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Ginny has mud on her face and a line between her eyebrows. Her hand grips the broom so hard you can see the bone. She stands up straight and grits her teeth. Her Captain stands in front of her. Alice Clark is brutal and hard; tough like leather over steel.
Not like Gwenog says the media.
Just like Gwenog, says the team.
The Harpies are far from home, and - beyond the entry tunnel - the crowd cheers for Wood and Bennett, not for Lewis or Clark.
She shoves her hair back out of her face, wishes for a haircut, and gets another streak of mud across her forehead.
On her first day, Alice sat her down and said they don't like us. It's not fashionable to like the women's team. Girls, says Alice with a twist to her lips. We're girls to them.
Bonnie leers and calls her babygirl while she swings her beater's bat. Ginny feels her skin shrink and her face burn, stutters, drops the quaffle. Alice laughs, and Ginny doesn't know if it's cruel or not. Maybe both.
In her first press conference they ask her about her hair, if she has a boyfriend yet, how will he compare to the boy who lived?
In her second, they ask her about her hair, chastise her for that missed pass, that missed win, ask her if she's heard from Harry yet.
Her brother looks guilty, smiles apologetically when she finds him in the Cannons’ colours. She puts twelve frogs in his bed and laughs like that's the end of it. The orange doesn't leave, but there's a cursory Harpies poster up there on his walls now. She looks at it and feels uncomfortable - like her insides are being squeezed - and she doesn't know why.
A little girl clutches her around the thighs and stares up at her with huge brown eyes. I think you're amazing, she breathes, and holy fuck does she mean it. Every single cell in her tiny body means it. My brother says girls can't play Quidditch, but you're gonna prove them wrong, right?
Right, she breathes back.
The little girl's mother herds her away, mouths sorry over one shoulder as she strides off.
In a pub - some pub, somewhere - a man watches swallow her beer, leans in and smirks at her. How you doin', babygirl? She sprays beer in a three foot radius and has to sit down, she's laughing so hard. He calls her a bitch, tells her she's a fucking whore. All she can hear is Bonnie's wild cackles, feel them vibrating under her cheek while she shoves her face against her friend's neck and tries to remember how to breathe.
She punches a reporter. He fucking deserves it.
Pansy Parkinson signs to them halfway through the season, after leaving the Bats. She holds her head high whilst she walks through them. Doesn't even blink at the ever present six foot gap between her and the other Harpies. A rookie asks her where the tattoo is.
"I never got one; I don't like needles," says Parkinson, sweetly polite even though anyone can see she's laughing at them.
Ginny bursts out laughing; is surprised she isn't surprised by the whole thing. Beside her, Alice is laughing too, and they share a look.
They go out for drinks, her and Pansy. End up in a bar in muggle London (Pansy is amazingly muggle-fluent) but the pictures still make the papers.
Ron tells her she's consorting with the enemy. She ends up throwing a plate at him and screaming until her head rings because why can't he move the fuck on, enough people are dead just let it fucking go, fuck.
Bonnie calls her babygirl and she wears it like a cloak. She takes them up, the nicknames - sugarplum, sweetpea, bunnyboo - and names Pansy sugarlips herself.
They play the Arrows.
The keeper (not-Alice, as all Keepers are, these days) nearly falls off his broom when Pansy deflects a bludger away from her and lets watch it, babygirl! carry on the wind. Yeah, yeah, why do you think we keep you around, sugarlips? The green grass blurs below them and she laughs when the quaffle flies past his baffled expression.
Ginny and Pansy fall into bed three week after the Arrows game. It’s entirely unrelated, but it’s perfect. Afterwards she thinks about what her mother will say if she ever finds out (when? Will they keep doing this?), and keeps thinking about it until Pansy kicks her in the shin and drags her into the shower.
Two days later they go out to dinner. They hold hands in the restaurant and kiss in the street.
When it hits the headlines, there's a page full of her licking her lips in Pansy's direction (ironically from the Arrows game with the confused Keeper). Her mother won't speak to her for a week, then she gets the howler (she's not a fucking child, for fuck's sake mum, improper her fucking arse).
In another tunnel, in another town, Alice turns to look at them. She runs her eyes over their faces, and almost smiles. Ginny feels touched. They don't get any words; probably couldn't process them right now, anyway. Still, Alice nods, once, and they each nod back.
Ginny watches Bonnie wink lasciviously at Alice. Watches Pansy pout in mock hurt at the neglect.
And she smiles.
She cuts all her hair off. Goes down to a buzz cut back'n'sides, leaves it a little longer on the top. Enough to run her fingers through it, not long enough to get annoying. Her mother drops a plate, her father tells her she looks like a boy (so does the media). Ten minutes after she leaves her first game with her new ‘do, she’s been called a dyke six times, a dirty lezzer four times, and is getting really fucking bored of the whole thing.
She's been banned from punching any more reporters and it probably wouldn’t go well if she put out a pissy statement, but fuck. If they insist on being homophobic, misogynistic arseholes, they could at least be inventive. Management would kill her, but oh, is she tempted.
She makes a point not to change her clothes, not really, but she starts wearing more skirts, just now and then. Enough to make a point. The point is missed completely by fucking everyone, almost. Pansy tells her she looks fucking sexy, though, helps her adjust her mascara and kisses her filthily where anyone can see (and does). Bonnie pulls her skirt and makes her dance, twirls her as often as possible. Alice is Alice, as always, just smiles slowly and scratches against the buzzed hair. Suits you, she says.
Ginny's never felt more feminine.
Ginny has mud on her face, and a line between her eyebrows. Her broom twists as she rolls it between her fingers. She stands straight and proud, and stares right ahead. Alice stands in front of her, with Bonnie by her side, and Pansy stands by Ginny's side (her fingers are stroking the inside of Ginny’s wrist and it feels comforting without being distracting, feels right).
The Harpies are far from home, and beyond the entry tunnel, the crowd cheers for Wood and Bennett (again), not for Lewis or Clark, Weasley or Parkinson. Not unless you're looking to hear. Then you find them in pockets in the stands. Maroon and black, screaming, exulting.
She elbows Pansy and gets elbowed back for her trouble. Thinks about the cup, just a game away. The fire is in her heart now, and it burns bright and keeps her warm.