Chapter Ten: Better than the Snitch
Ok, Ginny. Get your ass in gear. You've written exactly…let's see…one..two…two words. Two words. Two words in three hours.
I know! I'm trying!
No you're not. Two words! T-W-O! You've got to get this turned in first thing tomorrow morning and even though you've had this assignment for the past week, you only started on it three hours ago.
I was sick for three days! Then I had Quidditch practice, then I had to do my History of Magic essay…
Then you had to meet up with Harry in that cosy little spot off the Ravenclaw corridor.
He was showing me his new Seeker strategy!
Uh huh. It's amazing how that boy can `discuss' things with his tongue half-way down your—
Don't you dare finish that thought! Honestly!
Ginny looked up from the two words she had been staring at for the past forty-five minutes and glanced around the table, just to make sure no one had figured out how to read her mind. Ron was building a house out of an exploding Snap pack, and Ginny furtively scooted her things back from the cards when she noticed that they were wobbling, a sure sign that the whole thing was going to go into flames at any moment. She watched her brother bite his lip in concentration, wondering how long it would take for his eyebrows to grow back this time.
A movement from Ron's right caught Ginny's attention and she turned to stare in amazement that anyone could make a quill write that fast. Hermione was hunched over her own studies, and her quill was flying so fast that Ginny could barely see the thing. Ginny glanced at her own quill, still clutched in her left hand, with a bit of ink dripping down from the nib onto the parchment, which made a small splatter as a giant black blot formed. Ginny sighed angrily as she scrunched up the now ruined parchment and lobbed it over Hermione's head straight into the fire.
"How's that essay coming along?" Hermione asked.
"Fine," Ginny lied. "I'm nearly done."
Of course Hermione, being Hermione, had to actually look around Ron's house of cards (which miraculously had not exploded as of yet) and check to see for herself if Ginny was telling the truth or not.
"Doesn't look like you've written much to me," Hermione said, quirking a brow at her.
"Can't you tell when something's written in invisible ink?" Ginny exclaimed. "Are you a witch or not?"
As to why Hermione, Ron and Harry suddenly burst out laughing was beyond Ginny. She shrugged, then caught Harry's emerald gaze and flushed a bit as he winked at her. Ginny turned back to her own homework and read the assignment that she had hastily scrawled on her notebook.
Describe, using examples, the ways that Mandrake Leaves can be harmful to certain types of Sleeping Draughts if not correctly used. Two rolls of parchment to be handed in by next Friday morning because Snape is a slimy haired git who is only doing this because he's got the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain in his class and he knows that Gryffindor is going to wipe the pitch with his pitiful team the day afterwards.
Snape sucks, Slytherin sucks, we get the point. Now start writing the blasted thing!
I don't know what to write! Who cares about any of this, anyway?
Ginny grabbed her quill and wrote down the same two words.
Yes, lovely start. Make those letters big enough and you could have one word for each page.
**
Another hour later, Ginny managed to surprise herself by having a complete sentence, one that took up nearly two inches of paper.
See? That's better. Now just write about ninety of those.
I need a break! I'm so tired!
Holding Quidditch practices twice a day for a month will do that to you. Not to mention all the hours you spent planning strategies. Your grades have dropped considerably, and you know that Hermione will find out pretty damn fast if you don't bring them up.
Yeah, I know. Hermione is worse than McGonagall, Percy, and mum combined. But I'm only trying to make a name for myself, you know that. I mean really, it's hard being the last in line out of seven kids! Bill was the first Head Boy, Charlie was the first Quidditch Captain, Percy's the first to become a high-ranking official in the Ministry, Fred and George are going to be the first ones to own their own business—
You've helped them. Some of your ideas are great.
That's not the point! Ron and I are at the end of the line here, and we've not got much to work with! He's even got that chess thing, so that's something unique…what's one thing that I have that makes me stand out from the rest of the Weasleys?
A nice pair of boobs?
Besides that!
So, what is the plan exactly?
You read that Daily Prophet article! I've got a shot at turning pro!
Pro? As in professional? As in doing this for a living? You do realise that you only joined the Quidditch team in the first place was so you'd get a certain guy to notice you, or did you forget that?
I know! But who knew I'd turn out to be a "world class Chaser?"
