@ginnystrophyhusband Prompt 11
She’s a bit of a show off.
They’ve stolen down to the Quidditch pitch after dinner to fly. The season’s over, no need to practice any longer, but Harry reckons they’ve both managed to intertwine freedom and flying, both made it their little form of escape.
Ginny's diving and looping and toeing the line of recklessness with the dangerous maneuvers she’s pulling, and Harry watches her at a safer speed. Her bright red hair is streaming behind her in the wind, her legs wrapped expertly around her broom, and he likes that he’s free to appreciate her unabashedly now, unlike during those furtive moments at practice when he stole looks at her like a fucking criminal.
But then she pulls up, slams to such an abrupt halt that Harry sucks in a breath, and turns to him with a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Are you going to concede, yet?” she calls.
Harry didn’t know there’d been anything to concede. “What?”
“That I’m the better flyer.”
Harry stares at her - all freckles and bluster and mischief - and thinks she’s the best everything: flyer, girlfriend, thing that’s ever happened to him. But doesn’t say it, not yet. “I didn’t realize we were competing.”
She grins. “Life’s a competition, Potter.”
He likes the way she calls him that. And then it hits him all at once as he looks at her - Chaser, show off, competitiveness baked into her bones, banter that lives on her lips. My dad would’ve liked you, he thinks. No, he knows.
He chokes on it, the knowing. Because he’s never known anything about his father before, not really. His father’s just an idea of a person, cooked up from snippets of anecdotes from Sirius, photographs from Hagrid, memories from Snape. He doesn’t have anything of his father that isn’t ambiguous, wasn’t given to him by someone else, but this - this.
She’s still staring at him, hovering midair, and he wants to close the distance between them, wants to press his thanks into her lips for giving him this tiny piece of James Potter, but doesn’t know how to bridge the gap. Instead, he says, “Reckon I’d better keep you on your toes, then.”
And he flashes forward with a burst of speed, past the sound of her delighted cackle.
She chases after him, heckling, and Harry grins toward the purpling sky. Glad you approve.
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