A/N: I wrote this story for the "Harry and Ginuary" fic exchange for the Ginny Lovers Discord. My recipient asked for "meet cute while traveling AU". I hope I fulfilled her requests. LegendDairy, this one's for you and I had a blast writing it.
No matter how much he tugged at them, the curtains in Harry's hotel room still had a gap in the middle. He'd not noticed when he checked in how many of the nearby businesses had signs that flashed and twinkled until he dropped exhaustedly into bed hours later and discovered his pillows glowing in neon light from a bowling alley across the street. He briefly considered sealing the curtains his way and just as quickly rejected the idea. If he was going to present himself as a Muggle then he had to be a Muggle all the time. Vowing to ask about moving rooms in the morning, Harry set his alarm for an early wake-up and then pulled the blankets over his head. He just hoped he didn't suffocate in the night.
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It was five o'clock in the morning. Who had sex at five o'clock in the bloody morning? Apparently the couple whose bed shared a wall with Ginny's did, and loudly. For the fifth time in as many minutes she gritted her teeth as her headboard shook, rattling her hotel room's bed along with it. Banging on the wall had proved useless; the unseen couple's movements and moans only became more frantic. Fuck, they probably thought it was a turn-on to be overheard. Ginny briefly considered quieting the room her way and just as quickly rejected the idea. She was here presenting as a Muggle, and that meant being a Muggle all the time. Vowing to ask about moving rooms after practice, Ginny climbed out of bed. At least she'd have time for a nice, long workout first.
The gym favored by the Peamount United Woman's Football Club of South Dublin was posh. Unlike Quidditch teams, which used private training facilities connected to their stadiums, "The Peas" had a membership at a club open to any member of the public who could afford the hefty joining fee. Not for the first time Ginny shook her head to think of the effort and expense Gwenog Jones had undertaken to ingratiate herself to the Muggle women's football league. Now all of Ginny's teammates were spread across England and Scotland and Ireland, each lent out to a different team for the purpose of training and learning strategies and formations that would hopefully give the Harpies an advantage in the next season. It had taken the Department of International Magic Cooperation months to pull off and secrecy was extreme. Ginny doubted the scheme would ever have been approved if not for the fact that the Ministry was on a new pathway to improve Wizard-Muggle relations. It hadn't been said explicitly, but she strongly suspected the Harpies were being used as guinea pigs. If things went well, maybe more teams would want to send players next year. If it all went pear-shaped, the entire scheme would be quietly buried. No wonder Ginny was so nervous about keeping up the ruse that she was a Muggle. Jenny Westman, her name was, and several strong charms assured that none of the trademark Weasley features would give her away, even if she ran into anyone who followed Quidditch.
The woman sitting at the club desk yawned widely and barely glanced at Ginny's member card before waving her past. Ginny was grateful the locker room was empty; despite being shown twice at her orientation, she still fumbled over the keypad needed to open and close her locker. Fortunately, it only took her two attempts before the latch caught and buzzed to let Ginny know that all her things were safely stowed inside. Those "things" included her wand, carefully disguised to look like a Muggle water bottle and kept in an outside pocket of her Peamount duffle bag. She felt something akin to naked without her wand at the ready at all times, but she didn't want to risk using it and exposing her cover. Now sorted, she picked up her real water bottle and walked into the gym.
There was only one other person there, a man Ginny was quite sure she would have remembered if he'd been there any other day at the same time as her. Artfully tousled light brown hair swept back from dark-framed rectangular glasses that covered bright eyes Ginny thought might be a mix of blue and gray. Rough stubble couldn't hide his strong jaw any more than the loose t-shirt he wore could prevent Ginny from seeing the muscles that stretched across his shoulders. He was stretching, and when he lifted his arms over his head the bottom of his shirt rode up, revealing well-defined abs that climbed up his torso, and a thatch of light hair that disappeared down.
Well, damn.
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Harry was stretching in a corner of the gym when a flash of green caught his eye. He subtly adjusted his stance to take account of his encroacher, wondering who else might be as crazy as he was to come to the gym at 5:15 in the morning. It was earlier than Harry liked, especially given how little sleep he'd gotten the night before, but as he'd hoped, the hour had promised near solitude. Except now there was a woman here, and not just any woman. As much as Harry had taken pains to assure he might work out alone, he had to admit that this particular company was rather welcome.
Reddish-brown curls bounced above creamy skin - a lot of skin in fact, - rather minimally covered by a fitted green tank top with a logo across the front. Harry didn't follow Muggle sports but he thought it might be from one of their football clubs; his Hogwarts roommate Dean Thomas had hung any number of static team posters on the wall of their dorm over the years. He couldn't make out most of the words, other than a big letter "P" in the center, and he vowed to try to find out what Irish football clubs started with that letter. A moment later he shook his head. What did it matter what team this woman supported? It wasn't like Harry was planning to start up any sort of conversation with a Muggle, no matter how athletic and attractive she was.
