A.N.: This was supposed to be out last Sunday, but real life happened, ops. Hope you enjoy this chapter and, as always, thanks so much to anyone reading this story and a special hug to those who leave a comment letting me know what they are thinking!

Chapter 4 - Open practice

It was five past eight when Harry knocked on her room. Ginny stared at the door for three seconds, uncertain of what she would find, before opening it; Harry was wearing running pants and a normal t-shirt, with a light jacket over, a sight that made her breathe in relief, realising this was just a normal night for him. Harry wasn't dressed for a date, which shouldn't be surprising, just—

She'd thought that Harry had asked her out for real.

That was a weird concept, something so unfathomable, that Ginny just berated herself for even entertaining the idea.

"Where are we going?" She asked, grabbing a coat before closing the door and following him to the stairs.

Harry shrugged; his eyes were as stormy as she had last seen him, a permanent wrinkle on his forehead now. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just—"

"Wanted to piss off your dad," she finished for him.

Something softened on his expression; a sheepish smile curved his lips up, and then Harry looked more like himself and less like the sullen teenager character he'd incorporated that afternoon.

"Was that obvious?"

"Yes—don't worry, you are not the first to rebel against very oppressive parents." She smirked. "Mostly do it in their teens, though."

"Oh, shut it," he said without any malice, pushing open the door to the backyard of the training centre, away from the stadium and close to the pools. "From what I've gathered from Sirius, he and Dad did plenty of stupid things when they were teens—I get to act like a prat."

"Is it too hard?" Ginny asked innocently; as expected, that made Harry turn to her, shaking his head in disapproval that was dimmed by the fact that he was smiling.

She always knew how to turn on his good mood.

"You are the one dating a prat," he reminded her.

"I'm fake-dating a prat."

"How is that better?

"I've dated true prats so I'm guessing it's an improvement." Harry paused, thoughtful, before nodding. Ginny shook her head. "You know, you weren't supposed to agree with me."

"Sorry, it's just—" He threw her a furtive glance. "Michael Corner."

"He wasn't that bad," Ginny defended at once. Under Harry's quiet scepticism, she flushed. "Maybe by the end—"

"Sore loser," he mumbled, echoing Ginny's words from a not-so-distant past.

"But before that he was okay. For a first boyfriend." Harry grumbled. "What?"

"I always thought you deserved better."

"Oh, stop it." Ginny crossed her arms. "You are sounding like a fake-brother now, and I have plenty of real ones already."

"I mean it as your friend." Harry sounded earnest now, but something rubbed off on her all the same, and suddenly she was back to that frosty night of the Yule Ball, when Ginny had acted too brazen and too stupid, and then Harry had told her the same thing.

I—I'm sorry, I meant it as your friend.

It was an old pain, something that used to bother her whenever she'd look at him for the next few days, until Ginny had told herself she was being stupid. They were friends after all, and if that was all Harry felt about her, the only thing she could do was move on—and she had, she really had, and there hadn't been any moment in which Ginny had looked back, except…

She sighed. That kiss hadn't been a relapse; just something that had gotten out of her control.

"Dean wasn't that bad," Harry said, and Ginny realised belatedly that he had misinterpreted her silence with annoyance.

She smiled at him, trying to convey that things were okay between them. "I thought you didn't like him."

Harry looked away and made a turn to walk upon the edge of the pool. Ginny followed him, walking a few steps behind so she could enjoy walking as close as she could to the pool without falling, her arms extended for balance.

"I never had any problem with Dean," said Harry; she couldn't see his face, but Harry sounded very polite. "Ron did."

"Ron has a problem with anyone I date," she answered, a bit crossed. Harry threw her a quick glance. "Not you, though."

"Well—we are not really dating. Might be easier."

