As it turned out, avoiding Draco like the plague was not quite as difficult as I had anticipated it to be. There were, of course, other friends on the team with whom I enjoyed spending time, and very important games on which to concentrate. But the most helpful thing of all was what I found out a few days later when I was called in to Andrew's office.
And by "helpful," I mean "completely horrible."
"You're what?"
Andrew held up his hands placatingly. "Now, now, Ginny, you have to understand - "
"You're trading me? You, you, you - Oh! I can't - You bastard! I've given you the best years of my life!" I shrieked.
(This was not strictly true. I am sometimes given to hyperbole.)
"Yes, of course, and we have truly appreciated having you on the team. It's just that... Well, the truth is, we just can't afford you for much longer, and what with Phillippa..."
"Oh, Phillippa," I scoffed. I knew she was after my job, that soulless wench.
"Well, she comes quite a bit cheaper than you do..." Andrew reasoned.
I snorted derisively and tamped down the urge to toss off a jab at Phillippa being cheap.
It was at this point that my agent, having thus far deflected my sparks of rage, decided to enter the fray. "Of course, the timing isn't what one would consider ideal," Matilda said, shooting a pointed look at Andrew. Appleby was trading me to Puddlemere, the team that just happened to currently be in the middle of a three-game series with us. This meant that, when the trade went through that night as planned, I'd switch clubhouses and uniforms, and play against the Arrows the very next day. Even worse, the Arrows were the home team for this series.
"But in all," Matilda continued calmly, "this does seem like a logical trade." She held up a hand to silence my impending objections. "There's no question of your skill here, Ginny. Puddlemere is dying for a competent Chaser. Just to get you on their team, Puddlemere is willing to trade three junior players, pick up the remainder of your contract, and pay you much more than you could ever hope to get as an Arrow."
Well, that part was at least a bright spot in these otherwise disastrous developments. "I suppose that's true," I conceded grudgingly.
"And of course you know as well as anyone that with the size of our current payroll, we have to rely on the strength of our farm system," Andrew said quickly, taking advantage of my momentary willingness to listen to reason. "It's not you, Red. You're great on the team and the fans love you. It's just... It's business, you understand."
"Yeah, business," I huffed.
It wasn't that I didn't get it. I did. Taken from a purely strategic point of view, the Arrows would be mad not to agree to the trade - they were losing a good player for sure, but they'd also gain three younger players just bursting with talent and potential, at half the cost. And for a team that struggled yearly with getting revenue and payroll to just break even, it was a decision that required almost no consideration. I got it. But still, why did it have to be me?
I couldn't go back to the house. Not yet. It would mean I'd have to pack everything up and say goodbye. It would mean having to put on a brave face while my teammates took turns saying hollow words of comfort that I wouldn't hear, when all I really wanted to do was smash things to bits and curse.
Trades weren't uncommon; a hundred of them happened every year to all sorts of players, and if I expected longevity in this field, I would just have to accept the fact that I could very well be traded at a moment's notice a dozen times throughout the course of my career. And maybe it would get easier as the years rolled on, but having started my career with the Arrows, I was having a difficult time adjusting to the thought of leaving.
So I went to the practice pitch instead for one last pass around my home field.
With single-minded determination, I dove for non-existent Quaffles, swerved away from invisible opponents, felt ghostly waves of air brush past my face as if a Bludger had just whizzed by. I'd make them regret ever letting me go. I'd be instrumental in Puddlemere's imminent victory at the World Cup. I'd be the best Chaser ever to grace this earth. I'd -
"Weasley."
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Who else could it be? "What?" I snapped, suddenly feeling angrier than before.
"I - We heard about the trade."
"Me too. Surprise!" I said sarcastically, turning my broom around so I could face Draco.
This was a mistake. As soon as I met his eyes, my cheeks burned with the indignity of it all. He had told me once that he thought I was a great Chaser, and I now felt that I'd somehow let him down by ultimately being tradable, expendable. The reasonable part of me knew I was being silly. I didn't owe him anything, and I certainly wasn't a horrid Quidditch player either. Being traded didn't mean people didn't like me, or that I was incompetent; being traded meant I was being traded. And yet the reasonable part of me still couldn't reason away the feeling of failure that repeatedly kicked me in the gut with every minute he hung in mid-air next to me.
I didn't know whether it was because I respected him as an incredible Quidditch player or because I was madly and stupidly in love with him, but I wanted him, possibly more than anyone else, to be proud of me. And clearly, this was not a proud moment for me.
"Weasley," he said again. "It's... really too bad. It won't be the same without you. But I suppose that's just the nature of this business," he mused.
Comforting words, if I ever heard them. "Right," I said, preparing to take off again. "Leave me alone, Malfoy."
"It's nothing against you - "
"What are you, Andrew's lackey now? Look, I don't need you to explain business decisions to me. What I need right now is a friend who will tell me that I'm going to be all right, and I'm going to be the greatest Chaser who ever lived and that this trade decision will go down in history as the stupidest mistake the Arrows have ever made."
"Oh," he said, after a moment. "Well, frankly, I figured you already knew all that."
"I didn't," I said, a little bemused.
