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SIYE Time:8:58 on 29th March 2024
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steady as the stars
By lazyweekendmornings

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Category: Post-Hogwarts
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley
Genres: Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 78
Summary: The war is over and Ginny returns to school, but it isn't easy to pretend like everything is the same as before.

[sequel to 'all your fumble words']
Hitcount: Story Total: 33730; Chapter Total: 2280
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
bonus chapter! hope you enjoy, and sorry for the tiny cliffhanger at the end. new chapter sometime next week- hopefully monday! don't forget to let me know what you think, either by commenting here or over on tumblr.




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 “Are you alright?” Dean asks her, at the beginning of practice, just after they all change and gather together.

“Yeah, of course,” Ginny says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re shaking,” Dean says.

Which isn’t true. She isn’t shaking. Or, if she is, then she certainly doesn’t want to be reminded of it. It isn’t a big deal. It isn’t. It’s the last practice before the match tomorrow. Their last practice before Quidditch scouts and Gwenog fucking Jones are going to see her fly, are going to see her team fly, are going to judge her flying and her Chasing and her captaincy, probably, and if she makes a bad impression tomorrow then she has basically no chance of impressing anyone at the try-outs in a few months…

But anyway. She’s fine. Not shaking. Not nervous at all.

She forces herself to take a deep breath and squares her shoulder. “Well, maybe you should pay less attention to my shaking and more attention to your playing, Dean. You fumbled the last three times Seamus passed the Quaffle to you during practice yesterday.”

Dean looks offended, but he doesn’t look concerned and protective over her, which is an improvement.

“Ginny,” Seamus starts to say, and Ginny doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s got that annoyed look on his face that he has whenever anyone says anything to Dean. She recognises his tone, has experience with it from her fifth year.

“Anyway,” she says, before Seamus — or anyone else — can tell her anything else. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today. I want to get in some extra practice dodging Bludgers, those nearly got us last time. And try out a few of the strategies we discussed, if we’ve got time. I want us all to practise enough that we could play in our sleep. If I woke you up at midnight tonight, you should be able to do a Wronksi Feint without thinking about it. We’re going to push ourselves as hard as we can. Harder than we can. Right?”

“Bloody hell,” Jimmy Peakes mutters.

Ginny turns to him and raises a single eyebrow.

“I mean — yeah, we’ll do it,” he corrects himself.

She nods. Much better. “Okay, good. Look, you’re a good team. You’ve all been playing for years. We can do it. Besides,” she adds, when she sees how pale their seeker, a tiny second-year girl, looks, “we all survived Voldemort. So you can survive me, right?” She’s greeted with a small chuckle.

“Come on, then,” she says, and takes a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

By the time practice ends, everyone is muddy and grumpy, and Ginny’s pretty sure that if she keeps them back for another second, they might collectively murder her. “Alright,” she calls out, guiding her broom back to the ground and dismounting. “Alright,” she says again when everyone’s joined her. “Right. Alright. You were all good. Really good. Go, steal some food from the kitchens if you want, get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Coote, hang on. Episkey. Okay, there you go,” she says, frowning in concentration as she aims her want at Coote’s nose. “There. That should do it.”

She stays back after everyone leaves, watching as Coote clutches his nose theatrically. She had warned him, but he’d been too busy trying to dodge the Quaffle that he hadn’t noticed Peakes’ bat hit his nose. At least it’s not broken. Or she thinks so, anyway.

She’s still muddy and sweaty, but she sits down on the pitch, cross-legged on the grass. It’s a clear night tonight, and if she looks up, she can see more stars than she’s been able to recently. She’s spent the last week being nervous about the whole thing, about Gwenog Jones seeing her, and it’s nice to have a minute alone, when she’s too physically exhausted for the pressure to get to her much.

“Ginny?” someone says next to her, making her jump. She was sure everyone had gone back to the castle.

She turns towards the source of the voice, and smiles when she sees Hermione, wrapped up in a thick scarf. “Hey,” she says.

“I got worried, when everyone got back to the common room and you didn’t,” Hermione says.

Ginny must’ve been sitting here longer than she realised, then. She could’ve sworn she’s only been here for a couple minutes at most.

“I needed a minute,” she says by way of explanation.

“Mind if I join you?” Hermione offers tentatively.

“No. Not at all,” Ginny says. She wonders if Hermione thinks she’s odd, choosing to sit out in the freezing February air. Hermione’s idea of relaxing during stressful situations is probably indoors, with a book bigger than she is.

Without a word, Hermione waves her wand, Conjures a blanket, and spreads it out on the grass before sitting down. “I always wondered what you and Harry were up to,” she says, after a few moments’ silence, “during the summer last year. You’d be outside in the orchard by the Burrow for hours, basically every day.”