Stop quoting that article! I know what it said!
"Ginny Weasley! You've barely written a word!" Ginny was so startled that she knocked over her pot of ink, which—of course—completely poured out over the bit she had written.
"Damn!"
Ginny snatched up the parchment and quickly performed an erasing spell. It worked. Too well as now her parchment was once again blank. Completely blank.
"Oh—" and Ginny said something that caused more than one head in the room to turn her way. She felt herself blush slightly as she realised what she'd said.
Hermione gaped at her for a moment then let loose. "You are worse than Ron! That is due tomorrow and you've only written two inches worth!" she shrieked.
"I know that, Hermione," Ginny replied scathingly, still upset over her ruined work. "Thank you for the update."
"This is serious! The marks you get in your classes aren't up to your usual standards—"
"How do you know that?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Hermione, how do you know that?"
Hermione paused for a second. "I was talking to Professor McGonagall, and she mentioned that your class performance seems to be slipping, and she asked me to keep an eye on you—"
Ginny was absolutely furious. "You're spying on me!"
"Not spying!" Hermione hastily interjected. "We are worried about you! You know you won't do well on the NEWTs if your marks don't pick up and you've been so busy with all this Quidditch nonsense—"
"Nonsense!" Ginny felt as though she'd been slapped. "Nonsense? Why you—"
"Look Hermione," Ron interrupted impatiently. "Ginny's been working hard to get us ready, and so what if her marks have dropped a bit? We're going to wipe the pitch with the Slytherins!" Ginny shot her brother a grin. Trust Ron to come through for her.
"Ron! I want us to win as much as you do, but Ginny's grades—"
"Are really none of your business, Hermione," Ginny finished coldly. The two girls glared at each other for a moment. Tired of having Hermione stand over her like her mother, Ginny got up from her bench and began to pack up her things, jamming them roughly into her bag.
"I'm going to finish this upstairs." Pain shot through her hand as she cut herself on the stiff edge of the parchment.
"I don't know what's got into you this past year, Ginny," Hermione said at last. "First you try to pull that prank—"
"Oh yes, like we haven't discussed this before." Ginny was now furious. Of all the times for Hermione to bring that up.
"A lot of people could have got hurt, Ginny!"
"Hermione," Harry began, his tone very quiet. "We've already been over this thousands of times, so just leave it ok?"
"You lost your prefect badge over this, Harry!" Hermione wailed, rounding on Harry. "How can you take her side in this?"
"Harry wouldn't have got involved in that if someone hadn't squealed—" Ginny was so angry she was literally shaking. Hot angry tears threatened to escape, and she had to blink them back quickly. She'd be damned if she'd cry over this again.
"Hermione just did her duty, Ginny," Ron said. "You know that."
Ginny took a deep breath, ready to tell her brother just where Hermione could take her duty, just as Harry—who probably deduced her intentions—gently took her arm, grabbed her bag, and led her across the room.
"Come on, it's not worth it," he whispered in her ear.
"I'm just so tired of her throwing it in my face, Harry, I really am!" Ginny fumed, as they walked to the dormitory stairs. "I didn't know it was going to turn out like that! I didn't mean to get you involved in this—"
"You didn't, Ginny," Harry said in comfort as he drew her to him. "I'm a big boy and knew exactly what I was doing."
"I'm really sorry, Harry—" Harry put a finger to her lips, eyes narrowing.
"I don't want to hear you say that again, you hear me?" Ginny nodded, then smiled as he gently chucked her under the chin and hugged her tightly to him. She stood there, her head resting on his shoulder, feeling the scratchy wool of his jumper beneath her cheek, letting the warmth radiating from Harry sink into her bones, giving her newfound strength.
She took a deep breath, inhaling his clean scent as some of the tension building up in her faded away. "I should go work on that essay for Snape."
She felt Harry nuzzle the top of her head with his chin. "Want me to see if I can dig up my old essay? I think I have it somewhere, although I'm sure I got a zero on it."
"No, I think I can make a zero on my own, thank you," she giggled, raising up to give him a teasing kiss. Her face grew serious for a moment. "I love you."
She watched his eyes flare, then grow darker. "I love you too." With one last kiss, Ginny went upstairs.
