Chapter Text
Ginny adjusted herself on the couch, repositioning the ice pack on her side. In the hour she’d had to herself since she’d gotten home from practice, she hadn’t been able to read more than a paragraph of her book due to the smarting bruise on her hip. She shoved a decorative pillow - a kind but misguided gift from her sister-in-law Fleur - between the arm of the couch and her rear and finally felt relief.
She’d suffered through a chaser-intensive practice this morning, with every other position acting as beaters to improve the chasers’ dodging. Admittedly, Ginny was flattered by the sheer amount of bludgers that came her way, knowing being targeted meant she needed more of a challenge to be impeded. As it was, she was relieved to have a few moments to herself before -
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” The front door slammed open with a crash, ushering in a rambunctious wild-haired two-year old followed by an equally wild-haired man. She closed her eyes and smiled, bracing for what she was sure to come next.
“Mama!” The toddler cried, slamming his entire weight into Ginny’s midsection. He immediately started climbing, willing her to pay attention to him. He continued shouting, both breaking Ginny’s peaceful rest and delighting her. James’ joy was one of her favorite sounds, alongside the cheer of a crowd and the sound of summer rain on the roof.
Harry laughed, depositing his bag by the door. There’s another of my favorite sounds, Ginny thought. The laughter they now enjoyed had been hard fought and won through years of uncertainty under Tom’s rise to power. Even after the war was over, laughter sometimes felt like a cruel reminder of the childhoods they’d left behind in favor of fighting a war - and the people they’d lost in the process. They had often discussed their fears about this new world, in turns assuring the other that they were okay, that Voldemort was really gone, and that they really were still alive. In the past two years, however, their trepidation was soothed by the unbridled joy and innocence of their son.
“Careful, James, it looks like mum has had a hard day at work.” James slid off of his mother and the couch, running to his box of toys in the corner. Harry leaned over the back of the couch to kiss Ginny tenderly. He pulled away just enough to look at her. “What’d they do to you today?” he said, gesturing to the ice pack.
“Chaser-focused practice,” she replied. “Bludgers everywhere. Shoulda seen Richards though,” she said with a laugh, “she looks a hell of a lot worse than me. That’s what she gets for what she said to the press last week. And they said I was green when I joined...”
She deserved it, thought Harry, now gently stroking his wife’s face. “And this shiner here is just another prize of the day?” His thumb grazed over the surface of her cheekbone, causing her to wince.
“Ow, you git!” She laughed as she said it, soon interrupted by the tiny boy standing in the doorway now testing the feel of the word “git” over and over, getting progressively louder as he gained confidence.
Harry pressed another soft kiss on Ginny’s forehead before standing upright to playfully shout, “Hey, you! You don’t need to be saying that word!” Harry took off running around the couch, eliciting shrill screams from James.
Ginny sat up and watched as Harry scooped up his tiny clone, in a fit of giggles, and blew raspberries over his tubby little belly.
“We can’t be saying those things,” said Harry between raspberries, “or the other mums in the pickup line will really have something to prattle on about.” He set the squealing toddler on the ground to run freely and added, “which reminds me…”
Harry plopped himself down on the couch next to Ginny, slipping his arm behind her shoulders. “The mums directing the pickup line today asked me if you’d been feeling a bit ill lately.” Ginny swept her hair back behind her neck and settled her head against Harry’s shoulder. “Why would they ask that?” She inquired.
“Well,” Harry started, watching James crash two toy trains together, “it sounded like you might’ve had a bit of...” he paused, knowing the conversation could take a very different turn if he was not careful, “an interaction with them that left them concerned about how you were feeling.” He’d felt he’d apparently chosen the right words when he felt Ginny tense only slightly.
“An interaction?,” she snorted. “You mean when I told them where they could shove their requested snack list?” She launched into the story with wild hand movements. Harry smiled. This was just one of the reasons he loved her - her passionate stance on everything from the way the bog roll should face (always away from the wall) to the new team kits for Puddlemere United (she’d made sure to tell their keeper how wretched she thought they were at the beginning of their last match).
She wasn’t opinionated for the sake of being so, or to spite Harry, as he’d heard several male colleagues felt their wives did. No, she’d grown up in a household where boldness had been her hallmark, to a certain extent to separate herself from her brothers for something other than being the only girl.
This was her stubbornness, Molly liked to call it, but Harry saw the softer side of this passion too. Whenever they’d have an argument, Ginny was usually the first to back down and ask calmly for Harry to explain his view. She listened so well and so empathetically, often prompting Harry when he couldn’t find the words for his argument against her.
He let his mind wander to these moments, when he just wanted to scoop her up on the spot and take her to their bed (or right where she was standing), but was soon broken out of this distraction by Ginny lifting off of his chest and shouting, “a bran muffin isn’t going to help your precious little Winifred, Bullstrode, she can barely tell the difference between a glue stick and an ice lollie!” She was panting slightly now, a flush rising on her freckled chest.
Harry laughed. “Just make sure you’re playing nice at school,” Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but Harry quickly continued, “and I’ll be sure to find someone to tip Illegal Artifacts to the need to re-investigate the Bullstrode residence.” He got up and turned to her, “Now how about some dinner” Her indignance faded softly into a smile, and she gave a playful tap to his bum as he bent to pick Up James.
He shot a warning glance over his shoulder. “Hey there, save it for dessert.”