"You should."
"I haven't got a head nearly as big as yours."
He smirked. "Still, if it would make you feel better - you're a good Chaser. And I'm not saying that just because it's what you want to hear. You haven't even reached your prime yet; if you keep playing the way you do, you're going to be superb in the next few years. Truth is, if I were the one making the decisions, I wouldn't even consider you up for trade. You're bound for brilliance, Weasley. I'd never let you go."
I blinked and swallowed a lump in my throat.
"That is, of course, until you get old and become rubbish at this game."
"Oh, thanks, that really warms my heart," I said.
"I live to please."
"You're such an arse."
"So you keep telling me."
"Well, it bears repeating," I said, fighting a sudden urge to smile.
"Weasley, you know what I'll miss most of all?" Draco asked as we lowered our brooms to the ground. "How you never quite know when to shut up."
"Oh, if that isn't just the pot calling the kettle black," I said, dismounting.
"But you're not a Black, you're a Weasley."
"Oh, Malfoy," I said sweetly. "Has the news of my trade just rattled all the wit right out of you?"
"Yeah, you're right," he laughed. "That was pretty weak. Tell you what, I'll work on it, and after the Arrows crush Puddlemere in the World Cup qualifiers, we'll do lunch and I'll amaze you with my linguistic agility once more."
"Already with the smack talk, are we?"
As we neared the house, Draco turned to look back, where the sun was just about to set behind us. "Well, considering you'll be wearing blue and gold in a matter of hours, I think it's only fair that I get in as much psychological damage as I can."
I smiled wistfully at the back of his head. Bantering came easily to us, and the comfortable camaraderie that we had fostered over the past few months was probably part of the reason I fell for him. And perhaps that was all we were meant to have. Tomorrow I would have a new identity, and my new job would take me to a different part of the country entirely. Maybe we would see each other once in a while, but probably only in passing; maybe we would wave or stop to say hi, and then carry on without the other. And in time I would learn to be okay with that.
I gave him a hug, taking care not to linger, and went inside.
"Good to have you with us, Ginny," Oliver said, clapping me on the shoulder as we filed out towards the pitch. "I think you'll fit right in."
"Thanks," I said, glad that I at least knew Oliver somewhat well. "It's, er - well, I hope I do."
"Don't worry," he said comfortingly. "These are a pretty cracking lot, and we're happy to have a new Chaser on board. Just play as you normally do." He shrugged and grinned.
I shot him a grateful but tight smile, hoping that the butterflies currently doing medal-worthy gymnastics in my stomach wouldn't put me out of commission for my first game as a Pud U player. It felt strange even just saying the term in my head. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm Puddlemere United's new Chaser. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm Puddlemere United's new Chaser. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm about to throw up.
Distantly, I heard the announcer begin to call my teammates up into the air, and watched as they each pushed off the ground in turn to the cheers of their fans and the polite applause of the home Arrows crowd.
"And please welcome Puddlemere's newest player," the announcer's voice boomed across the pitch. I took a deep breath. "In the Chasing position, Ginny Weasley!"
As I rose into the sky, I felt the air shift, somehow giving the feeling that there was something electrifying in the roaring crowd. It took me a moment to realize that they were on their feet, cheering me on, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into a hard knot that rose into my throat. Beyond the urge to cry, I felt incredibly lucky to be so appreciated even though I was now on the opposing team. Tomorrow, in the coming days, weeks, years, they would embrace other players as their own and forget about me. But this, right now, was my moment. This would be my last hurrah, in a way, to thank the Arrows fans for their support by playing my best game yet.
So I did.
Although I had initially been a bit apprehensive going in to a new team mid-season, finding my footing at Puddlemere turned out not to be a problem at all, especially since I had already known the Captain for yonks. It also didn't hurt that, as compared to the Chaser I had replaced, my playing style fit in much better with the other two starting Chasers, resulting in some very tight and well-executed plays that helped put us in serious contention for the World Cup. It was all very exciting, and the Pud U players accepted me into the fold without much question, for which I was both grateful and glad.
But still, of course, things weren't quite the same. There were days when I rather missed the easy friendships I had with some of my old teammates (no prizes for guessing which ones). Obviously, it did no good to dwell and cry over spilt milk and all that. Simply, there was nothing to do but move on.
Easier said than done, of course.
The Quidditch season ended, well, rather anticlimactically, really, for both Appleby and Puddlemere. We were both eliminated in the second round of World Cup qualifiers and that was the end of that. While it would have been the experience of a lifetime to be able to play in the World Cup, I was still glad to be able to go home to the Burrow and take a long and well-deserved break.
I was just settling down to a good, guilt-inducing read of a trashy magazine when I heard a loud pop coming from the living room downstairs.
"Anyone home?" Fred's voice rang out.
"Me!" I shouted.
"Oh, good," Fred yelled back, and a second later I heard him clomping up the stairs. I hastily discarded my rag to the floor.
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked when he popped his head into my room.
"Business is slow today. It's boring," he groused, pushing my feet out of the way so he could sit on the bed. "Not that George minds very much, of course."
"The cute new assistant?"
