a feeble attempt at celebrating gryffindormischief's hard work and determination,
i humbly give you all her faves served into one plateful of hinny

Otopeni International Airport is unusually crowded for three-oh-five in the morning. The hustle and bustle of tourists, staff, and locals waiting for their loved ones seems like the regular airport commotion and rackety liveliness of any juncture he'd ever passed through.

Until he takes a better look around and notices something rather peculiar. Something quite unheard of for a country's capital airport, any airport actually: nobody is queuing. Not even one person, not even one great big cart filled to the brim with luggage blocking a random line. Nobody running at full speed to make that last call before the plane takes off. Suddenly, all falls silent, unnervingly quiet, and, to his mind, that can't be good.

A delightfully British accent interrupts his assessment of the situation.

"Excuse me - do you speak English?"

"At times, when I can't work my way out of socialising. Otherwise, I fancy myself a bit of cat and dog whisperer."

He's pretty certain this should scare off anyone of his fellow Englishmen. After all, being rerouted from Rome through Bucharest in the middle of the night doesn't do much to improve his usually below average social skills, especially when he knows he could've already been home, fresh out of the shower and peacefully snoring to the tune of the new Netflix special, The Last Czars.

"That's an awful lot of information for one who styles himself unsociable."

Maybe it's the sarcasm dripping from her words that makes him finally look up and then keep on staring. From her ginger eyebrow arched up perplexedly, to her lips curving at the side, one small freckle dangling above them, to the abundance of red hair hanging low over her back, Harry's rather taken and - more than anything, surprised.

"Wow, you're short," is what he says dumbly when his mind is screaming that the woman looking at him with something akin to pity in her deep brown eyes is, well, really pretty.

"Never met anyone going to greater lengths to prove a point," she huffs and throws him one unsympathetic glance before she turns on her heels and walks away in a flash of dignity, long red hair, and black denim dungarees blending with the many freckles sprinkled on her thighs.

Harry reckons he's a sorry sod right about now, but he's also hungry and sleepy and that's never been a recipe for success, not in his book at least.

A synchronised slap on the knees as he finally decides to get up and investigate the culprit behind the change of pace. He should've been boarding ten minutes ago anyway.

He's had a tough day, definitely top fifteen most disgusting days of his life, yet it still comes as a hideous shock when his eyes fix the large information screen stretching over the nearby wall and his mind registers.

The word "Cancelled", repeating itself over and over again next to every flight scheduled to leave during the night, is the one thing he didn't quite need. The one thing that's even more appalling than having to converse and be polite in the current state of events.

"Huh," he breathes out, his fingers reaching under the round rims of his glasses and vigorously rub at his eyes.

The more he thinks, the more he's convinced that it can't possibly be all happening to him. No, there's surely a candid camera somewhere and any minute now someone'll scream that he's been pranked.

Instead, all he sees now are angry faces, exhausted and stressed out people spitting out litanies of curses.

In less than a heartbeat, the airport comes back to life.

"Well shite." And with that, Harry slaps his rucksack back on and resolves to shuffle his swollen feet to the information desk to address the unhappy soul on duty for the night.

It's precisely how he ends up nearly run down by a speeding car as he blindly searches for the crosswalk in the pitch black that is the highway leading to the main airport of Romania. If anyone's keeping score, up until now Harry's not mad about coming back if he has a say.

Three puddles and approximately ten "Fuck"s later, Harry reaches the Best Western Hotel Plus and lets out a hollow laugh. "Right next to the airport my arse."

He figures the airport people who misled him will have to wait until morning to get an earful. Right now, all his heart desires is a bed or at least a soft spot on the floor where he can crawl and hate his stupid luck.

"I'm sorry, sir, but there are no single rooms available," the clerk informs and Harry isn't even surprised anymore.

"Any room would do."

He tries to keep a polite smile on as he reminds himself that it's not the man's fault his day sucked balls hard.

"Allow me to check once more."

