Ginny had slept in on this day, as she had every day for the past fifteen
years. When she awoke, she heard a somewhat gentle sound, which managed to
sound kind of loud at the same time. Ginny's mind immediately registered
what it was. She layed in the bed for as long as she could, before slowly
getting up and wandering over the window and opening the curtains.
It was raining outside. Ginny had always liked the rain, for some reason. As she sat in the heart of Muggle London, she looked out the window at it. The rain made the sky dark. It was so much better this way, than having sunshine blinding you every time you walked outside.
Ginny tended to lose herself in thoughts every time this happened. Thoughts about why she was here, what the figures of her past were doing, right now, as she stared out the window...
~*~
"... and Weasley scores!" came an announcer's voice. "Nick Weasley, son of the famous Ron Weasley, and the lead scorer this season manages to get one past Keeper and Captain of the Ravenclaw team..."
Hermione smiled. Watching games like this always brought her back to her Hogwarts days, back when she used to worry so much about Harry, and later Ron, when they played Quidditch in their days at Hogwarts.
"Looks like Weasley and Boot are fighting pretty hard, eh?" came the voice of Colin Creevey. The Prophet wanted to get some pictures of the Hogwarts players this year for an article on new talent coming out of the school. Nick Weasley and Devin Boot, the Chasers on either side, were aggressive to get the Quaffle, especially from each other.
"The stats say Nick tops Devin for total points by fifty," Hermione replied. "It's not surprising."
There was a pause as the two watched the game.
"So, what do they say about you now?" Colin asked after a while. "Britain's most eligible bachelorette teaches Transfiguration at Hogwarts?"
"Oh, stop." Hermione blushed. "You know they only say that because..." she trailed off. They both knew why. Because of her part in the final battle. Not many liked to talk about it. But her part in stopping Voldemort's forces made her a celebrity in Britain, not to mention other parts of the world, and many gossip magazines still had not tired of writing about her.
Colin broke the silence. "You wanna grab something to eat at The Three Broomsticks after the game? I might get time off, if Charlie's girl catches the Snitch soon." Charlie had married Fleur Delacour and had a child some fourteen years ago. Ron's son, Nick, was the result of a short marriage with Hannah Abbot just after the war. Colin, having helped get the two together, was a close friend of the Weasleys (including the honorary ones) even after the divorce.
Just then, Samantha zoomed towards the ground, with Ravenclaw's Seeker right behind her. She caught it easily.
"Sure," Hermione replied.
~*~
"Freeze!" Harry yelled, holding his wand steadily in front of him.
The man it was pointed at was half way out of the back door when Harry came in, and was now making a run for it. Another Auror on Harry's squad went after him.
"Stupefy!" a voice yelled, and there was a distinct thump! Harry hurried outside with the rest of his squad close behind him.
"It's another Death Eater." said Bryan, holding up the man's forearm.
"Portkey him to the Ministry." Harry told him. "The rest of you can go home."
Following this there was a cheer. The five Aurors had worked the whole night tracking this Death Eater, and most were nearing exhaustion. They were ecstatic to be able to pass out on their bed instead of on hard ground in front of Harry, their squad leader and hero of the wizarding world. This Death Eater was one of the handful left, after Voldemort had been defeated fifteen years ago.
Harry, used to working for days without sleep, apparated to his mostly unused corner office in the Ministry to fill out the necessary paperwork before heading to his apartment on Diagon Alley.
~*~ Tap tap tap.
Draco Malfoy awoke and managed to fall off his bed in the process. Cursing, he picked himself up and stumbled to the window. Stubbing his toe on the same chair twice in the process, he slammed the window open. The shattered window bounced off the wall behind it and made its way back to him, scraping his arm. Draco snatched the owl out of the air, ignoring the squeal that many would not believe came from an owl, and ripped the parchment from the owl's leg. He then hurled the owl back out of the window and slammed it once more.
Through the shreds, Draco could barely make out the message. He could see where the owl's leg had torn off some of the parchment.
Hogwart eunion
For those who attend efore the last battle
June first thro June seventh
RSV owl
Dammit. Now he wished he hadn't thrown the owl back out the window. He'd have to go to the message tower to get his owl to reply, or else the horrid McGit-Lover would pester him with owls until June. It would probably be better for him to accept the invitation as well, or else she would pester him with owls anyway. It was Draco's opinion that Godric Gryffindor had prized students missing the sanity gene, thus giving them the ability to be recklessly brave and idiotic. When he told one of his now former girlfriends this, she had swatted him over the head, confirming his suspicions. It made perfect sense, considering that all the Weasleys were in Gryffindor, and genes were hereditary.
But when Draco realized exactly which former girlfriend he had been talking about, his thoughts slowed. He should not have let his mind babble on like that. It often ran on and on, out of control, if he didn't stop it quickly. Normally he had enough sense not to let himself start in the first place, but today the rational part of his mind was a bit sluggish.
