18 September 2001

Tuesday felt like a Monday.

And Monday - it had felt like torture.

But Ginny knew that's how the days went when the Harpies had a match coming up.

These two long days had been no different. With their rescheduled match with the Appleby Arrows set for the next evening, the Harpies had been on the pitch practicing from dusk to dawn. Coach Beall had set the strenuous schedule after he had announced that they would uncharacteristically have all of Sunday off. No one complained, but Ginny thought someone was bound to crack once he told them to do several laps after the sun had gone down that night.

There were very disgruntled faces but not a witch said a word about how badly they were aching or how eager they were to get to the locker room to shower. Until the sweating and exhausted team made it through the double doors off the pitch, then several voices rang out with their displeasure.

"I thought he was going to keep us out there all night."

"If he made us do one more bloody drill, I was going to chuck the Bludger at him."

"I'm so tired I may end up sleeping through the match tomorrow."

Ginny was opening her mouth to add her two Knuts when Glenda pushed wide the metal door into the locker room and Gwenog Jones came into view. Hands on her hips and scowl on her face, the sight of her caused the players to bottleneck at the door as they each paused when they saw her.

"Come on now, we haven't got all night," she said impatiently, one foot tapping on the carpeted floor.

One by one the rest of the Harpies filled into the long, white walled room, each tentatively walking to their cubbie and putting their brooms away. When all ten women were assembled, the Captain spoke.

"I saw the last bit of practice and I hate to admit that I wasn't completely embarrassed by what I saw."

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and widened her stance, blanking her expression as she prepared for a haughty, put-down speech. But her movement drew Gwenog's attention and the Captain's dark gaze settled on her.

"Hopefully Weasley will be able to catch the Snitch quick enough during the match that any mistakes made elsewhere can be forgotten."

Oh how Ginny wished Gwenog would look away so she could roll her eyes. But the other witch hardly blinked and Ginny knew she was not going to break the stare either.

"But while she is taking her sweet time to locate the Snitch, everyone else must remain on their posts. Every Quaffle dropped will amount to five laps in practice. Any Bludger that doesn't hit its mark will be five laps. If a goal is scored - another five laps. If your talent isn't enough to win the match, then punishment for losing will have to suffice."

Gwenog spoke so fervently that it was hard to imagine any of the players not believing that she could disciple them for their mistakes, even in her own absence. But with her eyes never leaving Ginny's, the redheaded witch felt like her Captain was indirectly telling her that the entire match depended on her. She could save them from extra laps if she just caught the Snitch soon enough. Then it wouldn't matter if Gracie Hargraves, the Keeper, let in goals on her right because she was slower on that side due to the healing of a torn muscle in her shoulder. It wouldn't hurt them as much if the two Beaters, Sarah Badlin and Georgette Sumerton, the two witches sometimes lovers, were not exactly on the same page that particular day.

No, Ginny could save them all by just catching the Snitch.

A tiny voice in the back of her head told her that she knew how Gwenog was, that this hard headed speech was nothing new, and that her team would do just fine to win the match without her imposing words the night before. But Ginny was infuriated. Gwenog had played Seeker her entire Quidditch career, back to Hogwarts. She was well aware of the pressure that came with the position. She knew exactly how difficult it could be to spot the Snitch, even in the best of weather.

Telling a Seeker that they could be the one to make it a quick game if they just did their job was akin to saying everything in life would be easier if you could just use magic. Both were simple statements and both were easier said than done.

Gwenog finally broke their gaze as her eyes went around the room from player to player, her ebony ponytail swishing across her shoulders as her neck twisted. The portion of her brain that needed to rationalize everything told Ginny that maybe she was being groomed for future Captaincy. Maybe Gwenog was being hard on her because she could actually see long-term Seeker potential in her. But as Gwenog barreled through her analyzations of the other team and their player's weaknesses, that thought had Ginny tuning her out.

There was no way, in any uncertain terms, that she would agree to take the position of Seeker when the great Gwenog Jones finally retired.

Ginny would talk to the owners of the team if she had to. Gwenog could train someone else to sit on their broom and wait to see the Snitch. She was not going to do it any longer than they needed her to while their Seeker and Captain was unable to play because of the Quidditch World Cup. She wanted to be flying as fast as she could, dipping and dodging as she Chased and scored. As she had once told Harry, she preferred the Quaffle to the Snitch.

"... I will not be able to attend the match tomorrow night but do not think, for even one second, that I will not know every pass, every goal, every single mistake you make out there," Gwenog was passionately telling her teammates, still berating them for little less than the fact that she could. She wanted the best for her team but her brash personality often made those intentions seem a bit - harsher. "I want the Harpies to make it to the Championship this season and winning tomorrow's match is the next step to get there. We can move to second place in our division with a win tomorrow and the next match; and when I return, we will make the final push to end up on top and in the running for the Cup. We will show the entire league - the entire world that witches can play the game best."

