24 June, 1999

It's been about a week since I moved out of my parents' house and into my new flat here in Holyhead. I haven't made my decision on whether I like it here or not. The girls are super nice to me; which is something I wasn't expecting at all. The food here is decent but not amazing. With Harpies being on strict dieting plans, there is absolutely no chocolate or sweets that come in or go out of our dormitories. Boy, do I miss chocolate.

I've also started to realize the scope of the commitment I've made by signing onto a Quidditch team. For instance, during my first practice, I was pulled aside by a couple of strangers asking me for a time where I'll consistently be at my flat. Of course, I didn't think twice about what they were asking and told them I would always be in my flat between five o'clock in the morning to the time practice starts. Now, if you told me that those two were drug and alcohol supervisors, who come to your flat whenever they please and inspect, not only if you are home, but also test you to see if you've been under the influence within forty-eight hours of a game or practice, I probably wouldn't have given them that time frame.

This morning I was cozy in my bed, when my door bell rang and I was immediately forced to take a couple potions and watch them walk around my flat and check through my cabinets and under my bed for any illegal substances. I don't remember this being apart of my contract…at the same time I wasn't given that much time to read my contract.

Another commitment I've signed myself into would be having an image. I didn't know about this until my first meeting with Steve and Lisa. My publicity managers. I remember Marie warning me about them but I don't think I took it as seriously as I should have.


20 June, 1999 (4 days earlier...)

"Okay, Ms. Weasley, we have big plans for you; for one we need to figure out your image so tell us a couple things about yourself." Steve says, whipping out a notebook. This man seemed short and stocky. He has—wait, is that a toupee?—and a very round face. To think this guy is the guy who comes up with photo shoot ideas and jersey designs seems quite ironic as he wears a mismatching outfit of a grey, plaid blazer, and a maroon striped shirt.

"Well, uh, I guess there's not much to tell. I'm the daughter of Arthur Weasley and—"

"Yes, and what is it like? I mean you must be under a lot of pressure to be the perfect image of a well-behaved daughter for Arthur Weasley's sake?"

"What?"

"Well, being Deputy Minister's only daughter, you have some high standards to live up to. You have to be a smart, kind, well-behaved young woman."

"Um, well I guess, I've never thought about it. I've never felt pressured just because of my dad's—" I reply.

"Oh you know what would really give this girl some media buzz?" Lisa interrupts.

"What are you thinking?" Steve replies.

"Deputy Minister's daughter, a girl who's supposed to be perfect and well put together, actually has an edge."

"Wait, what?" I ask, bewildered.

"I love that idea, Lisa." Steve says, ignoring me, "Could you imagine the stir that would have. Ginny Weasley: Bad Girl."

"What do you mean 'bad girl'?" I ask. Steve looks at me with a small smirk.

"Major public 'whoopsies'. We need to see you harness a side of yourself that you've probably never used before." Lisa explains, leaning on her two hands that are planted on the edge of the desk.

"You fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, correct?" Steve asks.

"Yes, but—"

"That's makes it even better. She's a war hero as well. We could use that as her sympathy story."

"Sympathy story?"

"We need something that turned you bad. Something that gives you the edge."

"She has that bad girl look to her, don't you think?" Lisa says, examining my face. This is all happening too fast that I couldn't stop it before it got out of hand.

"Yes she does. This is perfect! Since we lost our bad girl, Cynthia, to pregnancy, the team has been unbalanced."

"Excuse me, am I hearing you right? You want me to a bad girl?"

"You are hearing us perfectly." Steve replies, "We need you to become your worst nightmare. The kind of girl who starts fights, and gets drunk, and starts major scandals. We need you to be the snake with blue eyes."

"But I wouldn't do that."

"You used to not do that. Now you will do that. And you'll have to do it in complete secrecy. We need this only to be between us. If your family reactions are genuine then the rest of the world will believe it. You're going to be the juicy news everyone will be talking about."

My meeting with the duo left me rattled. I didn't want to become a bad girl. I didn't want to start fights with people. I mean, yes, I've had a couple rebellious stunts in my life; I have a temper, and I'm not a giant sweetheart, but I don't think I would go out of my way to do anything questionable. It usually just happens to me.


24 June, 1999 (Back to present)

So, now I'm shopping with Joan and Sarah for new clothes and items for my flat. And I really can't tell if what's happening is a good thing or bad thing. How about you judge for yourself?

