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By sapphire200182

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Category: Post-DH/AB
Genres: Fluff
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 2
Summary: Harry and Ginny take a day off from their jobs. Just fluff. March, 2000.
Hitcount: Story Total: 664

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:
Just something quick and fluffy. Still writing, stay tuned ;)


March, 2000

Ah, brooms.

Invisible to Muggle radar and the naked eye thanks to Disillusionment Charms, the witch and the wizard streaked westwards over the Bristol Channel, away from England and the North Devon coast. They alternated between climbing up to ten thousand feet, enveloped in the swirling misty white clouds; and then plunging down in a thrilling dive to under a thousand, levelling off at a hundred feet, feeling the salt spray on their faces and keeping an eye out for ships, yachts, and fishing boats. They raced each other due west towards the dark rolling Atlantic, going up to a hundred and sixty miles an hour, seventy, eighty, pushing ninety even; but brooms can’t stay at their top speeds for long before losing bristles, and eventually they slowed back down to a sedate thirty miles, cruising side by side.

Ginny Weasley took off her flying goggles, punched the air and let out a whoop. “I win!” she crowed.

“How do you do that?” laughed Harry Potter. “They don’t even go that fast in Auror training. And I know it’s not just a matter of weight difference.”

“Professional Quidditch players’ secret,” said Ginny, savouring the words, the title that had been hers for not even twelve months. “If I told you I’d have to jinx you.”

“Hey, that’s my line! Did you do something to the bristles?”

“Nope! And please, try to be a little more specific? There’re, like, fifty things you can do to bristles.”


“No, it’s a hundred actually.”

“You didn’t cut down the shaft, did you?!” Harry looked horrified, peering closely at the Firebolt Premier’s shaft. “You could ruin the Flight Charms that way…”

“I did think about planing off a strip, but I didn’t think an extra mile or two worth the chance of the broom cutting out and sending me tumbling arse over tit at one-ninety. Strike two, Potter.”

“It’s the posture, isn’t it?” Harry guessed. “The way you lie on the broom at high speed.”

“Wrong. Strike three. What?” asked Ginny, in response to the look he gave her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“No, guess again.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Weasley.”

Ginny couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. “How do you do that!”

Harry smirked. “I know when you’re lying.”

“What, really?”

“Yep, you have a tell.”

“...okay, now you’re lying. I so do not have a tell!” A pause. “What is it?”

“No, no, you’re right, you don’t have one…”


The ensuing bickering lasted until they had to go around a large Panamax ship chugging south. “You’re way too upright still,” Ginny said. “If you want to go flat out, go flat out.

“I’m as flat as I could possibly be!” Harry protested.

In answer, Ginny lay down on her Firebolt P the way the Holyhead Harpies had taught her, so flat down its length her cheek was pressed to the shaft, her legs cross and twined around the broom and her feet tucked firmly into the tail bristles, one arm straight ahead gripping the handle, one arm tucked underneath hugging the belly of the broom tightly against her own.

“That’s awesome,” Harry breathed. He tried to copy the position; his own Firebolt wobbled, he nearly lost his grip, and he actually did knock his spectacles off with the handle. That necessitated a quick dive straight down into the sea, until he snatched his specs out of the air and pulled up barely feet away from the top of the foaming combers of the sea.

“Idiot,” laughed Ginny, as they formed up again, side by side.

“Still got it,” said Harry, putting his specs back on. “Can’t get the hang of flying like that though.”

“It takes practice,” Ginny nodded.

“They don’t teach us to fly like that in the Auror Office,” Harry observed. “Cause you can hardly see around you with your head lying like that. And we need to have our wand hands free all the time, of course.”

Ginny shrugged. “Well, most of the time I’m carrying the Quaffle too, so we hardly ever fly like that either. It’s more of a gimmick if we ever want to go really really fast, to catch a long pass for example. Or for Tabitha Lewis to go after the Snitch. Race you back as well?” Ginny challenged.

Harry flew his broom even closer to hers until their knees touched, and looked meaningfully at her. “Let’s just enjoy the ride.” He held out his hand, and Ginny took it. And they flew that way back to England, in the direction of the morning sun. Fingers intertwined.

“It’s great to get away from the Office like this,” said Harry.

“It’s fun to fly for fun,” said Ginny softly.

It’s fun to be with you, they both knew the other meant.

Up ahead, the rugged rocky cliffs of the North Devon coast loomed up out of the sea. For the sheer joy of it, Ginny did three barrel rolls around Harry; on the third pass over his head he raised his hand to touch her streaming hair, blazing in the morning sun.

“Show off,” Harry grinned. “Did you see that catch though? And I didn’t even have my glasses on, cause I was catching them. Still the youngest Seeker Hogwarts ever had, Weasley.”

“And I’m still the faster flyer, Potter,” teased Ginny, bumping Harry with her shoulder.

“I’ll buy a better broom.”

“We’re already sitting on the best broom in the world,” said Ginny. She patted the handle of her Firebolt Premier with possessive glee.

“What about the new Nimbostratus?” Harry suggested. “Nimbus is making it clear they’re out to knock the Firebolt Company off its pedestal. Not quite the same acceleration, but better climb rate, better turning rate…”

And the broom talk lasted them nearly all the way home, past Ilfracombe by the sea, and over the scrubby boggy moorlands, breezy and cool, flying over patches of cheery yellow primroses and gently nodding bluebells blossoming in the spring sun. Over particularly scenic patches they slowed down and coasted, peering down from one thousand feet, and Harry couldn’t resist any more, he reached out and cupped his hand gently on her chin, leaned out and kissed her as they floated slowly over the rolling English hills. When they came up for air he had a goofy grin, and Ginny’s eyes danced with joy.

Brooms together, they cuddled and snogged and pecked all the way home, except for that time they were too wrapped up in each other to watch out for traffic, and a flock of starlings couldn’t get out of the way fast enough and thudded into them with a chorus of surprised and outraged trills and chirps.


There was a welcoming committee, when they landed in the back garden of the Burrow.

“There you are,” exclaimed Hermione, her hands on her hips. “Where have you two been? You’ve disappeared for half the day!”

“Flying,” said Ginny, grinning and sweeping back her windblown hair. Harry was too busy enjoying the feel of her hand in his to answer Hermione.

“It’s nearly lunchtime! You can’t possibly have been just flying for six whole hours!”

“Course they can.” Ron put a long arm around Hermione and pulled her close; she squeaked in mock outrage, but let herself be tucked into his side. “What have I told you, Hermione? You just don’t get brooms, or flying, or Quidditch…”

“No, you’re quite right, Hermione, we didn’t just fly for hours,” said Ginny, a gleam in her eye. “We also snogged, like this.” She grabbed a fistful of Harry’s shirt, pulled him down, and planted a firm kiss on his lips. “And I also held him like this,” Ginny slid her hands around his waist, and pulled their bodies together, and the feel of Harry’s stomach pressed against hers sent a warm thrill racing down her body. She heard Harry take a deep breath and watched his green eyes take on a familiar intensity, and felt his arms encircle her body, and grinned even wider. “And I also did this,” she murmured, reaching up to brush her lips on the corner of his mouth, and trail along his jaw.

Harry bent his head down, chasing her lips with his own…

“Alright, alright, we get the picture, we don’t need a demonstration!” Ron grumbled angrily. “C’mon Harry, we’re wasting our day off, let’s go figure out what we wanna do today.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her back into the Burrow.

“Be right with you mate,” Harry called after him over the top of Ginny’s head, “we’ll just go put our brooms away in the shed first.”

A process which took them fifteen minutes, for inexplicable reasons.

Ah, brooms.
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