A.N.: I don't wanna to spam notes, so this is just to say I appreciate everyone who is reading this and especially those who leave me a comment to share their thoughts with me. Thank you!, and if you ever wanna discuss this fic, I'm on Tumblr under the same username (startanewdream).

Chapter 3 - Public display of disapproval

Harry ran away from home.

Not really, he wasn't following his godfather's steps on this one, but he unashamedly packed his things early than usual, right after lunch, and told his parents — and a very amused Sirius, who had stayed to nick lunch just as he had with breakfast — that he was going to see his friends.

Maybe he should have thought more about this because this single announcement made Sirius turn to him with his favourite expression: that of a hunting dog who just spotted a defenceless rabbit.

"You don't need to embellish your words anymore," he told Harry, the rabbit. "It's not Ron that you are going to see in the Burrow, is it?"

Harry flushed. "I'm not going to the Burrow," he said dignifiedly. "They are at Hermione's."

"Oh, double date now, are we?"

This comment made Harry's mother laugh. "Double dates with siblings never work well—James, do you remember that dinner with Petunia and Vernon?"

His father barely raised his eyes from the scrolls he was studying — graphics of Portree's stats and most played movements, in preparation for their next match in ten days. He had been unusually subdued all day, casting odd glances at Harry now and then with an expression that Harry had never seen directed at him—almost as if he was disappointed withHarry.

That was the main reason why Harry just wanted to get away from there.

"Yeah, it was a disaster," James agreed after a moment.

"I think comparing Ron to Petunia is a bit low," Sirius said fairly. Then he smirked. "Though, at least Petunia didn't care whom you dated—how did Ron take it?"

Harry swallowed. "Okay, he was just fine," he lied, and this time, his father stole another of those glances at him, a small frown on his forehead. "Anyway, I should be going—"

"Will you be back for dinner?"

"Actually, I thought about going early to the training centre. Get an early start for tomorrow's practice."

Again, he should have thought things better.

"Early start," Sirius repeated, sniggering. "Still with embellishment."

"What—"

"Harry," his father called, in an oddly sober voice. "Are you aware of Puddlemere's Code of Conduct?"

Harry frowned. "I signed it last year…" He couldn't remember any line of it, though; he had signed so many documents, all too eager to join his father's Quidditch team.

"So did Ginny," his father pointed out, and now Harry froze. "While any relationship between teammates is not forbidden, in the premises of the training centre or in the stadium, you are not to engage in any…" His voice faltered for a moment. "Physical activity."

"Sex," Sirius supplied helpfully. "He means you can't have post-match sex in the showers."

"Dear lord, stop that, you are just worrying Harry." His mother threw him a sympathetic look that didn't help Harry's mortified expression. "We know you two are responsible and professional."

"Yeah, sex in the showers is a terrible idea," added Sirius. "More likely to end up with a concussion than with anything else."

When his mother gave a tiny nod of her head, accepting Sirius' wisdom and exchanging a brief smirk with his father, Harry decided it was time to go.

There weren't many days that were engraved in Harry's memory, not many moments of change where he could point out "this, this is when it happened", but he remembered that Saturday as if it were yesterday.

They were at Hogsmeade; Harry regretted coming only because of the way Ron and Hermione were tumbling around each other, nearly over their bickering phase and close to another phase that still involved their mouths and sounds that Harry didn't want to be part of. Most often than not, Harry wished they would give in and snog each other, preferably out of his sight; he was sure that his friends were using his presence to avoid dealing with their feelings, so Harry just mumbled an excuse to go away, and he was turning the corner to a quiet street in the village when he saw it.

Ginny and Dean.

They had been dating for a while now, Harry knew, out of everyone's sight—especially her brothers, but she had never hidden it from Harry. He'd covered for her once or twice, had thought it was amusing even, but now—

Now he hated it. Now he wished he were the one pressing Ginny against the wall of that shop, kissing her lips and holding her into his arms, only it wasn't a new wish at all—it had been there, Harry noticed, when he'd found himself staring at her profile during summer, when he'd laugh at her jokes, when he shivered when her hand would brush against his. He'd been blissfully ignorant about it, hadn't noticed the signs, had even once teased that he would have been a nice brother to her.

