Chapter Three: Quidditch Lessons

After they had gotten over the initial shock of having to live in the company of Ron Weasley for the rest of the summer, Harry and Blaise found that life at the Burrow was as different as it was possible to be from life at Privet Drive, St. Margaret's, or Hogwarts. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered, which pretty much excluded Harry and Blaise from being something they liked; St. Margaret's was . . . well . . . a rundown orphanage, and Hogwarts was a school, so it was a rather big surprise when Harry and Blaise noticed that the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected, and most of the household was content to let Harry and Blaise live there.

Harry was ashamed to find that he screamed like a girl—in Blaise's opinion—the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted, "Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" He got his revenge when the ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes at the ceiling their first night at the Burrow. Blaise was so frightened she shrieked and jumped into bed with Harry while nearly ripping his arm off with her circulation-cutting grip. For Harry, the deep purple marks on his arm were worth it when Blaise came down to breakfast the next morning looking like she had gotten about thirty minutes' sleep. (She had had some serious dark circles under her eyes.) But what shocked them the most was that bangs and small explosions from Fred and George's room were considered perfectly normal, even with a mum like Molly Weasley. However, Mrs. Weasley didn't know that, most of the time, Ginny was in there with them, as were Harry and Blaise.

Speaking of Molly Weasley; she seemed to find it pleasurable to fuss over the state of Harry and Blaise's socks, which were old and bobbly. She liked to try to force them to eat fifth and sixth helpings at every meal as well. Oftentimes she succeeded in getting Blaise to eat a tenth helping. Blaise really never could turn down food, and was beginning to worry about getting a bit plump. Harry secretly decided that she didn't need to worry about things like that because she had such a high metabolism, and she'd just suck it off with all the energy she used up each day. Harry seemed to be the same way.

Mr. Weasley—or Arthur—loved to ask them about Muggle inventions. One time he had asked about "ecklektrickity" which had sent Blaise into a fit of giggles and caused Harry to spew his gulp of orange juice across the table at Ron—not that he minded.

This morning, on their third day at the Burrow, Mr. Weasley was determined to ask Harry and Blaise about the purpose of a rubber duck.

Blaise had replied very enthusiastically. And suspiciously knowledgeable, when Harry had time to think about it.

"It's a bath buddy!" she exclaimed.

Harry gave her "The Look" and said, "And how would you know that, by any chance?"

Blaise smiled at him, showing all her teeth, and answered, "You mean you haven't met Mr. Squeaky? Or Mrs. Bubbles? Oh, right, you've never taken a bath with me."

Ron snorted on his mouthful of kidney pie and snickered. Fred—or was it George?—took the opportunity to inform him that he giggled like a girl. Harry could just barely hear Ginny reply, "And that's a bad thing because?"

When he had sorted out his confusion a bit, he asked Blaise, "Who are Mr. Squeaky and Mrs. Bubbles?" He could be very thick sometimes.

Blaise's jaw dropped and she exclaimed, "They're my rubber duckies!"

Harry started banging his head on the table repeatedly. He was now even further convinced that he met the strangest people. He could barely hear Fred, George, and Weaselbee—ahem, Ronald—trying to stifle their guffaws in the background. They weren't succeeding very well—their faces had turned an alarming shade of violet that clashed horribly with their bright red hair. He suddenly got a mischievous look on his face. He couldn't wait to tell Theo that Blaise took baths with "rubber duckies."

Blaise, seeing his look, shook her head violently. "Oh, no, you don't. You're not telling a soul!"

Harry eyed her with a daring gleam in his eyes. "Oh, really? What are you going to do—drown me?"

"I'll do more than drown you! I'll take a rusty spoon and scoop your insides out little by little." As she said this, a maniacal gleam appeared in her eyes.

Harry was currently snorting into his own porridge and every now and then you could hear words forming: "Hehehe . . . rubber 'duckies' . . . reminds me . . . four-year-old . . . crazy . . . insane . . . probably imagines things . . . Ow, woman!" This last statement was exclaimed when Blaise hit him over the head with her porridge-covered spoon, making his hair look like a cat had vomited in one section. It was rather funny.

"I was joking about the 'rubber duckies,' you twerp."

