AN: Part of the Ginny Lover's Discord Harry & Ginuary Festival! Dedicated to Gryffindormischief
A Win-Win Situation
Summer evenings at the Burrow are, Harry thinks, some of his favorite times in his life. He's always felt like he belongs there, and while he had briefly wondered if they might look at him differently now that he and Ginny are dating again, he's only become more enmeshed in the family in the fourteen months since the war ended.
This evening, Hermione and Fleur are chatting about work, Hermione's eyes bright with excitement as Fleur details recent changes to Gringott's security protocols. Mr. Weasley and Bill are preparing the picnic table, lengthening it a bit and covering it in a flower-printed cloth, while Mrs. Weasley is hard at work in the kitchen, putting the last touches on the elaborate meal. George is around here, somewhere, and Ginny is in the kitchen folding napkins, or at least she had been the last time Harry had seen her.
And as for Harry himself, well…he and Ron are hiding.
Harry feels a tiny bit guilty about this, but not guilty enough that he's willing to volunteer to de-gnome the garden or pick apples for a pie. He and Ron had offered to pop over to the local spirits shop to purchase some butterbeer and dragon ale, but they had been back for fifteen minutes now and were avoiding Mrs. Weasley, lest they be assigned another task.
"Hey, there," Ginny says brightly, coming over to where Harry and Ron are seated behind the hedge. Harry starts in surprise, then smiles as his girlfriend bends to slide her arms around his neck.
"You can't be over here," Ron says, frowning. "If you disappear, too, Mum will certainly notice."
"Ah, that's where you're wrong. George and I have gotten ourselves banned from major preparations due to the mulberry pie incident at Christmas. Isn't that right?"
George tilts his head in a partial concession. "I maintain I was merely a bystander."
Ginny snorts. "Anyway, since we know you two aren't helping, we thought we'd get in a quick game of Quidditch. What do you say?"
"Mum's not looking for us?"
"No, she reckons you two have been working so hard at Auror training, you deserve a bit of a break."
"Oh. Well, if you're sure she won't mind…" Harry shrugs and raises his eyebrows at his best friend. "You in, Ron?"
"Yeah, all right," Ron says, craning to peek over his shoulder and through the hedges behind them. "How's Hermione, she hasn't been roped into cooking or anything, as she?"
"No, she's fine," Ginny assures him. "She and Fleur are talking about banking laws." She pretends to retch.
"Brilliant, she could go on about that for hours." Ron stands and sweeps his palms off on his jeans. "Let's do it."
"Harry and me against the two of you?" Ginny asks innocently.
Ron is shaking his head before she's through. "Absolutely not," he says. "You're being scouted by a professional Quidditch team. And Harry's—"
"The youngest seeker in a generation," George cuts in, in a decent imitation of Professor McGonagall's brisk Scottish accent. "A natural-born flyer, he is. Never seen anything like it!"
Harry feels his cheeks go warm – he's still mostly uncomfortable with that sort of overt praise, but it also means the world to him that the Weasleys tease him like one of their own. So, he grins and gives a falsely-modest shrug. "I'm alright."
Ginny laughs and rolls her eyes. "It's not like you two are rubbish!" she argues. "You both played on the same team as we did!"
"Oh, come off it, Ginny. Besides," Ron adds quickly, "wouldn't it be more fun for you to beat Harry than to team up to trounce your poor brothers?"
At that, Ginny's face lights up. "You may be onto something there," she admits, flashing Harry a grin full of mischief. She considers her brothers for a moment before declaring: "I'll bet George and I can beat you and Ron."
"I'll try not to be insulted that you wouldn't even consider teaming up with me," Ron mutters, and Ginny pulls a face at him.
"Hmm." Harry cocks his head as he thinks about it. George and Ginny are both shorter than he and Ron, but George is an excellent defender and Ginny's a great scorer, incredibly agile on her broom. But Ron's a solid defender, too, and his long arms give him better reach than any of them. And while Harry doesn't love playing Chaser himself, he can't deny he's speedy and precise. It will be a fairly even match.
