Waiting for the Letter

Ginny shook her head and tried to focus more on her task. Keeping the household accounts was getting to be a nightmare. Harry said he was more than willing to do it all himself, but she wanted to keep up with such things too.

With Seamus, Neville, along with her and Harry and Ron and Hermione. They had a full house. Now Terry Boot is asking if he could move in. The number of mouths to feed has risen astronomically. Not that she would make drastic changes, but the way she was raised made her cringe at the cost.

Mulsy, the house elf that replaced Kreature, didn't know how to write or do maths yet. Hermione was teaching her. Her old owners forbade her from learning. Kreature always did them before he died.

Nothing to do but carry on. The manual adding machine that Harry found made the job easier, but it was still a pain in the a…..What was that?

An owl pecked at the back door. Ginny rushed to open it but was disappointed when it was only the Evening Prophet. The one letter she wanted still hadn't arrived.

For the whole of the week after she left Hogwarts, she did tryouts for five different teams. She gently turned down the Chudley Cannons when they offered a starting position right on the spot. She didn't dare tell Ron. She was waiting to hear back from Puddlemere United, Pride of Portree, and Ballycastle Bats. But foremost, she wanted the Holyhead Harpies.

But it was probably too early yet. They all said she would know in a week or so. It's now less than a week. It's hard to wait when your whole future career was at stake.

Her mind kept wandering to her Harpies solo exhibition. She was given a quick list of moves and then pushed up to perform. She knew she was a little slow in the spin and twist reversal. She hesitated a little too much trying to remember the order of moves in the drill, but she nailed the Wronsky feint. The only feedback was a curt nod. Was she good enough?

Who was she kidding. There was no way she could concentrate on the accounts.

Ginny set down her quill and grabbed the Prophet. "Mulsy, I'll take the paper up to the sitting room. The Bangers and Mash will be fine for supper. Will there be enough for a guest? Terry Boot will join us tonight."

"There will be plenty Mistress. Shall I make a tart for pudding?" The diminutive elf asked gleefully. She was so happy to do extra.

"How about just some fresh fruit. Whatever's in season." Ginny answered.

"Yes Mistress, supper will be ready at the usual time." Mulsy said with a bow.

"Mulsy, how many times do we have to say, please don't call me Mistress? We freed you." Ginny said with a grin. It had been a losing battle since the elf joined the household.

"Yes mist…er Miss Ginny. It is hard to change, Miss." Mulsy looked chagrined.

"It's okay. Just try to remember, alright?" Ginny smiled and turned up the stairs.

Then she decided. A good run in the neighborhood would do her good. The exercise was needed to keep her in shape. Mulsy's cooking was too good. She tightened her trainers, tucked her wand deeper into the hidden pocket of her track suit, and opened the door. For once, the weather was perfect. The sun shone hot with a pleasant breeze. She crossed the road to the little park and used the wrought iron rail to lean on while she stretched.

The road was calling her. The ins and outs, alleys and nooks, just waiting for her. She ran. Running in the city was different than running at her parents place in the country. Instead of miles of calming hills and farmland, the city was filled with an energy that moved her farther and faster. She would run until she saw an interesting muggle shop. Run until she would see a neglected monument, or museum, or park. Run until she couldn't run any more. Then she'd find a secluded spot and apparate home.

She did only 4 miles today but explored the British Museum before heading east to points unknown. When she saw a clock outside a shop and realized she just had time to get home and shower before dinnertime.

Ginny landed in the farthest corner of the back garden that they reserved for such things. Letting herself in the sunroom off the kitchen, she could smell the wonderful sausages cooking.

"I'm back, Mulsy. Everything alright?"

"Mast…er…Mr. Harry was looking for you. A letter arrived, Mr. Harry has it He said he will be in his study until you arrive. Miss"

"A letter? Thanks!" Forget the stairs, Ginny apparated directly to their rooms.

"Harry?" She called.

"In here," Harry said loudly from the study.

She turned around the corner to the large nook they called the study, "I was told you have a let…" She stopped when she saw a brown paper wrapped package being held aloft by her husband.

She greedily grabbed for it, but Harry moved it further away. "Hey, that's mine!" She cried.

"Sorry, you must first pay the fee." The twinkle in his eye melted her, just a tiny bit.

"And what is that fee?" She slowly sauntered to him.

He patted his lap and she settled in. "How about a kiss?"

His arms wrapped around her and while he was distracted by her lips, she grabbed the package and jumped up. Ripping off the wrappings, she held out the stack of papers held upside down. She couldn't turn them over.

"Well? Who's it from?" Harry asked from afar in her mind.

"I…What if…" She was afraid.

Ginny felt his hand on her shoulder and that gave her courage. Slowly, the top came into view.


Ms. Potter

Greetings. After your brilliant exhibition and much consideration, we are happy to extend an offer to join our quidditch family as a reserve chaser. All the details are in the booklet provided.

Ginny dropped the package to the floor in her excitement as she reread the small paragraph over and over. Because she held it so close to herself, Harry couldn't read over her shoulder, but he did notice a slip of parchment flutter to the floor.

A quick glance through, he read aloud, "Potter. Good job out there. One thing though. I never let married women on the team. Too flighty and distracted. I'll give you a chance. One chance only. You give it your all and I'll make a decent chaser out of you.

Oh, and tell your husband, even with his famous cloak I could still tell he was there. You looking over your shoulder to the latrines every two minutes was a dead giveaway.


The Potters never made it down for dinner.