(no subject)
Author: majick
Title: Home of the Cannons
Challenge: Chudley, post Hogwarts
Summary: With the Cannons in contention for the Quidditch League Cup on the final day of the season, all of Ron's dreams have come true. Harry, meanwhile, is having sleepless nights, bad dreams, and all sorts of other problems, all with a common cause...
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff with a side of comedy
Word Count (optional): 3,600 or thereabouts
Notes/Warnings: Harry swears a bit, but he has just cause
Home of the Cannons
Harry couldn't help but smile, for all that it still hurt a little, watching his best friend bouncing excitedly around the parlour of the Burrow. Tomorrow was the final day of the season. Yesterday had been one week since Voldemort's final defeat. It was hard to know which event had excited the wizarding population more.
The reason for Ron's excitement, and that of the rest of the wizarding world, was that for the first time in one-hundred-and-six years, the Chudley Cannons stood a decent chance of winning the League. It all came down to the Cannons match the following day, a home match against Pride of Portree, who were only a point ahead of the Cannons in first place.
If the Cannons won - "Which they bloody well will," Ron insisted, whenever someone mentioned the match - then they would win the League. It was as simple as that. And, given that Ron had recently played a key role in the downfall of Voldemort, he had been granted exclusive use of one of the boxes at the Cannons stadium in Chudley, which meant that the Weasley family and their many guests were going to attend the deciding match en masse the following day.
Which was why, with eighteen hours to go until the Quaffle was chucked, Ron was bouncing excitedly around the parlour of the Burrow. Harry, mindful of the slowly-healing long cut along his jaw line, tried to keep the smile from his face, but he found it difficult. Cannons fever had taken over the whole house, it seemed.
About the only people who didn’t seem swept up in it all were Molly and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen - Harry wondered occasionally if she slept there - while he had barely seen Ginny that day. On seeing Ron bouncing excitedly in his chair over breakfast, she had declared that it was far too early in the day to get worked up about the Cannons, and had vanished in the direction of the orchard, where, as far as Harry could tell, she had remained ever since.
He frowned. It was nine o’clock. Surely someone’s wondered where she is? She wasn’t at lunch or dinner.
Harry stood up, ducking under one of Ron’s exuberant lunges and leaving him to sprawl over the arm of the sofa. As he reached for the doorhandle, however, the door swung open and he avoided a set of bruised knuckles only by jerking his hand out of the way.
"Hi," Ginny said, peering past Harry to where Ron was trying to extricate himself from Fred and Hermione, who had had the misfortune to be sitting on the sofa when he fell over it. Harry glanced back, saw that Ron had somehow managed to get his arm stuck down the back of Fred's jumper, and shook his head.
"Hi," he replied, turning back to Ginny, who was clutching a thick tome to her chest. "Have you been reading all this time?"
She gestured wordlessly with the book, and Harry squinted at the title: Apparation for Beginners, or There and Back Again.
"You can Apparate, can't you?" he asked.
"Not officially. Or legally," she said, with a sigh. "Mafalda Hopkirk caught wind of my moving from Skegness to Scunthorpe last week. Minister Scrimgeour's arranged for me and the other underage DA members to take our tests early before she tries to have us thrown in Azkaban."
"Oh, well, that's good, isn't it?" Harry asked. Something about her tone - everything about her tone - made him suspect that it wasn't very good at all.
"I found out last night that my test is going to be tomorrow afternoon. At three o'clock."
"So? Oh!"
"Yes. I'm going to miss the match."
*
Bugger, and... blast! And buggering, bollocking blasting bollocks! Harry thought to himself as he lay in his bed in the twins' old room. He stared at the ceiling, finding momentary mirth in speculation as to what Hermione would have said if he'd peppered the parlour air with the slew of curse words he'd learned from Sirius and the twins over the years.
The moment passed, and he stared at the ceiling, every muscle in his body clenched and singing as he tried to force an idea to form in his mind. He knew it was hopeless - the only thing more immutable than the time of the chucking of a Quaffle at a Quidditch match was the time given to anyone for any Ministry appointment.
Harry forced himself to relax, sucking deep, shuddering breaths of warm summer air into his lungs. He scowled at a burn mark on the ceiling, as though it alone were responsible for his current predicament.
He had had such high hopes for the following day. Hadn't it been a Quidditch day when he'd first kissed Ginny, more than a year before? The sight of her, eyes aflame, caught up in the moment, had just been too much to resist. At his lowest ebb, he'd gambled what little he had left and kissed her - and it had been worth the risk.