Draco kicked a chair in one of the abundant dining rooms of the mansion on the way to the message tower where Hermes roosted. The message tower was on the opposite side of the mansion, though some could call it a castle, from Draco's quarters. Kicking a table, and again cursing himself for not wearing shoes, Draco half limped, half hopped, to the tower.
~*~ "Dammit!" a voice in Australia could be heard from far away, thanks to the echoing locker room. The british accent, slightly different from the Australian accent more commonly heard in those parts identified the angry redhead.
The famous Ron Weasley shoved his Thunderbolt, a new broom from the Firebolt line, into his locker and kicked the door shut. Ron, at least, was wearing shoes. Unfortunately the lockers weren't the magically locking kind, because the team had to use an older pitch to practice on for fear of another team watching. The door swung back, hitting Ron on his already bruised kneecap.
"Shit!"
"Calm down, mate." Darian Fulter, a beater for the team Ron was currently on, had walked in on Ron's tirade.
"Calm down?" Ron bellowed, falling onto a nearby bench to rest his kneecap from holding up the weight of his body. "The qualifying rounds start in a week, Darian! I just missed twenty shots from the reserve chasers! If we want to win the world cup, I need to do better than that!"
"Twenty shots out of two hundred, Ron. And some of them were bludgers from Jean and I. We were practicing accuracy." Darian said coolly. "You needn't get worked up over it."
"But the games will be a lot longer than a quick practice, Darian." Ron said. "I'll have lot more than two hundred shots on me."
"Not with Kris as seeker. She's got eyes like a hawk." Darian reasoned, putting up his own Thunderbolt and smiling at his success in calming Ron down. Debating Quidditch was one of Ron's favorite pastimes, and it was one of the only ways to calm him down these days. "And you're captain. You're allowed to be lazy in a practice every once in a while. You're starting to stress yourself out."
"Yeah, whatever." Ron replied, bending and unbending his leg to see if it was okay to walk again. Darian tossed a card in his lap. "What's this?"
"Came by owl just before you were about to tear off your locker door." Ron opened the envelope, seeing an invitation. "What's on the schedule for the week of June first?"
Darian walked the the locker room door, consulting a piece of blue parchment. "Nothing, unless you wanna schedule some more practices before the quarter-finals."
"Is the owl still around?" Ron asked. "And do you have a quill?"
Darian handed Ron a quill. "Kris is chasing it around the pitch. She says the snitch is defective."
"She says all snitches are defective." Ron told Darian, walking out.
It was raining outside. Ginny had always liked the rain, for some reason. As she sat in the heart of Muggle London, she looked out the window at it. The rain made the sky dark. It was so much better this way, than having sunshine blinding you every time you walked outside.
Ginny tended to lose herself in thoughts every time this happened. Thoughts about why she was here, what the figures of her past were doing, right now, as she stared out the window...
~*~
"... and Weasley scores!" came an announcer's voice. "Nick Weasley, son of the famous Ron Weasley, and the lead scorer this season manages to get one past Keeper and Captain of the Ravenclaw team..."
Hermione smiled. Watching games like this always brought her back to her Hogwarts days, back when she used to worry so much about Harry, and later Ron, when they played Quidditch in their days at Hogwarts.
"Looks like Weasley and Boot are fighting pretty hard, eh?" came the voice of Colin Creevey. The Prophet wanted to get some pictures of the Hogwarts players this year for an article on new talent coming out of the school. Nick Weasley and Devin Boot, the Chasers on either side, were aggressive to get the Quaffle, especially from each other.
"The stats say Nick tops Devin for total points by fifty," Hermione replied. "It's not surprising."
There was a pause as the two watched the game.
"So, what do they say about you now?" Colin asked after a while. "Britain's most eligible bachelorette teaches Transfiguration at Hogwarts?"
"Oh, stop." Hermione blushed. "You know they only say that because..." she trailed off. They both knew why. Because of her part in the final battle. Not many liked to talk about it. But her part in stopping Voldemort's forces made her a celebrity in Britain, not to mention other parts of the world, and many gossip magazines still had not tired of writing about her.
Colin broke the silence. "You wanna grab something to eat at The Three Broomsticks after the game? I might get time off, if Charlie's girl catches the Snitch soon." Charlie had married Fleur Delacour and had a child some fourteen years ago. Ron's son, Nick, was the result of a short marriage with Hannah Abbot just after the war. Colin, having helped get the two together, was a close friend of the Weasleys (including the honorary ones) even after the divorce.
Just then, Samantha zoomed towards the ground, with Ravenclaw's Seeker right behind her. She caught it easily.
"Sure," Hermione replied.
~*~
"Freeze!" Harry yelled, holding his wand steadily in front of him.