Harry's smile stays in place, strained and glued to his features like he's a bit deranged. He's also aware that he's most likely making the clerk uneasy but it's this or literally combusting in this very hotel lobby.

"We may have a double room -"

"Brilliant!"

"But I'm afraid you'll have to share."

Harry blinks. Again. And again.

"We, erm - we have a limited number of rooms for airport emergencies and all are already booked by couples -"

"I see," Harry cuts the hotel's employee short, teeth gritting and lips cursing under his breath. "Where do I sign?"

"Hope this miserable sod doesn't mind some snoring", he thinks and takes the stairs up to the fourth floor. With his luck, riding the lift would probably mean having to sleep inside it until someone rescues him.

He scans his card and slowly turns the handle, giving the door a brief push with his hip. He's so close to an actual bed now he can practically smell the overwashed linen.

Shoving his muddy trainers off in two swift motions, Harry's socked feet pad lightly towards the bed ready to claim the empty side. He is indeed mildly inconvenienced by the bloke taking up all of the left side of the bed - odd for someone who seems really small - but he figures he'll live. All he needs to do is shimmy under covers and sleep his sorrows away.

According to plan, he slides underneath the light cover, leaves his glasses on the bed stand and plants his messy hair atop one vacant pillow.

Contrary to the plan, his bedmate shrieks and opens the light so fast, Harry's completely blinded.

A weirdly familiar British voice claws at his eardrums.

"Bloody buggering hell."

Harry sighs. Long and hard. Then slaps his glasses back on and gives the woman he'd manage to offend not two hours before his best smile.

"Funny meeting you here," Harry attempts in his best nonchalant-aiming-for-aloof kind of tone.

"Hilarious," she snarls right back, bed covers gripped tight around her upper body.

Harry's foul, sleep-deprived mouth opens before he can think twice.

"Are you wearing any clothes?"

"Get. Out. Before I bite your head off," the woman threatens and Harry can't really blame her.

Yet her eyes seem scorching and her hair ablaze, pooled messily over her bare shoulders and Harry's heartbeat quickens for a slight second before reality kicks back in and he shoots right back.

"Listen, lady. If I had any say in this, I would've been home right now, fresh out of the shower and cuddled up with my cat and dog instead of being here, dead tired and reeking of the last twenty-four hours worth of traveling. But no, this had to be the last available room they had and it's not even available and you're not even a bloke.

What's more, I figure my breath probably smells, my underwear have been sticking to my bum much too often during the last couple of hours to be clean anymore and I was nearly run over by a car. Now if you don't mind, I'll turn off the lights and bloody sleep already."

And with a dignified pout he does switch off the night lamp near his side of the bed and treats a boggled looking redhaired woman to the sight of his back.

A beat and then she finally recomposes herself enough to ask, "Are we sharing a bed then?"

"Dunno," Harry drawls, eyes too tired to be rolled, "Just pretend that I'm not here, yeah?"

"Fantastic," she mutters and, without further notice, turns the lights on again and slips out of bed.

Harry's eyes snap open and there're some well chosen jibes on his lips ready to be fired at will. Until he makes out her silhouette sauntering towards the ensuite bathroom and realises that the woman is, well, completely naked except for a pair scant looking knickers.

Harry stammers between two coughs, heaving himself up on his forearms and elbows.

"What are - erm, what are you doing?"

"Minding my own business," she waspishly announces from the loo. "You said to ignore you and now I am." A pause while the tap runs free and noisy, then her bare feet pad right back in, naked body they're attached to following suite. "Any more complaints?"

She quirks an eyebrow much like the way she did in the airport, back when things were simpler, easier and she was wearing clothes and Harry's brain wasn't melting through his ears.

"I...haven't a clue what to say." And it's the naked truth, so to say. All he can do is blink, open and close that smart mouth that usually got him into a number of ludicrous situations, but none quite like the one at hand.

"Great," she snaps, hands on hips as she power stances in the middle of the hotel room. "Because I've a couple to say to you. First of, I'm not short, I'm vertically challenged and I don't appreciate random blokes insulting me."

