The beta rules. Don't ever forget that.
Peace.
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I'll Be There For You | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Buried Gems Characters:All Genres: Comedy, Fluff, Romance Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 311 Summary: When your life's a little bit ... sucky, you can count on your friends. Well, most of them anyway ... well, some of them at least ... maybe just one. Hitcount: Story Total: 80444; Chapter Total: 8744 Author's Notes: |
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Ginny Weasley sat nursing her injured arm in the medical facility underneath the Quidditch stadium on Welsh Moor. Her mother had finished explaining — at great length — why she should quit the silly game and settle down; Percy was now listing the reasons why she should move back to The Burrow. Ginny could actually forgive them their completely irrational comments; it had been four days since the Harpies 800th anniversary commemoration game started and everyone was tired. A few crazy commentaries on her life were to be expected. As the game went into its third day, Gwenog had put Ginny in to play so the Chasers could rest up. Two-hour time outs were doing nothing to keep the stamina up and substitutions were all they could do to stay in the game. Ginny had just scored two fantastic goals when the Bludger hit, grazing the side of her face and thumping into the tail of her broom. Her descent was swift and nasty; Ginny crashed into the ground, landing hard on her left elbow and shattering it. Mercifully she’d been knocked out and was unconscious for the Skelegro treatment. It was also a blessing that she’d missed the first twenty-four hours of her mother’s rant on dangerous sports. It seemed that she had also missed Harry. Ron said he’d been there, and had even been more frantic than their mother. Ginny wondered if Ron needed to be checked for concussion. She couldn’t check the validity of his claims; Harry hadn’t been there to see her since she woke up. Ginny decided unconsciousness was overrated. “I have all of Ginny’s potions, right here …” Arthur Weasley joined the family clustered around Ginny’s bedside. “Here’s one for the pain … one for helping the bones to solidify nice and properly … I think this one’s for the bruising and some fresh bandages …” “Did she say when we can take her home?” Molly asked no one in particular, although she gave the ward matron a sharp glare. “I am right here,” Ginny said peevishly. “A couple more hours of observation,” was all her father replied, ignoring her. “I was thinking, we could move into Percy’s room, to make sure we can hear her during the night.” “What?” Ginny asked. “I’m not going home to The Burrow!” “Don’t be silly, dear,” Molly said, patting her on the leg and tucking the sheets in firmly. “You’ll need proper nursing and I don’t see you getting that at your flat.” “It’s a broken elbow, Mum,” Ginny said. “And concussion,” Hermione reminded her primly. “Yeah, concussion can be pretty nasty,” Angelina added. She turned to George. “Remember the time Fred had concussion after that Slytherin game in second year?” “Honestly,” George rolled his eyes, “git nearly walked into the fireplace.” “Don’t talk about your brother like that,” his mother said automatically, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from Ginny’s blankets. “Why?” George asked. “Just stop it,” Molly said with finality. “So, we’ll be able to take you home after tea, Ginbug,” Arthur said, settling himself into the chair by her bed and flashing her his most paternal smile. “Really, I don’t need the fuss,” Ginny protested weakly. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. There were just some days her family didn’t see her as an adult. As they fussed around her, dividing the soup-making into a workable schedule and arranging a babysitting schedule for her ‘convalescence’, Ginny kept her eyes trained on the door. He must be coming soon. He was always there. “-definitely should think about giving up this ridiculous idea of a career,” he mother was saying when Ginny finally forced her mind back to the conversation. “There is nothing wrong with having a career, Mum,” Ginny said through gritted teeth, drawing breath and biting back what she really wanted to say. “Of course not, dear,” Molly agreed. “But … well, it’s not very dignified is it, all this broom riding? And that uniform isn’t very flattering.” Ginny snorted. Quidditch uniforms weren’t meant to draw attention to one’s curves. Besides Carter Woods hadn’t had any trouble finding them under her uniform — in fact, he rather liked it. Ginny frowned remembering how Carter had appreciated her curves in her uniform a little too much and she’d, regrettably, had to use the Bat-Bogey on him before he … got carried away. “Look, Mum, if this is about me getting married-” “Not at all dear,” protested a smiling Molly. “It’s just … well; you don’t play very often, do you?” “I’m a junior player, Mum,” Ginny sighed. “I play a normal amount for someone at my stage of her career.” “Is it worth it, dear?” Her mother began fussing with her pillows. “I like playing Quidditch,” Ginny said