"No! I want to have a go too! Give it to me, Fred!" the little redheaded girl shouted at her older brother. She was only six, looking very sweet and harmless in her little top and pyjama bottoms, but as they say, looks can be deceiving. Her expression told much more about her current state of mind — her cheeks were blotched with red, and the tips of her ears were the shade of her hair, a telltale sign of anger typical to her family.
"Won't!" Fred Weasley said stubbornly, and stuck out his tongue at the girl three years his junior, just for effect.
Ginny turned to the other boy, who was exactly identical to Fred. "Georgie, pleaaasse? Pretty please?"
"Nope," was the firm reply. If you take our brooms —"
"— which you are too young to use —" Fred continued. "—you will break them!" the two finished in unison.
That was the classic twin talk.
The girl glared at the two, and then her lower lip trembled, and she promptly burst into tears.
"Muuum!" she bawled.
"What is it, sweetie?" Molly Weasley stepped out into the backyard, her right hand covered in flour from her kitchen work.
"Freddie and Georgie won't let me use their brooms to fly!"
Mrs. Weasley smiled at her little daughter a little tiredly. "But Ginny, you are too young to fly."
"Am not!" came the stubborn reply. "I'm six! I am a big girl!"
"Good girls don't fly, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley sighed, and picked her up. "Now get inside like the nice little girl you are, won't you?"
Ginny frowned, but not daring to disobey her mother, trudged into the house.
-o0o-
The next morning was cool and quiet, and the Burrow was unexpectedly silent, devoid of the usual chatter and squabble of the Weasley children. Arthur had taken Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins to the Quidditch stadium to catch the match between Puddlemere United and the Tutshill Tornadoes. Only Ron and Ginny had been left behind with their mother, considered too young to go. Ginny had thrown a right fit at that, of course, but to no avail. The little Weasley girl now lay on her tummy in her little bed, her head bent low, listening to the commentary of the ongoing match in the WWN. She sighed as she heard the commentator yell excitedly as Puddlemere scored, wishing she could have gone. She stared at the poster of the Holyhead Harpies which she had plastered on the wall.
"Little girls don't fly," was all she had heard, but the all-women team was her inspiration. It was her dream to join when she grew up. She stared dreamily at the poster, imagining her grown up figure grinning out of it with a broomstick on her shoulder.
Suddenly, an idea struck her. There was nobody in the house except mum and Ron, and she was sure that mum was busy in the kitchen preparing the Sunday meal, and Ron was most likely snoring in his room. It would be the perfect time, and no one would know...
Her eyes gleaming with the same mischievous light that was often seen in the eyes of Fred and George, she noiselessly crept downstairs and slipped out into the backyard. She hurried over to the shabby old broom cupboard in the corner. The door opened with a creak under her small but firm grip. Her eyes shone as a big smile made its way up her lips. They were just there. Oh, wow. Perfect!
She eyed the identical Shooting Stars belonging to the twins. Which one should she take?
She picked the left one. A broad grin lit up her face. What a wonderful thing this was! The smooth wooden handle, the twigs, sticking out here and there a little, and the name of the broom written in pretty lettering — it was only a Shooting Star, but to Ginny, it was the best broom in the world. Most girls of her age were unaware of how to ride a broom. But Quidditch through Ages being her favourite book and watching her brothers fly her favourite hobby, she had a pretty good idea what to do. Placing the broom on the ground by her side, she shouted, "Up!" in the most confident tone she could muster, and then cringed at her loudness. Hopefully mother wouldn't hear her. To her utter delight, the Shooting Star shot up into her hand, at a perfect height for her to mount.
Swing your leg to the side, straddle and so mount the broom.
Ginny followed the instruction generated by her head (memorized from the time her father had been giving flying lessons to her brothers), and gripped the handle tightly with her small hands. And forcing all her strength into her legs, kicked off.
Here goes.
The broom shot into the air with such abruptness that Ginny almost screamed. Suddenly thrust into the air, she found that she could hardly control the broom. A terrified squeal escaped her lips as her body leant too far into the right, and after one... two... three seconds of slipping, slowly slipping off the wooden surface, she crashed to the ground.
"Ouch!"
Thankfully, she had barely risen five feet above the ground, and so didn't get hurt badly. But her right ankle had twisted into an awkward position beneath her body, and a gasp of pain left her as she tried to stand up. But her determination did not reduce. She glared at the Shooting Star hovering lazily above the ground.
So you won't let me ride you, you silly broom? You just wait; I will ride you. I will fly.
Limping slightly, she made her way over to the broom, and swung her legs over it for the second time. Her right ankle hurting too much for her to use it for a kick-off, she pushed her weight on her good left leg instead. And once again, she shot up into the air.
This time, things were easier. Ginny was prepared for the broom's jerky movements, and took care to ensure that her body remained properly upright. Using her hands gripping the wood to carefully steer the broom, she soon found herself zooming all around the back garden.
A joyful whoop burst out from her lips. She was flying, she was actually flying! The wind blowing gently across her hair felt so good, and although she was merely a few feet in the air, the simple feeling of her legs swinging away, not needing the ground to move gave her an exquisite sensation of freedom. The Shooting Star would be easily outrun by Scabbers (which was saying something as the rat was so lazy), but Ginny felt as if she was on the fastest model. She never wanted to get down from it.
She did get down and return to her room, anyway, after an hour or so, during which she had done several rounds of the garden, fallen down four times (once while trying to grab a gnome she had spotted in the grass) and over all, had a thoroughly enjoyable time. Sure, she would have to do some deep thinking to make up a lie for her hurt ankle and how the top branches of the crap apple tree were broken and on the ground all of a sudden (she had lost control of the broom while trying to pick up speed and crashed straight into the tree), but it could be managed. A broad, contented grin stretched on Ginny's face as she dropped down to her bed.
She was so doing it again.
-o0o-
Years later, Ginevra Weasley, star chaser of the Holyhead Harpies found herself being carried on the shoulders of her team as she scored the winning goal and led the team to become the champions of the Tournament once again, no one attributed her big grin and the mischievous and yet nostalgic sparkle in her eyes to the old memory that was crossing her mind.
The six years old girl who would break into the broom shed every other day and take her brothers' brooms to fly had grown up; she had grown up to reach much greater heights.
