The Off Season

A week later, someone knocked on the front door of the flat, and Ginny stood to answer it. She didn't bother to put down her book, sure that it was just a Muggle selling something. Any witches or wizards would just Floo over.

She limped across the floor and opened the door a few inches, ready to tell the person she was not going to buy what they were selling.

Instead, there stood Harry Potter, with two racing brooms in his hands, which he held up to show her.

"Want to come and play?" he asked.

"What are you doing with those things in the corridor?" she hissed in response. "Don't you know I live with--"

The sound of footsteps down the hall interrupted her, and she opened the door wide and stood back.

"Get in here, then."

Grinning, he stepped inside, brushing past her on the way in.

She made a show of closing the door as she caught her breath.

When she turned around, he was leaning against the armchair she'd been sitting in, watching her. He was wearing jeans with holes in the knees and thighs, and a tee shirt in Cannons orange. He looked, she thought, absolutely gorgeous.

"So, are we going?" he asked, indicating the brooms next to him.

She sighed, looking down at the book that she still held in her hand. "What did you have in mind?"

"I just thought we could go flying," he said.

"Look, Harry, I--"

"Mad-Eye can fly," he interrupted her. "If he can, you can."

"Mad-Eye Moody flies a broom?" she asked, giggling at the image that popped into her mind. "Really?"

"Yep, really. I've seen it." He smiled at her again and looked, for a moment, even more attractive.

Ginny looked down at her leg. She hadn't flown since before the final battle, true. Waking in the Hospital Wing, surrounded by the wounded and dying, Quidditch had seemed like the least important thing in the world. It had seemed impossible on her cursed leg, and as she was constantly reminded, she was lucky to be alive. The ability to fly seemed a small price to pay in return for her life. But the Quidditch match had awakened something in her, and now she thought that if Mad-Eye Moody could fly a broom with his peg-leg, she should at least give it a try.

When she looked back at Harry, he had the brooms in his hand again, and such an eager expression on his face that she had to laugh.

"Oh fine," she said, smiling. "Let's go, then. If you insist."

"I do," he said, stepping closer to hand her one of the brooms. "We'll have to Apparate to the clubhouse first."

"Okay," she agreed, picturing the violently orange room in the Chudley stadium in her mind and waiting for the popping sound that told her that Harry had gone first.

To her surprise, she felt him wrap one arm firmly around her waist.

"One... two..." he counted, and she could feel the rumbling in his chest as he spoke. "Three."

There was a moment of blackness, where nothing at all existed except for Harry's warm body next to hers and the brooms in their hands. And then suddenly they were inside the Chudley clubhouse, and he was letting go of her and stepping away.

"I have to get something from my locker," he said. "It's just down here."

She followed him down the hall to the locker room, which was also painted a violent orange, with huge black lettering across the wall near the ceiling which said WE SHALL CONQUER in huge letters. Underneath that, in smaller letters, was painted the team's newer motto, Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best.

While Ginny looked around the rest of the locker room, Harry crossed to a locker in the corner and opened it, taking out an old knapsack.

"All right then?" he asked, and she realized with a start that he was ready to go and she was just standing there gawking.

"Ah, sure," she replied, blushing.

They stepped back into the hall, and Harry led the way farther into the complex, away from the public spectator areas that Ginny had seen the few times she'd been to the stadium before. They passed an open door, and a moment later a voice called them back.

"Potter!"

A youngish and slightly portly wizard hurried out of the door and clapped Harry on the back. He wore robes emblazoned with a small Chudley logo, and was smiling broadly. Ginny recognized him as Daniel Dryser, the owner of the Cannons.

"Hello, Potter, hello. Back in training already? I thought I told you lot to take a holiday, now." He was beaming, though, as if he was very pleased to see his star player forgoing his vacation for extra training. He looked around and spotted Ginny, and without giving Harry a chance to respond, went on. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Potter?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair and motioned to her. "Ginny, this is Dan Dryser. Dan, this is Ginny Weasley, a friend from school."

Ginny stepped forward and shook his hand, which was large and surprisingly strong. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dryser."

"Please, call me Dan. Weasley, eh? I went to school with a Weasley. Charlie."

"Charlie's my brother."

"Great Seeker he was, Charlie," Dan replied, almost dreamily. "Not as good as Potter here, of course, but if we didn't already have a Seeker..." He laughed heartily and clapped Harry on the shoulder again.

"You play any yourself?" he asked Ginny, peering at her.

"I--" she began, only to be interrupted by Harry.

"Chaser," confirmed Harry. "Gryffindor team at Hogwarts."

"We could use a Chaser," he said, looking her up and down as though she were an animal in a zoo. "Fellows is retiring."

"Ah, well, I--" Ginny tried to make excuses, but was cut off again.

"We'll see you at tryouts, then," he said, clapping her on her shoulder as he had done to Harry, "next month."

"Good to see you, Dan," Harry said. "We've got to get going."

"Right, right," he replied, looking vaguely disappointed. "See you around, eh, Potter?"

"See you," Harry said, before leading her down the hall again, through a small wooden door, and out into the bright midday sun.

