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Author: Basil M Story: The Harry/Ginny Chronicles Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 5 Words: 12,818
BasilM's Note: I would just like to say that I have not read this, and that a) it is fitting, as the next (and final) chapter is for Rachel (Pooca's) birthday, b) you are sure to love this, because everything Pooca writes is fabby, but c) if you do not, please direct all flames to her, not me. (And if possible, review in her thread. But don't worry about it, as she insists it's no big deal.) Thank you. Chapter 4: French and Quidditch "Harry, tu es aveugle, et je ne sais pas pourquoi que je t'aime." Ginny put her books on the table and sat across from the bewildered Gryffindor decisively. "What?" "J'ai dit que tu es aveugle, et je ne sais pas pourquoi que je vous aime." I said, you are a blind idiot and I don't know why I like you. Telling Harry off for little things—not doing homework, not eating correctly, his general complaining—that satisfaction did not even compare to ranting at him in way he didn't even understand. Saying things she always wanted to say. She smirked. "Are you speaking French?" he asked incredulously, bright green eyes wide. "Oui. Finite." She tapped her want on her throat. "Hi." "Hi." He looked at her as though she was the strangest thing he had ever seen, which was, of course, not true. This was Hogwarts. "What was…?" He trailed off, gesturing towards his neck. His lovely, smooth—no, Ginny, stop. "We learned it in Muggle Studies…it only does muggle languages. French, Spanish—you get the idea." Ginny picked up her wand and held it to her throat. "Peregre Bililinguis Français. Comprenez-vous maintenant, mon chien bête?" Now do you understand, my silly dog?" "What did you say? Oh never mind. I get it, you can take it off now." "Je ne prends pas d'ordres des cochons Britanniques!" I do not take orders from British pigs! He must have understood the gist of her words, because he sent her a pleading look. However, this was too much fun to pass up. "Vous voulez que vous j'ait parlé maintenant, enfant?" You want me to speak to you now, child? "Gin…" So maybe she couldn't resist his charms. "Finite." She ended the spell, impatiently brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "What did you say?" Ginny smiled placidly. "I asked you if you understood." Harry cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "I'm sure that's all you said, too." "Yep. What are you working on?" "Potions." He pulled a face. "You?" "I'm doing research for a muggle studies essay. Say, Harry, perhaps you could discuss how light bulbs work—in say, three hundred words? And speak rather slowly…" She got out a quill and pantomimed taking down his every word. "No." "Then I am forced to speak French to you." She held up her wand threateningly, and Harry laughed. "Okay, maybe later, after Quidditch practice." "We have Quidditch?" "Yeah, didn't Ron tell you?" She rolled her eyes. "No, it seems our beloved captain is trying to schedule practices without me." "We're heading down in about a half hour." She groaned. "Forget about actually doing my homework, then." Harry shrugged, strands of black hair falling into his eyes. "Sorry." She grinned. "Sorry enough to write me an essay?" Something flickered in his eyes, but then it was gone. "Not a chance." * The fact that she'd finished nearly none of her workload did not seem as terrible, however, in comparison to the Quidditch practice Ron was forcing upon them. "All right—Ginny! Go!" She reacted instantly, catching the quaffle sent from Katie and swooping left. "Jack! Try to hit her!" Such a kind, considerate brother. She dodged the bludger that had been headed dangerously towards her arm. At least their aim is improving. Seeing Sharon, the third chaser, open, she tossed the quaffle away. Sharon caught it—and Ron blocked another attempt for a goal. Damn. "Nice try, ladies, but Ginny looked straight at Sharon before she threw it. It made it easy to guess what she was doing. Okay—again!" The girls congregated back at the other end. "Listen—" Ginny said, before they went to go, "I think we're doing fine, he just knows the play, so it's easy for him to get it. I think we should pull a different move this time." "How about I pass to Sharon, and she'll pass it to you at the last second?" Katie offered. Ginny nodded. "Yeah. On the signal…" "Go!" Ginny shot down the field, intent on getting to the goals. "What are you—Andrew! Get on top of things!" She noted, with gratification, that Ron was startled. She looked to her right, and saw Sharon nod shortly at her. She was about to throw— "Gin! Look out!" Suddenly the ground was coming towards her at an alarming rate. Before her nerves registered the bludger's strike, she hit the ground. All went black. * Her muscles ached, and she shifted. "See Mr. Weasley? There is no need to fret." "I'm not fretting! I'm just…just a touch worried…" "Hmph." "Really! Not much at all!" "Gin?" Her name was spoken very softly, and very close to her face. She opened her eyes, and a white light blinded her. "Harry?" "Ginny!" She was jolted out her foggy brain, away from the land strange voices and Harry's blurry face quite near. "Oy, Ron, don't make such a racket…" Ginny sat up and rubbed her eyes, squinting at her brother's pale face. "Me, make a racket? Wait ‘til Mum hears about this…" He grimaced, and drew a finger across his throat. She suddenly realized that she was seated in a hospital