The events of last night rolled around in his head like waves on a rough sea.
The lights and the sounds of the early morning streamed through his open bedroom window, the burnt orange hue of the ceiling mocking him as he lay on his back, staring up at it. He couldn't see anything but the vivid colours of Ginny's hair in the dancing sunlight.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
Being with her again yesterday, seeing her smile, feeling her body hugged tightly against him sparked a deep burning in him that he had not felt in years. Not with Emma, not with any of his previous half-relationships, not with anyone.
Anyone except her.
It was that concept that had plagued his thoughts since he'd Apparated away from her, her small smile burned into his mind as if it was the last thing he'd ever see.
He was sure, even in the sober light of day, that she was flirting with him or at the very least trying to remind him of their time together.
This was such unchartered territory for them, though, which was what had knocked him so off kilter. Not once had they spoken about their relationship before the war — it just seemed unnecessary, silly even, given what they'd gone through since then. It was something that had plagued him for a long time after joining the Aurors, but one of those things that as time went on, felt more and more irrelevant to bring back up. They'd moved on.
Except maybe she hadn't.
Hell, maybe he hadn't.
The way he'd reacted to seeing her yesterday was so unexpected, so all-consuming, so fundamental, that his thoughts had been stubbornly on loop — replaying the conversations, her expressions, her reactions, her words — ever since.
He huffed angrily and flipped over on his mattress, desperately trying to erase the image of her face from the back of his eyelids. It was impossible to think when all he could see was her.
A deep cleansing breath given long and heavy into his pillow eased his confusion. The slight lack of oxygen brought stars across his black vision, and he bathed himself in the blankness of his mind.
As always, the relief was short lived. Something nagged in his head, something unresolved and unformed, that burrowed its way into his mind and made his chest ache.
Emma's face flashed across his mind, the memory of her saying 'I love you' replaying in slow motion. Over and over again. Hearing those words again, even in his own mind, hit him like a javelin to the heart, hurting almost as much as it had the first time he'd heard them.
At first he'd thought Emma's 'confession' hurt so much because they were so blatantly untrue. If he'd not known the fact himself, how was Emma to know that no one had ever said that to him? It was hardly fair to blame her for not knowing the impact of her words.
What he realised then, lying face down in his pillow several weeks after the fact, was that it wasn't her saying 'I love you' that hurt the most, but his own reaction to hearing those words. A reaction so visceral, so strong, so real, that it had shocked him to his very core. And if this was his mind's reaction to being told 'I love you' — the one thing above all else that he needed to hear — then how could he ever form a relationship with anyone?
Emma, the person whom he'd been in a relationship with for over 6 months, the person he'd had fun with, been attracted to, laughed with, been open and intimate with… if he couldn't love her, then was he even capable of loving anyone?
What if his entire life had set him up to be incapable not only of recognising love, as Hermione had said, but of actually being loved or loving in return?
A jagged, gaping hole tore its way through his chest at the thought. The hole was so big, so raw that it took his breath away and stung his eyes.
How could he ever move on enough from his whole fucking life to be able to finally get what he wanted most in the world?
The morning of 31st July had gone entirely as Harry had hoped: relaxed and with nothing to do besides open his handful of birthday cards and sit on the roof terrace in the bright morning sunshine. He smiled as he relaxed into the deck chair, the warmth of the summer sun doing its usual wonders to his mood.
He'd managed to get the shift swap he'd promised Ginny. As much as he had played it off a few weeks ago, even he wasn't that sad and pathetic to want to work his birthday, and he had absolutely no regrets as he basked in the feeling of a blissfully free morning to himself.
Naturally, the peace was shattered when Robards's wolfhound Patronus appeared on the terrace, the Auror's barking voice summoning him to an emergency meeting. He swore as the dog disappeared in a puff of silver smoke. Being called into the office was one thing, but being called in on your birthday was another thing entirely.
Not 10 minutes later, he was stood in one of the training rooms with seemingly the entire Auror Office, most in their own clothes like him, waiting for their boss to arrive.
'Right, can I have your attention, please,' shouted Robards as he stormed into the stuffy, crowded room, the slam of the door as loud as a shotgun in the already tense atmosphere. The tone in his voice immediately drew the attention of every Auror there — it was grim and heavy with authority.
'I know you all remember Operation Quicksilver. Information has come to light from our undercover sources that Ulrich Yew's potions may have reached, or soon will reach, the Dark market.' The shock radiated off his colleagues, the silence somehow getting thicker, more silent. 'As a result of this development, we must remind ourselves to be cautious and vigilant both at work and at home. Expect the unexpected. Every one of us must be on high alert for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary in their cases, colleagues, friends, family and the wider public.'
The atmosphere broke then, the tension snapping into a rumble of worried chatter across the training room.
'Any questions?' he barked, eyes scanning the room. 'Yes, Auror Halls.'
'What sort of thing are we on the lookout for? Do we know what sort of effects these potions have?'
'At present, we have no specifics, but as we know Yew's speciality was developing potions that would disguise the user. So it is imperative that we look out for strange behaviour or patterns of deception, such as altered appearances, impersonation… that sort of thing.'
Several hands raised.
'How are these potions being used?'
'Currently, we don't have any reports of use in anyone, only rumours that several recipes are being distributed, possibly sold. We are in discussions with St Mungo's, who are on the lookout for unusual or suspicious presentations or evidence of illicit potion taking.
'It is of great importance that we find and eradicate these recipes, as well as bring those who are brewing and using them to justice. Any suspicious activity that goes outside of the usual specifics of your case, please report to your supervisor or to me.'
Silence fell over the room again, and Harry's mind whirled at the information. Ulrich Yew was in Azkaban, so how on earth were his potions still being brewed and sold? His understanding, albeit limited, was that Yew was brewing his weird anti-magical-detection potion for his own use — Yew said himself at trial that he had no desire to sell his potions or recipes.
So why now? What was different, and how was he doing it?
An unsettling feeling washed over him and he shuddered. That sort of potion getting onto the general market, or the Dark market anyway, would make life a hell of a lot more difficult and potentially dangerous for everyone.
