07 November 2001
Tensions between Gryffindor and Slytherin ran at an all time high in the days leading up to the first match of the season, and Ginny was just as caught up in the whirl of it all as the rest of her teammates, though she reacted to it in a different way. I suppose we all manage it in different ways, Ginny told herself. Demelza strutted around the school, though Ginny knew that it was false: the bravado hid anxiety. Finch was a notorious vomiter, and visited the boys' washroom several times a day. Fallon Primrose obsessively cleaned her broom; Dane Warren talked loudly about how nervous he wasn't to anyone who would listen. The Seeker, Jason Swyft, a third year and new, kept going to the hospital wing complaining of an unverified stomach ailment, and the Keeper, Brock Fabry, hadn't said a word for a week.
Ginny wandered through the week, feeling a heady mixture of fear and exhilaration.It's just flying, she told herself whenever the fear threatened to take over. You're good at flying. Ironically, the closer Saturday and the match came, the more confident she felt. The sky was the only place where she truly felt like home anymore, and that feeling generally stayed with her all the way through a match. The idea that bothered her the most, Ginny had to admit, was the idea that Harry might be there. Watching. Things had eased between them a bit. Ginny could look him in the eye during class, and he could call on her to answer a questions with ease-
"Miss Weasley?" Professor Slughorn said patiently, cutting into her thoughts. Ginny had the feeling this was not the first time he'd attempted to get her attention. Unfortunately, Potions had never been her most stellar subject; she'd only taken it because her mum had encouraged her to, saying that having a NEWT in Potions set people ahead.
"Yes, sir," she said.
"We've begun the lesson," he said. He spoke quietly; no one else could overhear him, for which Ginny was grateful. She hated being caught distracted in class; sometimes it was just so hard to pay attention, especially in Potions.
"Thanks, sir," she said dutifully. "Sorry, sir."
The week was riddled with such instances, and by the time Saturday rolled around, Ginny was more than ready for the match.
That Saturday morning, the Great Hall was so full that it appeared to be a feast day. Ginny glanced around in astonishment; this size of a crowd was not what she remembered. And ever since she'd been on the team, she'd avoided public places on match days. Seeing the excitement and hearing the customary jeering was a bit daunting.
Maybe I shouldn't have brought Arnold, Ginny thought doubtfully. The pygmy puff's already big eyes were about three times the size as usual as he stared around at the spectacle. His nails clutched at the collar of her Quidditch uniform, and she regretted not leaving him in the dorm, already anticipating scratches in the cloth. But she never knew how long the matches would last (the one between Slytherin and Ravenclaw had lasted for six hours last year), and it wasn't good for Arnold to be without her for so long. Leaving him behind during breakfast would have been pushing it.
She took a seat beside a few second years, and Demelza sat down right next to her. She ladled a healthy portion of waffles and sausages onto her plate. Beside her, Demelza's plate was empty; the other girl looked quite green.
"How can you eat?" Demelza whimpered, finally letting her bravado fall completely and giving into the nerves.
"I'm a Weasley," said Ginny loftily, even as her stomach growled. "I can eat anytime and anywhere." Arnold warbled, as though agreeing with her.
"At least he isn't in heat anymore," said Emma Dobbs (who avoided brooms with as much fervor as others avoided dragon pox carriers). She leaned over, smirking.
Ginny couldn't help but agree. The three days that Arnold had so desperately needed a girlfriend had not been pretty. Thankfully, it had happened over the weekend, but what would she do if next time he had a hormonal attack while classes were in session? She knew one professor would understand, but Harry was a special case.
She glanced up at the staff table. He wasn't there, although she hadn't expected him to be. Harry didn't join them for breakfast very often on weekends. He probably still likes having a lie-in, she thought.
"Think he'll go to the match?" Demelza asked.
"Er - who?"
"Professor Potter, of course," she said. "I'll bet he does, if only to see how his old team is doing."
"Professor Potter played Quidditch?" a second year girl who sat next to Ginny - Aisling Powell - gaped at them, fork halfway to her mouth. She seemed quite surprised, almost unnaturally so. Stuart Method and Elizabeth Barnett nudged each other, and focused keen attention on Demelza.
