the burrow:
"If it's locked, wait a min. If it's not, stroll right in."
Harry Potter always felt a bit guilty hogging the bathroom in the mornings, even though it was basically what everyone else did, so he always tried to keep it unlocked when privacy wasn't necessary. I mean, there was nothing embarrassing about brushing your teeth, right?
As he was on his way to the bathroom, leaving Ron snoring in his room and trying not to step on any squeaky floorboards that might wake anyone else up, he thought about nothing particular except his impending seventh year at Hogwarts. Hermione had already written to the Burrow informing the house at large that her Holiday in South Africa was being largely taken up by NEWTs revision.
As he entered the bathroom, a rather awful thought struck him: He was actually going to kill himself with all the work this year. The teachers were going to be piling it on them at such a pace that Harry was willing to bet coffee consumption at Hogwarts was going to go through the roof.
Lucky sixth years, lucky Ginny . . .
Startled, Harry stared at himself in the mirror across the sink. Why had his mind automatically jumped to her? and more importantly, why did his stomach feel as if it were marinating in chocolate syrup ever time it did? That had been happening a lot lately over the past year.
Wrenching himself back to practical actions, Harry took off his glasses turned the taps on to wash his face.
In her fifth year, she had always looked so stressed, as Harry imagined he had done with prospective exams. She had taken a lot on, joining the Quidditch team as a permanent Chaser and as Captain, Harry had found it increasingly enjoyable to have an excuse to watch her and compliment her on her playing, technique and form.
She was also up later in the Common Room, being the only fifth year on the team, having to juggle Practices and work, Harry found himself volunteering to help her with work and exam tips, even when she hadn't asked for any . . . and looking a bit of a twat when he realised she was talking and he was stone-deaf and staring at her.
She was very pretty after all. Small, skinny, her speckled nose surrounded by crimson hair all just added to her spunk, spark and humour in her tree-bark eyes . . . although he would rather jump in the lake with his trunk strapped to his ankles than mention the above to Ron.
He was just drying his face on the towel, when those eyes and that hair appeared in front of him, or rather behind him, reflected in the mirror.
Harry jumped out of his skin, as if his thoughts were being broadcast round the bathroom for all (including the youngest Weasley) to see. He needn't have worried though, Ginny stumbled through the door, completely disorientated, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She tossed a sleepy smile his way, (it being too early in the morning for any sort of greeting,) and groped around in the cup by the mirror for her toothbrush.
Harry shuffled over to give her room, putting his own toothbrush in his mouth. In the cool of the early morning, he could feel her body heat as she started brushing furiously. Whether it was in the mirror or in reality, he couldn't help sneaking looks at her and watching her become more awake. It was quite amazing seeing the transformation into the sparkly sixteen-year-old redhead he had come to love to bits.
Harry accidentally bit his tongue at the thought of what Ron would say to that. Something along the lines of the reaction to the news of every new boyfriend. Harry got a sinking feeling as he gazed absently at her pale, spidery fingers, gripping her end of the sink as she spat white foam. She probably had a boyfriend now. Who was the last one he had heard of? Oh yes, Ben Space. Ron had blown a gasket at that one, Space being infamous for having a very extensive appreciation for the female population of Hogwarts.
Still, Harry's insides squirmed with envy at the thought of him, the thought that he got the freckles, the eyelashes, the hair, knees, elbows, lips . . .
Once more he found himself staring at her as she washed her mouth out and shoved her toothbrush back in the pot. He got the shock of his life when she turned to him and chucked him a wide, toothy grin, displaying her newly clean teeth in a bit of a teasing way.
Harry blinked as he watched her bounce out of the room, marvelling at how that grin summed her up perfectly: clean, pure, humouring, bubbly . . .
Thinking of that perfect grin, Harry smiled crookedly too, and not because his toothbrush was still hanging out of the side of his mouth.