One on One

One on One

By: Ginnysdarkside

The interdepartmental Quidditch final was in its fourth hour. Ginny Weasley wiped the sweat off her forehead with her arm and blinked against the glaring light of the setting sun. "Come on, Finnegan!" she shouted. "You wanker! Throw the fucking Quaffle already!"

She watched in frustration as, once again, Seamus Finnegan attempted to pass the Quaffle only to have it intercepted by Marcus Flint. There had been a reason Seamus had never made the house Quidditch team, and of course, today she and the other employees of The Department of Magical Transport would just have to be playing their rivals in The Department of Magical Games and Sports. Almost every single person on that team had at the very least played in amateur leagues. Then there were a few, like Flint, who had played professionally. Meanwhile, here she was, the only person on her team who'd ever even been on an amateur team, and she'd only been second string at that.

It had been more than a bit heartbreaking to realize she'd never make a professional Quidditch player, but she'd finally accepted a job in Broom Regulatory Control and fed her Quidditch yen by managing to mold her fellow cubicle mates into a semblance of a team. They'd wiped the pitch with the Departments of International Cooperation, Magical Accidents, and Control of Magical Creatures, but for the third year in a row, it looked like they were going to be the losers again in the finals.

There was hope though; if she could catch the Snitch, they'd end being ten points up and the game would be over. Just then, Stan Shunpike, who had somehow worked his way into the Apparition Test Center, shouted in excitement. "Ginny!"

His voice carried across the pitch, reaching not only her, but also the Seeker for the other team. She looked towards him, and sure enough, right there by the goal post he was ineffectually guarding, was the Snitch. It hovered lazily over the left hoop, moving erratically from time to time, appearing to have settled on that one place.

She flinched as Marcus Flint scored again, blasting the Quaffle past a befuddled Stan, then kicked her broom into gear as a flash of black hair told her that Cho Chang-Corner was headed in the same direction. Her broom vibrated under her as she leaned over it. The wind blasted through her hair, whipping the tendrils which had escaped her braid into her eyes, the other players a blur as she zipped past them. If she caught the Snitch now, there would be a draw. If Cho caught it they would be humiliated for the next year, subject to the nasty comments and gloating looks of the entire seventh floor.

The pitch seemed to have fallen into an alternate dimension. Time slowed, and she could barely hear the long, drawn out screams of the bystanders and her teammates. Cho was next to her, their brooms vying for position, trying to slam each other out of the way. The goal hoops loomed closer and closer, and still the Snitch hovered, teasing, enticing, offering a promise of bragging rights for her and her team. A draw, she could handle a draw. Hell, it had worked for Victor Krum, and she knew the rest of her bedraggled and exhausted team couldn't last much longer. She urged her broom forward and it vibrated furiously in response. She'd seized in a raid and had discovered, to her pleasure, that it had a not-so-legal speeding charm on it, not that anyone ever needed to know that, of course.

Closer. Still closer. Her mouth was dry, her lungs bursting from holding her breath. She was still neck and neck with Cho. If she could only beat the bitch, knock that smug smile off her face like she had back in school. There was a long standing animosity between the two of them both and not just in Quidditch. But whatever Cho's physical charms might be, Ginny knew she was a better Quidditch player. She saw Cho's hand reach out and, with a mighty lunge, hurtled her body into the other woman's, sending her spinning off course. Then, with a final stretch, her fingers closed over the desperately beating wings of the Snitch.

Time sped back up to its normal pace, and she heard Ludo Bagman, the announcer, scream out. "And with a vicious final play, Ginny Weasley has the Snitch! It's a draw, ladies and gentlemen!"

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she sank to the pitch. She looked fearfully at her teammates, afraid they might not understand, but within seconds, she was encompassed in a whirl of arms and excited people jumping up and down.

"Brilliant, Gin!" shouted Seamus. He threw his arms around her and spun her around until she was dizzy, only to pass her to Stan and Adrian and Natalie.

Her former Gryffindor teammate grinned from ear to ear. "Good job, Ginny. Now let's see them try to brag around the water cooler. No one's equaled them for years! We knew we'd take them down a peg."

"Yeah ... but ..." Ginny allowed her eyes to travel over to where Marcus Flint was exchanging words with an extremely disheveled-looking Cho. A smile of triumph stretched her lips, and she turned back to her friend. "No, you're right, and next year ... next year, we'll win."

"You bloody bet we will!" roared Seamus. "Now ..." As he said this, the sandy haired men gave her one of his famous cocky grins. "Let's go celebrate. Pints are on me!"

She followed the rest of her sweaty, raucous team off the pitch, and after accepting the congratulations of the crowd, they wended their way down the street to the Three Broomsticks.

The door to the pub opened with a bang, and Madam Rosmerta hurried to fill a line of tankards after Seamus shouted, "Drinks all around!"

Luckily, it was a Saturday, because between her team celebrating, the bystanders drinking companionably from the other departments, and the opposing team drowning their sorrows, the Ministry certainly wouldn't have been functioning the next day. Ginny shook her head. Her brother Percy, the undersecretary, have been appalled if he could have seen Ludo Bagman dancing a jig on top of the bar.

The thought made her giggle a bit, and she lifted up her hand to summon Madam Rosmerta to refill her empty tankard. The crowd was thinning out a bit, but still the cheerful woman was busy with a group at the bar. Ginny was about to stand up to go over when a full tankard slammed down in front of her, followed by the muscular form of Marcus Flint settling into the chair beside her.

"You look dry, Weasley," he said. "Thought you could use a refill." He took a deep drink of his own tankard then said gruffly, "Good game today."