The Weasleys had been watching the two carefully, wondering if they should do something to stop the argument from escalating. Apparently, there was no need to do this, as the argument had been resolved in due time. Arthur Weasley sighed, glad he didn't have to intervene. Molly Weasley was watching the two closely, but there seemed to be no need for her to yell at either of them; after all, they weren't her children. Fred and George watched them in anticipation, and it looked like they were looking for an all-out fight. Weaselbee—ahem, Ronald—was looking at them in something akin to disgust. Ginny was snorting into her plate of scrambled eggs and Percy just stuck his nose up in the air like the pompous git he was. It was a very amusing sight.

Blaise smiled cheekily—something she had learned to do very well during the years with Harry at the orphanage. Of course, more often than not, it got her in much trouble. And that was just what it did now.

Molly Weasley looked ready to blow a fuse. She was steadily turning red at the look that Zabini girl was giving her—that smirk was driving her crazy. And so she voiced her opinions.

"What do you think you're smirking at?" she hissed angrily.

"Molly. . . ." Arthur warned her warily.

"Oh, sh—" Blaise began to say. Harry blocked her mild profanity with a large and rather obnoxious cough of his own. Seeing the frightened look on Blaise's face as she stared down the short, plump, angry woman in front of her, he interrupted. "Mrs. Weasley, I think you're making her rather uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" Mrs. Weasley asked incredulously as Blaise raised her eyebrows.

"Yes," Harry continued.

Mrs. Weasley glared at him and left the room, stomping up the stairs and probably even making the house shake as she did so. The banging stopped, followed by a loud BOOM as a door slammed shut.

"Well, that just brought a whole new meaning to huff and puff and blow the house down," Blaise said nervously to the tense room.

"So . . . what are we planning on doing today?" Ginny asked perkily, trying desperately to change the subject.

This got the twins' interest and George—or was it Fred?—said, "Actually, we were planning—"

"—on playing some Quidditch—"

"—with Harry and his lady friend here—"

"Hey!" Blaise interrupted angrily. She started shaking and Harry held her back before she caused some serious injuries to the fourteen-year-old twins sitting across the table from them. However, it didn't help that he also wanted to sock them.

"They've never played a rough game of Quidditch before—"

"—and we decided to pass on the joy of it to two newbies—"

"—even though they're Slytherins—"

"—and supposedly evil—" Here Fred and George each shot a look of disgust at their brother, Weaselbee—ahem, Ronald.

"—and, of course, there's the fact that they'll be playing for the opposing team."

"But they're still die-hard Quidditch fans, and we feel the obligation to teach them the sport."

"Maybe, when they're famous Quidditch stars, and we're famous Quidditch stars, they'll thank us profusely for our noble work," Fred concluded, considering himself important.

Blaise's eyes lit up at the prospect of Quidditch. With a dreamy look, she said happily, "Finally! Ooh, when I try out and make it on the team, they won't know what hit them! Somebody's got to show Flint how Quidditch is played. I always said, 'Going all for the brawn and nil for the brain makes the team worthless.' And there's not a single girl on the team! Flint will be so surprised when he sees how I attack that hoop with my Quaffle. He'll be abso-bloody-lutely gobsmacked." Here Blaise ended her little speech. Even though Flint wasn't there, she looked ready to punch him. How dare he make the Slytherin team lose the Cup! To Gryffindor, no less!

"Oh, yeah? Well, wait till he sees me out there. I have an eye for gold," Harry added, feeling he should say something after Blaise's super-long speech.

"So you want to be a Chaser, Blaise? And you a Seeker, Harry?" inquired Ginny. When they nodded vigorously, she admitted, "I've always wanted to be a Chaser for my House team."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "Chasers rock."

"No, Seekers rock," argued Harry.

"Let's just agree that all the positions rock. If I didn't want to be Chaser so bad, I'd get out there with a Beater's bat and chuck 'em left and right," Blaise declared obsessively.

"But that's what we're here for." The Weasley twins grinned cheekily.

"But you're not on our House team," bantered Blaise.

"A good thing, too. Slytherins are still evil," Ronald began. However, he never got to continue his rant.