For all of her bossiness and hard edges, Gwenog Jones was excellent at empowering speeches. She knew the tone and effects needed to rile them up, the words and passion necessary to energize and excite their minds and bodies. Even then, after the witches had been on the pitch for seven hours, their eyes were widening with fervor and several of them made noises of approval as their Captain paused.

"I believe this team can win tomorrow. And I believe we can go to the Championship - and win that too." Gwenog looked at every player in turn and for that brief moment, Ginny saw the glossy picture of her childhood idol and inspiration to play Quidditch come to life. Her heart swelled with emotion in vast contrast to the very slight smile she wore. "I know every one of you has it in you - the drive to succeed, the desire to be the best - otherwise you wouldn't be in this room right now. I want you to show that tomorrow - bring that emotion and that enthusiasm. Because we will win, and we will beat every other team in the whole league if we have to."

Ginny was nodding along with the rest of the team, her hands itching to start clapping where she kept them firmly behind her back. Gwenog relaxed her own arms and made a fist that she held out in front of her.

"Bring it in," the short but fierce Captain told her fellow players.

Quicker than would be assumed since they were all moments ago complaining about their aching bodies, the sweaty and dirty witches placed their hands one on top of the next to form a tightly packed circle with the tower of fingers in the center. The locker room became near silent as they exchanged glances, a sudden air of excitement putting smiles on every face as if they alone were in on a secret together.

"Harpies on three," Gwenog said, the ghost of a conspiratorial grin momentarily giving life to her expressionless facade. "One, two -"

"HARPIES!" The entire team shouted as one.

There was a mixture of laughter and whoops of enthusiasm and several players hugged quickly. Gwenog took on her normal slightly displeased appearance but moved towards the door after a glance at her watch.

"Wash up and get home," she told her players, one hand on the door handle. "And don't even think about being late to run-throughs in the morning."

The heavy door swooshed behind her as she took off down the long hallway, her form a smaller figure with each slow pass of the swinging door. Normal levels of conversation returned to the locker room and the women were soon disrobing and turning on the showers. Ginny stripped down and grabbed a fluffy towel, aching knees and stiff hands eager for the relief of a good, long steam.

. . . . .

It was just past ten o'clock when Ginny Apparated home. The only light that she could see from the front door was a warm circle of illumination from the bulb over the stove in the kitchen. Not a sound interrupted the silence of the flat, even the ticking of the large clock in the living room remained mute.

Harry's traveling cloak was thrown over the coat rack to her left, the only indication that he was somewhere in the flat. With hardly the energy to wonder where he might be, Ginny tossed her robes over his and placed her small backpack on the floor beneath them. The amount of effort she had left in her body propelled her to the kitchen where she filed a glass with water and gulped it down in seconds.

Too weary even to check the strength of the wards, she ambled through the dark rooms until the sounds of Harry's light snoring broke the silence. Pushing open the not-quite-shut bedroom door, she paused to stare at the sleeping man on the bed.

Obviously not intending to fall asleep when he laid down, Harry's lips were parted and his glasses were slightly askew, a book laid open across the rise and fall of his chest. One arm spread over to her side of the bed, his palm face up as if waiting for her fingers to slip between his. He was at least comfortable in sweat pants and a faded t-shirt, though the angle of his dark head tilted back would surely bring a crink to his neck.

Hardly wanting to exert the effort and time to remove her clothes, Ginny pulled her wand out of its pocket on her pants and gave it a flourish before placing it on the nightstand next to her refilled glass of water. Comfortably naked, she grabbed Harry's book and delicately removed his glasses, placing both out of harm's way, and slid underneath the thick covers. She could feel the pull of sleep and it wasn't but a moment before her light snores echoed Harry's.

A very familiar dream was slipping into the last depths of her unconscious mind as feeling and sound gently woke her up the next morning. Ginny blinked slowly, her eyes half opening, as she rolled onto her side and into a pocket of warmth. The sheets were cool where she slid her hand across to Harry's side of the bed, her fingers curling back in on themselves as her eyes squeezed shut tightly.

She had no way of knowing what time it was but her alarm had yet to go off, and Harry was out of bed. Two sure signs that it was still early enough for her to fall back asleep. But no sooner had she errantly thought that and her mind returned to its half awake state did the shrill beeping begin, giving her a jolt as she scrambled to stop the noise.

Fully alert and grumpily sitting up, Ginny rubbed at the sleep still in her eyes as a yawn stretched her mouth wide. Not even out of bed yet and she was already tired.