"Thanks," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "You do, too." She looked into the tankard and managed to restrain herself from smelling it before taking a drink.

"It's not poisoned, you know," he said, a smirk twisting his lips into a semblance of a smile. It was rare to see the serious, glowering man smile; the memory of the crooked teeth of his youth had seemed to have followed him into adulthood. "Or at least not as far as I know."

She choked a moment on her mouthful of ale and then swallowed. "You can never be too safe." She smiled sweetly. "As long as Cho didn't get the pint, I think I'm safe."

His eyes widened, and he looked at his own flagon in mock worry. "Well, she offered so ..."

This time she did choke, and barely managed not to spew ale all over the table. She coughed several times and struggled to catch her breath as Flint pounded her on the back.

"Easy there, Weasley." He patted her on the back a final time, then let his fingers rest lightly on the back of her chair. His dark eyes took her in thoughtfully, and she was suddenly aware of the warmth of his hand through the thin material of her robe. "You were really good out there, you know. Shame you're not on my team. I could use a player like you."

Ginny steadied herself by taking another sip. Was he flirting with her? It had been a long time since she'd even looked at a man in that way. Since her long ailing relationship with Harry had broken up last year, the thought hadn't even crossed her mind, but those lonely nights at home alone with just her and a copy of Passionate Trousers were getting to her. Maybe a little fling would be in order, and if the look she saw in his eyes meant anything then ...

Wait. This was Flint she was thinking about, Marcus Flint, Slytherin and possible Death Eater sympathizer during the war. Still, she found herself leaning a little closer and letting her thigh brush his under the table. His sharp intake of breath confirmed he was indeed interested. She looked up at him through veiled eyes. He had fixed his teeth after all, and he was single and fit and he knew how to handle a broom, and everyone knew what that meant.

"You know, I'm good at lots of things." Ginny let her voice drop into the low tone that had always worked for her. Something about making the listener have to lean in to hear what she said, as if each word was utterly important and intimate, seemed to make men even more interested. The remnants of the adrenaline from the game were still soaring in her veins, and she could feel a little eager twinge in her stomach.

"Oh. really?" He arched an eyebrow and gave her a slow smile. "Is that so? I don't know, Weasley, sure you can handle me?" He leaned a little closer, and she could smell the sharp spicy scent of his aftershave mixed with the warm smell of sweat-soaked skin.

"Oh, yes," she replied. She ran her finger down the side of her tankard, catching little droplets of condensation. "The question is ... can you handle me?"

She dropped her hand down under the table under the pretext of wiping her fingers on her robes, and her hand found his thigh. The hard muscles tensed under her palm, and she smiled at him sweetly.

It didn't take long for them to discreetly take their leave. They met each other out front and stumbled in the dark, half groping, pausing to kiss, hot and long, in the shelter of the occasional alley, until they reached her flat. Ginny practically pounded up the stairs, dragging him behind, her fingers interlaced with his.

Inside, she pressed him against the door, running her hands eagerly over the flat, hard expanse of muscle on his abdomen. His fingers trailed up her back until they tangled in her hair as he returned her kiss. She could feel him responding to her touch, his body pressing eagerly against hers. His tongue was hot and ferocious in her mouth, and she moaned then pulled him insistently towards the bedroom.

"Weasley are you sure you ..." he started to say. His hands stayed her as she began to unbutton his trousers.

Ginny pushed his hands away. "Shut it, Flint. Just shut it."

After that, it was fast and hard and heated, just like in the Quidditch game they played. They fought for dominance at first, punishing the other with hands and legs and bodies. But when he sank into her, pinning her beneath him to the bed, and her calves locked up around his back, pulling him more deeply inside, she let loose a long shuddering breath, and they began to move together. They were teammates now, not rivals, both of them working towards the same goal.

After the first time, they both fell into an exhausted sleep only to wake up later for a slower, more detailed exploration of each other which left Ginny feeling boneless under the sheets as she stared into the darkness with a troubled expression. He, however, slept soundly, spooned against her, one arm and a leg thrown over her possessively.

The next morning was awkward, and after a quick breakfast and promises to call, he left. Ginny spent the rest of the day cleaning her house, drinking tea, and mentally berating herself. What had she been thinking? She'd shagged Marcus Flint. If she was fortunate, he'd wait a day or two before telling everyone at the Ministry and humiliating her in front of them all. If she was unlucky, she could expect the snickers and stares of her coworkers on the morrow. Not to mention what her family would say. Still ... a little smile teased the corners of her mouth. You never could tell, and he certainly had lived up to the expectations his Quidditch skills had promised. She decided not to worry about what would happen tomorrow and instead stretched in front of the fire luxuriously, her body still a little sore, and not just from the game.

The next morning at work, her heart sank as she walked into her office on the sixth floor. As soon as the lift doors opened she could hear the murmuring buzz of her coworkers. They grew silent as they saw her, and she confronted twelve pairs of curious eyes. Bugger, she thought. The bloody bastard, I should have known.

Just as she was contemplating hiding in the loo for the rest of the day, Natalie smiled at her. Her blue eyes sparkled mischievously, and her voice was a teasing little sing song. "Ickle Ginny ... someone must really like you. You have to come see this ..."

Natalie led her to her cubicle, while the rest of the office followed along behind. There, on her desk, was the most enormous bouquet of flowers she'd ever seen. There must have been a hundred of them, roses, hyacinths, lilies, all blooming with glorious perfusion in a crystal vase tied with a green and silver ribbon.

Ginny opened the card with trembling hands, and as she read the single sentence, a smile crept to her lips.

How about another game of one on one on Friday night? I'll be looking forward to it.

Funny, she thought, I guess a draw is a bit like winning after all.