More Than Words

Ginny scrambled to her feet, holding out the tart. Harry's bright green eyes flicked down to it and back to Ginny, saying nothing. Ginny bit her lip and looked down, slightly dejected. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured, so softly Harry almost missed it. 'I shouldn't have shouted at you. I want you to treat me like an adult, so I ought to behave like one.' Harry nodded and edged around Ginny, tapping the doorknob with his wand. He opened the door and walked inside, closing it quietly behind him.

xxxxxx

Harry leaned against the closed door, heart pounding. Isn't that what he wanted? For Ginny to apologize? 'Not like that...' he sighed. He didn't want Ginny to feel like she had to crawl back to him like a child caught doing something naughty. That wasn't the Ginny he'd fallen in love with. It was obvious she'd come straight to Soho from Wales. Her bag and broom were propped next to the door. He pushed himself off the door and opened it, reaching out for the treacle tart Ginny held balanced in her hands. 'I can't eat this all by myself,' he told her. 'Are you going to come in and help me out or what?'

Ginny grabbed her bag and broom and followed Harry into the flat. He shut the door and continued into the kitchen, waving his wand at the windows, opening them to the early evening breeze, then cast a few Cooling charms to alleviate the summer warmth that draped the flat. He looked over his shoulder to see Ginny hanging back bashfully by the door. For some reason that irritated Harry. 'Want some tea?' he asked, far more brusquely than he intended.

'Yes, thank you,' Ginny said, still wringing her hands a little. She took a tentative step forward. 'I...' she began, then stopped.

'Come sit,' Harry said, setting the tart on the table. Ginny settled on one of the chairs as if it might be yanked out from under her bum at any moment. Thoughts ran wildly through her head. She didn't quite know how to start, and Harry wasn't helping matters. He rattled the cups and plates as he pulled them from the cupboards, making the cutlery clatter when he set them on the table. Harry was waiting for Ginny to continue with what she'd begun in the corridor. He took his time filling the teakettle with fresh water, and set it aside, while he filled the teapot with hot water, and swirled it around, drawing out the process as much as he could. He tapped the kettle with his wand, and leaned against the counter, waiting for it boil. Ginny squirmed with discomfiture at his silence, the way he crossed his arms defensively over his chest, handle of his wand tapping against his bicep. Muddy yellow sparks shot out of the tip every other tap, and Ginny felt her shoulders shrink inward a little more. The kettle whistled softly, and Harry dumped the water from the teapot and spooned loose tea into before pouring the boiling water from the kettle into it. While the tea steeped, he cut the tart into slices.

Ginny gripped the edge of the seat of her chair, watching silently while Harry dished up two slices of treacle tart and poured tea. The few times she'd been in the flat, she'd never felt like a guest before. A week ago, she would have let herself into the flat, and made the tea herself. It was such a simple activity, one her parents did with motions so practiced they were automatic. It was a picture she refused to let herself think about during the war, but crept into her dreams. A week ago, they would have been talking about their respective days. She scrutinized Harry, studying the dark circles under his eyes. Had he been tossing restlessly, having nightmares again?

Harry interrupted her internal monologue by pushing a plate across the table to her and pulled the other one closer, slicing off a bite. He let it sit on his tongue, a look of surprise on his face. 'You made this?'

'Yes.'

'It's good,' he said in evident astonishment.

'It's Mum's recipe.'

'I didn't know you could bake like this,' Harry said in obvious surprise.

'I don't have the opportunity to do it every often,' Ginny confessed. 'Between Mum and Ron...' Silence spooled between them once more. Frustrated, Ginny pushed her plate aside and wrapped her hands around the mug of tea. She stared into the depths of the tea and ran a fingertip around the rim of the mug. 'I need you,' she said, again so quietly, Harry almost had to ask her to repeat herself. 'I don't like to admit I need someone else. Not for help or anything.' Her fingers tightened around the mug. 'I don't like to admit I can't do it all by myself.' She looked at Harry through lowered lashes. 'I know this is going to sound incredibly selfish, but...' Ginny lifted the mug and sipped the scalding tea. 'It isn't that I don't think about being with you,' she began shakily. This is so much harder now than it was in my head while I was waiting for him to come home... 'I need to grow up,' she said simply. 'I need to grow up and figure out what it means to be an adult before I am one.'