Harry goes on to blink some more and he's pretty positive she won't stop any soon, if the fingers she's holding up to keep count are any indication. If only she'd put on a bloody shirt so he'd be able to focus on something else besides her freckly chest.

He sighs in agony.

"Second," indeed she carries on undeterred, "that's some cheek you have, coming in here after being a complete arse when all I wanted was to ask what's happening, jump into my bed and shamelessly sass me. You could be a rapist for all I know and this is my last day alive," the woman finishes with a frown worthy of Harry's highschool headmistress, Mrs. McGonagall. Scary woman that one.

"I'm sorry?" Harry tries, his voice small.

"I - erm, I wanted to say you're really pretty. In the airport, I mean."

But when she doesn't say anything, he starts doing what he usually does when he panics: Harry word-vomits. "I have this dumb mouth that has a brain of its own, a stupid brain that's been sabotaging me since I was fourteen and wanted to invite Cho Chang to the Christmas ball but I simply couldn't and when I finally did I told her the kiss was wet - who says that after their first real snog? Apparently I do and I'm terrible with women but you've surely noticed that by now, ha. Could you also put some clothes on because I reckon my last two brain cells are deceased now, thank you."

"You're weird," she utters rather bemused. "I like that."

And as soon as the words leave her mouth, a chain of reactions is set into motion: one, she seems to fully comprehend that she's been naked the whole time; second, there's the most intense blush spreading from her cheeks, up to her forehead and down to her chest at the speed of light; third, Harry's traitorous mouth goes dry and he finds that his pants might be one size too small as he currently feels tremendously uncomfortable.

"Please don't slap me, but what'd you think about covering - ehem." He'd truly love to be able to finish one decent sentence tonight, but she's making it very difficult for him.

She smiles and there's a pinch of shyness on her face, if Harry's brains aren't too addled yet. "

I'd think that, for the first time, the two of us are on the same page."

Harry lets out a sigh of relief and turns the other way, giving her at least the pretence of privacy while she rummages through her luggage and selects a white tee. Great success for Harry!

Sadly, white t-shirts aren't known for their outstanding concealing properties, reason why Harry's emerald green eyes find themselves glued to her chest once more. And yet again he feels like the world's greatest tosser as the universe seems to have concocted quite the plan to drive him mad tonight and all he can do is attempt to resist, as feeble as his resistance is right now.

"Ginny," she extends her hand for him to shake.

"It's only polite to learn the name of your bed mate," the woman, Ginny, adds when he doesn't move.

"Right," he croaks, his fingers gently touching hers, slowly before their palms meet and she shakes their hands quite vigorously. "Harry, the name's Harry."

"Well hello, Harry," she curves her lips into another brief smile and so does he.

"Hi, erm, Ginny. And sorry. Don't tell him I said this, but my godfather Sirius is right: I don't want to be, still I'm somewhat of a git when I'm hungry and haven't slept." Feeling sheepish, one hand immediately flies to the back of his head, messing his hair to a new degree.

"Your secret's safe with me," Ginny winks and a flash of white teeth show, little freckle in place above her upper lip. Harry knows he's paying a lot of mind to her lips, but at least he figures it's an improvement.

He's brave enough to open a new topic. "So your plane got cancelled, huh?"

"Reckon everyone's dealing with the same issue more or less, right?"

"Yeah, guess so."

"It's weird, though," Ginny plows on and Harry breathes more easily now that the conversation is steadily heading in a normal-people-who've-just-met sort of direction.

"I went to Romania for a few days to see my brother Charlie - he does some brilliant work with snakes and various reptiles. You?" Her smile's more earnest now as she sits cross legged on what they've silently established to be her side of the bed and Harry once again thinks that she's rather pretty, all freckled, long-haired and small sized. Vertically challenged, oops.

