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Airing Out | ||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Action/Adventure, Humor, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 17 Summary: Another summer at the Burrow, a lovely day for a fly, and two very competitive Seekers. Hitcount: Story Total: 5899 |
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A/N: Although this was written several months ago, if you close one eye and squint with the other you might be able to find a place for it in a post-Half-Blood Prince Potterverse. ;-) Enjoy! Ginny was already in the air practicing swoops and dives when Harry galloped outside, his Firebolt vibrating eagerly. He mounted the broom and took off like a rocket. Air rushed past him as he hugged the Firebolt, making himself as small and streamlined as possible as he zoomed past Ginny, then made a sharp about-face and zoomed past her again in the opposite direction. "Show off!" she yelled, laughing. He came to an abrupt stop and turned again to face her. She lowered her stance. He did the same. She made a face. So did he. Then, as one, without a single word having been spoken, they took off toward each other at top speed. To a bystander on the ground, collision would have seemed inevitable. But at the last possible second Harry made a steep ascent and Ginny performed a Sloth Grip Roll so that only the air currents generated by their reckless face-off crashed together, creating a small maelstrom in their passing. Harry shouted with joy as he did a 360-degree loop. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to fly. This, he thought as he did a series of tight corkscrews, was the best part about being a wizard. Laughing, her hair flying loose behind her, Ginny coasted to a stop beside him. "I'll race you." She pointed to a grove of trees in the distance. "There and back." "For what?" he asked with a grin, raising the stakes. He'd noticed that she'd nicked Ron's Cleansweep instead of using Charlie's old Comet as she usually did. The Cleansweep wasn't as fast as his Firebolt, but it still put up a good fight. "Hmmm." The corners of her eyes crinkled with mischief. "How about... painting Dad's shed... without magic?" He looked down at the rickety, dilapidated shed. It looked as though it hadn't been painted since the Normans still ruled England. It also looked as though a stiff breeze might knock it down. "You got yourself a bet," he said. "On three?" "Three!" she shouted and took off. "Hey!" Caught off guard, Harry zoomed after her. She looked over her shoulder at him and stuck out her tongue, then flattened herself until rider and broom were nearly indistinguishable. "You're not going to let yourself get whipped by a Cleansweep, are you?" he said to his broom. Almost as if it had heard and understood, the Firebolt accelerated until the ground below was nothing but a muddled blur of greens and browns. Harry squinted against the wind, but the tears came anyway. Ginny's hair whipped wildly like an out-of-control bonfire just ahead of him. She was so close he could almost reach out and grab the bent twigs used to steer the broom. Just as he was about to overtake her she veered into his path, forcing him to brake suddenly. "Ginny!" he yelled. When she looked over her shoulder at him again Harry knew from the look on her face that this was no longer a simple race between friends. She was out for blood -- his blood. He found the idea rather disturbing, yet at the same time it invigorated him. He wasn't one to give in; he was prepared to give as good as he got. His jaw clenched in determination, he coaxed his Firebolt to fly even faster until once again he was right behind her. Before she could block him again, however, he dove at a shallow angle, using gravity to bring him forward. Once he was nearly parallel with her he pulled up on his broomstick and ascended again. Ginny was ready and waiting for him. She swerved sharply, ramming into him and nearly knocking him off his broom. He barely managed to tighten his grip in time before righting himself. Two can play that game, he thought grimly as he steered into her flight path. Once again she anticipated his move and ascended just in time to avoid him. Cursing under his breath, he flew beneath her then ascended, knocking her from below. She swore profanely and swatted at him with one hand while she held on for dear life with the other. Jerking his broomstick to the left Harry broke free and upset her balance even more. He then flattened himself against the Firebolt and took off, flying faster than ever. She came after him like a thing possessed. He swerved one way, then the other, to block her path. Then she feinted a move to the right, and when he moved to stop her she veered sharply left and pulled alongside. Harry glanced at her as she raced neck and neck with him. He wondered what could make her so determined not to spend the rest of the summer out in the hot sun, painting her father's shed. Other than the obvious, that is. The halfway point was just ahead. He braked carefully, preparing to turn, wondering what new tricks Ginny still had hidden up her sleeve. She flew like a Slytherin, he thought darkly. He wasn't prepared for the flock of crows that erupted from the trees as he and Ginny flew past. Apparently neither was she. Fortunately for both of them the pond lay directly below, otherwise they might have been seriously hurt by the fall. Harry emerged from beneath the surface of the slime-covered pond with algae dripping from his hair down the back of his neck and inside his shirt. Mud oozed into his trainers as he slogged to the nearest bank. A pair of round amber eyes stared at him unblinkingly from the reeds, then disappeared with a croak and a splash. "Shut it, you," Harry muttered at the bullfrog. He squelched up the bank and sat down with a soggy grunt. Muddy green water poured out of his trainers when he pulled them off and upended them. He looked up at the sound of water lapping against the bank to see Ginny splashing her way toward him. Tendrils of algae were intertwined with her heavy, water-logged hair, making her look