That was sounding more and more far from the truth; he wanted to take those words back, wanted to beat himself up for not giving it a second thought when she'd admitted that she had a crush on him—if he could go back in time and realise that whatever he thought he felt for Cho Chang back then wasn't even close to how happy he was around Ginny—

"OI!"

Ron's voice was loud and yet felt very distant. It was enough to break Ginny and Dean apart; Ginny met Harry's gaze for a split second, and her face was deeply flushed when she turned to her brother.

That had been one of the worst fights between them that Harry had watched, it had put a damp on Ron and Hermione's relationship for a while, and Harry was left with two realisations: Harry's feelings for Ginny were not brotherly at all, and Ron would never approve of any of Ginny's boyfriends.

While time had only proved that the first realisation still remained true, Harry's second realisation crumbled under Ron's thundering laugh.

"You and Ginny," he repeated, nearly choking, "are pretending to be dating."

Hermione patted her boyfriend's back. "Is that all you are getting from this story?" She threw Harry a sly glance that did not match her at all. "They also snogged at the party."

Harry glared at her in answer, but Ron just dried the tears at the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, thanks for the heads up. I'll avoid Witch Weekly."

"You read Witch Weekly?"

Ron nodded seriously to Hermione. "Excellent reading material. Their cooking recipes are great."

"Ron," Harry called, nervous. "About Ginny and I—"

"Yes, you and Ginny. What about?"

"Nothing." His ears were burning; Harry was glad that his hair was long enough to hide it. "We just—got caught in the moment—we had one too many drinks and—"

"So you only snogged my sister because you were drunk?"

"No. Yes. No!" Harry glanced helplessly at Hermione, but she just shrugged. She wasn't going to assist him on that, Harry knew; Hermione had implied enough of his feelings for Ginny in the past years, one topic that Harry never had encouraged her. "It was there, not that there was something, it's just—it happened."

And it had been glorious, but Harry thought he shouldn't add that part.

"And now you will pretend that you were dating all along?"

"Yes." He looked at Hermione again. "Ginny told me that Hermione had suggested it."

"Well, I thought that the only way to reduce people's interest in this story was to make it boring — relationships between teammates are nothing unusual." She smiled at Ron, one of those exchanges that Harry was not privy to, and he thought it was better this way. "All that post-match adrenaline, you know?"

Ron smirked. "I do, but I'm not sure I wanna think about them with any adrenaline."

"Oh, don't worry," mumbled Harry, distressed. "I've been told not to engage in any post-match sex."

There was a moment of silence. Under two pairs of eyes set on him, Harry blinked, eyes widening.

"Not that I'm considering it!" He cried, fully aware that he had considered it before; there had been many post-matches during Hogwarts in which he had pictured himself pulling Ginny into his arms, sweeping her off her feet, and sharing a kiss with her right in the middle of the Quidditch field, in front of everyone. And in the last match for the Puddlemere, a few days before, it had been even worse; Ginny had played brilliantly, scoring the most goals of the match, and when she'd hugged him right after they landed, with Harry still holding the Golden Snitch on his hand, Harry could only imagine being late for the post-match party in favour of enjoying each other's company in one of the empty rooms of the training centre, a celebration of their own—

He had been late to the party, but that had been only because he'd needed a long shower that evening.

"Of course not," Hermione agreed amiably. "We all know that you and Ginny are like brother and sister."

Ron snorted. "Right, what if." He leaned his head on Hermione's shoulder. "So, how does a fake relationship work? You and Ginny will fake snog too?"

"I don't know—er, I mean, we will just tell people we are keeping it low. Are you really not mad?"

"I think you are both nuts and this won't work, but hey, I didn't choose a job that would bring me to the spotlight." Ron winked at Harry. "Aurors fly under the radar. If you had stuck with our dream jobs…"

Harry sighed. That was an old discussion; he had signed up for all the right classes to become an Auror, but then the Puddlemere seeker had retired, and Harry had jumped at the idea of working with his father, eyes shining with the idea of honouring a Potter tradition in Quidditch—and then he'd ignored his top marks in Defence to try out for the team.

