![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fpbAfter shouting itself hoarse, the crowd had finally started to thin. The players, happy but exhausted, “fludged” (a slang word that meant to fly off in such a dispirited manner that you can hardly go straight) off to the changing rooms. Slowly, the Salem Quidditch Pitch was returning, after a memorable international match, to its weekday calm.
Ginny Weasley, Chaser and reserve Seeker for England, magicked away an extra strong helping of Magical Mess Remover from her hair, and watched with satisfaction as the mirror showed it restored to its usual blazing red. She was not a particularly fussy girl, but half a ton of mud from plowing straight into the ground to keep the Quaffle from the brilliant Yank chaser Henrdyx was not her idea of suitable hairdressing.
As she was checking her hair in the mirror, it showed a familiar face behind her.
“Nice game, Ginny.”
“And you, Ritchie. You were terrific,” said Ginny with a vivid smile. The young man before her suddenly felt as it something had turned inside him. “Without you, we would have lost.”
That was no more than the truth. At the climax of the game, a Bludger hit with millimetric accuracy by Ritchie Coote, one of the two England Beaters, had distracted the brilliant American Seeker, Strootings, long enough for his slower English opponent Wilkey to take the Snitch.
“Yeah, well, thanks,” answered the slim young man rather embarrassedly. “Of course…”
As if on cue, the team captain, Oliver Wood, appeared from behind a corner. “Of course you know that his heroics weren’t necessary. Sorry, Ritch” - smiling briefly at the thin Beater - “You did wonderful, but we would not have needed you risking a foul and Ginny here ruining her beauty with a mud-bath, if only we’d had a decent Seeker.”
“Not again, Oliver, please,” said Ginny with an exasperated expression, while Ritchie’s face showed the liveliest embarrassment and an intense desire to be fifty miles away. But when he was on his high horse, Oliver Wood left tact and sensitivity way behind him, choking in the dust.
“Yes, again. And don’t dare tell me to leave it alone, Ginny.
“You have been a pro long enough to know that I am right. We have a good team. We are all quite good. Ritchie here is exceptional. You are damn good. But you know perfectly well that we are not better than the other top teams - not significantly, not in the way that might make a difference at the world level.”
“Look, Oliver, it’s not as if we have a right to the World Cup. If we are good enough, we are. If not, others will win it.”
“Right. And there is one player who is good enough to make us a Cup-winning side. And he will not turn pro. Why, Ginny, why?”
“You’ve spoken with him, Oliver. You know how he feels.”
“he told me that he liked being an Auror. Which is bullshit, because there is no reason why he could not do both… be an Auror, and play for England. Other guys have done it.”
For a second, Ginny was interested: “Really?”
“Really. And don’t ask, I can’t tell you any more. The thing is, you may not have known about that, but he did. He knows what Aurors can and cannot do. So, when he of all people came to me of all people with that excuse, I knew he was talking trash. He was not giving it to me straight.”
“I… see. Well, Oliver, all I can tell you is that he never used his job as a reason with me.”
“Then you have discussed it.”
“Only once. And I stopped as soon as I saw that his mind was made up.”
“But you could change his mind. I mean you in particular, Ginny Weasley.” That was a low blow. As the argument turned more and more personal and sensitive, Ritchie’s face had been growing paler and paler with embarrassment. He wished the earth would swallow him, or at least that he could wear an Invisibility Cloak and vanish.
Now the blood had drained from Ginny’s face, too; and there was an impression that the teeth beneath her lovely lips had clenched. “That is none of your business, Oliver,” she said slowly, “and I don’t know that I could do it even if I wanted to.”
The moment those words left her mouth, she could have kicked herself. Oliver pounced on them. “You could not? Why? Is there something he would not do for you?”
Ginny now spoke slowly, each word coming out as if pulled by a windlass. “He might. That… is why… I will never ask him.”
“It would kill him, Oliver. He would do it for me, and he would hate every second, and he might take to drink or have an accident.
“He is not like you or me. We can live with the public, with popularity, with applause going through our heads when we have a headache, with the Daily Prophet making up lies about our private lives… it’s not about popularity for us, it’s doing a job we love and that we happen to be good at.