"You're on," he says, reaching out to shake Ginny's hand. She bounces excitedly on her toes. "The usual stakes?"
"Of course!"
George raises an eyebrow. "What are the usual stakes?"
"That's between me and Harry," Ginny replies loftily, even as her cheeks go pink.
"I don't think we want to know." Ron shudders. "When they bet on the Puddlemere-Holyhead match last month, Ginny won, and then, suddenly, these two had to rush off to Harry's place."
Ginny stretches to her full height and glares at him without heat. "It's none of your business, anyway."
Harry grins and pokes her in the side. "She has so much more to lose here than I do, though."
"You're ridiculous," Ginny says with a fond roll of her eyes. "Shall we get on with it?"
"Absolutely. First to one hundred?"
They agree on the rules. The hedge marks one goal and a gnarled tree on the edge of the orchard, some thirty meters away, marks the other. The defenders can leave the goal area to catch passes or assist their teammate, but only the teammate playing Chaser is allowed to score. There will be no Snitch and no Bludgers, but all other forms of sabotage are fair game.
Once that's established, they select brooms from the Weasleys' shed and kick off the ground and into the air.
Ginny has her racing broom, and Harry wishes he had brought his Firebolt. He doesn't have many opportunities to use it these days, but being in the air right now reminds him how good it feels. He really does love flying.
The match is as fun as any Harry can remember. Ginny looks beautiful and fierce, her brown eyes narrowed as she darts and weaves around him, her red hair whipping behind her like a matador's flag. Harry is known for his finesse in the air, but at first the matador metaphor is appropriate – he's a bull on a broom, thrilled by the mere sight of her, charging recklessly and without strategy, the only goal to trap her. She's more focused than he is, though, and every time he thinks he's got her, she darts aside, laughing, and maneuvers around him towards the goal. She scores twice easily, both times leaving Harry in her dust before outwitting Ron enough to lob the Quaffle into the gnarled tree behind him. George cheers wildly from the other end of the makeshift pitch.
After the second goal, and some choice words from Ron, Harry gets his head in the game. It's still hard to keep up with Ginny, especially on Charlie's old Cleansweep 3, but he grabs the tail end of her broom the next time she tries to zip past him and jerks hard enough that the Quaffle slips from her grip. He dives to grab it, then races toward George and the hedges. Ginny pulls up along side him and bumps him with her shoulder, trying to knock the ball loose. He holds on tight and bends lower over his broom, picking up speed. Ginny lets out a delighted whoop as she races after him. She's determined not to let him score.
This time, she's successful, bumping him again just as he fires his shot. George darts to the side and catches it easily, but when he tries to throw it back to Ginny, Harry is able to intercept it. He scores immediately.
"That's it!" Ron yells, and Harry pumps a fist in victory.
It goes on like this, back and forth, Ginny and Harry darting around like mad pixies, Ron and George leaving their spots by the goal to catch passes or block the opposing Chaser's path. Ginny keeps colliding with Harry, or speeding right in front of him and causing him to brake suddenly and lose track of the ball. Once, he nearly slips from his broom as he jerks to avoid her. Whenever Harry has the Quaffle, she becomes a human Bludger. Honestly, it's impressive.
But Harry's quick and he's got great instincts. He's able to throw Ginny off balance just as often as she is him, and it only takes forty minutes before the two teams are tied at ninety-all. Ginny scores the goal that brings them even. Ron is retrieving the Quaffle from the orchard when his small fluffy owl, Pigwidgeon, flies onto the pitch and begins zooming in circles around George's head, hooting with excitement.
"Oi!" George yells, throwing one arm up to shield his eyes and swatting blindly at Pigwidgeon with the other. "Get out of here, you lunatic!"
"Harry!" Ron calls, and Harry sees that he's back up in the air near their goal. He raises a hand, and Ron heaves the Quaffle his way.
