Author's Notes: Hello all! I'm back with another story for our favorite couple. This isn't anything terribly new, but I wanted to explore a twist in the relationship and see how much fun I could have with the characters. Note the AU setting—this story deviates from the main canon by having Harry not at Hogwarts for his schooling. I think you'll get the picture as you dive in. Thanks goes to katwoman_68 and deadwoodpecker who did a brilliant job at beta, as usual. Enjoy the story and let me know what you think.

Chapter 1: Orbiting

Gravity: The fundamental force of attraction that all objects with mass have for each other.

Harry Potter let his eyes scan the pitch in front of him, a swell of pleasure and anticipation building inside him.

Soon it would be him out on that pitch, racing in the cool air, letting the thrill of the chase take over until nothing existed outside of the green of the grass and the blue of the sky. The urge to find a broom and simply force his way into the practice right now was great, but Harry resisted. Emory Linford wanted it to be a surprise, and had gone to great lengths to keep Harry's name out of the spotlight. It probably wouldn't do to ruin all of that by being impetuous. Sirius always said it was his worst quality; not that Sirius really should be faulting anyone for what he was guilty of himself.

Harry pushed the thought aside and moved out of the bright sunlight, tugging his cap low over his face.

A shadow passed over him and he looked up as Bradley Willman, the Arrow's current Seeker, flew past, leaning forward to close his hand around the Snitch. Willman wasn't bad, but he did lack…something. Harry wasn't sure what he would call it, but Linford assured Harry that what Willman was missing, Harry had in spades.

Playing professional Quidditch.

Some mornings, when Harry lay in his bed, it still seemed like a far distant dream that belonged to someone else. Surely Harry would roll over and find himself in the shadowy interior of Sirius' house, still immersed in the hell of war, or hiding in some remote place, shivering from cold while he and Sirius hunted down Horcrux after Horcrux.

Don't think about that.

The war was long over, Harry reminded himself, and he forced his mind from the dark thoughts back to the present. Quidditch. Fulfilling a dream and actually playing.

It was going to be brilliant. The attention Harry was bound to draw was going to be intense and he knew the press would be all over him, but he was willing to risk it for at least one season out there on the pitch.

After all, he'd had a few years of solitude while he traveled the world and did his best to make a life of his own.

Linford came up to stand next to Harry and watched as Willman scoured the pitch for his target.

"Have you seen it yet?"

"Twice," Harry grunted. His lips twisted up in a smile and Linford grinned.

"I told you it would come naturally to you." Linford sounds smug, as if he planned this whole great revolution of Quidditch himself. But Harry supposed that was just the nature of the man. He was rather smug.

Harry gave a noncommittal sound. Flying—even Seeking—wasn't what Harry was nervous about, actually. Those were no problem. It was being part of a team and being in the spotlight once more that Harry wasn't looking forward to. Harry saw himself as more of a solitary figure. He had worked with Sirius, and even Dumbledore, during the war, but in the end it had been Harry who needed to finish it.

"The flat is completely furnished now, so you can move in anytime." Linford jumped, as if he'd just remembered that fact. Harry watched with amusement as he described the posh place in great detail, nearly falling all over himself in an effort to please Harry. Despite his frequent protests that he didn't want special treatment, Harry knew it would come. The London flat was the only thing Harry had asked, actually, and the team went above and beyond, it sounded like.

That was alright, Harry supposed. It was just a flat, after all; a place for him to be when he wasn't at the pitch. He'd check it out later today and see about adding the necessary wards.

"Thanks."

Harry's single word cut off Linford's praise about how centrally located the flat was, and he shifted nervously. "Practice is almost over."

"I'd better go, then," Harry said. It was a relief to stumble on any excuse to leave. Harry knew he was going to have to change tactics when it came time to actually join the team, but for now it was easier to cling to the reclusive, solitary existence he'd kept for so long.

Linford held out his hand for Harry to shake. "I'll owl in a couple of days. We want to line up the new team publicity photo and have you meet everyone. They're going to do a feature about us."

"Perfect." Harry forced a smile that came easier than he expected.

It's all a game. Wasn't that what Sirius had said when Harry first approached him with the idea of coming back to England and playing Quidditch. 'The whole thing is a game—play it that way and you'll be fine.'