Ginny smiles. “Nothing as explicit as anything you’re thinking of,” she teases. “Just… talking, I guess. We’d talk. Just sit, sometimes. It’s hard to get a quiet moment in the house, isn’t it?”

Hermione nods. “I suppose you have a point,” she concedes.

“It’s just easier,” Ginny admits. “Out here. It’s easier to feel like I can handle everything.”

“It’s just a match, Ginny,” Hermione says, and rests her hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’s, you know, a lot of pressure, but…”

Ginny tries very hard to suppress the sudden flash of anger she feels, white-hot, in her chest. “It’s not just a match,” she says, and shrugs off Hermione’s hand off her shoulder. “It’s…” If it goes well, it’s her future career, it’s her chance of getting to do the one thing she can do that actually makes her feel happy and useful, the one thing she can do without thinking of everything, of the sadness and darkness that lurks around her, just out of reach, all the time. It’s patronizing as hell, is the thing. Ginny wouldn’t ever say that to Hermione when she’s het up about the NEWTs or homework or something. It’s not just a match.

“I know,” Hermione says. She doesn’t, not really.

“Don’t you get it? This is… this is what I want to do, Hermione,” Ginny says. As abruptly as it flared up, the anger abates, leaving just exhaustion and sadness. “Playing well tomorrow, it’s my best chance of actually making this happen for myself.” She brings a hand up, angrily scrubs under her eyes. She will not cry. She doesn’t cry, as a general rule. That’s not something she does. But she’s exhausted and angry, and there’s been a small part of her all day that’s been whispering Fred would’ve loved this, Fred would’ve understood why I’m so excited and nervous.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says quietly.

Ginny leans in and rests her head on Hermione’s shoulder. It’s not her fault. Hermione’s never understood Quidditch, but she tries to understand it, and she’s one of the best friends Ginny’s ever had, and Ginny can’t blame her for it. “It’s okay,” she says, but her voice is thick.

“I know it’s important to you,” Hermione says.

“It is,” Ginny agrees.

“But you’re going to play terribly if you spend the night out here, you know,” Hermione says. Ginny smiles despite herself. “So, come on. I’ve asked Kreacher, and there’s a hot chocolate waiting for you in the common room. Let’s go.”

Now that she thinks about it, a hot chocolate sounds very good right now. And she probably would play terribly with no sleep. So she stands up, follows Hermione back to the castle and back to the common room, and tries to ignore how overwhelmed and tired she feels.

*

The next morning, it’s barely five am when Ginny wakes up. All of her nervousness from yesterday, all of her sadness, she refuses to let it get to her. All she feels is cool determination, the kind of single-minded focus that she only gets when she’s got a match ahead of her.

By the time everyone wakes up and starts to come downstairs from the dormitories, she’s got several sheets of parchment ready to go. She’s spent the last couple of hours hard at work, and there’s an almost manic energy thrumming under her skin, in her veins.

She can’t bring herself to eat anything at breakfast. She chokes down a cup of tea Demelza Robins hands her, gives Luna a smile when she sees she’s brought her lion hat back out, but she can’t eat.

“At least a slice of toast,” Hermione says, pushing a plate towards her.

Ginny picks the toast up obediently and nibbles at it, but she has to put it down. After a few minutes, she makes eye contact with Seamus. He’s sitting with the rest of the team, and they seem to be done with breakfast, too.

She stands up. “Alright,” she says, and all of her team members stand up with her, too.

“Good luck,” Hermione says.

“You’ll be great,” Luna says serenely.

Ginny gives them both a smile. “See you soon,” she says, and then makes her way out of the Great Hall. She doesn’t have to check to know that she’s being followed by the rest of the team, Dean and Seamus and Jimmy and Ritchie and Maya and Emily.

She only speaks once they’re in the changing rooms, changed into their Quidditch robes and ready for the match. Now’s the time for a pep talk, she reasons. She thinks about Angelina, in her fourth year, and Harry, in her fifth year, draws on the for inspiration. Okay. She can do this.

She starts easy, shows the team the strategy drawings she’d spent her morning on, tells them everything they need to be wary of. The Slytherins don’t play fair, and it’s been clear the past week, but it’s looking suspiciously cloudy today, so they need to not get deterred by sudden rain.

“Just remember. If it starts raining and it gets bad, use Impervius,” she concludes, and then takes a deep breath. Now’s the motivational part. The only problem is that she has no idea how to motivate them.

“We’ve practised every day for the last week,” she begins. “Dean, Seamus, you’re good Chasers. We can work together. And we’ve got more teamwork in our little finger than any of the Slytherins.”