Ginny lifted her eyebrows, but she didn't say anything. Harry might be the one person that Ron would never complain about, and his hints had been annoying over the years, especially when her mum would pick them. And the way her mother had sounded so glad about her supposed relationship with Harry…

We are just seeing where this goes, Mum, she'd said very cautiously, maybe we realise we are just better off as friends. She had planted the seed, at least.

"Dean claimed you had basilisk's eyes," Ginny noted. Harry turned to her so quickly that she almost lost balance. "Not really, he said you had that if-looks-could-kill expression." When Harry opened his mouth, obviously outraged by that unfair accusation, Ginny laughed. "I called it a basilisk, but really, he was just imagining things. I've never seen you be aggressive with anyone."

She sat at the edge of the pool, taking her shoes off. The water was cold, something that Harry was more than aware of, but he joined her all the same. The lights were dancing over the surface of the pool.

"Dean was okay," Harry said slowly. Ginny shrugged. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why did you break up with him?"

Her foot drew circles on the water; Ginny watched the ripples for a moment before saying in a low voice, "Dean loved me."

"How unforgivable." Harry's voice was lightly teasing, something that Ginny welcomed.

"He was a perfect boyfriend, everything was perfect. He was kind, he was chivalrous, he was nice to me. He said he loved meand I said I loved him back, and I thought I did, only—there was something missing."

"What?"

"I didn't know. That's the problem, that's why I put off so long ending things, how do you tell someone you wanna break up when you don't even have a reason?"

Harry threw her a sympathetic look. "You know I don't know," he said, sliding closer to her without even seemingly noticing it. "I've never broken up with anyone, all my attempts at relationships just faded naturally."

"Lucky you."

"Not really."

"No," Ginny agreed, bumping her shoulder with his, and staying close.

"Did you find out what was missing?"

"No. When I broke up with him, Dean couldn't understand it because for him everything was…"

"Perfect," he guessed.

"Yeah. It was bad, you remember it."

"You dated for a long time," he said impartially. "But if you didn't feel the same—"

"I didn't know what I felt, I just knew that it couldn't be it all." She bit her lip for a moment. "But you asked me why I broke up with him." Harry looked at her; Ginny felt a sudden urge to just jump on the frosty water. "And it was because I couldn't bear to feel like that my whole life, and somehow if I hadn't stopped myself, I would just keep going. Two years together, what's three? Five? Ten? You would have attended our wedding."

"No, I wouldn't," Harry answered shortly, then he blinked, face flushing. "I mean—you would have stopped it, you did stop it."

Ginny sighed. "Then I went to date Anthony, but things never evolved much. I didn't mind, the best thing I did last year was cut off dating anyone, just focusing on finishing school with good grades and on Quidditch—and you know what? It was a great year. Maybe I am just not relationship-material." She bumped his shoulder again. "Maybe we both are, that's how we ended up fake-dating each other."

"Hum."

The frown was back on his forehead.

"Sorry—I was just joking."

"Oh, no, I am not mad." Harry offered her a smile. "I never truly dated anyone, now, did I?"

She hesitated for a moment, but then Ginny considered she had opened her heart to him already, so they were past any restrictions; she could ask about a subject that had been a sore spot for her once. "What happened between you and Cho Chang?"

He shrugged. "A disaster. She was cut up when things didn't work out with Diggory, and I was there. And then they got back together, and I looked stupid."

"No—come on."

He held the back of his neck. "I knew she wasn't over him, but I was just so caught up in the feeling of having a shot—I told you, I was just stupid."

"You were fifteen, you got to be stupid." A quick glance at him now; she shouldn't, it was that kind of topic that no one mentioned, but she asked anyway. "What about Daphne?"

Harry flushed deeply now. "I was still stupid when I was seventeen," he mumbled. "And I was trying to forget—anyway, Daphne was there. I was there. It was just simple maths."

"That was it?" Her voice betrayed her surprise. "So you were just—fumbling around?"

"Not the words I would use, but something like that. It was just easy. Uncomplicated."

