Weasley 4, Potter 7


Summary: Harry and Ginny Play each other at Quidditch

A flash of black and white flew past her, knocking her grip from her broomstick and almost making her drop the Quaffle, as the Montrose Magpies Seeker sped through the air, mere inches from her. Silence filled the large stadium as they watched their hero in pursuit of the Snitch, a prize he rarely failed to capture. Her eyes glanced fleetingly for a spot of gold, locating it hovering just above the ground by one of the Montrose Magpies' goalposts, before she scanned the air for their Seeker. The damn fool was at the other end of the pitch and was going to cost them yet another victory due to his lack of concentration.

The Appleby Arrows had a reputation for high scoring Chasers and good defences. However, season after season, they failed to finish off their matches with a win, always losing the Snitch at the end of the game. The Arrows' Seeker often came up short in the big matches, failing in his pursuit of the golden prize.

Completely opposite to them were the Montrose Magpies, who were well known for their skill of killing off games at the most crucial times, all thanks to their talented captain. The English national team Seeker had not missed a Snitch for club or country, all season long.

Cheers and catcalls from the ground alerted the Arrows' Seeker to the possible end of the match. Her heart leapt to her mouth as she saw him lying flat against his broom. The noise from the crowds grew, as he chased after the famous Magpies Seeker. Maybe, just maybe, there was a hope; if he could distract England's captain and Seeker long enough, they still had a chance at winning.

The short-lived hope was brought to an abrupt end as loud noises of celebration erupted from three quarters of the stadium, confirming the defeat of the Arrows. In the hands of the Montrose Seeker, the Golden Snitch fluttered madly. The screams were deafening as thousands of people began to sing and dance, rocking the stands.

Not only had they just lost the match, but any chance they had in snatching the league championship was now gone also. With two games left to play in the season any mathematical chance had disappeared with the Magpies capture of the Snitch.

A series of curses escaped her mouth before she could stop them, violently throwing the Quaffle to the ground. This season had been so frustrating; it was a wonder that she had not gotten into any more trouble. Despite what the newspapers had said about her temper, she knew it had taken a great deal of restraint to leave the incompetent Seeker alone, and not attack him with some of her famous Bat-Bogey hexes. The sound of a whistle ringed throughout the stadium, the referee appearing to be flying towards her. Before her actions could be called into question, she dived towards the ground. She had every intention of heading straight to the changing rooms before she could do or say something that she would later regret. The last thing she needed was yet another disciplinary charge.

The dirt from the ground flicked upwards, as the soles of her trainers skidded across the ground, her broomstick coming to a swift halt. She let her Falcon Four Sixty broomstick fall carelessly out of her hands as she dismounted. Anger bubbled inside of her, and she threw her gloves down onto the pitch. Yanking the vibrant red hair from her ponytail, she kicked her broomstick out of her way in frustration.

Whoever said, "It doesn't matter who wins and loses, it's the taking part that counts" had clearly never lost. Her manager had the same opinion. His team talks or lectures often began with the words, "If you are first, you are first. If you are second, you are nothing." She was in no doubt, he would be reminding his young squad of this message in an extra long training session tomorrow, pushing them until they were near exhaustion.

It had to be Harry of all people, adding insult to injury. She knew this meant that she would not only hear the lectures at training tomorrow, but also be subjected to bragging at home. It didn't matter that Montrose had only won the match by one hundred and forty points, less than the value of a Snitch. Nor did the fact that her twentieth birthday had been last week, while she celebrated her fourth call-up to the England squad. The league had been a two horse race between the "big-spending" Magpies, with their famous Seeker, and the "youthful" Appleby Arrows, who had a reputation for uncovering talented youngsters straight out of school. In fact, the Minister for Magic's only daughter started playing as a Chaser for the Arrows the summer after she finished her seventh year.

Ginny Weasley stopped herself before she could let out a series of colourful swear words and a well-aimed curse at their incompetent Seeker. At least a dozen winged cameras fluttered around nearby, trying to get some gossip worthy photos for tomorrow morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. She didn't want to have to appear in front of the British and Irish Quidditch Associations for bringing the game into disrepute again. As the papers often reminded her, Harry was the model professional, but she was leading him astray. There was, of course, the occasional article in the Prophet, stating that she was making the Ministry into a laughing stock. Questions would arise too; how could a Minister who couldn't handle his own daughter run a country? All this due to a few swear words.