Robards' grey eyes swept the room, presumably looking for confusion or defiance at his orders. With a barked, 'Dismissed,' he stormed out the room.
Harry leaned back against the wall, only half watching as the Aurors filed out of the room. It felt like his mind had been dunked in ice-cold water, all of the warmth from this morning suddenly having been chased away by the unwelcome news.
It was little surprise that Ozzy appeared next to him, given how they had become good friends over the last few months, working almost every shift together. What was a surprise though, was what Ozzy was wearing: flip-flops, denim shorts and a garish Hawaiian shirt so tight it barely covered his tanned arms. The sight of him was so jarring, so entirely out of place at an Auror meeting, that Harry failed to cover the loud, inappropriate snort that bubbled up his throat. Thankfully, only a few people turned to look their way.
'What the hell do you look like?' Harry snickered, noticing the neon blue sunglasses perched on top of his head.
'You like it?' he grinned, twirling confidently on the spot, arms outstretched. 'Thought it was perfect for work.'
'I'm sure that Lucy girl in Transportation would entirely agree,' Harry said. Ozzy only winked in response, the pair of them making their way to the exit. 'Where you off to anyway? Got a cameo on Baywatch?'
'Nah, they couldn't afford me,' Ozzy joked. 'I'm actually going to a Muggle music festival — gotta look the part and all that.'
'Well, you look ridiculous.'
'Why thank you,' he said, not the least bit put out by Harry's assessment. But then, Ozzy never seemed to be put out by anything. It was quite a feat to get anyone to laugh, given the briefing they'd just sat through, and if anyone could put a positive spin on a situation, it was Ozzy.
As if he could read Harry's mind—
'Anyway, this Yew thing, huh? Sounds like that's the sort of job we're going to be dealing with, all being well,' he said, waggling his eyebrows like he was in on a big secret. In true Ozzy style, he didn't look even a little concerned about the fact there was an illegal, potentially dangerous potion recipe out there in the hands of the wrong people. In fact, he looked excited.
To be fair, Harry was morbidly excited, too. This was exactly the sort of case that the Aurors-cum-Healers were supposed to oversee, meaning he'd be able to step up and finally feel like he was actually helping, rather than being the paperwork-completing surveillance monkey that he had been the last few weeks. And if a difficult and complex case managed to take his mind off the meaningless failure of his personal life, well then that was just an added bonus. A win win situation if ever there was one.
'Sounds like it. We'll have to ask Davies if she'll let us work on it together… you know, work experience-type thing,' he replied, somewhat conspiratorially.
Ozzy flashed a rather evil-looking grin his way. 'I like your thinking, Auror Potter.'
After returning from work, Harry resumed his position in the deck chair, determined to let the blistering heat of the midsummer sun thaw out his mind. By the time Ron got back from work that afternoon, he felt almost normal again, excited about the upcoming match that evening.
After a lazy afternoon in the blistering sun, he and Ron made their way to Holyhead in time for the match.
Time spent with Ron only improved his mood further, and by the time they got to the stadium in Holyhead, all thoughts of his former misery were long gone. It had been such a long time since the pair of them had gone out just the two of them, and it felt so good to just chat and banter, and to catch up on all things Quidditch.
They ascended countless flights of stairs on their way up to the Holyhead Harpies' Top Box, the number of green-clad people accompanying them getting less and less as they climbed. Out of breath and exhausted, they reached the black and gold door at the top, where a very polite house elf checked their names off a list.
'Mr Weasley, Mr Potter, it is our pleasure to have you celebrate the first match of the Holyhead Harpies in the VIP Top Box,' the elf rattled off, clearly having his speech memorised perfectly. 'The Box has its own bar, which is, of course, complimentary, as well as a close-up screen for your viewing pleasure. Please sit wherever you'd like, but we ask that you refrain from taking photographs.'
With a quick shared glance, they murmured their thanks and stepped through into the Top Box.
Harry had never been in the VIP box before. When he'd been to Ginny's games before, she'd only been able to secure standard tickets for them, meaning they had to sit in the general stadium. This time she'd managed to get Friends and Family tickets; clearly being on the main team had its perks.
What first hit Harry was the view, which was truly spectacular. The whole front wall of the box was open, giving a clear, uninterrupted view of both sets of hoops. On the opposite side of the stadium, amongst a sea of green, was a patch of yellow and black-clad fans… that must have been the stands of today's Away team, the Wimborne Wasps. Although unencumbered by glass, there was no breeze or wind noise coming through the open wall, only the excited buzz of the crowd.
The lounge itself was lavish. There was no other way to describe the opulent golden drapes and plush black carpets, the clusters of sofas and armchairs adorned with fancy velvet cushions of golds and rich greens. In one corner was a bar, with tall green-cushioned barstools and a (rather over the top) gold-topped bar.
Heading straight for the bar, Ron ordered their drinks – a Firewhiskey for Harry and a heavily fortified mead for Ron.
'I'll bring them over to your seats, gentlemen,' said the bartender in an overly posh accent. At this, Ron's face turned incredulous, and he whispered to Harry, 'This place is posh as fuck!'
They sat down in two (ridiculously comfy) armchairs closest to the door. To their left was a blank wall, presumably charmed to show replays and closeups of important moments of the match. All in all, it was quite the upgrade over their normal seating.
He could get used to this.
'Happy birthday, mate,' Ron said once the bartender brought them their drinks and, to Ron's delight, an assortment of fancy hors d'oeuvres.
'Happy birthday to me.' They clinked their glasses together and he took a sip, relishing in the familiar burn of the alcohol in his throat. Was this not exactly what birthdays were supposed to be?
In typical Ron fashion, (and Harry wouldn't have it any other way), he ploughed his way through the food as if it were a competition.
'Don't hold back on my account, Ron,' Harry said sarcastically. 'Don't want you starving or anything.'
In reply, Ron grinned with a face full of food, obscenely stuffing another hors d'oeuvre in his mouth as if to prove a point. 'I want to see if the man brings over any more when we finish it all,' he explained.