Don't ask, she told herself sternly; Ginny seldom listened to the reasonable voice inside her mind, though. "Did you have feelings for her?"

"We weren't even friends." Harry sighed. "I think she just needed a distraction, and I couldn't complain; I was doing the same."

"Strangers with benefits?"

He snorted. "Something like that."

"What were you distracting from?"

"What?"

"You said you needed a distraction as well. From what?"

Harry turned to her, his eyes slightly narrowed, lips parted as if he was on the edge of saying something. Perhaps he was thoughtful, perhaps he was just considering her question; whatever it was, in the last second before Harry looked back at the pool, Ginny was suddenly reminded of that moment before their kiss; there was a hint of fire in his eyes, bright and irresistible.

Dangerous.

"I get why you broke up with Dean in the end," he whispered, seemingly more to himself. "I couldn't be with someone if something was missing, and with Daphne—" He shook his head. "I look at my parents, you know? They are sappy, ridiculous in love as if they are two teenagers still, and—I'll deny it if you quote me on this, but that's what I want. Love, all the magic of it, all those sparks, that feeling that everything is right in the world."

She smiled softly. "I don't know, you should be quoted on it. It's a nice wish."

Harry sighed, but he didn't answer. Ginny stole a glance at him; Harry seemed so reserved and at peace that she'd never considered he was looking for the real thing, that he was someone searching for his soulmate.

He'd find it, she knew, and Ginny could see it clearly in the water as some kind of divination mirror. A beaming Harry, the way he looked after recovering from a difficult dive with the Snitch held in his hand: as if he could accomplish anything. And next to him, there was someone, a mysterious person whose face, for a heartbeat, Ginny saw as hers.

She pulled back, taking her feet out of the pool.

A few drops of water splashed on Harry, but he just laughed. "Can you even feel your feet?"

"No," Ginny admitted. Harry didn't seem bothered, but he recoiled all the same, grabbing his wand to cast a Warming Spell on them. Her feet tingled under the magic. "Should we head back?" Ginny forced herself to smirk. "We may have annoyed your father long enough by now."

"He will have me back in this pool tomorrow anyway." But he raised, offering his hand to help her up.

Ginny hesitated for a second before accepting it, taking a step away from him quickly. "I don't think he likes us together," she agreed. "But I don't think he is doing anything on purpose." She gave her best impression of James Potter, running her hand through her hair to mess it up, and adopting the posh accent that the coach couldn't help sometimes. "It would be highly inappropriate."

Harry chuckled. "This was disturbing, Ginny." And then, as they started walking back, he added in a carefree tone. "You know, I'm surprised he doesn't approve. I always thought my dad adored you—a chaser like him, brilliant, witty."

"Perhaps I'm not good enough for you."

He snorted loudly. "You are more like him than I am, trust me, it's probably the other way around."

Ginny doubted it, but she didn't comment this time. They had reached the dormitory, and though there was enough distance between them, no sign that anything had happened, the few people still in the lounge threw them knowing looks.

She didn't think she would ever get used to it. It was one thing to be alone with Harry, discussing things as they always did — as friends — and even teasing him about their fake-relationship, but when other people were around, there was an awkwardness that didn't belong in their relationship. However fake their romance was, their friendship had always been real.

"Let's go up," mumbled Harry, heading for the stairs; he probably shared that uneasiness.

Ginny tried to sound light. "You know, your big rebellious plan may have failed. Your father wasn't here."

"No, Mum is at home this week, so he likes to go back home and dine with her."

She blinked. "Then we didn't actually need to go outside." Harry looked at her, inquiring. "Your father already thought we would leave tonight."

"Ah." He looked sheepish once again; it was adorable. "I know, I just—I was afraid we'd lose this. Everyone seems to think that any time we spent together we are—"

"Snogging," she said. "Wonder what gave them that idea." Harry laughed; they had reached the door to her room. "I would invite you in, but I've been told this is—"

"Highly inappropriate," Harry finished for her; he was still smiling, though there was something tender now. "We can still do this. I… I like being around you."

