A/N: LONG OVERDUE. But life has been crazy and I'm trying to write way too many things at once lol. I hope you enjoy this one (I think you might!)

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts or particular scenes/ideas you'd like to see play out in this one since I'm just flying blindly in AU fluff land.

I so appreciate all your comments and reviews! They make my day :) 3


Ginny picks up on the fourth ring and Harry lets out a sigh of relief, "How does doctor/patient confidentiality work when technically you're the team's doctor?"

Her laugh warms his chest and he grins despite the throbbing in his head. "I can keep any non-team check ups to myself, I'd say."

Rubbing at the rising lump on his forehead, Harry drops back onto the cushions dejectedly while the telly flickered soundlessly. "How about we work in hypotheticals just for the time-being then?"

Another laugh and Harry moans when his smile and subsequent eyebrow scrunch wrinkles his forehead. Ginny lets out a low, impatient grunt over the line, "Sounds like you should stop faffing about and tell me what's up."

"I've got a lump that's rapidly reaching Kinder Egg size."

"Where? – You know what, scratch that, I'll be down in a tic," Ginny answers, "Will you be able to let me in or shall I break down the door?"

Harry lets out a low chuckle, "I'll let you in."

Despite his dizziness and the thudding in his head, Harry does manage to get a bit nervous and let his eyes dart about the living space in search of abandoned dirty pants and other undesirable décor when entertaining a woman. Not that he's particularly in a position to entertain, in any sense of the word.

Still, his heart jumps into his throat when Ginny's sharp rap sounds at the door and Harry shuffles over, careful and slow considering his recent bout of clumsiness above his usual. When he peers through the peephole, Ginny's on the other side, dark bag in one hand and the other propped on her hip.

As if she can sense him on the other side, a wry smile tips her lips as she looks up somewhere around where his face would be. "Open up, eh? Or have you suddenly become shy?" She leans close and whispers, "You forget I've already seen you starkers."

Harry rips the door open and scowls, ushering her inside. "Someone'll hear and it'll get back to Skeeter."

Ginny's teasing grin slips from her lips as soon as she sees Harry's head. "Bloody hell, Harry," and then she's shooing him inside. "Have a seat at the table, eh? Let me take a look."

With a few encouraging prods, Ginny leads Harry to his kitchen table and tugs two chairs out, pushing Harry into one and taking the other for herself, settling on the edge and dropping her bag to the side with a soft thud. Briefly, gently, she lets one hand cradle the back of his head while she gently probes the lump with cool fingers. "How'd you manage this, Potter?"

Fighting to keep his eyes from drifting shut at her touch, Harry lets his eyes trip over her face while hers study him clinically. Though they do soften when he winces at her poking and prodding. "Sorry love."

Harry nods shallowly while Ginny roots through her bag in search of her penlight. Once she's found it, Ginny holds the beam up to each of his eyes – now sans glasses – in turn and Harry blinks away the spots that color his vision. "Well you haven't done too much damage it seems," Ginny drawls, holding a finger up for him to follow with his eyes.

They proceed through the exam, Harry following her quiet directions. "How'd this happen exactly?"

Letting his eyes dart away, Harry mumbles in the direction of his shoulder, hopefully unheard. Ginny's apparently not particularly ready to let his murmured explanation slide, dropping her hands to her chest and leveling Harry with a look that brooks no arguments. Dropping his head, Harry answers louder, "Walked into the doorframe," he rubs at the matching lump on the back of his head, "Then stood up into the handle."

"Holding out on me," Ginny sighs, shaking her head and standing to examine the second lump, sending a wave of flowery something wafting in his direction and he's dizzy for a reason other than his twin head wounds for the first time that afternoon.

Ginny hums thoughtfully, fingers running across his scalp and Harry nearly moans at the feeling, get a grip Potter.

After asking a few clinical questions, Ginny sits back in her chair and gives Harry an unreadable look. "You might have a concussion."

Harry winces, which only serves to make his bump hurt worse. "Bloody buggering – Wood is going to kill me if I can't play."

Ginny quirks a brow and Harry elaborates, "He said I wasn't allowed to get hurt anymore."

"Yeah, you did have your own bullet point on our meeting agenda."

He can't help a laugh at that, "Sounds accurate – Wood says I drive him to drink," Harry pauses when Ginny snickers, "Which is metaphorical because he avoids alcohol to remain at 'peak physical shape.'"

"Well, in the name of Wood's sanity and continued abstinence," Ginny starts off, tossing her remaining tools into her bag, "I think we'll keep this between us," Harry sighs in relief and Ginny holds up a halting finger, "For the time being."

Harry nods and Ginny rises, all business, "And you'll come back to my flat."

His eyes widen and Ginny's cheeks color, the first crack in her professional demeanor. "So I can observe you overnight."

"Observe me, eh?" Harry wheedles, wriggling his brows teasingly.

"Don't test me, Potter. I'll ring Nurse Boris," she pauses, playful, "he likes to take temperatures hourly – and that's the only time he babies his patients, catch my drift?"

And this is one of the few times Harry hasn't been glad Ginny was glancing at his arse. "Alright, alright."

Ginny closes her bag with a swift and practiced zip. "Let's get your necessities together then."

At that, they both bustle about – Ginny more than Harry considering the circumstances – readying Harry for a night out, before taking the lift to Ginny's floor.

Once Harry's settled in on the couch, remote in hand and scrolling through Netflix, Ginny fishes around for a few local delivery menus and reads each name off in turn.

They eventually settle on Chinese, unapologetically ordering far too much food for two people and fully intending to eat the majority before night's end.