"It's not like it's some big secret," Emma snorted. Ginny stroked Arnold, hiding a smile. The three second years obviously had a bad case of hero worship; they always seemed to perk up whenever someone brought of his name.
I remember what that was like, Ginny thought ruefully. She'd spent years trying to get every detail about his life that she could - poor Ron had sat through many of her rather comprehensive interrogations (that had, of course, been his own fault; had his letters been more frequent and more detailed, she wouldn't have had to question him so thoroughly).
"He was the youngest Seeker in a hundred years," offered Ginny. "Professor McGonagall saw him at his very first flying lesson and immediately recruited him for the team." Stuart, Aisling, and Elizabeth appeared to hang on her every word. The scrutiny made her throat close up. "He was really good," she finished lamely, tearing off a piece of her bacon and offering it to Arnold.
She let the conversation drift by her, and focused instead on feeding herself and her pygmy puff and watching the staff table. I wonder if Demelza's right and he'll come to the match. Ginny was almost positive that she wanted him there, though the thought made her stomach swoop. He'd never seen her fly before, she didn't think. Back when he'd been a regular visitor at the Burrow, she'd still been forced to practice in secret in the dead of night and on stolen brooms.
I hope he's impressed.
Immediately, her face heated up. No one likes a show-off, Ginny, she told herself sharply. And why would he be impressed? He's brilliant at flying; you don't even come close.
"All right there, Ginny?" Demelza asked.
The question set her nerves on edge and she gritted her teeth. I'd be better if people would just stop asking me that, she thought bitterly. Instead, she said, "I'm fine."
"Okay, okay," Demelza muttered under her breath, obviously put off by Ginny's terse tone.
Ginny winced, wanting to apologize, but didn't really know how. How do you say you're sorry to someone because they annoyed you? She wavered, and then felt a moment of relief when the morning post arrived. Her parents' big barn owl, Magellan, landed right in front of her. She grasped the envelope, and her happiness at the owl's timely distraction dissipated when she recognized the handwriting.
It was a letter from her father.
He knows just when to time it, doesn't he? she thought angrily. Every damn time she had something big coming up, something she wanted to focus all her attention on, her father always managed to write her. And it always rattled her. She never read the letters - she could never bring herself to, and it infuriated her that after three years, he still hadn't gotten the fact that she wasn't ever going to write him back. Because he really was weak and-
"Ginny, it's almost time for you to go," said Emma, gesturing at the rest of the team.
"Thanks," Ginny said bracingly. She hooked her hair behind her ears, hating the fact that her hands trembled a little. A queasy sort of gratitude filled her for Emma's timely interruption of her thoughts.
"D'you want me to take Arnold up to our dorm for you?" Emma asked.
"No, thanks," Ginny murmured, standing up. The rest of the team were already on their feet, flushing with pleasure (and nerves) and bowing to the cheers. It was tumultuous and Ginny was just about to make her escape-
A hand closed over her elbow, and before she could even react, she was pulled into a tight circle of bodies. No. And suddenly the nervous laughter was transformed into something dark, colder. Finch's voice deepened into a growl, and Demelza's breath was hot on the back of her neck.
No.
She pushed herself out of the group hug and raced blindly toward the doors of the Great Hall, clutching her broom and her dad's letter in one hand, and Arnold in the other. Beyond caring if anyone was watching her, she let the panic drive her to the nearest washroom. Once there, she dropped the broom and the letter and leaned heavily against the wall. The tile was cool agains ther back, and her heartbeat slowed from a wild gallop to its more natural rhythm.
The panic was always swift to crash over her and slow to recede, like a tide of bad memories and impressions that echoed from the past and seemed so real even now, three years, four months, and twenty five days since Malfoy Manor. However innocent the new Seeker's intentions had been to pull her into the impromptu group hug, touch combined with close quarters to several people was one definite way to send Ginny back to the worst months of her life.
Even though it's been three years, four months, and twenty five days, Ginny thought hopelessly. She leaned over the sink, turned it on, and splashed cool water on her face.
"Sorry, Arnold," she whispered, gathering up her Nimbus 2121 and the letter - I ought to throw it away - and, straightening her shoulders, left the washroom. Sheer determination carried her out the doors and down the slope. Her footsteps quickened once she realized she'd spent much more time recovering than she'd thought. The stands were filled with students and professors alike. She glanced down and her watch and began to sprint.
