This is a bit of a peek into a longer fic I've been working on. Please consider leaving a review xo
Thanks so much to niyatipr for the beta!
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Career Advice (Revisited) | ||||
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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Fluff, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 5 Summary: With wounds still fresh from war, Harry and Ginny discuss their future ambitions. Hitcount: Story Total: 1933 Awards: View Trophy Room 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. Author's Notes: |
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It was spectacular, watching Ginny fly. Harry hovered twenty feet off the ground, grinning as his girlfriend weaved low through the orchard’s trees and rocketed skyward with a shout. He watched as she performed several triumphant loops, her back arching and hips tilting with expertise as her hair whipped behind her, brilliant red waves dappled gold in the late afternoon sun. She slowed as she descended, hovering beside him with a pink flush and a look of windswept delight. Breathless. Exhilarated. “That’s got to be faster than Charlie’s record,” she insisted, her brown eyes wide and bright. “What was my time?” Harry frowned. “I thought you wanted me to time your laps, not an obstacle course.” He held out the battered stopwatch, the hand still pointed skyward. “Sorry. I’ll time you now, if you want to do it again.” Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Sure, Potter. You’re just jealous that I’m faster than you when we’re both on Cleansweeps.” He smirked, tossing the watch into the air and catching it. “Not a chance. Go again, we’ll compare times.” But she shook her head with a grin, drifting lower to the ground until she landed lightly beside the dusty ball crate. “We’ll time ourselves later. I’m sure you still have a faster dive, but I’ll beat your straightaway.” She flipped the lid open and extracted a faded Quaffle. They’d flown in the orchard nearly every day for the last several weeks, but today was the first time Ginny had dug out the Weasleys’ Quidditch balls from the back of the broom shed. Turning to face Harry, she drew her arm back and launched the ball into the air. He swooped to catch it as she kicked off the ground again. They tossed the Quaffle back and forth, hovering higher and flinging it harder with every pass. Harry couldn’t remember how many times he’d done this: warm-ups before Gryffindor practices; summer afternoons at the Burrow; even sunlit weekends with Ginny during his final weeks of sixth year. Easy passes, the heavy leather hitting his palms with a satisfying sting. But the motion felt different now, its mundanity dwarfed by the memory of nearly losing all of it, letting it all go. It brought a strange, prickling ache behind his sternum that he’d gotten used to over the last two months. It took him a moment to realize Ginny had paused with the Quaffle tucked beneath her arm. “Hey,” she called gently. Even from this distance, he knew there’d be a tiny furrow between her brows. You okay? She didn’t have to ask aloud. He forced a grin, rearranging the expression that had settled onto his face without his permission. “Hey.” She hesitated, her gaze penetrating, before matching his smile. “Wanna set up goal hoops?” He couldn’t bring himself to care much about the score over the next hour as Ginny streaked across the orchard, her unerring aim landing shot after shot between the two tree branches they’d established as Harry’s goal. As a result, she crowed victoriously at him when they landed on the ground at last, both short of breath and invigorated. “Cheer up,” she taunted. “Maybe next time we’ll play with golf balls instead, so you can have a shot at Seeking.” Harry snorted, shouldering George’s broom as he packed the Quaffle into the crate. “You know, I’ve been a bit more out of practice than you over the last year.” She rolled her eyes, snatching his broom and leading the way toward the shed. “Right, because I spent all my free time flying, while I wasn’t running from Carrows or hiding at Muriel’s. Bad excuse. You’ve had plenty of practice lately, anyway.” They stashed their equipment and then, unwilling to return inside quite yet, settled beneath the willow tree in the corner of the garden. Ginny sat cross-legged, pulling long blades of sweetgrass and weaving them together. Harry lay on his back, watching swollen purple clouds stretch and roll across the sky. He heard the back door open along with Mrs. Weasley’s tuneless humming, and without looking up he guessed she was gathering laundry