A/N—The nail gun did not happen to me…well, not exactly anyway. Lol, I'm not a complete moron. But it did happen to my friend as we were decorating for Prom. See, it was like three in the morning, and she and I were putting up this huge entrance thing that required nails. Well, someone smartly decided that it would be a good idea to give high school students a nail gun…it wasn't. She went a bit crazy with it, and ended up shooting one through her hand. She then proceeded to fling her hand in ever direction, spraying her blood all over my face, and into my eye. Gross, right? Lol told you that you didn't want to know…but a few people seemed to think that I was some sort of an idiot, so I had to clarify. Can't have that sort of reputation now. Oh, and have you ever seen men around tools? They lose their damn minds. I know that Harry grew up muggle, but that doesn't mean he's a master of tools. Let's do a poll, who knows how to properly work a nail gun? Would you recognize one on sight?

Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Fourteen
Of Guilt-tripping and Unexpected Occurrences

I am currently sitting on my couch, propped up by recently fluffed pillows. Life is good. I stare with satisfaction down at my bandaged hand; perhaps this wasn't so horrible after all.

All right, so maybe I was the one that bandaged my hand...but it just gives a showy effect to have it all wrapped up. Without a bandage or cast of some sort, people will forget that you are injured. Using my "good" hand, I ring the small bell that resides on the end table.

Harry rushes in. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

"I am rather parched. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

"Of course, right away." He leaves for the kitchen; I lean back and make myself more comfortable. This is only stage one, too.

I have to admit, Harry is every inch the gallant hero. All the nurses wasted no time in retelling my tale to me. How Harry popped in with me in his arms—double apparition, no easy trick—shouting out orders right and left. How he paced back and forth, mumbling to himself, while I was laying unconscious in my bed. How he told the nursing staff that he would take on all my bills, and to do whatever possible to make me more comfortable.

Yes, it's all very sweet…almost sickeningly so. No matter, as the resident "baby" of the family, I know how to milk things such as this.

Harry walks swiftly back into the room, triumphantly holding out my glass of water. He leans down next to me, "Here you go. Is there anything else that you need?"

"Well, I—no, it's too much to ask."

"What is it? Nothing is too much, Gin."

I attempt to appear strained. "It's just—you see, Harry, I'm quite lonely. What with you back doing your work and everything…"

"Oh. Well, I guess that I could postpone my work."

"I couldn't ask you to do that, Harry."

"You aren't asking, I'm offering. No, it's fine, Gin. Not a problem at all."

"If you're sure…"

"I am." He sits on the sofa by my feet. We sit in silence for a moment before he automatically takes a hold of my feet and massages the left one gently. This is nice.

See, this is how things should always be. Everyone should have their own personal slave—I mean helper. Right.

I lean into him instinctively; he places his arm around my shoulders. He gives my shoulder a squeeze, I smile up at him. The door opens and my mother storms in. Okay, so which action doesn't belong here?

"Ginny! Oh, thank God, you're alive!"

"All right…Hello to you too, Mum."

She rushes over to the sofa and forces me into a hug, which I awkwardly return. After the hug, she immediately gives me 'the look'. You know that You-are-in-so-much-trouble gaze… "Did I raise my children this way? To just not call your mother when you are lying in the hospital dying?"

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry intervenes, "with all due respect…Ginny was hardly in danger of dying."

To which, I glare. How would he know? Did he have a nail stuck through his hand? No. I could have very easily died.

My mother, to the shock of no one, pays little heed to this comment. "Ginny," she continues on, "I just do not know what has gotten into you. I had to hear it from Mary Lucas of all people that my own daughter was in St. Mungos. Are you okay? What happened? How did it happen? Do you need to come back to the Burrow until you recover?"

I press myself against the back of the sofa, attempting to put some distance between my face and my mother's finger. "Umm, well you see, what happened is—is that…"

"I shot her with a nail gun," Harry sighs guiltily. "Accidentally," he amends just as quickly.

My mum gasps audibly, "Harry James Potter, I would expect that from Fred or George…or Ron…or Arthur…or even Ginny herself for that matter…but you?"

Harry diverts his eyes to the ground, "Sorry, ma'am."

She tsks at him. "Well you have to be careful with these sorts of things, now. Honestly, Harry, a nail gun is not that complicated of a device."

"Yes, ma'am," he says solemnly.