"Anyway, both you and Ginny are seeking — Ginny is chasing, I guess— fame and fortune, so I guess this is the best you can do. As long as I won't open the newspaper and find you snogging in the middle of a match—"

"Snogging while dodging bludgers," laughed Hermione. "Yeah, very romantic."

"You never know," said Ron, and Harry agreed silently. "You'll be telling everyone about it?" Harry nodded. Ron jumped to his feet. "Oh, I need to go home then."

"Why?"

"I don't want to miss Mum's reaction. Her only daughter is dating Harry Potter? The boy who charms Mum every time he joins us for dinner? Oh, she's gonna have kittens."

Harry groaned loudly.

The moment that Ginny saw the Quidditch stands, at the edge of River Piddle, she let out a relieved breath only for another concern to arise. She had been on edge ever since that morning.

What a stupid idea—

The problem was that, so far, she couldn't decide what had been most stupid. Agreeing with Hermione when she suggested pretending to date Harry? Absolutely. Sharing this plan with Harry? Just a continuation of the stupidness. Deciding to play Quidditch professionally? Possibly. Joining Puddlemere United instead of her dream team? Not really in her control. Snogging Harry? Very very stupid. Snogging Harry in front of everyone? Actually, yes, that had been the worst. Her true troubles had just been the unfortunate consequences of an ill-timed kiss.

It hadn't helped that she'd felt an inexplicable, unjustified, irresponsible… attraction to Harry, like the one she hadn't felt in years, upon meeting him afterward; she had barely managed to look him in the eyes, and when she'd asked him if he weren't seeing someone—jealousy had sprung to life, a jealousy that she would have sworn had died and buried many years ago on a frosty winter night, along with her crush on him.

And then Ginny had gone on and lied to his parents about their relationship. She hadn't meant it—as embarrassing as it would be, it would take just one minute to explain the whole story and laugh about it; but then Lily Potter had assumed that Ginny and Harry had—that they actually had—she had seen Ginny leaving the next morning—James Potter wasn't even looking at them, and Ginny had only signed up for Puddlemere United because he was her Quidditch hero—

We are dating, Ginny cried then, the perfect excuse of why she had snogged their son in the middle of a party and why it was nobody's business.

Harry had looked betrayed at her, shocked by her impromptu declaration, and Ginny could not blame him. She had given him an apologetic look, but Harry had barely reacted, not even when she kissed him on the cheek as she was departing.

And now—now, as she reached the dormitory and found Harry in the hallway, it was time to talk.

"Hey," she said, with a small smile that took Harry a while to answer. His eyes moved to the door of his room as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear inside. "I thought you wouldn't be here until morning."

He rarely spent the nights in the dormitory: perks of living on Dorset, so he didn't need to make a long-distance apparition early in the morning; Ginny spent the week there usually, still unwilling to rent a flat close by.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, holding the back of his neck awkwardly. "I didn't want to stay at home."

"Oh." She had to open her stupid mouth, hadn't she? They had agreed… "Harry, I am so sorry—"

"No, no, don't worry," he said hurriedly, coming closer to her, his hands twitching as if he wanted to pat her arms.

Ginny lowered her voice. "I should have told the truth, I just—"

"Panicked," he supplied. "I might feel the same if your parents thought we had…" He couldn't finish his sentence, a feeling that Ginny shared. Kissing Harry was one thing, but having sex with him, feeling his naked body pressed against hers, gasping as he entered her—

Yeah, she couldn't finish that thought either.

Fortunately, Harry seemed oblivious to her inappropriate thoughts. "It's weird keeping something from them? Yes, but I couldn't expect Dad to lie to the rest of the staff. It's better if we keep this up, and then—" His smile flickered. "Then we will wait until a perfect win to announce we've broken up, but we still remain friends."

"I promise to assure everyone that you didn't break my heart," Ginny said, in the most serious voice she could muster, and as expected, Harry chuckled.

"Thanks, though no one would believe it otherwise. Chances are that I would be the one with a broken heart."

"Only because people fall for your innocent looks."