'You're right, that does sound selfish,' Harry muttered, belatedly remembering Ron's advice to let Ginny have her say. He bit his tongue and crammed a large bite of treacle tart into his mouth before he said anything else.

Ginny lifted her head then, and squarely met Harry's gaze. 'I love you too much to put either of us into a situation neither of us are ready to handle.'

'But...'

Ginny's hand slashed through the air, effective as a Silencing charm. 'You're in this place where you're ready to settle and move on with your life, and I can't blame you for that after what you've lived through, but I'm not there yet. Do you want me to learn to resent you, because you had the opportunity to figure out how to navigate your life and I didn't? Or do you want me to be fully involved with your life? To be able to make decisions without everyone chasing after me with butterfly nets?'

Harry set his fork down and set the plate aside, folding his arms on the table. 'So what are you saying?'

'The same thing I said in November,' Ginny sighed. 'I want to be with you, but you and I need to spend time with each other...' A worried frown marred the smooth skin between her brows.

Harry pulled his plate in front of him once more, and sliced off another bite. Then another. 'Saturdays,' he said suddenly.

'What?'

'You won't have training on Saturdays. I want Saturdays. Just you, me, and when I have him, Teddy.'

Ginny buried her nose in her steaming cup. 'Saturdays?'

'You can come here as early as you want. But you're mine until Sunday lunch at the Burrow.'

'I think we can manage that...' Ginny leaned back in the chair. 'I didn't stop thinking about you the entire time,' she confessed. 'I didn't realize how much I need to hear your opinion on things, or how much I missed hearing about what you're doing. Listening to what you deal with puts it all into perspective. I just throw a ball through a goalpost. I wanted to write to you about the trials, but... But I didn't think you'd bother reading the letter...'

Harry mashed the tines of his fork into a bit of his tart. 'Same,' he muttered. 'It's why I didn't... write... after I cooled off...' He set the fork down. 'So? How were the trials?'

'They were... Interesting.' Ginny sipped her cooling tea. 'They - the other women at the trial - kept saying things when they thought I couldn't hear them.' Harry saw the way Ginny stiffened, and developed a good theory about what they said. That Ginny was only there because of her efforts during the war. What she said made his stomach churn. 'They said I was there because of you,' she said quietly, her eyes glued to the top of the table.

'Me?' Harry blurted. Ginny nodded. 'I hope you disabused them of that barmy notion with your playing.'

'It was after we played the first day of the trial,' Ginny told him. 'We played against the practice squad and this one absolute cow told the others I wasn't that good. That the practice players were holding back, the Snitch was slow...' She leaned back in the chair. 'Of course, it might have been sour grapes. She was cut the first day.'

'I hope you hexed her,' Harry muttered. 'Giant, flapping, bogies...'

'I handled myself with the utmost grace and dignity,' Ginny said loftily. She pointed her wand at her hair, coiling it on the back of her head. It was still warm in the flat and sweat beaded along the nape of her neck. Harry reached across the table and fingered the sleeve of her shirt. Her long-sleeved shirt. The flat was stifling in the late June heat - the Cooling charms hadn't done more than take the edge off the heavy warmth in the flat - and Ginny wore long sleeves. He leaned across the table. A purple shadow smudged her eye. It had been shadowed by her hair.

'Where'd you get that black eye?' he asked with studied casualness.