I like you, Harry had assured her once, and Ginny had misinterpreted it in the worst way. I'm sorry, but I meant it as friends.

She pushed that memory deep back. "I know. We are friends, even if we crossed a line before, and things are awkward—it's weird for the others. Not for me."

He nodded. "Me neither. And about that crossed line—"

His gaze fell to her mouth for a moment so brief that Ginny could pretend it hadn't happened.

"Still enjoying some distractions, I guess," she said, voice only teasing.

Harry took a step back. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm still stupid after all these years. Night, Gin."

"Night."

She was opening the door when she noticed that Harry hadn't moved away; for a crazy moment, thoughts that were inappropriate in every standard crossed her mind, but then her gaze met his.

There was a glint in his eyes, but it wasn't lustful; just shining. Bright.

"You said you weren't relationship material," he remembered.

Ginny blinked. "Yes—what's the problem?"

"You are Ginny Weasley. I think you are any kind of material you want to be."

It was fire, Ginny realised, the source of the glint in his green eyes. A fire that wouldn't stop burning, that promised warmth on a cold night.

"I might quote you on that," she whispered.

Harry smiled softly before turning away.

His lungs were burning. Harry blinked, raising his hand only to adjust the swimming goggles on his face; a few bubbles escaped his mouth—his last supply of air. He'd need to return to the surface soon.

It was still a tedious exercise, but at least Harry had to concede that, after one week of this, his breathing was improving. His time underwater had increased to nearly three minutes; the cold water didn't even bother him anymore; and he had better control of his heartbeat, almost as if he could calm himself at will.

When he looked up, he could see the light dancing on the surface of the pool, the distorted reflex of the sun high in the sky; it was relaxing.

A sharp pain on his side told him it was enough; the burning inside him was unbearable now. He propelled himself up, breaking the surface of the water and inhaling generously. The cold air burned his lung, but it was relieving.

At the edge of the pool, wearing a coat that was thick and warm, Peter clapped.

"Two minutes and forty-nine seconds," he said, writing it down in his worksheet. "Good, good."

He handed Harry a towel; Harry sat at the edge of the pool, the towel around his shoulders as he dried his hair. "Are we done already?"

Peter nodded. "Prongs told me to stop it early today. He wants you in the field before lunch for prep talk."

Gladness flooded him, but Harry just shrugged. "So Dad will finally allow me to play Quidditch?"

Peter frowned. "This is Quidditch," he said, pointing to the pool. "I am training you also."

He seemed upset. Harry relented; he wasn't really mad at Peter, and he knew that, in any case, Peter was just following what the coach had instructed him to.

"You know what I mean, Wormy," he said, warmer now. "I won't be seeking the Snitch underwater, will I?"

Peter gave him a feeble smile. "If it rains during the match, you'll have an advantage." Harry chuckled.

He let Peter by the pools, heading back to the stadium. Peter was probably right; the chances were high of rain in their upcoming match against Pride of Portree, up North in Scotland; a cold relentless rain that would soak him to his bones. The cold weather was not a concern—it usually made the Snitch go slower, and if he could finish the match quickly, all the better. Harry was more troubled about the fact that his only flying hours that week had been on his own, on nights that sleep had eluded him, and he'd taken to the skies to vent some frustration.

He knew the reason; things had been weird with his father, something that had never really happened before. They had always gone along, his father had always supported Harry's every decision — and then had been there for a bracing shoulder if those decisions ended up poorly. But now his father kept throwing him inquisitive looks at best, as if James Potter was trying to figure out something about his son, something that Harry wasn't keen on answering; all those seemingly pointless exercises hadn't helped much. Harry hadn't even returned home on the weekend, preferring to keep his routine at the training centre — he might not understand it, but he wasn't going to show any sign of weakness —, allowing himself only a quick trip to visit Ron and Hermione.