"Look who's talking," he teased. Ginny remembered how she had gotten them out of a few detentions at Hogwarts with a well-timed innocent smile. Then Harry gave her a sideways glance. "How were things with your family?"

She didn't hide her grimace. "Mum already knew about it; Fred and George didn't waste time showing up there—those gits are barely at home, always involved with their shop, but they found time in their very busy schedule to come and tease me."

"That bad, huh?"

"Bad, but Hermione was right." Ginny sighed. "When I said we had been dating and it was no big deal, I wasn't embarrassed enough to be worthy of their jokes so they lost any leverage." She hesitated for a moment. "Mum is still excited, though. I'm sorry to say her heart is going to be broken when we split up."

Harry sighed. "I will make sure to drop by and let her know you deserved better."

"No, no." Panic flooded her at the idea of Harry meeting her mum at any point in the near future. "Don't worry, Mum will blame me anyway, but she will… move on."

"Thanks, I still want to be invited to Sunday brunch at the Burrow."

"I am giving you so much trouble, am I not?"

"Well—it takes two to—you know—" His gaze fell to her lips for a moment before he hastily looked away; Ginny was grateful that he couldn't see how she had blushed. "Anyway, I talked to Ron."

"Oh."

"Hermione was there, so it helped, kind of." Under her questioning look, Harry shrugged. "She is having too much with it."

"Of course, she is evil." He snorted. Ginny bit her lips for a moment. "What about Ron?"

Ron was a concern, she had to admit. He was the brother that most paid attention to her love life, always complaining about whomever she was dating at Hogwarts, and, looking at Harry, she knew exactly who the reason for it was.

For someone who had no business with her love life, Ron had never shied from sharing his thoughts about whom Ginny should date—if he had shared these thoughts with Harry somehow…

"He laughed. He doubts we can keep this fake relationship, though."

Yes, Ginny thought, he is probably waiting for us to suddenly realise we are in love and make it real.

As if.

"Silly of him," she says good-naturedly. "We love a good challenge."

"Exactly." His gaze diverted for a moment, seeing something behind her, and then Harry took another step closer to her, hesitating for a heartbeat before his arm brushed hers. She jumped. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Oliver and Claudia were walking by and before when they came to comment about the party, I—I told them we were dating."

His voice trembled a little; Ginny could understand it. Every time she had told people that afternoon that she was dating Harry, it had felt so obviously made-up, so unlikely and out of nowhere, that she expected people to question her.

No one had.

"Thanks," she said. "How did it go?"

"A laugh, some comments about how they thought we were cute together—" She groaned. "And that was it."

"And no one said I only got the position—"

"Gin," Harry said, exasperated, "no one is going to think this. You aced the tryouts—"

"Jones was faster," Ginny mumbled. "She scored one goal more—"

"And she was a bad teammate, she lost more goals than anyone else because she didn't pass."

"Pace had more experience—"

"Pace took a bludger because he couldn't dodge quickly enough; you didn't. You are brilliant and you know it."

There was no doubt in Harry's voice; she wished she could feel as confident about herself as he viewed her. "Thanks." A pause. "I've been thanking you too much." And before she could stop herself, she raised her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

Harry froze for a moment, then he took a step back, glancing around for a second. "You probably shouldn't have done that—I've been warned against public displays of affection at work."

"Oh." She had meant the kiss to be friendly now, something that she would have done before, only Ginny guessed that things had changed between them—or at least about how people viewed them.

That bothered her.

Harry sighed, as if this was upsetting him just as much, and kneeled to tie his shoes. Ginny watched him; Harry was wearing a sweatshirt that was one size too big for him — he always favoured large clothes —, running pants and sneakers. "Are you going for a run?"

"I thought exercise might help me sleep better. A nice sprint just to get warmed up."

She nodded; she enjoyed that feeling of sinking into bed after a day of exercises—it was enough to push away any worry to the far corner of her mind, to drag her into a dreamless sleep. After today, she guessed she would like that more than ever.

But she couldn't ask him to wait for her to exchange clothes so she could join him on that night run. Before yesterday, before their kiss, before the lie, Ginny would have said it without a blink. They were good jogging partners.

Now, though, everyone would say something, would see a meaning where there wasn't.

