When The Smoke Clears

Euphoria, Part One

"Ready for today?"

The question came so suddenly that it startled Harry, who choked on his cornflakes, and he barely managed to swallow them before promptly launching into a series of sharp coughs.

"Bloody hell, Harry, you alright?" the someone exclaimed apologetically, and for a dazed moment, Harry thought it was Ron speaking, but the voice was pitched higher. Ginny Weasley thumped Harry a couple times on the back, and he soon stopped coughing.

"You're talking to me again," Harry observed hoarsely, eyes watering. He put down the book he'd been reading, wondering if the modicum of entertainment it provided was worth letting his guard down. One never knew when they could be surprised into suffocation.

"I never stopped," Ginny pointed out, grabbing a nearby toast and smearing it with strawberry jam.

"Quidditch talk doesn't count," Harry said, pushing away his bowl of carbohydrate choking hazards. All week, Ginny had been giving him the cold shoulder. She didn't look him in the eye during practice, instructing Fiona Chang, their reserve Seeker, instead of letting Harry talk to her, and didn't look up from her books the few times he'd attempted studying with her and Luna. "I suppose you're only here to talk about the match, then?" He grumbled.

Ginny gave him the stink-eye. "All right, so I've been a little frosty. You did out me to Ron and Hermione."

Harry sighed, all-too-familiar guilt twisting in his stomach. "I know. I'm sorry."

She shrugged and took a bite of her toast. "I've decided to forgive you. It's not like I was going to hide it from them forever," She said between mouthfuls. "But I am here to talk about Quidditch." Ginny lowered her voice and leaned closer. "Are you and Draco okay?"

Even though she was whispering, Harry glanced around nervously. All the other students at the Gryffindor table were well out of the eavesdropping range. Harry peeked over his shoulder at the other tables and was entirely unsurprised to meet Draco's eyes from across the hall. The Slytherin, covert as usual, gave him the barest nod before returning to his solitary breakfast. "That has nothing to do with the match," He muttered, neatly dodging the question.

"It's important to check up on my team's wellbeing," Ginny said solemnly. "Boyfriend troubles will make you play worse. Trust me, I know," She added, and Harry believed her.

"If you must know, we're just fine." Harry left it at that, and stiffly raised a glass of orange juice to his lips. In reality, he spoke only half the truth. Draco was fine - or seemed to be. But the six days of silence from Ron and Hermione had taken its toll on Harry himself, more than he wanted to admit.

Ginny saw right through him, as usual, but she seemed reluctant to press. She brushed her crumb-adorned hands off on a napkin and said, "Are you okay?"

No. "Yes." Harry closed his eyes for a moment, wishing she'd leave him alone. He didn't need anyone fretting over him right now. He needed the wind in his hair, cold fingers around a broomstick, low-hanging clouds cooling his face as he squinted for the Snitch. Anything to distract him from his life on the ground.

"I'll take your word for it," Ginny relented. "See you out there, Harry." She gave him a reassuring smile before sliding from the bench, fiery hair swishing down her sweater-clad back as she walked away.

A light drizzle had begun to fall when the spectators filled in the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch. Harry, fully dressed, nervously tugged at his gloves, glancing from the overcast sky to the crowds of students settling into their seats, from the dewy grass to the other six members of his team that milled about near the dressing room. Ginny spoke with the other two Chasers, Willow and Danny, tracing golden play patterns in the air with her wand. The Beaters, Richie and Eleanor, stretched out their arms and practiced swinging their bats while chatting. Quinn, the Keeper, stood close by, watching the goal hoops with such intensity one might think she was trying to set them on fire by sheer force of will.