Chapter Sixteen: Potter vs. Weasley
"Miss Weasley?" Ginny raised her bloodshot eyes to hesitantly meet those of Professor Dumbledore. Only the fading light from the window signaled the ending of the day, although Ginny wasn't too sure which day it was. She'd lost track of the time she'd spent in the hospital wing since the match, refusing all visitors, even her friends, even her teammates, even her brother, even…Harry.
However, one did not refuse the headmaster of Hogwarts so easily. "I have some people here who need to speak with you," he continued, his expression very solemn, giving Ginny a strange sense of foreboding.
"Please, Professor," said Ginny, lowering her gaze to stare unfocused on the pristine whiteness of the duvet that was spread over her, protecting her from the evening chill, "I don't feel like seeing anyone." She still was in an awful state of depression after hearing about her humiliating defeat on the pitch.
"Yes, I understand," said Dumbledore, his half-moon spectacles reflecting the wall-sconces behind him. "Madam Pomfrey, however, has declared you well enough to be out and about again, and the matter we need to discuss with you is urgent."
Ginny suddenly felt sick with those words, getting the feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't something she was going to like. "Um…ok. What is it?"
But instead of answering her directly, Dumbledore turned toward the open doorway and called out, "She's ready to speak with you, gentlemen." In came two men, the first of which Ginny recognized immediately as Mr. Simons, the President of the Firebolt Broom Company, followed by a man wearing a kilt matched with a Pride of Portree shirt. They quickly gathered around the foot of her bed, and Ginny offered a tentative smile at Mr Simons, who returned it. The other gentleman simply stood and waited for Dumbledore to make the introductions.
"Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore, nodding to where the men were standing. "I'm sure you've met Mr Simons, the President of the Firebolt Broom Company." Ginny nodded. "And this gentleman is Mr Preston Dopplebottom-Trousers III, assistant Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." Mr Dopplebottom-Trousers III held out his hand, and Ginny shook it, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach.
The men stared at her for a moment. Ginny cleared her throat nervously.
"I hope you're feeling better," said Mr Simons as he smiled at her. "That was quite an injury you had."
"Erm…yes, thank you. I am feeling better. My head's harder than it looks." Ginny noticed that Mr Simons appeared to be holding something in his other hand, but the open curtains that surrounded her bed hid the object from view.
Mr Dopplebottom-Trousers, who had been staring at Ginny intently, finally spoke up. "Yes, well…We're all pleased to see you up and about, but we are here to discuss something very important with you."
It could have been Ginny's imagination, but the room suddenly went very cold.
I have a bad feeling about this.
Nothing's wrong. It's just your imagination. They're just here to talk about…about…well, something.
Good answer.
Mr Simons took a deep breath. "Miss Weasley, we're here to ask you about this—" and Ginny couldn't contain the small gasp as the object Mr Simons was holding fell onto the quilted duvet with a soft plop.
Her Firebolt.
Waves of nausea washed over Ginny as she stared at the broom, its once polished handle now marred by finger prints. Apparently it had survived the crash just fine, although there were a few bent twigs and scratches on it.
Stay calm. No need to panic just yet.
Stay calm? STAY CALM?? Do you know what this means? They know it was a fake! What am I going to do? What will everyone think? What will Harry say? What will Ron say? What will my family say? They could ban me from school! They could ban me from Quidditch! They could…
They're not going to do anything if you can just keep cool.
Despite her turbulent thoughts, Ginny did manage to adopt a politely puzzled expression as she asked, "What about my broom? I'm glad to see it's safe. That was quite a crash."
Mr Simons nodded. "Yes, Miss Weasley. Firebolt brooms are subjected to the most extreme forces during production and the new diamond-hard polish now makes them all but indestructible. However—" he jabbed a finger in the direction of the broom on the bed, "this is not a Firebolt."
"Really? Are you sure?" Ginny asked quickly, hoping she put just the right amount of surprise in her voice.