"I, uh, did not think I'd be in Romania. I was actually traveling from Rome to London and got rerouted," he explains and quickly adds, "Sirius, my godfather, he's moved there two years ago. Mad, yeah, but he claims his old bones need the sun."

"Your godfather sounds wicked," Ginny giggles, the back of her palm briefly covering her mouth and then once again disappearing to expose that damned little freckle. Harry suspects he's growing an obsession.

"Wait till he finds out nakedness and a bed were involved in this meet cute, you'll probably become best friends," Harry casually chats before catching a glimpse of her face, a ghost of a blush passing over it, and he realises the implication. "Not that there'd be any future scenario when you two could meet and share ridiculous stories and, yeah, perhaps I should stop talking."

He's more than mortified but the good news is that she isn't. There's probably a short number of things that can still count as embarrassing after having voluntarily exposed your chest to a complete stranger in the middle of the night.

"You're alright. Weird, but mostly alright," Ginny smiles, rests her chin on a bruised knee.

"Mostly alright is actually my brand," Harry hurries to catch the ball she's throwing him and resolves to prevent his future self from dropping it.

She dips her head to the side, watches him.

"Oh, yeah? What's mine, then?"

"I believe we've already established that you're short."

Harry grins smugly for precisely three seconds before a pillow smacks him flush between his eyes, sending his round specs dangling from one ear.

"Take that back," Ginny harrumphs, stretching out to recover the pillow and hit her target once more. And Harry'd honestly believe she's offended if it weren't for her soft giggles and that spark of mischief in her eyes.

So he claims a pillow for himself and retaliates, each laughing and blindingly smacking whatever body part their respective pillows manage to touch. Soon enough, feathers are flying everywhere, they're deeply engrossed in a game of tag, and for a moment the memory of this never-ending day fades, creating enough space inside their hearts for the seeds of something else to fall and sprout delicate roots.

"I was captain of my school's football team for a reason," Harry broadcasts before launching himself atop the bed, where Ginny took cover in a fit of giggles and wild ginger hair.

"Same," she sniggers proudly as his feet collide with her well placed ankle and his body tumbles down, bounces on the mattress.

But Harry Potter's still got some things going for him, his sharp reflexes amongst them, so his palm snakes around a freckled ankle to drag her down with him.

"Won't go down without a fight," Harry proclaims quite pleased with himself. There's a cocky grin plastered to his face, upper lip curled smugly, celebrating victory.

However, the celebration is rather short-lived: Ginny isn't laughing anymore and he unwillingly opens his tired eyes to investigate why.

And he doesn't even need to assess things, if he's being honest.

Still, it's more a last sparkle of hope that what he's holding in the cradle of his palm is not one of her breasts and that she's definitely not on top of him, white t-shirt and no trousers on.

"To be fair, I meant pretty, not short," Harry gulps and decides to let himself go. He doubts there's any other way we could feel more mortified than he already is anyway.

"To be fair, I meant cute, not weird," Ginny whispers and before Harry has time to react or even comprehend, their lips touch - gently at first, like two strangers purposefully reserved in their actions until they find it's safe to trust each other, then with increasingly more pressure until it turns rough, lips sliding hard against lips, tongues clashing.

He's holding her face and she's tugging at his shirt, him lifting them up and her quickly peeling it off, balling it and throwing it God knows where. No one stops to think or breathe, none of them pause to ask questions. It'd be useless anyway.

Instead, they lose themselves in the moment, diving right in, hands roaming in a hurry until he's struggling to get that last sock off his left foot with the side of his right and she's biting his lower lip, her tongue darting across it so tenderly he moans.

Harry's possessed by a fierce urge to hold her, press her tightly against his chest and, in doing so, he rolls them over, off the mattress and right down onto the floor.

He wants to apologise, afraid that he might've hurt her, afraid that the magic's been broken but she doesn't let him. Ginny kisses him so unrestrained Harry feels dizzy, doubts that what's happening is even real.

Chest pressed hard to chest, Harry groans when he feels her breasts against him as she raggedly breathes in and out, exhaling when his fingertips uncover new territory, closing her eyes, biting her lips.