****
Ginny frowned down at the green mass of leaves she was supposed to be cutting into thin, even strips, to add to the sleeping draught. Hermione was right about her class performance slipping a bit, she thought as she added three slices of the leaves to the coffee coloured potion and watched it fizz, then turn a lilac colour. And despite having Snape as a teacher, Potions was normally one of her best classes. She supposed it was because she liked the thrill of danger involved in potions—one tiny slip, one ingredient too much or too few, and total chaos could ensue. She even tolerated Snape on most occasions, at least before she was Quidditch captain. She'd learned from her first year that if you don't cause any undue attention to yourself and try fade into the background, he'd leave you alone. It hadn't been easy, especially when burdened with the Weasley hair and genes, but six years of patience and hard work had almost paid off. Snape never paid her any attention in class as her work merited average marks, and she never answered a question unless directly asked. It also helped that she'd always had Potions with the Hufflepuffs, who also knew how to best to handle Snape.
"Miss Weasley! Are you paying attention?"
Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin. Startled, she accidentally dropped the vial of armadillo bile, from which she had been just about to add one and a quarter drops, into the cauldron. The liquid turned a shocking shade of pink, and clouds of blue smoke began to cascade down the sides. Thinking quickly, she grabbed her dust of wormwood, knowing that it would be the only way to neutralize the armadillo bile and possibly save the concoction, but before she could uncork the top of the bottle, the unthinkable happened—
"Melted, Miss Weasley! You have successfully managed to melt your cauldron," sneered Snape, as his thin shadow loomed over the mess. "Tut, tut, tut. Not what we'd expect from a world class Chaser and Quidditch captain, is it?" And this what had been going on since the start of the term for Ginny. Snape, once seemingly oblivious to her, was now constantly on her case about something and took great pleasure in quoting from the Daily Prophet article whenever he could, in the most nastiest tone of voice he could muster.
"Well," he barked, his black eyes flashing in the dim light of the dungeons, "What are you waiting for? Use that wormwood and neutralize this mess then clean it up!"
Ginny, who had almost been frozen in shock, snapped out of her trance, and eased down from the chair she'd jumped onto, to get away from the spill. She quickly unstoppered the bottle and sprinkled the contents out over the ruined potion, watching it turn back to the soft lilac colour.
"And the reason that I'd been calling you, Miss Weasley, was that you've not turned in your essay," Snape continued as he watched her clean up. "You did do it, of course?"
"Yes, sir. It's right—damn!" Her bag was now soaked from the spilled sleeping draught, and the two rolls of parchment were now completely drenched.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for your language!" snarled Snape. "I want that recopied and on my desk by the end of the day!" he added, gesturing to the dripping parchment Ginny held up by the corners. He started to turn away, but stopped, ran a hand through his greasy black hair and suddenly gave an evil sort of grin. "And you're going to have to serve detention for not paying attention as well. Be back here this evening, at seven twenty seven."
Ginny didn't trust herself to say anything. She merely dropped the essay onto the table, where it landed with a wet splash, and bent down to mop up.
I can't even think of anything bad enough to call that son of a bitch.
He's doing this on purpose! He knows we've got the match tomorrow and he's trying to throw us off! Bet you he's been planning this from the start!
Probably so. Ok, let's not get worked up over this. We've served detention with Snape before. This isn't any different—
Except he'll probably have us doing the most foulest job he can think of, and something that will take hours to complete! It's the perfect way to sabotage the match—get the captain so tired from detention that she won't be able to see straight the next day. Why is everyone against us now?
Because you're the captain. You're the head of the team. Everyone looks up to you. Crush the captain and you've crushed the team! Well it's not going to work, d'you hear? It won't work!
This has been one hell of a day, hasn't it?
Don't say that, this is only the first class.
****
"You haven't had a very good day, have you?" Amy asked as the sixth year girls walked up the common room stairs to put their things up for the day.
No, it hadn't been a good day at all. After the disastrous Potions, Ginny had to face Transfiguration, where the assignment was to turn their desks into Irish Wolfhounds. Hers turned into a Chihuahua, a sickly rat-like dog that shook uncontrollably and bit her as she tried to scoop it up and hand it to a very frowning, very stern looking McGonagall.
"Yeah," replied Ginny miserably, throwing her bag—still reeking of sleeping draught—on top of her trunk.