There was little time to reminisce about the wonderfulness of her bed though. As fluffy and inviting as the rumpled sheets were, she needed to eat breakfast and get dressed before she had to leave for the Harpies early morning run through slash practice. Literally dragging herself from the depths of the comforter, Ginny made quick work of stretching her limbs and loosening her muscles. No use getting on a broom if she was stiff as a board.

After a steaming bowl of oatmeal and once she had doned her less than pristine practice gear, Ginny packed her backpack with her necessary shrunken Quidditch supplies, pulled her thick red hair back into a tight braid, and mentally ran through the lineup for the Arrows. As Chaser she would have needed to worry about Markson and Claayton with their near excellent marksmanship for throwing the Bludgers but she had less of an idea what tactics their Seeker, Hornbee, would employ. Granted, there wasn't too great a variety of tactics that could be used when fighting for the Snitch, and Ginny felt she would have heard by now if the gangly German-born wizard was known to be underhanded on the pitch, but she was confident in her own abilities all the same. She could hold her own as well as any veteran in the league.

The sun was shining brightly when she arrived at the stadium but the thick winds and wispy clouds foretold of the possible overcast conditions later in the day. Near perfect weather for Quidditch she hoped.

"Morning," Ginny greeted her teammates with a weak smile, glancing at each of the witches in turn before placing her broom at her feet and bending one arm so that it locked at the elbow with the other straight arm, the muscles stretching.

"Jus' in th' nick oh time, eh Weasley?" Mary Gavin-White, her temporary replacement Chaser, said haughtily, her brand new robes wrinkling as she too stretched her arms.

"Come off it - ye only walked in two minutes ago," Wilda Griffiths snapped, clearly irritated with the young witch.

"I'm nah th' last one 'ere," Gavin-White blustered, her face reddening from more than just the force of the wind.

"No, but you're the least liked," Sarah Badlin chimed in, straightening up from where she had been bent over touching her toes.

"And the rookie on the team," Georgette Sumerton piped up, one pale eyebrow arched as she smirked. "So you can go get the box of balls from the equipment room and bring it out here before Coach arrives."

Gavin-White nearly growled in frustration when none of the other players came to her defense but turned around sharply to go back inside as instructed.

It wasn't until her distant figure slid past the metal double doors and disappeared into the interior stadium that the pair of Beaters cackled with laughter. Badlin reached into the pocket of her robe and casually tossed an object out, the small box magically growing larger as it toppled end over end to land perfectly on the grass with a sharp click as the lid popped open.

Ginny laughed too, not at all surprised with their trickery.

"Poor girl is going to look everywhere for those," she told her teammates as Gracie Hargraves unsnapped the leather straps and the three larger balls took off into the air.

Sumerton shrugged, glancing at Badlin with a wink. "She's too proud for her own good. You know she told us she thinks she's going to replace you permanently? Even once Gweong comes back."

Ginny chuckled harder, more than slightly annoyed with the rookie now than she was a moment ago. If this wasn't a pre-game practice she would temporarily return to her position and show the cocky witch why she was the number one Chaser on the Harpies.

"I'd like her to tell Coach Beall that," she responded casually, slipping her fingers into her gloves and securing them tightly. "Maybe if she could score more than one goal every few games she could consider doing more than riding the bench."

"Who's telling me what?" came a deep voice from behind the assembled players and at least one of them jumped slightly. "Hopefully why you're not all in the air already."

"Oy!" A shout came from the far side of the pitch where they all turned to see Gavin-White striding purposefully towards them. "Who's ruddy idea was it to send me on a bloody Unicorn hunt to find the balls!? I'm going to string you up by your toes and feed you to an Acromantula, Georgette!" Sumerton coughed loudly with a hand over her mouth to hide her wide smile. Coach Beall glanced between the witch nearer to him and the one coming closer, silver brows knitting together as if unimpressed by the display of childishness. "When I tell Coach that you purposefully sent me off the pitch so I couldn't practice with -"

But her heated words died off as the team parted to reveal Coach Beall staring blankly at his youngest player.

"While it is admirable that you would take it upon yourself to find and capture an Acromantula -" Coach Beall began, none too pleased with the attitude from the rookie. "I think your energy would be better spent getting on your broom and practicing before I have to find yet another Chaser to replace Weasley for the time being."

Gavin-White's cheeks were so flaming red Ginny thought she might combust. The newest player on the team glared daggers at her fellow Chasers and the two Beaters before she mumbled a not-so-apologetic Sorry and hastily grabbed her broom.

"Everyone in the air! We have a match tonight and standing here running your mouths will do nothing to help us win!"