'When you finish it all…'
Ron flipped him off. 'Well have something then. It's your birthday, after all. Don't want you missing out on free food!'
'How kind of you, thanks mate,' he grinned, popping a sausage roll into his mouth.
Harry idly flicked through the brochure that he'd picked up from the bar. The pages contained the obligatory history of the teams, last season's stats, weather reports, captain profiles, et cetera, most of which he knew already from his many Quidditch chats with Ron.
Absentmindedly, he flicked through a couple more pages of broom adverts before eventually landing on the player biographies. His heart jumped when he came across the familiar face, beaming up at him from the page. The professional photo was clearly recent; she was wearing the dark green and gold uniform of the first team, the intricate embroidered 'HH' crest sitting proudly on her chest.
Why his heart fluttered at the sight of her, he did not know. It wasn't like it was a surprise to see her in there, after all. That was the whole reason he'd picked up a brochure in the first place – reservists were never mentioned in the official match programme, so he'd vowed to pick this one for her, knowing she'd likely want to keep the programme from her very first match in the main team.
However, he couldn't keep the smile off his face as he read the description accompanying the photo. It was nothing particularly insightful – just briefly describing her time on the team – but something about it made the Quaffle in his chest swell. He was so proud of her.
'Look,' he said happily, pushing down the rush of inexplicable giddiness inside him, and handed the open programme to Ron. Ron guffawed at the sight but grinned as he read the passage, smile getting wider and wider with each line.
'Awww, look at my little sis! Don't tell her this, but I am so fucking chuffed she's here. She's worked so hard and she deserves it.'
'Very true.'
'She's had a bit of a rough time of it the last couple of years, to be honest,' said Ron sadly, mood suddenly shifting. Harry looked over at Ron, but his eyes never left his sister's picture.
'What do you mean?'
'She's just not… happy. She's been struggling a bit living so much of the time in Holyhead, I think.'
'That will change now she's on the first team, though, right?'
'Yeah, I think so. She will be living with Hermione a lot more, which will suit her down to the ground. She hates living alone.'
That brought him up short. He always assumed she lived with her teammates or her friends…
'She lives alone in Holyhead?'
'Yeah. I'm surprised you didn't know that.'
Harry hummed half-heartedly. Not only did he not know she lived alone, but he never even thought to ask, just assuming that she'd landed on her feet there and was happy. Ginny always landed on her feet, didn't she?
Had he not even asked her about this? Had he really not spoken to her properly since she'd been in Holyhead?
'I think Mum's been getting at her too a bit.'
Now this, he knew he'd never asked her about. Her relationship with her Mum was just never something he saw, never something for him, an outsider, to get involved with.
'What do you mean getting at her?'
'Oh, just usual shit. Mum gets on at her about why she's had so many boyfriends but not settled down yet. She's always been a bit… I dunno… weird about Ginny not being like her.'
At Harry's blank look, he continued. 'Mum always wanted a girl, right? And when she had Ginny, I think she just wanted Ginny to be a mini version of her, or hoped that Ginny would be more girly or want to get married straight out of school or whatever. And Ginny knows this, hence why she rebels against it.'
It made sense to Harry, although he would never pretend to understand the intricate relationship between mother and daughter. He was also surprised that Ron knew as much as he apparently did. Ginny was fiercely independent, and he'd always got the impression that, although Molly clearly loved her to bits, Molly and Ginny clashed. That it went deeper than that, he'd had no idea.
Annoyance and self-loathing reared up inside him, overspilling in the form of any angry sigh. Clearly this was another thing he hadn't even thought to ask about, or even noticed.
God, was he really that shit a friend?
'Well that sucks,' he said lamely, because he didn't know what else to say.
'I hope she wins today, though. She's going to be right narked if she doesn't.'
He forced a smile onto his face, pushing thoughts of him being a shitty friend to one side. It was his birthday after all, and him being here had to count for something, right?
'So will you, to be fair. That will mean they play the Cannons next week, and you know they'll annihilate them.'
Clearly lacking a snarky retort, Ron flipped him off again.
'ATTENTION LADIES AND GENTLEMEN' came a booming, magically enhanced voice from the stadium. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Ron motion to the bartender to bring in another couple of drinks, even though they hadn't finished the first — neither of them wanted to miss any bit of the game.
'It is my great honour to welcome you all to the first match of the 2001 British and Irish Quidditch League. Tonight, we first introduce our Away players, managed by the brilliant Ludo Bagman, and captained by their Seeker, Anton Zellefsky… the Wimborne Wasps!'
Wimborne's theme tune rang out across the stadium, and the crowd opposite erupted into cheers as a stream of players in yellow and black uniforms zoomed onto the pitch. On his left, the large blank wall burst into life, showing close ups of the players while the commentator dutifully called out the players' names and positions. They all lined up towards the centre of the pitch in a V formation.
'And our Home players tonight, managed and captained by the fearsome Gwenog Jones… The Holyhead Harpies!'
The roar from the home crowd was deafening… so deafening that the Harpies' theme tune was lost in the sea of noise from the stands. Of course, Harry and Ron joined in, enthusiastically clapping and cheering along with the rest of the Top Box.
'We have Captain Gwenog Jones, Beater; Valmai Morgan, Chaser; Wilda Griffiths, Chaser; Ginny Weasley, brand new Chaser, taking over from Julie Selwyn…' At this, Ron and Harry cheered even louder, naturally.
'…Emily Parkin, Beater; Madeleine Flores, Keeper; and last but not least, Suzanne McCormick, Seeker!'
The green players raced around the pitch waving and hyping up the eager crowd before returning to the centre of the pitch where they too lined up in a V formation. The crowd buzzed with a quiet, nervous energy as the two Captains shook hands.
The coin toss went the way of the Wasps, and the match began.
Two hours later, it was clear that the two teams were very evenly matched; both teams' Keepers looked progressively more haggard as the match went on. The Chasers on both sides had fought an incredibly difficult fight, and Ginny had scored three goals (eliciting cheers so loud from Harry and Ron that he wondered if his throat would ever recover).
