"Just a short intro folks, more coming soon. Hope you enjoy the first taste and come back for the main course." -Jah
On the outskirts of Kopparberg, amidst the snow clad mountains of middle Sweden, a robed figure appeared as if from nowhere, heralded only by an echoing pop of displaced air.
Tendrils of flaming red hair snuck out from beneath the knitted cap which her mother had insisted she wear, and over her shoulder was slung a sleek lacquered broom that had quite clearly never swept a floor.
In her hands a rusty old tea pot glowed softly with fading magics.
"Merlin," Groaned Ginny, blinking to clear her vision of swarming, multi hued motes, "What Durmstrang drop out enchanted that port key?"
Contemptuously tossing the tea pot into the lush grass of the meadow in which she had arrived, the pretty young witch took a few deep breaths, the crisp air instantly quelling her nausea. Sloth Grip Rolls and Woollongong Shimmies she could handle, but that had felt like she had been turned inside out.
After being drafted into the Hollyhead Harpies just over two months ago, Ginny had spent her every waking moment astride a broom. Gwenog Jones, determined to build a team to rival the Harpies of '53, had spirited her recruits away to an intensive training camp scant days after she notified them of their selection. Acting as both coach and captain she had broken them utterly with hours in the air under heavy bludger barrage and then drilled them incessantly in complex manoeuvres. When Ginny had finally been released from that hell above the earth there had been nothing left in her zombified mind except formations and tactics.
Making her way through the patches of Edelweiss that dotted the alpine field, the now professional chaser couldn't help but laugh at the irony of what she was doing; she had fully intended to obey Jones's parting command to rest up and take it easy until the start of the season, had in fact vehemently sworn not to touch a broom until her contract forced her back into the sky, and yet here she was, about to compete in an extremely dangerous and highly competitive broom race.
If Egg Nog, as the team had secretly started to call the dictator with whom they found themselves saddled, found out what she was doing she was dead. And if she had the audacity to get injured in the process, and thus force a change in the starting line up, that death would doubtless be slow and painful. Jones was an absolute sadist, of that there was no doubt.
Surrounded on all sides by white capped peaks Ginny found she couldn't give a damn; with the sun rising over the Baltic she could feel nothing but a joyous sense of freedom and anticipation. She was going to race through this stunning country and by Merlin she was going to win!