firmly. “Gwyneth Roberts has a nice little job advertised,” Molly continued. “She runs that little craft shop in the village. The job comes with a nice little room above the shop and a discount on the stock. She does carry some lovely wool and last time I was in there she had some excellent new patterns for tea cosies. I’ve been meaning to pick one up; I haven’t had a new tea cosy in years.” “Mum,” Ginny said, trying to disguise her rising horror. “I have a flat, I live in Diagon Alley.” “Or, of course, your room is still available at home, dear,” her mother smiled. “That would be special, wouldn’t it? I could teach you how to knit and — oh, we could start your trousseau.” “With a tea cosy,” George muttered loud enough for only Ginny to hear. She glared at him. “I don’t want to live at home,” Ginny said as she chewed on her bottom lip. Her mother just kept talking. “That nice Jimmy Welsh works in the bakery next door, you know,” Molly Weasley smiled benignly as if Ginny hadn’t spoken. “He’s really very personable and it doesn’t seem to bother him at all that he’s a Squib. In fact, I’d say he’s quite the catch. It’s not every day you find a decent Squib with his head on straight.” “I’m not interested in Jimmy Welsh,” Ginny sighed. “Can you imagine Jimmy and Ginny?” “Well, you need to get interested in someone, dear.” Molly had pulled out her knitting and was clacking her needles furiously. “No, I don’t,” Ginny said mutinously. “I don’t know why you’re so resistant,” Hermione said. “Marriage is wonderful …” She trailed off and gazed at Ron with adoration. “I’m not resistant,” Ginny sighed. “There’s just ... I want to do some things and it doesn’t mean I have to get married.” “Every little girl wants to get married,” Arthur smiled indulgently. “I remember when you used to walk around with a pillowcase on your head.” “I was four!” “I do think you’ve played around with Quidditch long enough, Ginevra,” Percy said. “It’s time to settle down and build a nice career; perhaps a little nest egg. I do know a number of people at the Ministry-” “I don’t want a Ministry job,” Ginny said, cutting him off. “Why are you all so determined to make me do what you think is suitable?” “Well it’s just … you’re injured …” “I think it’s just time …” “You can’t play around forever …” “You have to admit, you don’t get a lot of game time …” “Everyone likes to be nice and settled …” Her family listed myriad reasons why she should give up her dream of playing Quidditch ranging from, ‘the colour of her uniform was terribly unflattering’ to ‘freckles’ to ‘next time you break your neck, don’t come crying to me!’. Didn’t they know this was what she wanted? Couldn’t they see that it didn’t matter if she got injured, if her hair had split ends from being tied in elastics every day or whether Jimmy Welsh was a suitable match? From the earliest time she could remember, Ginny had wanted to fly. It was her instinct, her passion; she never questioned her judgement when she was in the air. It was where she felt at home. It was who she was. She was just coming to a point in her game where Gwenog might want to use her more; her aim had improved, her stamina was increasing every day and she’d just about found her rhythm during training. Harry somehow knew all this and would spend hours helping her train after putting in a full day at work. “It’s going to pay off,” he kept saying. “Soon you’ll be flying out there, at the start of the game and you’ll make so many goals you’ll be the player of the match and there’ll be no stopping you.” But Harry wasn’t here. He was supposed to be here. He was always here. He was supposed to be standing around with this lot, reminding them how fantastic she was, or how brilliant she looked on a broom or how many blokes in the office stopped by to ogle the team poster in his office. He was supposed to remind them that playing Quidditch was good for her. By the time he finally arrived, her mother had run out of reasons for ‘Ginny-To-Quit-The-Quidditch-Team’ and the rest of her family had gone home. His hair was sticking up all over the place and his cloak hung crookedly over his shoulders as he hurtled through the doors and skidded to an abrupt stop at the foot of her bed. “Are you all right?” He looked tense as his hands gripped the bar at the end of Ginny’s bed . “I’m fine,” Ginny said. “Really, it’s just a broken elbow.” “And a concussion,” her mother added, her needles click-clacking incessantly. Harry summoned a chair to the side of her bed and sank into it. “You just fell so far …” Harry put his elbows on the edge of her bed and leaned his chin on his hands. “Not as far as you have,” Ginny retorted. “Mr I-want-to-see-if-I-can-balance-on-the-ro oftops-when-chasing-the-bad-guys. Now you know how I felt last month.” Harry groaned and thumped his head the mattress. “It was one teeny, tiny, two —storey building!” he mumbled into the bedclothes. “And you were unconscious for two days!” Ginny said, exasperated. “And now, I’m fine,” Harry said smugly, turning his head to look at her. Ginny shook her head, smiling. Harry reached up and caressed her knee gently and flashed her a silly grin, the smile reaching all the way to his