Regardless, the match finished triumphantly around 20 minutes later, with an absolutely death-defying Poulter's Pass from Emily Parkin, which took out the Wasps' Seeker, opening the door for the Harpies' Seeker, Suzanne McCormick, to catch the Snitch.
'THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES WIN!' shouted the commentator, loud enough to further incite the crowd over their already ear-splitting celebrations. Harry could feel his abused throat protest at his screaming, but he didn't care. They hugged each other and jumped up and down, celebrating jubilantly with the rest of the Top Box.
'Yeeeeeah!' shouted Ron. 'That's my little sister, that's my little sister!' he was chanting, running round the celebrating VIP box, shaking hands with everyone. Harry laughed and cheered as he did so, watching his best friend make a complete tit of himself. Of course, he felt the same way — completely overjoyed that not only had they won, but that Ginny had won her first match with the main team.
The joy and pride hit him tenfold when he looked back out onto the pitch and saw a bundle of green in the middle. The Harpies team were all hugging each other, some laughing and some crying happy tears as they slapped each other's backs. But among them all was Ginny. Her face was the absolute picture of elation as she hovered beside her teammates, hair messily framing her red face. She wasn't crying (of course), but the emotion on her face was clear as day when Gwenog flew up to her and threw her arm round Ginny's shoulders in celebration.
The Quaffle in his chest burned hotter than it ever had at the sight of her celebrating with her team. He was so damn happy for her.
'Come on, let's go,' Ron announced, pulling on his arm. 'I said I'd meet Ginny down by the players' entrance after the match.'
They wound their way down the flights of stairs, pushing through throngs of jubilant Harpies fans. The atmosphere of the stadium was utterly intoxicating, and Harry couldn't stop smiling with excited happiness. This had been, all-in-all, a pretty good birthday.
It took them a good half an hour to get to the main gates of the stadium, as swarms of witches and wizards all headed for the same Apparation point some way across the grounds. In their hurry to leave the bustling crowd, they almost ran straight into a pacing George, whose whole body sagged with relief when he saw them.
'Oh thank fuck you're here! Did they win?' George asked frantically.
'Yes! Suzanne caught the Snitch. 260:210 in the end,' replied Ron. 'Where were you?!'
'Shit, I know! Ginny's gonna kill me. Some dozy pillock dropped a load of Instant Darkness Powder all over the floor in the shop and I couldn't fucking see to clean it up. By the time I could find the door to leave, they'd put the anti-Apparition wards up here, so I couldn't get in.'
'Ha, you sucker! Mate, she was absolutely brilliant…'
'…Scored three goals and everything!'
'What?!'
'I know, can't believe it.'
'Can't believe she's outflying the rest of us.'
'I know, what a bloody joke.'
The three of them sat next to the player's entrance, and George listened intently as Harry and Ron relayed the match in meticulous detail, sporadically groaning at every exciting moment that he'd missed.
Not long later, the Harpies came wandering out of the locker room entrance, clearly ecstatic and chatting excitedly, arms flung around one another's shoulders.
As soon as she saw the three of them, Ginny came bounding up to them, straight into the arms of George. Ron immediately went over and hugged his siblings, them breaking into excited laughs and typical Weasley banter. Over Ron's shoulder, her eyes found Harry's and the smile on her face widened even further. The three broke apart and she immediately flew to Harry, throwing her arms round his neck in a blur of red hair.
The deja vu at that moment was dangerously vivid, the memory of a Quidditch match, of Ginny running towards him, of her lips on his—
No.
He was so busy cursing his absolute traitor of a mind and derailing that particular thought train that he almost missed what she said to him.
'I'm so glad you came!' she gushed, her soft hair tickling his neck.
'I'm so glad you won!' he laughed back. She had a mischievous spark in her eye as she pulled back, beaming at him.
'So proud of you, Gin!' shouted Ron.
'Yeah, he really, really is. He went round the box telling everyone "that's my sister, that's my sister!",' he said, imitating Ron running around shaking people's hands.
'Awww, Ronniekins!' Ginny cooed, laughing as she sideways hugged her reddening older brother.
'Anyway, what's the plan for tonight then, sis?' said George.
'Well, you lot are going to go home, get changed, line your stomachs, then you're going to meet me at the after party, right?'
'Yep, we'll be there.'
'Even the birthday boy?' asked Ginny, a coy smile directed his way. This was the first time that Ginny had acknowledged that it was his birthday, and it sent little tingles up his spine that she'd remembered at all.
He smiled at her as Ron shouted, 'Especially the birthday boy!'
'Right, let's go,' clipped Hermione after she returned from her room, dressed in some black jeans and a sparkly top, curly hair styled almost straight. She was nervous, he could tell — not helped at all by Ron's wolf-whistle as she entered the room. It was Ron's sworn by (public) method of de-stressing a stressed Hermione… a stunt that worked perhaps 40% of the time. The rest of the time, it succeeded only in pissing her off more. Unfortunately for Ron, this time was one of the 60%, and Hermione rolled her eyes and marched down the hall to retrieve her shoes and a bag.
Harry understood why she was nervous, though — he felt exactly the same. Unlike all the Weasleys, he and Hermione were not natural 'party people'.
And the Holyhead Harpies parties were notoriously wild. Drunken debauchery met a whole new level at these parties, with the players treated like queens, and the rich and famous celebrating alongside them in an alcohol-fuelled night of hedonistic celebration.
The happenings of these parties, particularly the legendary end-of-season ones, inevitably found their way to the papers and gossip mags, which was the main reason why Harry had stayed away up to that point. Of course, it didn't make him any more eager to go when, on numerous separate occasions, various Weasley brothers had warned him about attending, having adamantly insisted that there was 'something about the atmosphere' that made it impossible not to drink too much and do something stupid.
Tonight would certainly be no different, although he truly hoped that, despite it being his birthday, he wouldn't regret attending. No, he'd go there, show his face, drink as much as he needed to get agreeably drunk, then get himself home somehow. Nothing too… outrageous.
