C1: We All Fall Down
The roar of the crowd became muffled as Ginny focused on the goal posts only tens of feet in front of her. No matter how much her hearing narrowed, the screaming fans and the gusts of wind that buffeted her broomstick could not completely drown out the commentator’s voice as he narrated her descent down the pitch. The picture he painted with words illustrated a scene of battle rather than a mere Quidditch match, but Ginny couldn’t help but think that the description was apt.
It had been a long match due to the bitter wind. Quaffles thrown for a pass often flew right back into the Chaser’s face, and Bludgers that needed no assistance to fly found more power when carried on the gale, which made the already hazardous ball even more dangerous for everyone flying in the air with them. The cloudless sky also left no cover for the blazing sun, making visibility challenging as everyone squinted into the light, into the gusty air, as they attempted to tell apart one player from another.
The Holyhead Harpies’ opponents, the Tutshill Tornados, were the least of Ginny’s concern as the Tornados’ Keeper preemptively approached, leaving the goal posts clear for a shot if Ginny could only see through the sun and outsmart the wind.
To make a long story short… she couldn’t. And she lost the Quaffle, which was picked up by Blavinsky, the Tornados’ star Chaser, who sped off toward enemy territory, A.K.A. the Harpies’ goal posts.
“If you keep that up, we’ll get this game wrapped up as early as next week!” the Keeper’s choppy voice yelled, the sentiment broken up and carried by the wind that stole Ginny’s Quaffle.
Draco Malfoy grinned at her with as much sincerity as he was capable of. Which Ginny knew was none at all. He looked like an idiot toad in his goggles, his lips spreading wide in an expression of satisfaction as if he’d just caught the juiciest fly. He hadn’t even done anything during that encounter! The wind had done his job for him!
Ginny flew away in disgust, urging her broom to go faster, to catch up to Blavinksy so she could regain her honor and also the Quaffle. But she was fighting a losing battle against the elements and hadn’t even made it to the center of the pitch when the commentator’s extended vowels delivered the bad news on the wind.
“GOOOOOOOO—OOOOOOOOOOOOO—OOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL! Ten po—Tutshill!”
“Dammit!” Ginny screamed, and she was grateful to the wind for swallowing her curse before the referee heard it and gave her a warning for unsportsmanlike conduct.
Her relief was short-lived as a force slammed into her from behind and shoved her off her broom. She was falling, her breath stolen both by the blow and the billowing air. Her body careened toward the ground, manipulated by pockets of air currents until she half-believed she was in the middle of an actual tornado.
The ground ascended toward her… closer… closer… until lack of breath made her vision go black.
She never felt the impact.
The weight of Weasley’s flailing body knocked the wind out of Draco as he swooped in under her and caught her in his arms. Which was appropriate because it wasn’t like there wasn’t enough wind on this glorious day already.
Gravity and the brunt of her weight made him lose his balance, which he attempted to regain using sheer will and also his thighs.
But it was useless. The Nimbus 9000 broomstick that the team’s sponsor required the Tornados to use was a finicky instrument, a touch too sensitive to forces outside of the rider’s control. The broom spun with the imbalance of Draco’s load, toppling both himself and Weasley sideways to the ground.
They fell about three feet, but it was the second time Draco had had his breath knocked out of him in the last three minutes, so he was fairly certain he was dying. He couldn’t die, though. If he died, he didn’t get workers’ comp.
Down here on the ground, fifty feet below the match taking place in the air, the sound of the jeering, cheering audience and the wailing of the wind were so muted and far away, they might as well have stepped inside an adjacent room. Or sunk to the bottom of the ocean. No one seemed to have noticed that a Bludger had smacked Weasley clean off her broom, or Draco’s heroism in saving her from her fall, or Weasley ungraciously toppling Draco off his own broom as well.
He squinted into the sky, but even his tinted goggles could not pierce the brightness of the sun to discern what was happening above them. Perhaps their teammates had noticed the fall after all and could not free themselves from the ridiculous wind.
A groan brought Draco back to earth as Weasley made a feeble attempt to lift herself off Draco’s chest. Her head blocked a bit of the sun, which was a relief to his fatigued eyes.
“Welcome back. Did you enjoy your nap?” Draco asked.
He relished in her recoil as the identity of her landing pad sank in. She scrambled off him and up to her feet, her face, now unshadowed, beet red and angry.
Draco rose onto his elbows and waved at her in dismissal. “No, no. No thanks necessary at all.”
“Thanks for what?” Her voice seethed with pent-up violence, and her hand reached into her robes before slowly returning to her sides.
“Catching you from your fall. Saving your life. The usual.”
He stood on wobbly legs and nearly fell back down as she invaded his personal space, her pointed nose nearly touching his own very pointed nose.
“You do not—” Her mouth closed. Opened again. Flapped a few more times without releasing any more words that actually existed.
Before she could figure out how to form new sentences, the referee and their teammates began landing around them. They must have finally realized they were a couple players short up there—or the wind had died down just enough to allow them to dive down safely. Surely he and Weasley hadn’t been forgotten….
They were pulled apart from each other, led in different directions as the team medics descended upon them to check for injury. Draco supposed he was happy that he had not been incapacitated enough to have to file for workers’ comp after all.
He wasn’t smiling because of that, though. He smiled because Weasley could try to deny it all she wanted, but both of them knew what he’d said was true.
Draco had a knack for saving Ginny Weasley’s life.
The roar of the crowd became muffled as Ginny focused on the goal posts only tens of feet in front of her. No matter how much her hearing narrowed, the screaming fans and the gusts of wind that buffeted her broomstick could not completely drown out the commentator’s voice as he narrated her descent down the pitch. The picture he painted with words illustrated a scene of battle rather than a mere Quidditch match, but Ginny couldn’t help but think that the description was apt.