Harry hadn't complained about his exercises, though, and he knew why. Whatever the reason his father had kept him grounded that week, at least he seemed to have eased with Ginny.

He was already dry and wearing his blue uniform, but Harry paused instead of joining the rest of the team on the field. Ginny was up in the air with the rest of the chasers, doing some routine with the bludgers—there were four bludgers instead of the usual two, and the goal was to go through the field, dodging them, then managing to score. It seemed brutal, but Ginny was quick; she darted around the field like a lightning bolt, making sharp turns at the last second, and Harry let out a laugh when he saw she had made two bludgers collide with themselves instead of hitting her.

That drew his father's attention. The coach had been looking up while taking notes, but when he saw Harry, he beckoned him to come closer and sounded his whistle, calling everyone close. Ginny made sure to finish her round and score a goal before heading down; she winked at Harry when she joined the circle.

Her hair was all windswept, cheeks flushed after the exercise, and her eyes were shining with the knowledge she had flown well; Harry realised that his recently improved abilities to control his breathing and heartbeat were rendered null when it came to Ginny.

It took him some time to realise his father was talking.

"—change the routine this afternoon. Flying exercises. Dawlish, Kurg, bludger passes; keep it under your control, no aiming at anyone. Chasers, two-a-side Quidditch, half-field. Peakes and Weasley against Bane and Williams. Wood and Hobbles share defence of the goal. Harry—I'll release the enchanted Snitches, just seeking routine."

Harry bit back a comment, just nodding. His father's look was sharp as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking, but he also moved past.

"Practice will be open this afternoon," he added, and there was a collective groan. No one enjoyed it when practice was open to the public; the fans of the team were nice, but the reporters usually asked the same old questions or strategy questions that they couldn't answer, and the worst part was the other teams' supporters—or spies. "Just play your game, ignore anyone else." His father smiled, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "Think about it as another practice; the Prides are passionate, and we'll be playing in their stadium."

They were dismissed.

Harry turned around, and he was pleasantly surprised when Ginny jogged to join him. "Flying this afternoon," she teased. "Dress yourself up, it's cold up there."

"Oh, I hadn't realised the pool was so warm," he shot back, making her grin. "Perhaps you would like to take a swim later."

"Unfortunately, I seem to have left my swimsuit at home."

"How convenient—" There was a sudden break of giggles. Harry looked around to see that Claudia and John were walking close to them. "What?"

"Sorry," said John, though he didn't look sorrowful. "We just couldn't stop hearing your… banter."

"More like a sex talk," Claudia intervened; Ginny stalled next to Harry.

"We were just chatting."

"About swimming naked?" Claudia winked at Harry. "I guess you have to find a way to not freeze in that pool every morning."

"Come on." John snorted. "We swim there–don't you have a pool at home, Potter?"

Harry did, in fact, and over the sniggers of their teammates, he could suddenly picture himself at the pool of his house with Ginny; it was much smaller than the pool of the training centre, cosier, with warm water during winter. They would swim together, teasingly throwing water at each other, and in this scenario, just like Ginny had mentioned, she would have forgotten her swimsuit—

"You need to stop imagining our sex life," Ginny said, crossed. Harry blinked guiltily, but she was staring at their teammates, and not at him. "And this is not something to discuss at work."

And with that, she turned away. Harry was the one who ran to meet her this time, and for a moment, Ginny's expression only aggravated when she took sight of him, before she relaxed her shoulders.

"They were just goofing around," Harry said diplomatically.

"I know, but then Mary hears it, and she will repeat this story making it sound as if someone caught us in the pool and the next thing we know, we are getting thrown off the team."

"We won't."

"You won't," she replied darkly. "I'm on thin ice here."

"Just because my father–"

Ginny shook her head. "I'm not talking about nepotism here, you are the only Seeker. But I'm the fourth Chaser and the next match's line-up has not been announced yet."