“You can say that again,” Seamus mutters.

“Emily, you’re a great Keeper. Just remember not to hang left to much, you can’t leave any of the posts unattended,” she continues. “And Jimmy and Ritchie, stay away from each other’s bats, and don’t let the Slytherins get any of us. Especially Maya, she’s the youngest member here, so they’ll think she’s the most inexperienced and try and get to her with a Bludger first. And Maya… you can do it. You caught the Snitch at our last two matches. Just keep it up,” she says, and Maya nods, determined. They all look quite determined. Ginny feels nothing but pride as she surveys them.

“Right. It’s nearly time. So what do you say, let’s go and show everyone who’s watching how fucking good we are?” she says, and grins along with the team. It’s time.

She shakes Astoria Greengrass’s hand, waits for Madam Hooch’s whistle, and then they’re off.

It goes fine at first. Dean and Seamus get a goal in each, she gets two, Emily blocks off all but one of the Slytherin’s goal attempts. Forty-ten. An excellent start. She even manages to execute a Wronksi Feint, which is a fun bonus.

But then. She turns to the side, sees one of the Slytherin Beaters aim a Bludger right to Maya, who doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Why doesn’t she notice? Oh. Oh. A second’s focus lets Ginny see that Maya’s headed to the left, chasing a golden blur that Ginny knows is the Snitch. No one seems to have noticed, thank Merlin, but Maya doesn’t seem to notice the Bludger.

“Maya!” Ginny calls out. “Watch out!”

The wind’s picked up; Ginny doesn’t think anyone’s heard her, least of all Maya. The Bludger’s still on its way, speeding towards Maya, who seems to be seconds away from the Snitch, unless the Bludger gets to her, and Ginny…

Ginny acts on instinct. She leans down, holds onto the handle of her broom, and nudges it towards Maya, as fast as she can. It’s a school broom, probably far older than she is, and she doesn’t think it’s ever gone as fast as she’s guiding it now. She flies until she’s in between Maya and the Bludger’s path, and she just about sees Maya’s fingers close around the Snitch before something heavy collides with her head and sends everything into darkness.

*

She’s warm and lying on something soft when she wakes up, and her head aches more than it has in ages.

Wait.

She tries her best to open her eyes, but they feel as if they’re dried shut. After a few attempts, she manages to do it. The Hospital Wing, bright and bleary, comes into focus, and she groans.

Next to her, she hears a small chuckle. She turns her head to the side, and Harry’s perched on a chair next to her, holding onto her hand. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey yourself. What happened?” she mumbles.

“What happened is that a Bludger collided with your head. Could’ve smashed your skull in,” Madam Pomphrey says as she bustles in.

“Did it?” Ginny asks.

In response, Madam Pomphrey holds out a bottle of Skele-Gro towards her. She lets go of Harry’s hand to hold onto the bottle, takes a few sips of it until Madam Pomphrey snatches it back away. “Fuck, that’s nasty,” she mumbles.

“That’s what you get for flying directly towards a Bludger,” Harry says, but he has a dry smile on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re meant to be worrying about me, not taking the piss,” Ginny mutters. Luckily, Madam Pomphrey has left the wing, muttering angrily all the way, and she’s free to take Harry’s hand again.

“Course I was worried. Madam Pomphrey reckons you’ll be fine after a night here, though,” Harry says, and squeezes her hand.

“Did we win?” Ginny asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Just a second before you fell, I think. One hundred and ninety to ten. Slytherin never stood a chance.”

Ginny smiles at that. “Was worth it, then,” she mumbles, and then looks up at Harry. “You know. You’re the Auror. I’m supposed to be at your bedside, when you’re injured.”

“You have been, though. Left me that card in my third year, remember?” Harry teases.

“Fuck off,” Ginny groans. She remembers that stupid singing card all too well.

“No, it was nice,” Harry says. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my skull got smashed in by a Bludger,” Ginny says.

“Fair enough,” Harry says. He glances around, and then leans in and kissed her. “I’m glad you’re awake now, though,” he says.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” Ginny asks, blinking up at him when he pulls away from the kiss. It’s hard to really focus, what with the head injury and the way Harry has of kissing her where she forgets everything else.

“A couple of people wanted to see you,” Harry says, and his tone is so deliberately casual that he has Ginny’s attention immediately.

“Who?” she asks, but before Harry can answer, the door opens and McGonagall comes striding in, followed by…

“Oh, Merlin,” she whispers, and sits up in bed so abruptly that she feels dizzy from the sudden movement.

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall says, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. This is Gwenog Jones. She wanted to speak with you.”

*

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