She opened the door to her room instead. "Good run."

"You too," he replied automatically, and then he blinked, face flushing with embarrassment. "I mean—good night."

Ginny smiled at him, but the smile slowly died on her lips as she watched him disappear.

She intended to sleep early, she really did. Ginny took a shower, put on her comfiest bathrobe, and she was just closing the curtains of the window when she happened to glance outside; her room had a view of the field, and though the sight of the Quidditch field always made her happy, tonight her gaze was drawn to the ground.

Harry was running.

Her eyes followed as he finished a lap, then paused for a moment, close to the entrance to the dormitory, and checked his watch for his time. Then he grabbed a bottle of water, head tilted back as he drank, his neck exposed; he'd taken out his sweatshirt, exposing a dark red shirt that clung to his body, showed his arms; his skin was shining with sweat, his hair falling lazily in wet curls.

Warmth flooded her, pooling in places that Ginny didn't expect. It wasn't as if she didn't know how Harry looked—she had eyes, for Merlin's sake—but sometimes it caught her so off-guard, it hit a corner of her heart that shouldn't be there, and then—she couldn't breathe.

Harry looked up suddenly. Ginny knew he wouldn't be able to spot her there—the windows were reflective—, but still, Harry kept staring at the window of her room for a moment; it was just coincidence, Ginny considered. Harry seemed far away, lost in thoughts; these windows were all the same, he couldn't know that Ginny was looking back at him and thinking…

No. She shook her head, drawing away from the window even before Harry looked away. She wasn't thinking about anything. Just because Harry was a handsome fit guy, and she couldn't help but feel attracted to him—

No, she repeated to herself, trying to sound mentally harsher, but it was pointless. She glanced at the door, wondering what she would do if Harry knocked on her room, if she allowed him in and then they might share another kiss, only this time there wouldn't be anyone to watch them—they would be alone, and she would enjoy the sight of his body without anyone knowing it…

Goosebumps arose on her skin, even as her body seemed to be burning.

"You are just stressed, Ginny", she said, and hearing her own voice helped to gather her thoughts. She checked if the door was locked. "It's been a weird weekend and how long since you've been with someone?"

Now that was a point that she hadn't complained about before. She'd enjoyed a couple dates in her last year at Hogwarts, but nothing that had evolved; afterwards, with her professional ambitions, dating had not been a concern—but maybe she was missing it more than she had considered it? Maybe snogging Harry had dawned on her a sudden craving for physical contact—and for that, Ginny had always thought that a girl should help herself, shouldn't depend upon anyone…

She almost untied her bathrobe, but she couldn't; she knew she would be imagining Harry's fingers — long, bony, Seeker fingers — then Harry's hand — soft, warm hand — all over her body, cupping her breast, sliding between her legs, slipping inside and—

Better not.

She jumped to bed, face down on her pillow, and hoped that sleep would come soon.

It didn't. She heard Harry walking down the hall — it could be her imagination, but she thought he had stopped by her room — long before sleep claimed her.

Ginny was yawning openly the next morning; not even the usual chaos of breakfast — ten players, plus staff — or the unusual glances that she got was enough to wake her up.

"Rough night?" Harry asked bracingly, sitting in front of her. It was clever, Ginny noticed distantly; close enough to solidify their story, but not too far to break any rule.

"I couldn't sleep," she mumbled.

"Me neither. Running didn't help in the end."

A laugh welcomed these words. "Oh, Harry." Claudia Dawlish had joined them, bringing her tray to the table. "I've told you before—exercise is not the best way to blow off some steam. Though—" She winked at Ginny. "I'd say you two would already know that. I bet sleep was not a problem Saturday night."

"Oh, please." John Bane, sitting next to Ginny, stretched his fingers lazily. "They are adults, give it a break."

"Yes," agreed Oliver Wood, grinning. "I met Harry when he was a tiny little thing, I don't want to think about him doing anything."

"Seeing was more than enough," Claudia laughed. She grabbed a slice of bread from Harry's tray. "So, how long has this been going on?"

"A couple of months," Ginny said, just as Harry answered, "Three months."

They glanced at each other. "Ah—officially, two months," she added quickly. "Before we were just—getting to know each other."