Harry barked, "And yet you say that with two Slytherins in the room. How very foolish of you." His and Blaise's eyes lit up at the prospect of a prank. They discreetly looked over at Fred, George, and Ginny to see their eyes glowing as well. Yes! Now they just had to think up a prank for Weaselbee. That would be fun. Thoughts of spiders and locked broom closets were already running through Ginny's head. It would be so much fun!

Ginny decided to break the silence. "Yes, Ron, we know," she sneered sarcastically. "All Slytherins are just so evil. Now, can we get back to the topic at hand?"

"What's the topic at hand?" Ron answered dumbly.

"Quidditch!" she shrieked, looking at him like he was crazy. "Have you been paying any attention at all?"

Ron grumbled angrily. "Not really," he muttered before resuming eating his bacon. He looked rather put out with the conversation they were having.

"So . . . back to Quidditch. If you want to go outside for the day—" Fred began.

"—and don't care that we don't have the real Quidditch supplies—"

"—just apples and small balls with Levitation Charms on them—"

"—then we'll be happy to teach you the noble sport of the wizarding world."

"But only if you want us to, of course."

Harry considered their options. Coming to a conclusion, he stated, "We already know the basics of the game thanks to Quidditch Through the Ages. I know how to be a Seeker, and Blaise knows how to be a Chaser,"—here Blaise nodded—"but we've never played a single game before, so we accept."

"I have a play book. I'll show you some of the formations and such, but I would like to keep most of them secret, for obvious reasons," Blaise added.

"We completely understand," George consoled.

"Even though we don't really like it," admitted Fred.

Blaise gave them what Harry called her cocky grin that shouted out to the world, "I know" in a smug voice that Blaise could pull off perfectly. Well, almost perfectly, when she also looked like she wanted to laugh fit to burst at the looks on Fred and George's faces. Harry didn't know how she did it and she wasn't telling anybody.

"Well?" asked Ginny. "What are we waiting for here, Christmas? Let's get out and play some Quidditch!" And with those humble parting words, she exited the back door and walked confidently to the broom shed. Fred, George, Blaise, and Harry stumbled after her. Because she had gotten there first, Ginny passed out the collection of Cleansweep Sevens.

"Wait," George said. "First we need to explain to them about Quidditch. Fred, would you like to start?"

"Of course, dear brother. I'm sure you both already know this, but we're going to polish it up a bit. As you know, there are seven different players on a team of Quidditch."

"One Keeper, two Beaters, three Chasers, and a Seeker," Ginny interjected.

George continued, "Quite right, Ginny. Now, as I'm sure you also already know, the Keeper defends the goal hoops, and the Chasers attack the Keeper, trying to get in goals, which is what Blaise wants to do." He nodded in Blaise's direction as he said this. "The Beaters' main job is to attack the other team's Seeker, but they can also go against the Keeper, Chasers, and the other team's Beaters, which is what Gred and I do."

Fred took over from here. "But one thing our dear Forge hasn't covered yet is the Seeker. The Seeker is probably the most important player on the team." When Blaise, Ginny, and George gave him venomous looks, he defended himself. "No Seeker, no winner. When the Seeker catches the Snitch, he earns his team a hundred and fifty points and the game is ended, usually with the Seeker that caught the Snitch and his, or her, team winning the game. There are special cases, but none of that is likely to happen at Hogwarts."

"Okay," George stated. "Let's see how your flying skills are. Blaise, Harry, I want you to do laps around our back garden. Go as fast as you can. There will be things in your path, and we want you to dodge them. If both of you can dodge them well, you'll make a good Chaser and Seeker. Well, what're you two looking at? Get going!"

Without further ado, Blaise and Harry straddled the Cleansweep Sevens—not the best brand of broom, but they were still good—and took off into the air. Blaise was a bit shaky at first, but soon got the grasp of the broom she was riding and gave it a short talking to. When they were both ready, they gave each other a look that said, "Farewell, mate" and shot off around the back garden as fast as the old brooms could go. George had been right: there were plenty of obstacles in their path. Blaise just barely dodged a tree that suddenly loomed in front of her in her burst of speed while Harry was encountered with an apple that had been lobbed his way. (By Ginny, but he didn't need to know that.) Before either of them knew it, branches, fruit, and even the occasional garden gnome had been chucked their way. Blaise's face was red and fuming. Harry was just trying to get out of the way. Finally, Fred blew a whistle (where the bloody hell had that come from?) to call them out of the air. When they got down, huffing and windblown, and, in Blaise's case, bright red, Fred, George, and Ginny were staring at them in awe.