Her bare knees hit the floor, skin bruising faintly, underwear sliding down white freckled thighs, material half rolled around her fingers. She gives Harry one look, pointed and blazing, before she crawls above him, red hair pooling down her shoulders, tickling his forearms and the top of his chest.

And so his vision darkens and his head is spinning when he feels two fingers leaving a wet trail up and down his length, followed by the full richness of her . She pushes on her knees, thighs parted, the bridge of one palm pressing into his plexus to help her gain momentum and keep balance.

All Harry can do is watch, watch as her chest heaves with the rhythm, how her hair plays down her back, wild strands caressing her body, watch as flesh touches flesh with every thrust of her hips.

It's that little freckle atop her lip that she keeps licking and the way she's got his eyes locked down with hers that make him grip her firmly, squeeze, kiss her deeply as he guides them towards the bathroom, stopping when her back hits the hard wood of the door.

Now it's his turn to drive into her, slam their bodies together with her ankles locked behind him, the skin on her thighs whitening where his hands hold her in a strong, steady grip. He pushes deep and fast, with her nails buried in his shoulder, his mouth glued to her neck, sucking and kissing.

His mouth tastes down her collarbone, caressing freckle after freckle, down to her breasts to taste one nipple, feel it with his tongue and memorise the feeling. It's when her moans turn louder and the friction between them harder.

She brings their mouths together, hands steady on his jaw, her fingers trembling. She kisses him and he plunges roughly, deeply, lets go and nearly howls when she cries into his ear, Harry, I'm so close .

Harry doesn't know when his knees betrayed him, buckling under him to take them both to the ground. Quite frankly, he doesn't much care.

All he can do is smile, with his cheek pressed to hers, Ginny's body wrapped snugly in the shelter of his arms, heart beating wildly against his ribcage.

"I've never had a one night stand," Ginny confesses once she begins to catch her breath.

Harry yawns and stretches his feet, faint light of dawn creeping through the window, tickling their bodies.

"Safe to assume you probably won't any time soon either."

She lightly smacks his shoulder, playful and impish with that look in her brown eyes. "Bit of a fortune teller, aren't you?"

"I've been known to make quite a few valid predictions," Harry rises to the occasion, one arm now casually draped round her middle.

"Right, care to enlighten me with some examples?"

"Well, just before I boarded the plane in Rome, my magic powers showed me the future."

"And what did they show you exactly?"

They're both trying to maintain a straight face, tones even and businesslike.

"That I'd meet a beautiful woman in a foreign land, bewitch her with my natural charm and have her fall madly in love with me," he shrugs, all seriousness and nonchalance.

"How many beautiful women did you have time to meet and woo tonight, Casanova?" Ginny's keen on not laying her weapons down just yet.

"Just one," Harry shrugs again, peeking at her from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh, yeah? What did you say her name was?"

"Sorry, what's your last name?" He asks, grinning widely, praising himself on this stroke of genius.

Ginny's surprised to feel she's blushing and quickly blames it on his emerald green eyes. "Weasley."

"Ginny Weasley!" Harry announces, big grin still in place.

She bites her lip before she speaks, "Do you think you'll ever see her again?"

And Harry ignores the deafening beating of his heart, blood running faster through his veins, ignores them and pretends to think about it while she holds her breath. "I was thinking of asking for her number and taking her to dinner tomorrow night, if she'd agree."

"She would," Ginny beams, face instantly lighting up, freckles dancing on her cheeks.

"Did she tell you that?"

"Uh-huh. And she also told me that you're the fittest bloke she's ever seen but I reckon she doesn't want you to know that."

"Secret's safe with me," Harry winks and rolls them over till he's on top of her, palms tracing the contours of her body. When she smiles up at him he kisses her thoroughly, passionate and ardent in the way their mouths clash against each other, happily following her when she tugs him inside the bathroom.

It's been a long day, after all, the rest of his life awaiting at the end of it.