The woman was standing still - hesitantly - across the room and Harry flushed to realize he'd been staring. He nodded shortly and turned deliberately around, walking to the set of free weights against the opposite wall. When he finally dared look again the woman had taken up residence next to one of the stationary bicycles, poking haphazardly at the buttons before climbing on for a ride. She looked up and caught Harry's eye, nodding back before tucking her head down and starting to pedal.
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Five days later Ginny dragged herself out of bed just before 5 am. She didn't need to be at Peamount's stadium until nearly lunchtime today but trying to tell herself that she should really take a day to sleep in was useless. They'd progressed to nodding a regular greeting to each other - she and the tousle-haired bloke had - and Ginny had to admit she looked forward to that tiny bit of eye contact every morning, even though she knew it couldn't progress beyond that. So far, the man hadn't tried anything else, and Ginny wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. She didn't think it was her imagination, the way she caught him looking at her when she walked from one piece of equipment to another, and she was certain that he'd bit back a smirk the morning she called one of the treadmills a 'bloody wanker' when she couldn't figure out how to get the thing to turn on. Most of the machines had too many buttons, but she'd gotten cocky and decided to forgo the simpler stationary bicycle for the bigger machine. A moment later he was serious again, focused on his weights, and Ginny had given up and gone back for another ride.
Normally, Ginny hated to be watched when she exercised; it was one of the best perks of playing for the Harpies that she had access to a state-of-the-art and very private training center right at their stadium. But this man didn't leer or ogle or display any of the visual ownership so many wizards thought was their entitlement when they saw a witch minding her own business. He was always respectful and kept his distance, and Ginny did her best to return the favor; certainly someone as attractive as this man had plenty of women following him. Muggles and witches weren't that different, after all.
This morning, she hesitated for only a moment before grabbing her swimsuit and shoving it in her gym bag. So far, Ginny had avoided the large indoor pool at the gym, and she tried not to think about exactly why she was considering it now. Swimming is excellent exercise. Without another thought, she marched out of her hotel room.
Once at the gym and into her swimsuit, Ginny was faced with a dilemma. She wanted to swim under water, but she'd need to use a bubblehead charm to be able to stay under as long as she wanted. She could make it invisible; that wasn't the problem. It was that she needed to use her wand for the charm, and "Jenny Westman" wasn't a witch.
No one will know; you've never seen anyone in the pool this early. Besides, it really is good exercise. Ginny flushed even though there was no one else around. She liked to swim for the opportunity to daydream as much as for the workout. Something about gliding underwater allowed her thoughts to drift as well, and usually, the place they drifted was . . . rather private. Ginny didn't spend too much time debating. Even if she couldn't do anything else about it, at least she could think about him. Grabbing her "other" water bottle, she looked for a long moment at the hallway that led into the gym proper and then turned to her left and exited instead through the doorway onto the pool deck.
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Harry lost count of the crunches he was doing for the third time and cursed quietly to himself.
So what if the curly-haired girl wasn't here today? That wasn't a reason to interrupt his workout. He huffed to himself and stood up. Maybe he should use one of the machines; they kept track of everything for you. Maybe she's just running a bit late. Harry pushed the thought out of his mind. But when he found himself drifting closer to where the stationary bicycles were he stopped himself. You're hoping that she's late, and that she'll rush in any moment and jump on the bicycle next to you, and then you'll . . . what? Harry groaned to himself. It was probably better that the Muggle girl he'd been nodding hello to all week wasn't there today; the way he was feeling he was likely to blow his cover. In fact, maybe it was better if he just ended his exercise now and started work early today. He had pages and pages of notes from the interviews he'd been conducting and it would take hours to go over them all, looking for patterns. Yes, he'd go back to his hotel and get to work. Harry walked decisively towards the locker room, carefully ignoring the woman's entrance and trying very hard not to wonder if the door was about to open and . . . no. Instead, Harry turned his head towards the window that looked out over the always-empty indoor lap pool. Apparently the members of this club didn't like to swim early in the morning any more than they liked to run or lift or stretch.
Except this time, someone was there. Harry watched for a moment and then sucked in his breath. Even blurred from the water surrounding her Harry could recognize the figure moving smoothly down the lane. Back and forth she swam and Harry couldn't pull his eyes away. When her progress slowed, Harry told himself to walk away but still, he stayed frozen in place. Just a quick look as she climbs out, that's all. And then off to wank. WORK. And then off to work. Harry cringed to himself and it was almost enough to send him marching back to the locker room when he realized that the woman had stopped swimming but was not climbing out of the pool. In fact, she wasn't breaking the surface at all, but sinking slowly down towards the tiled bottom.