"Cute new assistant." Fred nodded. "Can't stand it. They flirt all bloody day long and neither one's got balls enough to do anything about it."
"You're just jealous it's not you she's flirting with," I teased.
"Well, yeah! I'm clearly the more dashing of us two!" Fred laughed.
"I don't think that's - " I said, cut off by a knock on the front door. "Oh, who could that be?"
"Let's see," Fred said, yanking me off the bed and down the stairs. He pulled the front door wide open. "Yeees?" he said with exaggerated interest.
"Er - There a Ginny Weasley here?" said someone from behind a gigantic bouquet of flowers.
"Yeah, I got her right here," said Fred, jerking a thumb in my direction.
"Here you are," said the flower man, dumping the flowers in my arms. He tipped his cap and went on his way.
Fred closed the door. "Well? What are they for? Did I forget your birthday again?"
"Lucky for you, no," I said, pulling out and reading the attached card. "Oh," I said after a moment, handing the card to Fred, who read it, turned it over and back, and read it again.
He looked at me askance. "You sure this is for you?"
"Don't be daft, Fred," I said. "How many other Ginny Weasleys do you know who live in Ottery St. Catchpole?"
"I'm just saying it might have been a mistake. Misdelivered. What would Malfoy want with you when he's got what's-her-name?"
"What, I'm not good enough for him?"
"No, no, I didn't say that, you twit. It's just that he's already got a bird, hasn't he? What's he need you for?"
"Well, I don't bloody know!"
"No need to get worked up, Gin. Just trying to clear things up is all."
I shot him a quelling look.
"Lovely flowers, though," he said placatingly.
"Aren't they?" I agreed, and scooped them up to my room so I could be alone to think.
Of all the days for Fred to pop by unannounced, it had to be the one where Draco Malfoy sent me a bouquet of tulips with an attached card asking me to accompany him to the 72nd annual Excellence in Sports Awards ceremony.
Hope purred softly in my chest and I shut it up right quick.
Draco's face stared at me from the floor. I picked up the glossy magazine, which featured a picture of him and Phillippa Frost on the cover in which they both looked bored, or at best, indifferent. Emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow, the headline read simply, "Split!"
Did I dare hope? No, probably not. I wasn't proud of it, but I had gotten into the habit of picking up nearly every publication that featured Draco, from the kind that ended up as fishwrap the next day to the high-class men's fashion magazine in which he modeled pants and not much else. (That particular issue was tucked securely away under my bed. Hey, I said I wasn't proud of it.) And considering the fact that these magazines changed their tune about the status of Draco and Phillippa's relationship every other week, it would probably be safe to assume that this most recent alleged split had no basis in reality - which, you know, bugger.
But more importantly, what was I to say to his invitation? Fred did have a point - Draco had Phillippa; what would he want with me? Was Phillippa otherwise engaged on that particular night? Had they indeed split up? And if so, was I some sort of rebound girl? Perhaps he'd finally come to his senses and realised I was the love of his life. Or maybe they were on the verge of a split, and I was the back-up date. The possibilities were endless and they all led to more questions, each one asked more shrilly in my head than the last.
I flopped onto the bed. "Stupid," I groaned into my pillow.
"Oh, come now, Weasley, don't be so hard on yourself," came Draco's voice, which sounded oddly clear and... present.
I jerked my head up to face the doorway, where Draco stood, leaning casually against the doorframe. Suavely, I shrieked.
"What are the soles of your shoes made of?" I demanded, leaping to my feet. He was a stealthy bugger, this one, and this certainly wasn't the first time he'd scared the living daylights out of me with his sneaking. I wasn't sure if he just liked doing it to me, or if it was just how he naturally moved. In any case, here he was, standing in my bedroom, hands in his pockets, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Gin," Fred's voice floated up from somewhere downstairs. "You've got a visitor. He's... somewhere around here..."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Fred," I shouted. Lord, between the two of us the Burrow could get burgled in broad daylight and we wouldn't even notice anything was amiss until two days later.
"Nice place you've got here," Draco said with a half-smile, taking in his surroundings.
I suppressed a groan and collected myself. "What are you doing here?"
"I sent you flowers and a question, and I got tired of waiting, so I thought I'd come by, see if you had an answer yet."
I looked at the flowers and blinked uncomprehendingly. "I got those not twenty minutes ago."
"Well, this may surprise you, but of my many virtues, patience is pretty low on the list."
"I - uh - I haven't decided yet," I hedged. Truthfully, as soon as I'd read the card I wanted to scream "Yes!" from the mountaintops, but I figured I mightn't want to show my hand before I knew what his impetus was for asking. Besides, things were... complicated. Tricky business, this.
"So there is a chance you'll say yes?"
"Mmr," I said noncommittally. "What's in it for me?"
"You get to spend hours of mind-numbing awards show performances in my company, of course."
"Surely you can do better than that. I went last year, you know. It was a dead bore. I think I'd rather stay home with a cup of tea."
"They give out nice gift bags?"
I laughed. "Good one." Last year our gift bags consisted of an extra-large t-shirt, a disposable mac, and a three Galleon Honeydukes coupon. Really great swag, we got there.