Mr Simons nodded. "I know what my own brooms look like, Miss Weasley. I hand inspect each one myself. I'm surprised that you—after having flown the Firebolt Chaser—wouldn't have recognized this one as a fake, either."
Told you so.
Shut up.
Ginny couldn't contain the shameful blush that slowly crept up her neck and heated her face as she stared down at the Firebolt, seeing it for what it was—the knotted twigs at the end, the "official" registration number with its peeling and cracked paint. She'd known it was a fake, knew it when Bagman first offered it to her, but desperation in getting a good broom out rode all common sense.
The world would be a better place if everyone just listened to me.
SHUT UP!
Mr Dopplebottom-Trousers cleared his throat nervously, snapping Ginny's gaze back to the men at the foot of her bed. "Miss Weasley, there is a huge black-market for Firebolt Brooms, something that I find absolutely horrendous not only as a Quidditch player, but as broomstick connoisseur. It's my job as assistant Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports to stop such illegal manufacturing and trading."
What's he going to do when he finds out the Head of his department was the one who sold me the broom?
How's he going to find out?
When we tell him!
ARE YOU CRAZY? Do you honestly think they'll believe us? A Weasley? One of those poor "Muggle-loving" Weasleys over Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and famous Quidditch player? Have you lost your mind?
"Now, Miss Weasley, I want you to understand that buying an illegal item, even unknowingly, is a crime in and of itself. And something of this magnitude would of course be punishable by expulsion from the Professional Quidditch League of Great Britain and Ireland. Seeing as how you are not a professional player, this wouldn't apply to you directly, but I can assure you that this would mar any chance you might have of going professional, as well as terminate your current position as captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team."
Ginny's stomach plummeted as the color drained from her face. She had never felt so helpless, so ashamed, so utterly defeated, like she was backed up against a wall and no way to get out.
Mr Dobblebottom-Trousers continued, "However, we are willing to make a deal with you. We know someone had to have approached you, either in person or by owl post, informing you that they knew you were in need of a broom. We assume that this took place sometime after your last Quidditch match." Ginny nodded slowly. "Did you see this person?" Ginny nodded again. "Can you identify him?" Ginny bit her lip. "Miss Weasley, can you identify him?" he asked again, his voice rising with excitement.
With a deep breath, Ginny nodded.
****
That didn't go so bad, did it? Told you it wouldn't.
Shut up!
It wasn't until midnight before Mr Dopplebottom-Trousers and Mr Simons had left her. Tired and drained, Ginny slowly made her way back to her dormitory room, wanting to sleep in her own bed with its scarlet curtains and warm duvet, instead of the sanitary white of the hospital wing.
She'd told them everything. About how Bagman had approached her saying he had some connections that could get her a Firebolt if she paid two hundred Galleons. About how she'd had to sell just about everything she had to get the money, how it had arrived by unmarked post in a brown package. She'd gone into great detail, explaining the problems with the broom, from the uncontrollable speed bursts, to the fact that the "diamond-hard polish" shine faded in a few days' time.
Neither gentleman had seemed surprised to hear that Bagman had approached her. "He's been under suspicion of illegal gambling for years, but with no proof to back him up—we couldn't do anything but wait until he made a mistake," Mr Dopplebottom-Trousers had said, his eyes alight with a gleam of triumph. "But this time we've got him!"
"We'll need your help, Miss Weasley," Mr Simons had added. "We'll need to see if Bagman approaches you again. Of course you must keep absolutely quiet on this."
Ginny had nodded. "What about me?" she'd asked. "What's going to happen to me?" Hot tears had been quickly fought back as Ginny thought about being banned from Quidditch and all the shame she'd caused everyone.
"You were very foolish, Miss Weasley," Mr Dopplebottom-Trousers had scolded her. "Very foolish indeed. But if you help us catch Bagman, there will be no punishment. But only if we can catch Bagman."
