More Than Words

Ginny stared at the beamed ceiling of Charlie's bedroom, fingers tapping restlessly on top of the quilt. She sighed and flung the bedding back and swung her feet to the chilly floorboards. She dug a pair of ragged jog pants that had once belonged to one of the twins - George, if the faded name scrawled on the inside of the waistband was correct - and yanked a running singlet and t-shirt over her head, padding into the bathroom, while she quickly shook the plait from her hair, and ran a brush through it. She bound it into a ponytail and hurriedly brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. Ginny slid her feet into her trainers, adjusting the laces. She burst from the cabin's door into the misty dawn.

She began a series of stretches and exercises prescribed by Gwenog to increase her flexibility and strength, pleased to note that her nose was fractionally closer to her knee than it had been in March. Tight muscles gradually loosened and warmed, so she struck off for the entrance of the reservation at a slow jog. Gwenog had also suggested she take up running, hiking, or even riding a Muggle bicycle in order to increase her endurance. Running was a new activity for Ginny, and she wasn't certain she completed the activity with anything resembling fondness. She took a moment to wonder if Harry knew how to ride a bicycle, stumbling as her throat tightened. Probably show me how to ride if off a bleeding cliff, she thought. Pushing the thought firmly from her mind, Ginny gradually increased her pace, taking the path on the right from the reservation's gate. She focused on the steady rhythm of her trainers slapping against the packed earth. One-and-two-and-one-and-two...' she counted. It was the only thing that kept her mind off the stitch in her side. After completing two laps around the reservation, Ginny veered into the reservation itself, taking a few steps toward Charlie's cabin before she slowed to a walk. She bent forward at the waist, bracing her hands on her knees, as she panted, greedily sucking in sorely needed oxygen. Sweat dripped from the tip of her nose and into her eyes. She lifted the hem of the t-shirt and swiped it over her face, grimacing at how her knees trembled.

'You're Charlie's sister,' a woman's voice said from one side of Ginny. Ginny let the hem of the t-shirt fall and studied the woman. 'You've got the look of him.' Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow. She didn't think she resembled Charlie at all. 'I was beginning to think he'd made up the lot of you.'

'No.' Ginny straightened and arched her back. 'There're six of us. Plus my oldest brother's wife and our parents. My youngest brother's girlfriend... They'll be getting married, just a matter of time. Took them four years to realize they actually fancied one another.' She took an experimental step, pleased to discover her knees wouldn't actually buckle, then began to walk slowly toward the cabin. 'There's my... Well, erm, my boyfriend.' Ginny gulped. 'And his godson,' she added in a rush. 'We all exist.'

'Have a trial with the Harpies, don't you?'

'Tomorrow.' Ginny eyed the dark-haired woman. 'I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?'

'Bronwyn Rhys. I'm a Healer here. My da's the Head of the reservation.' She shook her head incredulously. 'You mean Charlie's never mentioned me?'

Ginny chuckled. 'Charlie doesn't really talk about himself much. His work, yes. Personal life, you'd think he didn't have one.'

'I think I'm beginning to see that,' Bronwyn said dryly. 'I'm a... friend... of Charlie's.'

'I think I'm beginning to see that,' Ginny responded. 'Don't take it personally. It's just Charlie.'

'Hmmmm.' Bronwyn inhaled slowly. 'Well, if you get bored banging around that empty cabin of his, come by the infirmary. I've got the early shift this week.' She began to walk backward toward the low building on her right. 'Tell him I'm on for dinner tonight, all right? That way you'll get a decent meal, and not whatever tinned slop he can manage to scrape together.'

'I thank you, and my mother thanks you. She'd be horrified if she knew I was trying to eat Charlie's cooking.'

'I'll be there about six.'

'Okay.' Ginny trudged across the valley and collapsed on the steps of Charlie's cabin. The door opened behind her and Charlie nudged her bum with the toe of one of his boots.

'There you are. Fancy breakfast?'

'Yeah.' Ginny leaned forward, heaving herself to her feet. 'So, I met Bronwyn...'