Harry could play this game. He could be the Harry Potter everyone wanted him to be—charming and charismatic, with a bit of an edge. He'd be whoever he needed to be to survive.

"I'll be there," Harry promised and gave the green pitch one last look before turning to leave.

Rather than Apparate to Scotland, as he had planned, Harry found himself in London, at the flat Appleby had secured for him.

It was spacious and very posh—far different than anyplace Harry had ever been, but it really didn't matter. Harry could stay just about anywhere. The pantry was well stocked and there were even framed photographs on the mantel. Harry peered at them and was amused to see he recognized no one. They were simply generic wizarding models, waving gaily at him and grinning—wizards and witches who he'd never met, set in frames to make the whole place feel warmer and welcoming, rather than sterile. Harry would take them down as soon as he moved his things in.

The view from the huge windows on one side of the flat, Harry couldn't complain about. It was magnificent and Harry pictured himself sitting right here every morning, sipping his breakfast tea and enjoying the sunrise.

He could live like this for a year—or maybe longer if things worked out.

The bedroom was nothing short of spectacular as well, with the huge bed all for him. Harry couldn't resist flopping back onto it and stretching against the soft duvet.

Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

Really, what he should try and do was coax Sirius down here, away from the house in Scotland, away from the shadows of the past and the pain he drown himself in every day. It would be hopeless, Harry knew. Sirius would never leave the house. He would never let himself exist away from the darkness of that world.

He would never allow himself to live without the ghosts of Remus, James, Lily, and even Peter Pettigrew haunting him.

Harry couldn't live like that anymore—stuck in the past—and so he'd left. Maybe it was selfish to disappear for years, but Sirius actually encouraged Harry to get out of Great Britain and see the world.

But now it was time for Harry to come back to where he belonged and truly start living.

Harry stared up at the pale magnolia ceiling and wondered if this was the right way to do it. Quidditch.

Again, the pleasant anticipation of playing filled him. Harry hadn't been excited about anything in years, it seemed.

Yes, this was the right way.

He stretched his arms behind his head and grinned. It felt like floating, really, to be here, not only in this flat, but in this position in life. The whole world was before him and Harry knew all he had to do was ask for something and it would appear.

Not that he would, but the idea that he could was interesting.

The brightness of the kitchen made Ginny squint when she walked in. It was late—mid-morning already, but Ginny didn't care; she didn't have to be anywhere today. It was one of the last days of her freedom before the Quidditch season started again and she was determined to savor every last moment before practice began again in earnest. Gwenog wasn't one for slacking off and letting them sleep in late.

As her eyes came into focus, she widened them at seeing Ron sitting there at her breakfast table. Tonks was rattling about in the kitchen and the smell of breakfast was in the air.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded in greeting.

Ron chuckled and sat back in his seat. "Morning, sunshine. Ginny, no offence, but you look like shi—"

"Leave off," Ginny grumbled and bumped his chair as she slumped into her own. "I was up late last night."

"Do I want to know who—"

"Just out with friends," Ginny dismissed with a wave, "nothing serious." She hadn't been out on a proper date in ages, it seemed. That was perfectly fine with Ginny, however. Romance wasn't really something she went in for anyway. The life of a professional Quidditch player didn't leave a whole lot of time for building relationships anyway, and she was still young. There would be plenty of time to find someone later.

"Because Merlin forbid you actually find someone—"

Ginny gave a low growl toward her brother and poured a cup of tea from the kettle steaming in the middle of the table. Ron's words faded out and he grinned at his sister.

"Exactly why are you here?"

"Won a bet. Tonks has to make me breakfast." Ron gave a satisfied little shrug and looked toward the kitchen where a rather large clattering sound escaped.

Ginny snorted. "You won and you're eating whatever Tonks is cooking?"

"I heard that!" Tonks called from the kitchen. Her spiky pink-topped head stuck out of the doorway and she glared at both of them.

Tonks and Ron had been Auror partners for almost a year and Ginny found their relationship extremely amusing. There was rarely a dull moment when they were together, yet they complemented each other nicely and were one of the top teams that the Ministry had.

"Ta da!" Tonks emerged carrying a plate full of eggs and toast in her hand. She slid the plate across the table with a flourish and, surprisingly, it landed exactly where it should, rather than in Ron's lap.