But now he was thinking, and therein lay the problem. Had she moved on? Had she given up on him - for good this time? What if - and this was the thought that had awoken Harry in cold sweats every night since Voldemort's spent frame had collapsed to the ground - she laughed? Or even worse - Harry shuddered, even his nightmares were never so dark - what if she just smiled, and then apologised and told him that she didn’t feel the same way?
Harry groaned, and rolled over, thumping his pillow so hard that the ghoul in the attic awakened and banged loudly on the pipes. Swearing just as loudly, one of the twins staggered out of their bedroom and up into the attic. There followed a short, but inevitably noisy, scuffle that ended when the twin crashed through the ceiling of Harry's room and landed with a thump that shook the whole house.
"And keep quiet!" the twin bellowed, before stumbling blearily from the room without a single glance in Harry's direction. Harry watched the particles of plaster dust floating in the faint moonlight for some time before he succumbed to an unsettled slumber.
*
Harry stomped around the house in a foul mood the following morning. It was quite bad enough, he thought, that he had to dream of Ginny turning him down whenever he had the courage to ask her out. For his thrice-cursed subconscious to add to the scene a shirtless Oliver Wood that Ginny then proceeded to enthusiastically wrap herself around...
Harry scowled. Scant wonder that he was the only one awake at whatever ungodly hour it was. He had checked the clock, of course, but all hands were pointing to 'Tucked up in bed' except for his own. His hand of the clock was instead indicating that he was 'In need of chocolate'. He nodded in agreement, and tapped the kettle with his wand. While it boiled, he found a clean mug and spooned chocolate powder into it. Adding the hot water, he made his way out into the garden, picking up the morning's Prophet on the way. Three mugs later, he was halfway through the paper's coverage of the day's big match, and the Burrow was starting to come to life.
"Are you done with the paper?" a gangling collection of Cannons merchandise asked with Ron's voice. Harry held out the Quidditch section, and the Cannons glove located at the end of the sleeve of the Cannons robe took it from him. "Thanks," came a voice from somewhere between the oversized novelty Cannons hat and the extra-long, heating charm equipped, Cannons scarf. Harry shook his head. If Ron still existed, somewhere inside the armour of lucky paraphernalia that he'd accumulated over the season, then he was probably melting. It was not yet seven, and it was already shaping up to be a scorchingly hot day.
The Weasley family came downstairs in ones and twos. Ron, with enough surplus energy for nearly everyone, had already started on breakfast. Molly took over with a firm hand - Ron's lack of ability with bacon was legendary among his family. Ron contented himself with making coffee, and gulped down three mugs before Mr. Weasley distracted him. Ron then proceeded to get under almost everyone's feet before Charlie threatened to hex him unless he sat down and kept quiet for at least five minutes.
Ron retaliated by using a Sticking Charm on Charlie's breakfast, leaving his brother unable to pick any of the food off his plate.
Charlie in turn used a Sticking Charm on Ron, and threatened to leave him fixed to the chair when everyone else went to the match.
Ron retorted, but Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance and escaped the kitchen before the Weasley brothers - all of them - began exchanging jinxes and hexes over the teapot.
"I must say, even after all the time that I've spent around Ron and his family, I can still never quite get used to the way they interact with one another," Hermione said, as Mrs. Weasley bellowed at her sons for their reckless use of magic at the breakfast table.
Harry nodded, his attention no longer on his friend. Ginny was coming downstairs, yawning and stretching as she did so. Harry tried, but couldn't move his focus from the strip of skin appearing between the hem of her t-shirt and the waist of her pyjama trousers. He swallowed tightly as Ginny rounded the foot of the stairs and smiled sleepily at them.
"Good morning Hermione, Harry," she said.
"Good morning," Hermione replied. Harry smiled and nodded, not entirely trusting his voice at that moment.
"Is that Mum I can hear?" Ginny asked, glancing at the kitchen door.
Hermione nodded. "Ron and Charlie were bickering, and I think Fred and George may have got involved."
"Oh. Well, I think I'll try and grab some toast before it gets Vanished or turned into a spider," Ginny said. She smiled at the two of them and made her way into the kitchen. Harry watched her go, wincing at the flash of light and loud snap as she opened the door and slipped through.
Turning back to Hermione, he found his friend looking at him with an exasperated expression on her face.
"Harry, this really can't go on," she said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, and began to make his way upstairs.
"Nonsense," she said. "Clearly you still have feelings for Ginny." She followed him up the stairs, only stopping when Harry walked into his room.
Harry stood in the doorway and looked back at his friend.
"Hermione," he began, before shutting the door in her face. He heard her give an infuriated snort before stamping off along the hallway to Ginny's room.