"Wait, Ginny, what is on your feet?" Sarah asks, looking down at my yellow sandals. I thought I dressed okay for this occasion. It's just shopping.

"My old sandals?"

"No, sweetie, burn them when you get home. And don't ever wear anything like those again." Sarah leads me into a store that's completely empty; well, empty people wise, the shop is filled with clothing and mirrors and different accessories.

"Welcome to the Holyhead Harpies private shopping closet." Joan says, throwing her purse on the couch.

"Wait, we have a private clothes shop?" I ask.

Sarah nods, "Okay, so as a Holyhead Harpy, you have a few things to remember. Rule number one; you have an entire fan-base watching your every move, once you become a big Quidditch star you start to set trends. Like those ugly sandals; if you wore those out in public, teenage girls are going to start buying and wearing the same sandals. Which, for the public's sake," she glances at my feet, "is a downgrade. So you need to look out for the amateur minds of young girls and pick out shoes with taste."

I glance at my shoes and gulp; I didn't think they were that bad.

"Rule number two; never look at the price tag. Don't worry; Double H has enough money for splurges. Rule number three; you always get more than two other girls to approve of your outfit. Preferably two from the team, but if not you still have your makeup artist, and your assistant and the rest of your company to help you."

"Wait; hold on a second, I don't have a makeup artist or an assistant."

"No, you do; you just haven't met them yet. They'll give you a few options to choose from because they will be around twenty-four seven." Sarah says, walking toward the far corner of the large, spacious shop. "Alright, so back here is all of the pants and slacks to choose from. Over there is where all of the shirts and jackets are. On this wall is where all of the shoes are, and on the opposing wall is where you'll find purses and clutch bags. And then over here is all of the jewelry and over there is all of the fitting rooms. Do you have everything?"

"I guess—"

"Good, now Joan, you should help her out, I'm going to shop for some stuff for me." Sarah says, shooing us away.

"Alright, let's just go look at some tops first." Joan says, leading me to the other side of the room, "So how are you feeling about this?"

"Okay; it's a lot to take in."

"Yeah, I remember when I was the new girl on the squad and Sarah was giving me the same spill she just gave to you." She says, searching one of the metal racks, "Don't take what she says personally. When we came here for me, it was my hair that was messed up."

"I'm guessing she's the fashion forward one on the team?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, I'm guessing you've already had your first meeting with Steve and Lisa. They created her into that. I've heard rumors that she used to be nice." Joan says, smirking as she takes out a shirt and then puts it back.

"Yeah, I did." I say, looking through the shirts a lot slower than Joan does.

"What are you going to be?" She asks, glancing up at me.

"I don't think it's decided yet…" I say, taking out one of the blouses.

"Oh," Joan says as she takes out a leather jacket, "Well, we have to get clothes that fit your image, so what have they said so far, maybe we can just get some outfits that will go with what they're thinking." I stop looking through clothes and glance up at her. Her face drops, "Oh no."

"What?"

"You're going to be the new bad girl, aren't you?" I finally give her a long look.

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Because usually, the girl who acts like the bad girl becomes the bad girl. That's what happened to Cynthia. And she got with a ruddy guy, got knocked up, and now she's eight months pregnant, with a cheating husband, a crumbling marriage, and no job to support her or her baby." My eyes went wide.

"Things to look forward to?"

"Oh, don't let me scare you. It doesn't always work out that way. I'm supposed to be the promiscuous one. Which is total bullshit since I only have a few one night stands on occasionally." I laugh but then I realize she's actually serious.

"Oh yeah," I say, moving my attention back to the jackets.

"Do you know who we all are?" Joan asks in a weird way.

"Yeah?"

"No, I mean, what our 'images' are?"

"Oh, no."

"Well, Sarah is the fashion forward one. I'm the promiscuous one. Cecilia is the dumb one. Mia is the hot-tempered one. Marie is the smart, goody-two shoes. Gwenog is the mysterious one. But do you understand what you are?"

"Not really."

"You're all combined. You're promiscuous, you like to drink, you will trash talk anyone who crosses you, you're going to be smart with your insults and comebacks, and, well, you'll experiment. Not to mention you'll also be the one with the most scandals, and you'll always be on the front pages of the magazines."

"But, who would be a fan of that?"