'Yeah?'

'She's nice.'

'Hmmm.'

'She says she's on for dinner tonight.' Ginny walked past Charlie into the cabin. She headed for the kitchen, and bent over the sink, splashing cold water over her heated face. 'So, is she just a friend, or a friend?'

Charlie opened a cupboard and removed a box of cereal. 'Do you want toast?' he asked, ignoring Ginny's inquiry.

'Sure.'

'Bread's over there.' Charlie indicated a cupboard near Ginny. He turned and saw Ginny's bright eyes fixed on him, waiting for an answer. 'We've been out a few times.'

'Going to bring her home for Sunday lunch?'

'Dunno.' Charlie Banished the box of cereal and two bowls to the table, along with a jug of milk and a carton of orange juice. 'Tea or coffee?'

'Tea.'

Charlie tapped his kettle, waited for it to issue a piercing whistle, then poured it over tea leaves he'd already spooned into an old teapot. 'Got plans for the day?'

'Nothing special.' Ginny carried a plate of toast to the table. 'Where do you keep your butter?'

Without speaking, Charlie reached into the cupboard where he kept such things, and groped for the crock of butter, handing it to his sister. He used his wand to direct the teapot to the table. He yawned widely. 'Wish I didn't need the sleep. I'd practice with you.'

'Gwenog said I could come up to the stadium today and practice a bit.'

'Brilliant. Just be back before five for dinner, all right?'

Ginny nodded, and ate quickly, then washed her dishes, stacking them neatly in the dish drainer. She slipped into Charlie's bedroom and grabbed her bag, tossing it to the floor next to the sofa. She could shower and dress when she returned from the Quidditch pitch without disturbing Charlie.

xxxxxx

On a broom, Ginny often felt a measure of freedom she didn't experience anywhere else. Nothing else mattered. Not the pressure she put on herself to prove what she could do. Personal problems were left behind. It was an escape. She could remember waking up in the middle of the night and sneaking to the broom shed, picking the lock with one of Molly's hairpins, then grabbing each of her older brothers' brooms in turns. In the air, she could be anything she wanted, do anything she wanted. Her imagination took flight with her, creating a tale where she was the daring heroine, swooping in to rescue a prince in distress. In her childhood dreams, the prince always had a shock of black hair and bright green eyes. It was she who rescued him from the Muggles and returned him to his rightful place in the magical community. Reality had been shockingly the reverse.

Even now, as she flew through the Harpies' stadium, practicing various formations, sweat dripping into her eyes, she was able to forget - albeit briefly - what had sent her running to Holyhead two days before her trial. Flying was deceptively hard work. There were dozens of small adjustments to be made in order to maintain one's balance; adjustments that required a great deal of intense concentration, especially when performed with only one hand to guide the broom. Of course, playing Seeker gobbled up massive swaths of one's focus. Many of the maneuvers a Seeker executed were done using only the knees to help control the broom. Good flyers made it look all too easy. Excellent flyers made it look effortless. Ginny strove for effortless. "Effortless effort" Oliver Wood was said to have called it. George once told her Oliver spent an entire hour one Saturday morning expounding on the virtues of attaining that elusive effortless effort.

'Weasley!'

Ginny shook her head, as if gnats bothered her.

On the pitch, Gwenog Jones planted her hands on her hips and glared at her newest recruit. She knew the girl was headstrong, but at the rate Ginny was going, she would wear herself out before the trial even started. 'Weasley!' she barked.

Ginny spared a glance for the team's captain, and then paid her no mind. She began a move called a Woollongong Shimmy - a complex zigzagging maneuver that relied on the flyer's ability to turn on a Knut. Ginny wasn't quite there yet.

Gwenog pointed her wand at her throat. 'Sonorus.' She tilted her head back. 'WEASLEY!' she bellowed, her voice magically amplified. 'GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!'

Ginny came to a halt in mid-air, rubbing the side of her face over the shoulder of her sodden t-shirt, attempting to catch her breath. She directed her broom to the middle of the pitch, where Gwenog stood, arms crossed over her chest. Gwenog's eyes narrowed. 'I said you could practice, not kill yourself.'