She paused in the hallway that led to the locker rooms, leaning against a wall while Harry did the same on the other side, facing her.

"Your name will be there," he insisted. "Anyone can see you are giving your heart out there, and you were amazing on the last match. Fourteen goals and it was just your first professional game."

"Mary still holds the team's record this season."

"Records are there to be broken." He smiled, waiting until Ginny grinned in answer.

"You don't help me," she said, her voice lighter now. "I need you to stop catching the snitch so quickly."

"I have my own records to break."

"You know the public pays to see a spectacle, right? Not something that is over in thirty seconds. No one enjoys a quickie, Harry."

She winked at him; Harry flushed.

"Depends on what you can do in those thirty seconds," he replied, voice heavy with innuendo, and then it was Ginny's turn to blush.

She bit her lip for a moment. "You know, no wonder no one was surprised about our relationship. Have you ever noticed we are actually bantering all the time?"

Harry shifted his weight from one foot to another. "It's just how we are with each other."

"Yeah, but—" Ginny blinked, unsure. "I guess we will need to stop it after." She shrugged, not saying it, but Harry understood her meaning.

That made a hole in his stomach as if he had fallen from his broom. "I don't know how to talk to you any other way," he admitted.

Ginny gave him a funny look – it suddenly occurred to Harry that when they broke up publicly, they would need to take a break from many things, just not their bantering – but all she did was resume walking. "Me neither."

There was nothing like the feeling of being in the air.

His parents would tell him he had learned how to fly in a broomstick even before he'd learned how to properly walk, a running joke in the family that Harry never minded. He loved flying, loved taking an impulse, and feeling gravity losing its grip on him. In the air, he was free.

It was a warm sunny day for the middle of November, all the better after a week of doing underwater exercises. He was feeling in very good shape, finally flying at a fast speed, doing loops in the air just for the fun of it.

"Nice," his father said when Harry flew past; there was a smirk on his face. "Keep our audience entertained. I'm releasing the Snitches in a moment."

Harry nodded, then he moved up. There, he had a good view of the whole field. On the north side, Claudia and Kurg were alternating hitting the bludger one to another, like a weird match of ping-pong with a hard ball; down the south, Ginny was playing with the other chasers and the keepers. It reminded him of those two-a-side Quidditch matches he used to play with her, Ron and Hermione at the Burrow on lazy summer days; Ron never let them play on the same team, claiming they worked far too well together…

They made a nice team indeed, unlike Ginny's current partner. Ginny and Mary were both good at intercepting Bane and William's passes, but when it came to scoring the goal, they both seemed to be withholding themselves, trying to score individually–a bad tactic against two keepers. As he watched, Mary ignored Ginny's free position to throw the Quaffle at the middle pole; Oliver defended easily.

There was a boo from the crowd.

Harry threw an annoyed look at the stands; it wasn't very crowded, so it was easy to distinguish the sniggering group to the far side, away from the reporters taking notes or the enthusiastic Puddlemere fans that had come to watch them.

A glint of gold distracted him; Harry followed the Snitch for a moment before diving to be on the same level as the other players. Each Snitch was enchanted for practising some specific ability, and he guessed his father had started with the one that flew too close to the players; it was additional stress for him, the seeker, and to the others who couldn't touch it accidentally.

The other players acted like bludgers to him. He dodged them, but then he had to avoid colliding with Bane, and he lost sight of the Snitch for a few moments. As he watched the field, Ginny made a goal, grinning at him as she flew close, and Harry's eyes followed her moving to the middle of the field—until he dived after her because the Snitch was circling over her head like an angel's halo.

She didn't see him; her eyes were watching the Quaffle and she jumped to intercept a pass, her hand stretched just as the Snitch flew up. Harry looped on the broom, his hand closing on the Snitch a split second before Ginny's hand brushed against his, nearly catching the Snitch instead. Her eyes widened.

"Sorry!" She laughed, pausing for a moment. "Snitchnipping, that would be a first."

