A/N: This is a microfic that will become a longfic... stay tuned!
He should have been looking at the snitch, really. Yet something else bright kept catching his eyes, namely the red-headed Holyhead Harpies Chaser. She was fast, agile, and flew through the air like it was second nature with the Quaffle under her arm. He was captivated by her, or that's at least that's what the papers would write the following day.
As Seeker he has no business keeping track of the other team's Chasers, he just needed to know the score. But he was glad that day he had been looking at her. She had just thrown the Quaffle through the hoops of his team, distracted by scoring when a Bludger hit her in the head. She was several metres below him and he watched as her eyes rolled back into her head and she slowly dropped sideways as she went unconscious. Harry didn't hesitate one second. He immediately rushed down as she tumbled to the ground, attempting to race gravity. With a curve in his flight path, he ended below her and stretched his arms out to catch her, his own legs tightening on his broom to keep them both upright. She landed in his arms, still unconscious and he flew to the ground, where Healers immediately rushed to them and took her off his arms. He watched worriedly as they carried her away and didn't stop looking until she was out of sight, forgetting that the game above him continued.
She sat at the kitchen table at The Burrow, taking turns sipping tea and taking gulps of the horrid potion the Healers had given her to recover from her head trauma. She examined the table without much interest, refusing to look anyone in the eye. In the same way she had refused to know the outcome of the match. She didn't want to know how badly they had lost.
"Dear," her mother said softly and Ginny bit back an objection to anything her mother wished to say. "Your saviour is here to see you."
Ginny moaned loudly. "Please don't call him that. I don't want to see the pathetic Potter prat."
"You're welcome," a voice said, a man's voice she had only heard a few times. "Nice alliteration, I guess that means you don't have lasting brain damage."
Her head shot up and her eyes met the gorgeous green eyes she had been distracted by after scoring her goal. The handsome Seeker stood in the kitchen, her mother beaming up at the poor guy.
"Do you want tea? I just made some," she offered Seeker Potter.
"That would be lovely… Mrs Weasley is it?" he said with a charming smile.
Her mother chuckled. "It's Molly for you, dear." She handed him a mug, told him where the sugar was and then promptly left the kitchen though she had been in the middle of preparing dinner.
"Come to gloat?" she asked. Potter looked at her with so much confusion that she promptly glared at him.
"Actually came to see if you were alright. I went to the infirmary but you had already gone home," he said, sitting down beside her with his mug as if he belonged there.
Potter prat, Potter prat, Potter prat, she chanted to herself. Potter prat with the gorgeous eyes and the charming smile and the soft arms she had felt in a semi-conscious state.
"I don't know why you aren't happier, you scored the winning goal," the Potter prat said. Realisation dawned on his face. "You don't know. The Harpies won."
She looked at him in surprise. "What?"
A blush crept up his cheeks. "I didn't see the Snitch because I was looking at you." He looked down at his mug. "I caught you and your Seeker got the Snitch instead."
"Pathetic," she muttered.
"Yes, pathetic Potter, you've said. Please can you call me Harry? I am sure you can find a word to go with that too."
Handsome Harry, handsome– fuck. She felt her cheeks burn. "How can you miss the Snitch, it was right by your ear?" she said.
"How would you have known that if you didn't know the outcome…" His eyes lit up. "Unless you were looking at me…" He looked far too smug.
"Don't flatter yourself," she snipped.
"Potter, could I interest you in dinner? For saving my daughter?" her mum butted in eagerly.
"I certainly wouldn't mind. My whole team isn't talking to me you see," he said, and he turned back to Ginny. "They said my focus was on the wrong thing." He took up his tea again. "I was just more worried about you than the game I suppose."
She resisted rolling her eyes. "Don't say such things in the proximity of my mother, she'll have us married by dessert."
Harry snorted into his tea, sending droplets of tea over the rim of the mug. He wiped his chin. "Who knew this season's most eligible Chaser was that easy of a catch? But then I suppose I did catch you."
She hummed softly. "I'd skip dessert if I were you. I'm not kidding my mum–" She stopped as her mum appeared again.
"Do you like treacle tart?" Mrs Weasley asked as she popped her head in again. "Or something else? I could whip something else up…"
"Treacle tart is my favourite, actually," he told her and she disappeared again.
Harry looked back at her, meeting her glare. "What?" he said innocently. "It is!"
"You've committed to dessert... I warned you." She shook her head.
"So, Ginny is it?" he asked casually. "Better be on a first-name basis if you are to be Mrs Pathetic Potter." He grinned and something fluttered in her stomach. Must be the concussion.
She looked him up and down as if she was thinking about it. "Harry," she said huskily. "You couldn't handle me" She leaned towards him to tease him.
His face came closer to hers, eyes flitting to her lips before he locked eyes with hers. "Love, I like a challenge."