Draco smiled and shrugged. "How about I take you out for supper after?"
Something in my stomach did a little leap at his offer. Still, "Malfoy, I like the relationship I have with the press. That is to say, we don't have much of one, and I don't fancy having my picture taken and then splashed all over the tabloids the next day, accusing me of being some sort of tart who's about to be responsible for breaking you and Frost up."
"That's understandable, but if it helps, we actually broke up a couple of weeks ago."
"Really?" I suppose that although I was chuffed to bits inside, I really ought to have said something comforting or sympathetic, but what came out of my mouth next was, "Hey, Entertainment Digest did get it right! That's a first."
"You read that rubbish?" he asked incredulously.
"Oh, no, only when you're in it." Shit. There were times when I considered myself unbearably idiotic, and this was one such shining moment. I forced a grin, hoping he would think I was being sarcastic or making some sort of lousy joke. Maybe he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between my plastered-on Cheshire Cat grin and my normal, human smile. I coughed weakly.
"Is that so?" he asked, almost innocently, and strolled over to the bed, where my copy of Entertainment Digest was lying open. He picked it up and studied the cover. "Not my best shot," he said, making a dissatisfied face at the way his own visage stared back at him, unimpressed. "Anyway, my point is, if there's nothing to break up, I suppose the worst story they'll make up about you is that we're madly in love now. And that isn't so bad, is it?"
"I suppose not," I said slowly. Especially considering the fact that it would be partially true on my end.
"And, you know, it wouldn't all be slander, seeing as at least I'm in love with you," he said. It came out so casually that for a moment I wondered if I'd just had an auditory hallucination.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"You heard me, Weasley."
"You - you - you - Nooo..." I said, showing off my intellectual side. "Wha - Since when?"
Draco shrugged. "A while."
I gaped at him. "Are you joking? You're joking, aren't you? Well, it's not a very good joke!"
"That's because it isn't one," he said, looking at me as though I'd just gone insane.
"Wh - I - Oh, I can't - You can't be serious," I said. I had no idea why I was being so contrary, considering this was perhaps the best news I'd heard in my entire life.
"I thought you'd have cottoned on by now! Come on, Weasley, I thought I was pretty fucking obvious about it; I followed you around that stupid house like a damned puppy! What, did you think I just had fantastically good timing whenever you had a moment alone?"
"Er, yeah?"
Draco shot me a look of disbelief.
"Well, the house wasn't that big! And there were, what, sixteen of us living there; we'd have had to run into each other frequently enough. It's like the law of probabilities!" I could hear myself saying these words as they tumbled messily out of my mouth and it was as though someone else was saying these silly things. The part of me that had nothing at all to do with the talking rather wanted to smack the part of me that did.
"I can't believe anyone could be that dense," he huffed.
"Hey," I said, my hackles up. "I may not be very observant, but it's not as though you've cornered the market on paying attention. I was probably in love with you first, and it's not like you'd ever noticed!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded.
"There was the poker, and France, and then that stupid - oh god, that stupid dream, and then you were standing there with your nice-smelling sweater and - "
"Do you mean to tell me that you've been in love with me this whole time and you've never said a word?"
"Don't make this into all my fault! You've only just said anything yourself, and I wasn't about to confess my feelings to a person who was dating someone else!"
"I'd never have even considered dating her if I'd known I had chance with you!"
"Why didn't you ever ask, then?"
"Because I didn't think I had a chance!"
"Why the hell not?"
"Oi!" shouted Fred, flinging my bedroom door wide open. "You lot best keep it down in here. I'm trying to listen to the radio! Children..." he muttered exasperatedly as he went downstairs again.
Suddenly drained of momentum, I looked at Draco sheepishly. "I think we've just had the stupidest fight ever."
He grinned at me. "So, what do you say, Weasley? Care to accompany me to the awards ceremony?"
"Draco, we just professed our love for each other in probably the worst way possible, and all you can think about is the sports awards?"
"Well, to be fair, I'm also thinking about kissing you, but it didn't seem quite the right time to say so," he said, then added, "Until right this very moment."
"That's an interesting thought. Care to expound?"
"Well, in my head, it was going to go something like this," he said, stepping closer and putting his arms around my waist, pulling me gently towards him. He bent his head and pressed his lips against mine, and sometimes people say they lose themselves in a kiss and sort of melt away, but I could feel everything all at once, the warmth of his hands on my back, the softness of his lips, the silkiness of his hair between my fingers. And it was all there, in front of me, surrounding me, and it was him, and it was perfect.
"So," Draco said, pulling away slightly after a minute. His cheeks were tinged with pink and his hair unruly from my fingers, and there was no possible way I could love him more. "What do you think of my plan to kiss you?"
"Well, it's going to be difficult to improve on perfection, but I think we might want to give it a try."
"Gladly. But you know," he said with a smirk, "we may have to spend the rest of our lives trying to top ourselves here."
I kissed him again. "I'll take that chance."
And by "helpful," I mean "completely horrible."
"You're what?"
Andrew held up his hands placatingly. "Now, now, Ginny, you have to understand - "
"You're trading me? You, you, you - Oh! I can't - You bastard! I've given you the best years of my life!" I shrieked.