Harry sighed. Thinking about it, I could have probably done with her help.
*
Harry peered uncertainly over the banister rail at the great, teeming mass of orange in the hallway below. Ron was by far the most brilliant, covered from head to toe in eye-wateringly bright Cannons clothing that had seemingly multiplied as the day went on. With an hour to go, he had forced his feet into an old pair of Cannons cleats, although five minutes later he had taken them back off again, as they were at least three sizes too small. Instead he had added a Cannons coat, and this and his hat were festooned with badges. He had also found a spare Cannons jumper, somehow, that was tied around his waist.
That there had been a spare jumper was miraculous, for by some spell or incantation Ron had apparently managed to convince his entire family to follow his lead. Everyone from Mr. Weasley down to Ginny wore something orange - and the twins had managed to die their own skin orange, despite wearing their black-and-red Ballycastle Bats robes and the green dragon-hide jackets. It was an eye-watering combination surpassed only by Charlie's combination of Caerphilly's green-and-scarlet striped robes with a Cannons hat and coat.
Harry, in his navy-blue Puddlemere shirt, felt rather underdressed with just a single Cannons rosette on his chest.
"Cannons conquer!" Ron bellowed, as he spotted Harry. Hermione, standing beside him, winced and looked as though she would happily Silence Ron at a moment's notice. Harry wondered if Ron knew how much of a test he was putting his family through. Ron may have been key to the defeat of Voldemort, but his experience with the Weasleys had taught him that they were not ones to stand on ceremony. Harry judged that Ron had perhaps an hour more of chanting and incessant Quidditch talk before the entire family revolted and hexed him seven ways from Sunday.
Ginny favoured him with a smile as he made his way down the stairs and into the great mass of Weasleys. He smiled back.
"Ready for your test?" he asked.
Ginny nodded. "I think so. It should be easy enough after last week."
"You'll be fine, I'm sure," he said. Hey, er..."
"Yes?" Ginny asked.
"Cannons conquer!" Ron bellowed, looping one arm around Harry's shoulders and pulling him away from Ginny.
Harry thought a rather rude word, and decided that he wasn't even prepared to allow his friend even one more hour.
*
The town of Chudley was humming with nervous anticipation as the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione Apparated outside the stadium. If Harry had thought the sight of the others bedecked in vibrant orange was eye-watering, it was as nothing to the sight of hundreds - thousands - of men, women and children who were thronging the streets and clad almost solely in orange. Here and there Harry thought that he caught sight of an occasional splash of black as a daring supporter donned the rarely-worn Cannons European away kit, but in general Harry couldn't help but remember Mr. Weasley's comment at the World Cup four years before - wizards couldn't help but show off to one another.
They joined a long queue outside the stadium. A single witch, looking rather harried, was trying to process the thousands of tickets for all the spectators. Harry glanced up at the stadium, and noticed that it looked rather shaky.
"It's brand new, of course," Hermione said, following his gaze. "The Cannons don't normally attract more than a few hundred supporters. They've had to expand the stadium almost every week all season long. There are two streets inside as well - but the spells somehow keep it all separate.
"Somehow? You don't know how?" Harry asked.
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm afraid that Quidditch architecture hasn't been at the top of my priority list over the last year," she said.
They exchanged a smile. Harry was very glad that she had survived the trails that he had dragged her - and Ron - through over the previous year.
He glanced at Ron. He also thought that he was quite glad that Ron had survived as well - but another bellowing of-
"Cannons conquer!"
-and he was prepared to reconsider.
Shaking his head with a smile, he fell into line behind Ron and Hermione.
*
The ticket witch finally took their tickets, barely glancing at them. Harry noticed that Mundungus Fletcher had managed to sneak past the poor woman waving nothing more than summons to appear before the Wizengamot on criminal charges. Inside the stadium several witches and wizards in stained robes were waving their wands at the walls.
"Strengthening Charms and Engorgement Charms, that's the ticket," one called. "It's only got to last a few hours."
"What if it's a long match?" another called out, as he led several other wizards in making the stadium slightly larger.
"Good point. Cushioning Charms on the ground, too!"
Fred and George laughed as they made their way up the stairs to the top box.
"Come on!" Ron bellowed, from two flights above. "We're going to miss it!"
"Miss what?" Hermione asked.
"The referee checking that the hoops are still attached to the goalposts," Fred said.
"It's a very important part of the match," George added.
"It's normally a formality, though - well, except for when Appleby are playing," Fred continued.
"Some of their supporters get a bit worked up - shoot fiery arrows at the hoops, that sort of thing," George finished.