"Well at least you got that essay turned in," said Patricia, coming to plop down onto the bed next to hers. "Although you know you could've copied one of ours."
Ginny smiled wearily at her friend. "Thanks, but Snape would've probably found a way to accuse me of cheating and God knows what he'd would've done then. As it is, I have detention."
"Think we should give it to her now?" asked Amy, casting a meaningful look to Patricia, who nodded eagerly. "She deserves it."
"Give me what?"
"This." Amy went to her trunk and took out a elongated box and handed it to Ginny. "We had it made for you, as sort of a good luck charm."
Curious, Ginny gingerly opened the box. Inside was some sort of small silver medallion, strung with a matching chain. There was a silhouette of a man with hair pulled back, and small lettering around it. The word Liberty at the top with the date 1992 at the bottom. Turning it over she saw an eagle with its wings spread with E Pluribus Unum written above its head.
"What is this?"
"It's a quarter," explained Amy. Ginny looked up to see both of her friends looking very pleased with themselves.
"Amy thought you'd like to have one," Patricia said. "We had it made up into a chain so you could wear it."
"American Muggles seem to believe that pennies have some sort of luck, so I figured that these quarters would as well. They're bigger, and you can bounce them—"
"This is a quarter!" Ginny interrupted, very shocked to be holding such a strange object.
"Yeah," Amy said. "You like it? It might be sort of silly, but we thought you could use some good luck—especially after today."
"It's wonderful," laughed Ginny for the first time that day as she ran a fingertip over the edge. "And this is money? How weird! I love it!"
"Now you'll always have something handy, you know," Amy winked suggestively as Ginny gave her a hug. "Just in case."
Patricia giggled, "Yeah, although I have no idea why you'd want to use it on Harry, especially when there's—"
"Don't you say it!"
Amy and Patricia just grinned.
****
Back and forth. Back and forth. Dip sponge. Wring out. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Ginny paused for a second to look at her reflection in the cream marble floor of the Trophy room. Sweat beads covered her nose, her damp hair had once again managed to escape her braid, and her clothes were soaked from the splashing. Soap bubbles floated around her like fairies.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Dip sponge. Wring out.
The soft splash-splash of a sponge being dipped into a pail of sudsy water and the wet plop of the soaked sponge being slapped down onto hard marble echoed throughout the chamber. Snape, being Snape, of course had found the perfect way to assign a detention and make sure that the Gryffindor Quidditch captain would be as tired and sore as possible the day before she faces his house team. Scrubbing the marble floor of the Trophy room, on her hands and knees, with no magic, was the most perfect way to see that happen. She'd been at the task for hours now; she'd lost count of the times the real cuckoo bird in the grandfather clock in the outside corridor had called out the hours. Her arms felt as though she'd been wrestling with a blast-ended skrewt, her muscles were screaming out in agony with each movement, and Ginny was now mindlessly working.
"Ah! I see Weasley has finally learned her proper place—on her knees at my feet," Ginny was so lost in her task that she hadn't been aware of someone approaching.
I'm too tired to deal with him tonight; can you think of a proper retort?
How about fu—
Perhaps not.
Ginny never looked up, never stopped her motions, although she did make an effort to splash as much water as she could on his perfectly polished shoes and immaculate robes.
"Watch it Weasley! These robes cost more than your dad makes in a year!" Draco snarled, then laughed. "Although you could have them if you do ruin them…be much better than those rags you're wearing now." A high pitched feminine chuckle accompanied this comment—that of Pansy Parkinson.
You'd think after six years he could come up with something better than that.
Draco is too stupid.
"What's a-matter Ginny? Potter not here to do your dirty work?" Pansy said, placing her foot down right in the middle of the spot Ginny was scrubbing. "We all know about how good he is at bailing you out of trouble."
He should take lessons from Pansy.
Wanna comment on this?
Yeah, fuc—
Oh, you can think it but I can't?
"Yeah, Weasley, why is golden boy not sniffing around your skirts? Or has he grown tired of being in little girlfriend's shadow, with that nice little write-up from the Daily Prophet? And just when I thought no one could have an ego bigger than Potter's…"
He learns quick.
Keep scrubbing, keep scrubbing. Don't listen to him.