Anyway, he'd have Hermione, Ron and George with him to keep him from doing anything too idiotic.
So the four of them filed out, all having changed into shirts and, in Ron's case, a garish green silk Holyhead Harpies tie (which made him look completely ridiculous).
Moments later they were standing outside the very ostentatious pub, The Green Dragon in Mayfair. He hadn't been here before, but he was very familiar with similar up-market wizarding 'pubs' all over London. From the outside, it looked rather more like a wine bar than a proper pub, but then, they were pretty much all the same round here: bougie, refined and a bit heavy on the uplighting.
But then again, there was booze and his friends, so what did he really care?
The four of them gave their names to the rather burly-looking man on the door, whom Harry knew to be the Harpies' own bodyguard, Glen. Smiling heartily at them, Glen let them through into the main bar, which was absolutely packed. By the looks of it, the party was very much in full swing, despite it being only 8 o'clock. At places like this, Harry tried to remain as anonymous and unnoticed as possible, but the bustling room was loud and crowded, making it virtually impossible to move at all, let alone move stealthily.
George jostled by him on his way to the bar, his back disappearing between the crowds of partygoers. His eyes followed him and darted round the room, surveying and searching the room quickly — definitely because he'd been conditioned to scan rooms for exits and danger on day one as an Auror; steadfastly not because he was looking for someone in particular.
Before he could even begin to process what he was seeing, a man shouted from behind him.
'Harry!'
He wheeled around, coming face to face with the absolute last person he expected to see. Derrick, a short, rather awkward middle-aged man who worked in the Ministry's records room was stood in front of him positively vibrating with energy.
Harry had only ever seen Derrick in the office, his beige shirt and trousers blending almost seamlessly into the large stacks of records boxes. It made him look almost like he'd been born to work in the records room – like part of the dusty furniture. But then, from what Harry understood from his colleagues about Derrick's work patterns, Derrick basically was part of the furniture…
Out of the office though, he looked like a different man, plastered head to toe in Harpies green, his face bright red and beaming. He was bouncing excitedly on his feet, like a dog waiting to be thrown a ball.
Harry certainly didn't pin him as the type that would go to an all-women's Quidditch team afterparty, but each to their own, he supposed.
'Hi Derrick. What are you doing here?' Harry asked politely. He was trying to think if he'd every actually had a conversation with Derrick past the perfunctory 'Hey' in the corridors at the Ministry.
'Oh, you know. I love the Harpies! Especially Emily. We're childhood friends, did you know,' he said, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
'Well, that's great. I didn't know that,' said Harry weakly.
'She was spectacular today wasn't she? That Poulter's she did almost blew my socks off!'
'Yes, she certainly was. The whole team did fantastically.'
'Oh yes, but definitely Emily.'
Harry laughed awkwardly. 'Yeah, Emily was great."
There was a long silence while Derrick smiled at Harry eagerly, again, reminding him of a dog waiting for walkies…
Hell, he should really stop thinking that. It wasn't very polite, and Derrick was only trying to make conversation, even if it was awkward as fuck.
'Err…' he trailed off weakly, not having the first clue what to say. The way Derrick stared at him made him vaguely uncomfortable, but then again he'd never been very good with awkwardness. Must just be that.
'Well, I'm going to pop off to get a drink. I'll… I'll see you later, Derrick. Have fun!' He truly hoped he didn't seem like a complete dick, but this conversation was just… too much, and he really wanted to escape it.
Ron and Hermione followed him through the crowd to a place near the bar, far away from Derrick. Like the arse that he was, Ron guffawed like child.
'Congratulations on having the most awkward conversation of all time,' he scoffed, unable to keep in his laughter.
'Shut up. I didn't know what to say to him! I've barely spoken two words to the bloke in my life,' he tried defensively.
'Emily played well today, didn't she?' started Ron again, his face the picture of innocence.
'Oh, piss off.'
Next to Ron, Hermione's lips were pursed – a sure fire way of knowing she was trying to suppress laughter.
'Don't you bloody start!' Harry cried as the smile pulled at the edge of her mouth. Bloody traitor.
'Come on, let's get a drink,' she chuckled, dragging the pair of them up to the bar.
An almighty cheer rippled through the room, almost as deafening as the crowd at the match. Over the heads of the excitable Harpies fans Harry could just about make out the players, all of whom appeared to have changed into far more party-appropriate (but still green and gold) clothing. Ginny was unmistakable in the line of players, her long hair now down around her shoulders, the dim lights of the pub dancing across the dark green sequins of her top. Maddie, the Harpies' Seeker, had her arm around a laughing Ginny as they were both handed a shot by Gwenog.
Ginny was clearly in her element among her friends, surrounded by people who were proud of her and who loved her. Perhaps that was what made his chest ache at the sight of her, laughing and seemingly carefree… It contrasted so much with what Ron had said earlier about her being unhappy.
As he looked at her across the room, it hit him: he should have known she was unhappy in Holyhead, but he didn't. He should have known that she'd been having problems with her mum, but he didn't. All he thought he knew about her — the happy, fun-loving, self-assured, confident, independent woman he thought she was — was based on a years-old picture of her. A picture of her that, until today, he'd thought was accurate. A picture of her that he should have updated and added to as the pair of them grew up.
But he hadn't.
Instead, he'd held onto this vision of her that satisfied his own mind that she was happy, because that's all he'd ever wanted for her. It was easier for him to assume she was happy, because he wasn't sure he could live with seeing her anything but happy.
But ultimately, it was wrong, he was wrong, and he'd never felt like a worse friend.
A clap on his shoulder brought him back to himself. George thrust a shot and a pint into his hand – a shot of what, he had no idea… the liquid was colourless but was giving off a rather mesmerising purple smoke.
'You don't need to look so miserable, mate. It's your birthday!' he shouted over the roar of the music and the revellers.
'Nah, I'm alright,' he shouted back. From now on his focus was to get drunk, have a nice time, and start on being a better friend to Ginny, even if it took years to rebuild the friendship they once had.