They showed identical innocent expressions to Harry and Hermione, who regarded them dubiously.
"All right," Fred cracked first. "Ron's just being obnoxious. But he's right, you know, we want to get the best seats."
"You just want to be there to see his face if the Cannons lose," Hermione said, shrewdly.
"Hermione," George said, clutching his hands to his heart. "You wound us!"
"Well, you would-"
"-if you weren't right."
"Up the Portree!" they yelled in unison, bringing a sudden halt to the hundreds of Cannons fans clustered around them.
"Er, Canary Cream?" Fred asked, offering a packet of biscuits to a surly, eighteen-stone wizard standing next to him.
*
The match was fought at a blistering pace. The two Seekers had looped and spun from the off, almost leaving trails of fire in the air as their matching Nimbus 2003s powered them around the stadium. The Chasers, on their slower, steadier brooms, dived and twirled and jerked and flipped - anything, in fact, to try and fool the Keepers.
But at one end was Oliver Wood, the bulky Scot holding back the tide of the Cannons attack with efficiency and sparse movements. At the other end was Jimmy Finn, in utter contrast to Wood a flailing acrobat who made the simplest of saves look as though it took every inch of his lanky frame to pull off.
The two teams could barely be separated. Their records in the league were nearly identical. There defences were rock-solid, their attacks as fluid as quicksilver, their movements as fast as a stampeding unicorn.
After an hour the teams were dead-level on forty points a piece. The Snitch had flashed briefly into the clear air above the pitch, and the Seekers had provided a little light relief by barrelling into one another as they reached for the golden ball. Wood had bawled his Seeker out - his voice nearly audible to Harry in the top box. He could well imagine what Wood had been yelling. He'd heard it himself, years before.
Thirty more minutes passed, and Portree gained a slight lead when the Cannons Keeper let the Quaffle slip through his hands and Portree Chaser Flatlock Campbell knocked it through the hoop.
"Get the Snitch... get the Snitch... get the Snitch..."
One by one, the occupants of the top box became aware of the hissed mantra escaping Ron's lips. He was clutching the arms of his chair, too tense to stand and cheer. Hermione, whose arm was looped through Ron's, looked at him with some concern.
Fifteen more minutes passed. The Cannons Keeper, his nerve clearly shaken, let in two easy goals and while his team's Chasers were able to pull one back, the momentum was Portree's. Ron paled as the Quaffle stayed almost entirely in the Cannon's half of the pitch. The crowd grew quiet, only the occasional, hopeful, call of "Cannons conquer!" puncturing the still air. Harry could hear Oliver Wood yelling at his players, although the stocky Keeper was too far away for Harry to make out the precise words. As the Portree Chasers squandered another clear chance, Harry decided that it was probably just as well.
And then the Snitch appeared once more.
And, as the crowd erupted, Harry heard the very faintest of pops.
He spun in his seat, rising to his feet almost before he recognised the pop as the sound of someone Apparating nearby.
He felt his expression settle into a familiar one. Hermione had told him once that his face became hard, his eyes blazing when the time came for him to take action.
He looked around. Ginny was there, staring at him as she stood in the doorway. He crossed the box and threw his arms around her. Without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that thousands of people - and Ginny's family! He would think later - were watching, Harry kissed her.
After several long moments, he felt something club him over his head. His forehead clunked into Ginny's and they broke apart.
"We've won! We've won! Cannons conquer!"
Ron capered away, crashing into Fred and George so hard that the three of them nearly fell over the railings and into the crowd below.
"Harry?" Ginny asked. He turned back to her, suddenly very aware that he was potentially on the verge of a very embarrassing situation.
"Hi," he said, somewhat belatedly, as he looked down at her.
"Hi," she replied. She looked up at him, her arms - he realised suddenly - still around his neck, where they had been since about two seconds after he had kissed her. "I think I've failed my Apparation test."
"Why?"
"Well, I was supposed to be Apparating back to the starting point, but I think my mind may have been elsewhere."
"Here?" Harry asked, thinking, hoping that she would say yes.
She nodded, biting her lower lip in a way he found impossibly attractive.
"Good," he said, wondering if there were any other words that needed to be said.
"Cannons conquer!"
Harry couldn't help but grin, as Ginny smirked. Releasing her grip on his neck, she took his hand in hers and led him over to the others.
He could probably manage to say that a few times, he decided.
The End
(Note: I'm sure that I scarcely need point out that the last scene is wholly inspired by the kiss scene in Half-Blood Prince. All characters, Quidditch teams etc. are JKR's.)
