Disclaimer: obviously, anything HP related gets credited to J.K.Rowling.
So, Adie's back. We're brainstorming a ton of stories. Like seriously, A LOT.
For all you Jane Austen fans, hopefully you will recognize a little something.
Draco Malfoy sneered.
Of course he was in no mood to sign autographs and pose for pictures. Not that many people still wanted his.
He had just lost. Defeated for the first time in a very long time. He knew that this was to be the start of his bad luck, bad publicity, bad everything.
All this talk about him, about the team – he could hardly breathe, let alone focus on Quidditch. The flashbulbs from the cameras seemed to haunt him – everywhere he went, everything he did, every time he even sneezed, he found a photo of himself in some tabloid of another.
He didn't deserve it.
As he trudged toward the team change rooms, his sneer became more and more angry.
Draco wasn't the only one wrapped up in scandal though. The entire team was surrounded by it. None of them had been able to escape the criticism, the comments or the harsh-reality of what had become of the once number one team in Britain.
They had cheated. They had lied. They had been completely and utterly disgraced.
Not Draco specifically, but his manager, a few select team-mates including his friend and mentor, Marcus Flint, no-named suspicious characters and a handful of referees most certainly had.
Almost at the change rooms, as he walked closer and closer, the cluster of photographers surrounding him became bigger and bigger. More flashbulbs went off, blinding him and making him recall the humiliating events that last month, had started the horrible debacle that Draco found himself in.
Marcus Flint, their star chaser; Warren Dubois, their keeper; Casey Warrington, their back up seeker and Gregory Hartford, the teams manager had all found themselves in separate pictures on the front page of The Daily Prophet in beyond suspicious situations. Handing money underneath tables while having lunch with referees, slipping bags of coins to shady figures behind broom sheds, caught with their pants down in the dark corners of Knockturn Alley with the lovely ladies of its nightlife and lastly, pictures of said players' houses filled with every Wizarding steroid there was.
"Draco! Would you care to comment on the recent doping scandal that's—"
"Draco! Care to talk about Marcus Flint's nightly playthings?"
"Mr Malfoy! Have you heard about your team manager's lastest—"
"Draco!"
"Draco!"
He couldn't last a second more. He made a mad dash to the change rooms and just collapsed onto the bench inside. Slowly, he caught his breath and tried to calm down. Pulling off his gear, he noticed that the once fun filled and cheerful group of team-mates that once used to celebrate in the change rooms were gone. Instead, a solemn and quiet group of strangers greeted him. They were the same faces he'd always known, but at the same time they were completely different.
No one wanted to talk.
Draco couldn't help but wonder how many of them had known. How many of them had indulged in the same pastimes as the others. And deep inside he knew that they were all thinking the same thing about him. Just like the entire Wizarding World.
As he stumbled, exhausted from the game they had just played against the Montrose Magpies, towards the showers, he knew that not even a shower was going to wash away every last speck of dirt that tarnished him.
XxXxXxXxXX
"Ginny! Ginny!" A very angry Colin Creevey had already searched high and low for his journalist partner. But like always, she was nowhere to be found. She was going to make him miss what could be the best scoop of their lives. "Ginny! I swear, Merlin knows I swear, that once I find you, I'm going to take this camera and—"
"And take a picture of me smiling victoriously while struggling to keep a hold of all of the journalism awards I've just won."
"No, that's not what I was going to say," said Colin, still frowning. "Besides, you've yet to win a single award, Gin."
"Oh, but I will. I've just gotten a tip. A tip on Draco Malfoy. I know where he's going to be alone, and then we'll corner him Colin. We'll corner him and damn well force the interview out of him."
Colin sighed. His co-worker had, like every other writer out there, been completely hung-up on the Quidditch scandal of the century. The Pemberley Phoenixes' team scandal and every single newspaper in Europe wanted to get that first interview with seeker Draco Malfoy before anyone else. Meanwhile, Colin just wanted to do the assignment he'd been asked to do, take a couple of pictures, get paid and go home. All this running about town with Ginny searching for Draco and searching for tips was going to get him fired. And that was the last thing he needed.
"No, Gin. We're going to the Ministry. The Minister of Environment has just dropped a total bombshell – it's the latest scandal. Everyone else is heading towards the Ministry for a press conference and we have got to be there! Ginny, tomorrow, everyone will be so absorbed about reading this guy's interview with us that they'll have totally forgotten about the Pemberley Phoenixes." He started fiddling with the odd knobs and bobs on his camera and heaved another sigh. "Enough is enough, Gin. That story is done."
But Ginny wasn't listening. She waved her hand about, as if shooing the Ministry topic out of the building's front door. "Oh who cares about Mr. Pompous What's-His-Face? Everyone will be so completely absorbed with that story that no one else will be around dogging Malfoy. He'll be strictly ours. And when we finally get that interview, where he admits everything and anything, we'll be the envy of every journalist and photographer in the country."
She grabbed her Quick Quotes Quill, her notebook, a pair of sunglasses and her trench coat and then rushed out of the front door. Colin, however, didn't. After a minute, when she must've realized that Colin was running off behind her, Ginny's head popped up in the doorway.
"We're going to miss him if you don't hurry up! C'mon Mr. Sulkypants, stop looking so glum. You know I'm right!"
