"Ginny.  Ginny, wake up.  Ginny.  Come on, I know it's been a while but you don't have to broadcast this to the whole house, Gin.  Wake up."

The words filtered in slowly and hazily through to my brain. I didn't want to open my eyes and I pouted at whoever was so insistent on waking me up from the most wonderful dream I'd just been having about -- about... Oh, god. Oh, god.

My eyes flew open and fell upon Natalie's face, which currently looked very amused indeed.

"What did I say?" I demanded, shooting upright and gripping her shoulders.

Natalie grinned wickedly and delicately released my hold on her. "Oh, I don't know.  I couldn't quite tell, since there was so much moaning involved.  But I definitely made out the words 'Draco', 'more' and 'harder'."  She ticked off her fingers as if this were some kind of to-do list.

I buried my face in my hands and groaned loudly.

"Yes, that's sort of what it sounded like," Natalie went on airily, dancing just out of my reach.  "Except, you know, a little more... in the throes of mind-blowing sex."

I whimpered.  "Oh god, did anybody hear?"

She finally seemed to take pity on me.  "I don't think so; the door's been closed and I think I woke you up just before, you know, you got to the end," she said, valiantly fighting a chuckle.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" I asked.

"Well, like so many witches before you, you've finally fallen under the spell of the sexiest wizard alive," Natalie explained didactically. 

"That's rubbish," I said decisively, gathering myself and getting out of bed.  I made a move towards the door, but Natalie barred the way, smirking like there was no tomorrow.

"Hang on there, Miss," she said, putting on a serious face and holding out her palm.  "Due to recent events, I'm sorry to have to say that I'm dishonourably discharging you from the I Hate Draco Malfoy Club.  Please turn in your membership card and private bathroom key."

I narrowed my eyes at her.  "Oh, shut up, you.  It was only a dream."

She just grinned even more maddeningly, and as I pushed my way past, I had the sinking feeling that this was far from the last I'd ever hear of this from Natalie McDonald - Beater, former Gryffindor, sinister fiend.

As luck would have it, and much to Natalie's unholy delight, I opened the bedroom door at the exact moment Malfoy passed by.

"Morning, Weasley," he said casually.

"Hallo!" I squeaked, so brightly it hurt my own ears. 

"Er, you all right?" he asked, looking a bit taken aback.

"I'm fine!" I assured him, even as I felt my cheeks burn like the sun.  Try as I might, I could not stop residual images of my dream self's very naughty activities from racing through my head, and having the object of my apparent lust looking rather concerned at me was not helpful in any way.  Establishing no other recourse, I sprinted down the corridor with Natalie's laughter following me the whole way, and barricaded myself in the toilet.  

"What's wrong with Weasley?" I heard Malfoy ask.  

"Oh, erm, she always gets this way at the start of the season.  Pre-game jitters, you know," lied Natalie, my darling, darling friend.  

I slumped against the door, and considered banging my head against it a few times, if only to jar my subconscious into submission.  How dare I give myself incredible sex dreams about Malfoy?

I stared at my flushed reflection in the bathroom mirror.  I would never look at Malfoy in the same way again.  

*****

"Welcome to the opening series between the Falmouth Falcons and the Appleby Arrows, brought to you by Cottage's Sardine Spreads!" the announcer's voice blared across the pitch.  

I shook my arms and rolled my shoulders, willing myself to relax.   

We were starting the season away, in a three-game series against the Falmouth Falcons, the team responsible for putting both our starting and reserve Seekers in early retirement last season.  The rumbling in the crowd sounded as if they were hoping for a repeat performance.   

I anxiously smoothed out a few wrinkles in my uniform, as if it really mattered.  

"Come on, Gin," said Natalie, linking her arm in mine.  "Showtime." 

We walked past Malfoy, who winked at me, creating a tumultuous mess somewhere in the region of my heart and stomach.  

"I'm John Douglas, here with you on this beautiful Saturday afternoon," the announcer shouted, even though grey clouds loomed disapprovingly over the pitch.  "Now, let's get this game started!  Please welcome the starting players from the Appleby Arrows: Keeper, Jack Spencer! Beating, Natalie McDonald and Wallace Ashby!"   

One by one, my teammates kicked off from the ground and rose into the air on their brooms, greeted by scattered applause and hoots from the crowd.  

"Chasing, Appleby captain Anthony Beecher, Ginny Weasley, and Maggie Kerr!" 

We grinned at each other, and joined our teammates up in the sky.  

"Finally, the starting Seeker - there's been a last-minute roster change here, hang on.  Gerald Winters will be replaced by - Draco Malfoy?" 