Harry didn't stop to think. He raced through the gent's locker room and pushed open the door leading to the swimming area, pulling off his glasses and tossing them aside before jumping into the water. It stung his eyes and he had to close them - what do Muggles put in their swimming pools anyway? - but being nearly blind didn't matter; his momentum carried him down until his feet banged against something solid. He reached out and grabbed what he hoped was an arm and tugged, expecting to have to struggle with his burden to the surface. Memories of the Tri-Wizard tournament and saving Ron and Gabrielle Delacour flashed through his mind. Only then Harry'd had his wand and a crowd of powerful wizards - Dumbledore included - to help. And goggles and gillyweed so he could see and breathe. Even then, he'd barely managed it.
Except that this time it wasn't difficult at all. As soon as Harry's hand made contact, the woman twisted violently and broke away, kicking him in the side in the process. Harry gasped involuntarily, swallowing water as he pushed himself up, finally breaking the surface sputtering and coughing. Even then his Auror training kicked in, and he pushed aside his own discomfort to locate the woman and determine if she needed more help.
"Are you . . . okay?" he gasped in the direction he thought she'd gone. "I saw you . . . sink." Through slitted eyes Harry could see the woman's figure hanging onto the side of the pool, holding something in her hand. He brushed water from his face and squinted - a water bottle maybe?
"I'm fine," she said quickly. She didn't even sound out of breath. "You don't need . . . just stay there."
Harry tried to speak. The woman didn't sound like she was in distress but he'd worked in enough dangerous situations to hear that she wasn't completely calm either. "Yes, but . . ." he began. More water caught in his throat and he began coughing again, trying to swim to the side of the pool at the same time. It was slow going, and Harry realized his clothing - track pants and t-shirt and trainers - were weighing him down.
"Oh fuck, don't drown." A hand suddenly gripped Harry's forearm and tugged him forward. It disappeared as soon as he hit the side of the pool but even so, Harry felt like his skin was on fire. "Are you okay?"
Harry finally managed to catch his breath. "Yeah. I'm fine." He turned in the direction of the woman's voice. "Sorry about that. I saw you go under and not come up and I thought . . . you really can hold your breath for a long time, you know."
"Oh. Uh, yeah."
Harry wished he could see her expression better. If he wasn't mistaken she sounded almost guilty. There was something else in her voice that gave him pause, but before he could think more about it, she was talking again.
"I was practicing. Umm, holding my breath. I play . . . football, and our coach thinks it will help improve stamina."
That sounded like the kind of thing Oliver Wood would have made the Gryffindor team do back at Hogwarts and it made Harry smile. "Peamount, right?"
"Yeah." The woman sounded surprised. "How did you know?"
Harry flushed. "You had one of their shirts on the other day," he said, not wanting to admit how many Muggle sports magazines he'd looked through at the local newsstand before he'd found the logo. "Uhh, what position do you play?" There had to be different positions, right?"
The woman was quiet for a long moment and Harry cursed to himself that she realized he knew nothing about woman's football. "I don't exactly . . . play," she said slowly. "I mean, I'm practicing with them and all but I'm not on the first team or anything. I'm . . . new."
"But still, even to be on the reserves for a team like Peamount is impressive. You must be really good." Harry groaned to himself for making such a blatantly flirtatious comment. She's going to think you're a prat, Potter!
"Can you see?" she asked abruptly instead. "You keep squinting."
"Ohh, umm, not really, no." Harry gave a small snort, suddenly realizing the ridiculousness of the situation. They were both still in the swimming pool and he was fully clothed and almost completely blind. "I pulled off my glasses before I jumped in." He gestured behind him. "Over there somewhere."
"Right, hold on." There was a splashing sound, and the blurred image in front of him disappeared. A few moments later he heard her curse. "They're broken, I'm so sorry."
Of course, this wasn't as big of a problem to Harry as the woman thought and he hastened to reassure her. "It's okay, I have another pair in my hotel room. I'll just pop back there and get them." Harry pulled himself up and out of the pool, grimacing at the soggy feeling of his clothing against his skin. "Or maybe I'll slosh back there. I don't really have any other clothes here to put on." He took a few cautious steps forward. "Assuming I don't run into a wall first."
"Shite, you're really blind without them, aren't you?" The voice was close to Harry's ear again. and he hoped she assumed he was shivering from the chill.
"It's fine," he said. "I'm just down the street at the Talbot."
"So am I." The woman sounded pleased and Harry was immediately on his guard. It wouldn't be the first time a woman had made up a story to try to get into Harry Potter's hotel room. Except that right now, he wasn't Harry Potter. Still, something rankled.
"Why are you staying at at hotel if you play for Peamount?" he asked bluntly. It was an Auror technique he found useful when a suspect didn't know they were being investigated. Not that she's a suspect in anything.
"I'm just here temporarily," she explained. She still had her hand on Harry's arm and was helping him shuffle towards the locker rooms. "I actually play for a . . . football team in London. I guess you could say that I'm on loan? Like a team exchange."
