A/N: This is the Chudley Cannons Captain participating the Daily Prophet Issue #8 competition: Truth or Dare.
I've chosen Truth. Goal: pull inspiration from my truth's answer.
Truth: What is the best compliment you have ever received?
My answer: So… I used to be in theater, and I was in this burlesque-y production, and if you know me personally, that's really just not my scene. We were at dance rehearsal, and the coordinator was just… a little icky. And I wasn't loving the experience. Anyway, long story short, I was told that I had more of a "eff you" face than an "eff me" face, and honestly? That was the best compliment I could have asked for in that moment, because I was so over it lol (Let this also be a lesson in saying no! Don't do things that make you uncomfortable. Not worth it!)
So, without further ado, here's a fic based off that compliment.
Word count (before A/N): 1,709 words
TW: explicit language, talk of posing suggestively/sexily
Special thanks to my teammate Arty for beta-ing!
Ginny shifted in her seat, surreptitiously watching her teammates. She wanted to know how they were taking this. How they were responding to this utter… ridiculousness.
"Marks, you'll be June. Beach theme. Carys, July. We're thinking something in the trees, lots of sunshine, flowers, et cetera," Captain Rooney prattled off, reading from her clipboard.
The rest of the Harpies seemed half interested in their assignments, as if being asked to model for a calendar shoot was an everyday affair. Ginny twirled the engagement ring on her finger, trying to distract herself from her growing unease.
"Weasley." Ginny jumped, her brown eyes landing on Rooney and her damned clipboard. "November. We'll do something in the change room."
Her eyes bugged. What?! But Rooney was already talking about the group shot for December, with full winter gear on their home pitch. Fake snow to boot.
As the newest member of the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny still felt a little like an outsider. The season had been going well enough—they'd won five out of seven games—but she didn't really know her teammates like she'd hoped by this point in the season.
And now she was being asked to participate in a long-standing Harpies' tradition in order to help boost ticket sales: the annual Harpies calendar shoot.
Except, in what felt like a million steps backwards for women in Quidditch everywhere, the calendar itself would feature the team in somewhat suggestive poses.
And so. November. In the change room.
Ginny actively searched the faces of her teammates now, wanting desperately for someone to tell her it was all a prank. But everyone seemed more bored than scandalized—as if this was a minor blip in a Quidditch player's career and not a hugely objectifying and uncomfortable situation to place an entire women-only team in.
She left that day's practice with a sour taste in her mouth.
"Tell them?"
Ginny knew Harry had no idea how to give her advice for the current calendar situation she'd found herself in. She loved him dearly—truly, madly, deeply. But she had to admit, he was definitely not the type of person equipped to handle something like this.
"I can't tell them," she said patiently. "I'm brand new. I'm the rookie. I can't jeopardize my spot on the team just because I'm the only one who doesn't want to pose for a—a—a risqué picture."
She cringed. Even admitting what the calendar was made her ill.
"How many people are going to buy it?" Harry looked more concerned than before, probably realizing that his soon-to-be-wife was going to be on display for the better part of Britain.
Ginny sighed. "I looked at last year's calendar. Admittedly, it's very conservative compared to what Rooney explained. Mostly, the team tries to look like supermodels with a secret instead of—I dunno, sex idols?"
"But?" Harry prompted.
"But—" Ginny looked at him, sitting across the table, his face so genuine, waiting to hear her every concern. She hadn't wanted to tell him this, but just seeing how much he cared made Ginny open up. "But I'm Harry Potter's girlfriend."
"Fianceé," he corrected, a cheeky grin on his face.
Ginny smirked, choosing to press on. "And I already know what will happen, whether I'm covered in enough fur to look like a pygmy puff or stripped down to my underthings."
The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, bloody Rita Skeeter—they'd have a field day with that picture. It would be plastered everywhere.
Harry and Ginny had already lost the intimacy of their engagement to the press. Apparently, a waiter had tipped off the Prophet, and that was the end of privacy for the future Potters. Hells, even her poor mum had found out about it from the evening paper instead of the next morning when Ginny and Harry had actually planned to break the news.
Participating in a photoshoot, doing Merlin knew what, while posing suggestively in the Holyhead Harpies' change room, would be like giving a sick dragon a sponge bath—extremely damaging to the volunteer, according to Charlie.
But she was new, and she still felt like she had to prove herself as a team player. Despite her unease, Ginny's obligation to participate steadily outweighed self-preservation.
"Give me more of an uh," the photographer said for what felt like the nine-hundredth time.
Ginny tried contorting her mouth again to produce the effect the photographer wanted, but that only elicited another sigh from the other woman.