“But Harry never had a chance. He was popular almost as soon as he was born.
“I’ve been with him when people recognize him in the streets. He cringes, Oliver. I have known him to duck out of sight when some wizard or witch with a “Harry Potter” t-shirt walked down the street. To ask him to play before tens of thousands of people, each of whom is full of half-digested ideas about him and gossip from the Prophet… He might bear it once. Twice. Then he would start to play badly, and he would have to start drinking to strengthen himself before he entered the court.”
Ritchie and Oliver were listening incredulously, Ritchie’s face having turned from embarrassment to astonishment. “He has done it before…” said Oliver weakly.
“He has been forced to. Like the time when a Death Eater put his name in the Goblet of Fire. And he steeled himself and went through with it. Or when he played Quidditch at Hogwarts, he was among friends, people his age… even the Slytherins were not strangers, did not read about him in the papers, did not stop him in the corridor begging for an autograph…” Oliver grinned, and she noticed . “You’re thinking about Colin, aren’t you?”
“And his camera. And his brother,” he shot back.
“OK. Colin was a thundering nuisance, though. And Harry just about managed to put up with him because he was Gryffindor and they had friends in common. Dammit, Oliver, can’t you see my point?”
Pinned down like that, there was only one answer he could give. “Well… Yes, I guess.”
“And it’s not true that we cannot win without him. You have been giving Harry too much thought, Oliver. Think about it. If the Seeker is our weak point, we just have to work out team tactics that will support him. And that will produce enough points to win even with the occasional Snitch loss. We’ll lose from time to time, so we’ll have to play the percentages.”
Oliver was suddenly interested, and the talk changed direction, taking a technical Quidditch tone. The third person there took advantage of that and slipped away…
…only to meet himself in the corridor.
“Cutting it rather fine, aren’t you?”
“Couldn’t help it, Ritchie. Oliver got me and Ginny involved in another discussion. You know what he is like.”
“In case he should ask, what was it about?”
“Oh… the usual… why I should go back to playing… AAAaaargh!!“
“Harry?” asked Ritchie Coote, moving forwards with a concerned look.
“It’s all right… just… Polyjuice Potion…”
“Oh…”
“Don’t… look…” gasped the changing figure. “Not very nice… when it runs out…”
………………………………........................................................................................................................
Later, Harry was thinking. When he had taken the undercover mission he was on, it was because someone was needed who could, if necessary, pass for a Quidditch professional. The assistance of Ritchie, an old acquaintance from Hogwarts, had made things much easier, but even so, he could not afford to cut it so fine ever again.
Ginny… He felt pretty awful about that. He had as good as intruded in her intimacy, listening to her on pretty private issues. He must find a way to explain and apologize.
At the same time, he could not repress the slow and increasing inner glow that her words had given him. He had never thought anyone would understand. He carried his own feelings, his shrinking from publicity, his hatred of being recognized, within himself, as a secret - even something like a shameful secret. He had hardly been able to explain it to himself, let alone explain it to anyone else. And there was Ginny, fiery and direct, setting it out in so many clear words what he found so hard to state clearly even to himself.
Ginny understood. She understood him so well. And she sympathized. She was herself unfazed by crowds and journalists, happy to stride into a stadium among fifty thousand screaming fans, with her head held high and a smile on her face. But she understood. She would never pressure him… the warmth in his breast grew and swelled, till he was singing as he walked, unable to keep his happiness in.
Ginny understood. She understood everything, and she still cared for him. She did not think he was a weirdo or a coward. Ginny understood.
She was wonderful. He had always known she was wonderful, but he had never realized just how wonderful. His mind was made up before he realized it. As soon as this mission was over, he would find her. He would tell her everything (except those things that he could not tell even her) and beg her forgiveness. And then he would ask for her… his wife, his love, for life.
THE END.