A piece of the puzzle fell into place and Harry relaxed. She doesn't have an Irish accent. He'd realized something was different about her but hadn't been able to place it. "I'm from London too," he said. "Surrey originally." That was safe enough; Surrey was one of the most thoroughly Muggle places in England.
"I'm from . . . further out," she said, sounding awkward again. She stopped moving and Harry had to stop too. He squinted.
"What's wrong?"
"Umm, we're at the door to the locker rooms," she said. "I can't go in with you."
Harry felt himself flush. "Right."
"Are you going to be okay? I can ask one of the managers . . ."
"I'm fine, don't worry," Harry said quickly. The last thing he wanted to do was have some stranger trying to help him. "I'll go slow."
"Okay," the woman said, although she didn't sound convinced. "But if you aren't out in 5 minutes I'm coming in after you." There was amusement in her voice, as if the incongruity of their situation had just struck her too. Harry quickly stuck out his hand. "James Porter," he said. "If you're willing to lead a sopping wet nearly blind bloke back to the hotel you should at least know his name."
The hand that grasped his was soft, but the grip was firm. "Jenny Westman," she said. "If you're willing to jump fully clothed into a swimming pool to save a woman you barely know - who wasn't drowning, by the way - then you should know her name too."
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Not for the first time, Ginny wondered just how Muggles managed things like suddenly becoming soaked from an unintended jump into a swimming pool. The man - James - was drenched and dripping from his now flat hair down to his trainers and Ginny could do nothing more than offer him the towel she'd already used on herself. Now she waited for him outside the locker rooms berating herself for taking such a chance. What if he'd seen her bubble-head charm or wand? She didn't think that was the case; the man really did seem nearly blind without his glasses. And that was another thing for Ginny to feel guilty about - now he'd broken a pair and she knew it would be some work to get them fixed again. She shoved her wand/water bottle firmly to the bottom of her bag, swearing not to use it again. She had to remember she was a Muggle, nothing more.
What she also remembered though was the way James' wet clothes hugged his body. Without his glasses on, he looked younger, and she'd been able to get close enough to see that his eyes were a deep grey. He was even more attractive up close.
The opening door interrupted Ginny's musings before she could get carried away. James was holding a gym bag and squinting out into the lobby. He didn't look much more dry than when he'd entered the locker room and Ginny felt another stab of guilt.
"Uhh, Jenny? Are you there?"
"Yes," she said, quickly walking forward and taking his arm, trying not to think about how strong it felt under her hand. "Will it help if I apologize about a dozen more times?"
James chuckled and let him lead her out of the gym. "Apologize for what, me being an overprotective git for someone he barely knows?"
Ginny laughed too, hoping he couldn't see her embarrassed blush. "Right. I forgot this is all your fault, isn't it? Oops, mind the curb."
James barely stumbled and Ginny made a mental note of how un-clumsy he was. She grasped about for something safe to say. "So, what are you doing up here from London?" That was a reasonable question.
"I'm an . . . investigator of sorts," he said. "Working on a case."
Ginny steered James around a rubbish bin. Fortunately his sodden state meant that most passers-by gave them wide berth. "Like a private investigator? Trailing a man cheating on his wife or something similar?"
James laughed. "Hardly. I work for the . . . the government. The British Prime Minister, I mean." He sounded suddenly uncomfortable, as if he'd given away something he shouldn't. Ginny wondered if Muggles didn't talk about their prime minister the way wizards discussed the Minister for Magic.
"Sounds interesting," she said.
"Oh, it is," James assured her. "Although not as exciting as playing professional football, I'd imagine."
So far, Ginny had come to the conclusion that professional football was nowhere near as exciting as professional Quidditch, but she couldn't very well tell James that. Even though the Harpies were an all-witch team, Quidditch teams were generally co-ed. Ginny didn't think she'd ever get used to the fact that Muggle sports were divided by sex - or that men's teams were generally considered more interesting and paid their players more.
"It's more work than I expected," Ginny said honestly. "The captain for Peamount has a rather different training style than we use back home." The doorman at the Talbot raised his eyebrows as she ushered James into the lobby but didn't say anything.
"That has to be difficult to get used to," James said. He was shivering slightly and Ginny had to restrain herself from putting her arm around him to warm him up. "Who do you play for in London?"
Shite. Having James so close had turned off those parts of Ginny's brain that kept her Muggle details straight and she had to pretend to trip for a moment to retrieve them. "Portsmouth Women's," she said finally, hoping James didn't think it was odd that she hadn't been able to immediately tell him the name of her own team. "So, another letter P."
"I think I've heard of them," James nodded. "Although I'll admit I don't follow woman's football that much."