Five minutes to the start of the match.
Finch is going to kill me.
Arnold squeaked wildly, unaccustomed to being jostled, and his legs flailed as she threw herself at the changing room.
"Ginny!"
"Thank Merlin you're here; I don't know what-"
"Finch was about to-"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
The greetings, relieved shouts, and apologies from her teammates washed over her. And then-
"Ginny! Why did you bring Arnold?" Demelza was shocked.
Ginny stared down at Arnold as if she had never seen him before. Unhappy mutters reached her ears and increased with volume. For the first time since Fred had given him to her, the sight of him did not offer her comfort. There was a resurgence of nausea; her stomach dropped. I can't just leave him here...
She was struck with an idea, her only option, and began to back out of the door.
"What're you doing?" Finch asked, outraged. "We haven't got any time-"
"I'll be right back," promised Ginny. Please let him be here.
The wind was bitter and cold as she scanned the crowd. The Slytherins were out in force; the green and silver seemed to take up half the stands, and the red and gold the other half. Let him be here, let him be here, let him be here...
And then she saw a mop of untidy black hair. He sat high up in the commentator's box beside Professor McGonagall. Neither one of them pretended they weren't completely biased in favor of Gryffindor; both had Gryffindor scarves wrapped around their necks. Professor McGonagall even wore a banner like a sash over her robes.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she straddled her broom and kicked off, launching herself into the air. Arnold screamed; he detested heights. "Sorry, Arnold," she said again. Thank Merlin he's here. She didn't know what she would have done with Arnold had he decided to hide in his quarters.
"Professor Potter!" she shouted over the wind and students. He didn't hear her. "Professor! Harry!"
He finally turned to her, and his green eyes widened. "Ginny? You play Quidditch?"
The shock in his voice was both gratifying and annoying, but she couldn't blame him. Her brothers had been even more surprised and far less polite. "Yeah," she said. She took a deep breath. "Listen, would you-"
"Which position?" he asked eagerly, apparently unaware that the match was about to start and now was not the time to chat.
"She's a Chaser," said Dennis Creevey. Ginny started. She hadn't even noticed he was there, though she should have. Professors never commentated at the matches after all. "And she's bloody brilliant. She-"
"Will you watch Arnold for me?" Ginny blurted, watching Harry carefully. Creevey said something else, but she ignored him. An expression almost like fear passed over Harry's face. Please, please, please, she chanted.
His brow furrowed, and Ginny had the feeling that he was searching for something in her own face, his gaze was so intense. Whatever he found there must have confused him further; Ginny could practically see the refusal blooming.
"Please?"
He blinked and ruffled his hair. "Er - all right," he said finally. He sounded bemused. "I've been thinking that Arnold needs some bloke time anyway."
"You're probably right about that," Ginny admitted. She flew close enough so that Arnold would be perfectly safe during the transfer. Harry took Arnold with ease - the pygmy puff was practically limp with fear. She felt a brief pang. It was the first time someone else besides her had held him.
"Thanks," she said. And she flew away.
HPHPHPHPHPHP
07 November 2001
It was a strange feeling for Harry, sitting in the commentator's box. It felt wrong somehow, as though he had been catapulted years into the past. He could barely suppress the urge to rush down the the changing room and throw on his uniform and play Seeker, once more, for Gryffindor. Perhaps it was the tumultuous excitement from the students in the stands, or maybe it was because the sense that he'd been cheated out of his final year in school lingered. But whatever the cause, Harry felt a potent mix of nostalgia, regret, and even jealousy.
"Knut for your thoughts?" McGonagall said.
"They aren't worth that much," said Harry. "Just waiting for the match to start.
She sighed.
"I miss Quidditch," Harry admitted in a low voice. There was only one other occupant of the commentator's box, but he did not feel like having a heartfelt discussion in front of Dennis Creevey. Or, really, anything besides small talk about weather and how Gryffindor would crush Slytherin in just a few moments.
"The Gryffindor Quidditch team misses you," she told him dryly. "A Seeker of your caliber comes very rarely."
"Thanks," Harry murmured. His thoughts strayed to Ginny Weasley, and he searched the crowd for her. He knew he'd see her straight away: her hair was that vivid a color. But there was little hope of her being here; he'd already noticed that she avoided situations where there was sure to be a crowd.