"Potter must not pay you enough that you're having to earn a bit extra on the side," Pansy said very loudly, making sure her voice would echo in the marble chamber.
Keep scrubbing, keep scrubbing.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
"Not going to speak, eh? Well, you won't feel like talking tomorrow either, not after we end up rubbing you and your team into the ground—AHHHHHH!"
The shocked wail snapped Ginny's head up, just in time for her to cover herself as Peeves rushed in through a wall, swooped down over Draco and Pansy, and grabbed Ginny's bucket of water and tossed the contents onto the Slytherins.
"You're all wet! That's what you get!" sang Peeves in his scratchy, high pitched voice.
Ginny roared with laughter as Peeves began to chase Pansy and Draco, and doubled over in a fit of hysterics when Draco slipped on the wet flooring and fell, dragging a screeching Pansy down with him.
Score one for Peeves the pilfering poltergeist!
****
"Very good Miss Weasley," said Snape as he surveyed her work. "You may leave now."
Ginny barely could stand, let alone pretend that scrubbing the Trophy Room had no more effect on her than taking a nap. She ached in places she never knew she had, the muscles of her arms had seized up, making it nearly impossible for her to move them, her back felt as though she'd spent a year hunched over, and her head was throbbing. But Ginny just nodded and got as far away from Snape as her aching legs could carry her.
Finally the stairs to Gryffindor tower were in sight, and Ginny nearly wept with a mixture of relief that her nightmarish day was over, and agony that she now had to conjure up enough strength to ascend the hundred steps that lead to the common room.
"Hey! What the hell happened to you? Amy said you had detention! What did that bastard make you do? What—why are you looking at me like that?" Harry appeared at her side so quickly that Ginny could've sworn he'd Apparated there, although that wasn't possible as anyone who knew Hermione knew that one could not Apparate into Hogwarts. Ginny moaned softly as Harry clutched her to him in a hug that nearly had her screaming in pain, his hold was so tight.
"What did you say?"
Ginny managed to pull back far enough so she could actually breathe. "I said," she panted weakly, "I'm tired."
"You look like hell," Harry said, probably just noticing that she was drenched in soapy water, dirt, and sweat.
"Thanks a bunch. You'd not look much better scrubbing the floor of the Trophy room on your hands and knees either."
"What is it with you Weasleys and that Trophy room," Harry grinned, just before wrenching another squeal out of Ginny as he swooped her up in his arms and began to carry her up the stairs.
"Harry!"
"Don't worry, you're not that heavy. I've carried heavier things than you."
"What?!"
"Just kidding."
"You'll be of no use to me tomorrow at the match if you hurt yourself!"
"That's my girl, always putting Quidditch before my health," Harry teased, just before kissing her on the nose.
Ginny would have pointed out that she wasn't really teasing, but Peeves swept through the floor and stopped right in front of them, hovering in mid air.
"Hello Peeves," said Ginny, smiling as she pictured the very drenched Draco and Pansy falling.
Peeves merely stuck out his tongue at her, and began to sing at the top of his voice:
"The Gryffindor captain's a witch,Attractive in robes of Quidditch.That let a boob or twoJust heave into viewFar better to catch than the Snitch."
"Peeves!" Ginny roared, trying to squirm from Harry's grasp as he burst out in startled laughter. Peeves merely blew a raspberry and dodged out of the way.
"Stop laughing!" Ginny furiously ordered to a red faced Harry, trying to swat at Peeves despite the fact that it would be useless. "Stop it now!"
"Sorry, Gin," he gasped, "But it's true. You are better to catch than the Snitch."
Ginny blushed and tried her best to look angry. How could one argue with the best Seeker in Hogwarts history?
A/N: So what exactly happened during the prank last year--and what was Harry's involvement in it? Will Ginny be recover in time for the Quidditch match? Why is Draco such a stupid git? This chapter is for Gwenn and Pretty Anna Moon who both are incredible artists, and made me actually drool over a picture of a fictional character draped in nothing but a towel. Peeve's limerick appears courtesy of Imogen, who still is pretty kewl even though she did eat all my Chocolate Frogs. : P Thanks to Sue and Anne for their assistance in this as well. I can't wait to meet you guys in…checks calendar…19 days!
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