Harry x Ginny

Ginny barely had time to sit down in the locker room before Harry appeared at the entrance, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

"Alright, what's going on?"

Ginny sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. "Nice to see you too, Potter."

Harry ignored her attempt at deflection and walked closer, lowering his voice so her teammates wouldn't overhear. "You were off today."

Ginny scoffed. "We still won, didn't we?"

"That's not the point." His emerald-green eyes searched her face. "I've never seen you like that on the pitch before. You were slower, almost got hit by a Bludger—twice—and you looked like you were about to fall off your broom at the end."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but even that small movement made her head throb. "You're exaggerating."

Harry crouched in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. "I'm not. You've been feeling weird for days now. First the nausea, then getting dizzy, now this?" He hesitated before adding, "Gin, maybe you should see a Healer."

Ginny huffed. "I don't need a Healer, Harry. I'm just tired."

But even as she said it, a new wave of exhaustion hit her like a brick wall. Her limbs felt heavy, her head fuzzy, and Merlin, why was she so warm?

Harry must have noticed, because he reached up to brush his fingers against her forehead. His brows furrowed. "You're burning up."

Ginny groaned and swatted his hand away. "It's just from playing, alright? I ran around for hours, of course I'm hot."

Harry sat back on his heels, still watching her carefully. "Then why have you been so sensitive to smells lately? And why did you nearly faint this morning?"

Ginny opened her mouth to argue but realized she didn't actually have an answer. Instead, she slumped back against the bench, rubbing her face.

"Maybe I just caught a bug or something," she muttered.

Harry didn't look convinced. "Maybe."

But the way he was staring at her, like pieces of a puzzle were slowly clicking together in his mind, made Ginny uneasy.

She wasn't sick. Not really. And yet... something was definitely wrong.

As she peeled off her Quidditch gear, her fingers brushed over her chest, and she winced. Her breasts felt unusually tender—something she hadn't even noticed until now.

A tiny seed of unease planted itself in her mind.

No. It couldn't be.

Could it?

_______________________________

Ginny lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts running in endless circles. Harry had been unusually quiet after they got home, though his eyes kept flicking toward her, like he was holding back a question.

She couldn't blame him.

Because as much as she wanted to brush everything off—her nausea, the dizziness, the exhaustion, the weird food aversions—something deep inside her whispered that there was an answer. An answer she wasn't ready to face.

No.

It wasn't possible.

...Was it?

She turned onto her side, curling into herself, her mind racing. This was just stress. Training had been brutal lately. That was all. And yet—

Her hand drifted absentmindedly to her stomach.

Merlin.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the thought away. It was ridiculous. She and Harry had talked about kids—someday—but not now. Not yet.

"Gin?"

Her eyes snapped open. Harry was sitting up next to her, propped on one elbow, watching her. His voice was quiet, hesitant.

"What?" she mumbled, trying to sound normal.

"You're thinking too loud." He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you feeling worse?"

Ginny hesitated. Lying to Harry was nearly impossible. He knew her too well. But admitting what was on her mind felt too big, too real.

So she sighed and shook her head. "Just tired."

Harry studied her for a long moment. He didn't push, but she could tell he wasn't convinced.

"Alright," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Try to sleep."

Ginny nodded, but as she closed her eyes, she knew sleep wouldn't come easily.

Because now, the thought was there. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make it go away.