Quidditch

"C'mon," said Harry, already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. "Let's go before it gets too hot out there."

"Yeah...in a second," Ron muttered underneath his Chudley Cannons bedspread. "Just a few more minutes."

Harry waited for a moment and heard the inevitable: Ron snoring sleepily once more. He rolled his eyes and headed out of Ron's room, Firebolt in hand.

On his way downstairs, he stopped by the twins' room and poked his head in. "D'you two want to play Quidditch with Ron and me?" Harry waited to hear Fred and George's reply.

One of them mumbled something unclear, jumbled from sleepiness. The other grunted and rolled over, clearly still fast asleep.

Harry checked his watch. Eight-thirty. Did no one in the Weasley household wake up early? Heaving a sigh, he hefted his broomstick and stalked off.

It had been one of those sleepless nights. While Ron had snored away (and occasionally muttered something about Hermione's eyes), Harry had lain in his cot, staring into the darkness of Ron's room, his mind plagued with envy that his best friend could sleep at night. Sleep never came to him, and he ended up being slightly disconcerted during the day.

Harry was determined not let it happen that day. He decided to tire himself out so much that he would want nothing but sleep when the time comes. So he forced himself out of bed, dressed, and took his broomstick out for a bit of Quidditch.

The problem was, no one seemed to be interested in playing with him. So he had to settle for flying about aimlessly until he was positively bored for the entire day.

Harry trudged into the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley was fixing breakfast. She was so engrossed in a new cookbook that she didn't notice him walk by. Grateful to not be fussed over, Harry pushed the backdoor open and walked out into the fresh, cool morning air.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, casting an orange-red glow on the grass and trees in the Weasleys' garden. He scanned the area, looking for a good place to kick off, when he suddenly tripped over something hidden in the grass.

Harry regained his footing quickly and glanced down. He had stumbled over a pair of sandals. He put down his broomstick carefully and looked around.

He spotted Ginny a few yards away, running about barefooted. She looked to be chasing a garden gnome and taunting it, tossing rocks and sticks at it and laughing out loud.

Harry chuckled under his breath. Then he blinked in surprise. When was the last time he had laughed? The sound was foreign to him. And why did it only take a girl chasing a gnome around a garden to make him laugh, when there was so much entertainment to be had in the Burrow? Everyone had endeavored to cheer him up (Harry could tell; their laughter and merriment seemed to be somewhat forced). Not even Fred and George and their joke-shop antics ever coaxed a laugh out of him.

And all it took was Ginny Weasley, running about in a summer dress and chasing a garden gnome.

Harry stared at her. Her fiery red hair hung loose down her back, falling into her freckled, flushed face. She wore a thin pale blue dress that seemed to flow down her slender frame like water. Harry grinned inwardly to himself. Fire and water. Two things that didn't normally coexist harmoniously. And yet it seemed to suit Ginny. She was like that. Quiet and demure one minute and the next hot tempered and firing a Bat-Bogey hex at someone.

Harry realized that he was just standing in the middle of the garden, staring at Ginny. He kicked himself inwardly for being stupid and crept closer to her, crouching behind a tree. She was taunting the garden gnome, dancing in circles around it. The gnome looked confused and tried to run, but Ginny seized it by its ankles and tossed it over the hedge, giggling like mad.

Ginny watched the gnome tumble away, stop, right itself, and scamper off. Then she flopped onto the grass, her dress lifting slightly on her legs, revealing her smooth thighs, pale as milk. Harry blushed and turned away, only to stupidly hit his head on a branch.

"Ouch!" he shouted, holding his forehead in his hand.

Ginny gasped and jumped to her feet, quickly straightening out her dress. "Harry?" she said, finally noticing him. "What're you doing here?"

He turned around, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Er...nothing...just wanted to, er...play some Quidditch..." Harry managed to say.

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "By yourself?"

Harry's face turned redder. "Er...I was waiting for your brothers..." he said, feeling oddly lame.

"Oh...how long have you been standing there?" she asked unblushingly.

"Er...not...not long," he stammered. Why was he so nervous?

Ginny giggled. "Mum asked me to de-gnome the garden and I was having a bit of fun with a certain stubborn one--" She cast a glance over the hedge to see the gnome trotting back over to the garden. "I think it'll take awhile to confuse him."

"Er..." said Harry. He didn't know what else to say.

"If you wanted to play Quidditch, where's your broomstick?" Ginny inquired.

"Um...I left it over there. By your shoes." Harry paused. Then he added, "Er...did you want to play?"

"Am I allowed to play?" Ginny glanced up at him, arching her eyebrow again.

"You are a Quidditch player, aren't you?" Harry said, finally able to speak coherently.

"I suppose," Ginny said modestly, lowering her long eyelashes.

"Oh, come on. You caught the Snitch right under Cho Chang's nose. I think you're good enough to play with us."

Ginny lifted her eyes at him. They were chocolate brown and reflected the sunlight. "If you want me to," she said.

"I asked, didn't I?" He was feeling braver. Ginny smiled; the movement of her lips seemed to tug him closer to her. Harry took a step forward, his fingers itching to brush her hair out of her face. What the hell am I doing? he thought wildly.

"Mmmhmmm..." she replied vaguely, as if she hadn't heard a word Harry had said. Inexplicably, Ginny began moving closer to him too. He jumped when he felt her small hand brush against his. Her face was within inches from his own. Harry could see every freckle on her cheeks. He could count every soft red eyelash that grazed her cheeks as she closed her eyes. His gaze came to rest on her little mouth, which was slightly open. Waiting. Harry was bending forward, completely forgetting what they were talking about or why he was even here. All he cared about was Ginny standing there, waiting. Just one more inch and...

"Oy, Harry! Are we going to play some Quidditch or not?"

Dammit, Ron, thought Harry frustratedly, shutting his eyes in embarrassment. Ginny immediately moved away and dashed back to the house, muttering something about getting her broomstick. The moment had disappeared just as it had come.

That's the last time I'll ever ask Ron to play Quidditch.