He hadn't seen her since Halloween. Well, he'd seen her in class, but that didn't count. Not that he would have, but what if she was avoiding him even more since they'd spent the evening together at Hagrid's? It was unusual that he hadn't seen her at meals, and there was a very real possibility that he'd frightened her off somehow. Though he had no idea what he'd said to-
"Harry?" McGonagall sounded annoyed, as though she'd been trying to get his attention for some time.
"Sorry?" he said politely.
"I said that you can't miss flying that much; you spend hours in the air every evening," she said tartly.
"Er," said Harry, cutting a glance at Creevey. The boy was struggling to keep warm, and was not paying them the slightest bit of attention. "It's not quite the same."
And it wasn't. Being here, getting ready to watch a match for the first time in years, just illuminated how accustomed he'd grown to being alone. He generally ate alone and flew alone; he always slept alone, and Halloween night with Ginny of all people had been the most relaxed he'd been around other people since before Malfoy Manor.
"Harry!"
He looked up, startled. As though his thoughts had conjured her, Ginny Weasley sat atop a broom, hovering, and gazing at him with an anxious look on her face. She was dressed in a uniform and it was more than obvious that she was about to play. "Ginny? You play Quidditch?" he said before he could stop himself. She grimaced.
"Yeah. Listen, would you-"
But Harry could not exert control over his own mouth. "Which position?"
"She's a Chaser," said Creevey, to Harry's annoyance. Ginny was capable of answering for herself. He wondered if it bothered her that Creevey eyed her with a puppy-like devotion. "And she's bloody brilliant. She-"
Ginny cut across him. "Will you watch Arnold for me?"
Harry resisted the impulse to check to make sure she was actually talking to him, Harry, and not someone else sitting just behind him. She was looking him straight in the eye, for one, and he didn't know any other 'Professor Harry Potters' in the vicinity.But why would she ask me, of all people, to keep an eye on something obviously so precious to her? The moment lengthened and he found himself without words.
"I'll watch Arnold for you," Creevey said like a simpleton. But Ginny ignored him, so Harry did too. He searched her face. Why are you asking me? How can you trust me with Arnold? He didn't think he could do it.
"Please?" she said. And Harry had to accept the fact that she not only trusted him with Arnold, but that she'd sought him out before anyone else. Her Arnold. Arnold the most pampered, well-loved, and fiercely protected pygmy puff in the world.
I hope you know what you're doing, he told her silently. "Er, all right," he said, acutely aware of McGonagall's intense scrutiny. "I've been thinking that Arnold needs some bloke time."
"You're probably right," she said. She flashed him a smile - a real one - and flew closer, holding the wide-eyed pygmy puff out to him. Arnold looked as uncertain of this new development as Harry felt. But he took him carefully, and before he could ask her if she was certain, she flew away to join her team.
Arnold immediately tried to wriggle out of Harry's grasp. "No, you don't," Harry told him firmly. Arnold blinked at him, looking chastened. He hung his little head, and his body hunched, but Harry remained stoic. "Your Ginny would be very upset if anything happened to you."
He looked up just in time to see McGonagall hide a smile. "What?" he said defensively. "She would be."
"Oh, I know Miss Weasley would be quite upset indeed were anything to happen to Arnold," agreed McGonagall. The amused look slid off her face, and Harry could practically see the questions forming in her eyes, and he was suddenly grateful for Creevey's presence.
Almost two hours later, Harry loped down the stairs, Arnold held protectively to his chest. He was still in a state of shock: Where did she learn to fly like that? And when? Talent like that would have been obvious, even among a Quidditch-mad family like the Weasleys. No, he would have remembered if he'd ever seen her on a broom.
The crowd pushed their way down the stairs; Harry resisted using magic to force the students out of his way. But he forced himself to wade through the sulking Slytherins and the jubilant Gryffindors. Arnold kept up a constant stream of commentary: whistling, warbling, and trilling. He really is a cute little guy, Harry thought fondly, just after the pygmy puff swiped at a sixth year Ravenclaw who was trying too hard to impress witches to move quickly.