'I'm fine,' Ginny panted.

'Get some rest tonight. '

'I was planning on it,' Ginny replied icily.

Gwenog handed her a handful of parchment. 'Information on living in Holyhead, if you want to live here. I suggest you organize a flat or a room in a pub before you report for training in two weeks.'

It all came crashing back to Ginny.

Somewhere to live.

'Thanks,' she said dully.

'I don't want to see you anywhere near a broom until tomorrow morning, eh?' She herded Ginny toward the players' changing room. 'You've got two bloody hard days ahead. Get a shower, eat a decent meal, and have a kip.'

xxxxxx

Ginny ran her hand through her damp hair, spreading it over her shoulders so it might dry faster. She stretched out on Charlie's rather lumpy sofa and closed her eyes. The rudimentary lunch she'd eaten after her shower littered the coffee table. She shifted this way and that, unable to settle. Deciding getting any sort of sleep just now was an exercise in futility, Ginny grabbed the stack of parchment Gwenog had given her and left the cabin. She started to walk to the entrance of the reservation, but changed her mind and doubled back to the infirmary. The building itself was a surprise. It looked like a low, dark building from the outside, but inside, the ceilings soared, allowing light and air inside. Bronwyn perched on a table, clad in green robes, her dark hair pulled back from her face, wrapping a bandage around another man's arm. 'There you are, Elliot. Now, keep it dry until tomorrow morning. You'll be good as new in a few days.' She tapped the end of the bandage with her wand to make it stick, then reached behind her for a square of parchment and waved her wand over it. 'There's a note for your supervisor. Light duty for the next three days.' She saw Ginny hovering in the doorway and waved her over. 'Come back before your next shift and we'll have a look at it.' The hapless Elliot left, holding his arm out gingerly in front of him. Bronwyn smiled brightly at Ginny. 'Thank Merlin! Other than Elliot, you're the only one I've seen for hours. Rather dull today around here, I'm afraid.'

'Charlie says you grew up here.'

'Yes, I did.'

Ginny held up the parchment. 'I have this list of flats to let...'

'And you need an opinion, is that it?' Ginny nodded in reply, and Bronwyn held out a hand for the list. 'Why would you want to live in some dinky flat, when you can stay at home?'

Ginny's nostrils flared and she reached for the parchment. 'Never mind...'

Bronwyn held it out of Ginny's range. 'Now don't bite my head off. It's a perfectly legitimate question, considering you're not even eighteen yet.'

'Have you any idea what it's like to go from a house full of people, to a school dormitory, then back to the house full of people? To never truly have a moment for yourself?' Ginny stared wistfully out of the window. 'Some people just don't seem to get that.'

'From what Charlie's told me, your family oughtn't to mind you moving here. Not if they let him hare off to Romania to play with dragons before he finished school.'

'It's not my mum and dad,' Ginny responded. 'Why are boys such idiots?' she asked suddenly.

'That's a question asked by women from time immortal.' Bronwyn tucked her feet under her, and settled comfortably on the table. 'In my experience, mostly because dragonkeepers tend to be men - very stubborn and tenacious men - they don't always see past the tip of their own nose when it comes to something they want.'

'Explains a lot,' Ginny muttered, then said nothing more.

Bronwyn suspected there was more to Ginny's statement, but didn't pursue it, figuring if the girl wanted to talk about it, she would in her own time. She examined the list of addressees and reached back for a quill. 'I'll cross off the ones you might want to avoid.'

'Dodgy, eh?'

"Hmmm. I wouldn't say dodgy, exactly, but unless you're willing to live with ghouls in the attics, or want to fight with the witch or wizard who owns the building over the fact you've gone ahead and repaired the leaky taps, then I wouldn't live there.'

'Thank you,' Ginny said sincerely. 'I mean, I've only just met you this morning, and...'