Lost in her thoughts, Ginny almost stepped on Mrs Norris' tail. She hissed angrily, her hair standing on end. Ginny glared back, daring the dust-colored cat to make the next move.
"What's going on my sweet?" said a slimy voice from behind her. It was Filch. "You there! What are you doing out this time of night!"
"Going back to bed. I've just been released from hospital," Ginny said, turning her glare on Filch.
"Better get on then, missy! Or there will be trouble!" And Filch left, Mrs Norris following him, throwing one last feline glare over her shoulder at Ginny, who stuck her tongue out at the pair.
"I saw that!"
If you'd had taken the Charms hallway instead of the east corridor like I had said, you wouldn't have run into Filch at all.
Will you SHUT UP!
No, I won't! What good is it being your conscious if you never listen to me! It's like in first year, what did I say? That book might be dangerous. That diary isn't right. It's not wise to trust something when you can't see where it keeps its brain. But you knew it all, didn't you? Oh, it's just a harmless little diary!
There you go, bringing that up again! It's always the same, every time I screw up, you always bring up that bloody diary!
It only nearly got you and Harry killed. It only nearly brought back You-Know-Who to power. It only caused the closing of the school, and forced Dumbledore to leave. It only ended up causing several people to be petrified. It only nearly caused your expulsion from school and shame upon your entire family? But you didn't think about that did you? What's everyone going to say when they find out about this? What's Harry going to say?
I'm not going to tell him! He'll…he'll…hate me.
You have to tell him! Better he finds out from you than from someone else, and you know once Bagman is caught and this gets out, your name is going to be all over the papers. I'm sure even Rita Skeeter will manage to crawl back out from whatever rock she's under to get a chance at this story!
I can't tell Harry.
Then you better be praying that Harry can manage to be in the same room with you once this gets out. Especially after what you've already done to him. Why don't you just knock him out again until all this boils over? He should be familiar with the common room floor by now.
****
"Oh, great! He's got us out again," cried the Bishop as he landed on the table with a soft thud. Harry frowned down at the chess piece.
"Wonderful, who are we going to lose to today, four-eyes?" The Knight, Harry's most annoying piece, helped the Bishop to his feet—er, base—and together they wobbled to their positions on the chess board. Harry had been playing chess quite a bit lately, ever since Ginny and he had started…well, since he and Ginny had been…
Since you both have been acting like total idiots.
I'm not the one who's been acting like an idiot! She's the one who's refusing to see anyone!
Wonder why? Couldn't have anything to do with you losing the Quidditch match, could it?
What? She's the one who lost the game, not me!
When did she become the Gryffindor Seeker? Thought that was your job.
I was worried about her! I turn my eyes away for one split-second to see her tumble to the ground, and bam! Hufflepuff has the Snitch! It's all her fault! She's the one who was on that death stick of a broom! I knew that broom was dangerous, but would she listen?
And this was after you had accused her of cheating with Peter Byrne.
Speaking of him, I still say he's the one who gave her that broom! It all fits! And he would have wanted Gryffindor to lose so Ravenclaw would be ahead.
You don't know that for sure…
"Um, are you sure you want to play, Harry?" asked Neville tentatively as he took his seat across from Harry. Harry jerked his gaze away from the roaring fire to see Neville, who looked rather apprehensive as he stared down at his chess figures, a very old set judging from the amount of nicks and scratches on them.
A game of chess might take my mind off of this mess.
Yeah, you can go from losing at Quidditch to losing at chess again.
No way! This is Neville we're playing, not Ron. This'll be a piece of cake.
"I'm sure, Neville," said Harry, thinking that it was very probable that Neville was at the very least as bad of chess player as he was himself. He glanced at Neville's odd-looking chess set. His Queen was a rather imposing looking figure, rather than a crown she wore a hat with a vulture on top, and carried a bright red handbag. The King's crown was lopsided, half of his nose appeared to be broken off, and his clothes looked as though they'd not been ironed in ages.
