Harry is running late. It's just one of those days when everything takes longer than it normally does - getting out of bed, brewing tea, finding his left shoe - and by the time Harry climbs into his car, he has only half a chance of beating his boss to the office.

And now, of all days, there is a train on the tracks, blocking his route. The blinking red light on the sign seems to taunt him as he waits in a line of cars. These freight trains only come through once or twice a month, the logical part of his brain reminds him. True, but it bloody feels like the trains just know when he is late. Bugger the trains, he thinks a bit angrily.

When the train finally passes and the red-and-white beam raises, Harry accelerates just a bit too fast and hits the car in front of him. "Damn, damn, damn!" he exclaims, hitting his steering wheel in frustration. He does not have time for this today, and now Kingsley is really going to chew him out for being late. He sees the car in front of him signal and pull off to the side of the road, and Harry follows, trying to convince himself that at least a fender-bender is a valid excuse for his tardiness, but he knows Kingsley won't buy it.

He's reaching across the passenger seat, groping for his insurance information in the dash, when the driver exits the other car. And Harry forgets how to breathe.

She, the driver, is gorgeous.

Long red hair falls down her back, almost reaching the top of her high-waisted jeans. She's wearing sunglasses and a faded v-neck tee shirt, and Harry can see freckles on her face and down her neck. Her lips are set in a firm line, and she is looking at him. Harry feels his stomach drop. She's looking at him! She's pushing her sunglasses up onto her head and is staring pointedly at him, and then he remembers that he ran into her car and she's probably waiting for him to get out and apologize.

He fumbles the dash, raises one hand to wave or motion at her - he can't seem to decide how to move, and he thinks with a cringe that he looks like the bloody Queen of England doing one of her parade waves - and finally his fingers close on his insurance papers.

His seatbelt twists around him like poison ivy, and Harry feels the driver's gaze on him like a laser beam. He knows he looks like he's never been in a car before, and his cheeks flush red as he finally climbs out. One hand flies to his hair as he approaches her.

"Er, hi," he says, rather lamely. She arches an eyebrow at him, and he sticks out his hand awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I mean, I'm Harry. I mean, I'm also sorry. I'm late for work and I hit the gas pedal too hard, and then I hit you, and are you alright? God I hope you're alright." He forces himself to stop talking, and his hand drops back down to his side. He sucks in a breath, because this girl is even more gorgeous up close, and he's just made a fool of himself.

She looks at him, looks him up and down, really, and finally reaches into her back pocket. "It's fine," she says, and her voice is smooth, cool like whiskey on ice. A shiver runs down Harry's spine.

She produces her insurance information and pulls out her phone. "Shall we just take pictures of each other's info and let the insurance companies sort it out?" she suggests, and Harry nods, not trusting himself to speak again. His mouth feels dry, and he hopes his hands aren't sweating enough to make him drop his phone.

She snaps a picture of his insurance card, then holds out her own for Harry. As he peers down at his phone, his eyes catch on her name: Ginevra M Weasley.

"Ginevra," he says to himself, then immediately hopes she didn't hear him.

As established, though, today is not Harry's day.

"What?" Ginevra asks him, rather sharply. She jerks her hand just a bit, then seems to remember that he's taking a picture.

"Uh, sorry, I was just, I mean I, erm, I…" Harry searches for an explanation that doesn't make him look like a creep. Ginevra doesn't say anything, just waits for him to continue. One hand goes to her hip, and she looks like a fierce attorney Harry has seen on tv, confident and cocky and ready for anything.

He steels himself. "Your name," he finally blurts. "I was just reading your name. It's, uh, nice," he adds lamely, and he ducks his gaze, but not before he sees her face soften a bit.

"Oh," she says, softer now. "Thanks. I go by Ginny."

"Ginny," Harry repeats. The name slips from his mouth easily, and suddenly Harry wants nothing more than to say this name again and again.

"And you're Harry, you said?" Ginny asks. "I know you introduced yourself, sorta." She laughs, though not unkindly.

Harry grins sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was a bit of a mess, wasn't I? It's my first accident."

"Oh, so you're an MVA virgin!" Ginny claps her hands, grinning, and Harry lets out a shaky laugh. "A what?!"

"MVA - motor-vehicle accident," Ginny explains, still grinning. "As you can see, I'm a bit of an MVA professional." She gestures to her car, covered in nicks and dents, and Harry laughs.

"Well, since you're the experienced one, care to give me some insight as to what happens now?" Harry asks. He slips his insurance information into his pocket, then realizes he has no idea what to do with this newly-free hand.

Ginny tilts her head and regards him for a moment. She looks him up and down, then checks the time on her phone. She seems to be deciding something, because she looks back at Harry, then nods to herself.

"How about this," she says, sliding her phone into her pocket. "Clearly my car has not been damaged any worse than what I've already done, and since your record is clean so far, I have an idea." She bites her lip for half a second, and Harry's heart pounds.

"Go on then," he prompts her, as much to hear her idea as to force his mind away from her mouth.

She grins at him. "How about instead of involving insurance, you take me to dinner tonight?" Her hand is back on her hip, confidence personified, and there is no way in hell that Harry can say no.

"Sure," he says eagerly, blushing but not caring that he sounds like a teenager. Ginny is still smiling at him, and she reaches for his phone, raising an eyebrow when she's able to unlock it, and types quickly. When she hands it back, Harry sees a text sent to a new contact.

Dinner tonight? the text reads, sent to Ginny Best Driver Ever Weasley

Harry looks up at her in surprise, and she winks at him.

"Thought this way you could show your mates that you asked me out after running into me." She pulls her own phone out of her pocket. "Oh, look, I've got a text. Some handsome man just asked me out." She types a bit more, then puts her phone back in her pocket. Harry's phone vibrates in his hand as Ginny starts backing towards her car.

A bit overwhelmed, Harry opens his mouth to say something, anything, anything that will explain the whirlwind he just experienced, but Ginny opens her car door and says, "check your phone," before sliding into her car.

Harry looks down. The message on his screen reads, Pick me up at 7, Harry Worst Driver Ever Potter.

Harry grins. This day may have started off as a mess, but he's pretty sure it's going to end as a smashing success.