His sudden shouting seemed to push the witches into action, every single one of them hurrying to get their broom between their legs and their feet off the ground. Only when they were circling the pitch in a loose group did Ginny dare to share a knowing look with her Chasers; a glance that acknowledged the unified force of their position and the bond that had developed in the immense span of time they had spent together. Temporarily replaced or not, Ginny would always be considered the third leg of the Chaser trio.

High noon brought the team back to the ground and the end of "light" pre-match practice session. The three hour block had not really been strenuous. A twenty minute scrimmage had become more competitive than it ought to but otherwise, the witches alternated between focusing on each individual position and lazily floating in midair while Coach Beall drew plays with the sparks from the end of his wand.

They were to report back to the stadium at four o'clock to dress and ready for the match. Though the balls would not go into the air until five thirty, both teams would meet on the pitch at five before the pregame ceremony started.

Ginny returned home just before half twelve after turning down Sumerton and Badlin's invitation to join them for lunch in Diagon Alley. She suspected that they were more intent on planning a team vacation than relaxing before the match and she knew that they would be able to coordinate a fantastic getaway without her input. Besides, she needed to focus her mind and get rid of all of the distractions floating through her thoughts.

Those couple of hours flew by as quickly as she did when she was intent on the goalposts with a Quaffle under her arm. After a filling lunch and a bit of meditation, Ginny went in search of a long sleeved tunic to wear underneath her Quidditch robes and ended up reorganizing her closet. Satisfied with the small pile of clothing that she intended to give away, she hopped in the shower then proceeded to braid her hair again while her buttons did themselves and the laces tightened on her boots. A peek inside her bag verified that her gloves, goggles, and a change of clothes were still packed. With nothing else to do and too little time to do anything, Ginny slung the leather strap over her shoulder and readied herself to Apparate. At least she was only traveling to Wales - any farther and the team would have to commute together.

The players entrance on the back side of the stadium was quiet when she arrived, though Ginny could easily make out the sounds of footsteps and the low roar of a growing crowd in the stands above. There was a palpable buzz in the air, an electric current that skimmed over her bare arms and made the hairs stand up.

It was almost game time.

An enormous rush of excitement tinged with nerves hit her square in the chest as she walked towards the lone security wizard guarding the door.

"Afternoon Louis," Ginny said to the balding man with a beaming smile.

"I got five Galleons on the Harpies, Weasley," Louis told her with a pointed look. "You better be winning today."

The small paunch of his stomach bulged as he leaned on what she knew was his good leg. She also knew that he had a long seeded loathing for the Arrows and would love nothing more than to see them beat. With a wink and a wider smile, Ginny turned sideways and continued past him.

"I'll do my best, Louis." She moved down the hallway but glanced back over her shoulder. "Enjoy the match."

Trainers and massage therapists littered the long, winding hallway that circled the entire base of the stadium. Passing offices and meeting rooms, bathrooms and specialized workout rooms, Ginny made it to the discrete metal door for the locker room as the noises above grew louder. Pushing it open with her shoulder, she was quite surprised to almost immediately run into Healer Leisque. Though she quickly thought she had as much right to be there as Ginny did.

"Good evening," Healer Leisque said with a tight lipped smile.

"Hello," Ginny responded, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

There was an awkward pause wherein Ginny was distracted by the movement of a player coming towards them.

"Monica," the witch said, the name oozing with impatience and Ginny glanced over the Healer's shoulder to see Gavin-White strutting over. "What's taking so long? I need to start getting dressed and -"

She stopped when she saw Ginny standing behind the Healer, a smirk blooming across her pinched face.

"Well if it isn't Weasley - finally on time I see," the young rookie taunted, earning a glance between the two from the witch in the middle.

"If you're not early, you're late," Ginny answered happily, an unperturbed grin brightening her freckled face.

"Words I'm sure you could learn to live by," Gavin-White said dismissively, looking to Healer Leisque as if still waiting for something. "Did you find that brace thing you were looking for? I don't have time to waste."

One copper eyebrow arched. "Since you don't really have to do anything until the rest of the team gets here," Ginny interjected before the Healer could draw another breath, gesturing with a nod of her head to the mostly empty locker room behind them. "I don't think there's any need to rush whatever it is that you're doing with the Healer."

"I was just preparing this stretchy medical wrap -" Healer Leisque showed them a fat roll of beige fabric that she seemed to have pulled out of nowhere. "Mary bruised a muscle this morning and I want to make sure it has the least amount of jostling as possible tonight."

Gavin-White seemed embarrassed by the admission of even a slight injury and sneered remarkably well to distract from the nerves that were showing themselves more clearly.

"Don't worry, Weasley - it won't stop me from scoring a dozen goals."

"I'd hope not," Ginny stated as sincerely as she could manage, her eyes widening for the effect. "Gwenog would have your hide if she knew you weren't up to snuff because of an injury but you still played anyways."