'Bludger,' Ginny said with an equally casual shrug. She lifted her hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The edge of the sleeve fell away from her wrist. Harry's hand shot across the table, grasping for her arm. He shoved the sleeve up. Bruises spread in ugly blotches over her freckled, ivory skin. They had obviously been tended to, but they were still the shades of dusky blues and purples of recent injury. Harry was far too familiar with it. He got up and rounded the table, reaching for Ginny's other arm, shoving that sleeve up, too. It was every bit as mottled as the other.

'What happened?' Ginny started at the tone of his voice. It was taut with burgeoning anger. 'Who did this to you?' he demanded.

Ginny drew the sleeve down. 'It's nothing,' she murmured.

'Those bruises aren't nothing!' Harry hissed. He remembered all too well telling his teachers in primary school the fresh bruises on his arms or face were the result of falling on the stairs, or walking into a doorway. Nobody would have believed him if he'd told them the truth, anyway.

Ginny's hand closed around Harry's wrist. His pulse fluttered under her fingertips. She stared at him, mouth slightly open. Harry's lips were white and pressed together. His hair stood on end. 'Gwenog wanted to see if we can handle the level of play,' she said evenly. 'She was the referee yesterday and didn't call fouls.'

'That's barbaric,' Harry informed her, still shaking inwardly with rage.

'Wouldn't you want to know if a potential Auror could handle what you throw at them?'

'Well, yes,' Harry began. 'But this is a bit much.' He lurched to his feet. 'Don't go anywhere.' He Summoned his bag and caught the strap in one hand, rummaging through it with the other. 'I've got something in here that'll heal those bruises faster...' He unearthed a small holdall and tossed it to the table. 'What did you use for those?' he asked

'Healer at the dragon reserve looked after them,' Ginny said. 'I don't really know what she put on. I just remember it was light blue.' She ruefully watched Harry upend the holdall on the table, and select a small tin. 'What is all that?'

'Aurors can't always get to the hospital, so if it's not life-threatening, we've all got this kit to patch things up until we can get to a Healer,' he told her, lifting the lid off a tin of silvery salve. 'Trainees learn how to make the potions themselves.' He scooped out a finger of it and motioned for Ginny to push her sleeves back. 'This is going to be a little cold,' he cautioned, smoothing the salve over her skin. Ginny hissed as she registered the chill. It raised gooseflesh over her arms that wasn't merely the byproduct of the salve. Harry's touch was as intimate as Bronwyn's had been impersonal. 'How was the rest of the trial?' he asked, head bent over her arms.

'Sprained my left ankle, earned a bloody nose, scraped my knuckles raw...'

Harry peeled away the plaster from the back of Ginny's left hand. The gouge of yesterday was now a pink line. Harry replaced the lid of the tin he held and opened another, raising Ginny's hand to his mouth. He brushed his lips over the healing cut before he dabbed the ointment over it that reminded him of green forests with its scent. Sparing a glance for Ginny, he winced in sympathy at the sweat-dampened hair around her face. 'You want to change out of that shirt?'

Ginny's nose wrinkled. 'Everything in my bag's rather disgusting. Sweaty, dirty...'

Harry's wand flicked slightly, and a t-shirt landed on the table. 'You can wear that.'

Ginny slid her hand under the soft fabric of the shirt, feeling a painful flush spread over her cheeks. It was one of Harry's older shirts that had survived Molly's purge of his wardrobe. He mostly slept in it now. 'I'll just go into the bath and change, then, shall I?' Ginny muttered. She stripped off her shirt once she was safely inside the bathroom. Like her injuries, things between them were mending, but utterances of forgiveness were not going to come easily. There was still a level of awkwardness from their fight. Ginny sighed and unfolded Harry's shirt, lifting it to her nose. The scent of Harry was embedded in the weave - the woodsy, musky fragrance she associated with him underneath the laundry soap.