Bronwyn shrugged. 'If I had a younger sister about to do what you're doing, I'd want someone to lend a hand here and there, too.' She saw the subtle stiffening of Ginny body and filed it in the back of her head. 'Better go and have a look at those flats before it gets too late. You might not feel up to it later this week.'

'Right...' Ginny tucked the parchment into the pocket of her jeans. 'Thanks again.' She trotted out of the infirmary, Bronwyn following at a slower pace. She watched Ginny head for the entrance of the reservation. She intrigued Bronwyn, making her wonder if all of Charlie's family were a curious mixture of pride and stubbornness. Or perhaps it was a product of being not only the youngest of a large family, but the only daughter with several much older brothers. Charlie hadn't really ever said, but Bronwyn fancied he hadn't had much as a child. Unlike most of the others on the reservation, he seemed perfectly content with the somewhat shabby, lumpy reservation-issued sofa and scarred kitchen table. From what she'd seen of his wardrobe, he kept his clothes until they were little more than rags, and from the looks of Ginny that morning, she had more than her fair share of clothes handed down to her or bought secondhand. Despite living most of her life in the male-dominated worlds of Healers and dragonkeepers, one thing Bronwyn knew very well was how harshly women could judge each other.

Her shift couldn't end too soon.

xxxxxx

Bronwyn sprinted across the valley to Charlie's cabin. She arrived winded and gasping for breath. Exercise for her normally consisted of a brisk walk. People who liked running were touched in their head as far as Bronwyn was concerned. The door of Charlie's cabin would be open. Very few of them bothered with locks or charms at the reservation. She slipped into the cabin and pulled her robes off, revealing a pair of jeans and a cotton tunic. She carefully opened the door of the cabin's single bedroom, and edged into the darkened bedroom. Bronwyn quietly shut the door and stood with her eyes shut, counting slowly to ten. When she opened her eyes, she could make out the dim outlines of the bureau and bed. She didn't blame him for keeping the window charmed to block light. She often did the same thing when she had the overnight shift in the infirmary. Bronwyn crawled onto Charlie's bed. 'Charlie, wake up...' She ran a fingertip lightly around the outer edge of his ear. 'Come on, Charlie...'

Charlie grunted and jerked his head away from Bronwyn's feathery touch. 'Wha...?'

'What's your sister wearing tomorrow?'

Charlie blinked blearily at her. 'Dunno.'

'Well she certainly can't go in those ratty jog pants. They're almost indecent,' Bronwyn said crisply.

'Haaah?' Charlie was still groggily attempting to make sense of what she said.

'It's a girl sort of thing,' Bronwyn added helpfully. 'Has she any other clothes to wear to the trial?'

Charlie hitched himself up against the headboard of the bed, Bronwyn's insistent questions finally working their way through the mental cotton wool wrapped around his brain. 'Dunno, and I'm not goin' to look through her things to fin' out.'

'Have you got any gold here?'

'In the tea tin in the back of the cupboard over the stove.' Charlie frowned. 'Why?'

'You'll find out,' Bronwyn told him, kissing him full on the mouth. 'I'll be back within the hour.' She clambered off the bed. 'Ginny's about my size, is she not?'

Charlie slid back down into the bed, and pulled the bedding over his head. He opened one eye, squinting at Bronwyn. 'Just about.'

'Excellent. Go back to sleep.' Bronwyn left the bedroom, scooping up the robes she's tossed over the sofa.

xxxxxx

Ginny warmed her hands around the mug of tea. She didn't really want it, but she took it nonetheless to give herself something to do. She took a few perfunctory sips to be polite. Bronwyn had made the tea, just as she had the meal, and while they were both good, Ginny had to force herself to do more than nibble, recognizing the nascent flutters of butterflies in her stomach. The company was good, as well. Bronwyn was able to draw actual conversation from Charlie, not just monosyllabic grunts. Pleading exhaustion, Ginny excused herself to bed, and threw herself across the neatly made bed.