That realization drained all color from the rookie's face. For a moment Gavin-White almost looked panicked before a slightly more calm, though still anxious, mask slid back into place.

"Come on, Monica," she beckoned to the Healer, turning away from Ginny as she shoved her nose up into the air haughtily. "We don't have time to waste."

The taller witch appraised her with a scrutinizing eye as if unsure how to categorize her - potential ally or passing acquaintance - but decided it didn't much matter after Gavin-White screeched "Monica!" from across the long room.

"Good luck tonight," Healer Leisque told Ginny with an almost imperceptible nod and moved away towards the very impatient Chaser.

"You too," Ginny replied, giving a nod to Gavin-White when the Healer glanced back questioningly. "You need it more than I do."

There was a twitching at the corners of her plump lips but Healer Leisque hardly broke her stride or expression. Ginny shrugged, muttering to herself, "You do," and let her backpack slid off her arm as she slowly walked to her cubbie on the opposite wall.

By five minutes to five, there was a literal buzz of excitement and energy pumping through the Harpies locker room. Every single witch was smiling and laughing and exuding varying levels of complete happiness for the match that they were about to play in. Quidditch was what they lived for and the slow minutes before they took to the pitch were the moments that amplified their nerves the most. But that was what made it so exciting.

Trying not to look like an overeager child waiting by the door, Ginny took her place at the front of the queue of players and waited for the others to line up behind her. Coach Beall called them to attention and the other witches quickly followed suit.

"Are you ready?" Valmai Morgan clapped her on the shoulder, grinning widely.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Ginny replied, enthusiasm leaking through with the barest hint of nerves.

"Look sharp!" Coach Beall shouted as he came to stand next to Ginny and the door, his heavily lined eyes narrowed as he glanced at his team.

A low rumble of Ooohhh Aahhhh started at the back of the line where the Beaters swayed, their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders as they chanted. The noise grew louder and louder until even Coach Beall was murmuring the chorus and the entire team was bursting with readiness. It was about to reach a crescendo of excitement when the metal door was pulled open and the sounds of the stadium met the noise of the locker room. Everything seemed to amplify for a moment and her ears felt like they had cotton shoved inside them before the rush against her senses normalized and everything just seemed loud.

"Let's go!" Coach Beall called and he strutted into the hallway, leading the team towards the pitch and the cacophony of the upcoming match.

Flashes of light and magic lit the stadium, the sun sitting low in the sky bathing half the pitch in shadows. There was a resounding roar as the Harpies moved as one across the grassy field. Ginny felt the emotion swell in her chest and she had to grip the handle of her broom tighter to keep from taking off up into the sky. There was little else in the world that felt as exhilarating as the cheers of the crowd and the thrill of a match.

The Appleby Arrows were approaching the center of the pitch from the opposite side of the stadium and as both teams met in the middle, contemptuous looks were shared. A black and white striped referee stood between the two groups, the leather trunk at her feet bouncing with the unspent energy of the game balls. As both sides moved to form straight lines facing each other, the ref placed the tip of her wand to her throat and murmured the Sonorous Charm. A staticky buzz filled the hidden speakers around the stadium and the crowd stilled their excitement as they took their seats.

"Good evening! And welcome! It is the pleasure of the International Confederation of Wizard's Quidditch Committee to bring you this match tonight between the Holyhead Harpies and the Appleby Arrows!"

There was another roar of enthusiasm from the assembled crowd. Patches of emerald and gold bled into the smaller sections of pale blue and silver. Ginny glanced around, narrowing her gaze to read the homemade signs and smirk at the jeers, while the referee continued speaking, introducing the captains of both teams and unnecessarily explaining the basic rules. She tuned out the shaking of hands, the coin toss to determine who got which goal posts, and the declaration that the match would begin after a presentation from an ICWQC representative.

All she was waiting for was the whistle that told her to get on her broom and go.

Finally the coaches walked off the pitch and the referee stood ready next to the trunk at her feet. She gave one sharp whistle to indicate that the players should get on their brooms and the shrill sound was music to her ears. Hardly bothering to wait for the second whistle that commenced the game, Ginny threw one leg over her broom, gripped the handle, and gave a hard push off the ground.

The wind whipped against her face as she climbed higher and higher until the oval of the pitch sat several hundred feet below her. Turning around to pause, Ginny glanced down and saw the other players take off like scattering ants as the four balls flew into the air and the game began.

The Snitch was zooming off in the direction of the stands and she made the knee jerk reaction to follow it but the sun caught her eye and she had to look away. Glancing to where the other Seeker, Hornbee, was hovering behind his own team's goalposts, she relaxed momentarily. He was sure to be watching her movements and she was not eager to lead him to the Snitch, unintentionally or not.