(This was not strictly true. I am sometimes given to hyperbole.)
"Yes, of course, and we have truly appreciated having you on the team. It's just that... Well, the truth is, we just can't afford you for much longer, and what with Phillippa..."
"Oh, Phillippa," I scoffed. I knew she was after my job, that soulless wench.
"Well, she comes quite a bit cheaper than you do..." Andrew reasoned.
I snorted derisively and tamped down the urge to toss off a jab at Phillippa being cheap.
It was at this point that my agent, having thus far deflected my sparks of rage, decided to enter the fray. "Of course, the timing isn't what one would consider ideal," Matilda said, shooting a pointed look at Andrew. Appleby was trading me to Puddlemere, the team that just happened to currently be in the middle of a three-game series with us. This meant that, when the trade went through that night as planned, I'd switch clubhouses and uniforms, and play against the Arrows the very next day. Even worse, the Arrows were the home team for this series.
"But in all," Matilda continued calmly, "this does seem like a logical trade." She held up a hand to silence my impending objections. "There's no question of your skill here, Ginny. Puddlemere is dying for a competent Chaser. Just to get you on their team, Puddlemere is willing to trade three junior players, pick up the remainder of your contract, and pay you much more than you could ever hope to get as an Arrow."
Well, that part was at least a bright spot in these otherwise disastrous developments. "I suppose that's true," I conceded grudgingly.
"And of course you know as well as anyone that with the size of our current payroll, we have to rely on the strength of our farm system," Andrew said quickly, taking advantage of my momentary willingness to listen to reason. "It's not you, Red. You're great on the team and the fans love you. It's just... It's business, you understand."
"Yeah, business," I huffed.
It wasn't that I didn't get it. I did. Taken from a purely strategic point of view, the Arrows would be mad not to agree to the trade - they were losing a good player for sure, but they'd also gain three younger players just bursting with talent and potential, at half the cost. And for a team that struggled yearly with getting revenue and payroll to just break even, it was a decision that required almost no consideration. I got it. But still, why did it have to be me?
I couldn't go back to the house. Not yet. It would mean I'd have to pack everything up and say goodbye. It would mean having to put on a brave face while my teammates took turns saying hollow words of comfort that I wouldn't hear, when all I really wanted to do was smash things to bits and curse.
Trades weren't uncommon; a hundred of them happened every year to all sorts of players, and if I expected longevity in this field, I would just have to accept the fact that I could very well be traded at a moment's notice a dozen times throughout the course of my career. And maybe it would get easier as the years rolled on, but having started my career with the Arrows, I was having a difficult time adjusting to the thought of leaving.
So I went to the practice pitch instead for one last pass around my home field.
With single-minded determination, I dove for non-existent Quaffles, swerved away from invisible opponents, felt ghostly waves of air brush past my face as if a Bludger had just whizzed by. I'd make them regret ever letting me go. I'd be instrumental in Puddlemere's imminent victory at the World Cup. I'd be the best Chaser ever to grace this earth. I'd -
"Weasley."
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Who else could it be? "What?" I snapped, suddenly feeling angrier than before.
"I - We heard about the trade."
"Me too. Surprise!" I said sarcastically, turning my broom around so I could face Draco.
This was a mistake. As soon as I met his eyes, my cheeks burned with the indignity of it all. He had told me once that he thought I was a great Chaser, and I now felt that I'd somehow let him down by ultimately being tradable, expendable. The reasonable part of me knew I was being silly. I didn't owe him anything, and I certainly wasn't a horrid Quidditch player either. Being traded didn't mean people didn't like me, or that I was incompetent; being traded meant I was being traded. And yet the reasonable part of me still couldn't reason away the feeling of failure that repeatedly kicked me in the gut with every minute he hung in mid-air next to me.
I didn't know whether it was because I respected him as an incredible Quidditch player or because I was madly and stupidly in love with him, but I wanted him, possibly more than anyone else, to be proud of me. And clearly, this was not a proud moment for me.
"Weasley," he said again. "It's... really too bad. It won't be the same without you. But I suppose that's just the nature of this business," he mused.
Comforting words, if I ever heard them. "Right," I said, preparing to take off again. "Leave me alone, Malfoy."
"It's nothing against you - "
"What are you, Andrew's lackey now? Look, I don't need you to explain business decisions to me. What I need right now is a friend who will tell me that I'm going to be all right, and I'm going to be the greatest Chaser who ever lived and that this trade decision will go down in history as the stupidest mistake the Arrows have ever made."
"Oh," he said, after a moment. "Well, frankly, I figured you already knew all that."
"I didn't," I said, a little bemused.
"You should."
"I haven't got a head nearly as big as yours."
He smirked. "Still, if it would make you feel better - you're a good Chaser. And I'm not saying that just because it's what you want to hear. You haven't even reached your prime yet; if you keep playing the way you do, you're going to be superb in the next few years. Truth is, if I were the one making the decisions, I wouldn't even consider you up for trade. You're bound for brilliance, Weasley. I'd never let you go."
I blinked and swallowed a lump in my throat.
"That is, of course, until you get old and become rubbish at this game."