She'd found a flat that afternoon. It was small studio flat, with a cramped kitchen and small bathroom. But to Ginny it was palatial. She could barely contain her glee at the prospect of having her own bathroom. Her own space. She could probably scrounge some furniture from the attic. She didn't need much beyond a bureau, bed, and a table. Molly would help her shop for bedding and a few odds and ends for the kitchen. The flat itself was a little dark, tucked under the eaves of an old building, but Ginny didn't mind. It was hers. She fell asleep, fantasizing of the luxurious baths she would be able to have when she moved in two weeks' time.

xxxxxx

'Getting late,' Charlie commented.

Bronwyn waved him off. 'Is she coming back out?'

'Doubt it.'

Bronwyn reached for her bag, and pulled out carrier bag from a Muggle shop in Cardiff. 'This ought to do for the next couple of days.' Charlie peered inside, nodding in mute approval. 'Is she always so resistant to offers of help?' Bronwyn added, retrieving her own tea.

Charlie raised his mug to his lips. 'Dunno.'

'You aren't sure, because she's never been like this before, or you honestly do not know?'

Charlie set his mug next to his feet. 'I was almost nine when Gin was born. Left for school when she was three and starting to get interesting. Only saw her on holidays, then I left for Romania before her ninth birthday. I saw her the next year at Christmas. She was ten. Next time I saw her, she was thirteen during the Ireland-Bulgaria World Cup. Didn't see her again until she was sixteen.' Charlie shrugged. 'How well do you think I know her?' He picked up the mug and swallowed the tea left inside. 'Have to go. Adam's on a rampage about blokes showing up to the overnight shift late.'

'Charlie...'

'Thanks for getting this for her,' Charlie nudged the carrier bag.

'Charlie...'

'Could you put it in the kitchen for me? Thanks.' Charlie disappeared into the fog-shrouded night before Bronwyn could say another word.

xxxxxx

Ginny stretched, keeping her eyes tightly shut against the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains. The scent of frying bacon slipped under the door and teased her nostrils. The gurgle of anticipation in her stomach soon transformed into a rumble of unease. She pried her eyes open and stared at the gently ticking clock on Charlie's bedside table.

Eight o'clock.

Her trial with Holyhead would begin in a mere two hours. She swung her feet to the floor and stood, then slowly rolled down to touch the floor next to her feet. She laid both palms flat against the braided rug and gradually straightened her knees, breathing deeply. Carefully, contracting the muscles of her abdomen, she began the process of standing upright, one vertebra at a time. She tiptoed to the door and opened it a little, peering through the crack, as she had done so often as a small child when Charlie and Bill were home for the holidays. 'Morning,' she said softly.

Charlie looked up from the eggs he stirred in a pan, cooking them the Muggle way. 'Morning.' He slid some of them on a waiting plate, and held it toward Ginny. 'Hungry?'

'I guess.' Ginny accepted the plate and gingerly sat on the edge of a chair at the table.

Charlie inspected her for a moment. 'You look pale,' he commented, watching her pick at her breakfast.

'Nervous,' Ginny said shortly.

'Hmmm.' Charlie silently finished cooking his eggs and joined Ginny at the table. 'Could do the trite thing and tell you to just do your best.'

'I think I'd like that.'

Charlie buttered a piece of toast. 'Just do your best, yeah?'

'I really want to be on the Reserve squad,' Ginny admitted.

'Will you be happy if you end up on the practice squad?'

'I suppose. Better than nothing.' She shrugged. 'Probably not.'

Charlie hid a smile behind his toast. 'You want the Reserve squad, then do it. What do you have to lose?' He indicated Ginny's half-eaten breakfast. 'If you're done with that, why don't you go grab a shower? Get to the pitch early and warm up a little.'

'Okay...' Ginny scooped up her plate and carried it into the kitchen and dropped it in the sink, Vanishing the remains of the food. Charlie waited until he heard the water running, then went to a cupboard, and dug out a parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper. He didn't have anything more festive. He quickly scrawled Ginny's name on the parcel, and placed it on the small table, then resumed his meal.

