Chapters 191-200

Therapy for a Ghoul?

‘Merlin! You—it—’ Ginny trailed off and gaped at her fiancé. Harry lay on their bed and looked like shit. Healer Mugwort had only just left—with firm orders that he was to stay in a horizontal position for another three hours to allow the healing spells to settle and the scars to crust over completely. He grinned weakly.

‘It doesn’t look like a lightning bolt anymore,’ he said with a faint hint of satisfaction.

Ginny bent closer and scrutinized the mess that was Harry’s forehead with the eye of an expert, a skill honed by dealing with six brothers throughout her childhood. Wrinkling her nose, she drew back and nodded. ‘I’m not exactly sure what it looks like yet, what with the scabs and the bruises…But I think it just may end up looking like a snitch.’

Harry beamed, then winced. ‘I’d prefer the footprint of a rhino to the old design to be honest. And if it turns out to look like a snitch—’ He tried another grin, more carefully this time, while raising his right hand a little off the mattress. Something golden and sparkling moved under his fingers. ‘—that would be nothing but appropriate.’

Ginny shook her head. ‘A chimney would work, too. Really, Harry. I do agree that the Burrow is in dire need of some remodelling. But you could have simply suggested the name of an architect instead of taking matters into your own—well, head, I guess. You didn’t exactly use your hands for that.’

‘I had to catch the snitch,’ Harry said with determination. ‘Is Arthur angry at me?’

‘And you got your snitch!’ Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘Though really, did you absolutely have to defeat Percy? He’s in a bad funk as it is. Mum swears that he’s to blame for all the rain we’ve had last week because he’s so morose about everything that happened.’

When Harry just pressed his lips together and caressed his snitch, Ginny huffed. Men. Really. Not that she didn’t take Quidditch seriously—after all it was a very serious game. But some things were more important. Like family, for example. ‘No, Dad’s not angry. He’s already rebuilt the chimney and the part of the roof that caved in when we dug you out of the rubble. Though if we have to pay for therapy to get that ghoul back to normal, Dad might want to have words with you yet.’

‘Great.’ Harry sounded neither scared nor enthused, but rather a bit tired.

Well, with all that had happened, she couldn’t precisely blame him.

‘So who was that witch? That dark haired lady that drew you back among the raspberry bushes once it was clear that I was not going to snuff it?’

Ginny blinked. ‘You noticed that? With your whole face full of blood and your head split open to the bone?’

Harry smirked. ‘I’m supposed to be an Auror now. I’m getting paid to notice stuff like that. You were worried about me, but you were also incredibly nervous because of that witch. So, who’s she? She must be something special.’

Ginny took a deep breath. ‘You can say that again. That, my dear, was Gwenog Jones. The cap–’

‘The captain of the Holyhead Harpies??’ He jerked almost upright only to fall back again with a groan.

‘Shush! Didn’t Healer Mugwort say you’re supposed to lie still?’

‘Hmpf. Argh.’

She conjured up a cool, damp flannel and laid it gently on his forehead. Harry sighed gratefully. Ginny squeezed his hand and felt happiness bubble up inside her like soda bubbles. ‘Yes, Gwenog Jones, the captain of the Holyhead Harpies. She’s a cousin so-and-so-many-times removed on my mother’s side of the family. You know how pureblood families are. Go back a few generations and the Weasleys and the Prewitts are related with everyone and his brother. Anyway.’ Ginny stopped, because a huge grin was splitting her face. ‘Gwenog, she’s got the most uncanny knack for scouting new team members. A right nifty twist on divination, some say. Whatever it is, it brought her here today. She was very impressed with little Alina. And—’ Ginny giggled. ‘She expressed serious regret that you’re not a woman.’

Harry convulsed, but didn’t try to sit up again. He cleared his throat. ‘Thanks, I think. What are you not telling me?’

‘My, my,’ Ginny crowed. ‘Quite the suspicious Mr. Auror today, are we?’ But she relented quickly. ‘She wants me on the team,’ she rushed on. ‘Me! Ginny Weasley! She wants to see me in the next try-outs, and she thinks I’d make a swell chaser.’

She could feel her smile showing all her teeth and then some. Harry was producing gasping noises of praise, and flailed with his hands to express his approval. ‘That’s brilliant!’

Ginny beamed at him. It was more than brilliant.

‘But what about your apprenticeship with the Prophet?’ Harry asked carefully, keeping his eyes closed. Obviously he hoped that his injuries would spare him a scathing retort.

But her smirk only widened. ‘If I do get in, I’ll play substitute for three seasons first. She said that I’ll be able to do both if the Prophet is a bit accommodating. Knowing Gwenog’s reputation, I guess if I get in, they’ll be nothing but! So I’d be all set.’

She glanced down at him. Harry’s face was very pale beneath crusts of dried blood and quickly fading bruises. Ginny swallowed hard. For all that it had been pretty elementary spells that had saved Harry’s life this afternoon, if Healer Mugwort hadn’t been present to fix him up right away, The-Boy-Who-Lived might have found a decidedly inglorious end stuck in the chimney of the Burrow along with that stupid Snitch.

His left hand curled around hers. The bright colours of the Gryffindor lion and the Ravenclaw raven stood out in stark contrast to his pale and scraped knuckles. With the other hand he was still hanging on to the Snitch.