like a Yuletide water nymph, or a very festive, hacked off banshee. Her wet clothes clung to her; if he were in a better frame of mind Harry might have taken the time to admire the view. Instead he took off his glasses and tried in vain to dry them on his shirt. He only succeeded in smearing the water and algae across the lenses. Ginny sat down on a nearby log with a disgruntled splat. Harry turned on her. "Just what the hell did you reckon you were doing?" he snapped. She peeled off a sock to squeeze the water out of it. "I don't know what you're on about." He pulled a clump of algae from the back of his neck and threw it to the ground. "Who were you trying to kill more, me or yourself?" "I wasn't trying to kill anyone. What makes you think I was?" He knew she was deliberately not looking at him, which only made him madder. "What? What makes me--?" He gestured at the sky where the two riderless brooms hovered in limbo. "What do you call that?" "What do I call what?" she said evenly, wringing the excess water from her hair. He was so angry he wanted to throttle her. "That... that!" He couldn't even find the words to tell her what he thought of her reckless disregard. "Up there!" He pointed again at the sky. "Just who do you think you are?" He realized almost immediately that he'd either crossed the line or fallen headfirst into the trap she'd set for him. With a fluid grace that surprised him she pulled out her wand and pointed it directly at him. "Let's get one thing straight," she snarled. "I may be a lot of things, but one thing I'm not is a pushover!" "A-a what?" he backpedaled. "You heard me. You may have been the youngest Quidditch player in a century, but when you got booted off the team I'm the one who had to fill your shoes, and I'm the one who helped Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup!" Harry cringed as she advanced, her wand still pointed at him. "D-d'you still want to be Seeker?" he asked timidly. Never, not in a million years, would he have expected this. Her shoulders drooped slightly, but she didn't relent. "No. I told you that I'd rather be a Chaser, and I meant it. But I am not about to let you and my ruddy brother push me around as if I was eleven all over again!" Her eyes flashed dangerously. "What makes you believe we would do that?" He spread his hands in helpless ignorance. "I don't --" "Bloody hell you don't," she spat. "If you'd had your way, I'd never have been allowed to help you look for Sirius --" Furious, Harry leaped to his feet. "That's not fair." "It's the truth!" Harry just glared at her, his blood boiling just beneath the surface of his skin, his gut clenching spasmodically. He wasn't about to admit that she was right, that he hadn't wanted her to go to the Ministry. But he knew, instinctively, there was something else bothering her, something other than Quidditch or the debacle in June that had to be setting her off like this. "Is this about Michael Corner?" he blurted without thinking. "Is that why you're so mad at me?" Her brow furrowed and she lowered her wand a fraction of an inch. "What?" "Corner." "What about him?" Harry huffed in annoyance. "He's with Cho now, isn't he?" Too late he recognized the snarl in his voice when he said Cho's name. Judging from the sharp look she gave him Ginny must have heard it as well, but she seemed unsure what to make of it. "Yeah. So?" He felt as though he'd ingested too much pond water. "So doesn't that bother you? "No it doesn't bother me! Does it bother you that my brother keeps trying to fix us up now that my ex-boyfriend is going out with your ex-girlfriend?" Her face turned crimson and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry's cheeks felt warm. She knew about that? "So then why are you trying to murder me on my broom? Maybe you should be going after Ron." He tried to lighten the mood with a smile, but he could just imagine how false it must have looked. "Because you won't stand up to him and tell him to sod off." Harry snorted. "I tell him that at least once an hour. D'you think he listens to me?" A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. "I'm fifteen, Harry. I can take care of myself. I don't need you or Ron or anyone else to protect me or find me a boyfriend or... or... anything." "I can see that." He took a tentative step toward her. "But if you can truly take care of yourself, then you should be the one telling Ron to sod off." He took another step and reached out to pluck her wand from her hand. "Maybe you should put that away before someone gets hurt." Her face paled, making her freckles stand out in sharp relief. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry, I... I...." She took her wand back and stuffed it into her pocket. "I don't know what came over me, I just lost my temper, I got carried away.... You do know I wouldn't have deliberately hurt you, don't you?" She gave him a worried look. Harry smiled to reassure her. "It's not what you would've done on purpose I was worried about, it's what you might've done by accident." She laughed nervously and turned to head back toward the house. "Ginny, wait," he said quietly, laying his hand on her arm to stop her. "Is something wrong? Why did you lose your temper?" She looked down at her feet, then back up at him shyly, and took a deep breath. "Can I trust you?" He nodded. She took a step closer and rested her hand on his arm. Not entirely aware of what he was doing, he reached up and plucked a reed from her hair. "What is it?" She leaned close and whispered, her breath hot in his ear, "I'm wearing damp knickers and they're chafing my cheeks something awful." For a moment Harry thought he'd swallowed his tongue. That wasn't the only reaction he had, either. He stared at her in dumbfounded shock, his mouth hanging open, as she backed away, a wolfish grin spreading across her face. A split second before his blood resumed its regular flow to the rest of his extremities and his brain re-engaged she turned and ran, calling back over her shoulder, "Last one to the house has to paint Dad's shed." |
| Reviews 17 |
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