"No one does," said Ginny with a laugh. The lift arrived and she followed James inside, wondering if it was wrong for her to not be more upset about that fact. Jenny would probably mind quite a bit. "I mean, we do have our fans but they tend to be a tight bunch; mostly wit . . .women." She looked at James, horrified that he might have heard her almost call the Peamount fans witches, but he was peering at the buttons for the floors and didn't appear to have heard her. Ginny sighed in relief. "What floor?" she asked
"Six," James said sheepishly. "Usually I can see better close up but the . . . whatever they put in that pool water stung my eyes."
"I'm on six too." Ginny stared at James. "I can't believe I haven't run into you . . . wait, please tell me you aren't in 632?"
"You mean the couple that keeps having sex in their loo? Hell no," said James with a grimace. "My shower shares a wall with theirs; it's terrible every night."
"I'm in 630, and apparently I get to enjoy their morning activities," said Ginny with a laugh. "Which is why I've been going to the gym so early."
"Ahh, of course. That makes sense then." For a moment Ginny thought maybe James sounded a bit disappointed. Then she shook off the thought - it didn't matter what he thought. They arrived at room 634.
"Here's your door, can you manage the key?"
James nodded and fumbled at the lock, shivering properly now. "I'm going to take advantage of the hopeful quiet of my bathroom and take a long hot shower." He pushed open his door but didn't immediately go inside.
"It's morning; they'll still be banging on my wall for another hour." For some reason, Ginny blushed.
"Right then." James ran his hand through the back of his hair, showering droplets of water everywhere. "It was, uhh, nice to meet you, Jenny. I'm glad you weren't drowning."
"Me too," said Ginny. "I mean, it was nice to meet you too, James. And uhh, maybe I'll see you tomorrow at the gym?"
"Five-fifteen," he answered, suddenly sounding more cheerful. He smiled and disappeared inside his room.
Ginny stared for a long moment at his closed door before heading down the hall to her own room, where she discovered that in fact, her neighbors had not concluded their morning activities. Swearing to herself she paused for only a moment before marching back out of her room and to the lift.
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Harry warred with himself as he waited for the shower to warm up. It had been one thing to fantasize about the attractive Muggle women he'd been nodding to at the gym, but now that he knew her name and story - now that he'd grabbed her in the water and felt her smooth skin and the way her muscles bunched under it, he couldn't - fuck. Harry ran his hand through his hair. It was wrong. He absolutely could not wank to thoughts of Jenny Westman. He could not. Could. Not.
It was no use, of course. Until now, Harry had been simply imagining her - Jenny - at the gym. Usually climbing off a piece of equipment he had no idea how to use to straddle him while he lay on a bench lifting weights or else maybe going down on him on one of the mats that covered the floor. But now Harry knew that Jenny was a professional athlete - she played football. It opened up way too many new thoughts for Harry to be able to ignore them all. Sighing, he stepped into the shower, already imagining Jenny in her fitted Peamount uniform, running up and down the field . . . kicking a ball maybe? Despite having grown up with Muggles, Harry didn't know much about their sports; he'd certainly never been taken to a game or even allowed to watch them on the Dursley's television. He couldn't remember if Jenny had told him what position she played, not that it would have made a difference to Harry if she had. All Harry knew about football was that it involved running and kicking, and putting Jenny into a wank-worthy scenario involving those two activities was nearly impossible.
But imagining her playing Quidditch was not. It was not the first time Harry had seen a pretty woman and later called up her face to fuel his daydreams, and those dreams more often than not involved brooms and chasing Snitches and after-game showers. It was the first time he'd known such a woman by anything more than her name, though. He'd actually touched Jenny - rather intimately for a stranger - and now when he grasped himself he had no trouble imagining that he and Jenny Westman were riding tandem on a broom. She was sitting behind Harry with her arms wrapped around his waist, and it was her hands that gripped his erection and her body - her bare breasts - pressed up against his back. She groaned low against his ear and bent forward, urging them into a dive that allowed her to increase the pressure of her pumping hand. "Come for me, Harry," she gasped, and moments later he did, keeping his eyes closed to draw out the images as long as he could. By the time Harry came back to himself the evidence of his climax had washed down the drain and he finished the rest of his shower as quickly as possible. He was already dressed and toweling off his hair one more time when someone knocked on his door.
"James? It's . . . Jenny. I was wondering if you wanted some coffee? I got it from the shop down the street, not that horrible stuff the hotel makes."
Despite having just finished a quite satisfying wank, Harry felt a renewed jolt in his groin. Frowning down at his waist he made sure both of his wands were safely concealed before opening the door.
Jenny was still in the track suit she'd worn from the gym and her damp hair was a riot of dark, coppery curls. She handed over one of the steaming cups with a sheepish nod down at her clothing. "My umm, neighbors were still rather active when I got back to my room. I rushed back out again before changing."