"I told you seeking was more fun," he teased.

"Weasley!" Mary's voice was sharp. "Williams scored while you were flirting with your boyfriend."

Ginny's smile was gone as she turned away. "We would be better off if you passed the Quaffle once in a while," she snapped, accepting the Quaffle that Bane threw to her and moving to the middle of the field to start the round.

Harry released the Snitch, and hoped it would avoid Ginny.

He managed three more catches before his father called him down for a break. Harry threw him a hopeful glance. "Do I—"

His father just smiled, amused. "Talking to the press is part of the job," he reminded, patting Harry's shoulder.

Harry fought a groan. He knew that Quidditch involved publicity, but he had never felt at ease giving interviews, not even after the match when he was asked to discuss every move. Today there was a group of about five reporters roaming around the refreshment table, set in the part of the stands that was covered, shadowed.

Harry joined them, serving himself a glass of water. A few other players were there; Ginny was chatting happily with Lee Jordan. Harry's attention was diverted; it was stupid to feel so — he knew Lee was Fred and George's friend – but there was a twinge of jealousy he couldn't control, born from that time he'd watched Ginny dancing with Lee at a wedding while Harry had stayed away, unable to ask for one single dance—

Perhaps he watched them for too long, for Lee suddenly beckoned him to join them.

"Harry," he said enthusiastically, shaking Harry's hand. "A word for Quidditch Illustrated?"

"Oh, I didn't know you were working for them."

"I started last month, mostly lousy jobs, but you know, when I told them I was a family friend, I got the privilege to come here."

"Privilege is a Quidditch standard," said a falsely sweet voice, and Harry turned to see that Colin Harper had joined them, looking mildly interested at the refreshment table, even though he wasn't supposed to be in that section—or even free to attend that practice, Harry thought grimly. "Wouldn't you agree, Potter?"

"Of course," Ginny agreed at once, eyes slightly narrowed. "The good players are privileged with talent. You wouldn't know about it, Harper."

"No, but how would I? I'm not playing for my father's team."

Ginny bristled, but Harry held her wrist for a moment, giving a tiny shake of his head when she turned to him; he really didn't care about what anyone might whisper behind his back. He knew his father well enough to know he wouldn't favour his own son, and if others wouldn't believe it, Harry had made his peace with the idea he would need to shut down any opponent by playing his best.

Ginny breathed slower this time, then turned to Lee with a forced smile and all but ignoring Harper. "Portree is a traditional team," she said, answering a question that Harry had missed before. "We expect they will play hard to overcome their last two defeats, so it will be a tough game."

"Harry? A comment?"

"Ah—we will be playing in their stadium, so that's a challenge."

"The Prides are a force to be reckoned with," Ginny added, earning Lee's attention once again. "But we expect to make the Puddlemere fans proud, whether they can join us in the North or if they are broadcasting the match at home."

"I'm certain you will." He winked at her. "Thanks, Ginny, Harry."

When Lee moved away, Harry shook his head. "Thanks, Ginny," he repeated. "How is it that my mind turns into a puddle every time there is a recorder in front of me?"

"Some of us are just natural, Harry," she joked, then she lowered her voice. "It helps if you pretend they are naked."

He snorted; that drew the attention of the other reporters. Harry was glad to let Ginny take hold of any interview—she was far better to deal with the press than him—, but then a reporter mentioned him.

"Our sources have told us that you and Mr. Potter have been in a relationship for months now."

Ginny's smile flickered for a moment. "Old news, but what's a Quidditch season without gossip? Speaking of, do you have any Quidditch-related questions? Maybe about today's practice or the upcoming match."

"Oh, sure. Do you believe the extreme exercises and the harsh routine improve Quidditch players' sexual stamina?"

Harry spluttered the water he was drinking.

Ginny blinked. "What magazine are you from again, ah—Miss Hamilton?"