'Gin's so happy you're here,' George said seriously, watching intently as Harry's eyes darted back to her involuntarily. Perhaps George too could read minds.
Harry sighed and raised his beer. 'I hope you're right.'
'Let's do this!' shouted Ron behind him, already having downed his shot, hand raised triumphantly in the air.
Harry downed his shot, and began the night in earnest.
Around half an hour later, and at least a couple more shots, the party was in full swing. The pub had filled up and the volume in the bar had increased to the point where you had to shout to have a conversation, even though they were all packed pretty tightly together. A pleasant tipsiness filled the air, and Harry, despite the odd cooling sensation provided by George's mysterious shots, was starting to feel the alcohol's warm redness rise on his cheeks.
'Hey!' came Ginny's voice from behind him. Her cool hand rested on his shoulder as she tucked in between him and Hermione. Close up, she looked, quite frankly, incredible. She was wearing more makeup than she normally did, although it entirely complemented her very flashy, very tight, very low-cut, green and gold-sequined dress. His neck protested as he snapped his head away rather too quickly, immediately looking around to see if anyone else had noticed his rapidly reddening cheeks. (They hadn't, thank Merlin).
Ginny took one look at Ron's ridiculous tie and snorted with laughter. 'You look like such a prat,' she said through giggles.
'Thanks. Couldn't bring myself to buy something bigger than a tie. I don't want anyone in the Cannons seeing me in this rubbish.'
'No one wants to see you in this rubbish!'
'Fine, I'll leave it at home next time, arseface.'
'Please do. Do us all a favour.'
George interrupted their playful bickering with another handful of drinks, some of which were levitating beside him for good measure. George handed a shot to each of them in turn – the hand on Harry's back moved slightly as Ginny reached for her own shot – and raised his drink high in the air.
'I propose a toast! To the girls of the Holyhead Harpies doing us all proud today and whooping the Wimborne Wasps' arses,' he announced loudly. People in the immediate vicinity booed at the mention of the Wasps, which clearly delighted George, who raised his voice and his hands to include the onlookers in his toast.
'And to their newest Chaser, our favourite little sister, and the second best Quidditch player in the Weasley family, our Ginny. To Ginny Weasley!'
'TO GINNY WEASLEY!'
Harry clinked his shot with George, Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and they all downed it in one. The burn in his throat at the Firewhiskey hit him pleasantly, knowing full well he was heading beyond the realms of tipsiness and into the familiar, problem-less embrace of drunkenness.
'Come on,' said Ginny, tugging gently on his arm, 'Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. They're dying to meet you properly.'
A short while later, Harry leaned against the bar, waiting for another drink. The noise level in the bar had crept impossibly higher, along with the collective drunkenness of the partygoers.
'So you must be Harry Potter,' shouted a voice from his left.
Harry's heart sank. In his experience, conversations that started like this went only one way, and he was categorically not in the mood for it tonight. 'Oh Harry, it's so great to meet you.' 'Thank you so much for saving the wizarding world. You're so brave.' 'Is it true you really died?' Blah blah blah.
'Hi!' he said in pleasant surprise, for it wasn't an excited fan or blushing admirer. It was Gwenog.
They shook hands heartily, her smile warm but hard around the edges, giving him the impression she didn't suffer fools. Harry had never met Gwenog in person, only heard about her formidable nature on the Quidditch pitch. Stood in front of him now, though, with her black hair down and her shoulders a little more relaxed than whenever he'd seen her at press interviews and in magazines, she looked entirely more approachable.
'So I hear you're a terrific flyer,' she announced, taking the conversation to a place Harry was much more comfortable with. 'Such a shame you're not a woman.'
'Well, I'm sorry to disappoint.'
'Nevermind. I already have a Seeker.'
'Yes, you do. And a bloody excellent one at that.' Blunt, to the point, but not an arsehole like his boss — immediately he felt himself warming to Gwenog. 'Well done on the game today.'
'Ah, it's what we Harpies do. We win,' she said, a determined pride flashing across her face. 'Just glad you could be there for Weasley's first big game.'
He smiled. 'I am too. I'm also glad you promoted her — she'll do you proud.'
She threw her head back and barked a laugh. 'I'll be the judge of that,' she winked, a look of challenge crossing her expression. 'But on this occasion I suspect you're right. She has improved so much since moving back to London. Much happier and much less distracted for it.'
For the second time today, it was like he had been dunked in ice cold water, her words yet another reminder of how much he didn't know about Ginny and how much everyone else did.
'Oh?' It wasn't elegant, but it was the only response he could think of at that moment.
'Oh yes. She was miserable in Holyhead, what with all those fucking men.' She may as well have spat the last word with the amount of contempt she poured into it.
Before he could even start to formulate a response to that, a very drunk Suzanne McCormick staggered her way over to Gwenog and desperately clung on to her arm, nearly knocking the drink straight out of it.
'Are you lot talking about men?' Suzanne giggled, seemingly not noticing that Harry was there, let alone that they had never met. 'I love men,' she sighed wistfully.
Gwenog laughed. 'Yes, Suze, we know you love men, but we're talking about Ginny!'
Suzanne blinked in shock and levelled Harry with what he supposed was a serious look, her index finger pointing at him ominously, as if this wasn't the first conversation they had ever had together. Unfortunately for Suzanne, the stern effect was somewhat undermined by her slightly glazed eyes and her swaying on the spot.
'The men Ginny picked are stupid,' she slurred but with a surprising resolve. 'She is strong a—, and beautiful and sexy, and… talented, and they have no right to make her feel she isn't anything but fucking amazing.'
'Hear hear!' cried Gwenog, thrusting Suzanne's hand in the air, clasped in her own.
Harry chuckled at the fierce loyalty of Ginny's team, them jumping to her defence to, to all intents and purposes, a complete stranger. As much as it felt like a punch in the gut to hear anyone treating Ginny badly — and he vowed to find out more about that later — it was soothing to hear that someone was looking out for her. She'd found a good lot in these girls, he was sure of it.
He didn't know what made him say it — probably the booze — but he couldn't hold back the question his mouth betrayed—
'What did these men do to her?'