Title: Home of the Cannons
Challenge: Chudley, post Hogwarts
Summary: With the Cannons in contention for the Quidditch League Cup on the final day of the season, all of Ron's dreams have come true. Harry, meanwhile, is having sleepless nights, bad dreams, and all sorts of other problems, all with a common cause...
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff with a side of comedy
Word Count (optional): 3,600 or thereabouts
Notes/Warnings: Harry swears a bit, but he has just cause
Home of the Cannons
Harry couldn't help but smile, for all that it still hurt a little, watching his best friend bouncing excitedly around the parlour of the Burrow. Tomorrow was the final day of the season. Yesterday had been one week since Voldemort's final defeat. It was hard to know which event had excited the wizarding population more.
The reason for Ron's excitement, and that of the rest of the wizarding world, was that for the first time in one-hundred-and-six years, the Chudley Cannons stood a decent chance of winning the League. It all came down to the Cannons match the following day, a home match against Pride of Portree, who were only a point ahead of the Cannons in first place.
If the Cannons won - "Which they bloody well will," Ron insisted, whenever someone mentioned the match - then they would win the League. It was as simple as that. And, given that Ron had recently played a key role in the downfall of Voldemort, he had been granted exclusive use of one of the boxes at the Cannons stadium in Chudley, which meant that the Weasley family and their many guests were going to attend the deciding match en masse the following day.
Which was why, with eighteen hours to go until the Quaffle was chucked, Ron was bouncing excitedly around the parlour of the Burrow. Harry, mindful of the slowly-healing long cut along his jaw line, tried to keep the smile from his face, but he found it difficult. Cannons fever had taken over the whole house, it seemed.
About the only people who didn’t seem swept up in it all were Molly and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen - Harry wondered occasionally if she slept there - while he had barely seen Ginny that day. On seeing Ron bouncing excitedly in his chair over breakfast, she had declared that it was far too early in the day to get worked up about the Cannons, and had vanished in the direction of the orchard, where, as far as Harry could tell, she had remained ever since.
He frowned. It was nine o’clock. Surely someone’s wondered where she is? She wasn’t at lunch or dinner.
Harry stood up, ducking under one of Ron’s exuberant lunges and leaving him to sprawl over the arm of the sofa. As he reached for the doorhandle, however, the door swung open and he avoided a set of bruised knuckles only by jerking his hand out of the way.
"Hi," Ginny said, peering past Harry to where Ron was trying to extricate himself from Fred and Hermione, who had had the misfortune to be sitting on the sofa when he fell over it. Harry glanced back, saw that Ron had somehow managed to get his arm stuck down the back of Fred's jumper, and shook his head.
"Hi," he replied, turning back to Ginny, who was clutching a thick tome to her chest. "Have you been reading all this time?"
She gestured wordlessly with the book, and Harry squinted at the title: Apparation for Beginners, or There and Back Again.
"You can Apparate, can't you?" he asked.
"Not officially. Or legally," she said, with a sigh. "Mafalda Hopkirk caught wind of my moving from Skegness to Scunthorpe last week. Minister Scrimgeour's arranged for me and the other underage DA members to take our tests early before she tries to have us thrown in Azkaban."
"Oh, well, that's good, isn't it?" Harry asked. Something about her tone - everything about her tone - made him suspect that it wasn't very good at all.
"I found out last night that my test is going to be tomorrow afternoon. At three o'clock."
"So? Oh!"
"Yes. I'm going to miss the match."
*
Bugger, and... blast! And buggering, bollocking blasting bollocks! Harry thought to himself as he lay in his bed in the twins' old room. He stared at the ceiling, finding momentary mirth in speculation as to what Hermione would have said if he'd peppered the parlour air with the slew of curse words he'd learned from Sirius and the twins over the years.
The moment passed, and he stared at the ceiling, every muscle in his body clenched and singing as he tried to force an idea to form in his mind. He knew it was hopeless - the only thing more immutable than the time of the chucking of a Quaffle at a Quidditch match was the time given to anyone for any Ministry appointment.
Harry forced himself to relax, sucking deep, shuddering breaths of warm summer air into his lungs. He scowled at a burn mark on the ceiling, as though it alone were responsible for his current predicament.
He had had such high hopes for the following day. Hadn't it been a Quidditch day when he'd first kissed Ginny, more than a year before? The sight of her, eyes aflame, caught up in the moment, had just been too much to resist. At his lowest ebb, he'd gambled what little he had left and kissed her - and it had been worth the risk.
