Word Count: 495

Ginny hates playing in the rain. She remembers her Quidditch career at Hogwarts, back when she looked at the pouring rain and saw a fun challenge. Now, as she mounts her broomstick and follows the rest of the Harpies into the air, she can't help thinking how gross the weather is.

She squints down at the cheering crowd. The rain is so heavy that she doesn't know how anyone can even see what's going on. It's hard to distinguish figures through the downpour, and within a minute of the match's start, she nearly collides with one of her teammates.

"Sorry!" Abby calls, but the rain muffles her voice.

Ginny doesn't acknowledge the apology. She has to focus. If she lets herself get distracted, it won't be good.

The Quaffle heads her way, and she lets go of the broom handle to grab it. It's slick, but she manages to keep a firm grip on it as she soars through the air, weaving between the opposing Chasers. It isn't easy, but she manages to get a goal past Ballycastle's Keeper. The crowd goes wild, and their cheering downs out the rain for just a moment.

Grinning, Ginny flies into position, feeling more confident. She still isn't happy about the weather, but maybe it isn't so bad.

"Heads up!"

She doesn't have a chance to process the sudden warning. Something crashes against the back of her head. There's a sharp pain, and then darkness.

…

"There you are."

Ginny groans and sits up. She recognizes the stadium's infirmary. During her three years with the Harpies, she has visited this place more often than she'd like to admit. "How bad is it?"

Harry grins. "Well, you'll live," he says, and his cheerful tone makes Ginny scowl.

"That was beautifully vague, Harry," she grumbles. "Want to actually answer my question?"

Her boyfriend chuckles and takes her by the hand. He brushes his thumb gently over her knuckles. "Bludger to the head," he reports. "It knocked you out and busted you up a fair bit, but the Healers were quick. No need for further treatment."

Ginny visibly relaxes at that, relief washing over her. She leans back in the bed. "Did we win?"

Harry laughs. "You are ridiculous," he says. "Your head was split open, you fell from way up high, and yet you're worried about who won the match?"

Ginny realizes how silly it is, and she joins him in laughing. Harry has often teased her, saying she reminds him a little too much of Wood sometimes. Maybe she can see it. Her passion for Quidditch can get a little out of hand.

"It's a valid concern," she mutters.

Harry leans in and presses a quick kiss to her forehead. "It's still going on," he tells her. "Harpies are ahead."

"Good," she says. "At least my sacrifice wasn't in vain."

"Ridiculous," he repeats.

"You love me."

Harry kisses her again, trailing from her cheek to her lips. "I do."