Feigning a look around, Ginny dipped low to lay nearly parallel to her broom and began an almost lazy lap around the perimeter of the pitch. Not one to usually be distracted by the goings on of the game, she couldn't help but to watch as Morgan lobbed the Quaffle to Griffiths as Sumerton let her bat swing at her side just below them. A blue clad Beater, Markson she knew by the faint number 8 on his back, hurried to meet the Bludger that was hurtling towards the player holding the Quaffle. Bringing his arm back, Ginny gasped instead of yelling to watch out as Markson's bat made a resounding crack as it connected with the Bludger. The black ball spun dizzily as it flew in the other direction to where Ginny saw Gavin-White just barely catch the Quaffle.

She could not have seen the ball coming towards her and Ginny was unsurprised to watch the weight of the inky Bludger hit Gavin-White's broom just above where her fingers were wrapped around the handle. The Quaffle fell from her grasp as the crowd roared with approval and displeasure at the play, the red ball falling rapidly before it was grabbed out of the air by a blur of blue. She knew what was coming next but it did not make her stomach flop any more gracefully as the Quaffle soared through the left goal and the stands came alive with screaming and stomping feet.

"Macree scores!" One of the commentators proclaimed excitedly. "Ten - zero for the Arrows."

Ginny swore to herself. This could be a long match.

Cruelly thinking that she could have already scored twice, Ginny sat up just enough to get a better view of both the pitch and the open skies around her. There was not a rush to find the Snitch just yet but if she did not remain vigilant, the game would literally slip through her fingers. Gripping the broom handle as if to focus herself, she began a series of looping patterns with the rest of the game playing out beneath her.

But barely twenty minutes had passed when the second commentator yelled "Goal!" again and proclaimed that the score was now 30 - 0.

Griffiths had lost the Quaffle when the Arrows Beater, Claayton, had "accidentally" run into her full on. Ginny heard the sarcasm in her opponent's voice, even from her position above the crowds, when she told the referee that she had been unable to brake. The piss poor excuse was enough to make Ginny wish she had her own Beater's bat but she was admittedly pleased as she watched Gavin-White "accidentally" fly close enough to the haughty Arrows Beater to send her sideways on her broom with a carefully jabbed elbow.

"Morgan scores!" rang out across the lively stadium and Ginny whipped her head around to watch Valmai shoot away from the Arrows goals, a triumphant smile smearing her face. "And the Harpies are on the board! 30 - 10."

Ginny pursed her lips, finding her determination to locate the Snitch as just a moment later the second commentator eagerly added, "James lobs one in! Arrows up 40 to 10!"

Hornbee flew near enough that Ginny could see his middle finger proudly displayed for her and she responded with her own "go fuck yourself" gesture before they flew off in opposite directions.

At the one hour mark the score had increased to 60 - 20.

Ginny could not fault any of her Chasers for the lack of goals because the Arrows Beaters seemed to have the Bludgers constantly attached to their throwing hands. Markson and Claayton were admittedly remarkable in their positions and even Gavin-White's thrice over fumbles could not be blamed on clumsiness. Hornbee had not spotted the Snitch but continued to alternate between the goal posts, taunting Hargraves at one end and loudly bashing the Harpies with his own Keeper, Montez, at the other end. Ginny would have shouted her annoyance at his lack of effort but his arrogance gave her a wide open opportunity to find the Snitch without him on her tail.

When the commentators noted the end of the second hour of play, the score had jumped to 120 - 20.

Ginny saw Coach Beall throw his clipboard to the ground in frustration when Quigley scored another goal and the Arrows added ten more points to their lead. He yelled a string of obscenities to Griffiths as she flew by and mercifully, she threw the Quaffle with enough spin that it curved around Montez as the green and gold clad fans roared enthusiastically around them. The Harpies were down by ninety points now and if Ginny didn't spot the Snitch soon, the final outcome of the game would not be good for the Harpies.

Thankfully, though her teammates were beginning to look bedraggled, they had scored twice more by the start of the fourth hour of play. The Arrows had scored once more too but Badlin and Sumerton seemed to have nonverbally devised a plan of attack and were able to retain contact with the Bludgers more than Markson and Claayton.

140 - 50

The scoreboard blinked brightly against the now darkened sky, flashing advertisements and upcoming matches amongst game statistics and the ever increasing goal totals.

It had become slightly more difficult to spot any glimmer of the Snitch against the inky night sky and Ginny repeatedly attempted to not become frustrated with her lack of contribution. Her butt was numb enough that she wanted to catch that little golden ball just to be able to get off her broom and stretch. Unfortunately there was no end in sight until she had the Snitch in her sights.

