And Back Again
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"Hullo," he said in the morning with a half-reserved, kind smile, and she turned bright red, the cursed color that haunted the Weasley clan. She stammered something – trusting, of course, on whether or not her tongue ceased to be lead – and all but flew out the nearest exit, be it back door, front door, stairway , or the occasional closet. "Is she okay?" she heard, once, as she resolutely locked herself in a tiny linen closet along an equally tiny hall. "She isn't ill, is she, Ron?"
Ginny, squashed between a dangerously leaning pile of cotton and something that felt uncomfortably like a large spiderweb, blushed crimson with the pleasure of recognition. The silliness of trapping herself in a closet fell before the obviously more important knowledge that Harry Potter was worried about someone like her; upon Ron's answer – a disparaging "Aw, she's a girl, who knows what her problem is?" and a snort – she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and wished, with every fiber of her being, for the judgment of God to befall her brother.
"Hullo, Ginny," Harry said congenially outside after dinner when she made the mistake of stepping outside, a contented look about her. "Are you feeling better, then?"
And it was back to the linen closet for Ginny.
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Disclaimer: Don't own them, not at all.
Status: Vignette, finished.
Feedback: Desired, but not wholly expected.