But now he was thinking, and therein lay the problem. Had she moved on? Had she given up on him - for good this time? What if - and this was the thought that had awoken Harry in cold sweats every night since Voldemort's spent frame had collapsed to the ground - she laughed? Or even worse - Harry shuddered, even his nightmares were never so dark - what if she just smiled, and then apologised and told him that she didn’t feel the same way?
Harry groaned, and rolled over, thumping his pillow so hard that the ghoul in the attic awakened and banged loudly on the pipes. Swearing just as loudly, one of the twins staggered out of their bedroom and up into the attic. There followed a short, but inevitably noisy, scuffle that ended when the twin crashed through the ceiling of Harry's room and landed with a thump that shook the whole house.
"And keep quiet!" the twin bellowed, before stumbling blearily from the room without a single glance in Harry's direction. Harry watched the particles of plaster dust floating in the faint moonlight for some time before he succumbed to an unsettled slumber.
*
Harry stomped around the house in a foul mood the following morning. It was quite bad enough, he thought, that he had to dream of Ginny turning him down whenever he had the courage to ask her out. For his thrice-cursed subconscious to add to the scene a shirtless Oliver Wood that Ginny then proceeded to enthusiastically wrap herself around...
Harry scowled. Scant wonder that he was the only one awake at whatever ungodly hour it was. He had checked the clock, of course, but all hands were pointing to 'Tucked up in bed' except for his own. His hand of the clock was instead indicating that he was 'In need of chocolate'. He nodded in agreement, and tapped the kettle with his wand. While it boiled, he found a clean mug and spooned chocolate powder into it. Adding the hot water, he made his way out into the garden, picking up the morning's Prophet on the way. Three mugs later, he was halfway through the paper's coverage of the day's big match, and the Burrow was starting to come to life.
"Are you done with the paper?" a gangling collection of Cannons merchandise asked with Ron's voice. Harry held out the Quidditch section, and the Cannons glove located at the end of the sleeve of the Cannons robe took it from him. "Thanks," came a voice from somewhere between the oversized novelty Cannons hat and the extra-long, heating charm equipped, Cannons scarf. Harry shook his head. If Ron still existed, somewhere inside the armour of lucky paraphernalia that he'd accumulated over the season, then he was probably melting. It was not yet seven, and it was already shaping up to be a scorchingly hot day.
The Weasley family came downstairs in ones and twos. Ron, with enough surplus energy for nearly everyone, had already started on breakfast. Molly took over with a firm hand - Ron's lack of ability with bacon was legendary among his family. Ron contented himself with making coffee, and gulped down three mugs before Mr. Weasley distracted him. Ron then proceeded to get under almost everyone's feet before Charlie threatened to hex him unless he sat down and kept quiet for at least five minutes.
Ron retaliated by using a Sticking Charm on Charlie's breakfast, leaving his brother unable to pick any of the food off his plate.
Charlie in turn used a Sticking Charm on Ron, and threatened to leave him fixed to the chair when everyone else went to the match.
Ron retorted, but Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance and escaped the kitchen before the Weasley brothers - all of them - began exchanging jinxes and hexes over the teapot.
"I must say, even after all the time that I've spent around Ron and his family, I can still never quite get used to the way they interact with one another," Hermione said, as Mrs. Weasley bellowed at her sons for their reckless use of magic at the breakfast table.
Harry nodded, his attention no longer on his friend. Ginny was coming downstairs, yawning and stretching as she did so. Harry tried, but couldn't move his focus from the strip of skin appearing between the hem of her t-shirt and the waist of her pyjama trousers. He swallowed tightly as Ginny rounded the foot of the stairs and smiled sleepily at them.
"Good morning Hermione, Harry," she said.
"Good morning," Hermione replied. Harry smiled and nodded, not entirely trusting his voice at that moment.
"Is that Mum I can hear?" Ginny asked, glancing at the kitchen door.
Hermione nodded. "Ron and Charlie were bickering, and I think Fred and George may have got involved."
"Oh. Well, I think I'll try and grab some toast before it gets Vanished or turned into a spider," Ginny said. She smiled at the two of them and made her way into the kitchen. Harry watched her go, wincing at the flash of light and loud snap as she opened the door and slipped through.
Turning back to Hermione, he found his friend looking at him with an exasperated expression on her face.
"Harry, this really can't go on," she said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, and began to make his way upstairs.
"Nonsense," she said. "Clearly you still have feelings for Ginny." She followed him up the stairs, only stopping when Harry walked into his room.
Harry stood in the doorway and looked back at his friend.
"Hermione," he began, before shutting the door in her face. He heard her give an infuriated snort before stamping off along the hallway to Ginny's room.