"Oh, thanks, that really warms my heart," I said.
"I live to please."
"You're such an arse."
"So you keep telling me."
"Well, it bears repeating," I said, fighting a sudden urge to smile.
"Weasley, you know what I'll miss most of all?" Draco asked as we lowered our brooms to the ground. "How you never quite know when to shut up."
"Oh, if that isn't just the pot calling the kettle black," I said, dismounting.
"But you're not a Black, you're a Weasley."
"Oh, Malfoy," I said sweetly. "Has the news of my trade just rattled all the wit right out of you?"
"Yeah, you're right," he laughed. "That was pretty weak. Tell you what, I'll work on it, and after the Arrows crush Puddlemere in the World Cup qualifiers, we'll do lunch and I'll amaze you with my linguistic agility once more."
"Already with the smack talk, are we?"
As we neared the house, Draco turned to look back, where the sun was just about to set behind us. "Well, considering you'll be wearing blue and gold in a matter of hours, I think it's only fair that I get in as much psychological damage as I can."
I smiled wistfully at the back of his head. Bantering came easily to us, and the comfortable camaraderie that we had fostered over the past few months was probably part of the reason I fell for him. And perhaps that was all we were meant to have. Tomorrow I would have a new identity, and my new job would take me to a different part of the country entirely. Maybe we would see each other once in a while, but probably only in passing; maybe we would wave or stop to say hi, and then carry on without the other. And in time I would learn to be okay with that.
I gave him a hug, taking care not to linger, and went inside.
"Good to have you with us, Ginny," Oliver said, clapping me on the shoulder as we filed out towards the pitch. "I think you'll fit right in."
"Thanks," I said, glad that I at least knew Oliver somewhat well. "It's, er - well, I hope I do."
"Don't worry," he said comfortingly. "These are a pretty cracking lot, and we're happy to have a new Chaser on board. Just play as you normally do." He shrugged and grinned.
I shot him a grateful but tight smile, hoping that the butterflies currently doing medal-worthy gymnastics in my stomach wouldn't put me out of commission for my first game as a Pud U player. It felt strange even just saying the term in my head. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm Puddlemere United's new Chaser. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm Puddlemere United's new Chaser. Hi, I'm Ginny Weasley, I'm about to throw up.
Distantly, I heard the announcer begin to call my teammates up into the air, and watched as they each pushed off the ground in turn to the cheers of their fans and the polite applause of the home Arrows crowd.
"And please welcome Puddlemere's newest player," the announcer's voice boomed across the pitch. I took a deep breath. "In the Chasing position, Ginny Weasley!"
As I rose into the sky, I felt the air shift, somehow giving the feeling that there was something electrifying in the roaring crowd. It took me a moment to realize that they were on their feet, cheering me on, and the butterflies in my stomach turned into a hard knot that rose into my throat. Beyond the urge to cry, I felt incredibly lucky to be so appreciated even though I was now on the opposing team. Tomorrow, in the coming days, weeks, years, they would embrace other players as their own and forget about me. But this, right now, was my moment. This would be my last hurrah, in a way, to thank the Arrows fans for their support by playing my best game yet.
So I did.
Although I had initially been a bit apprehensive going in to a new team mid-season, finding my footing at Puddlemere turned out not to be a problem at all, especially since I had already known the Captain for yonks. It also didn't hurt that, as compared to the Chaser I had replaced, my playing style fit in much better with the other two starting Chasers, resulting in some very tight and well-executed plays that helped put us in serious contention for the World Cup. It was all very exciting, and the Pud U players accepted me into the fold without much question, for which I was both grateful and glad.
But still, of course, things weren't quite the same. There were days when I rather missed the easy friendships I had with some of my old teammates (no prizes for guessing which ones). Obviously, it did no good to dwell and cry over spilt milk and all that. Simply, there was nothing to do but move on.
Easier said than done, of course.
The Quidditch season ended, well, rather anticlimactically, really, for both Appleby and Puddlemere. We were both eliminated in the second round of World Cup qualifiers and that was the end of that. While it would have been the experience of a lifetime to be able to play in the World Cup, I was still glad to be able to go home to the Burrow and take a long and well-deserved break.
I was just settling down to a good, guilt-inducing read of a trashy magazine when I heard a loud pop coming from the living room downstairs.
"Anyone home?" Fred's voice rang out.
"Me!" I shouted.
"Oh, good," Fred yelled back, and a second later I heard him clomping up the stairs. I hastily discarded my rag to the floor.
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked when he popped his head into my room.
"Business is slow today. It's boring," he groused, pushing my feet out of the way so he could sit on the bed. "Not that George minds very much, of course."
"The cute new assistant?"
"Cute new assistant." Fred nodded. "Can't stand it. They flirt all bloody day long and neither one's got balls enough to do anything about it."
"You're just jealous it's not you she's flirting with," I teased.
"Well, yeah! I'm clearly the more dashing of us two!" Fred laughed.
"I don't think that's - " I said, cut off by a knock on the front door. "Oh, who could that be?"
"Let's see," Fred said, yanking me off the bed and down the stairs. He pulled the front door wide open. "Yeees?" he said with exaggerated interest.