Ginny Weasley, Chaser and reserve Seeker for England, magicked away an extra strong helping of Magical Mess Remover from her hair, and watched with satisfaction as the mirror showed it restored to its usual blazing red. She was not a particularly fussy girl, but half a ton of mud from plowing straight into the ground to keep the Quaffle from the brilliant Yank chaser Henrdyx was not her idea of suitable hairdressing.
As she was checking her hair in the mirror, it showed a familiar face behind her.
“Nice game, Ginny.”
“And you, Ritchie. You were terrific,” said Ginny with a vivid smile. The young man before her suddenly felt as it something had turned inside him. “Without you, we would have lost.”
That was no more than the truth. At the climax of the game, a Bludger hit with millimetric accuracy by Ritchie Coote, one of the two England Beaters, had distracted the brilliant American Seeker, Strootings, long enough for his slower English opponent Wilkey to take the Snitch.
“Yeah, well, thanks,” answered the slim young man rather embarrassedly. “Of course…”
As if on cue, the team captain, Oliver Wood, appeared from behind a corner. “Of course you know that his heroics weren’t necessary. Sorry, Ritch” - smiling briefly at the thin Beater - “You did wonderful, but we would not have needed you risking a foul and Ginny here ruining her beauty with a mud-bath, if only we’d had a decent Seeker.”
“Not again, Oliver, please,” said Ginny with an exasperated expression, while Ritchie’s face showed the liveliest embarrassment and an intense desire to be fifty miles away. But when he was on his high horse, Oliver Wood left tact and sensitivity way behind him, choking in the dust.
“Yes, again. And don’t dare tell me to leave it alone, Ginny.
“You have been a pro long enough to know that I am right. We have a good team. We are all quite good. Ritchie here is exceptional. You are damn good. But you know perfectly well that we are not better than the other top teams - not significantly, not in the way that might make a difference at the world level.”
“Look, Oliver, it’s not as if we have a right to the World Cup. If we are good enough, we are. If not, others will win it.”
“Right. And there is one player who is good enough to make us a Cup-winning side. And he will not turn pro. Why, Ginny, why?”
“You’ve spoken with him, Oliver. You know how he feels.”
“he told me that he liked being an Auror. Which is bullshit, because there is no reason why he could not do both… be an Auror, and play for England. Other guys have done it.”
For a second, Ginny was interested: “Really?”
“Really. And don’t ask, I can’t tell you any more. The thing is, you may not have known about that, but he did. He knows what Aurors can and cannot do. So, when he of all people came to me of all people with that excuse, I knew he was talking trash. He was not giving it to me straight.”
“I… see. Well, Oliver, all I can tell you is that he never used his job as a reason with me.”
“Then you have discussed it.”
“Only once. And I stopped as soon as I saw that his mind was made up.”
“But you could change his mind. I mean you in particular, Ginny Weasley.” That was a low blow. As the argument turned more and more personal and sensitive, Ritchie’s face had been growing paler and paler with embarrassment. He wished the earth would swallow him, or at least that he could wear an Invisibility Cloak and vanish.
Now the blood had drained from Ginny’s face, too; and there was an impression that the teeth beneath her lovely lips had clenched. “That is none of your business, Oliver,” she said slowly, “and I don’t know that I could do it even if I wanted to.”
The moment those words left her mouth, she could have kicked herself. Oliver pounced on them. “You could not? Why? Is there something he would not do for you?”
Ginny now spoke slowly, each word coming out as if pulled by a windlass. “He might. That… is why… I will never ask him.”
“It would kill him, Oliver. He would do it for me, and he would hate every second, and he might take to drink or have an accident.
“He is not like you or me. We can live with the public, with popularity, with applause going through our heads when we have a headache, with the Daily Prophet making up lies about our private lives… it’s not about popularity for us, it’s doing a job we love and that we happen to be good at.
“But Harry never had a chance. He was popular almost as soon as he was born.
“I’ve been with him when people recognize him in the streets. He cringes, Oliver. I have known him to duck out of sight when some wizard or witch with a “Harry Potter” t-shirt walked down the street. To ask him to play before tens of thousands of people, each of whom is full of half-digested ideas about him and gossip from the Prophet… He might bear it once. Twice. Then he would start to play badly, and he would have to start drinking to strengthen himself before he entered the court.”