from the clothesline before the impending rain. “Hey.” Ginny’s voice held the same gentle tone as before. “Can I ask you something?” Her eyes were warm cinnamon when Harry looked over. He felt his stomach clench; these things often started like this. “Sure.” “You love flying,” she murmured as she moved to lie on her stomach beside him. Her nimble fingers pulled more sweetgrass from between the tree roots. “And you’re a brilliant Seeker.” He felt his lip twitch of its own accord. The compliment wasn’t foreign, but something about hearing her say it felt… different. “Is that a question?” Her eyebrows pulled together as she pursed her lips, considering her next words. “But you don’t want to go for Quidditch. You want to be an Auror.” For a moment her words stung like an accusation, and Harry couldn’t figure out why. He avoided her eyes, watching the willow’s long branches restlessly sway in the humid breeze. “Yeah, I do.” “Why?” Quieter than before. He swallowed. “Erm… I dunno. It sort of feels like the right thing to do, I guess.” He didn’t feel the pressure of her gaze as she busied herself with her hands, waiting for him to continue. “The day after… erm, you know, at Hogwarts,” he began. “All I could think about was how much more there was left to do. It doesn’t just end when one person is killed or captured… not when so many of them got away, or while those ideas are still out there.” “You’re right. But is that what you want to do for your career?” He felt himself bristling at her question. He’d wrestled with it himself for weeks until mid-June, when he and Ron had finally taken up Kingsley’s offer and enrolled for the program in September. “Yeah, I think so. I’m looking forward to the training, and making a difference in how the Ministry treats people. Did you hear Kingsley’s trying to get rid of dementors from Azkaban?” Ginny’s gaze was steady. “There will always be Aurors,” she said softly. “You know it doesn’t have to be you, right?” “This is what I’m good at, Gin,” Harry shot back resolutely. He knew he was coming off as indignant, but couldn’t seem to help that now. After a moment she gave him a wan smile. “I know that. Trust me, I know. I was just… wondering if you’ve thought about other options. I just feel like someone should tell you it’s not your only choice.” Harry smirked. “So, you’d rather I play Quidditch? As far as safety goes, I don’t think that’s much better-” “That’s not what I meant,” she laughed, rolling over to look at him sideways with her head on her arm. “I’m not talking about anything specific. You mentioned teaching once too, remember? Last year.” His recollection was indistinct, one of those first late nights they’d stayed up in the common room, basking in each other’s company, talking earnestly about everything that came to mind. He recalled divulging how gratifying it had been to teach defense in Dumbledore’s Army. Now, the memory felt like a dazzling light that hurt his eyes, and he shoved it aside as the frustrating prickling in his chest returned. “Yeah.” “I just want you to do what makes you happy,” Ginny said without breaking his gaze. “And for the record, you’ll make a great Auror. I’m not trying to talk you out of it.” Harry sighed, looking down at her hands. “I will be happy, I think, doing this. It’ll be nice to hunt Dark wizards legally, at least.” “That’s true. Although just to warn you, I hear having a bed at home is much more boring than a tent.” He chuckled, twirling a tendril of her hair between his fingers. “What about you, then? You haven’t picked your N.E.W.T. classes yet. Are you still going to take the ones you need for the Healer program?” Ginny worried her lip between her teeth, her eyes suddenly guarded. “Maybe.” He rolled over to mirror her, propping up on one elbow as he grinned. “Or will you be applying for the Aurors next year too, to come and kick Ron’s and my arses?” She gave a sardonic laugh. “Right. I don’t really think that’s up my alley.” Harry allowed his fingers to skim across the neatly braided wreath she’d finished, brushing her thumb and sliding over her palm. Her eyes remained trained on the ground, and for a very rare moment he was taken by how small she looked, how delicate her hand felt against his. “You’re pretty scary with a wand, Weasley. You could do all of it.” Her lip twitched. “Scary?” He traced the inside of her wrist. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of it. What are you thinking, though?” Ginny’s mouth formed a thin line before she spoke. “I thought I wanted to be a Healer. It seemed like the most practical option, and I thought I’d be good at it…” she sighed, trailing off with a frown. “I like helping people. And I did a lot of that this year, even though the circumstances weren’t ideal, but it just… it still feels like a safe choice, you know?” Harry nodded slowly. “What would the risky choice be, then?” He was surprised when her expression changed, a sudden blush blossoming on her cheeks as she scrunched her nose. She buried half her face in the crook of her arm. “Quidditch,” she whispered with a private smile. Her eyes flickered with an intense, blazing look. “You know, just… going for it.” An image bloomed in Harry’s mind immediately: Ginny speeding through the air high above a magnificent pitch in a cavernous, glittering stadium… A broad grin was pulling at his cheeks before he could think about his reaction. “You’re serious? That’s fantastic.” She chewed her lip, sitting back up. “Would you tell me if it was mental?” He hesitated. “Er… probably not. But I’m not having you on, Gin… you’re the best Chaser I’ve ever known. This is… it’s brilliant.” He took her wrist in his hand for emphasis. “Does this mean you need to try out for teams or something?” Ginny broke into a small grin at his enthusiasm. “I’ve looked into it a bit. Team scouts usually visit schools to check out players, especially if word spreads about the ones that stand out. And you can get offers to try out… and then I think it’s good to hire someone to help you navigate and negotiate the contracts and stuff.” The words all came in a nervous rush. “Isn’t Angelina Johnson some sort of Quidditch agent?” She nodded. “Yeah, but she represents some high-profile players. I’d have to find someone else.” Harry shrugged. “Well, we can at least ask her for advice. Oh, and you should write Oliver Wood! He’s still with Puddlemere, yeah?” He found himself making a mental list, infected by her tentative excitement. She winced. “Hang on a sec, I’m not writing anyone just yet. I really need to work on my skills. I’m pretty out of practice too, remember?” “Sure, but you have plenty of time. And since you’ll be in school, I’m sure they’ll name you captain. I learned a lot about designing practices and playmaking my last year.” Not for the first time, he felt a flicker of regret over his decision to not return to Hogwarts with Ginny and Hermione. He pushed the thought aside and took her wreath from her hands, resting it on top of her hair with a smirk. “Hopefully,” Ginny said nervously. She removed the crown and transferred it onto his head instead. “I just… need to make sure I have a real shot first. So no writing Oliver. Or Angelina.” Harry draped an arm over her waist, shifting closer. “Alright. But I get to help you train, right? Even if that just means holding the stopwatch.” She grinned, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Of course. I’ll need all the help I can get.” They spent the next half hour discussing options for training; Harry promised to order team playbooks and draft guides, and they made plans to drill daily until Ginny would be practicing on a real pitch at Hogwarts. By the time the clouds above had coagulated into a brooding mass and the first fat raindrops were hitting the leaves overhead, Harry realized the ache behind his ribs had been replaced by something warm and buoyant. “Don’t say anything about this, by the way,” she made him promise as they crossed the garden toward the back porch. “As far as Mum and Dad know, I’m still going to be a Healer.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry assured her, twirling the braided crown on his finger. “Can I ask you something, though?” She quirked a brow. He narrowed his eyes. “Last year, when I was talking about teaching… did you know you wanted to play pro, and just didn’t want to tell me?” Her eyes widened, and she pressed her lips together, rather unconvincingly, to conceal a smile. “No.” He paused with one foot poised over the bottom step as rain began falling in earnest, splashing noisily onto the tin-roofed awning. “Liar. I was spilling my guts to you, you know.” Her eyes sparkled conspiratorially. “Well, we’d only just begun dating. I like to keep my cards close, Potter.” He laughed with her for a moment before he was caught unexpectedly by the hollow, unstable feeling that someone had scooped out his abdomen and filled it with jelly. For a moment he could only look at her, her hair dark and aromatic now from the rain, as he felt a stab of something both tender and fierce. She glanced at him shrewdly. “What?” He shook it off and shot her a crooked grin before continuing toward the kitchen door. “You’re going to be amazing, that’s all.” |
| Reviews 5 |
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