More to get a wider vantage than because she had spotted anything, Ginny flew lower until she was just a few feet from the ground. Laying low on her broom, she took a slow lap around the base of the pitch while the other players darted around above her. A glint of gold that couldn't be a camera flash at this height caught her eye and she took off in its direction, paying no attention to the cheering crowd that erupted as another goal was scored. Ginny swept across the field, gaining speed as she turned the broom against the curve of the stadium. She was nearly on top of the spot where she had seen the blip of gold when a tiny, warm light blinked unassumingly.

"Bloody fucking hell," Ginny swore to herself, angry that she had mistaken a Flying Glow Worm for the Snitch, and nearly screamed when she heard a commentator yell, "Arrows goal!"

Palms sweating and her nerves returning to flutter sickly in her stomach, Ginny felt a panic creep across her shoulders as she realized the Harpies were down by 110 points.

The game was on her shoulders now. She had to find the Snitch. There was no other option.

But the sudden anxiety she felt growing expanded largely when the Quaffle was stripped from Morgan's hands and Macree sped down the pitch to easily score again.

She half expected to hear the whistle blow, knowing Coach Beall was not above pausing play for a timeout, but the shrill noise never came and she realized why when she glanced at the nearly hidden bench and saw her Coach with a hand covering his surely irate face. Their locker room after the match was not going to be a pleasant place to be.

"Not looking too good for ya, Weasley," a taunting voice jeered nearby and Ginny whipped her head to the left to see the tail end of Hornbee's broom fly by as he zoomed away from her. Not thinking about the other Seeker's tactic to distract her, she gave an imaginary kick to speed up and quickly caught up to him.

"All I have to do is catch the Snitch and your team's goals will mean nothing," Ginny shouted with more confidence than she felt at the moment.

A bark of laughter carried along the wind as Hornbee dipped, smoothly turning against the noise of the crowd.

"You'd have to spot it first for that to happen," the other Seeker leered, a too wide smirk contorting his face as a shout of "James scores!" reverberated through the pitch.

Ginny became more determined than ever, barreling after him then inching forward so that she was neck and neck with Hornbee.

"Maybe you should go back to Chasing, Weasley," he called loudly as they stayed side by side, passing over the commentators box and circling around a wind whipped banner. "Maybe then your team would have a chance of winning for once."

Feigning a lean to her right, Ginny brought her elbow up into Hornbee's chin just as she straightened up on her broom. Blood bloomed immediately, spurting to color the now irate face of the other Seeker. Chuckling as she took off in the exact opposite direction, she almost hooted her exhilaration when yet another goal was scored by the Arrows. That alone would have been bad enough - the Harpies were now losing by a staggering 140 points - but Ginny glanced down at her teammates just as Gavin-White pulled back an arm and squarely hit Claayton on the jaw. Quite a feat in and of itself when you were on a broom but it was made worse by the fact that the referee blew her whistle and called for a penalty shot.

The sea of greens and blues wavered in the stands, the fans jumping excitedly or taking their seat with a sense of defeat. Ginny knew exactly how the latter felt.

Gracie Hargraves hovered in front of the middle goal post, doing her best to look intimidating, as James floated near the center of the pitch, a smirk on his face and the ready Quaffle underneath his arm. The referee glanced between the two players, waited for a nod from both of them, and blew a single whistle. Everything seemed to fall quiet for just a moment - in the space of an inhalation the stadium held its breath until the Arrows Chaser inched forward, then darted off in an uneven line. The cheers sounded just as loud as they should but the actions on the pitch seemed to move in slow motion.

As if her heart wasn't already in her throat, the short burst of electric excitement because of the penalty shot nearly fried her nerves. Ginny could do nothing but watch as James zigzagged to the goal, turned himself sideways as he stopped short, pulled his arm back, and tossed the Quaffle with amazingly accurate dexterity into the very center of the right goal. Hargraves had a finger just brush the red leathery skin as she stretched to block the shot but her efforts to defend her posts were half a second late. Once more the Arrows had scored.

200 - 50 the scoreboard blinked mockingly at her.

Now completely furious with herself for not having caught the Snitch yet, Ginny flew above the stadium to a height that surveyed the pitch more clearly. Sitting up straight and closing her eyes, she focused on emptying her mind. All she had to do was find that little golden ball and she could tie the game. There wasn't any time left for her to wait for her teammates to score another goal - even if it meant they could win instead of draw. She had to find it now before they lost completely.

"Macree has the Quaffle!" A commentator yelled excitedly. "He swerves around Gavin-White - ooohhh close call as Sumerton misses with a Bludger! Macree dips - and turns! And he shoots! - ahh and Hargraves is there to block the shot this time… "

Ginny's heart started beating again as she followed the movement of the Quaffle with her eyes. Morgan had whipped back to circle behind their goal posts, looping around the base of the middle pole before taking off down the pitch just a few feet from the ground. And that was when Ginny saw it.

