we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I'm going to stay here because I've had a really long day and this seat was mine
milestone celebration fic#1
Ginny hates the tube. She absolutely-swear-to-god-loathes it, with the commotion and the incessant elbowing and body odours floating around and argh. It is, without discussion, a weapon of mass destruction.
So she's careful to gear up for the ride every day she rides it to practice and back home, day in and day out; earplugs, book, steeled nerves and the patience of a victor - or of one who plots on taking over the world, Ginny's cool either way.
Thus she is able to pay no mind to the rivers of passengers hopping on and off the train as she carries on her ride to Camden Road, not even when they step on her feet (and they tend to do that often), not even when there's the odd person staring at her (they also tend to do that often, more so since she's been a regular on the football team), and absolutely not when they're trying to spring cheap chit chat onto her. Throughout all this Ginny remains as dry as a bone.
"Sorry, erm -" a tall man nudges his way inside the already crammed tube and Ginny tries her not to roll her eyes. "Sorry, ah, 'scuse me," the man apologises some more until he squeezes next to Ginny, struggling to grab something to hold his balance.
He finally catches one of the bars with a pinky finger, bumping Ginny in the process. She merely throws him half a withering glance in return.
She's an old hat at this, her patience honed. If she'd quarrelled with every berk who's ever stepped on her foot, elbowed her into the side or whatever else, she'd surely be tucked away into a mental institution by now, you know.
"Sorry," he shrugs again. Ginny shakes her head somewhat disgusted and resumes her reading.
Three stops pass and tall bloke doesn't budge; he doesn't move, his elbow towering over Ginny's ginger head, his pinky finger white with the pressure of keeping his entire body in a vertical position, his face visibly pained.
Stratford, the woman's voice announces and the man sighs audibly.
Ginny studies him now, curious as to what the fuss is. She does ride the tube daily and, as wicked an experience it is, she never makes half the distasteful noises he's been making.
He's tall indeed, lean and rather thin, leather jacket covering him to his middle. The hair, hmm - Ginny takes her time inspecting the hair. It's raven black and rumpled, something she's never seen before. She scoffs thinking what her mother would say if she ever laid eyes on him. Ha, that'd be something.
The train shakes and he loses his balance enough to plonk Ginny in the head with his elbow again. She notices he's got very intense green eyes behind a set of round glasses when he dips his head to flash her another apologetic smile. And, how utterly interesting, there's also a dimple rising on his stubbled cheek when he does so. Not that it matters, though.
Nope, it doesn't matter at all.
Ginny shrugs again as if to say it's alright, but that's the last time you did that, then swipes through her playlist and turns back to her light reading once she's settled on a song.
Hackney Central, the woman's voice booms throughout the train and Ginny knows there's a high possibility of a free chair emerging. She scans intently and, ah, there it is: one delightfully free chair waiting for her and her only to claim it. She does have four extra long stops to push through and Gwenog's run them round the pitch like a bunch of whirligigs today.
With one finger inside the book so she doesn't lose the exact page she's reached, Ginny strides to what she already thinks of as her chair, a healthy dose of over-confidence and heavy sports bag in tow. Nothing can hurt her anymore.
She's about to let out a long, deep sigh of relief when her bum collides with something firm and somehow soft at the same time, something so unlike the rigid plastic she's used to in tube chairs.
"Erm - sorry."
She knows that pathetic 'sorry' so well by now she doesn't even have to turn to know it's him - tall bloke lounging on her chair like he owns it.
"What do you think you're doing in my chair?" Ginny grunts dignifiedly, nose up in the air and pout ever growing.
Tall bloke scoffs, "Sitting."
Ginny splutters; she's one insolent remark away from smacking him with her book and she'd even do it gladly if it weren't borrowed from Hermione. She knows full well how returning a crumpled book to Hermione'd go.
"I'll count to five and you have better removed yourself from my seat before I'm done," Ginny says, fixing her feet firmer still into the ground in case he tries to pull a smart one on her.
"Or?"
"Or I'll sit on you," she threatens, proud. Ha, she's got him now.
He seems to consider her for a bit before he says, "Fine."
Ginny can't believe the nerve of him.
"What do you mean 'fine'? I said I'd sit on you and I still have a few before I'm done."
"Me too. Might as well make yourself comfortable."
She's completely flummoxed by the sassy attitude he'd just given her but thankfully recovers fast. If this is how he wants to play fine by her.
"Alright," Ginny says through gritted teeth, wiggles till she's up and cosy in his lap, and leans back so she can rest her poor back. She'd had a really awfully long day and that seat was hers so bugger everything.
"Alright there?" He asks, amused.
Ginny turns a bit to study him before she shrugs and answers in her coolest, non-committal tone, "Yeah."
But he does have very intense green eyes sparkling from behind his glasses, fixing her like he can read her mind. And though his hair sticks all over the place as if windswept or rumpled by another person's hands, and his gumption seems enough to rival her own, Ginny half-admits to herself that the bloke isn't without a certain charm. Maybe.
And maybe if she'd met him under different circumstances, she'd probably be saving his number by now. Curiously, he doesn't try to cop a feel or behave lecherously towards her in any way. He simply seems determined to finish what he'd started, sitting as still as a chair beneath her.
Camden Road, the woman informs and Ginny's pulled out of her reverie. It's her stop.
Ginny swallows, uncertain if there's anything one should say to one who's willingly offered their lap for one to ride on, grips her bag firmly and proceeds to exit the tube.
And so does tall bloke, walking alongside her, his face stony, impossible to read.
Ginny stares at him disbelievingly, gasping as the doors close shut and he's still there, taunting her. Or so she chooses to believe.
"Don't tell me, this is your stop too," Ginny barks.
His expression is a mix of annoyance and amusement when he speaks, as if he's unable to pick a feeling to concentrate on. "Pardon, your majesty. I wasn't aware there is only one designated person per each stop."
Ginny feels a bit stupid, honestly, but his dry tone does nothing to make her concede.
"Just out of curiosity, do you always mouth off and do you ever get smacked for it?"
"Nah, the people I usually meet are reasonable and sensible," he swings back, dry.
Ginny'd like nothing better than to show him 'reasonable and sensible' but there are other people around so…
"Alright, smart guy," Ginny presses one finger into his chest, "Tell me your name."
"Why?"
"So I can block you off all social media."
"Oh, yeah? Pull out your phone," he gibes as he swipes his own out of his pocket. "And write Harry Potter on Facebook."
"What about Instagram?" Ginny volleys, suspicious.
"I don't do Instagram," he shrugs, dignified.
"Good. Neither do I. Now you write Ginny Weasley on Facebook and block me, too," she taps his phone impatiently.
"Fine."
"Brilliant."
"Amazing."
"Great."
They stare at each other for a long moment until the bloke, Harry, his lips twitch and his sniggers soon turn into laughter, his eyes close, his palm on his stomach.
Ginny feels incensed by his impromptu bouts of merriment until she, too, starts to smile, roped into amusement by his infectious laugh.
It all does seem a little silly, arguing over a seat on the tube with him. It is really, really silly when his eyes fall on her and they're emerald green and his hair looks so utterly ravished...
"What if I buy you a coffee and we're even?" Harry suggests once they've both calmed down and Ginny nods eagerly. A coffee's always lovely and perhaps there's a nicer, gentlemanly side to him she's missed until now.
"Great, come on, then. And don't worry, I'll let you sit on my lap again if it's full," he winks, grins, and laughs as Ginny lightly smacks his arm and pouts.
"I'll take two coffees for that cheek, thanks."
"Insatiable, aren't we?" Harry laughs, green eyes glinting. "Lead the way, ma'am."