Chapter 5 - Reckless

His father's face was livid.

Harry could count on one hand's fingers the number of times he had seen his father mad, and mostly had been because of Quidditch. A player who had made a fool that threatened to seriously injure another player; a referee that was favouring the other team. But Harry's clearest memory of his father losing his calm was on the day they went to the Diagon Alley, and someone called Lily Potter a mudblood.

Later, his father apologised for scaring Harry that day; he never once said he regretted what he had done.

Perhaps there were better lessons to be learned from that incident, but as Harry crossed his arms and met his father's gaze without blinking, he could think about only one lesson.

"I am not sorry," he said defiantly, watching as his father ran his hand through his hair not in his usual quirk, but in despair. "Harper had it coming."

"He was playing you—trying to knock down your senses so you would do something stupid. Which you did, Harry!"

Harry shrugged. "His nose was already back to normal by the time he left."

That had annoyed him, actually, but Harry didn't want to share that particular feeling. He hadn't meant to injure Harper permanently, but he wouldn't have minded a small remembrance of that punch, so whenever Harper thought about Ginny his nose would give a particularly painful joint…

"Oh, because the picture of Harper's bleeding nose wasn't enough?"

Harry blinked, his expression breaking for the first time. "Picture?"

"You punched him in the middle of an open practice with a bunch of reporters around, what did you expect?" His father shook his head. "If that was a ploy to get you another photo after that thing with Ginny—congratulations, it will be in the newspaper tonight."

"It was not — it was so different, I can't even — so what? Let them comment. You've always dealt with publicity."

"And that was not what I intended for you. You don't want the press against you—you lay down and you play your game, that was our deal! Harry, you can't be that—that—reckless!"

The irony of his father — an unregistered animagus, for Merlin's sake — calling him reckless suddenly snapped all his frustration.

"You want me to play my game? How come when you left me all weekgrounded, underwater, as if I were nothing but a misbehaved kid? Today was the first time I flew in more than a week—"

"And look what good it did!" His father breathed hard. "You think I grounded you?"

"What else would I think when you've kept me away from the team?"

"That I am your coach, not just your father."

"I saw Peter more than you this week!"

"You would see me more if you had come home this weekend, as you always do." James shook his head, and his voice was controlled when he talked again. "Do you remember who we are playing next?"

"Pride of Portree."

"And do you remember where we are playing them?"

Harry bristled. "Stop lecturing me, just tell me your point."

His father's hazel eyes were hard. "Isle of Skye, Harry, in the middle of November. At best it will be raining, at worst there will be snow. Portree hasn't lost one match at home, from the end of October until the middle of February in the last five seasons because their coach knows how to capitalise on the weather. Their seeker is far more used to the harsh winter than you, playing here in the South of England—without any practice, you better hope to catch the Snitch in the first minute of the match or else you will just freeze out there."

"I haven't practised catching the Snitch the whole week!"

"Because you know how to seek. What you didn't know is how to adapt your body to a different condition—though maybe you still don't know, seeing how you lost all your wits today."

He wasn't ready to calm down yet. "Maybe it would be better if you would talk to me."

"Maybe I would if you trusted me."

"I do, but ever since—you've been weird with me!"

His father looked away now. "I've been acting the same. I am not the one keeping secrets here."

Harry lifted his eyebrows. "This is about me and Ginny." He hesitated for a heartbeat before sticking with the story he had already settled for. "Look, I'm sorry we didn't say anything before, but it's not fair to treat us differently because of it."

The expression on his father's face flickered for a moment. "I'm not," he said evenly. "But I do need to have caution, yes, and you've put me in a difficult position with the board. Ginny was already—" But whatever he was going to say, James just pressed his mouth shut, suddenly annoyed once again. "I do not let personal relationships interfere with my job, I told you so when you were hired."

"Nor do I."

"No?" There was only a challenge in his father's voice. "Why did you get into a fistfight with Colin Harper then?"

Harry didn't answer for a few seconds. "It had nothing to do with playing Quidditch. I could have argued with him in a pub or anywhere else, he is a bloody wanker anywhere. It is not related to work—"

"You were in a broomstick, inside a Quidditch stadium, and for all purposes, he was a spectator like anyone else."

"The rules say players cannot hex any member of the crowd, they never state that I couldn't punch him—"

"Because it should be obvious."