"I don't blame you," Harry said. He inhaled deeply. "Smells wonderful." He hesitated, unsure if he was expected to invite her into his room.
"I got you medium roast," Jenny continued on, apparently unaware of Harry's dilemma. "Oh, and here." She shoved a bag in his direction. Cream and milk and sugar; I wasn't sure what you liked." She frowned suddenly. "Or should I have gotten you a latte instead?"
Harry shook his head. "No, this is perfect; I'll just add a bit of sugar." He stepped back into the room. "Do you want to come in?" he blurted out. "It's not much, but . . . well I guess you know exactly what it looks like, don't you?" It was too late to take the words back and deep down, Harry knew he didn't want to. It would be good practice, he told himself. Talking to a Muggle while pretending to be a Muggle himself. For despite having lived in ignorance of the magical world for his first eleven years, Harry felt woefully unaccustomed to his former life. Until now the investigation that had brought him to Dublin had been a mostly individual pursuit, but he was going to have to start interacting with groups of witnesses soon, and it was best to be prepared.
Jenny looked startled and Harry rushed to reassure her. "Not to . . . not for any reason, I mean. I just thought . . . if your neighbors aren't . . . done, you might want to . . . here? Unless you need to get to the pitch." Fuck, Potter, football isn't played on a pitch! "I mean, the stadium. For practice." He shook his head. "I was just thinking of . . . cricket . . . before you arrived." Fuck again, what if she asks me who I follow?" Harry didn't usually swear much, even in his head, but now he was certain he was about to be twigged as a liar or a creep. But Jenny just shook her head.
"Oh, that's . . . yes, they're probably still busy." She took a hesitant step into the room and Harry jumped back to give her space. "I don't have to be at the stadium until later; they are doing some PR work this morning, and since I'm not a regular part of the team. . ." Jenny shrugged. "I'm free for a bit. Until I have to go shower, of course."
Violently pushing thoughts of Jenny showering out of his head, Harry sat down on the bed, far away from the room's sole chair. Jenny perched there and for a few minutes, they did nothing but drink their coffees without speaking, Jenny looking around the room as if trying to find something positive to say about it. The silence became so awkward Harry assumed she was about to leave.
"What have you been doing?" Her voice cut through the quiet. Harry stared at her, thoughts of his most recent shower crowding his brain.
"Excuse me?" he stuttered.
Jenny made a dismissive gesture. "In Dublin. What have you been doing in Dublin when you aren't working?" She cocked her head at him. "Or are you investigating all the time?"
There was a subtle double meaning there, Harry thought. He swallowed. "Not all the time, no. Umm, I go to the gym a lot." He smirked. "You know, swimming and the like."
Jenny grinned back and Harry felt suddenly more comfortable. "Ahh yes, very good exercise, swimming is. Have you done any sightseeing outside of the water?"
"Very funny." Harry shook his head. "I probably should; I've never been to Dublin before. What about you?"
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An hour later Ginny closed the door to her hotel room and slid bonelessly down it to the floor. What had she been thinking, inviting James to come watch Peamount's practice game tomorrow? She was barely able to talk intelligently to the other players without looking completely barmy but with with so many of them, she could usually keep her mouth shut and pretend to be a bit shy. How was she going to be able to carry on a conversation alone with James and not have him realize something was off?
Although, that wasn't completely accurate. She and James had just had a lively discussion in his room and Ginny didn't think she'd made any glaring errors. Granted, they'd spent most of the time talking about the gym and their randy mutual neighbors, and it was probably the ease with which they'd talked that had lulled her into a false sense of comfort. But seeing her with Peamount was something else entirely. It wasn't that James was coming to the game that was the problem - Ginny practiced with the team but the chances of her being allowed onto the field even for a scrimmage were slim. No, it was the fact that afterwards they'd likely go grab a bite to eat somewhere, just the two of them, and Ginny was pretty sure the topics of the gym and overheard sex had been completely exhausted. Hell, he might even want to talk about the game.
A second later Ginny flushed even though no one else was there. He was probably just being nice, James was, agreeing to Ginny's crazy invitation to come watch a practice game between two women's teams for a sport he didn't even follow. And here she was, inventing a post-game date for the two of them when it was a lot more likely that he'd find a reason to leave before the match ended. Ginny ran a hand through her hair, surprised as always to feel the curls. Only now her hair was also stiff from whatever the Muggles used in their pool water - she really needed a shower. Pushing aside thoughts of whether she may or may not need to come up with new, Muggle topics of conversation, Ginny stood up and stripped off her clothing, peeling off her still damp swimsuit with a grimace. A shower would be heavenly.
