Prompt fill - "Ginny has a match scheduled for Valentine's Day"
Someone had draped heart-shaped bunting across the tops of all the cubicles, and irrational as it was, Harry was having to fight the urge to tear it down. He felt as if it were mocking him: it was Valentine's Day, and rather than spending it with Ginny, he was stuck in the office steeped in reports for what had been a long and tiring case, though the hours of surveillance now seemed positively thrilling compared to the paperwork. He reached the bottom of another report and scrawled his signature for what felt like the thousandth time, then shot a bitter look at the left-hand wall of his cubicle, as if his gaze could burn through the other side, where Ron should be sitting. As petty and selfish as it was, Harry might have felt better about being trapped in the office if Ron had been, too - but to general astonishment, Ron had, after going straight to Kingsley for permission, whisked Hermione off to Venice for a long weekend. "Can't see the attraction of a city that's ninety percent water, myself," he'd confided in Harry the previous day, "but Hermione was supposed to go with her parents when she was ten, but then she got a chicken disease, and she's wanted to go ever since."
"Chicken pox," was all Harry had said, as jealousy had pummelled angry fists against his chest. It was ridiculous, really, because it wasn't as if he could have taken Ginny somewhere even if he'd got the time off - for right at this moment, as he glared at a mountain of paperwork, she was most likely sitting in a changing room in Falmouth, perhaps retying her plait or flexing her fingers as she often did pre-match. It would have been nice to watch the match - Harry went to as many as he could, but given his schedule, that number was not nearly as high as he liked. He sighed as he thought of the match, which would be beginning shortly … the Harpies versus the Falcons was always a nail-biter, and Ginny was sure to be on top of her game.
An idea suddenly occurred to him as he caught sight of the wireless balancing precariously on a stack of folders. As luck would have it, Robards chose that moment to pass by Harry's cubicle: Harry leapt to his feet, calling out his boss' name.
"Sir! Could I have the radio on?"
"As long as you keep it down," Robards replied briskly without breaking his gait. Harry cheered inwardly and pointed his wand at the radio, quickly lowering the volume: he tuned it to the right station just as a voice announced that the game had begun.
It was a gripping match, even from miles away, behind a desk: Falmouth were as brutal as ever, according to the rapid commentary, and Harry's heart leapt into his mouth every time he heard Ginny's name - and then soared as she scored goal after goal. When the commentator cried, "Farrell's got the Snitch! Holyhead wins!", Harry had to drive his heels into the floor to stop himself from jumping up and punching the air. His work had moved had a much slower rate for the duration of the match, yes - but it was only paperwork, and in this case, he would put his girlfriend first, every time.
But he found it hard to concentrate even after the radio was switched off, as his mind kept wandering to Ginny, picturing her red-faced and beaming as she performed a lap of victory …
"Working hard, or hardly working?"
For a moment, he thought he was still imagining things: that his desire to see Ginny had conjured up an illusion. But then he blinked, and she was still there, grinning at him from the entrance of his cubicle, still in her Harpies robes and covered in mud.
"Hardly working," he said as he pushed back his chair and got up. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be celebrating with the team -"
"Oh, we've done that enough times, they can miss me just this - wait," said Ginny, looking suddenly puzzled. "How did you know we won? It was barely ten minutes ago!"
Harry pointed to the wireless. Ginny's expression softened. "You listened to the match?"
"Well, since I couldn't be there …" he shrugged. "I'm sorry, I wanted to be, I wanted to spend the whole day with you but -"
"But nothing," said Ginny firmly. "The Auror department needs Harry Potter, I get it." She moved into the cubicle; Harry strode forwards and met her in the middle.
"Do you?" he teased, looking down at her as his arms encircled her waist.
"Well, I certainly want him," Ginny murmured with a wicked glint in her eye that made Harry grow warm. "Say … I know you've been hardly working, you slacker - listening to the Quidditch at work, goodness me! - but d'you think you could possibly take off early?"
"I'll see what I can do," said Harry, his mouth dry. He had never been more determined not to take no for an answer.