"What I mean is that I've done nothing illegal as a Quidditch player. The League cannot —"

"Screw the League—you are wearing Puddlemere's colours." He raised a finger, pointing to the emblem embroidered in the shirt Harry was using; two crossed golden bulrushes. "And while you are here, you have a duty to everyone who supports the team and to all your teammates, not just to the one you are dating."

And then Harry saw clearly that expression that his father's face had only hinted at before, but now it was clear as day. Disappointment.

"What does this mean?" Harry asked, voice shivering for the first time. "Are you going to suspend me?"

You are the only Seeker, Ginny had told him earlier that day, and these words sounded ominous now.

His father looked at him for a long moment. "I don't know yet," he admitted, and then he turned around to leave the room; he didn't slam the door, but Harry shook all the same when it was closed.


The picture had been printed in black and white, so it wasn't as gruesome as the sight that Ginny had seen that afternoon, with blood splashed on Harper's face and clothes, but still, it made for an impactful image. She stared at it for a moment, shook her head, and moved to the photo next to it. Harry's face was hard, all lines showing off an anger that was unusual for him.

There was a small article below the photographs. Ginny read it again, hoping that, somehow, the words had changed since the last time she had read them, but no luck. It couldn't be true, right? Harry had kept his coolness while Harper was pestering him—he had never cared about anyone's comments about himself, had always acted as the better person, and yet—

She had not expected to see her name again in a newspaper section not related to her play, but there it was. Ginny Weasley, the culprit of the fight. Everyone present was claiming that Harry had acted possessively jealous of her, and that was why he had punched Harper.

A groan left her lips; she wanted to yell at something, but she couldn't—everyone was glancing at her, or else at the vacant spot next to her that Harry had occupied all week. People had begun to lose interest in their relationship once they had realised they were keeping their same friendly dynamic, drama had been almost over, and now…

Now she was leaving the common room alone, wanting to just sink in her bed and hope this day would restart—or else that the next two days would pass in a blur, they would play their penultimate match of the year before the break, and maybe everything would be better afterward.

Ginny could only hope for it.

She was entering her room when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, pulled her inside, and closed the door. She turned on the spot, hand already raised in a fist, and it was only Harry's quick reflexes that avoided the punch on his jaw.

"Harry! What the—"

He pressed a finger to his lips; Ginny blinked. "Do you trust me?"

His voice was urgent; his green eyes had a resolute gleam, almost feverish—it reminded her of the photography she'd seen in the evening newspaper, only his anger was gone now.

Ginny nodded.

Harry gave her a small smile, releasing his grasp. "Take your broom," he instructed, and she saw that he was holding his own Firebolt. When Ginny came back with her trustworthy Golden Arrow, he pulled from his jacket a silvery cloak that Ginny had only seen a handful of times before: his Invisibility Cloak. He threw it around them; the Cloak was not enough to cover their feet—Harry was annoyingly tall sometimes—so she got closer and after a moment's hesitation, Harry put his arms around her shoulder.

"Just until we are out of here," he whispered; she couldn't know if he was talking about holding her or staying under the Cloak.

It is not very different from dancing, Ginny thought suddenly as they walked down the hall, moving only to avoid a couple of people going up. She let Harry guide her, pausing when he would and trying to keep his pace. Leaving there unnoticed was easy; dealing with his proximity, with the way his head was on the same level as hers as he walked with his head bowed, body slightly bent, his sudden warmth—that was hard and complicated.

Did you fight because of me? He couldn't, it made no sense.

She let out a strangled sigh when they left the training centre to the field outside, and Harry took out the Cloak.

"Harry—what's going on?"

"Not here," he said, looking around, though they were alone. "How do you feel about a night race?"

She watched him, but his expression betrayed no joke. "To where?"

"Man O'War Beach is about twelve miles South."

There were many things to point out about this answer, but Ginny settled for a light mood. "It's a bit late to play on the beach."

"At least we won't need sunscreen," he quipped back, his face showing a hint of a smile for a moment. Then he looked resolute once again. "Trust me," he repeated.

Ginny did, and because of that, she mounted on her broom.

There weren't many cities or villages in their way, but for precaution, they flew high; Ginny was not dressed for a night out, though, and as far as she could see, neither was Harry. It was an eight-minute straight flight, easy by all standards of a professional Quidditch player, but she was shivering when she dismounted on the sand and pebble beach—a shiver that kept on with the cool winds hitting the cove.