Except that in addition to floating underwater with a bubble-head charm, a steaming hot shower was another of Ginny's favorite places to daydream. And the shower had the added advantage of not having the risk of getting caught. Now Ginny found herself thinking about the visitor's guide to Dublin that had been sitting on her desk since she arrived. It likely contained any number of places that two ordinary visitors to the city could explore - together even - if they wished. Castles and things, she thought vaguely. Her hand slipped lower. And maybe some of those castles would have private, out of the way corners behind old suits of armor and corridors hidden behind tapestries where two people might slip away from the group for a tour of their own.
Ginny leaned against the tiled wall of the shower, imagining James standing - no, kneeling - in front of her in one of those dark corridors. He was gently spreading her open, teasing her with his fingers while she groaned. The inhabitants of the portrait just across from them were giggling, but the prospect of being watched by a trio of painted sisters was more arousing than embarrassing. Ginny's fingers were nimble on her skin, tickling, stroking, and finally thrusting in and out in a rhythm that brought her swift pleasure. One of the maidens called a bit of encouragement to James and he obligingly found Ginny's clit, pressing his thumb unerringly into the center. "Like this?" he asked. "Is this what you like?"
"Yessss," Ginny hissed out loud. James's hand in her mind and her own hand in the shower moved even faster and Ginny pressed herself more firmly against the wall as her climax approached and then spilled over her. Every part of her body tightened. In her mind James rose swiftly to his feet and crushed his mouth against hers while the painted ladies applauded.
Only when Ginny's breathing had returned to normal and she was scrubbing at her hair did she realize that the scene she'd constructed in her head was not some moldering Irish ruin but in fact Hogwarts castle. Specifically, a spot on the third floor popular for its relative lack of foot traffic and echo-y halls that warned if anyone was approaching. Ginny herself had taken a boyfriend or two there during her years in school but now she shook her head. She and James were certainly not going to be sneaking away to snog anywhere, and especially not anywhere magical. Still, it had been nice, remembering that corridor and those watching maidens. And there was nothing wrong with daydreaming about James; it wasn't like she was going to do anything about it. Exploring Dublin with James could be fun. Ginny wasn't a bit worried about it; she'd have her 'water bottle' with her at all times, of course.
HPHPHPHP
A week later, Ginny had seen more of Dublin than she'd ever expected. James had in fact come to watch Peamount's practice game and then stayed for the entire thing. He'd asked her a number of technical questions about their offensive strategy afterwards and Ginny had been relieved to be able to answer them all. He'd been particularly interested in an offensive play that happened to be based on a Quidditch formation Ginny had suggested. It had been easy to talk about the widened arrow shape and how it promoted scoring because of Ginny's familiarity with using it in the air. And she'd only nearly mentioned her broom once, catching herself and faking a short coughing fit until she was able to redirect her answer to describe how she ran instead.
They'd been in sitting in a local pub by then, not leaving until it was nearly closing time, and several days later met to walk through St. Stephen's Green after her practice. They also continued to see each other at the gym, but when James admitted that 5:15 was rather early for him Ginny had readily agreed. Now they met in the Talbot's lobby at 7:30, which did wonders for her sleep.
Today they were walking around Trinity College, both watching the increasingly ominous-looking clouds rolling in and debating whether to return to the hotel. A loud clap of thunder decided the matter and they managed to find a taxi just as the rain began.
"I've got some beer in my room, if you fancy a drink," James said as they walked through the lobby of the hotel. There was a deliberate casualness in his voice that Ginny found endearing.
"That sounds lovely, thank you," she answered, just as casually.
"Good then," James nodded. "I wasn't sure if you ever drank anything but water, carrying around two bottles like you do."
Ginny hadn't realized he'd noticed, but then, James was some sort of investigator. Two water bottles was probably a sign of something significant for Muggles. She'd have to be more careful. "I love beer," she assured James. It wasn't quite true; Ginny tended towards either drambuie when she didn't want to get drunk and Firewhiskey when she did. Still, she'd had beer before, usually served in a frosty mug kept icy cold by a special charm that didn't reach the handle. She could certainly handle a mug or two tonight.
Once in James' room he fumbled at the small ice box set into a cabinet in the closet. Ginny had only recently discovered hers and been so fascinated she had vowed to find something to put in it before she left Ireland. He emerged a moment later carrying two bottles and a wary expression. "Ummm, here," he said, handing one to Ginny. "I hope you like Harp. It's umm, one of my favorites."
Harp beer was obviously Muggle, with a label that neither sparkled nor popped nor contained moving figures. Ginny made a noncommittal sound. "Yes, thank you," she said. "Perfect." She stared at the bottle - not a mug, but a bottle. It had some sort of cap over the top - the type she'd normally tap with her wand to remove. She gave it a surreptitious twist but it didn't move. Fuck.
"I uhh, it seems to be stuck," she said weakly. She held out her bottle to James. "Could you maybe help me?" Hopefully he'd just assume she was a weak sort of female. Normally Ginny wouldn't play that role for a million Galleons but normally she wasn't pretending to be a Muggle either.