"Neville!" barked the Queen, making both Harry and Neville jump. "Sit up straight! You've got another think coming if you think I'm going to play with you slouching down. Elbows off the table!"
"I'm sorry, Gran—I mean, Queen," Neville stammered nervously, flushing a bright crimson under the Queen's glare. He gave Harry an apologetic look. "This was my Gran's set once. She gave it to me for Christmas my first year."
"As to which we've been lost, tumbled willy-nilly down a flight of stairs, accidentally set afire, and stuffed up under an extremely dusty bed for ages!" scolded the Queen, waving her red handbag around madly. The King winced as she clipped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, m'dear," the King said, "but are we ready to play yet?"
"I'm not moving an inch until that scruffy young man tucks in his shirt and combs his hair!" Harry blinked as the Queen turned her militant gaze on him, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking in his shirt and trying his best to flatten down his hair.
"I've been trying to get him to do that for years," said Harry's own Queen.
"You should learn to be more firm with him," replied Neville's Queen. "Let's play some chess."
And so the game began. Neville's Queen quickly took charge of the game, directing her pieces around herself, while Neville sat and watched with an expression between slight fear and triumph. Harry, on the other hand, was doing all he could just to get his pieces to listen to him. Apparently, Neville's Queen had taken to directing his own chess pieces as well.
"You there!" the Queen pointed to Harry's Bishop. "Move to C 5 this instant!" With a frightened glance at Harry, his Bishop immediately moved to the indicated position as though his robes had been set fire.
Just as Neville's Queen was getting ready to Checkmate Harry's King, Ginny scrambled through the portrait hole.
"Oh!" she started, "I didn't think anyone would be up this late."
"Goodness!" cried Neville frantically. "It's nearly one in the morning! And I've still got my Herbology reading." Neville began to throw his pieces into his bag.
"How dare you end this game when I was just about to win! You're going to be in big trouble, mister!" roared Neville's Queen as she was thrust in the bag. She pounded Neville's hand with her handbag. "And go do your homework!" she cried, just before Neville cinched up the strings and gathered his things. "'Night Harry. 'Night Ginny."
And they were alone.
****
"So," Harry began, stuffing his own pieces in their bag. He winced as his Knight bit his finger. "How're you feeling?"
"Fine," Ginny squeaked nervously, glancing at the girls' staircase across the room. "What are you doing up so late?"
"Playing chess. Well, actually just watching Neville's Queen play chess with both of our sets."
"Oh, I could have warned you about Neville's chess set. My pieces refused to speak to me for weeks after playing with him."
They shared a small awkward laugh, until Harry broke in with, "So, what was Mr Simons and an official from the Department of Magical Games and Sports doing here? Colin Creevey said he saw them go into the Hospital wing."
Way to be subtle.
Ginny froze in her tracks. Harry had noticed she was very slowly and discreetly making her way across the common room. "Um, they were here to…uh…they were just wanting to ask.…"
"Probably wanted to see how you were doing and whether or not you needed a new broomstick," Harry said with an evil sneer, knowing he was being very unfair but beyond the point of caring. "I bet that Ravenclaw set them up to it, right? Since the one he gave you…oh, I mean the one you 'secretly obtained' seemed to be a bit…defective." He drawled out that last word, just to make sure Ginny got his point.
Um, is it wise to start this so soon? I'd rather not end up on the floor this time, if at all possible.
She's all the way across the room. What could happen?
Ginny's face turned a bright scarlet. She opened her mouth and Harry braced himself for whatever was about to happen, but all he got in return was, "I'm too tired to discuss this. I'm off to bed."
Don't you dare let her leave!
"Not until you tell me what's going on, Ginny. I deserve to know, damnit!" Harry pounded the table, making his chess bag rattle.
"What's going on out there?" came the muffled voice of the Bishop.
"Sounds like a row," replied the Queen. Harry quickly stuffed the chess bag into his rucksack and cinched it tightly, before turning his attention to Ginny again. She'd managed to get to the staircase, her hand just on the banister.
