Authors note: I do not own any characters created by J.K. Rowling. Full credit goes to her for all situations and information mentioned in any of the 7 books or interviews, etc. as well. However, the storyline of this fanfic is all me and the little voice in my head – and thus, of course, not to be copied by anybody else – that would be stealing my creativity, my ideas – and not very nice
It had been eight months now. Eight months since she had seen any of her family, any of her friends, him. Well – she had seen him – even here his fame was unbelievable. Even here some of her team mates had a poster of him in their lockers. But she wasn't bothered by it. After all, what he did or didn't do, had long ceased to be of interest to her. And it wasn't as if she even truly cared that much for him anymore. Getting away from him had definitely been one of the best things she had ever done. The fact that sometimes, when she was lying in her bed on her own thinking of home, she couldn't help but wish that he were there had nothing to do with that. She was finally living again, finally able to run together with everybody else.
It had been eight months now. Eight months of training 6 days out of 7, and sleeping the last day away. Eight months of doing nothing but flying, trying to be faster, smarter, better than the other girls in her team. Eight months in which their team had finally begun to win their games, instead of being booed off the field. Eight months of working together with people she had genuinely begun to like. Eight months of considerable peace.
And now it had happened: they had won their competition and they had been asked to play a friendly match with the Holly Harpies. A team she had dreamed of joining since she was little more than 8 and wasn't allowed to play Quiditch with her brothers because she was a girl, and could get hurt more easily than them. But this team proved them wrong. They were an all-girls team, but they constantly kicked the all-mens teams' asses. And now they would be playing against them.
And part of her couldn't be happier that she got this chance. That she finally would be allowed to play against some of her heroes, the women she had looked up since forever.
But part of her was afraid. Afraid of what international press, and this would get international press, she was sure of it, would do to her hide-and-seek game. Afraid that maybe one of her brothers, or one of her friends, or anybody who knew of her disappearance would see her picture, or her name mentioned in the list of players. Afraid that they would finally find out where she was. Afraid to be found. And afraid to go undiscovered.
So she played, and she played well. The whole team did actually, because they didn't lose. The Hollies caught the snitch, but she had noticed that their seeker was about to catch it, and managed to score one last time. And that last time meant that the game ended with a tie: 390-390. The Hollies' keeper may have been a spare, but she had proven herself, and the manager of the Hollies proved herself impressed. So much even so, that she asked her to consider transferring to them.
She knew she shouldn't even have been considering it, but she missed her home. She missed the weather, she missed her mum's food, she missed her brothers' jokes and bickering, she missed home. And at the same time she knew that she couldn't go home, she shouldn't. There was a reason for her leaving, and there wasn't one for her returning. But still – she missed home.
She didn't tell the team about their offer, she wasn't ready to hear their advice yet. But word got out, and before she knew it, her teammates were asking her the question she herself didn't even know the answer to: was it true, would she be going, was she going back home?
It wasn't until the day of the deadline that she decide however, and as she wrote down her answer, she couldn't help but wonder - what would everybody say?
It had been eight months. Eight months since he'd seen her, eight months since his best friend had stormed into that office, eight months in which he couldn't think of anything but one question: "Why didn't I tell her how I felt?". Eight months that had changed nothing in his life, but had given new homes, new children, new friends, new happiness, new sadness to all of his friends. Eight months where he wasn't even watching anymore. It hurt too much to see how everybody had moved forward, even further away from where he was still standing, his back to a future he couldn't see, searching his past for a sign that showed she would leave.
It had been eight months now. Eight months in which he went to work, he had dinner at the Burrow, he visited Teddy, he laughed at jokes, met people, was asked to sign photographs, refused to sign photographs, had lunch with his best friends, was asked to go to many memorials, and – eventually – had to move again. So he went to the Burrow, and didn't wait until he was asked, he made jokes, signed one photograph and swore he would never do it again, and moved. But every once in a while, he would still look back over his shoulder.
But it had been eight months. And it had been three years before that. If she would still have given him a second look eight months ago, his chances were all gone by now. He had ruined it for himself, and he would just have to live with that. But he just wished he'd gotten a chance to at least tell her that.
It was a Sunday morning, and the Prophet had an extra large sports cattern in it. Skipping over the Muggle sports (someone had gotten the brilliant idea to introduce those to wizards – who would have known that so many people would immediately fall in love with them?) One of the Hollie Harpers' chasers was quitting the team because she got pregnant. The team would take a two-months break, and then return with a new chaser. Apparently she was British, and had made quite a name for herself across the ocean, but decided to come back home. He checked when the first match would be – a couple of days after Ron's birthday. Well, at least he now knew what to get him for a present…