"You've gone to school together," Oliver pointed out.

Claudia bumped his shoulder. "They don't mean spiritually," she said in a carried whisper that made Harry and Ginny flush. "Oh, you are adorable." She winked at Ginny. "Sorry for trying to seduce your man, by the way. I didn't know he was taken."

"I guess Harry forgot to mention that part," Ginny said, keeping her voice innocent, even as she glanced teasingly at Harry.

His face was adorably red, but he answered her anyway, always up for scoring with any Quaffle she threw to him. "I thought that might impact the team's dynamic, darling."

"Oh, no," Ginny said seriously, "I would never be upset with the woman responsible for keeping the bludgers away from me."

They laughed. At the other table, Ginny saw that Mary Peakes, the chaser that she had replaced on the last match following an injury, and Liam Hobbles, the reserve keeper now that Oliver had been promoted, were talking in low voices, glaring at the laughing group.

"Don't mind them," Oliver mumbled to her when he saw where her gaze was. "Hobbles hasn't been okay ever since I got the position, he is just upset with everything."

"And Mary?"

"Well—" He shrugged. Ginny knew that Mary hadn't taken it lightly when she wasn't called last match and Ginny had replaced her. "She's got to remember that the coach knows what is best for the team."

Yes, Ginny thought guiltily, turning to watch the staff table, except I'm apparently dating the coach's son, am I not?

That was unfair; no one had accused Harry of being favoured, but then he came from a line of known Quidditch players — father, grandmother, great grandfather, all the way to Bowman Wright if the rumours were true; Quidditch ran in his blood, and Harry had been the youngest seeker of the century at school. Ginny had learned to fly hidden from her brothers, she was the first one of her family, she had played for only three years at Hogwarts…

She shook her head, glad when the coach called them to go outside and start their morning warm-up. She couldn't be responsible for whatever else people thought about her; she just needed to do her part, show her competence—

It worked until they were ready to take off.

"Weasley," called James Potter, and it was so weird hearing him call her by her surname that Ginny took a while to join him. "You, Claudia, and Kurg—bludger dodge this morning."

She exchanged a grin with them. "Can I pick one? Because Claudia is owing me—"

"No." The coach's voice was brusque. "They are both against you—keep to the north side of the field, we will use the southside for chasing practice."

Ginny hesitated, now exchanging a bewildered look with Claudia and Kurg. Bludger dodge was a common exercise for them, something that usually tested all her reflexes—managing to cross the field and score a goal while one beater tried to protect her and the other aimed for her; usually, the main risk was getting hit by the beater's bat instead of the bludger itself if she ventured to close to either. But if they would be both aiming at her—that would only be a rough dodgeball game.

"What should I do?" She insisted.

"Dodge," he repeated. "No need to take the quaffle, see how long you last until being hit." He frowned for a moment. "The idea is not being hit, Weasley."

"Okay…"

He had turned around already. "Po—Harry." James shook his head, probably realising that calling his own son by his surname was pointless. "Put away your broom, you are going to the pool today."

Harry blinked. "It's freezing out—"

"Then cast a Warming Spell," James said exasperatedly. "Peter is waiting for you with your routine, go."

Harry threw an annoyed look at his father before moving to store his Firebolt. Ginny watched him go until the coach's whistle made her jump, then she hastily mounted her broom and joined Kurg and Claudia at the north side of the field.

It was boring, she noticed quickly. This was an exercise meant more for the beaters than for a chaser, and because she didn't even have a quaffle to actually trying scoring a goal, Ginny was made to fly around half the field, avoiding near misses and fighting to catch her breath just as the bludger was thrown back at her over and over.

In the other half of the field, Mary, John, and Williams, the chasers, were throwing passes.

She had one bruise by the time James called them all back to the ground, redistributing them; this time, Oliver joined her side of the field, and Ginny was supposed to pass by the minefield of two bludgers and two beaters to try to score now.

"If Weasley gets the Quaffle one-quarter of the way close to the scoring area, you can aim at Oliver," said James, checking his notes, without turning to them.

"That's a foul," Ginny pointed out. "Beaters cannot attack the keeper unless the Quaffle is in the scoring area."

