Fire and Ice

Quidditch Practice

"Ginny!" Harry snapped. "Get your head in the game!"

Thinking about her amazing morning, Ginny dreamily stared into a certain area of the woods as her team captain drilled the Gryffindor Quidditch team. After making fierce, passionate, desperate love with Draco again, they had both discovered hat it was only 5 in the morning, giving them plenty of time to sneak back into their dormitories.

"Sorry, Harry," Ginny muttered, jerking out of her trance.  Grunting, Harry proceeded to reprimand their new chaser for not bringing the correct clothing for Quidditch practise. Rolling her eyes fondly, she laughed inwardly as she watched Harry. When in Quidditch-Mode, Harry didn't take shit from anyone. Frankly, Ginny wasn't the only person a little afraid of Quidditch-Harry.

"The match against Slytherin is this afternoon. I had to pull a million strings to get you out of your lessons so we could practise. We're lucky that Professor McGonagall wants to win as much as I- I mean we do." He snapped his hands together as he paced in front of the team in the Gryffindor locker rooms. "And," he added in relish, "nothing would make me happier than wiping that smirk of Malfoy's face when I catch the snitch under his nose."

Ginny laughed with the rest of the team, but couldn't shake the unsettling feeling as she imagined Harry's face if he found out about the way she and Draco felt about each other.

Ah, Draco.

"Ginny!" Harry yelled. The team snickered. "Where are you?!" Harry asked exasperatedly, "This is an important game, Ginny, concentrate, or you're out."

Ginny rolled her eyes at Harry, daring him to threaten her again. A Gryffindor Quidditch practise was not a Gryffindor Quidditch practise unless Harry threatened to kick at least one person off the team.

"Up and out, guys," Harry cheered suddenly, and the seven students soared through the air.

"Sarcrese, practise on your aim, whenever you bat at the Bludger it almost always marginally misses. Johnessa- help him. Felix, look sharp, you better not be slouching when we're about to play; makes the team look lazy. You need to be alert in case the Quaffle comes down our end, which it won't, will it? Henry, Jacobry, quit fooling around or you're out. COME ON YOU LOT!"

Laughing to herself, Ginny ripped the Quaffle out of Mitlen Jacobry's hands and swooped under Harry's broom, scoring effortlessly. Harry clapped, urging the team to follow Ginny's suit. Quickly, he team were drilling harder and harder before their hair looked like they all were on the wrong end of a Electro spell.

"We are in the lead by five points," Harry said calmly, watching his team breathlessly stumble off their brooms. "Five points. And Slytherin are a close second. Very close. I've been watching their practises, and they're... they're good/ Very good. But WE'RE BETTER!" Harry roared, and despite their fatigue, the team roared with him. "Round two, everyone, UP!"

This is the life, Ginny thought, as she zoomed through the players, laughing as she did. Nothing made her happier than feeling the ferocious wind rage through her hair, than hearing the delighted cries of her fellow teammates as they flew through the air, than seeing the Quaffle fly from her fingertips through a hooped goal post.

She thought of the way Draco looked at her.

Well, almost nothing made me happier.