"Damn!" Ginny hurtles herself towards the Quaffle in an attempt to block its path, but she misses. Harry snatches it out of the air and launches it towards the hedges behind George. George doesn't even try to block it, so busy is he with Pigwidgeon. The Quaffle lands neatly in the hedge, and Harry and Ron whoop like they've won the World Cup.
"No!" Ginny grabs the tail of Harry's broom and gives it a tug. He turns and grins over his shoulder at her. "No," she repeats, her brow furrowed angrily. If she were on the ground, she'd stomp her foot. "That last shot shouldn't count, Pigwidgeon nearly blinded George!"
"Oh, come off it!" Ron argues, pulling up beside them. "It's not like they'd stop a Harpies match just because a bird flew 'round the pitch. Professionals would just play right through!"
"Can't imagine professionals ever have to deal with anything quite like Pig," George muses, now holding the small owl in one fist. Pigwidgeon hoots happily.
"And he's your bloody owl, Ron, you probably sent him to attack George on purpose!"
"Oh, right!" Ron doubles over his broom with laughter. "Pigwidgeon the Attack Owl, it suits him, don't you think?"
"He'd be brilliant. Anyway, rules say anything goes." Harry waggles his eyebrows at her and winks. "Come on. A bet's a bet, Gin."
As much as Ginny hates to admit it, he's right. "Fine," she grumbles. "When shall I do it?"
"I think just after supper will be fine. Before your mum brings out the pie."
As they all glide to the ground, Ginny can only sigh.
The meal is fantastic, as always, and it's lovely to have Bill and Fleur visiting, and Ginny barely even thinks about the bet she lost. But all too soon, her father is pushing back his chair and declaring his wife the best cook in all of England, and her mother is announcing that she's got blackberry pies and a lemon tart for pudding.
And Harry raises his eyebrows at Ginny, his green eyes full of mirth. She rolls her own eyes in response, but reluctantly stands from her chair. A bet's a bet, after all.
"Excuse me, may I have your attention for a moment?"
"Of course." Mrs. Weasley had been walking to the kitchen, but now she pauses and gives Ginny a look of mild concern. "What is it, Ginny?"
Ginny clears her throat. "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard—"
George bursts into raucous laughter. "Oh!" he cries. "Oh, that's brilliant! Well done, Harry."
Bill and Fleur look confused, but Ron is laughing with George, and Hermione is shaking her head with an amused expression on her face. "Really, Harry?" she chides. Harry's grin widens and he shrugs.
"May I continue?" Ginny asks primly. "Ahem. I wish he was mine, he's really divine, the hero that conquered the Dark Lord." She takes a mock bow and drops back into her seat.
Ron, George, and Harry burst into applause and cheers. Hermione claps politely, and a confused-looking Fleur joins her. Ginny scowls at them all. She hates losing, and losing in front of her brothers is the worst.
The only reason she agrees to Harry's silly stakes in the first place is because she knows he doesn't ask her to recite the poem just to take the piss – although let's be honest, that is part of it – but because he actually thinks it's quite cute to remember her crush on him. "And look, you got your wish," he liked to say, with an exaggerated wink. "Lucky you."
She allows it, because she knows Harry absolutely thinks himself the lucky one of the two.
"Did you write that, Gin?" Bill asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"Sort of." Ginny's face feels a bit warm. Bill has always been gentle with her, not like her other brothers, which somehow makes it worse for him to learn of her pitiful youthful attempts to woo Harry. "I had a bit of help."
"Well, that moron Lockhart organized those dwarves to deliver the Valentines all over the school!" George exclaimed, his face still flushed with laughter. "I wish I could have been there when they delivered that one!"
"I remember that, Ginny, darling," Mrs. Weasley says, smiling fondly. "That was your first Valentine's Day at Hogwarts, wasn't it? You were so nervous."
"For Merlin's sake, mum," Ginny mutters.
"But zat is so sweet!" Fleur exclaims.
Harry's eyes are bright behind his glasses, and his expression is one of pure delight. He grabs Ginny's hand and squeezes. "I think we both would've preferred if it hadn't happened in front of an audience. But it is sweet, isn't it?" Harry leans over to kiss Ginny's cheek. She pulls a face at him, but he just kisses her again.