"Yes," James agreed quietly. He vanished his notes, grabbing his broom. "I'm very familiar with the rules. Just focus on scoring, Weasley."

It was a nightmare; she was tired, and every time she managed to get close to the goalposts, she couldn't dodge the bludgers enough to throw the quaffle in the right spot. Oliver, even with the additional threat of bludgers any time she got near, was saving her goals easily this time. She took another two more hits—one of them sent her broomstick in a spiral before she regained control—, but the worst part was when Mary flew close to her — even though she was just supposed to stick to the other half of the field — and mumbled, "Guess you can't sleep your way around this one."

When Ginny turned to snap back, the whistle sounded. "Weasley—focus."

And the coach ignored Ginny's upset look.

All in all, that was one of the worst practices she'd ever done, and that was only half the day.

She ignored Claudia's concerned words, heading straight to the showers afterwards; the afternoon was reserved for physical activity at the gym, so at least Ginny could head to the far corner of the room and be on her own.

When she arrived in the locker room, she found out that the decision for an early shower hadn't been hers only; Harry was just leaving the other door, a towel around his neck as he dried his hair, leaving it messier than usual.

It was a sign of how miserable Ginny felt that she didn't even feel guilty when she inhaled deeply his post-shower cologne.

"Ouch," he said as a way of greeting, gaze falling to her arm. "Bludger?"

"One or two." She sighed. "How was the pool?"

Harry laughed dryly. "Wormy had me do breathing drills. I just sank into the middle of the pool and had to control my breathing, relax my heartbeat, let my mind free. It was terrible, I was too pissed to be calm."

"Next time you can get the bludgers."

He didn't fall for her bait. "Next time you can be the one meditating in a pool."

Ginny had to concede that one; she was bruised and annoyed and tired beyond words, but breathing drills in a pool seemed to have the potential to drive her mad.

"Did you even cast that Warming Spell?"

"No, Peter said it would take away the point of the exercise."

"Which was?"

"So far, I'm thinking it's to punish us."

She took a moment to understand his meaning. "No, come on. Why would he?" There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, but it was too late to do anything now. She forced a smile. "Your father never said anything even when you were losing your head for Cho or in that weird thing with Daphne—"

"No," agreed Harry quickly, "but maybe the coach has a problem."

Ginny could guess a lot of problems that came with their relationship, indeed, but she had considered they all impacted her—she was the rookie here, the unknown Quidditch player; Harry had agreed to share these problems with her with their story about dating – which was okay, she guessed, because as he had pointed out, the mistake was theirs – but she hadn't thought about anyone else having a problem with it, not really. Maybe his father didn't approve of her, maybe he didn't approve of a relationship between teammates; there were too many possibilities.

But she wasn't keen on pointing out they might deserve any animosity because Harry was clearly down, upset, and over her fondness for James Potter — a great Quidditch player, her inspiration for a chaser, and the coach that she had hoped to guide her professionally — there was only a sudden need to be there for Harry, against everyone.

It was mostly her fault they were in this mess, after all.

She took a step closer to him, her hand brushing his arm until she reached his hand; he turned his palm up, and her fingers danced over it. "Hey, I'm sure it's nothing," she mumbled; Harry was watching her fingers now, his expression softening visibly. "We are all professionals here, those were normal exercises—"

"Hum, hum." There was a cough and Ginny jumped back as if she were back at Hogwarts, being caught by one of her teachers doing something wrong; in fact, James Potter was glaring at them with an expression that would make Professor McGonagall very proud. "This is highly inappropriate."

"Sorry," she mumbled, just as Harry took a step forward, his hand now brushing against hers on purpose.

"We were just talking," he answered, a hint of defiance in his voice. He turned to Ginny, looking ready to face some evil dark lord, his expression fierce. "See you after practice tonight?"

She couldn't think. "Sure."

"I'll meet you at eight, then, love," he said, squeezing her hand, then he left without looking at his father.

Ginny bit her lip. "Ah—see you later, coach," she mumbled, escaping to the locker room. Whatever the reason, Harry was right: from the expression on his face, his father did not approve of them.