It had been a long match due to the bitter wind. Quaffles thrown for a pass often flew right back into the Chaser’s face, and Bludgers that needed no assistance to fly found more power when carried on the gale, which made the already hazardous ball even more dangerous for everyone flying in the air with them. The cloudless sky also left no cover for the blazing sun, making visibility challenging as everyone squinted into the light, into the gusty air, as they attempted to tell apart one player from another.
The Holyhead Harpies’ opponents, the Tutshill Tornados, were the least of Ginny’s concern as the Tornados’ Keeper preemptively approached, leaving the goal posts clear for a shot if Ginny could only see through the sun and outsmart the wind.
To make a long story short… she couldn’t. And she lost the Quaffle, which was picked up by Blavinsky, the Tornados’ star Chaser, who sped off toward enemy territory, A.K.A. the Harpies’ goal posts.
“If you keep that up, we’ll get this game wrapped up as early as next week!” the Keeper’s choppy voice yelled, the sentiment broken up and carried by the wind that stole Ginny’s Quaffle.
Draco Malfoy grinned at her with as much sincerity as he was capable of. Which Ginny knew was none at all. He looked like an idiot toad in his goggles, his lips spreading wide in an expression of satisfaction as if he’d just caught the juiciest fly. He hadn’t even done anything during that encounter! The wind had done his job for him!
Ginny flew away in disgust, urging her broom to go faster, to catch up to Blavinksy so she could regain her honor and also the Quaffle. But she was fighting a losing battle against the elements and hadn’t even made it to the center of the pitch when the commentator’s extended vowels delivered the bad news on the wind.
“GOOOOOOOO—OOOOOOOOOOOOO—OOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL! Ten po—Tutshill!”
“Dammit!” Ginny screamed, and she was grateful to the wind for swallowing her curse before the referee heard it and gave her a warning for unsportsmanlike conduct.
Her relief was short-lived as a force slammed into her from behind and shoved her off her broom. She was falling, her breath stolen both by the blow and the billowing air. Her body careened toward the ground, manipulated by pockets of air currents until she half-believed she was in the middle of an actual tornado.
The ground ascended toward her… closer… closer… until lack of breath made her vision go black.
She never felt the impact.
The weight of Weasley’s flailing body knocked the wind out of Draco as he swooped in under her and caught her in his arms. Which was appropriate because it wasn’t like there wasn’t enough wind on this glorious day already.
Gravity and the brunt of her weight made him lose his balance, which he attempted to regain using sheer will and also his thighs.
But it was useless. The Nimbus 9000 broomstick that the team’s sponsor required the Tornados to use was a finicky instrument, a touch too sensitive to forces outside of the rider’s control. The broom spun with the imbalance of Draco’s load, toppling both himself and Weasley sideways to the ground.
They fell about three feet, but it was the second time Draco had had his breath knocked out of him in the last three minutes, so he was fairly certain he was dying. He couldn’t die, though. If he died, he didn’t get workers’ comp.
Down here on the ground, fifty feet below the match taking place in the air, the sound of the jeering, cheering audience and the wailing of the wind were so muted and far away, they might as well have stepped inside an adjacent room. Or sunk to the bottom of the ocean. No one seemed to have noticed that a Bludger had smacked Weasley clean off her broom, or Draco’s heroism in saving her from her fall, or Weasley ungraciously toppling Draco off his own broom as well.
He squinted into the sky, but even his tinted goggles could not pierce the brightness of the sun to discern what was happening above them. Perhaps their teammates had noticed the fall after all and could not free themselves from the ridiculous wind.
A groan brought Draco back to earth as Weasley made a feeble attempt to lift herself off Draco’s chest. Her head blocked a bit of the sun, which was a relief to his fatigued eyes.
“Welcome back. Did you enjoy your nap?” Draco asked.
He relished in her recoil as the identity of her landing pad sank in. She scrambled off him and up to her feet, her face, now unshadowed, beet red and angry.
Draco rose onto his elbows and waved at her in dismissal. “No, no. No thanks necessary at all.”
“Thanks for what?” Her voice seethed with pent-up violence, and her hand reached into her robes before slowly returning to her sides.
“Catching you from your fall. Saving your life. The usual.”
He stood on wobbly legs and nearly fell back down as she invaded his personal space, her pointed nose nearly touching his own very pointed nose.
“You do not—” Her mouth closed. Opened again. Flapped a few more times without releasing any more words that actually existed.
Before she could figure out how to form new sentences, the referee and their teammates began landing around them. They must have finally realized they were a couple players short up there—or the wind had died down just enough to allow them to dive down safely. Surely he and Weasley hadn’t been forgotten….
They were pulled apart from each other, led in different directions as the team medics descended upon them to check for injury. Draco supposed he was happy that he had not been incapacitated enough to have to file for workers’ comp after all.
He wasn’t smiling because of that, though. He smiled because Weasley could try to deny it all she wanted, but both of them knew what he’d said was true.
Draco had a knack for saving Ginny Weasley’s life.
Author notes:
I literally have no plan for this story. NONE. I mean, I had a plan, but within two paragraphs, I'd already written myself into a corner where I couldn't make the plan work. So I decided to roll with it. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what the goal is. Or the theme. I'm just going to write as I go! And that means this story is going to be hilariously hilarious or hilariously awful.
Anyway, Charlie, I tried to fit the kiss cam in, but I don't think I can make it work now. I hope you enjoy this silly thing anyway. And I hope all of you enjoy, too!
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