The man it was pointed at was half way out of the back door when Harry came in, and was now making a run for it. Another Auror on Harry's squad went after him.
"Stupefy!" a voice yelled, and there was a distinct thump! Harry hurried outside with the rest of his squad close behind him.
"It's another Death Eater." said Bryan, holding up the man's forearm.
"Portkey him to the Ministry." Harry told him. "The rest of you can go home."
Following this there was a cheer. The five Aurors had worked the whole night tracking this Death Eater, and most were nearing exhaustion. They were ecstatic to be able to pass out on their bed instead of on hard ground in front of Harry, their squad leader and hero of the wizarding world. This Death Eater was one of the handful left, after Voldemort had been defeated fifteen years ago.
Harry, used to working for days without sleep, apparated to his mostly unused corner office in the Ministry to fill out the necessary paperwork before heading to his apartment on Diagon Alley.
~*~ Tap tap tap.
Draco Malfoy awoke and managed to fall off his bed in the process. Cursing, he picked himself up and stumbled to the window. Stubbing his toe on the same chair twice in the process, he slammed the window open. The shattered window bounced off the wall behind it and made its way back to him, scraping his arm. Draco snatched the owl out of the air, ignoring the squeal that many would not believe came from an owl, and ripped the parchment from the owl's leg. He then hurled the owl back out of the window and slammed it once more.
Through the shreds, Draco could barely make out the message. He could see where the owl's leg had torn off some of the parchment.
Hogwart eunion
For those who attend efore the last battle
June first thro June seventh
RSV owl
Dammit. Now he wished he hadn't thrown the owl back out the window. He'd have to go to the message tower to get his owl to reply, or else the horrid McGit-Lover would pester him with owls until June. It would probably be better for him to accept the invitation as well, or else she would pester him with owls anyway. It was Draco's opinion that Godric Gryffindor had prized students missing the sanity gene, thus giving them the ability to be recklessly brave and idiotic. When he told one of his now former girlfriends this, she had swatted him over the head, confirming his suspicions. It made perfect sense, considering that all the Weasleys were in Gryffindor, and genes were hereditary.
But when Draco realized exactly which former girlfriend he had been talking about, his thoughts slowed. He should not have let his mind babble on like that. It often ran on and on, out of control, if he didn't stop it quickly. Normally he had enough sense not to let himself start in the first place, but today the rational part of his mind was a bit sluggish.
Draco kicked a chair in one of the abundant dining rooms of the mansion on the way to the message tower where Hermes roosted. The message tower was on the opposite side of the mansion, though some could call it a castle, from Draco's quarters. Kicking a table, and again cursing himself for not wearing shoes, Draco half limped, half hopped, to the tower.
~*~ "Dammit!" a voice in Australia could be heard from far away, thanks to the echoing locker room. The british accent, slightly different from the Australian accent more commonly heard in those parts identified the angry redhead.
The famous Ron Weasley shoved his Thunderbolt, a new broom from the Firebolt line, into his locker and kicked the door shut. Ron, at least, was wearing shoes. Unfortunately the lockers weren't the magically locking kind, because the team had to use an older pitch to practice on for fear of another team watching. The door swung back, hitting Ron on his already bruised kneecap.
"Shit!"
"Calm down, mate." Darian Fulter, a beater for the team Ron was currently on, had walked in on Ron's tirade.
"Calm down?" Ron bellowed, falling onto a nearby bench to rest his kneecap from holding up the weight of his body. "The qualifying rounds start in a week, Darian! I just missed twenty shots from the reserve chasers! If we want to win the world cup, I need to do better than that!"
"Twenty shots out of two hundred, Ron. And some of them were bludgers from Jean and I. We were practicing accuracy." Darian said coolly. "You needn't get worked up over it."
"But the games will be a lot longer than a quick practice, Darian." Ron said. "I'll have lot more than two hundred shots on me."
"Not with Kris as seeker. She's got eyes like a hawk." Darian reasoned, putting up his own Thunderbolt and smiling at his success in calming Ron down. Debating Quidditch was one of Ron's favorite pastimes, and it was one of the only ways to calm him down these days. "And you're captain. You're allowed to be lazy in a practice every once in a while. You're starting to stress yourself out."
"Yeah, whatever." Ron replied, bending and unbending his leg to see if it was okay to walk again. Darian tossed a card in his lap. "What's this?"
"Came by owl just before you were about to tear off your locker door." Ron opened the envelope, seeing an invitation. "What's on the schedule for the week of June first?"
Darian walked the the locker room door, consulting a piece of blue parchment. "Nothing, unless you wanna schedule some more practices before the quarter-finals."
"Is the owl still around?" Ron asked. "And do you have a quill?"
Darian handed Ron a quill. "Kris is chasing it around the pitch. She says the snitch is defective."
"She says all snitches are defective." Ron told Darian, walking out.