While they wait, Ginny sits on the small couch next to Harry, the seat only just wide enough for two to sit comfortably, and not quite without brushing at the slightest shift. The third time Harry's forearm brushes hers while he flicks through her queue Ginny leans into it a bit, so their arms are pressed together from shoulder to wrist. Without turning, Ginny reaches across and swipes the remote so Harry's hand drops to the cushion, knuckles kissing hers. Before he can get past second-guessing and knit their fingers together, there's a buzz at the door and Ginny rushes to let the delivery person in the building, and by the time they're back together on the couch, the moment's passed.

They spend the next three quarters of an hour sharing bites and battling for the last spring roll until they've demolished more than half of their spoils and hardly watched two minutes of telly together.

When the credits roll on the third episode Ginny twists on her cushion, bringing one knee up and grabbing Harry's face and tilting it toward her. He gets a bit eager at that, heart thudding in his chest, but quickly finds himself being subjected to another examination. Harry can't help but let his eyes drift over her face, cataloguing as many freckles as he can before Ginny catches on. But if her slight smirk is any indication, he hasn't had much success.

"Seems everything's alright so far."

Harry nods slow, a smile tickling at his mouth. "I don't know that I quite feel up to being on my own though."

"No, I don't suppose you would just yet," Ginny agrees, an answering grin on her own face.

And when she twists back toward the television, her hand drops right into his, grasped loosely, but without hesitation on either of their parts. After they finish another episode, Harry works up the courage to release her hand and slot his arm over the back of the sofa, holding his breath as Ginny's shoulders tense for a moment and he wonders whether he's about to add a black eye to his list of injuries.

Instead, Ginny settles back, keeping her eyes on the screen. "No sleeping for you just yet, Mr. Potter, just in case."

All told, when Ginny drops her head against his shoulder, Harry can hardly think of a time he's been more awake.

Still, as the hours pass, the two of them eventually returning to their feast for late night seconds before stowing the leftovers in the ice box and snuggling a bit more familiarly on the couch, chattering easily more than actually paying attention to the program as it strobes by on the screen.

Eventually, Ginny declares it 'about time for bed' and disappears into the back of the flat. Harry rises, fluffing the cushions and searching for a chair or footstool to hold his gangly legs while he sleeps.

Before he can execute his plan to conscript a dining room chair for the job, Ginny returns with fresh sheets and a spare pillow, looking impatient enough that he half expects her to start tapping her foot. "Are you going to come help me lay out fresh linens or am I to be doctor and nursemaid?"

Harry rises and follows her unuttered instructions as she tilts her head toward what's presumably her bedroom.

The bed's already been stripped, old sheets tossed to the corner and the blanket piled on an overstuffed armchair under the window. Ginny nudges him from behind. "Don't hold up the winds of progress, Potter, budge over so I can unburden myself."

Despite Ginny's easy chatter early on, silence falls and stays as they re-make the bed, though they do work easily in tandem without more than subtle gestures and passed supplies between them. There's not an inch of hesitation until Harry finds himself at the head of the bed with the second pillow half placed, half in hand. Ginny catches his pause after a moment and her previously all-together façade cracks a bit, for the first time showing she's not quite as all knowing as she'd like him to think. "Well go ahead, then. I've got to keep watch, remember?"

Harry laughs a bit, part genuine, part necessary to relieve the tension knitting his ribs together, and complies.

They take turns in the loo, readying themselves for sleep and soon enough Harry's tucked underneath the covers, fresh with that flowery scent that follows Ginny wherever she goes. And despite his fatigue and the late hour, Harry's not quite confident he'll be able to sleep so surrounded by her.

Yet, once she does a final check and tucks him in, his lids are getting heavy, and when she curls up next to him on top of the covers with a knobby hand-knit blanket over herself, Harry drifts off.

Fairly certain Ginny'd half invented an excuse for them to remain together – an excuse he was ready to accept without question – Harry's a bit surprised when Ginny does wake him periodically for checks. Apparently he doesn't hide his surprise well, or Ginny can read him to a surprising degree, because the third wake up, as she's shining her penlight in his right eye, Ginny murmurs, "I don't think you've got a concussion, but I'd prefer to be safe."

Harry nods and when she's about to put her instruments away again, he grasps her wrist, lightly, loose enough that she can pull away if she wants. Her eyes slide from his face to his hand, and back again. Taking heart when she doesn't rebuff him, Harry tugs lightly and she follows his silent plea, dropping down so her forearms frame his ribcage. "Alright Harry?"

Their noses brush when Harry cranes his neck up, but Ginny quickly puts an end to that. "No exertions, love."

His hand comes to knit through her sleep-mussed hair so she comes down to him and their lips just brush. "None at all?"

Their breaths mix and Harry likes to think he can feel Ginny's heart thudding in the dark as fast as his. Ginny presses her mouth to his, light and barely there before murmuring, "I suppose there's room for some leeway in the rest and relaxation prescription."

Before she can rethink her lax enforcement, Harry kisses her, longer and deeper than before and her lips part with a sigh. In between kisses, she whispers, "Is this alright?"

Harry nods soundlessly, nipping at her ear as his fingers tease at the hem of her nightshirt. "Is this alright?"

"Yes," Ginny nearly moans, mapping his chest over the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

She drags the hem up to the bottom of his ribcage as he nuzzles the juncture between her jawline and neck. "This?"

Tilting up so she can fully remove the garment, Harry sighs, "More than."

And when he makes to do the same, pulling away from his full exploration of her lips to ask permission, Ginny chuckles and rubs her nose against his, "Harry dear, I think we're both ok with this, yeah?"

Harry laughs and tips her onto her back so he's looming overhead, "Yeah, that's a safe bet."