"Ron will be thrilled that I met him," Ginny said, imagining her brother's reaction.

"He's a good bloke," Harry replied. "Will talk your ear off about the Cannons, though."

"I know some people like that," Ginny said, nudging him with her elbow.

Harry just laughed and slipped the backpack he still carried over his shoulders. "Are we going flying then, or what?"

He straddled his broom and kicked off easily, rising to hover a few feet above the ground. He turned to look at her, as if waiting for her.

She looked at the broom in her hand and swallowed. It was certainly a top-notch model, the same one that Harry himself rode during matches.

"I--" She started to say, I can't, but the look in Harry's eyes made her hesitate. She remembered what he'd said the day after the championship match.

"I still know how," she muttered to herself, and swung one leg over her broom.

Carefully, gently, she shifted her weight to her bad leg. A jolt of pain shot up to her hip, and she winced, but she kicked off resolutely with her good leg, and sailed into the air.

Her hair blew around her face as the broom buoyed her upward, and she laughed out loud at the wonderful, familiar feeling of weightlessness. Harry cheered, and she looked up to see him clapping delightedly.

"Now that's more like it!"

She smiled back at him and steered her broom around in a small circle. "I suppose I do know how," she admitted.

Harry jerked his head to indicate the forest beyond the stadium, and she nodded. They flew above an open park toward the trees side by side.

Ginny flexed her thighs experimentally, and was pleased to find that she could grip the broom with her legs alone without much pain.

When Harry flew under the cover of the trees, darting and weaving between the trunks, she let out a loud whoop and followed him.

She bent at the waist, bringing her shoulders almost in contact with her broom, and gripped the handle tightly with both hands. Ahead of her, she could see Harry, bent down in much the same position, with his black hair whipping in the wind. She gritted her teeth and felt the warm summer air rake across her scalp as she put on a burst of speed. Dodging tree trunks left and right, and ducking under low-hanging limbs, she burst into a clearing and veered up into the open air a moment before him. As he rose slowly into the sky, she cheered and flew a victory lap around the edge of the clearing.

Flushed and laughing, she pulled her broom up to a stop next to his, so that they were facing each other with their brooms hovering parallel.

"I told you so," he said, his green eyes crinkling at the edges.

He led her farther from the stadium to another small clearing, where they landed. Ginny set down carefully, wary of putting too much weight on her leg right away, and then seated herself on the soft, springy grass.

Harry sat down next to her, so close that their thighs were touching. He reached into his backpack and pulled out two bottles of Butterbeer, handing one to Ginny. Next, he removed two sandwiches, a bag of crisps, two shiny green apples, and a box of chocolate biscuits.

They ate in comfortable silence, and when they were done, he removed one final item from the bottom of his bag: a Quaffle. He set the ball down in front of her without a word, then cleared away the things from lunch.

Ginny picked up the Quaffle and cradled it in her arms, remembering the feel of catching and throwing it during matches, the excitement of goal-scoring, and the sound of the crowds cheering her name.

"Want to play some catch?" Harry asked. When she looked up at him, his outline was blurred. She looked away again and wiped her eyes before nodding.

They rose into the air again and flew more sedately back toward the stadium, which rose large on the horizon. Harry tossed the Quaffle to her gently, and Ginny caught it easily, holding her broomstick with her thighs.

She tried a little weave and found that it worked, then returned the Quaffle back to Harry.

They continued passing the Quaffle back and forth until they reached the stadium and Ginny found that she had not, indeed, forgotten how to do this.

Instead of landing on the broad park outside the stadium where they'd lifted off, Harry flew up and over the side of the stadium. Ginny followed after him, flying low over the spectator seats and onto the pitch itself.

Harry tossed her the Quaffle and took up a position in front of the goal hoops. Ginny feinted left, flew to the right, and then dodged left again before sinking the ball through the center hoop.

As she watched the round red ball sail through the goal, Ginny's heart expanded with happiness and pride. She felt for a moment as though she would explode with the rush of emotions she felt. The sight brought back memories of all the goals she'd scored at Hogwarts, when her team had been depending on her and the crowd had been chanting her name. She remembered the way her brothers had been so proud to discover her aptitude for the game, and the games they'd played in the clearing behind their parents' home, games played only for family pride but as fiercely fought as any title match.

She sank down to the ground and winced as she landed, stumbling slightly. Harry landed a moment after her and frowned questioningly.

"You all right there?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm--this is amazing," Ginny answered, blinking back tears from her stinging eyes. "I never thought--this is amazing."

He smiled crookedly, and she felt her heart turn over inside her chest.

She limped the distance to him, and handed him her broom. He accepted it and handed her the Quaffle that he had retrieved from the ground.

"Here," he said, "you can keep this."

She clutched it to her chest, smiling. "Thank you for doing this, Harry. You really didn't have to."

"I wanted to," he said softly.

"No, really," she said, squeezing his hand softly in farewell. "I don't know which one of my brothers asked you to take me flying, but it was really sweet of you to agree. Thank you."

The last thing she saw before Disapparating was Harry's face falling into disappointment and distress.