"Keep on," Harry said, hoovering around her. He was trembling also, but his smile was encouraging now. "We have work to do." And then, from his pocket, he produced a Golden Snitch.

Ginny looked from him to the flat wings, and then back at Harry.

"I don't get it."

He jumped from his broom and leaned against it. "You reminded me this morning that I'm the only Seeker on the team. So, if anything happened—if I couldn't play—we wouldn't have anyone."

She bit her lip. "Why wouldn't you—" The picture of Harper's face flashed in her mind, now in colours; he had made no attempt to look brave, acting as if Harry had tried to murder him. "Did they suspend you? They can't, you haven't done—"

"Oh, I've made a mess," Harry admitted, unashamed and practical. "I don't know what will happen, but either way—we need a backup plan, and you are the best option. You've played as Seeker before."

"That was one match when you were hexed, back in school. I told you the other seeker had the flu, the Snitch wasn't very quick—"

"It wasn't just luck, and you know it. You can play both positions, it's like all those games we used to play at the Burrow."

"Those were games, exactly. I've been playing as a Chaser for years, I cannot possibly—"

"There is no one else in the team that could fill in. Look, I screwed up, but I am trying to fix it somehow. I know it's not fair to ask this of you." His gaze bore into hers. "You had nothing to do with it."

Ginny blinked. Had she not? That article had been very clear about her involvement — some argument that had started because of her, only that couldn't be, that made no sense. Harry had ignored Harper's comment about himself without even blinking, why would he act differently when it came to her?

The question was at the tip of her tongue once again — did you fight because of me? — but Ginny just grabbed her broomstick. Whatever else she thought, Harry had not hesitated before to help her out of her mess, so she owed him one.

"What do I do?" She asked, voice high against the wind.

His lips trembled. "Don't lose the Snitch," he recommended. "It was my 17th birthday gift."

She eyed the Snitch with more trepidation now.

Ginny knew how to play Seeker; she had good eyesight to search for the Snitch, sharp reflexes, and an overall build for it. But she had never understood what was fun about it. It wasn't enticing, there were moments where you weren't even supposed to actually catch the Snitch, and, above all, it was lonely.

Strangely, she wasn't feeling lonely then. Harry was guiding her in a way that almost remembered their dance; he was playing against her, winning by far, clearly more used to the freezing weather above the ocean than Ginny was. But every time he caught the Snitch ahead of her, he told her how to correct or where Ginny had slipped. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering and pushed herself harder; she was cold to the bones, and it took her nearly one hour, but at least she managed to catch the Snitch at a moment when Harry paused suddenly in the middle of a dive.

And that was when the wave hit her.

She didn't bother hiding her chattering teeth then as she collapsed on the beach. Harry offered a sympathetic smile, and, to her relief, he produced a bonfire; Ginny dragged herself as close to the blue flames as she could.

"Warming Spell?" He offered, wand raised.

Ginny shook her head, twisting her hair to get the water out of it. "No, and we are not done here. I need five minutes and then we are back in the air."

"You just got the Snitch."

"Only because you were clever enough to see that wave."

"Think of it as a bludger. So you got hit by one—still ended the game." He threw a log into his magical fire. "The most fundamental part of seeking is courage. I saw the wave, and I hesitated; you didn't."

"But if I didn't even notice—"

"If you had—what would you do then?"

Ginny extended her hands close to the fire. "I would still go; might try to evade the wave, but it's a risk worth taking."

"Exactly." A teasing smirk suddenly bloomed on his lips, in anticipation. "There's a seeker inside you."

She clutched her hands close to her heart, appealed. "Harry Potter! You take that back."

His laugh filled the night, easing surpassing the sound of the waves hitting the beach. That had always been his best feature, she thought suddenly, watching his face lit by the fire, reflecting in his glasses. When Harry laughed, it was an open invitation to adventure and brightness. That was why she had always been so attracted to him.

Had been. Not always. In the past. A distant past, if four years could be considered so.

She shivered and looked away. "Shall we continue?"

"Spoke like a true seeker," he answered, the tease still in his voice; this time, her smile was a bit forced as she mounted her broom.

"If I manage to catch the Snitch again, we'll see."