"No one…that's kind of the point. Luckily, you have skill to make up for it. But, the bad girl is always the one that's there to shock the world." Joan says, pulling a few more shirts from the rack.

"But that's not me."

"What are you going to do? Fight it and lose your job? Trust me; you don't want to do that."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because the bad girls are the ones who get paid the most." Joan says walking over to the jeans. "Plus, if you break a contract with Double H, you'll be fined double what you make and you'll never be able to sign with another IQL team."

"I'm not money driven. Someone must've broken the contract before and signed with a different team. Trades happen all of the time." I say, following her with a couple hangers of shirt and jackets hanging from my elbow.

"You say that you don't care about money now, but you'll care eventually. Also, those don't count-Holyhead will trade you if another team offers to buy you from them."

"Buy me?"

"Well, that sounds worse than it is. But essentially, yes. If Puddlemere decided that they want you on their team, they'd contact Sebastian George with a large sum of money to buy you. If Sebastian decides it's worth the profit, he'll trade you and find someone to replace you."

"Nice to know, I guess." I say, grabbing the pair of slacks she hands me.


I floo back to my flat hours later with shopping bags upon shopping bags of trinkets for my house and new clothes for my closet. The fire acts up from behind me and Joan and Sarah follow through with more things than I had.

"Alright, I'm going to your closet and filtering out the gross clothes." Sarah says almost immediately as she drops the bags in the middle of my living room.

"Well, Red, this is where the fun begins. How about we start decorating the rooms and then check up on Sarah?" Joan says, picking up the discarded bags on the floor.

"Okay." I say, quietly. My mood has definitely been dropping since the first practice. Holyhead seems really depressing. It's filled with fake people and failed dreams.

Holyhead, Wales is the entertainment centre of the Wizarding World. This is where witches and wizards migrate to so they can achieve their singing careers, painting careers, dancing careers, acting careers, and, for me, Quidditch career. When Joan and I walked to the salad place down the block from the Pitch, I saw three homeless people begging for galleons because they wasted all their money auditioning for jobs they didn't get. This place is just sad.

"Merlin, Ginny, I wouldn't even give this stuff to kids rotting in orphanages!" Sarah calls out from my room. My heart just sinks. Okay, Sarah, I get it, I don't have designer clothes and I don't own any expensive shoes. I grew up with just enough money to supply my nine person family with food and clothing. I didn't have extra galleons sitting around to spend for my own personal enjoyment.

Joan sends me an apologetic look as she takes out the pillows Sarah picked out for my old, worn-down couch.

"Is she always this charming?" I finally snap.

"Not always, there are times when she can be compassionate. Just take it as jealousy and move on." She whispers back to me, "To be honest, I don't really like to be around her either."

I don't understand; if you don't like someone then don't hang around them. Why would you stay friends with someone who just tears you down? For popularity? To avoid confrontation? Why does this make me feel like I can't trust Joan either?

"Ginny, if I were you, I'd go check on what she's doing. She may throw away stuff without your permission." Joan says, grabbing the painting from my hands. "That's what she did to me." I nod and walk over to the bedroom.

"Hey, I just wanted to see what you've done." I say, quietly as I notice the pile of my old clothes on the bed.

"Oh, well, that pile is going to the garbage and that pile is what we may be able to salvage." Sarah says as she opens up another drawer in my dresser. I walk over to the trash pile and feel my face flush.

"What? No. This isn't going into the trash! And neither is this!" I say, pulling out a couple jackets and pairs of jeans from the pile. "My mother made this!" I say, grabbing my famed Weasley Christmas sweater. And then one last article of clothing stands out and my heart skips a beat.

I pull out the flannel shirt from the pile. Sarah turns and looks at me with a disgruntled look.

"Why do you want to keep that? It's an oversized, old flannel shirt that has no value to it."

"It's my boyfriend's." I say, temper rising.

"If it's his, why do you have it?"

"I don't know; don't you have any of your boyfriend's clothes?" I ask, going through more of the trash pile.

"No; I don't want a man."

"Or no man wants you." I mumble under my breath.

"Okay, Weasley, if you're going to get snarky with me, then it's obvious you don't want my help." She says, closing the dresser drawer.

"No," I reply, grabbing her arm so she doesn't leave; although I really don't like her attitude, I need her. I obviously don't know anything about clothes, "I do need your help. But, can we not throw away my old clothes?"

She give me a long, hard glare and then breathes deeply out of her nose, "I guess."