Turning around to face her, Colin, she realized, still hadn't turned that frown of his upside down. "I can't, Gin, I just can't. We'll be fired. We've already been reprimanded more times than I can count for not sticking to our assignments and for going off on Malfoy-hunting excursions instead. I haven't been paid in ages, Ginny and working here at The Wizarding Times is the best gig I've ever had." He crossed his arms and looked at her hard. "Either you come with me and do this interview with the Minister or you find yourself a new photographer and partner."
Ginny smiled a sad smile. "I'm sorry Colin but- this is the story." Waving goodbye, she disappeared round the corner.
Bugger. Me and my big mouth, thought Colin going down a different street. Preparing his camera and taking a deep breath, he pushed himself into the throng of dozens of other photographers outside the Ministry of Magic.
XxXxXxXxXX
Just breathe, in and out. No one will ever know, only when it's too late will they see that Ginny Weasley, journalist extraordinaire, pulled one right over their heads. With a grin rivalling that of the cheshire cat, the petite redhead strode through the locker room doors. Just breathe.
The first thing she noticed was the smell. Eau de extremely-sweaty-Quidditch-players. It was only after her eyes had stopped watering did she notice the actual players. Staring right at her. In towels. Dripping wet. Bugger.
Gregory Hatford approached her first. He was a large man, having clearly eaten more than his share of the pies, with an oily handlebar moustache that matched the comb over that desperately tried to hide an enormous bald spot. Ginny disliked him on sight. Choking back tears after getting a whiff of the generous amount of cologne he wore, she decided to speak.
"Er…Hi. My name is Geasley. Winfred Geasley." She nearly grimaced but, managed to keep her composure. Ginny knew it was a terrible name but, she needed a simple alias, one easy enough to remember. Along with the new name, she had come up with a rather cunning disguise. Ginny deemed herself to be unrecognizable. In place of her long, firey locks, she wore a short brown wig. She had used a simple transfiguration spell that managed to turn her eyes a rich chocolate colour. Unfortunately, she could do nothing about her height or freckles without pulling a Moody- drinking from a flask every hour seemed silly. She might as well just write SUSPICIOUS on her forehead in big,bold letters.
"Willfred, my boy! Mind if I call you Will?" Ginny nearly missed the question, too distracted by the generous amount of spittle that flew in every direction.
"Well, actually me name is Winfred. Win-"
"Great." He thumped her on the back. Hard. She stumbled forward nearly smashing into Marcus Flint who, she noticed, still hadn't fixed his rotting teeth even with the amount of money he made per game. Hatford's booming voice echoed in the room. "Get some meat on yer bones boy! You're a beater and you best be beating balls out there! I don't want you getting knocked around by some gust o' wind."
Ginny was about to give a rather witty retort and then subtly ask him about the scandal but, she found herself to be completely ignored. Hatford and Flint were deep in conversation near the doorway. Trying to hear over all the other voices in the locker room proved to be an extremely difficult task and without being able to stand right next to them, she only heard fragments of their conversation. Something about keeping a deal hush hush. Before she could listen in on anything else, their discussion ended. Abruptly. Both of them looked furious. Curious, if only I'd been able to hear anything else! Feeling a bit angry with herself, she watched as Hatford made his way to the exit. Ginny wondered if he would even fit through the frame, but, he managed to inch his way out and slam the door behind him. What a charming man. Not.
"Listen up." Ginny raised her head, staring at the speaker who she recognized all too well. His blonde hairstyle still hadn't changed after all these years, along with the cold grey eyes and the permanent sneer. He was taller though, about as tall as her brother Ron and, he was no longer the skinny, pale boy from the Hogwarts years but filled out his Quidditch uniform and stood proudly while clutching his Firebolt 2006 in his gloved hand. "We've got a lot to prove this year and, while Flint and some other players are on probation, I'll be your captain." Ginny noticed that most of the players looked pleased upon hearing this news. Only Flint seemed to find this announcement unappealing. Understandably so. "When you get out on the pitch this morning, you better forget all about the scandal that is taking place. I want you to be focused and there will be zero tolerance for those slacking off. Now then, get your broom and tackle out- " This was met by laughter and a round of applause.
Oh Merlin, she thought, you can't say anything here without some dreadful double entendre lurking round the corner.
Draco smiled and held up his hand, waiting for them to settle down. "You know what I mean. Now, I expect all of you to be out on the field in five minutes." Clearly finished with his speech, he exited the locker room, heading out the door that led onto the pitch.
Hurriedly, Ginny grabbed her gear and made for the sole washroom cubicle. Somehow she was able to change even though her mind was racing at a million thoughts a second. She couldn't believe that they hadn't realized that she was in fact a she at first sight. That gave Ginny a boost of most needed confidence. She had been nervous before, but that feeling was gone, replaced by a rush of adrenaline and excitement. It seemed ages since she had played Quidditch and she could only hope she wasn't rusty.
Checking to see if while putting on her uniform she had addled her wig – no – she began to formulate the second part of her plan.
No, she thought hastily, no time. She was supposed to be out there already, tackle out – ew, no, she grimaced at the phrase. What she meant was, she was suppose to be out there already, mounted on her – no, she thought quickly, best just not to think at all. Finally, ridding her mind of any innuendo, she finally stopped what she was doing and paused, congratulating herself on managing to infiltrate the team like a true professional.
She smirked one last smirk, still disbelieving that she was here, undercover! She felt like a real journalist.
Speeding out of the cubicle, she tossed her bags into her new locker, grabbed her broom and hurried onto the field.
Hope you loved it.
Love, Adie Ornament