It took an interminably long time to get from the commentator's box to the outside of the changing room. He got there just in time to see Demelza Robins and Jeremy Finch exit, flushed with victory and holding hands. "Hi, Professor Potter," they said in unison.
"Good game," he smiled at them. He held up Arnold and gestured toward the door. "Is she still in there?"
"Yeah," said Finch.
"She waits until the rest of us are done changing and washing," Robins explained further. "So she might be a while."
They exchanged glances. "Thanks for watching Arnold," said Finch. "She usually doesn't forget that she isn't supposed to bring him to the matches, but-"
"It wasn't a problem," Harry said firmly, hoping to discourage the Beater from continuing. He did not like the note of condescension in the Quidditch captain's voice; he obviously meant well, but Ginny had just proven that she could outfly Finch with both hands off the broom, and was entitled to more respect.
"Er - thanks," said Robins. She started moving, pulling Finch along. "We've got that party in the common room, Jeremy, let's go."
Harry watched them go and leaned up against the wall. Arnold, obviously exhausted from all the excitement, had gone from having an almost appalling amount of energy to limp in about ten seconds. He'd curled up against Harry's neck and now snored softly, leaving a moist spot from his drool.
The rest of the players exited. Harry offered them congratulations, but none of them stopped to chat, for which he was grateful. He stamped his feet to ward off the chill, and considered putting a Warming Charm on himself the way he'd done Arnold.
There was a burst of warm air and a flowery scent, and Ginny rushed out of the door. She stopped in her tracks, apparently surprised to find him waiting for her.
"How in Merlin's name did you learn to fly like that?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. He winced. Want to insult her some more, Potter? "I'm-"
"I started stealing my brothers' brooms at the age of six," she said. She threw him a smug, defiant look that held a hint of laughter in it. "They never let me fly with them, you see. And neither did their friends." She slung her Nimbus 2121 over her shoulder and turned to walk back to the castle.
Harry shifted Arnold a little. He could definitely remember Ginny begging to be allowed to play Quidditch with them at the Burrow. And he just as vividly remembered Ron and the twins always refusing. And Harry hadn't attempted to speak up for her. I didn't know she was any good, he thought defensively. Still, he felt compelled to once more attempt to apologize. "I'm-"
"Don't apologize," she said, smirking at him over her shoulder. "I got my revenge by using the brooms without permission." And then she grinning at him, a full-fledged smile that bloomed across her face and made his chest suddenly feel a bit tight. "Iparticularly enjoyed stealing yours."
Harry stopped in his tracks, then hurried forward until his strides matched hers. "You used my Firebolt?" he asked incredulously.
"Mm hmm," she murmured. "I spent an entire day on it while you and the boys were at the Quidditch World Cup."
For some reason, Harry had no trouble whatsoever with imagining that. He could very easily reconcile this talented Chaser with the little girl who had never wanted to be left behind. "I'm glad you practiced on my broom, Gin," he said honestly. "You really flew brilliantly today." He wanted to tell her that she'd been the best out there, but thought she might view this as flattery rather than simple truth.
"That means a lot coming from the youngest Hogwarts player in a hundred years," she pointed out.
"Imagine if we'd been on the team together," said Harry, who saw no need for false modesty. And he could see it easily; Slytherin never would have stood a chance. "We could've taken over the world."
She laughed.
That's the first time I've heard her laugh since Bill and Fleur's wedding, Harry thought dazedly. Even the smiles that never reached her eyes were rare; the real ones rarer still.
"That's a little ambitious, isn't it?" she asked; there was still a trace of laughter in her voice.
"Maybe just the Quidditch League, then," Harry allowed.
They lapsed into silence; Arnold's snores seemed to grow quite loud all of a sudden. Harry scrambled for something to say, something innocent, before thoughts of Malfoy Manor could shatter the easiness between them. He could almost feel it creeping up on them, like distant thunder growing closer.
Think, Harry, think.
Finally, he landed on something. "Are you-"
"I'm fine," she snapped, interrupting him. She sounded quite irritated all of a sudden.
Harry gaped at her, confused. Why would she-? Then sudden understanding startled a laugh out of him. "I wasn't going to ask if you're all right," he assured her. "I hate that question." It just brought all the issues right up to the surface where Harry couldn't ignore them. Judging from her reaction, he thought she might have this same problem. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he stole another glance at her. Her cheeks matched her hair.