"What'd we do?" Harry asked, somewhat clueless.

"That was amazing!" Ginny gushed excitedly. "You should have seen yourselves! Those were the best dodges I've seen since Charlie showed us how well he could dodge!"

Blaise went pink with the praise and Harry shrugged awkwardly. He had never really liked it when the attention was solely focused on him—at least Blaise was there to help him deal with it. Actually, she was preening and paying him no mind, so he just decided to go along with it. There was no harm in liking praise and attention for one day, was there? He didn't think so.

"Well, when you're all finished gaping at them for the amazing dodges they did, could you get on with teaching them?" an annoyed voice said from down on the ground, where an aggravated Hermione Granger sat in a lawn chair with a book on her lap.

"'Mione!" Ginny exclaimed. "When did you get here?"

"I've been out here, you just didn't notice me in your Quidditch-induced hive," Hermione grumbled in reply. "And don't call me 'Mione," she added as an afterthought.

"Okay, 'Mione!" Ginny cried impudently. Fred, George, and Blaise snickered in the background while Harry was just barely keeping himself from laughing out loud.

If they had all been a bit closer to the girl far down on the ground—well, not that far, they couldn't go too far up in case the Muggles on Ottery St. Catchpole noticed—they would have seen her roll her eyes before putting her attention back on the large volume in her lap.

Fred sighed in fake exasperation. "Well, we should do as the lovely lady asks and get back to teaching you newbies Quidditch."

"Hey, you listen here—"

"Who are you calling—?"

"Now," George continued, "we want you up in the air—"

"Ignoring the fact that we already are—"

"Bloody idiots don't even—"

"—and we're going to give you exercises to do—"

"—to determine whether you'd make a good Seeker and Chaser."

"But first," Fred stated, "we need a Keeper. Where is Ron anyway?"

The answer came from Hermione. "He's up in his room, sulking. Would you like me to go get him?" She seemed to be very annoyed that they were twisting her arm to get her away from her—apparently interesting—book.

"Yes, please," Blaise said with a very fake smile.

Mumbling all the way into the Burrow, Hermione slammed the heavy volume shut and stomped up to Ron's room at the very top of the ramshackle house. They could hear muffled yelling and someone throwing something, hitting its designated target. When the ruckus was all over with, a very pleased Hermione and a very bruised Ron came out into the back yard; Hermione to her book, Ron to grab a broom and join the group in the air.

"Since we don't have all the players necessary to construct two makeshift Quidditch teams, we're just going to test you. We know you can dodge, and that will be great with Bludgers and other players going everywhere, so that's very good," George said proudly.

"However, in Blaise's case, we need to test her shot. Range, how many times she can score, how well she is at faking. . . . And I'm going to be testing that, because I play Chaser," Ginny added.

Blaise nodded an affirmation. She could already do all of those things Ginny had mentioned well, and now all she needed to do was prove it to her.

Ginny continued. "Ron, because he plays Keeper, is going to be who you're trying to score against. He has humbly agreed to help our cause, haven't you, Ron?"

Ron mumbled something unintelligible under his breath while Ginny smiled sweetly at him. "Yes," he said, looking as if it caused him great pain to say the short three-letter word.

"Good," Ginny simpered.

Blaise casually flew over to Harry and whispered, "She's so evil. I'm glad she's not my sister."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "She's like a demon in disguise."

"Too right you are."

"Now," Fred started, cutting their little conversation short, "none of us play Seeker, or are privy to what Seekers need to do, seeing that we've never been one. . . ." He laughed weakly at his own pathetic joke, before he finished. "Now, Harry, we want you to go up in the air and catch these Levitating golf balls. I'll throw them up in the air and they'll float around a bit, giving you enough time to catch them. They'll dart around, too, like a real Snitch, and they've been painted gold, to give them a bit of flair. They'll also be hard to see, so this should be a good test for you."

