Hey ya'll, I'm playing my hand at a little more hinny. Hope you enjoy this one - quiditch and adventures and such. Please review, they really make my day and all the work into my pieces really seem worth it.

"Oi! You call that a dive?" Harry calls to me sitting on his broom about thirty feet above me in the bright blue sky. "Watch." He leans forward gripping his firebolt around the deep cherry handle and shoots off toward the ground as fast he can. The crimson blur grows longer as he gets closer and closer to the grassy pitch before pulling up skillfully just in time, toes grazing the freshly cut grass as he rockets forward before quickly - almost skidding - to a halt. A hockey stop he calls it, it resembles a muggle sport apparently. He tilts his head back and squints up at me from behind his round glasses, his shoulders pulled back sticking his chest out just a little, and I watch him suppress a smirk "You've got to really commit to it." his relaxed fist hits into his open hand as he balances expertly on the hovering broom. "Try again."

We watch the sun come over the burrow and work it's way across the sky from our speeding brooms. Clouds pass by offering shade for our workout every now and then. I try that stupid dive over and over, sometimes cashing into the plush itchy grass, and sometimes stopping too slowly. As the day goes on it gets harder and harder to scrape myself from the ground, it seems to becoming apart of me with the blades sticking to my damp skin.

"Last time Gin. You c'n do it." I hover just below a fluffy puff and let the condensation cool my pinkish freckling skin. Pressing my callused pads to the sun warmed black handle and clenching my core I take off toward the ground. The moisture resting on my skin is wicked away from the wind gluing the spare grass to my freckled arms. Not yet. Not yet. The pitch approaches like a vast green wall, the horizon disappears. Now. My arms strain as I pull up on the nose of my firebolt, and I press my core tighter still pressing down on the tail end to level the broom. Grass tickles the toes of my sneakers as an indicator that I'm level. Leaning forward I zoom across the field chasing an imaginary player a few meters before wiping to a stop.

That was the best one yet today. I'm quite satisfied with it - Harry had better be too, that prat. I know I asked him to help me, even now as a pro, he still knows the game better then I do, but he could stand to ease up a bit. Harry could have easily gone pro and made a career of it, I've never seen anyone ride like him. It's incredible really. He gave it up for Aruor, that was -is- more important to him, but I'm so glad he still plays internationally. I've been training a lot the past few months outside of practice, he watches sometimes while studying for a case and his shoulders slouch a bit and his smirk softens with his eyebrows pressing down a little less. Poor bloke. When he gets enough time he joins me and turns into the pickiest coach I've ever had. I don't mind really, the world cup is only three weeks away and we need to be ready. This is the year England finally wins, I'm going to make sure of that.

I peek over my shoulder as I climb to see him sitting on top of our makeshift goal, the sun catching his eyes just right. Soon I'm weaving and turning, flipping and diving too high in the clouds to see him. My annoying bangs pushed back from my face by the air trying to resist me as I doge imaginary opponents and bluggers getting in my way. After my last set I stop and hover for a second, trying to catch my breath."Almost ready ta go in, Gin?" He swoops next to me from where he was watching and yelling at me to keep my core tight, steer more with my heels, press my shoulders, nag, nag, nag. I hide my breathing quickly and wipe my face off on my sleeve quickly moving to catch the quaffel he's tossed at my chest. "We've been at it for hours. And it's our day off." He grabs his glasses in his hand and wipes the sweat dripping from his face with his other accidentally flattening his dripping messy hair to his forehead and hiding the faded lightning bolt, before ruffing it up again.

"Well, I w's thinking" Dropping the quaffel I pull the practice snitch from my pocket and roll it between the tips of my fingers as I smile at him, "loser does dishes?" His bright green eyes shimmer in the afternoon sun, eyebrows knitting slightly together and left cheek scrunches up a bit in a crooked smile. "I mean, only if you aren't too tired. You seem a bit out've shape."

Harry sits up straighter on his broom, cheek un-scrunching a bit to soften the cocky grin, and hands gripping his sweater at his hips make his chest stick out. His flexed forearms, exposed from the crimson and gold striped sleeve pushed up just below his elbows, suggest differently. "Oi, out've shape am I?" His arms cross in front of his stomach and grip the sweater again before pulling it off in a swift motion and letting it float to the ground. A hand flies up to his glasses - knocked lower on his nose then he likes - habitually pushing them up at the bridge before they slide right back down a little crooked on his nose. "You're on. Loser h's got the cooking too."