I stifled a laugh as the pitch went totally quiet, as if someone had put a huge Silencing Spell on the place.  Then, just as suddenly, the crowd erupted into a thunderous roar of alternate approval and disgust as Malfoy lazily made his way up to take his position with the rest of us.  

It had been Andrew's idea to pretend that Malfoy would be a last-minute replacement, just to make things seem more dramatic.  Considering the fans' reactions, it seemed as if his ruse had worked, though most of us thought it was unnecessary as Malfoy turned heads wherever he went anyway.  

The announcer welcomed the Falcons' starting players to tumultuous applause, and before long the game was underway.  

"Weasley has the Quaffle! Now Beecher and - Oh! Abrams's Bludger just barely misses him! Back to Weasley! Kerr! Kerr scores!" 

Maggie pumped a fist in the air and flashed a grin at me before zooming off to make sure she was in position for our next formation.  

"Chandler -- Flood -- Beecher intercepts the pass! Beecher -- Kerr -- Beecher again -- Beecher scores! It's twenty zero to the Arrows! Oh, watch out, here's the whistle - yes, it's going to be a penalty for the Arrows, Beecher's been skinned by Flood!" 

It was another easy ten points for Anthony as the Falcons' Keeper missed the shot by a wide margin.  

Thirty points down, the Falcons began to get far more aggressive and I had to simultaneously dodge Bludgers and fly in ways I had not thought myself previously capable.   

"Flood's got the Quaffle now - Oh! A spectacular save by Spencer! Flood's got a hold of it again -- Chandler -- Singh -- Flood -- And it looks like Chandler again…" 

The announcer trailed off uncertainly, his visibility significantly obstructed by the sheets of rain that had suddenly started pouring down.   

A bit of fog had settled in as well, and rain pelted my face angrily.  I cursed the weather under my breath and squinted, as if that would somehow let me see a little farther. 

A little golden ball fluttered next to my head and then took off, and Malfoy and the other Seeker sped past me.  I hoped Malfoy would catch it, the sooner the better, as I was eager to get away from the wind and rain, and, of course, win the game.  However, a few moments later, Malfoy passed me again, growling in frustration.  

The weather conditions lasted for quite a while and showed no signs of stopping.  The fog, heavy rain, and high winds forced all of us to either play far more recklessly or carefully than we should.  This meant that we were either careening and crashing into each other, or flying too slowly to be any use at all.  

Finally, after one too many collisions and missed goals, the referee had had enough and called us all down to wait out the rain, the score still holding at thirty to zero.  

We huddled in the locker room, soaking wet and dripping all over the tile floor and performed drying spells on each other.  

Andrew came in with a bright smile on his face.  "Well, that was a good start, up thirty!" he said bracingly.  

Most of us just looked sullenly at him, our faces still stinging from the rain slapping at us from every which direction.  Anthony sneezed.  

***** 

"I tode you! I'b fide!" Anthony insisted.  

After two hours of sitting and waiting in the locker room, the rest of the game was postponed to the next day as the rain continued to pour.  So we went home, ate and went to bed, planning to be well rested enough to tackle a doubleheader the following day.  

We all were, except Anthony, who'd woken up with a massive cold, despite his declarations to the contrary. 

Emily felt his forehead.  "I don't know, Anthony. You feel pretty warm to me." 

Anthony slapped her hand away weakly.  "De back of your hand is dot a defiditive beasurebent of by health!"  

"You're hardly in top form for the game, mate," Mark interjected, somewhat insensitively.  "We can't do well if you're falling off your broom in a congested stupor."   

Anthony frowned at him and lapsed into a violent fit of sneezing.  

"That's it, you're staying home," said Emily.  She thrust a box of tissues at him and walked towards the fireplace.  "I'll let Andrew know," she called over her shoulder.   

I patted Anthony on the head and he groaned pathetically.  

***** 

The sports writers were all calling it a false start.  Magazine after Quidditch magazine listed all the improbabilities of the Arrows keeping up a winning season - the comparatively miniscule payroll, lack of big name players, the team's decade-long history of spectacular failure and so on.   

Despite their misgivings, the fact that we were currently third best in the league couldn't be ignored.  Most attributed our newfound success to Malfoy, which none of us could begrudge, since he did do his job really, really well.   

But recently, one of our call-ups was getting a bit more attention than usual, and though I was loath to admit it aloud, it was irking me quite a bit.  

Anthony had passed his cold around the house for a couple of months, resulting in Andrew having to bring up a few of the junior leaguers into a number of our games, and the one junior player who was garnering quite a bit of praise just happened to be gunning for my job.  