She didn't, though. That time out on the beach had seemingly done more harm than good; the cold seemed worse as the night went on, with clouds in the sky and no moon, she barely could see the glint of the Snitch. Harry, even with his notorious poor eyesight, was just faring better. He was bound to, with all the practice and natural talent, but that knowledge didn't help as Ginny threw herself back on the beach, claiming the heat of the fire.

"This is hopeless!" She complained, hands raised.

Harry landed next to her. "It was just the first day, we will—"

"You won't get suspended," she said, cutting him off, stressed and tired. "You are the only Seeker and you are the coach's son, he wouldn't dare."

Harry's face was suddenly blank. "Do you really think so?"

"I—fuck, Harry, I'm sorry." All the fighting was gone then. "No, I don't. I just—I hate everything right now. That's it. And I refuse to mess everything up more than I've already done."

He shook his head loyally. "You did nothing wrong."

Ginny didn't answer him, looking away to the point where the waves were crashing against Durdle Door.

"Hey," Harry called softly. "Stop worrying."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." His finger touched the middle of her forehead. "You are frowning." He offered her the Golden Snitch. "Take it, let's try something else."

Ginny sighed, but she held the Snitch. Whereas it had been laying quiet under Harry's touch, the Snitch's wings started to flutter suddenly, fighting to leave her grasp.

"Close your eyes," Harry instructed. Ginny allowed herself to throw him a sceptic look before shutting her eyes. "What do you see?"

"Er—nothing?"

Harry chuckled. It was a nice sound, not his full laugh, but warming all the same.

"Feel what's around you."

Ginny took a deep breath, trying to concentrate herself. In the darkness, the sound of the waves coming and going with the tide was louder, contrasting with the almost quietness of the magical fire next to her—she could feel the waves of heat, but unlike the fireplace at the Gryffindor Common Room, there was no sound of the wood creaking. She could feel every grain of sand or the small pebbles under the place she was sitting cross-legged. The cool air smelled of seawater, with a hint of citrus—Harry's post-shower cologne.

And then that hint became more pronounced as he moved closer, the warmth from his body easily shadowing the magical fire as he held her hand, pushing it closer to her until the wings of the Snitch were brushing her face softly.

"See it," he urged.

She should. With the Snitch so close to her, she could hear its wings, the quick beating, like a soft melody in the night; when Harry's pressure made her release her grasp, she could picture, even with her eyes closed, the Snitch buzzing around her. Even as it moved around them, Ginny knew she could catch it with her eyes closed easily now.

But more than the Snitch, more than the beach and its millions of pebbles, more than the blue fire and the waves hitting the beach in their constant flow, she could see Harry. Dark messy hair tangling with the wind; bright green eyes shining under the light of the fire; his hand inches from hers, fingers still extended as if he was fighting her gravity; lips curved in a smile, watching her as he did that night they had kissed—

Her lips tingled, a sudden anticipation eclipsing anything else; they were so close, and yet the distance between them felt infinite when her hand twitched in search of his, only for her fingers to close around the Snitch instead, safe in her grasp.

"There," said Harry softly, voice barely above the sound of the wind. "You saw it."

She opened her eyes, though she felt she didn't need to. Everything was how she had been picturing, and Harry—he was staring at her with that burning gaze that had nothing to do with the reflection of the fire on his glasses, that took her back to the night of the Daily Prophet party, only this time there wasn't any hint of alcohol to taint her sight–or his.

Once Ginny had brazenly moved forward and she vouched she would not make the same mistake again. But perhaps she was just silly as she was at thirteen, for as she did then, in that dark cold night, she pulled herself closer to Harry, her gaze not leaving his as she handed him the Snitch. Its wings quieted down as he held it, and though Ginny should have retreated her hand, she kept her touch; her fingers moved to intertwine with his, and then Harry gave the tiniest wince as she brushed his knuckles.

Her gaze fell. His hand was bruised still, red and sore; Harry hadn't bothered tending his hand that afternoon, spotting his own injury like pride marks. He had looked darkly satisfied after hitting Harper.

Something weighed on her stomach and the question that had been at the tip of her tongue rolled swiftly.

"Did you fight Harper because of me?"

His hand fell limply as Harry looked away.

"No."

Her breath caught. "Why are you lying to me?"

He pressed his lips shut for a minute, eyes straying to his broomstick as if he was just considering flying away.