eyes. Ginny’s breath hitched and she felt a tightening in her chest that almost left her breathless. When the moment became awkward she looked down and realized, in horror, the sudden display on her chest. It was a cursed fact of life that hospital gowns hid nothing and the cooling charms on the room were far too effective. Someone must have just re-cast them. “I just want you to be okay,” Harry said softly, thankfully not looking at her chest — which was a minor miracle in itself. Ron was a leg man, that was certain, and Bill had a thing for bums; George had a particularly disturbing foot fetish, but Harry was first and foremost — a breast man. Ginny had learned not to take his chest-gazing personally, he probably couldn’t help it. “I am okay,” Ginny said, crossing her free arm across her chest. “What the hell happened?” Harry asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “Since when do you fall off?” “It was a Bludger!” Ginny moaned. “They do that sometimes!” “Damn, we haven’t practiced for Bludgers,” Harry muttered. “I’ll get some; we can start that next week.” “Harry, dear,” Molly Weasley interrupted him with a smile. “We were just saying it’s time Ginny thought about … perhaps … settling down. You know … think about maybe finding a nice boy?” “But… Ginny wants to play Quidditch,” Harry stated blankly, confusion rolling over his face. Molly patted Harry on the arm as if he was a small child. “Yes, yes… She thinks she does. Anyway, we’ll all talk about it later,” Molly said briskly. “Now let me see about that discharge …” She bustled off and Ginny sighed. “Driven you up the wall yet?” Harry asked, smirking. “She tried to set me up with Jimmy Welsh!” Ginny whined. “Where have you been?” “I had to go to work,” Harry said. “I would have been here-” “Oh, don’t be silly, you don’t need to waste time sitting around my sick bed,” Ginny said. “I wouldn’t mind,” Harry said, his hand reaching out and hovering over hers for a moment. Ginny thought he was going to hold her hand for a second and she was stunned to realise that her heart had started beating wildly at the thought of it; but her mother came back right at that moment with a sheaf of parchment, babbling about signatures. Both Harry’s hands disappeared inside his pockets. “All right dear, let’s get all this sorted and get you tucked into a nice, warm bed at home.” Ginny very nearly laid down at Harry’s feet to worship him the moment he effortlessly convinced her mother he’d escort her back to her flat and personally make sure she didn’t overdo it. Ginny thought for one wild moment she saw a gleam of triumph in her mother’s eyes, but she was on a lot of pain potion… It was a pity, she reflected, as Harry carefully guided her through the Floo, that she’d broken her elbow. If she’d broken one of her lower limbs, perhaps he’d feel obligated to carry her and then she could tuck her head under his chin and snuggle into his chest … Sweet Merlin what was she thinking? “So … what do you want to eat?” Harry’s voice was muffled, his head stuck in her meagre pantry. There was a pause before Ginny heard a muffled groan. “Weasley, you have nothing in here!” He emerged from the tiny room holding a withered carrot and a mouldy onion. “I … it’s … I’ve been busy?” “Come on,” Harry said, tossing the offending vegetables into her rubbish bin. “Let’s go feed you. I, unlike you, have food at my flat.” “I’ll be fine,” Ginny waved him away. “I’m pretty sure I have a tin of soup … um … somewhere. It’s Friday night, I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.” “I promised your mother,” Harry said. “And you always keep your word, don’t you?” “Always,” Harry said softly, sitting next to her, “and I don’t have any plans.” “Cynthia?” “Stood me up on Monday,” Harry said. He flopped back on the couch and sighed heavily. “She’s an idiot,” Ginny said curling up next to Harry’s side. “So,” Harry said, draping an arm around her shoulders, “I’m all yours.” Ginny looked up to find Harry gazing at her intently and she felt her breath catch in her throat. His eyes were so green, so intense, she felt like he could see into her very soul. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and the stubble on his chin cast a dark shadow over his face, highlighting the shape of his jaw and defining his cheekbones. His lips were red and plump and his hair fell carelessly across his forehead. After she’d stared at him stupidly for at least a minute, Harry appeared to flush, cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll go pick up some Chinese,” he said quietly. He slipped out the door and Ginny pressed the hand of her uninjured arm to her face in an attempt to cool herself. Merlin, using the Floo heated this place up, she thought to herself. It was clearly causing some sort of malfunction in her brain because Harry had looked absolutely kissable just now. And everyone knew that you didn’t kiss your friends. She’d probably scare him silly if she did that. It was a good thing he’d stepped out for a moment; it would give her a chance to get a hold of herself before he came back. To remind herself they were … Just friends. |
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