Presently, Ginny emerged from the bathroom with an accompanying cloud of steam, dressed in the ragged jog pants she'd worn the day before. Bronwyn was right, Charlie thought with a small pang. He unfolded himself from the chair and headed for his bathroom, wanting a hot shower before he went to sleep. 'Play like you do with us. You'll be fine.' The bathroom door closed firmly behind him. Ginny plopped to the floor to put her trainers on when she saw the parcel on the table. Convinced it hadn't been there before, she craned her head to examine it, smiling when she saw her name written on it. She picked apart the twine holding the paper together, revealing a pair of black track pants and a dark blue race bra top. She frowned, searching the wrappings for a card or note, feeling her hopes rise. A wave of disappointment rippled through her when she found the envelope bearing her name in Charlie's scrawl, rather than Harry's angular hand. She tamped down the melancholy. She had no time for such emotions right now. Ginny carefully folded the track pants and bra top and slid them into her bag. She picked her up wand from the table and took her broom down from the hooks next to the door.

Time to go.

xxxxxx

The Harpies' changing room was, to Ginny's admittedly limited standards, hedonistic. A place for her belongings. Numerous benches to sit and prepare for a match. Several shower stalls, fronted with opaque glass doors, lined with clean white tiles. Piles of plush dark green towels. Green and gold accent tiles dotted the floors and walls. In comparison, the Hogwarts' changing room was little more than a tool shed. 'Blimey,' she breathed.

'Who're you?'

Ginny looked up. A woman who looked as if she was in her late twenties sat on the floor, stretching. 'Ginny.'

'Ginny...?' the witch prompted.

'Ginny Weasley.'

A hush descended over the room. Ten pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. 'How old are you?' another witch called.

'Almost eighteen.' Ginny set her bag down on a vacant bench and bent to untie her trainers. She decided the best course of action was to not let the other, and obviously older, witches intimidate her. Or at least not let them think they were intimidating her.

'Eighteen,' a witch in a far corner muttered. 'Bet she makes the Reserves,' she added in an undertone to her companion. 'You know, because of who she is.'

Ginny lowered the old jog pants and shimmied into the new track pants. Don't let them get to you... She hauled the oversized t-shirt over her head and slipped the bra top on, wriggling out of her bra once the bra top was in place. She flicked her wand at the discarded clothes, and they crammed themselves into her bag. She tossed the bag into the locker in front of her and tapped it with her wand. It locked with a soft click, and a small, round disc glowed brightly.

'Press your thumb to it,' a witch advised. Ginny glanced at her. She seemed to be close to Ginny's age and hadn't joined in the discontented murmurs. 'That way the charm locking the door can't be easily broken.'

Ginny reached out and pressed her right thumb to the disc. 'Why do that?'

'Rivalries can get intense,' the witch replied. 'There have been instances where a visiting team breaks into the home team's changing room and mucks about with their things. I'm Julia, by the way. My friends call me Jules.' Julia wriggled her hands into her gloves. 'What position?'

'Chaser.'

'Play another one? I hear Gwenog likes players who can play more than one position.'

'I can play Seeker if need be.' Ginny worked her arms behind her head and began to weave her hair into a tight plait. 'You?'

'Beater, mostly. I don't do too badly at Keeper, but I can't find a Snitch if my life depended on it, and Quaffles always seem to slip through my fingers.' Julia watched in fascination as Ginny bound the end of the plait and tossed it over her shoulder. 'You always have hair that long?'

'Yeah.' Ginny picked up a roll of tape and carefully wrapped her wrists and the joints of her fingers.

'It doesn't get in the way?' Julia ran a hand through her closely cropped hair.

'Not usually.' Ginny slid her gloves over her hands, bending and stretching her fingers to settle them over her palms.

'Well, good luck, then.' Julia held out a hand. Ginny gazed at it for a moment, then grasped it. 'Seeing as how we're not going for the same position, eh?' For a moment, a cold, slightly menacing expression came over Julia's face. Ginny felt a bit of relief that she wasn't a Beater. She had a feeling Julia wouldn't let anyone stand in her way.

'Yeah. Luck to you, as well.' Ginny didn't add, We're going to need it. She didn't have to.