"It doesn't matter."

"Well, it does for a lot of people, not least of all for me."

"I—" He grabbed his hair. "Why did you ask if you think you know the answer?"

"Because I want to understand. There is no reason that justifies—"

"Well." Harry kicked a pebble on the ground, face hard. "You sound just like my father now. Are you going to suspend me as well?"

"Why are you acting so stupid?"

"Because I get to be reckless sometimes! If you want to get disappointed, get in line, you won't say anything that I haven't heard already today." He crossed his arms. "This was not about—"

"Not about me?" Ginny guessed, her voice rising. Harry wasn't looking at her now, and whereas she enjoyed his tenacity, now it only aggravated her. "Then what was it? Some macho thing where you need to defend your girlfriend? We are not even dating!

"I know," he said at once, sounding only annoyed; at some point, the Snitch had escaped Harry's grasp, and the golden ball was buzzing around them like a pesky fly now. "I won't ever forget it, no need to worry."

"What I do not need is for you to fight my battles. I do not need to be the culprit of anything because when I do want to fight, I will do it myself. I will get myself suspended if I need to, and if I do—it will not be because of someone as irrelevant as Harper!"

"And yet you only snogged me because of him."

She opened and closed her mouth. Harry's eyes were widened as if he too was absorbing the full meaning of what he had just said, but he didn't take his words back. A hundred different answers crossed her mind, but then she remembered Harry's words afterwards and it always came back to the same, no matter what else it might have looked like.

It didn't mean anything.

"Yeah," she agreed coolly. "And look where that mistake led us to."

Harry nodded; in a swift movement, he caught the Snitch, and the night was quiet once again.


It was late when they returned to the training centre. There was no one in sight, so they didn't need to venture under Harry's Invisibility Cloak once again, though Ginny doubted Harry would offer it this time around. Harry was glancing at a point two feet above her head as he bid her a distant farewell, and then he was gone without waiting for her reply.

Ginny watched the door of his room, wondering if she could just blast it out of the way. She was annoyed beyond reason with Harry, because Harry, stupid Harry Potter, had been right. All that mess between them had started because she let herself feel down because of Colin Harper, and then Harry had tried to help her; one thing had led to another and then they were snogging mindlessly in front of everyone. Everything had always been about Harry trying to comfort her; he was still that kind boy who had only asked her to the Yule Ball because she couldn't go otherwise. Ginny should know better than that thirteen-year-old who hoped that invitation might mean something.

But Ginny was even more annoyed with herself now because on the way back, she'd nearly called Harry a few times to admit that yes, it had been a mistake, for a hundred different reasons, it had all started because of the most prick Quidditch player out there and still… it had nothing to do with Harper, not really.

She had all but completely forgotten that prick the moment that Harry had started dancing with her; as she was twirling around and then finding herself back in Harry's arms, there had been only him. She had whispered Harry's name as they kissed because for that moment, he was the only one that had mattered.

Only she couldn't tell Harry that, could she? What was the point? It didn't change anything; it was still a mistake that they both would be better off if it had never happened.

She forced herself to turn away, and then the light coming from the slightly ajar door at the end of the corridor startled her. The coach's office wasn't usually occupied this hour of the night—James Potter rarely spent the night at the training centre, enjoying the perks of living nearby—but Ginny guessed the day had not been usual in any sense.

She should head back to her own room, but because she often ignored the reasonable voice inside her mind, Ginny marched down the hall.

The coach was frowning as he reread a letter, twirling his quill between his fingers; there were a couple of crumbled scrolls on the floor, and another was burning on the fireplace. Whatever he was writing was giving him trouble, but Ginny couldn't feel any sympathy at the moment.

She coughed loudly, and James lifted his head to find her at the door.

"Ginny," he called, not hiding his surprise. "You should be resting."

"I was out," she said; his gaze fell on the broomstick she was holding. "With your son."

His expression closed off at once. "In the light of everything that happened—"

"It was not a romantic getaway," she interrupted. "Harry was worried the team would not have a Seeker if you suspended him and he thought I could replace him."

James blinked. "What?"

"It was a desperate idea," acknowledged Ginny, waving her hand. "The thing here is that he cares about—well, about everything, but most of you about making you proud. I don't know what you told him, but I know it was unfair."

"Weasley—"

"You cannot suspend him."