"I can't tell you," Ginny answered with a shake of her head. "I'm sorry, Harry."
"Of course," Harry mocked, cruelly. "You never tell me anything!"
"I want to Harry, I really do. But I can't." Ginny really did look sorry, and Harry was reminded of his second year, when Ginny was trying to tell him and Ron about the Chamber of Secrets, just before Percy interrupted her.
"Why? What's going on? Does it have anything to do with that broomstick?" Harry's voice steadily rose with each word. "Sorry, I just can't seem to call it a Firebolt, since we both know that's not what it is."
Ginny just shook her head silently, her eyes bright with anger and tears. The fire roaring in the hearth suddenly popped, making both of them jump in the silence that had fallen between them. "Who gave you the broom, Ginny?" Harry pleaded.
Ginny shook her head. "I can't tell you, Harry. I can't."
"Whatever," he scoffed. "I bet I could ask Peter. I'm sure he knows all about it."
"Are we back to that again? What is it with you and him?" Ginny was shouting now, her voice so loud that the windows rattled in their panes.
I'd start backing up. I have a bad feeling this is going to get ugly.
"Me? You're the one…" Harry's voice trailed off as Ginny started from her place at the foot of the stairs and headed for him. He slowly began to edge towards his own staircase, just to keep a good distance between them.
"I'm the one who what, Harry? Go on, finish it!" she challenged.
"Well," he sneered. "Isn't it obvious? Come on Ginny, I know who gave you that Firebolt. What I want to know is why him, Ginny. What does he have that I don't? A better Firebolt? Or is it bigger than mine?"
"YOU BASTARD! After everything that I've done for you, after all that we've been through, you're going to accuse me….I can't believe that you, the great, good Harry Potter—" Ginny paused and took a deep breath. "If that's all you think of me, Harry, then I guess it's over between us."
What? Wait, this isn't supposed to happen!
"I guess so. You've changed so much, Ginny. You've turned into a completely different person on me." Harry dodged through some of the benches, careful not to back into anything.
"Well, so what if I have! It's all your fault!" she shouted, once again making the windows rattle.
"My fault?"
"You did this to me! You're the one who made me Captain! If I've changed, it's all your fault! It never occurred to me—"
"You certainly took up the reins rather quickly though, didn't you? You're worse than Oliver Wood ever dreamt of being!"
"Much good that it did me! Only our second match and we managed to lose it didn't we? To Hufflepuff for Merlin's sake! And whose fault was that? Some Seeker you are!"
"I was too busy watching you break your stupid neck to pay attention to the Snitch! Some Quidditch player you are, if you can't even manage to control a runaway broomstick! You'd have thought having a broomstick between your legs twice a day would have taught you something, but I guess not!"
Uh oh. Better start running for the stairs. She looks ready to knock you back to the days of Godric Gryffindor.
Ginny, however just stared dumbfounded at Harry. Then, with a sudden sob, she turned and ran. Harry watched her go, then turned and toppled over one of the benches he'd been trying to avoid. He lay facedown staring at the perfectly polished wood, waiting for the stars to fade from his eyes and the air to rush back into his chest.
Looks like we didn't have to worry about her knocking us back to the days of Godric Gryffindor, did we?
No, we just ended up on the common room floor again.
****
A/N: And so after a couple of DD/MMs, a lot of arm-twisting, and some serious moping about, this chapter is done. *BIG PARADE* For those of you still reading this, you should be happy to know that this story is almost complete. In the previous sentence, the word "complete" of course means that I should have it done sometime before Book Seven comes out. Mucho thanks to Anne and Ami for the beta, (I hope I got out all those extra spaces, Ami), Imogen for pointing out all those dratted Americanisms, and to my computer for not shutting down on me. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to everyone at Towerstock: Carrie, Marian, Anne, Carissa, Amy, Rich, and Mr Chuddley I and Mr Chuddley II. A very special hug for Liz.