"Sorry," she muttered after a few steps. "It's just - you paused for a really long time. And usually people..."
"Ah yes," said Harry, nodding wisely. He knew exactly what she was talking about. "Usually people follow up a long pause with a look of pity and then-"
"-the soft voice of concern, asking that damned question," Ginny continued for him, rolling her eyes.
"'Are you all right'?" they finished together.
Harry was surprised to find that he was smiling, and even more so that Ginny was as well. Before he could figure out why talking about his second most dreaded question was suddenly funny, they reached the large doors that led to the Entrance Hall. He pulled one open, and she ducked in. They didn't speak until they reached the bottom of the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower.
"Can I have Arnold back now?" she asked.
Harry handed over the sleeping pygmy puff.
"He's really warm," she said, surprised.
"I put a Heating Charm on him," Harry told her.
Her lips twitched. "He has fur," she pointed out.
"It was really cold," he said defensively. And I didn't want anything to happen to him; not on my watch. To his relief, she dropped the topic.
"Thanks," she said. "I appreciate it. I sort of forgot that I still had him with me."
"Anytime," said Harry. He even meant it. They lingered at the bottom of the stairs for a few more moments. He wasn't really ready to head back to his quarters yet. "D'you want to fly with me?" he asked suddenly, surprising even himself.
Her brow furrowed, and she glanced at the doors. "Right now?" she asked dubiously.
"Er, no," Harry said, wishing he hadn't said anything. "I fly in the evenings after dinner. I mean, you don't-"
"I'd like that," she said.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
07 November 2001
It was the conversation with Minerva McGonagall that had Molly Weasley staring at her clock. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had won. Ginny had flown with enough precision and skill to impress even McGonagall, who had seen many players come and go.
It was always worse when Molly heard about Ginny and the way she flew. She reached out and stroked her daughter's hand on the clock. It pointed at Malfoy Manor just as firmly as ever. Hers and Harry's overlapped. "She just seems so alive and so presentwhen she's flying," Molly said out loud. Last summer, she'd seen Ron and Ginny racing across the sky, and Ginny's face had been lit with fierce abandon, and Molly's heart had leapt into her throat, and she'd thought This is it. There's no way that she can look like that and still be absent. But the clock was unchanged.
Just like now.
Arthur, the only other person at the Burrow (besides the ghoul, which Molly didn't count), didn't answer, though a flicker of sadness crossed his face. He'd just sent off a letter to their daughter, and he struggled with not hoping that this time she'd finally write back. Molly didn't have the heart to tell her husband that she'd found a packet of his unopened letters in Ginny's trunk; she suspected he knew anyway.
"I wish she could've had the memories taken away," he said finally.
Molly did too. But whatever Ginny had experienced - they knew it was bad, but she'd never actually spoken of it, not even once - had been too big to forget. There would've been another resident in the long-term care ward at St. Mungo's. It would break her mind, the Healer that Harry had sent to the Burrow along with Ginny had said. It wouldn't erase the emotional memories, and she'd find herself having the same feelings, with no understanding as to why she feels the way she does. That way lies insanity.
None of the Weasleys wanted that, of course. A sane, distant, and hurting Ginny was far better than the alternative. But so much time had passed with such little improvement that sometimes she felt she was hoping for the impossible.
"Minerva said she had a good game," said Arthur, as though Molly had not been in the same room just a few minutes ago. The Order of the Phoenix member and Head of Gryffindor House had still been flushed and exultant from a victory. It had been obvious that she'd run right off the pitch; Molly had been quite grateful to see her. Minerva had been somewhat reticent lately. And since Ginny would never let them attend the matches, they had to hear about it second-hand.
"Funny thing that our girl is supposedly better at Quidditch than our boys," said Molly.
"I'm not surprised," said Arthur. "She's always wanted to be right along with them in everything she did."
Molly was just about to reply when she heard a whirring sound and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She stared down at the clock. None of the hands had moved; most of her boys were still at work, and Ron was still at home. The only hand that showed any flicker of motion at all was Ginny's. Even as she watched it, it bounced a little, as though it had taken a quick lap around the face and jerked to a halt where it had begun.
What could that mean?