"That is my call. He assaulted someone."

"He acts stupidly once in his life, and you are acting as if he betrayed your trust, and that's simply not right!" She breathed hard, urging herself to not yell her frustration, though it felt as pointless as her attempts of catching the Snitch that night. "Have you never made a mistake? Have you never acted like a fool in front of everyone else because you lost control of your emotions?"

James blinked, then turned his head to watch the fireplace for a moment.

Ginny bit her lip. "You can disapprove of us all you want, but don't punish Harry for it."

"I am not punishing him because of you—I don't—of course I do not have any problem with you two—"

"You are doing a remarkable job of convincing us otherwise, coach."

He lifted his eyebrows. "I do not disapprove," insisted James, "because it is not my place to do it. You are two independent adults who are too smart for your own good. I just—" He frowned for a moment. "It took me a while to see it."

"See what?"

He picked his quill once again, a shadow of a smile on his face. "Until you burst into my office demanding fairness for Harry, I thought you two were just messing around with this secret relationship story," James said, and as he bent down to resume writing, he didn't notice the way Ginny flinched. Then, more as an afterthought, he considered her again, looking as severe as he could muster. "I understand that being in love with someone might lead you to lose your head sometimes, but you cannot walk down to my office and tell me what to do, Ginny—I am the coach, you know. That being said, I will not suspend Harry. He will need to fix his mistake, of course, but I will think of an alternative, one that does not require you to play Seeker the next match."

She nodded, confused. "Ah—thanks."

"Now, you have practice tomorrow morning."

"Oh, sure. Night, coach."

"Good rest, Weasley."

Ginny closed the door. Her walk was uncertain, but she retraced her steps until she was back in front of Harry's door, and then, feeling as if her hand didn't belong to her, she knocked on his door. Her heart leaped painfully five times before Harry answered it; he hadn't changed his clothes, and it didn't seem as if he had done anything other than just staying still, staring at the wall.

"Yes?" He called, when Ginny didn't say anything.

She forced herself to breathe. "I spoke to your father." Harry looked alarmed at once. "He will not suspend you."

Harry's gaze moved over her face. "What happened to let one fight their own battles?"

Being in love with someone might lead you to lose your head sometimes. Ginny shook her head. "Guess I get to be reckless as well."

"And stupid," he suggested, eyes softening.

"Very very stupid," agreed Ginny. "I'm sorry we argued."

His mouth shifted between a grimace and a smile. "We were arguing? I thought we were just playing who could stay silent the longest."

A chuckle left her lips. "Prat."

"See? We couldn't be arguing. You didn't call me a prat before."

"It's because I save it for special moments." Ginny sighed. "I wish you hadn't fought Harper today." When Harry opened his mouth, she shook her head. "I know you don't regret it, but still, I wish he had no more influence in our lives."

"That's… fair. Hard to ignore that prick, though."

"Just catch the Snitch first." She watched him for a moment. "Promise me you won't fall for his bait again."

"I… I will try."

"Harry."

"Ginny." He sighed heavily. "Fine. I promise you. I will just ignore him."

"Good." Her gaze fell to his lips; for a heartbeat, she imagined raising on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips, a tender brush just to reassure him that every time she had kissed him had been for selfish reasons, for her own desire; never because of someone else.

She bit her lip and looked away. "I should—"

"Yeah."

Ginny didn't move, though. "Things might get easier from now on with your father."

"How so?"

"I... I think I've impressed him with an unhealthy dose of disregard for hierarchy, or—or my passionate defence was enough to deem me worthy of you." Harry shook his head, looking amused. "I mean it. It seemed as if your father didn't think I was into it as much as you. You convinced him better than I did."

"Hum." Harry bit the inside of his cheeks and didn't elaborate.

"Anyway, I might get a few extra push-ups tomorrow, but it will be a fair price. He reminded me that no matter how in love with you I am, I cannot burst into his office." She waited for a chuckle that Harry didn't grant her, seemingly busy with the Snitch that had fled from his pocket.

"Hum."

"Yeah. So—good night, Harry."

The Snitch eluded Harry, flying inside his room. "Good night, Ginny," he said tiredly, then closed the door of his room before the Snitch could fly away.


A.N.: Hey! If you enjoy this story, please leave a review! I usually post only on AO3, so it would be nice to know people still read this story on FFN. Thank you so much!