"Gotcha," Harry said firmly.

"Alright then, enough chatter," George commanded.

"Let's get going!" said Fred excitedly.

And so the lessons began. Ginny took Blaise over to the Burrow's makeshift hoops, gave her an enlarged, lightweight apple, and told her to shoot. They tested her aim, range, and how many shots she could get past Ron. Her aim was dead-on, range was average, if not a bit more, for a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old that played sports quite often. Blaise managed to get nearly all of her shots past Ron. He was a good Keeper, but with Blaise's fakes, rolls, and aim, he was no match for her. Especially when she began imagining that each of the hoops was his—and occasionally Percy's—head. It worked wonders on her Chaser's skills. After they had done basic shots, George started beating a Bludger at Blaise to see how well she would do then. She managed to dodge all the makeshift Bludgers and still shot most of her goals past Ron, though it did begin to seem like there was more than one makeshift Bludger, which made her job all the harder.

Harry, however, was getting sick and tired of Fred throwing those damn golf balls at him. Every now and then he seemed to get bored with the usual, casual throws and would chuck the tiny golden ball a good fifty feet just to see if Harry could catch it in time. When he got bored with that little game, he began throwing them straight up in the air, causing Harry to have to shoot straight up to catch it. It got tiring after a while, although it was fun at first.

After Ginny had shown Blaise the basic skills you needed to have to be a Chaser, she started teaching her about team operation. Most importantly, Chaser interaction. The Chasers needed to be in sync with each other, to practically share a brain. This was proved in the function of the plays Blaise had created and how it would help the team greatly if the Chasers were as one when they performed them. A Chaser always—always—needed to know where the other two Chasers were. It was vital to the life of the game. Peripheral vision was great for this, so Ginny explained that a good flyer never needed to have tunnel vision. It cut off what you could see and if you can't see, a Bludger or another player might be coming your way. After she had clarified this thoroughly, Ginny showed Blaise the importance of rolls, tucks, and passing to another Chaser. It seemed that—at least in Quidditch—Blaise was a fast learner. She caught on to details quickly, and if Ginny would point out a mistake to her, she would never make that mistake again.

On the other hand, golden golf balls were still being chucked at Harry from Fred. He seemed to find it particularly amusing when he would throw three or four balls at the same time—in different directions—for Harry to catch. When Fred declared himself satisfied that Harry would make a brilliant Seeker, he practically ordered him to be re-Sorted into Gryffindor. When Harry refused, Fred left to find something more interesting to do. Harry found that he didn't really care and settled down to watch Blaise practice with Hermione.

"Hey, Potter."

"Hey, Granger."

". . ."

"What're you reading?"

"Mythology and Legends of Great Snakes."

"Sounds interesting."

"It is."

"Can I see it?"

"Can't you see it from there?"

"Can I read a bit of it?"

"No."

"What crawled up your arse and died?"

Hermione sniffed in disdain before she answered. "Ron."

"What'd he do to you?"

She shifted to get a good look at him. "He made me hit him with Mythology and Legends of Great Snakes."

"What'd he do to make you hit him?"

"He insulted you and Blaise."

Harry's eyes darkened considerably. "What did he say about me and Blaise?" he asked, his temper flaring.

She looked unsure when she saw his eyes darken. It looked like there was a dark green, heated fire in his eyes. Her own eyes widening, she stuttered, "Um . . . well . . . it was rather . . . juvenile . . .

"Spit it out!" Harry exclaimed coldly.

"Well—he said that Blaise was a . . . a . . ." She suddenly snorted at the foolishness of it.

"He said that Blaise was a what?"

"A—a scarlet woman, for you know with you."

Harry blushed a bright red that rivaled any of the Weasleys'. Then he realized what Weaselbee—ahem, Ronald—had called Blaise. "He called her a . . . a scarlet woman?" He could barely contain his laughter and nearly fell out of his seat.

"That's what he said his mum called them," the ever-informative Hermione stated.

They were startled out of their insane laughter when an inquisitive Blaise asked them impudently, "Is there something you two should have told me about?" while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Hermione went bright pink but didn't say anything.