I've seen him bare chested countless times but I still can't help from mentally drooling over Harry's body, no longer just skinny 'fit' from his malnourished years as an 'honorary Dursly'. A scar on his right peck is pale against his subtle tan always distracts me for a second, another killing curse survival reminder. That horrible day. He clears his throat grinning cockily at me again, he looks so much like old photos of James when he gets like this but he has Lilly's eyes, that's what everyone else says at least; to me he is just Harry, his messy dark hair and glasses and vivid green eyes aren't anyones but his. It took a while but since the war Harry has really grown more comfortable with himself and his past, more confidant, more relaxed. It suits him. Well.

Harry clears his throat again bringing me back to the breezy warm sky were we sit perched on our firebolts. "So d' we have a deal or not? Loser h's got dinner and dishes?" He pauses looking at me as I toss my harpies shirt to the ground. His drooling isn't so much mental, and he looks me up and down in my - what did Harmonie say the muggles call it? - a sports bra, that's right. I can't help but return the snide grin as he shakes his messy hair and returns his gaze to my eyes. "This 's getting serious."

"Bloody right. Doing your dishes is bad e'nough." I laugh to him, both of us situate ourselves to take off. "Ready?" He nods only half at me as I raise my hand clenching the snitch. His eyes focus intently on the fluttering wings as his jaw sets itself, muscle bulging around the back of his mandible, eyebrows sinking closer to his eyes and his noes crinkles at its bridge beneath his glasses. I love it when he gets competitive. I relax my fingers and the snitch's wings tickles their tips as I release the golden ball, it disappears and we both start circling the air looking for the familiar glint in the sun.

"I'm looking forw'rd to'a nice warm meal, steak maybe?" Harry yells over his shoulder pretending to lick his lips as he dives toward the ground to get a better look and show off. It's his classic move, he's loved it ever since Krum did it to trick the Irish seeker in the World Cup a few years back.

"You bugger, you're 'ona have to do better 'en that to fool me." I glide just above him, then to his left as we both decide to climb a little higher. The sun is setting far off on the horizon but here the sky is still lit with the beginnings of orange flirting with the clouds. I catch light shining off a small object over the pond, looks like a mirror being used as a signal or Harry's glasses when he sits in the sun. He sees it too and we're off. It's just below us and he takes an angle straight at it, spinning and acting fancy as he does. I shoot straight above it and beat him-kinda. It's about 40 feet below me and he has only 50 feet till he reaches it.

"You letting me win?" He laughs in victory as he approaches the prize; it looks as I've misjudged miserably but I've been working on a move, more to give Harry a heart attack and to get him back for pranking me a few weeks ago then to really use in a match. I leap off my broom and dive straight toward the snitch. The wind blows the hair back out of my face and dries the sweat on my grass littered torso as I hurtle through the air toward the snitch.

Just missing his spending broom my outstretched hand beats his and clasps around the buzzing ball it's wings brushing my fingers as they fold. I've won, now the real fun begins. My broom still above me sits hovering as Harry dives as fast he can after me. "Are you mental!? Take my hand!" The ground approaches more rapidly as I pick up speed. I slip my empty hand inside the top of my bra and grab my wand, Accio Broom. 7 feet from the ground I feel the familiar pressure of the broom between my legs, I grab it with my free hand and stop. Feet grazing the turf just as Harry and I had done earlier in the day, and jump off holding out the snitch pinched between two fingers out to the shocked and reddening Harry.

"Oi! Harry?! You recon I ought'a be seeker this world cup? I'm sure you'd be 'n ok enough chaser."

"You are bloody mental. Don't ever do 't again." He hopes off his broom panting completely ignoring my taunts. "Merlin's beard, Ginny."

"Thought you might like't." I wink at him, still mad that I would pull the stunt. "Looks like you're cooking tonight. Better be good too, I need proper fuel if I'm going to pick up your slack in a few weeks." patting my belly I chide at him, now pouting about his loss.

Gini 1 - Harry 0