"Er - There a Ginny Weasley here?" said someone from behind a gigantic bouquet of flowers.
"Yeah, I got her right here," said Fred, jerking a thumb in my direction.
"Here you are," said the flower man, dumping the flowers in my arms. He tipped his cap and went on his way.
Fred closed the door. "Well? What are they for? Did I forget your birthday again?"
"Lucky for you, no," I said, pulling out and reading the attached card. "Oh," I said after a moment, handing the card to Fred, who read it, turned it over and back, and read it again.
He looked at me askance. "You sure this is for you?"
"Don't be daft, Fred," I said. "How many other Ginny Weasleys do you know who live in Ottery St. Catchpole?"
"I'm just saying it might have been a mistake. Misdelivered. What would Malfoy want with you when he's got what's-her-name?"
"What, I'm not good enough for him?"
"No, no, I didn't say that, you twit. It's just that he's already got a bird, hasn't he? What's he need you for?"
"Well, I don't bloody know!"
"No need to get worked up, Gin. Just trying to clear things up is all."
I shot him a quelling look.
"Lovely flowers, though," he said placatingly.
"Aren't they?" I agreed, and scooped them up to my room so I could be alone to think.
Of all the days for Fred to pop by unannounced, it had to be the one where Draco Malfoy sent me a bouquet of tulips with an attached card asking me to accompany him to the 72nd annual Excellence in Sports Awards ceremony.
Hope purred softly in my chest and I shut it up right quick.
Draco's face stared at me from the floor. I picked up the glossy magazine, which featured a picture of him and Phillippa Frost on the cover in which they both looked bored, or at best, indifferent. Emblazoned across the cover in bright yellow, the headline read simply, "Split!"
Did I dare hope? No, probably not. I wasn't proud of it, but I had gotten into the habit of picking up nearly every publication that featured Draco, from the kind that ended up as fishwrap the next day to the high-class men's fashion magazine in which he modeled pants and not much else. (That particular issue was tucked securely away under my bed. Hey, I said I wasn't proud of it.) And considering the fact that these magazines changed their tune about the status of Draco and Phillippa's relationship every other week, it would probably be safe to assume that this most recent alleged split had no basis in reality - which, you know, bugger.
But more importantly, what was I to say to his invitation? Fred did have a point - Draco had Phillippa; what would he want with me? Was Phillippa otherwise engaged on that particular night? Had they indeed split up? And if so, was I some sort of rebound girl? Perhaps he'd finally come to his senses and realised I was the love of his life. Or maybe they were on the verge of a split, and I was the back-up date. The possibilities were endless and they all led to more questions, each one asked more shrilly in my head than the last.
I flopped onto the bed. "Stupid," I groaned into my pillow.
"Oh, come now, Weasley, don't be so hard on yourself," came Draco's voice, which sounded oddly clear and... present.
I jerked my head up to face the doorway, where Draco stood, leaning casually against the doorframe. Suavely, I shrieked.
"What are the soles of your shoes made of?" I demanded, leaping to my feet. He was a stealthy bugger, this one, and this certainly wasn't the first time he'd scared the living daylights out of me with his sneaking. I wasn't sure if he just liked doing it to me, or if it was just how he naturally moved. In any case, here he was, standing in my bedroom, hands in his pockets, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Gin," Fred's voice floated up from somewhere downstairs. "You've got a visitor. He's... somewhere around here..."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Fred," I shouted. Lord, between the two of us the Burrow could get burgled in broad daylight and we wouldn't even notice anything was amiss until two days later.
"Nice place you've got here," Draco said with a half-smile, taking in his surroundings.
I suppressed a groan and collected myself. "What are you doing here?"
"I sent you flowers and a question, and I got tired of waiting, so I thought I'd come by, see if you had an answer yet."
I looked at the flowers and blinked uncomprehendingly. "I got those not twenty minutes ago."
"Well, this may surprise you, but of my many virtues, patience is pretty low on the list."
"I - uh - I haven't decided yet," I hedged. Truthfully, as soon as I'd read the card I wanted to scream "Yes!" from the mountaintops, but I figured I mightn't want to show my hand before I knew what his impetus was for asking. Besides, things were... complicated. Tricky business, this.
"So there is a chance you'll say yes?"
"Mmr," I said noncommittally. "What's in it for me?"
"You get to spend hours of mind-numbing awards show performances in my company, of course."
"Surely you can do better than that. I went last year, you know. It was a dead bore. I think I'd rather stay home with a cup of tea."
"They give out nice gift bags?"
I laughed. "Good one." Last year our gift bags consisted of an extra-large t-shirt, a disposable mac, and a three Galleon Honeydukes coupon. Really great swag, we got there.
Draco smiled and shrugged. "How about I take you out for supper after?"
Something in my stomach did a little leap at his offer. Still, "Malfoy, I like the relationship I have with the press. That is to say, we don't have much of one, and I don't fancy having my picture taken and then splashed all over the tabloids the next day, accusing me of being some sort of tart who's about to be responsible for breaking you and Frost up."
"That's understandable, but if it helps, we actually broke up a couple of weeks ago."