"Modern Witch Guide. We are writing a special article about Quidditch players' prowesses, you know how it is." The reporter gave Harry an appreciative glance, then winked at Ginny, conspiratorially.

"Not really. I am sorry, but we are not here to discuss our private lives."

Another reporter joined them. "Hello! Hugh here, from Daily Prophet. Wouldn't you say your relationship interests many Quidditch fans? You do play for the same team, and you were caught making out in a Quidditch event."

Caught was a stretched definition for snogging in the middle of the room, Harry considered quietly. Ginny seemed taken aback for a moment before she recovered herself.

"I would say that any Quidditch fan should be more concerned about our play than with whatever we do outside of the field. I let our stats speak for themselves, and there aren't any stats on relationships, isn't this wonderful?" There was a distant whistle. "Oh, I've been summoned to play, which is the important thing here."

She gave them all a bright smile before heading to the stairs.

Harry shook his head and decided that he wasn't ready to deal with this kind of press interest any more than he could with Quidditch, and got back to the field.

The Snitch was now enchanted to stand still in the air, harder to be spotted; Harry usually thought it was designed to test his patience because the best way to find it was to scan the field over and over. Harry thought he had seen it close to the stands, so he flew by, ignoring the clicks of the cameras every now and then. His gaze moved over the field; the public section was close to him—he could hear the cries from the fans, and a round of applause when there was a quick exchange of passes between Ginny and Mary that ended with Ginny scoring a goal.

He smiled to himself; he knew that Ginny was a good player, and it was nice when others took notice of it—he also knew how important this was to her. She had played just one match so far, but the supporters adored her intensity and—

"Look at that ass."

He turned around. The sniggering group he had checked earlier was sitting just above him, and Harry wasn't surprised to see that Colin Harper was there, his eyes following Ginny's dot in the field.

"Still not over your crush, Colin?" One of his friends sniggered. "Girl is taken."

"If she didn't want to be gaped at, she wouldn't be flying in tight pants, would she? Not bad for a blood traitor—"

"Harper," Harry called sharply, drawing his attention. All the better, he thought; he didn't want someone like Harper laying eyes on Ginny. "Get out of here."

Harper's eyes narrowed for a moment before he laid back. "Open practice, Potter."

"It's closed for you." Harry grabbed his wand, rolling it around his fingers to make a point. Harper followed the movement for a moment, a tiny frown appearing on his forehead; Harry had been the champion of the Duelling Club at school once.

"Shouldn't you be looking for the Snitch? Oh, right, who cares. Your father would never kick you off the team."

"Shouldn't you be looking for the Snitch? Don't you have your practice to attend?"

"I'm playing the Cannons next, I could shut my eyes and still win. No, I'd rather watch it here." He jumped to the row below to get closer, ignoring his friends' warnings as he leaned against the rail. "You know, Potter, I don't buy it."

"What?"

"Your romance with Ginny Weasley," answered Harper slowly, watching his face. Harry blinked. "Now, she was crazy for you, anyone could see it, it was rather pathetic. But you never looked at her."

He held his wand in a tight grip now, holding it up. "Shut up, Harper."

Harper snorted. "Stop it, you are not going to hex me. Casting a spell at a spectator is a penalty worthy of a suspension." His gaze moved past Harry, shining darkly. "And I'm seeing a spectacle, yes, that arse is amazing."

There was only red in front of Harry's eyes. "Are you that hurt that she doesn't want anything to do with you?" He hissed. "Crying yourself to sleep every night?"

"Oh, I'm thinking about her every night, sure." Harper laughed. "You are so easy to piss off, Potter."

"Better than being a sorry excuse for a wanker."

"Act superior all you want, you are the one exchanging a good shag for a position in the team." He smirked. "Just between us, is she even that good? You can tell me the details, I'll just pretend it's me tonight."

Harper was right, Harry realised distantly when he jumped to the stands and punched Harper in the nose. Harry didn't hex him after all.