Ritchie and Oliver were listening incredulously, Ritchie’s face having turned from embarrassment to astonishment. “He has done it before…” said Oliver weakly.
“He has been forced to. Like the time when a Death Eater put his name in the Goblet of Fire. And he steeled himself and went through with it. Or when he played Quidditch at Hogwarts, he was among friends, people his age… even the Slytherins were not strangers, did not read about him in the papers, did not stop him in the corridor begging for an autograph…” Oliver grinned, and she noticed . “You’re thinking about Colin, aren’t you?”
“And his camera. And his brother,” he shot back.
“OK. Colin was a thundering nuisance, though. And Harry just about managed to put up with him because he was Gryffindor and they had friends in common. Dammit, Oliver, can’t you see my point?”
Pinned down like that, there was only one answer he could give. “Well… Yes, I guess.”
“And it’s not true that we cannot win without him. You have been giving Harry too much thought, Oliver. Think about it. If the Seeker is our weak point, we just have to work out team tactics that will support him. And that will produce enough points to win even with the occasional Snitch loss. We’ll lose from time to time, so we’ll have to play the percentages.”
Oliver was suddenly interested, and the talk changed direction, taking a technical Quidditch tone. The third person there took advantage of that and slipped away…
…only to meet himself in the corridor.
“Cutting it rather fine, aren’t you?”
“Couldn’t help it, Ritchie. Oliver got me and Ginny involved in another discussion. You know what he is like.”
“In case he should ask, what was it about?”
“Oh… the usual… why I should go back to playing… AAAaaargh!!“
“Harry?” asked Ritchie Coote, moving forwards with a concerned look.
“It’s all right… just… Polyjuice Potion…”
“Oh…”
“Don’t… look…” gasped the changing figure. “Not very nice… when it runs out…”
………………………………........................................................................................................................
Later, Harry was thinking. When he had taken the undercover mission he was on, it was because someone was needed who could, if necessary, pass for a Quidditch professional. The assistance of Ritchie, an old acquaintance from Hogwarts, had made things much easier, but even so, he could not afford to cut it so fine ever again.
Ginny… He felt pretty awful about that. He had as good as intruded in her intimacy, listening to her on pretty private issues. He must find a way to explain and apologize.
At the same time, he could not repress the slow and increasing inner glow that her words had given him. He had never thought anyone would understand. He carried his own feelings, his shrinking from publicity, his hatred of being recognized, within himself, as a secret - even something like a shameful secret. He had hardly been able to explain it to himself, let alone explain it to anyone else. And there was Ginny, fiery and direct, setting it out in so many clear words what he found so hard to state clearly even to himself.
Ginny understood. She understood him so well. And she sympathized. She was herself unfazed by crowds and journalists, happy to stride into a stadium among fifty thousand screaming fans, with her head held high and a smile on her face. But she understood. She would never pressure him… the warmth in his breast grew and swelled, till he was singing as he walked, unable to keep his happiness in.
Ginny understood. She understood everything, and she still cared for him. She did not think he was a weirdo or a coward. Ginny understood.
She was wonderful. He had always known she was wonderful, but he had never realized just how wonderful. His mind was made up before he realized it. As soon as this mission was over, he would find her. He would tell her everything (except those things that he could not tell even her) and beg her forgiveness. And then he would ask for her… his wife, his love, for life.
THE END.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-08-19 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-19 05:21 pm (UTC)I liked the twist near the end. And your description of Harry is on the dot: he wouldn't like the publicity and the near-obsession of the wizarding world... I mean, Harry Potter T-shirts? I'd run away too.
And the last part was very cute.