She emerged from the bathroom, swathed in the folds of the oversized shirt. Harry stood next to the table, repacking his first-aid kit, more for something to do than in a fit of neatness. 'Are you hungry?' he asked, feeling an odd flutter in his stomach, reminiscent of when he'd tried to talk to Cho all those years ago. He wasn't entirely sure what to say to Ginny, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

Ginny shook her head. 'Not especially.' She suddenly felt unspeakably weary and drooped visibly.

Tongue-tied, Harry gestured to the sitting room and sank to the sofa. 'You didn't tell me how the trials ended,' he said, patting the cushion of the sofa next to him.

'Reserves,' Ginny yawned, curling into the sofa.

'Brilliant,' Harry said softly, stroking her hair.

Ginny felt boneless and heavy, eyelids falling closed. She could sleep here. She could sleep and not worry about anything, understanding in the last few minutes of consciousness there was a vast difference between feeling protected and safe and feeling as if it was all going to smother her. The last remembered thought she had was the realization Harry would never let anything happen to her while she was in an unguarded position. Not if he could help it. He would have hexed the Harpies entire starting side had she made any sort of overture in that direction. She fell asleep, head pillowed on his shoulder, feeling his heart beat steadily under her cheek, while his fingers gently caressed the back of her neck.

Harry felt Ginny's body go lax as she tumbled over the edge of slumber. He Summoned the remote control for the television and switched on the telly. There was a football game on and he lowered the volume to a bare murmur. He hated the announcers anyway. Too much talking while blokes would prefer to watch the match. Feeling a trickle of sweat snake its way down his chest, he set a stronger Cooling charm over the sitting room and tipped his head back against the back of the sofa, watching the game through half-opened eyes.

Wailing sirens startled him awake. He snorted and jabbed his wand in the general direction of the windows and the flat descended into silence once more. Blue light from the television screen flickered in the dark room, and Harry threaded his fingers through Ginny's hair. Her head had slipped from his shoulder and now her cheek rested on his stomach, nose nearly buried in his navel. Her warm breath ghosted over his exposed skin and Harry instinctively pressed her head in while his hips surged upward. He arrested the motion with a strangled gasp and pulled the throw pillow from behind his back and eased out from under Ginny, carefully placing the pillow under her head. He turned his back to the sofa and adjusted his jeans, breath hissing between his clenched teeth. Frantically searching the flat for something to do that wouldn't wake Ginny, his eyes lit on her bag. He reached for it, and carried it into the kitchen and threw her soiled clothing into the washing machine, feeling a flush overheat his body as he flung her knickers in. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Ginny's knickers. Molly often left everything folded in stacks on the table in the scullery at the Burrow, then had them fetch their clothes when they were done. But considering what he had just imagined happening with her, handling Ginny's knickers made him painfully self-conscious.

While the washing machine hummed, Harry rubbed a hand over his face, wondering if it would be bad form to nip into the bedroom and do something about the ache in his groin. Deciding if Ginny woke and inadvertently walked in on him in the midst of a good wank, it would be mortification almost too much to bear. Think of something, he ordered himself. -McGonagall in a bikini! Hmmm. I wonder if Gin still has that black one she wore last summer-... Stop that! Molly and Arthur... Molly and Arthur... Okay, yeah... That's it... Harry pulse pounded in his temples. He stumbled into the bathroom, and twisted the cold water tap full blast. He swiftly stripped off his clothes and locked the door, before stepping into the hard, frigid spray. He stood, hands braced on the wall, feeling more than a little sheepish at his behavior.

After several minutes, his body finally under control once more, Harry shut off the water and reached for a towel, shivering, skin rippled with gooseflesh from the chill of the water. He opened the door and peered into the corridor, holding his breath. He'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes with him. You're an eejit, Potter, he told himself. Defeat Voldemort and you don't blink an eyelash, but the idea that Ginny'll see you starkers terrifies you... His shoulders shook with silent laughter, and he ran lightly into the bedroom, dropping the towel as he rummaged for clean boxers. As his head popped through the top of the t-shirt, he heard a soft shuffling sound behind him.