"No, no. Tilt your chin down. It's sexier. And look through your eyelashes, not directly at the camera."
Not too kindly, Ginny wondered if this woman even knew what actual sex appeal looked like. The photographer was dressed in baggy robes, her frame undistinguishable beneath the layers of grey and blue fabrics. Ginormous purple glasses sat on the tip of her nose, the plastic frames sitting like two sets of peacock wings on either side of her head.
Ginny would have liked to see her make the uh face and contort her head.
Tilting her own chin closer to her chest, Ginny decided this wasn't what she'd signed up for after all. She had a broom in one hand, a quaffle hugged snuggly under the other, all while she leaned against her locker door, her name proudly on display behind her, permanently tagging her as the woman in the photo.
Fortunately, her outfit was her team uniform. It was one small reprieve in the piling shitstorm this shoot was turning out to be.
"Here, give me the broom and quaffle." The photographer swapped them out, before demonstrating a new pose. Ginny did as instructed, now turning to face the locker itself, her head turned to look over her shoulder, eyes focused on the wall opposite her instead of the camera.
"And pop a foot!"
Obligingly, because she was already thirty minutes into this hell, Ginny did. She lifted it up like a flamingo might, because that's what she thought the photographer meant.
"Uuughhh." The photographer let her camera fall from her hands, the strap catching around her neck as it dangled precariously alongside her layers of robes. Now the photographer turned and demonstrated again what she'd actually meant, her foot popping up behind her, like some lovesick girl caught in a lover's embrace.
Embarrassed, Ginny did the same, her eyes immediately darting to the opposite wall. She'd never really prayed before, but Merlin was she praying for this torture to end.
She could quit, sure. Tell the photographer off and storm out of the change room with some pieces of her dignity still in place.
But what about the team? How'd she even approach them after that?
As if on queue, her teammates came tumbling into the change room.
The photographer dropped her camera again, relief evident on her face.
"I'm sorry," she told Rooney. "She's not—I just." She turned to Ginny. "Look, you are quite beautiful, and the hair, oh my gods your hair is striking! But, darling. You've got this look, this fuck you look. And I think the goal is more of a fuck me look. We're just not hitting it."
Ginny placed her foot back on the floor and stood straight. She stared at the photographer for a moment, letting the words sink in before turning to her teammates' stunned expressions.
And then, she laughed.
She laughed so hard, tears sprang to her eyes.
She'd never felt more seen in all her life. Because fuck you was exactly how she felt about the whole shoot.
It took a moment before Ginny realized, too, that her teammates were laughing right along with her.
"That's Weasley, alright!" Carys had an arm around Moreno, both Beaters wiping their eyes.
"You should see her in the sky," Marks added, clutching her side. "Even I try to get out of her way when she's flying. The determination in her eyes is scary good!"
When things started to settle, Ginny looked at Rooney and the photographer, debating if she should say something. Clearly, this wasn't working out, and even if she miraculously was able to pull off the look that they wanted, she kept thinking about what that could mean long term.
"So," she started, getting everyone's attention almost instantly, "I get that some women feel empowered by doing things like this, and honestly? More power to them. But, I really think you're only going to get the fuck you look from me."
Then, she smiled devilishly.
"But I know a better way to boost sales."
It was their most successful ticket sale boost in the history of Harpies' calendars.
There, on the November spread, clad in what could only be described as his most uncomfortable smile to date, was the Harry Potter. He stood in the Harpies' change room, holding the women's various gear items, from quaffles to shoulder pads to, well, some particularly intimate items just for the laughs.
In the background, his soon-to-be wife and Harpies new star Seeker gave the camera a knowing smirk, flashing her engagement ring as she waved to her fianceé.
Ginny closed the calendar, happily sighing as she sipped on her celebratory wine cooler. Rooney had loved the idea as soon as it left her mouth. Heck, the whole team thought it was a delight. Convincing Harry to do it… well, that took a little bit of back and forth.
Luckily, when she had said it would give them the chance to take back the engagement that the Prophet stole, he had been all for it.
"I look great." Harry flipped the calendar back open. "I mean, probably the best of them all."
"Uh-huh, sure." Ginny smiled. "Did you see Marks in a bikini on the May page? Stunning, she is. You look like a doxy caught in a snowstorm."
"So, what about next year?" he asked. He closed the calendar again, relaxing into his seat beside her.
"Well, Rooney agreed that the tradition was a little objectifying. Now the team will get to decide if they want something more sensual or not."
"And what about you?" Harry asked, pulling her into him and letting Ginny rest her head against his shoulder."
"I dunno yet." She took another sip of wine. "But, whatever it is, I know exactly which look suits me best."