A reluctant smile formed across her lips. If only they knew what Harry was like when the doors were closed and the lights went out. The hand of Britain's hero would wander everywhere over her pale skin. Would they still call him the model professional? Not that she minded very much. Come to think of it, if those stories were published next to the ones of her temper explosions, she wouldn't be able to look her mother in the eyes.

Maybe some things were best left private.

Harry's soft arms wrapped their way around her waist and drew her out of her thoughts. He'd caught the Snitch and now, he wanted another. She knew she should be annoyed by his actions. He could be far too complacent and big-headed at times, confident in his own abilities. Yet when she was in his strong arms, it was so hard to be angry at him, especially when there were much more enjoyable thoughts running through her mind.

All the pent up anger and tension seemed to be released from her body as he placed a kiss on her neck, pulling at her pale-blue number four shirt. Who cared about the morning's meetings? She longed for his kisses to sink further down her neck, but they were in the middle of a Quidditch pitch with all of the world's media watching. She playfully hit his hand and returned his smile with an impish grin.

"What do you want, Potter?" she asked in her most innocent voice, as she pulled away from him.

Turning her back to him, she swatted a winged camera out the way and earned herself another fine as it smashed against the ground. The press could make up their own stories without capturing their private kisses and claiming that the result of the match had been fixed. Another camera buzzed inches from their faces, Harry's hand reaching out to stop her before she could send it flying.

In all reality, theses cameras shouldn't have bothered her so much, and she could have followed her first instinct and walked straight back to the changing rooms. However, as she felt Harry's arms around her waist, she knew that walking away was a lot harder than it seemed.

He caught her hand and swung her around, looking her straight in the eyes. "Your shirt, Weasley."

"Excuse me?" Ginny replied in a confused voice. She was completely at a loss over what the golden boy of the wizarding world wanted from her.

"In Muggle sports, they swap shirts at the end of the match," Harry explained, giving her shirt another mischievous pull, "and that shirt would look particularly good in my bedroom."

She raised her eyebrows. "And if I agree to this, does that mean that yours would end up in my bedroom?"

His eyes glinted with mischief. "If that's where you wanted it."

"It's a deal," she said, returning his grin as her hands made their way to the bottom of her shirt to give him the impression that she was on the verge of pulling it over her head, in front of the wizarding world no less.

Harry's mouth fell open slightly and his bright green eyes widened, but he recovered very quickly with a smile, dropping his voice into a whisper. "I was kind of hoping to take it off myself without any assistance later tonight." His smile grew into a sheepish grin. "And without an audience."

She offered him a small shrug. "Now where's the fun in that?"

"I'm sure we can find some."

She let Harry pull her tightly into his arms. His grip was never tight, but his strong, masculine arms always provided her much comfort and security. So much that she rarely ever wanted to leave his arms.

Her hands wrapped around his neck as he spun her round. All of her worries from the match disappeared. She felt like she was going to take flight again, and she didn't have a care in the world.

As she stopped spinning, her lips met his. Ignoring the thousand of people watching from the stands, she deepened the kiss. There were few things that beat the adrenaline and passion of winning a Quidditch match; this, without any doubt, had to be one of them. She could lose herself in his kisses. Her heart raced as their tongues touched, and when his hand ran across her back, she could feel shivers down her spine.

Simultaneously, a blinding flash of light, and an angry call from afar broke through their actions. She found herself jumping out of Harry's arms as if she had just been stung by something. Clough's words echoed around the stadium.


"Sorry, Harry, I better go and get shouted at before he builds up any more steam,." she said, pulling away reluctantly and glancing over at her fuming manager. Turning briefly back to her boyfriend, she said, "I'll just have to corrupt you in a couple of hours after he's done." A small grin graced her lips, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. "I promise to bring the shirt."

"I guess I'll see you in a bit then,." he said, as his lips briefly met hers again.


"Alright, alright, I'm coming," she yelled back to her manager, her temper filling her insides again. "I don't know why you're yelling at me though," she spoke without thinking of the consequences; not caring about any warnings, fines or transfer listings. The anger and frustration came flooding back into her body, directed at anyone who dared to question her commitment to their cause. "I did my job. It's that pathetic Seeker you've employed that you should be shouting at! I mean, my little nephew could do a better job than that prat, and he's only three!"

"GET INSIDE NOW!", the words taking an eternity to leave his mouth.

Scooping up her broomstick and gloves from the floor, she made her way over to the changing rooms. She knew that she should have left the pitch straight away, but tonight's events would make up any punishment or sanction she was about to receive. Bracing herself for what was about to come, she grinned quietly as she came up with wicked ways to corrupt Harry later that night.