His mistake was immediately obvious in Gwenog's eyebrows, which shot up into her hairline, accompanied by a rather-too-knowing look. Suzanne on the other hand dived into a righteous explanation.
'Oh you know, typical idiot boy stuff. Blaming her for their failures. Being needy about work. Probably being rubbish in bed.' Suzanne rattled them off like idiot boy stuff was common knowledge, like every single man treated every single woman that way, and that it was just the way of the world.
It made him feel distinctly uneasy, not least helped by Gwenog's enthusiastic nods of agreement.
'Ah,' he said lamely, trying to look like he had any idea what to respond to an assault on his entire gender. Men weren't all like that, were they?
Wait, was he like that?
God, he hoped not. He definitely hadn't handled things with Emma particularly well, but he didn't blame her for his failures or… wasn't 'needy about work' (whatever that meant).
As Suzanne rattled on about shitty men, it became clear to him that he was entirely too drunk for this conversation. His poor head was spinning, and he was definitely more confused about Ginny's life (and his own) than when he went in.
Gwenog laughed when he told her as much.
'Don't worry, you'll get used to us girls quite quickly, I'm sure.' At this, she winked at him — again, too knowingly — before helping Suzanne fix her bright green sequined 'HH' hat atop her dark ringlets. A short girl with a pixie cut pulled Suzanne by the arm away into the crowd without so much as a backwards glance.
'Nice to meet you!' slurred Suzanne as she stumbled after her friend, waving haphazardly over her shoulder in Harry's direction.
'I see you've met my first Quidditch captain, Gwen,' came Ginny's tinkling voice from beside him. One hand pushed a pint into his hands while the other made its way onto the small of his back, presumably in greeting.
'Aye, I have. A fine captain too, I'm sure' she said loudly, before her expression turned wicked, eyes dancing with mischief just like Ginny's did. There must be something in the water in Holyhead… '—for a bloke.'
The three of them burst into laughter before Gwenog excused herself, disappearing off into the crowd.
'So you met Gwen, then.'
'I did. She seems…'
Ginny laughed loudly and he grinned. 'Say no more. I know exactly what she's like. Not afraid to say what she thinks, is our Gwen.'
'Indeed. Not unlike someone else I know.'
She smirked at him, eye contact unwavering. 'Oh yeah? And who might that be?'
The air around them thick with… something. He paused to take a drink, still holding her burning gaze as he took a sip to try and counteract the sudden dryness in his throat.
'Suzanne. Told me she loves men.'
At that she burst out laughing and he grinned once more. It amazed him how quickly they could go from… whatever that was to full on laughing fits, though at that moment he couldn't say which of the two he preferred. What he did know, though, was that he loved making her laugh.
Blimey, he was drunker than he thought.
'Which Harpies have you had the pleasure of meeting then?' she asked him when she recovered, guiding the pair of them to a patch of wall where they leaned and surveyed the crowd.
'Well, I've met Gwenog and Suzanne. I have learnt precisely 3 things about the pair of them. One, Gwenog is a bit scary, but I like her.' Ginny nodded in agreement and muttered, 'I knew you would,' before he carried on. 'Two, Suzanne loves men.'
Ginny snickered again. 'I can't believe she told you that.'
'Yep. Straight from the horse's mouth. And three, Gwenog is disappointed I'm not a woman.'
'Pfft. Gwen is disappointed everyone's not a woman. As much as Suzanne likes men, Gwen likes women.'
Harry schooled a look of indignance onto his face as he cried in outrage, 'There I was thinking she thought I was an amazing flier! Now I just feel very…'
'…Un-special?' Ginny offered amusedly.
'Yes! Very unspecial.'
'Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you could have all the right lady bits and she still wouldn't have you. Maddie is her star player.'
'I'm wounded,' he said, holding a dramatic hand to his chest.
She giggled somewhat uncharacteristically but the sound shot through him like a bullet, almost wounding him for real.
'Tell me about the rest of the team.' He said it only to distract himself from the uncomfortable feeling that had returned to his chest — that blasted Quaffle, sitting there, burning like it had just been set alight by her laugh.
'Well. There's Maddie. She's the one over there that's dancing with Suze. You may not know but she's a metamorphagus.' Suzanne was dancing with the short witch that had pulled her away earlier — one he hadn't recognised.
'Wait, that's Maddie Flores?'
Ginny hummed in response. 'She bulks herself up and makes herself look scary as fuck when she's on the pitch to intimidate the other players. She's actually 4 foot 9 and got a really pretty, girly face naturally.
'That's brilliant!'
'I know. Wish I could do that.' Harry didn't — she was perfect the way she was. 'Anyway, Maddie—' Ginny continued, and he tried desperately to focus on what she was saying rather than that drunken, rather startling realisation… '—is our team motivator. Gets us all up early and shouts at us to go for a run.
'Then there's my little Chaser team, Valmai and Wilda. They're like my sisters. Valmai's like George a bit… a proper joker but serious and soft in the middle once you get to know her. Wilda's like the complete opposite of all of us. She's shy and hates these sorts of parties. I'd be really surprised if she's still here actually.'
At that, she stood on her tiptoes to see if she could catch a glimpse of Wilda across the dark and busy room. Harry couldn't help but look at her as she did so. She truly was beautiful, and every time he'd looked at her tonight he'd been blown away by it all over again.
Maybe he was too drunk to be having this conversation with her, too drunk to be alone with her, talking to her, flirting with her. It was probably dangerous, but yet his traitorous mouth ploughed on anyway, without so much as a thought to his groaning heart.
'Gwen told me you weren't happy in Holyhead.'
She turned quickly to look at him and her eyes narrowed into a suspicious, guarded kind of look.
Oh god, he'd fucked it. She was angry at him and they weren't those kinds of friends. She was going to tell him to mind his own business and that would be it.
For fuck's sake, Harry!
Instead, she surprised him by leaning back against the wall and sighing in resignation. Or defeat... he couldn't really tell in the darkness of the room.