"I figured I was safe with breakfast," Ron reasoned. "You can't burn breakfast, can you?"

Ginny peered at the eggs, flecked with far too many black specks to be pepper, and bit the inside of her cheek to keep the laughter in. Tonks saw the look and her cheeks flushed, but she shoved Ron's toast on top of his plate, distracting him from the evidence of her culinary failings.

"The paper came," she turned to Ginny, "and there's a whole bit on Appleby."

"Ooo, give it here!" Ginny's eyes widened. She'd been waiting for this article for weeks now. Emory Linford—the manager of the Arrows—had been making an ass of himself, like usual, going on about how he was going to transform the slumping Arrows into the team to beat this year. He had strutted around the matches last spring like a puffed up peacock, making all sorts of claims about putting together the best Quidditch team the league had ever seen.

He was mostly full of hot air, Ginny thought. A retired player who had been injured several years ago, Linford had managed to scrape together enough credentials to land himself in a management position. He'd even shown up to several of the Harpies' games trying to scout various players, but the Harpies were a solid team, unlikely to be drawn away from a partnership that had won them the League Cup two years running.

Tonks retrieved the newspaper and levitated it in front of Ginny. Across the front of the Quidditch section was Linford's grinning face.

Arrow's Aim To Shake Up Quidditch World

Linford's Masterful Creation Of A Champion

"Come on, read it aloud," Ron prompted as he picked a gritty bit of something out of his teeth and scowled down at his remaining eggs.

Ginny snorted, but Tonks cleared her throat. "Yeah, Gin, read it aloud." Rather than draw attention to Ron's breakfast, Ginny sighed and began to read.

Ever since leaving professional Quidditch after a career-ending injury, Emory Linford has been waiting for his chance. "I know Quidditch still needs what I have to offer," the Manager of the Appleby Arrows said when he was first asked to return to the management team.

"More like bought his way on," Ginny grumbled.

"You think?" Ron sat up and peered at her. "Money's not supposed to have anything to do with it, not after they reworked the regulations."

"Money's always had something to do with it," Ginny pointed out, "and always will. That's how things are run, Ron." She returned to reading, ignoring the tentative way Ron was picking at what he could salvage from his meal.

"Crafting a championship team is more an art than a business," Linford points out. "You have to love the sport you're playing, and value the players that have mastered it. It's all about relationships, really."

"He's right," Ron interrupted again.

"He is," Ginny agreed, "but it doesn't help that he's a pompous ass about it. This article paints him in a good light, but…" She trailed off and grimaced at the man's reputation.

That ideal team is one that Linford says he's finally created. "It's taken me years of scouting," Linford says with pride, "but I've found the perfect blend of players, the strongest team that the League will ever see. We'll definitely be turning heads in a few weeks when we match up against the Wasps in the season opener."

If perfection was what Linford was aiming for, this reporter believes he may have found it. The team will be captained by Puddlemere United's former Keeper, Oliver Wood—

"Bloody buggering hell," Ginny hissed. "I can't believe he gave it to Wood!"

Ron whistled low. "Captain so young…blimey."

"No wonder he was able to lure Wood away from Puddlemere," Tonks pointed out. "That definitely tips the scales in his favor. Wood's really been coming into his own over the last two years. Puddlemere's no slouch."

Ginny blinked as she read the sentence again. She remembered Wood's zealous attitude about Quidditch from school and wondered how insane he would be now, with his own team again.

In fact, an almost complete overhaul of the entire program is taking place: new management, new players, and new strategies. Linford is determined to be at the top of the League this year. "We've culled the best from the teams and even brought in some new, fresh faces," Wood chimed into the interview. "Only the best will do for the Arrows!"

Linford is positively beaming when he continues to announce his carefully crafted team. Only one Chaser returns, in fact, amidst all new players for the Arrows. Damien Thickwhistle will keep his outside Chasing position while the other two spots have been awarded to Malakai Raff, from Falmouth, and Lorin Davies, a young player straight from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Davies is one of the most instinctual Chasers I've ever witnessed," Linford answers when the lad's age is brought into question. "It doesn't matter if he's fresh from school; he's one of the best players Quidditch will ever see."

"I don't remember him," Ron said with a scowl on his face.