Well, one of three Chasing jobs, anyway.  

"I don't know what you're so worried about, Gin," Anthony said after dinner one day as we hung around in the kitchen.  "She's still got at least a year to go before they'll even consider bringing her up to the pros.  She's not ready yet."  

"Who's not ready?" asked Mark, coming in for leftovers and butting into the conversation.  

"Philippa Frost," I said.   

"Oh," said Mark, looking in the fridge.  "She's good."  

I pointed at Mark as if in confirmation of my suspicions.  "See?" 

"Well, yeah," Anthony shrugged.  "She's got potential - " 

"And a nice arse," Mark interrupted.  

I rolled my eyes, though, technically, it was true.  Sometimes, talking to Mark wasn't really worth the effort.  He tended to steer himself into the gutter.  Over time, I learned to tune him out a bit.  

"What?" said Mark.  "I mean, you've got to be pretty fit if Draco Malfoy's got his eye on you."  

That, however, got my attention.  

"Who's Draco got his eye on?" Emily demanded as she passed through the kitchen.   

"Oh, like it matters to you, Mrs. Wickham," I said.  

"Oh, come on, who?  Tell me," Emily persisted, ignoring me.  

"Frost," Mark said.   

"Ooh, she is pretty," Emily opined.  "I'd kill for her hair." 

Mark nodded.  "Word is she's quite interested in our Draco as well." 

"Who isn't?" I interjected caustically.  

"Well, it'll never work out," Emily said decisively.  At our inquiring looks she added, "Andrew's got us all on a pretty tight leash with his rules and curfews and whatnot.  I mean, I barely see my husband enough; how do you think Draco and Philippa would even manage to stay together?" 

"We're not actually dating, you know," said Malfoy, strolling by.  

"Does everyone have Extendable Ears or something?" Anthony asked out of the blue.   

"Not dating yet," said Mark.  "But don't think I haven't seen the way you look at her.  And how she looks at you, I might add." 

"Yeah?" Malfoy said, his interest piqued.  

I frowned mightily.  

"I've been thinking, Draco," said Mark, abruptly switching tacks.  "You've got a lot of pull with Andrew; couldn't you, you know, soften him up a bit and get him to lighten up on the rules?" 

"I suppose.  The rules haven't really bothered me so far, though," Malfoy mused as he pulled up a stool next to me.  The proximity allowed me to distinguish the freshly-laundered scent from his sweater, and I mentally chided myself for noticing the way he smelled so clean and natural, like a sweet, long-awaited breath of fresh air.   

I'd been doing this ever since that stupid dream I'd had about him, noticing every little thing about him like how he took his tea (dash of milk and a spoonful and a half of raw sugar) and how the business section was the only part of the paper he'd ever read and the way his lips twitched when something amused him.  It was driving me crazy. 

What drove me even battier was that he'd turned out to be right after all when he warned me all those months ago that I'd fall in love with him without knowing it.  Despite what I strongly believed to be my better judgment, I was falling for the smug idiot, hard and fast, and the absurdity of it all was enough to make me want to do myself in.   

It was difficult to pinpoint when exactly I'd crossed the line between hate and love, though it was probably safe to say that the night he caught me cheating at Solitaire had planted the seeds. So here I was, standing hip-deep in gooey feelings for a man I had no business loving and who was already well on his way to being in love with someone else.  

Good one, Ginny. 

"That's because you're the only one allowed to break them," I said, forcing my focus back to the conversation at hand.  

He grinned knowingly at me, recalling our well-documented break-out during spring training, and my insides threatened to turn to mush.  

"Well," said Mark.  "Just think of how much easier it'll be for you to woo Frost if the rules weren't there at all." 

"Oh, I'm wooing her now?" Malfoy asked bemusedly.  

"Yeah, why not?  I was in the juniors with her for about a year, you know.  She's a real bit of all right.  She'd be perfect for you," Mark enthused.  

"Hmm," said Malfoy.  

"Well, you'd definitely look pretty together," Emily laughed.  "I can just see it on the front pages now: Draco Malfoy and Philippa Frost, the perfect Quidditch couple."  

"Well, I suppose I'll give her a Floo, then," Malfoy said.   

And there it was.  I'd never considered myself all that lucky in love, and this time was apparently no exception.  Having just come to the realization that I was actually in love with Draco Malfoy, he would, of course, choose to go for another girl.   

Well, with no chance of reciprocation, there was simply nothing else for it.  I'd just have to avoid him like the plague.