The Snitch was hovering against the golden background of a Harpies banner near an almost imperceptible door in the paneling along the curve of the oval shaped arena. Only her angle from above, so that the gold wings fluttered against an emerald portion of the banner instead of blending in, permitted her the vantage of noticing the slight bit of movement. There wasn't an available to second to glance around for Hornbee's position - she had to go for it.

Kicking at the air and gripping the handle tightly, she took off. As if by some stroke of luck the Snitch did not move - not when she tipped her broom down to dive, not when she saw a portion of the crowd track her movements with dawning comprehension.

The wind tore against her face and grabbed at her robes, blowing harder as her intent became apparent to the whole stadium. The Snitch buzzed off towards the Arrows goal posts and she gave chase. Ginny inched forward on her broom, knees clenched to hold her balance. Her right hand loosened its grasp, preparing to reach for that elusive golden ball when it was near enough.

It flew around the curve of the oval pitch, seeming to dance as it fluttered up and down while it moved forward. But Ginny was gaining speed and closing the distance as she cut a straight line past the tall trio of posts.

Almost -

A sudden shock of rumbling cheers drowned out the hard wind. Whooping and shouting and all forms of verbal celebration caused a deafening moment that spurred on her all consuming desire to get the bloody Snitch.

Almost -

Ginny felt the rapid beating of the delicate silver wings just a split second before her fingers wrapped around the Snitch and pulled it into her palm, grasping it firmly.

Got it

She clutched the still moving orb in her hand and slowed down on her broom, turning toward the crowds with a wide, triumphant grin. But the Harpies fans were looking distraught. And the Arrows supporters were giving her a thumbs down or booing noticeably.

"Weasley caught the Snitch!" A commentators voice rang out enthusiastically but her stomach dropped. Ginny rotated again so that she could look at the flashing billboard. "But Quigley scored just moments before she got it! Arrows win! The Appleby Arrows win!"

Sure enough, the marquee blinked brightly as the final score appeared.

Arrows 210 - Harpies 200

They had lost.

And Ginny knew, though ultimately she did not truly believe, that it was mostly her fault.

. . . . .

Ginny did not wake up in any better mood the next morning. The loss of the match the night before hung heavy on her shoulders and she could not bring herself to show any emotion, though Harry was asleep and remained unaware of her continued sour mood.

A demeanor that did not improve with the last minute decision for a mandatory practice that had been scheduled for sunrise. Coach Beall promised the team of witches that they would have a penance to pay for their atrocious loss and he maintained his end of that statement by making them fly laps for nearly three hours straight. After which he temporarily glued Quaffles to their hands and had them run laps around the pitch, on foot, until he told them to stop. Maybe, he yelled at them as they panted heavily, if they knew what the weight of a Quaffle felt like they wouldn't be so scared to use it to score.

By noon, Ginny was exhausted to a level that she did not think possible. She did not even want to exert the energy it took to breathe. Somehow, after a very one sided team meeting wherein they were screamed at again for their lackluster playing, she was able to cast Scourgify on herself before dressing and traveling home. She rather fancied a piping hot shower that left her skin pink and raw and her sore muscles relaxed.

Though her stomach loudly protested otherwise, Ginny did not bother with thoughts of figuring out something to eat for lunch. Her kitchen looked as spotless and inviting as ever but she did not wish to work out her self inflicted frustrations with a whisk and bowl. She would eat later, after she had had time to think while in the shower.

Not at all keen to read the markup of the last night's game, Ginny couldn't help but glance at the front page of the Daily Prophet as she walked by the kitchen table to retrieve a glass for water. The small sports section preview was on the bottom right corner and she could just make out the word Harpies in bold lettering. Next to the line about turning to page seven for more, the miniaturized moving picture was big enough for Ginny to see a repeated black and white clip of Griffiths getting knocked off her broom by a Bludger.

Unable to stop herself, she set her glass of ice cold water on the table and picked up the copy of the Prophet. Paragraphs and pictures moved at random and she had to tilt the thick paper to one side to follow the twirling words of an abbreviated article about the Quidditch World Cup qualifiers. Ginny glanced to the top to see who it was that had written such a bias little blurp against the English team when her eyes caught on the tightly typed words just below the bolded Daily Prophet heading.

20 September 2001

It was Thursday already.

And she had a meeting with Draco Malfoy in less than two hours.

Ginny swore loudly.

Just when she thought these twenty four hours couldn't get any worse, they did.

.

.

.

A/N: Thank you thank you for reading! It was a slow progression but now things are going to speed up. Buckle up kiddos, you're about to see a lot more of Draco.