So sorry for the long delay. Things have gotten extremely busy in the workplace, as I've taken on a new position. This one is very short, but I didn't want to keep things hanging for too long. I hope to have more up asap. Thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed.
Ginny scratched out the last line of the article that she had written describing the opening ceremonies of the 2021 Quidditch World Cup, and tossed down her quill. She raked her fingers through her hair and twisted the long red tresses into a bun atop her head as she heaved a sigh and wanded away the ink scribbles.
…Despite the ICWQC decision to move up the World Cup by a year, fans are still thronging to the campsite with excitement. The location, on a small largely uninhabited island just off the west bank, and south of the Edfo bridge appears the perfect spot, with plenty of concealment protections, which have also served to ward off the intense desert heat. The campsite is alive with a festival atmosphere tonight, in anticipation of the first match of the series between Haiti and Brazil. This is the first World Cup matchup between the two countries, since the 2014 snitchnip debacle, and the Haitians are certainly intent on banishing the shadow of disqualification embarrassment. In addition to the usual World Cup fan-zone activities, including broom courses, veela ballet, snidget menagerie and leprechaun casino, the Egyptian Ministry has spared no expense in providing a wide variety of entertainment, with tanoura and raqs sharqi dancing, elaborate feasts, and most popular—the flying carpet races. Up to the minute coverage will be presented throughout the series, with play-by-play provided by the Wizarding Wireless Network, Wizarding Broadcast Corporation (America), and the Allied Magical Press.
Satisfied with her article, she hastily checked it over for errors and apparated to the press tent where she handed it over to a courier elf. As she walked back to her tent, Ginny noted the presence of ICW Aurors patrolling the crowds, their gazes watchful, wands clutched at the ready. Since the 1994 attack on the competition, security had increased tenfold. There were uniformed and undercover agents throughout the stadium, campsites and marketplace. All members of the press were required to wear special charmed badges to allow them access to training rooms and the team campsites. Probity Probes were employed at all stadium entrances, and sneakoscopes were strategically placed throughout the event location.
Ginny largely ignored the cacophony of noise from the numerous vendors and activities in the bazaar, which began just outside the entrance of the stadium and created a concourse through the tent city. Just as she passed the vintage broomstick pavilion, she felt a hand on her arm.
"Hiya." Gordon Horton fell into step beside her.
"Oh, hi."
"Have you had dinner yet? There's a wonderful stall just down the way. They serve a delectable Mahshi," he suggested. Ginny shrugged.
"I'm not terribly hungry," she replied.
"Alright, well, how about a cup of sahlab?"
"Oh, I don't know, Gordon. It's been a long day. I just want to get back to my tent."
"Ginny—"
"Merlin's beard! You're Ginny Potter! And wait—Gordon Horton!" squealed a teenage witch with red, white and blue hair and wearing a USA Quidditch robe. "May I have your autograph?" The girl dug into her pocket and pulled out a well-worn book, shoving it at Ginny.
"Yeah, sure." She smiled wanly. "To whom should I make it out?"
"Oh, yeah, um Cassandra-Cassandra Solart. Yeah, I like totally have all of my mom's old news clippings and photos of your career. I totally wrote like five times for a tryout with the Harpies, but no dice."
"You want to play pro Quidditch?" Ginny asked, as she signed the girl's book and passed it to Gordon.
"I considered it," the girl said. "But if I can't play with my favorite team, then forget about it. I've decided to race brooms instead. I'm training for the Kopparberg. After that, I'm looking to get into racing collector brooms. You know—like Moontrimmers, the Silver Arrow, and the early Comets. I have a 180 in mint condition. It belonged to my grandmother."
"Really?" Gordon smiled. "Do you have a sponsor?"
"Not just yet," Cassandra replied. "I mean, I won a grant from the Salem Witches' Institute, and we're in talks with Cirrus Air. They're a major broom dealer in the U.S."
"You should consider taking part in Cross-Flyte in April, at Bodmin Moor."
"Uhh, don't you have to like be invited to that?"