I roll my eyes; he could stick up for himself a bit. Fine, if he won't do it… "It was an accident, Mum, and now it's over. I'm over it, Harry's over it; there is no need for you to lecture a twenty-four year-old man."

Harry looks at me with wide eyes and a "my hero" expression, as if he weren't the man that defeated Voldemort.

"I still think that it'd do you best to rest at home."

"I am home." Whoops. I did not mean to say that out loud. Oh, shit…this is going to be bad.

"You are home," she repeats slowly. "Well, it is reassuring to know that after nineteen years of caring for you and providing for you under my roof you have a new home now."

"Mum—"

She waves me off, "No, I understand. After all, what do you need me for? I'm only your mother…I only endured twenty hours of pain to bring you into this world. But what does any of that matter? You're an adult now."

I grimace as she puts a condescending emphasis on the word adult. "I didn't mean it like that, you know."

She sniffs indignantly, "I'm sure that you didn't. I think it'd be best for me to leave now."

"It appears that way," I mumble dryly.

Without another word, she stalks out of the house. Needless to say, my mother has become…rather emotional as the years have progressed. I think the war did her in. Too much stress, you understand. When Percy turned against our family she and my father became convinced that we all needed to have close family time—all the time. Of course, Percy turned back and apologized to all of us about halfway through the war…but no matter, she still expects each of us to either betray the family or die if she isn't keeping constant watch over us.

I turn to Harry, "I swear insanity doesn't run in my family."

He smiles, "Yes it does. But I've been publicly accused of insanity enough that I've come to believe it myself…so it works out."

I shrug, "All right, then. I—"

"Ginny," Harry interrupts.

"Yes?"

"I…Don't toy with me, please. I've known you long enough, and seen you with enough men to know that you…you do not stay with the same person for an overly long amount of time. I recall you telling me that you have a fear to commitment, and I understand, I do, but if you have that fear with me…if you have no intentions of this turning into anything, tell me now—it is the only thing that is fair."

I raise an eyebrow at him. The moment was finally upon us, that moment where Harry inevitably asks for more. Damn, I really hate moments like this. You see, I don't know where this is going or where I want it to go. Furthermore, I don't even know what "this" is! I'm not saying that I want to begin anything with Harry…but, then again, I'm not saying that I don't want to begin anything with Harry. Damn.

"Ginny?" he says. "An answer sometime today would be nice."

I glance over at him, since when did Harry become a smart-aleck? "I…well, I mean, I guess—we could go on one date."

"One date," he muses with a smile, "generous."

I nod dumbly.

Harry rubs his hands together, "So when shall this one date take place?"

I feel my cheeks burn—since when do I get embarrassed over this sort of thing? "I don't know," I mumble, "whenever."

"Tonight?"

Tonight? Was the kid socially challenged when it came to dates? "That's rather short notice."

"I've been waiting for a while, you know."

"Oh. Well, I—" wait a minute. I do not fall into traps like this. Harry thinks he can trick me? Please, I am the master at this game. "I don't think I can."

"And why is that?"

I hold up my hand, "I don't feel well. You understand I'm sure."

He smirks at my hand, "Your hand didn't seem to bother you a few minutes ago when you picked up your drink with it."

My mouth drops indignantly, "It comes and goes."

Harry stands, "If you say so. I'll pick you up tonight at…oh, say around eight, then?"

"I—wait, I didn't—"

"Seven?"

"Fine!" I yell out of sheer frustration alone.

"Great," he responds with a smile, "see you at seven."

He then disapparates and I am left alone in my ever-present confusion. What the hell? How did this happen? It seriously makes no sense, whatsoever. I mean, I was protesting, I was holding strong, and now…I've been had. Harry has gotten sneaky. Hmm, I kind of like that.

What can I say? I'll take a "bad boy" over a good one any day of the week. If a man is horrible acting I normally find myself strangely attracted to him. Typical female, right? Oh well, I do not have time to worry about such matters, for the shower is singing its sweet tune, begging me to come in. Who am I to deny an inanimate object?

A/N—Yeah, yeah, it's short, I know. But finals are coming and I am just kind of getting out what I can. I promise that as soon as Winter Break hits I will be a writing machine. Until then, (hopefully) enjoy my short round of updates and review, please.

Also, Go Blow!! Ha-ha, anyone not a fan of American college football probably thinks I'm crazy. Oh well, what can you do? The team up north is going nowhere near the Rose Bowl. Lol, my deepest condolences to any Michigan fans.