Harry glared at Blaise and said smugly, "No, we were just busting our tails off at what Weaselbee called you."

Blaise's mouth shot open and she turned back toward the hoops to glare at Ron before flying quickly over to where Harry and Hermione were sitting.

"So . . ." she said as casually as possible when she looked ready to hit something, "What did Weaselbee say about me, eh?"

"He said you were a scarlet woman," said Harry as bluntly as was achievable.

Blaise sucked in a breath and held it in before releasing a snort of hilarity, which triggered the laughs of Harry and Hermione as well. However, Blaise was the worst. Her face was bright red with suppressed giggles that Weaselbee had called her a scarlet woman, of all things. Honestly, she had been called much worse than that her whole life!

Hermione sighed. "We really need to be heading inside. It's getting dark."

And indeed it was getting dark. The sky was nearly dark blue in color, which meant it had to be at least eight o'clock. They had stayed outside all day. It came as a surprise to them all, so they packed up the brooms, not waiting for Ron, who was up in the skies arguing over something with Ginny while George watched the row amiably. When Harry, Blaise, and Hermione entered the kitchen, they immediately noticed the delectable smells of beef stew and treacle tart, which seemed to be for dessert. They all slumped down at the table, helping themselves to Mrs. Weasley's homemade cooking after the woman herself gave Blaise and Harry an apologetic look before turning back to the oven. They imperceptibly nodded to her in appreciation before digging into the delicious stew. Harry barely noticed that Percy and Fred were there as well. Mr. Weasley was still conducting raids for the Ministry. Ginny had told them that he worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and that pranks against Muggles were getting worse and worse, so he had to stay at work until late at night.

Fred smiled awkwardly at Harry as he noticed the group of three trooping into the kitchen and helping themselves. "Sorry for running off like that, but you're really good, and I guess I just got made that you won't be able to play for Gryffindor," he apologized.

"It's alright," Harry said just as awkwardly. "I completely understand." Percy sniffed pompously like the jerk he was in the background.

Ginny and Ron trooped into the kitchen, angry and disgruntled. Ginny fell into a chair beside Harry and let her head fall to the table with a loud THUMP as she groaned. George came in after them (apparently they had made him put the brooms and balls up) before noticing his twin brother and whispering conspiringly in his ear after he himself sat down.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" Harry asked, concerned.

"My prat of a brother," she grumbled.

Blaise tutted. "What'd he do this time?"

"He insulted you both to my face. He knows I like you two, and he said it"—she glared over at Ron, where he sat pigging out—"because he knew it would get to me."

Harry asked, amused, "How'd he insult us?"

"Called Blaise a scarlet woman for even being near you."

"Not very original, is he?" Blaise mentioned, unconcerned.

Ginny mock-glared at her. "He also accused us of being a threesome," she added.

Blaise choked on her bite of stew and Harry clapped her—hard—on the back. He was also surprised, but had had the sense not to take a bite right before Ginny said anything.

"A threesome, eh? Gosh, Harry, you seem to be getting a lot of undeserved attention with the nonexistent ladies," she giggled.

"That is not funny," stated Harry, but he was unable to keep his face straight. "Plus, are you calling Ginny and yourself nonexistent?"

"Fine, let me rephrase that. You seem to be getting a lot of nonexistent action with the ladies."

"You have a sick mind, Blaise."

"Didn't you already know that?"

"How can you two make a joke out of something that weird and humiliating?" Ginny cut in.

"That's what we do for a living," Blaise answered.

"Except we don't get paid for it," added Harry.

"Yes, well, I hate to cut your little conversation short, but I have a question for Ginny," Fred remarked.

"Shoot."

"How did you learn to fly that well?"

Ginny blanched.

oOoOo

Authoress's Note: I reviewer once asked why it was that Ginny "blanched" when asked how she learned to fly so well, and the answer is this: In the fifth book, I believe, it is mentioned that Ginny used to sneak into the broom shed and fly when her brothers were away, so I came to the conclusion that her brothers never really included her in anything they did. In this story I've gone with the assumption that Ginny finally got sick of it and blackmailed them with something until they started treating her normally.