"Really?" I suppose that although I was chuffed to bits inside, I really ought to have said something comforting or sympathetic, but what came out of my mouth next was, "Hey, Entertainment Digest did get it right! That's a first."
"You read that rubbish?" he asked incredulously.
"Oh, no, only when you're in it." Shit. There were times when I considered myself unbearably idiotic, and this was one such shining moment. I forced a grin, hoping he would think I was being sarcastic or making some sort of lousy joke. Maybe he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between my plastered-on Cheshire Cat grin and my normal, human smile. I coughed weakly.
"Is that so?" he asked, almost innocently, and strolled over to the bed, where my copy of Entertainment Digest was lying open. He picked it up and studied the cover. "Not my best shot," he said, making a dissatisfied face at the way his own visage stared back at him, unimpressed. "Anyway, my point is, if there's nothing to break up, I suppose the worst story they'll make up about you is that we're madly in love now. And that isn't so bad, is it?"
"I suppose not," I said slowly. Especially considering the fact that it would be partially true on my end.
"And, you know, it wouldn't all be slander, seeing as at least I'm in love with you," he said. It came out so casually that for a moment I wondered if I'd just had an auditory hallucination.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"You heard me, Weasley."
"You - you - you - Nooo..." I said, showing off my intellectual side. "Wha - Since when?"
Draco shrugged. "A while."
I gaped at him. "Are you joking? You're joking, aren't you? Well, it's not a very good joke!"
"That's because it isn't one," he said, looking at me as though I'd just gone insane.
"Wh - I - Oh, I can't - You can't be serious," I said. I had no idea why I was being so contrary, considering this was perhaps the best news I'd heard in my entire life.
"I thought you'd have cottoned on by now! Come on, Weasley, I thought I was pretty fucking obvious about it; I followed you around that stupid house like a damned puppy! What, did you think I just had fantastically good timing whenever you had a moment alone?"
"Er, yeah?"
Draco shot me a look of disbelief.
"Well, the house wasn't that big! And there were, what, sixteen of us living there; we'd have had to run into each other frequently enough. It's like the law of probabilities!" I could hear myself saying these words as they tumbled messily out of my mouth and it was as though someone else was saying these silly things. The part of me that had nothing at all to do with the talking rather wanted to smack the part of me that did.
"I can't believe anyone could be that dense," he huffed.
"Hey," I said, my hackles up. "I may not be very observant, but it's not as though you've cornered the market on paying attention. I was probably in love with you first, and it's not like you'd ever noticed!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded.
"There was the poker, and France, and then that stupid - oh god, that stupid dream, and then you were standing there with your nice-smelling sweater and - "
"Do you mean to tell me that you've been in love with me this whole time and you've never said a word?"
"Don't make this into all my fault! You've only just said anything yourself, and I wasn't about to confess my feelings to a person who was dating someone else!"
"I'd never have even considered dating her if I'd known I had chance with you!"
"Why didn't you ever ask, then?"
"Because I didn't think I had a chance!"
"Why the hell not?"
"Oi!" shouted Fred, flinging my bedroom door wide open. "You lot best keep it down in here. I'm trying to listen to the radio! Children..." he muttered exasperatedly as he went downstairs again.
Suddenly drained of momentum, I looked at Draco sheepishly. "I think we've just had the stupidest fight ever."
He grinned at me. "So, what do you say, Weasley? Care to accompany me to the awards ceremony?"
"Draco, we just professed our love for each other in probably the worst way possible, and all you can think about is the sports awards?"
"Well, to be fair, I'm also thinking about kissing you, but it didn't seem quite the right time to say so," he said, then added, "Until right this very moment."
"That's an interesting thought. Care to expound?"
"Well, in my head, it was going to go something like this," he said, stepping closer and putting his arms around my waist, pulling me gently towards him. He bent his head and pressed his lips against mine, and sometimes people say they lose themselves in a kiss and sort of melt away, but I could feel everything all at once, the warmth of his hands on my back, the softness of his lips, the silkiness of his hair between my fingers. And it was all there, in front of me, surrounding me, and it was him, and it was perfect.
"So," Draco said, pulling away slightly after a minute. His cheeks were tinged with pink and his hair unruly from my fingers, and there was no possible way I could love him more. "What do you think of my plan to kiss you?"
"Well, it's going to be difficult to improve on perfection, but I think we might want to give it a try."
"Gladly. But you know," he said with a smirk, "we may have to spend the rest of our lives trying to top ourselves here."
I kissed him again. "I'll take that chance."
Author notes: For those who find this sort of thing interesting, Ginny's trade situation was inspired by a real life baseball trade in 2004, in which the Minnesota Twins' first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz was traded to the Red Sox while the two teams were in the middle of a series. It was kinda sad at the time.
And on that note - It's done! A thousand million thanks to Mynuet for the beta and general improvements. And many, many thanks, of course, to everyone who's reviewed and stuck with the story even though I took forever and a day to finish it.
The End.
Adelagia is the author of 7 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 155 members. Members who liked Primrose Path also liked 1617 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 155 members. Members who liked Primrose Path also liked 1617 other stories.
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