|SIYE Time:7:11 on 23rd April 2021|
Genres: Comedy, Fluff
Story is Complete
Summary: Ginny's too sick for Quidditch practice. If only she acknowledged it, though. Oneshot
Hitcount: Story Total: 755
Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.
This was inspired by a prompt someone sent me on Tumblr. I'm still taking prompts/ideas for oneshots there, so hit me up if you have anything else you'd like to see! (tumblr is lazyweekendmornings.tumblr.com)
“So what, now you’re not letting me go?”
“It’s not about letting you go, Gin. It’s just that you’re clearly sick.”
Ginny glares at Harry and crosses her arms. It would make a very intimidating sight, Harry thinks, if her nose wasn’t red and scrunched up, and if she didn’t have a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak.
“I am not,” she insists.
Harry raises his eyebrow at her. He brings his hand up, starting to count on his fingers. “You slept in this morning, which you never do on practice days. You’ve been sniffling all morning–”
“Not sniffles. Maybe a sniff or two,” Ginny mutters, but Harry goes on.
“– and when I told you this morning about Ron investigating that Muggle arson case last week you barely said anything. And you love Muggle cases,” Harry concludes.
“I do love them,” Ginny admits reluctantly. “They’re just always so odd. You never know what those Muggles get up to, do you?”
“You’re sick, Gin,” Harry says, instead of letting her change the topic. He knows what she’s like; once she gets started on her favourite odd Muggle crimes, she can go on all day. She has that in common with her dad, he thinks. “You may as well admit it.”
Ginny lifts herself up onto the kitchen counter. She looks mutinous, and Harry can’t help but be endeared by it. He steps in between her legs, brings a hand up to stroke a strand of fiery red hair off her flushed face. It starts off as a tender gesture, but he frowns. “Merlin, Ginny. You’re hot.”
Even weak as she is, Ginny waggles her eyebrows at him.
“No, I mean... you’re warm. I think you have a fever,” Harry says.
“Nothing a Pepper-up Potion won’t fix,” Ginny says weakly.
“You’ve had two this morning with your tea already. And you’re still sick,” Harry says.
“Can’t get anything past a bloody Auror, can you?” Ginny says.
Harry rolls his eyes. “You need some rest,” he tells her.
“Yes, I know. And I’ll get it,” Ginny says, and hops off the counter. After she throws the blanket off her shoulders, she presses a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek and then walks to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder on the way. “When I’m back home,” she calls out, and then steps into a now-green fireplace.
Harry watches her go, helpless. He wonders whether he should follow her. A protective sort of feeling surges up inside him, but he forces it down. “The Ministry of Magic,” he grumbles into the fireplace as he steps into it.
He decides to go check on her at lunchtime. They usually have lunch together only once a week, if that — it’s a tiring journey from London to Holyhead, whether it’s by Floo or Apparition, but something tells him that it’s called for today.
“She’ll be fine, mate,” Ron says, when Harry makes the mistake of mentioning to Ron, just before their lunch break, that he’s going to Apparate to Holyhead. “It’s just a bit of a cold, you know.”
Harry shrugs. Ginny’s been sick before, and so has he, but he can’t help but worry. Especially after seeing how she’d looked this morning. He doesn’t say this to Ron, because it’ll just end up with Ron rolling his eyes at him. Instead, he says, “Never hurts to check, does it?”
“I suppose not. Tell her I say hi,” Ron says with an easy shrug. “And owl me if you need me to cover for you with Robards.”
“Thanks, Ron. You’re the best,” Harry says.
He Apparates to the outskirts of the pitch where the Harpies practice. The security knows him well enough that he’s allowed in without another word. He also isn’t asked for his autograph anymore, which is always nice. The first month of Ginny being an official Harpie entailed him having to sign a few things whenever he came by to see Ginny.
He makes his way onto the Quidditch pitch just in time to see Ginny’s broomstick plummet to the ground. Ginny attempts to steer her way out of it but goes crashing down with it. That, more than anything else, makes Harry worried. He’s watched Ginny play Quidditch before; he’s even played with her and been her captain before. She never makes mistakes like this. She’s steady on a broom, always. She has to be feeling dizzy to not be steady on a broom.
Gwenog and the others on the team make their way down to her, but Harry gets there first, because of how quickly he runs in his worry. He helps her off the ground and picks up her broomstick for her, and she blinks up blearily at him. “I must really be feverish if I’m imagining you here,” she mumbles.
Despite everything, Harry’s amused. “I’m really here,” he tells her quietly.
“Alright, everyone, go get lunch,” Gwenog calls out. If the women on the team are surprised by Harry’s presence, they don’t show it. A few of them even call out, “Hi, Potter,” as they walk off the pitch to eat. Gwenog walks over to Harry and Ginny, holding her broom over a shoulder.
“Hi, Gwenog,” Harry says. He doesn’t let go of Ginny, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist.
“Hey, Potter. Are you here to take Ginny home?” Gwenog says. She gets right to the point, as always. Harry sometimes thinks she would egt on well with Robards.
“If she’ll let me, yeah,” Harry says.
“No, I’m fine,” Ginny protests weakly.
“Weasley, you’ve fumbled four catches this morning. Either you’re sick, or you’ve lost all the talent you had in the last twelve hours,” Gwenog says.
Ginny frowns. “Low blow,” she mumbles.
Gwenog laughs. “Go home, Weasley. I don’t want to see you here until you’re better, alright?”
“Alright, alright,” Ginny finally says.
Harry waits until Gwenog leaves to level Ginny with a look. “So,” he says. “Maybe a sniff or two, huh?”
“Fuck off, Potter,” she says, but she cuddles into his side.
“Just admit it, Gin. You’re sick,” Harry says. “Now let me take you home and make you some soup or something.”
“Alright, fine. Maybe a little sick,” Ginny concedes, but then peers up at him. “Oh. Are you serious about the soup? That sounds really good, actually,” she says hopefully.
“If I’d have known that would’ve worked, I would’ve led with that this morning.”
Ginny brings a feverish hand up to pat at his cheek. “Now you know what to do for next time,” she tells him, and Harry laughs as he turns to Apparate them both home.
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