Harry sighed. Thinking about it, I could have probably done with her help.
*
Harry peered uncertainly over the banister rail at the great, teeming mass of orange in the hallway below. Ron was by far the most brilliant, covered from head to toe in eye-wateringly bright Cannons clothing that had seemingly multiplied as the day went on. With an hour to go, he had forced his feet into an old pair of Cannons cleats, although five minutes later he had taken them back off again, as they were at least three sizes too small. Instead he had added a Cannons coat, and this and his hat were festooned with badges. He had also found a spare Cannons jumper, somehow, that was tied around his waist.
That there had been a spare jumper was miraculous, for by some spell or incantation Ron had apparently managed to convince his entire family to follow his lead. Everyone from Mr. Weasley down to Ginny wore something orange - and the twins had managed to die their own skin orange, despite wearing their black-and-red Ballycastle Bats robes and the green dragon-hide jackets. It was an eye-watering combination surpassed only by Charlie's combination of Caerphilly's green-and-scarlet striped robes with a Cannons hat and coat.
Harry, in his navy-blue Puddlemere shirt, felt rather underdressed with just a single Cannons rosette on his chest.
"Cannons conquer!" Ron bellowed, as he spotted Harry. Hermione, standing beside him, winced and looked as though she would happily Silence Ron at a moment's notice. Harry wondered if Ron knew how much of a test he was putting his family through. Ron may have been key to the defeat of Voldemort, but his experience with the Weasleys had taught him that they were not ones to stand on ceremony. Harry judged that Ron had perhaps an hour more of chanting and incessant Quidditch talk before the entire family revolted and hexed him seven ways from Sunday.
Ginny favoured him with a smile as he made his way down the stairs and into the great mass of Weasleys. He smiled back.
"Ready for your test?" he asked.
Ginny nodded. "I think so. It should be easy enough after last week."
"You'll be fine, I'm sure," he said. Hey, er..."
"Yes?" Ginny asked.
"Cannons conquer!" Ron bellowed, looping one arm around Harry's shoulders and pulling him away from Ginny.
Harry thought a rather rude word, and decided that he wasn't even prepared to allow his friend even one more hour.
*
The town of Chudley was humming with nervous anticipation as the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione Apparated outside the stadium. If Harry had thought the sight of the others bedecked in vibrant orange was eye-watering, it was as nothing to the sight of hundreds - thousands - of men, women and children who were thronging the streets and clad almost solely in orange. Here and there Harry thought that he caught sight of an occasional splash of black as a daring supporter donned the rarely-worn Cannons European away kit, but in general Harry couldn't help but remember Mr. Weasley's comment at the World Cup four years before - wizards couldn't help but show off to one another.
They joined a long queue outside the stadium. A single witch, looking rather harried, was trying to process the thousands of tickets for all the spectators. Harry glanced up at the stadium, and noticed that it looked rather shaky.
"It's brand new, of course," Hermione said, following his gaze. "The Cannons don't normally attract more than a few hundred supporters. They've had to expand the stadium almost every week all season long. There are two streets inside as well - but the spells somehow keep it all separate.
"Somehow? You don't know how?" Harry asked.
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm afraid that Quidditch architecture hasn't been at the top of my priority list over the last year," she said.
They exchanged a smile. Harry was very glad that she had survived the trails that he had dragged her - and Ron - through over the previous year.
He glanced at Ron. He also thought that he was quite glad that Ron had survived as well - but another bellowing of-
"Cannons conquer!"
-and he was prepared to reconsider.
Shaking his head with a smile, he fell into line behind Ron and Hermione.
*
The ticket witch finally took their tickets, barely glancing at them. Harry noticed that Mundungus Fletcher had managed to sneak past the poor woman waving nothing more than summons to appear before the Wizengamot on criminal charges. Inside the stadium several witches and wizards in stained robes were waving their wands at the walls.
"Strengthening Charms and Engorgement Charms, that's the ticket," one called. "It's only got to last a few hours."
"What if it's a long match?" another called out, as he led several other wizards in making the stadium slightly larger.
"Good point. Cushioning Charms on the ground, too!"
Fred and George laughed as they made their way up the stairs to the top box.
"Come on!" Ron bellowed, from two flights above. "We're going to miss it!"
"Miss what?" Hermione asked.
"The referee checking that the hoops are still attached to the goalposts," Fred said.
"It's a very important part of the match," George added.
"It's normally a formality, though - well, except for when Appleby are playing," Fred continued.
"Some of their supporters get a bit worked up - shoot fiery arrows at the hoops, that sort of thing," George finished.