wing bed, and she had no idea why. "What happened? All I remember is you being a prat, so we decided to mix up the formation on you…" Ron scowled. "Yeah, and that nasty trick made Andrew so confused, his bludger knocked you right off your broom." Ginny looked down quickly at herself, searching for visible wounds. "He hit your shoulder, and you were waiting for the quaffle. Knocked you clear off," Harry said. She had forgotten he was there. "It's all right now, Miss Weasley," Madame Pomfrey spoke briskly. "Head out when you wish—if any problems persist, just let me know." She left the room without another comment, leaving a surprised silence. "That was easy," Ginny said. "Usually you have to fight to be released." Ron smirked. "Oh, you just had a silly little broken shoulder. Nothing too big." "My shoulder was broken?" Ron nodded. "Yes, but she mended it in a tick." Ginny examined what she could see, but her clothes where preventing her from seeing any bruising. "Oh, bugger." Ginny looked up in time to see Ron staring dejectedly at his watch. "I'm late to the prefect's meeting. Hermione is going string me up. I've got to run." Ron smoothed his uniform. "Harry, make sure Ginny gets back safe, won't you?" Harry nodded, and Ron dashed out of the room. "Okay." Ginny rolled her eyes, but Harry didn't respond. "You don't have to mind me, you know, if you're too busy." Harry shook his head. "No, it's fine." He was looking at her in the strangest way, as though he had just discovered her hair wasn't really red, or she wasn't Ron's sister at all. Not likely. The silence pressed down on her, but she found she did not want to leave. "I doubt he'd be so fussed about these duties if it wasn't Hermione." Harry cracked a small smile, but didn't manage anything more than "Probably not." She was about to suggest they should head out, when Harry spoke up. "It was very…strange…seeing you fall." "Strange?" she asked dubiously. He winced. "No. I mean…well…scary." She raised an eyebrow. "Scary." Harry's eyes were much greener in this light. "It did slam your shoulder rather hard. Very hard. Does it hurt?" "I'm not sure. It was my right side?" She turned and eyed her shoulder suspiciously. A finger came into view, and she followed it up to see Harry's face looking intently at her side. She fought the blood trying to rush to her face as he gently traced a circle. "It hit…right here." She bit her lip, and his arm dropped lamely to his side. "Er…yeah." She swallowed. "I don't…feel anything. Or any pain, at least. Yeah." "That's good." He looked as shaken as she felt, and she watched his Adam's apple bob. "Er…I suppose we should…" Ginny couldn't bear to finish the sentence. "Yeah. Wait." Harry looked straight into her eyes. "It was very frightening watching you fall." Ginny didn't know how to respond to that. She just nodded. "And…and I'm sorry I couldn't help you." She started to protest, opening her mouth. "No. Wait." He held up a hand to stop her. "Let me finish." "It was very frightening watching you fall, Ginny, and I'm sorry I couldn't help. But I need…I need to tell you…" He took out his wand. "Peregre Bililinguis Français." "Harry, what are you—" "Ginny, c'etait tres effrayant de te regarder tombe et ja suis desole que je ne pourrais pas t'aider. Mais comme tu es tombe, je me suis rendu compte que je t'aime. Beaucoup. J'étais si peur... et j'espérais que nous pourrions, je sais pas... de sortir ensemble. Sans les autres gens. Comme a Hogsmeade." It was all rattled off very quickly. He looked desperately earnest as he said this—but—"I have no idea what you just said." "Finite. That was the idea." He let out a large breath. "It was?" "Yes. Now it'll be easier to say to you." He did, in fact, look like a large load had been lifted off his shoulders. "That's the strangest logic I've ever heard of," she said, shaking her head. "Do you want to know what I said or not?" "Yes." "Okay. Ginny, it was very frightening watching you fall, and I am sorry I could not help you. But I realized--as you fell--I care about you. Very much. I was so afraid...and I was hoping we could, I do not know... spend some time together. Without other people around. Like in Hogsmeade." He looked at her expectantly. "Harry…I don't know what to say." He slumped. "Oh. I'm—I'm sorry, I guess—" "No! No, this is good, I think…yes, very good…" She trailed off. Ginny was stunned…she'd liked him forever…given up on him…returned to him… And here he was, standing in front of her, asking for her to love him. There was only one thing to do, after that mess of French and Quidditch. She reached out, guided him closer…and snogged him silly. * Years later, she would know, and attest, that her and Harry's getting together was inevitable—it was, after all, true love, and it had been destined from the start. You can't sink what is fated. But as they walked back to the Gryffindor common room that evening, she didn't thank fate or destiny for the goofy smiles they kept sending across the intertwined hands. She thanked Muggle Studies for the charm, and Andrew Kirke for hitting her with a bludger. Merci Beaucoup. A/N: This is a very special Happy Birthday present to Rachel! (BasilM, duh.) Without you, darling, I would not be here writing today. So everyone should direct all flames towards her. :o) Seriously though… you're the best. *Hugs* PS: Thanks to LadyG for the wonderful French help (as I am hopeless) and to Joe and Sarah for editing.
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