"You wouldn't," Ginny dismissed, "he was younger than me, even. He would have only just finished this spring. And despite being with Falmouth, Raff is a decent bloke. He's got a bad reputation with women, but he never went in for all that rough play. I'd imagine this combination will work well."

"At least they've chucked Willman," Ron continued. "You flew circles around him last season, Gin."

Ginny grinned. Even though she'd been much more interested in a Chasing position, when the Harpies offered starting Seeker, Ginny hadn't been able to turn them down. And she'd grown into the position, despite her misgivings at first; she had played Seeker at Hogwarts, after all.

"I'm guessing Beaters will be those twins—what're their names?—from the Tornadoes?" Tonks asked. "Merkley?"

Ron gave a disgusted snort. "Not those two. They're horrid. I'd say Jacobus from the Wasps and Fortes from the Cannons."

"You're both wrong," Ginny chuckled and pointed at the print.

Beaters will be the most unlikely pair: Crispan Paxton, who used to play at Chaser for Montrose, and Newt Hammon, former Beater for the Catapults."

"Cor," Tonks breathed. "Hammon's a legend, almost."

Ginny had to admit that the man was an icon in the Quidditch world. Why he'd stuck it out with Caerphilly—a team that the Harpies repeatedly trounced—for so many years was a wonder.

"I've seen Paxton play—you know, Linford might be right about him being a better Beater than Chaser. He's got deadly accurate aim so when you put a bat in his hand…" Ginny shuddered and tried not to picture a Bludger coming her way, sent from that massive arm Paxton had.

"Who've they got for Seeker?" Ron demanded, "because it has to be someone extraordinary to keep up with that team."

"They should have recruited you," Tonks nudged Ginny, who blushed.

"Thanks, but I would have turned him down. I'm perfectly happy right where I am, at the top of the League."

Seeker is the final position that Linford filled. "You have to have someone who is head and shoulders above everyone else," Linford pointed out. "You don't just want a player in that position…you want a paramount athlete. You want someone who makes everyone sit up and take notice when they come out onto the pitch."

The Seeker is the star of the team, in a way, and who better to draw the crowd's eye than the iconic Harry Potter.

"Blimey," Ron whispered. "Have they really got…" He jumped out of his seat and peered over Ginny's shoulder to the photograph at the bottom of the article. Ginny blinked at it as well. Sure enough, directly in the center of the team photo was Harry Potter, grinning widely with his arms thrown over teammates' shoulders.

"Can he even play?" Tonks asked as she studied the picture.

"I assume so," Ginny breathed. She had to shake her head a bit to clear the fog and wrap her mind around the idea. "At least the stands will be full."

"Just to get a look at him," Ron nodded. "Wonder if he's any good."

"Finish reading it, Gin," Tonks prompted.

Ginny cleared her throat and tore her eyes from the handsome face in the middle of the page, and the bright green eyes that seemed to be watching her.

"If you thought Quidditch was beautiful before," Linford points out when asked about Potter's experience, "then wait until you see Potter on a broom; it's like…poetry." Fancy flying might be entertaining, but only time will tell whether Potter will be able to stand up to the intense schedule and rigor that Wood intends his players to abide.

"I have no doubts about Harry's abilities," Wood assures. "I've seen him play. I've scrimmaged with him and he's going to fit into this team perfectly."

"We've got a real chance here," Linford says. He beams at his players as they line up for their first official team photograph. "In the next season you're going to see blue and silver up there at the top."

"The League better watch out," Potter growls with a winning grin, "because the Arrows are coming for them."

When asked if his return to England was prompted by an offer to play, or the other way around, Potter simply said that it was time for him to come home. Potter declined to comment further on his rather reclusive status over the past few years and simply told reporters, "Listen, everyone, I'm part of a team. I'm a team player and I'm looking forward to working with everyone to create a cohesive unit that wins games." (For more about Potter, see "A Hero Returns" on page 5.)

"We'll be at the top this time next year. The Harpies better get ready!" Paxton laughs as the team makes jokes about Holyhead's League Champions. It's all a bit like a group of best friends already. The players seem comfortable around each other and determined to make waves in the Quidditch world.