They showed identical innocent expressions to Harry and Hermione, who regarded them dubiously.
"All right," Fred cracked first. "Ron's just being obnoxious. But he's right, you know, we want to get the best seats."
"You just want to be there to see his face if the Cannons lose," Hermione said, shrewdly.
"Hermione," George said, clutching his hands to his heart. "You wound us!"
"Well, you would-"
"-if you weren't right."
"Up the Portree!" they yelled in unison, bringing a sudden halt to the hundreds of Cannons fans clustered around them.
"Er, Canary Cream?" Fred asked, offering a packet of biscuits to a surly, eighteen-stone wizard standing next to him.
*
The match was fought at a blistering pace. The two Seekers had looped and spun from the off, almost leaving trails of fire in the air as their matching Nimbus 2003s powered them around the stadium. The Chasers, on their slower, steadier brooms, dived and twirled and jerked and flipped - anything, in fact, to try and fool the Keepers.
But at one end was Oliver Wood, the bulky Scot holding back the tide of the Cannons attack with efficiency and sparse movements. At the other end was Jimmy Finn, in utter contrast to Wood a flailing acrobat who made the simplest of saves look as though it took every inch of his lanky frame to pull off.
The two teams could barely be separated. Their records in the league were nearly identical. There defences were rock-solid, their attacks as fluid as quicksilver, their movements as fast as a stampeding unicorn.
After an hour the teams were dead-level on forty points a piece. The Snitch had flashed briefly into the clear air above the pitch, and the Seekers had provided a little light relief by barrelling into one another as they reached for the golden ball. Wood had bawled his Seeker out - his voice nearly audible to Harry in the top box. He could well imagine what Wood had been yelling. He'd heard it himself, years before.
Thirty more minutes passed, and Portree gained a slight lead when the Cannons Keeper let the Quaffle slip through his hands and Portree Chaser Flatlock Campbell knocked it through the hoop.
"Get the Snitch... get the Snitch... get the Snitch..."
One by one, the occupants of the top box became aware of the hissed mantra escaping Ron's lips. He was clutching the arms of his chair, too tense to stand and cheer. Hermione, whose arm was looped through Ron's, looked at him with some concern.
Fifteen more minutes passed. The Cannons Keeper, his nerve clearly shaken, let in two easy goals and while his team's Chasers were able to pull one back, the momentum was Portree's. Ron paled as the Quaffle stayed almost entirely in the Cannon's half of the pitch. The crowd grew quiet, only the occasional, hopeful, call of "Cannons conquer!" puncturing the still air. Harry could hear Oliver Wood yelling at his players, although the stocky Keeper was too far away for Harry to make out the precise words. As the Portree Chasers squandered another clear chance, Harry decided that it was probably just as well.
And then the Snitch appeared once more.
And, as the crowd erupted, Harry heard the very faintest of pops.
He spun in his seat, rising to his feet almost before he recognised the pop as the sound of someone Apparating nearby.
He felt his expression settle into a familiar one. Hermione had told him once that his face became hard, his eyes blazing when the time came for him to take action.
He looked around. Ginny was there, staring at him as she stood in the doorway. He crossed the box and threw his arms around her. Without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that thousands of people - and Ginny's family! He would think later - were watching, Harry kissed her.
After several long moments, he felt something club him over his head. His forehead clunked into Ginny's and they broke apart.
"We've won! We've won! Cannons conquer!"
Ron capered away, crashing into Fred and George so hard that the three of them nearly fell over the railings and into the crowd below.
"Harry?" Ginny asked. He turned back to her, suddenly very aware that he was potentially on the verge of a very embarrassing situation.
"Hi," he said, somewhat belatedly, as he looked down at her.
"Hi," she replied. She looked up at him, her arms - he realised suddenly - still around his neck, where they had been since about two seconds after he had kissed her. "I think I've failed my Apparation test."
"Why?"
"Well, I was supposed to be Apparating back to the starting point, but I think my mind may have been elsewhere."
"Here?" Harry asked, thinking, hoping that she would say yes.
She nodded, biting her lower lip in a way he found impossibly attractive.
"Good," he said, wondering if there were any other words that needed to be said.
"Cannons conquer!"
Harry couldn't help but grin, as Ginny smirked. Releasing her grip on his neck, she took his hand in hers and led him over to the others.
He could probably manage to say that a few times, he decided.
The End
(Note: I'm sure that I scarcely need point out that the last scene is wholly inspired by the kiss scene in Half-Blood Prince. All characters, Quidditch teams etc. are JKR's.)