James had a look of concentration on his face as he twisted his own bottle. "Mine too," he muttered. He bit his lip and Ginny was momentarily distracted. Suddenly his face cleared. "Oh wait, it needs an opener." He jumped up. "I'm umm, just not sure I have one . . . hold on."
HPHPHP
Harry couldn't believe he'd forgotten that Muggle beer needed a special tool to open. Bright red, he knelt down in front of the icebox and was relieved to see a familiar contraption bolted to the side. Uncle Vernon had had one in his liquor cabinet. "Here it is," he called, relieved that Jenny couldn't see that it took him three tries to get his bottle open. He opened hers too and returned to sit on his bed. "Umm, cheers?" Please don't ask my why I couldn't open the beer.
But Jenny didn't seem at all concerned. She clinked her bottle against his. "Cheers," she said, taking a deep pull. Harry couldn't miss the grimace that crossed her face but she swallowed and smiled. "Not bad," she said.
Harry tasted his own beer and had to agree with Jenny's initial assessment. But he had to pretend that this Harp was one of his favorites. He took a bigger sip. Jenny was settled on the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and didn't look at all uncomfortable about his blunders. He gave her a tentative smile and when she smiled back Harry felt himself relax. They'd had no trouble talking all week; so what if this time she was in his room? It wasn't like anything was going to happen, other than that they wouldn't get kicked out at closing time.
"So, where should we visit next?" he asked. "I've heard the Dublin zoo is fascinating."
Jenny made a sad face.
"It's going to have to wait, I'm afraid. Peamount's headed out of town day after tomorrow. Four days of exhibitions. I might even get to play a bit."
Harry tried not to show his disappointment. It would not do to let Jenny know that he'd begun to look forward to their various adventures around Dublin. "That . . . that sounds brilliant," he said. "Especially if you get to play." He meant it too. It was probably rather boring for a professional football player to be mostly relegated to the sidelines; even the reserves in Quidditch got to play sometimes, especially when the games went long. It wouldn't do for Harry to act anything other than enthusiastic for his friend. He gave her a bigger smile. "I'm looking forward to hearing about it when you get back."
Jenny grinned. "Oh, I'll bore you with a description of all the various benches I warm. If I really do get to play it will likely only be at the end of a match when everyone else is tired out." She put the bottle back up to her mouth and Harry was momentarily distracted at the way her lips closed around it. Fuck.
"I'm sure you'll be the most brilliant 'Pea' there, sitting or playing," he assured her with smirk. It was another blatantly flirtatious thing to say but it had somehow become a joke of theirs, coming up with over-the-top come-ons. Indeed, Jenny's eyes lit up.
"I'd expect a top investigator to get some more evidence before making a bold claim like that." She raised her eyebrows.
Maybe it was the beer, but Harry didn't hesitate before slowly looking Jenny up and down. "I've got all the evidence I need," he said. He got up, suddenly restless. "Can I get you another beer?"
Two hours later they'd each had a third bottle and were sitting side by side on the bed, talking about their schooling. Harry had told Jenny - with some trepidation - that he'd gone to a place called Smeltings; what if it turned out her family was full of Smeltings' men? But she'd just nodded and mentioned that she'd been taught at home and then at a local public school. The storm outside had finally quieted and the room was darkening when Harry found his head unwittingly drifting towards Jenny's right in the middle of her story about how she and her brothers - she had a lot of them, she said - had to constantly chase the rabbits out from her family's garden.
"My brother Ro . . . llins tried to actually catch one; said he wanted to try throwing it over the wall. But he wasn't . . . James?"
Harry jerked back just in time. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I umm . . . sorry." He thought about making an excuse that he was tired but he didn't want Jenny to think he found her boring. Quite the opposite, actually.
"It's okay." Jenny's voice was soft by his ear. Harry closed his eyes. Fuck.
A crash of thunder broke the moment. Jenny jumped back and Harry leapt completely off the bed, his heart beating crazily.
"I . . . I guess the storm's not over after all," he stuttered. "But it's umm, it's getting late." He gestured randomly at his desk. "And I'd better, umm. . ."
"Yeah, me too," said Jenny. She picked up her water bottle. "I should really . . . yeah." She moved quickly around the bed. "Thank you for the beer and . . . well, thank you."
Harry nodded. "Have a good road trip." He closed the door behind Jenny and leaned his forehead against the wood. That had been too close. Kissing Jenny would have been a Very Bad Idea, and Harry tried to be relieved he hadn't followed through. But all he could think about was how Jenny's body might feel pressed up against his, and before he knew it, it was time to take his second shower of the day. Buggers. Four days apart was probably a good thing. He could get his libido under control and make more progress on the case he'd come to Ireland to investigate in the first place. He'd discovered some interesting information so far and four days alone was probably just what he needed to finalize his theories. Yes, it was good he hadn't kissed Jenny.