"Well, Comet Vintages is always looking for new flyers. I penned my floo address in your book. Give us a call when you get home, and I'll arrange an invitation. That is, if you're really serious about racing." Gordon gave her a wink. Cassandra let out a gasp as realization dawned upon her.
"Ohh, my god! Comet Trading Company! Horton-Keitch brake charm! Oh, my—I'm—wow! Thank you so much! Ohmigod! Ohmigod!" She clutched the autograph book to her chest and bounced up and down. "I have to—I have to find my parents! OMG!" Cassandra let out a squeal and dashed off, calling out her thanks once more before disappearing into the crowd.
"She'll probably remember this longer than she'll remember the details of any match," Ginny remarked, walking again. She adjusted the light cotton cardigan she wore.
"Well, she seemed enthusiastic enough," Gordon replied, offering his elbow as they walked. She demurred. "It's gratifying to see a young person with such clear ambitions."
"You sound like an old man," she said. They reached her tent and she pointed her wand to disable the protective enchantments she'd placed to protect it in her absence.
"Well, I'm not much in the way of a spring chicken either. That fall I took in the hippogriff incident really got me thinking about the long-term. I've survived in this game for quite some time. I think Gwen is probably the only player who's been in the sport longer." He followed her into the tent.
Once the children had been born, Ginny and Harry had decided to upsize from a basic tent to a spacious yurt in order to accommodate their growing family as they attended Quidditch events throughout the UK and Europe, though the entire family hadn't attended the World Cup together since 2010. At that time, Lily was barely two years old. Over the past decade, Ginny had either traveled alone, or with some combination of her own children and other members of the extended Weasley family, and in 2014, Harry had been unable to attend the event, due to a high-level operation to apprehend Abraxan smugglers.
The space had been large enough to accommodate sleeping quarters for as many as ten people, but now was Spartan, with only a small table that doubled as her writing desk in the center of the tent. On one side was a simple futon with a handmade quilt thrown across it, and on the other, bathing facilities and a small cook space.
"You're going to retire?" she asked. "Do I get the exclusive to that announcement?" She summoned a glass and filled it with water.
"Well, Dad's been after me for a while now, about taking over the day to day running of the company, especially since it was my idea to boost our image against Ellerby and Spudmore by implementing the vintage resale plan. We're the only manufacturer to restore and resell antique brooms." Gordon took a seat on the futon.
"Sounds like you've made your decision." Ginny perched on the opposite end of the sofa.
"You're using your reporter voice," he frowned. "What's going on, Ginevra?"
"You tell me, Gordon. It's clear you've a point to make. Make it."
"I need to settle down. The fast-paced pro athlete lifestyle isn't for me anymore. It's time for me to move to the next phase of my life."
"That's great. I think the corporate life would suit you. It'll keep you near the game."
"Ginny," Gordon sighed, moving closer to her. "I think you know what I'm talking about. I want to move into the next phase of my life, but…" he placed his hand on top of hers. "It doesn't mean much if I'm going into it alone."
"Gordon." Ginny stood up and moved to the flap, pushing it aside and looking up at the fireworks display in the distance. "I don't—I don't know—"
"You said that nothing had been resolved between you and Harry since he told you that he knew about us." He went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Well, I—it hasn't, but—"
"But you're hoping that something will happen?"
"Well…" her voice trailed off. Gordon turned her to face him.
"Ginny, be honest. I've only got to go on what you've told me, but is he even fighting for your marriage? You told him that you didn't want him to go, but he did. He didn't even implore you to change your mind about joining him, did he? Have you even stopped to wonder why?"
"Harry isn't cheating on me, Gordon. He would never do that!" she insisted. Ginny moved away from him, going to the cabinet for something stronger. She poured a glass of firewhiskey. "How could you even—"
"I need to know where this is going, Ginny!" Gordon insisted.
"I can't talk about this right now." She tossed back her drink, grimacing as it burned her throat.
"Fine. Okay, but if you want us to continue to be a thing, then I don't know how much longer I can continue to play reserve."
"Gordon—" she began. He pulled her into an embrace and placed a finger to her lips before leaning down to kiss her. "I—" He shushed her again.
"I'm a keeper, not a seeker," he whispered, before exiting the tent.