She can't say that she minds.
Harry's still riding high off his win when they leave the Burrow that evening. He won't stop reminding her of the moment during the match when she tried to knock him from his broom and sent herself spinning instead, and he's thanked her profusely for his Valentine no less than four times since dinner ended. She doesn't mind being teased about her school-girl crush; against all odds, Harry truly is hers now, and he would never mock her in earnest. Harry thinks she's beautiful and brilliant, and he always treats her like something to be treasured.
Like right now—as soon as they land in the living room of his flat, he turns to her and takes her face in his hands. "Have I told you today that I love you?" he asks very seriously, carding his fingers through her long hair.
A shiver ripples through Ginny's body. "You haven't," she murmurs, "and that hardly seems fair, since I dedicated a whole poem to you during supper."
"You're right," he agrees in his same serious tone. He kisses her lips. "I love you."
She grins and kisses him back. "I know."
"Do you?" He raises his eyebrows now, and his pupils darken his green eyes. "Maybe I should show you…"
His hands slip through her hair and over her shoulders, then down her arms, sending another shiver through her. He takes one of her hands and tugs her over to the sofa, pulling her into his lap as he sits down. He sweeps her hair aside and tugs at her collar so he can brush his lips up and down her neck and one exposed shoulder. Ginny hums softly and lets her head loll back. His kisses feel perfect against her skin, soft and teasing, with gentle flicks of his tongue, like he can't help but taste her. She twists her body around, wanting to feel those kisses against her lips. Harry groans, and she feels him harden beneath her. She wiggles her bum again and smirks.
His hands slide down to her hips, and he holds her firmly in place. "Ginny, I'm trying to romance you."
"And you're doing an excellent job." She rocks back and he thrusts up to meet her, another groan sliding from his lips.
"But I'm not done yet." He sounds almost petulant. "I was looking forward to giving you a full-body massage before I shag you silly. Stop distracting me."
Ginny gasps and sits up straight. "You can't give me a massage, I lost the bet!"
"I know, and you paid up." Harry slides his arms around her waist and eases her back against his chest. "This massage would be because I want to touch you." He nips her ear. "Everywhere."
"You could've just let me win, then."
"Never." One of his hands is gently stroking her stomach and the other is clutching her thigh, and he's kissing his way down her neck again. "Besides, I really like that poem."
"Obviously." Ginny tries for sassy, but it comes out all breathy. "Harry!"
"Hmm?" He skims his hands up her sides, his thumbs moving in firm, circular motions as he works his way up her spine. His lips brush the underside of her jaw.
"Harry," Ginny repeats, her tone somewhere between adoring and exasperated. She wants him to touch her, too, but a bet is a bet. "What's the point of making a wager if you're going to give me whatever I want, anyway?"
"Not whatever you want," he corrects. He kisses her jaw again. "You're not getting a foot massage today, Ginevra Weasley, and that's final."
Ginny's lips curve in a smile as she kisses his temple. "You're such a prat."
He's just started to suck on the dip where her neck ends and her shoulder begins, and Ginny loves that, but now he pauses and lifts his head. "Are you actually complaining?"
"No!" She misses the feel of his mouth on her skin already, but her stubbornness won't let her drop the matter so easily. "I'll just—" she bites back a moan of pleasure as Harry's thumbs dig into the muscles just under her shoulder blades.
Harry presses a kiss to the top of her spine, then returns his attention to that spot on her shoulder. "You'll just…" he prompts between nibbles.
"Hmm? I don't know." Ginny squirms in his lap. "Oh! I'll just have to pick different stakes next time." It's hard to sound threatening when your boyfriend is turning you into a puddle of goo. "It's obvious giving me a massage is hardly a punishment to you."
He laughs against her skin, and when he glances up at her, his green eyes are so bright. "Well, yeah. Took you long enough to figure it out."
AN: My second published Hinny fic! Hope you enjoy :-)