Ginny scowled and pushed the paper away from her. "The rest is just prattling on about how brilliant Linford is." She wasn't quite sure how she felt about the new team, actually. Some good competition would be nice, but Ginny had grown comfortable and confident in her skills as a Seeker. She had to admit to being a bit intrigued by the idea of going up against Harry Potter. He was a legend, after all. If Linford was any judge, his flying must be amazing. This year would definitely be interesting.

Tonks flipped to the article about Harry Potter on page five, but quickly dismissed it as a rehashing of all the old information with nothing new to spice it up. She finally turned back to the front. "There's an announcement for the opening Quidditch Banquet made at the bottom," Tonks said as she scanned the last of the article. "You have to admit they're a good looking lot. I can't even decide which one is better looking. I might have to be your date to the dinner so I can choose in person."

Ginny smirked. Leave it to Tonks to be interested in the whole team. Honestly, Ginny thought Potter was the best looking of the bunch. Then again, she'd seen all the others before and none of them were surrounded in nearly as much mystery as The Chosen One. Perhaps it was that which drew Ginny's eye. And the eyes. Something about those brilliant green eyes wouldn't let Ginny look away.

Her childhood crush had faded many years ago—really, Potter was nothing more than a mythical hero in a bedtime story and a mention in the newspaper during the war. She'd never met the man.

"Not likely," Ginny scoffed and forced herself to nudge Tonks' shoulder. "I think I can find a decent date, thank you very much."

"No doubt," Ron laughed. "The blokes are queuing up to be with you, Gin. You've got your own ruddy fanclub, after all."

Ginny grimaced at the thought of actually having to find someone to take. A bloke expected something when you asked him to an event like the opening banquet. If they didn't want sex, they wanted to parade you around like some trophy and crow about how they'd managed to land you. And then they wanted sex.

"I may just ask Neville to go with me," Ginny sighed. Neville was safe. He was a great friend and he never expected more than her friendship. When they went out together he was attentive without being annoying, and was up for almost anything Ginny wanted to do. There was a time, in fact, when Ginny had actually considered a real relationship with Neville, but there was simply no spark between them. They got on well enough—famously, in fact—but when she was with him, Ginny felt as if she were with another of her brothers.

"Neville's great," Ron grinned. He knew Neville was a safe choice, as well, and he wouldn't have to read about some bloke drooling all over his sister in the papers. Ginny had heard the moans and groans about her dating life enough from her brothers over the past few years. She didn't need to give them ammunition willingly.

"We'd better get in, Ron," Tonks sighed reluctantly. "Much as I'd rather lounge about the flat like others I know…" She gave Ginny a knowing grin and Ginny very nearly pulled her wand to hex the witch. "Some of us have to go out and keep the world safe."

Ron nodded slowly and pushed away from the table. "I think I'll go ahead of you. Meet you there." He playfully nudged Ginny with his foot and winked at her. "Let me know if you need my help finding a date, yeah? I know a few blokes that—"

"Get lost," Ginny growled. If she let Ron pick her dates, he'd have her seeing the dullest plonkers around, just to keep her virtue safe. "I won't mention to Tonks that you're planning on stopping by somewhere to get an edible breakfast."

"Oi!" Tonks bristled as Ron's ears turned red and he Apparated away.

"You know he's going to do it, Tonks," Ginny pointed out through her laughter. "What you gave him was hardly food, let alone enough for him to survive the morning on. Remember how much he used to pack away at each meal?"

"Maybe that was my point," Tonks sniffed disdainfully. "Maybe he'll stop making stupid bets that I'm always going to lose if he has to eat my cooking a time or two."

Ginny laughed loudly and snatched the last piece of toast off Tonks' plate. "I think I may actually go in today, see if my kit is all ready for next week." She tried hard to push down the nervous flutter in her stomach. Really, she shouldn't be anything but confident about the Harpies chances this year; they were like a well-oiled Quidditch machine, churning out victories and climbing to the top of the League on nothing but sheer hard work.

"Someone sounds nervous," Tonks pointed out.

Ginny stared down at the photograph in the paper once more, slightly amused at how the men jostled each other good naturedly and vied for the spotlight. It was a bit immature, but Ginny knew it was all in good fun, having seen the behavior with all her brothers growing up. And Harry Potter looked completely at home in the center, grinning and laughing when one of the other players got up to something.

Yes, this year was definitely going to be interesting.