I ♥ this fic. Thanks! ::hugs::
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 04:49 am (UTC)That apart, I very much like the central Polyjuice twist which gives this short fic such a strong backbone, and you have a good ear for Rowling's character names and language.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 07:34 am (UTC)However, in the story Harry's being asked to be a professional Quidditch player, something he is indisputably good at, so I'm not sure you can compare the two. He was no shrinking violet when he was appointed Gryffindor Seeker at the age of eleven: a nervous, self-conscious person would probably have eschewed the responsibility of being the most important member of the team (fifteen times more important than a Chaser), but Harry didn't think of it like that. He was eleven, a young age for that kind of responsibility, and he was still able to concentrate on the game rather than on what people might think of him. I get your point that Harry might not want publicity, but I disagree that he would stop doing something he wanted to do just because thousands of people were watching him do it.
Also, even if Ginny is right about Harry's being a personality type that might turn to drink under pressure, it's a bit insensitive and indiscreet of her to come out and say so in front of other people. Even if it would get Ritchie and Oliver off Harry's back, Ritchie and Oliver still don't need to know the exact reasons. (For all she knows, Ritchie could be in cahoots with Rita Skeeter, and I doubt Harry would thank Ginny for a journalistic scoop which described him as prone to alcoholism.)
This is just nitpicking, but I have to explain why the story didn't quite "square" with me. Anyone who cares for someone with a hidden flaw doesn't go around revealing that person's flaw to the rest of the world. I did find the other aspects of your story readable, though. Please keep it up, I'll probably give your next one a rave review!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 07:48 am (UTC)As for the suggestion that either Ritchie or Oliver might have a pipeline to Rita Skeeter, come on. These are people whom both Harry and Ginny have known for years. Do you imagine that Ginny would not by now know whether she can trust them or not? Of course, JKR has not said much about Ritchie Coote, but for the purpose of my story he is someone whom Harry trusts enough to seek his help with his mysterious undercover mission.
Incidentally, if you are posting anonymously because of a ban, tell me who you are so I can consider (I promise nothing) unbanning you.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 10:29 am (UTC)Also, Oliver is insensitive, something you conveyed very well. If he's insensitive enough not to get the hint about shutting up, how do we know he's not insensitive enough to spread the "fact" that Harry wouldn't last as a Quidditch professional and might likely take to drink if put under such pressure? It's the sort of insight that verges on being incredibly juicy gossip, and Oliver might repeat it in all innocence as a handy explanation of Harry's refusal, only to have it spread like wildfire and get distorted into "Harry Potter is a lush!"
Furthermore, I get your point that Ritchie in your scenario is a trusted friend but just because Ritchie is trustworthy doesn't mean that someone else couldn't have posed as Ritchie using Polyjuice at that particular moment. It was Ginny's good fortune that Harry turned out to be the eavesdropper, but it could have been Rita Skeeter or another agent (who would then report back to the Aurors that, according to Harry's girlfriend, Harry was the type who could not handle serious pressure). In the Wizarding World you can't go by appearances, which is why it's doubly important not to confide potentially damaging information to anyone.
Finally, I tend to post anonymously for feedback. Had your story been anything less than readable I wouldn't have bothered, so please take the fact that I engaged with it as a sign of my respect?
no subject
Date: 2005-08-20 10:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-21 06:03 pm (UTC)The one thing that struck me, as a critique, was the structure of the dialogue. Someone pointed out to me (back when I started writing fiction, and more specifically, dialogue) that people tend to speak with contractions. It's only when people are emphasizing something that you tend to see 'are not' instead of 'aren't', just for an example. Now, your experience with spoken English may be more formal than mine, but when I took that advice it seemed that the language of my dialogue flowed better and more naturally.
That's just an opinion, of course; this is a perfectly charming story without my nitpickery. But maybe it's something to consider for future pieces. Or not. :) You planning on continuing this, or is it just a one-shot?
Also, I read a little through the comments that are already here, and I've got to agree with you over Anonymous. I don't think that 'weak' is a fair interpretation of that segment; after all, Ginny was very adamantly defending Harry. She wasn't about to put him down before Oliver- in fact, I feel like she really was putting Oliver in his place, and spelling out how there are other, more powerful forces out there than Quidditch. Weak was an impression that never came to me.
Nice work! And sorry it took me a couple days to get over here to comment- the little one starts school in just a couple of weeks, and things are a bit crazy!