'I wasn't really,' she said bluntly. She raised her pint to her lips and took a long drink. He waited. 'Didn't like living on my own.'
'No?'
'Nah. You know me, Harry. I like to be around people!' She threw her free arm out, gesturing towards the crowd of strangers in front of her, as if to reinforce the point.
A small, humourless laugh left his lips as he looked out at the crowd, trying to understand what she meant. How could anyone feel more at home here than they did on their own?
Her next words were spoken so quietly, he wasn't sure they were meant for him to hear.
'I've never been very good on my own.'
He turned once again to look at her. The way she held herself then — her head down, her fingers fiddling with the rim of her glass, her usually smiling lips unusually flat — he could finally see what Ron meant. She was sad.
And he had no idea what to say.
Instead, his whole body ached to touch her, to comfort her, to show her it would all be alright even though he had no idea whether it would be or not. The desire was so strong that his body twitched with the effort of holding back from her, a battle of brain and body that he was sure his brain would win if he were sober.
But he wasn't sober, not even close. Unconsciously, his arm extended over the back of her shoulders and pulled her against his side. Almost immediately, she tucked herself into his side like she was made to be there, her arm coming up to rest across his lower back, her head dropping ever so lightly onto his shoulder.
For a moment they just stood there, lost in their thoughts and staring out into the crowd. He took in a deep lungful of air, inhaling the sweet flowery scent of her hair, momentarily losing himself in the warmth of her body and the inexplicable emotion flooding his senses. The breath slowly left his lips.
'You're never on your own, Gin.'
Her body stiffened slightly, a sudden tightening of her arm around his back before she pulled her head up to look at him. For a moment they locked eyes, hers with a sad, almost nostalgic quality that provoked his throat to tighten painfully. He tried to smile back, but he knew it fell short of the mark.
A nearby shout shattered the moment and in an instant, Ginny's smile widened into a dazzling grin, the overwhelming brightness of it chasing away the shadows of their previous seriousness. She stepped away from him and grabbed his arm, tugging him slowly towards the dancing crowd, the mischievous quirk of her lips familiar and daring.
'Come and dance with me?'
Even more drinks later, Harry surveyed his surroundings again, though this time it was through significantly blurred vision. The venue had completed its transformation from loud bar to full-on nightclub, complete with neon LEDs, hazy spotlights and a floor-shaking beat. The centre of the room had become a makeshift dancefloor, which was filled with dozens of bodies moving together.
He, Ron and Hermione sat on a booth not far from the dancefloor. They had been dancing pretty much all night, despite Hermione's sober insistence that dancing wasn't her cup of tea. That being said, she was always the one to initiate their drunk dancing, and tonight was no different…
'We sh'probably go home…' shouted a very slurry Hermione over the din of the music. She was clinging onto Ron's arm, swaying to the music with her eyes shut.
Ron looked over at his girlfriend and laughed, before meeting Harry's eyes with an amused eye roll – she'd done pretty well to get this far, considering she'd almost kept up with them drink for drink.
'Where's George?' Ron shouted. 'Or Ginny, for that matter?'
He scanned the room, which was now hazy with fake smoke, flashing all different colours with the beat of the music. George had been disappearing on and off all night to 'peruse the room' (his words). Perusing or not, there was no way in hell he'd be able to pick someone out unless they walked 2 foot in front of him — it was dark, smoky and they were all way too drunk to see straight at this point.
'Speak of the devil!'
The Quaffle in his chest practically exploded (again) at the sight of Ginny as she half-danced half-walked over to their booth, hips bouncing with every step. It was a mystery how he'd not noticed how impossibly short her dress was, how it showed off several more inches of long, toned legs than he'd ever seen before. Thank God for the darkness, because there was absolutely no denying that he was staring at her.
'Fancy seeing you here!' she shouted when she approached the table. By the sound of her voice, she'd had her fair share to drink as well. 'I brought these for you.' One more round of shots was deposited on the table in front of them.
Ron shook his head, gesturing to Hermione, who was now leaning her head against Ron's shoulder. 'I think some of us have had enough.'
'Nooo, Hermione!' cried Ginny, roughly shaking Hermione awake. 'You can't go home! Come dance with me?'
'I'm sorry Gin. 'M so done. We're going home.' To be fair to Hermione, she did look entirely done and it was probably wise that they didn't have anymore. Clearly agreeing, Ron shuffled himself out of the booth, supporting Hermione along the bench too.
'Are you coming?' Ron asked him. Hermione was now leaning on Ginny, her arms around Ginny's neck, the pair of them swaying and singing to each other in a comical slow-dance.
The question ought not have been so difficult. On one hand he should probably have called it a night by now. He'd achieved that nice level of 'drunk but not so drunk as to throw up or not remember anything' — perhaps even slightly beyond that – and that really was a great place to be.
But on the other hand…
'Nope. No way. Harry is staying here!' announced Ginny over Hermione's shoulder as they hugged tightly.
He turned to Ron and shrugged. 'Looks like I'm staying here.'
Ginny cheered as Ron pushed two of the five shots towards him. 'You two will just have to share these, then.' He picked up one himself and with a quick 'One for the road!' he downed it, grabbing Hermione around the waist.
'Be good! Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Especially you, Gin!'
Testament to her drunkenness, or perhaps she was just in too good a mood to argue, Ginny didn't retort Ron's jibe, and they waved good naturedly as Ron and Hermione left. Wordlessly, Ginny handed him both shots and an almost evil smirk crossed her face, clearly challenging him.
'Ready for a real Harpies' night out, Potter?'
He was so fucked.
'Ready.'
They clinked and downed both shots, the promise of a night never to forget stretching between them as they made their way back to the dancefloor.
A/N: Thanks for reading, everyone! I know this chapter's a bit longer and also took a bit longer to update, I hope you can see why I did it! I am super busy the next few weeks so will do my best to update in a couple of weeks' time, but I can't promise anything.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, subscribed and favourited this story - you have made me SO happy and they mean the absolute world. You're the best!
As always, come and chat to me on Tumblr: sedge64 Have a fabulous couple of weeks!