Ginny stood framed in the doorway, groggily rubbing her eyes. 'How long have I been asleep?'

Harry glanced at the alarm clock ticking softly next to the bed. 'Couple of hours.'

'Sorry...'

'If it makes you feel better, I went to sleep, too.' Harry grabbed an old pair of khaki trousers and hoisted them up. 'Hungry?' he asked, buttoning them.

'Yeah.'

Harry gently pushed her toward the bathroom. 'Go have a wash,' he suggested. 'I'll go find some takeaway.'

Ginny blinked blearily at her watch. 'At this hour?'

'It's only eight,' Harry told her. 'Besides. This is Soho. There's always something open.'

'But my clothes...' Ginny protested.

'They're in the washing machine,' Harry said, finding his old trainers. 'Your dad helped me modify it and the dryer, so they ought to be done by the time you're done with your bath.' Harry reached for his seldom-used dressing gown and handed it to her. 'You can wear this in the meantime.' Harry nudged her a little harder. 'Go on, then. Have a nice soak... I'll take care of your clothes.'

Ginny took a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, then stopped. 'Thank you.'

Harry ran a hand through his damp hair and ducked his head bashfully, before he swiftly kissed Ginny's cheek, then moved to brush an equally fleeting kiss over her mouth. 'Take your time.' He walked out of the flat, whistling softly under his breath.

xxxxxx

Harry scraped the remains of Ginny's dinner into the bin and handed her the plate. She slid it into the hot, soapy water, and began to run a dishcloth over it. It was a chore they'd shared from time to time at the Burrow. The thought made him stop in mid-step. 'Does Molly know you're here?' he asked.

Ginny's plait swayed against her back. 'No.'

'Does she think you're still in Wales?'

'Probably.'

'And Charlie?'

Ginny rinsed the plate and placed it in a dishrack to dry. 'I imagine Bronwyn's told him I went home by now.'

'Who's Bronwyn?'

'Friend.' Ginny plunged the glasses under the water. 'Well. More than a friend, but he won't say.'

Harry's brow swept upward. 'Can you blame him? You were there when Percy brought Penelope Clearwater home for Sunday lunch. The glances around the table, the whispers behind requests to pass the bloody potatoes. Charlie's so reticent, it would make him break out in spots.'

'I liked her,' Ginny said. 'She gets it. The desire to prove yourself.' She set the glasses in the dishrack and turned to face Harry, wiping her hands on a tea towel. 'She helped me find a flat.' Ginny folded the towel and draped it over the towel rail. 'Tomorrow's Saturday,' she remarked.

'And?'

'We can go up to Holyhead. I'll show you the flat. Show you around Holyhead. Well, the bit I was able to explore.'

'Brilliant. What time do you want me to come by the Burrow?'

'Why would you do that?'

'Aren't you staying there tonight?' Harry asked hesitantly.

Ginny leaned against the counter. 'I thought I'd stay here tonight.' She looked at him steadily, eyes warm, dark pools in the muted light of the kitchen. Harry's face reddened and his eyes darkened. It was an expression Ginny was beginning to learn. 'To sleep,' she clarified.

Harry hoped he didn't look as crestfallen as he felt. 'I'll doss down on the sofa, then,' he choked, striding toward the airing cupboard.

'Harry...' Ginny's soft voice stopped him. 'I don't want you to sleep on the sofa.'

'Wh-what are you saying?'

'I'm saying I trust you.' Ginny held out a hand.

Harry gulped and took it, enfolding her small, broom-callused hand in his larger one. 'Are you sure?'

'I'm sure I want to sleep here tonight,' Ginny said firmly. 'Anything other than that...' She shrugged. 'We'll find out as we go along.'

Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath. 'Okay.' He started to lead Ginny to the bedroom, but stopped, wound his arm around her shoulders and walked into it, together.