Now And Forever
Chapter 04

By Abraxan

Now the opposing Seeker was right on top of the Snitch. Harry crashed his broom into the other Seeker’s repeatedly, trying to keep the man from catching the small golden ball. The opposing Seeker was well-experienced and a good flyer. None of Harry’s tactics put him off track for catching the ball! When the man nearly had his fingers around the Snitch, Harry hit the other Seeker’s hand sideways with the back of his hand. As fast as his broom was going, Harry’s hand simply flew into the Snitch without him even trying to catch it, his fingers closing around it out of habit. He cursed his stupidity and bad timing all the way to the ground. The Lions had lost by ten points, and it was all his fault. Harry was disgusted with himself.

"Buck up, boys, you played a great game!" their captain said. "Potter, stop blaming yourself. You were in a tough situation and did the best you could to stop the other Seeker from catching the Snitch. I think that Snitch was a bit slow today, don’t you?"

Harry knew the captain was simply trying to buoy up his young Seeker’s confidence. Harry didn’t lack confidence, he’d just messed up. He sighed, then slapped a sickly smile on his face, doing his best to appreciate the kindness the other players were showing him, which he felt he didn’t deserve.

The captain stopped in front of Harry when they reached the locker room. "Don’t be too hard on yourself, Harry. That was a very unusual situation today, but it showed me a hole in our training. I’ll come up with some drills so you can practice deflecting the other Seeker’s catch." He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "You were brilliant out there, lad. There will be other games. Just do better next time."

"I will," Harry said.

"As for you other lads, the biggest thing we need to work on is defence." He sighed and looked at his two Beaters. "You two need to be on top of things more. Weasley getting that Bludger in the stomach cost us the game, and that wasn’t his fault, but yours. We’ll run some drills this next week to improve our defensive plays." He looked at Ron, who was still holding his stomach even after the team’s medi-wizard had treated him. "All right there, Weasley?"

"Yeah," Ron muttered, stifling a groan as he shifted his weight on the bench.

"Good man! Right, then, lads, see you next week!"

When Smithers dismissed the team, Harry helped Ron change out of his team robes into his street clothes.

"You look a wreck, mate," Harry commented.

"I feel it too. I’m going home to take that potion the medi-wizard gave me. He said I’d be fine after a good sleep."

"Right."

As they left the locker room, they were met by Hermione, Arthur, Molly and the twins.

"Ron!" Molly cried, rushing to his side. "How are you, dear? A Bludger to the stomach! I can’t believe it, I simply can’t believe it!"

"I’m fine, Mum," he said, draping his arm around Hermione. "Hi, sweetie."

"You look a bit peaky," Molly continued.

"Are you OK?" Hermione said quietly.

"I need a nap, but I’ll be fine," he assured her. He turned back to his mother, who was still fussing over him. "Mum, give over! The medi-wizard said I just need to sleep and that potion will fix me up straightaway."

Molly sighed. "You can come to the Burrow to recover if you want."

"Thanks, but I’ll be fine at home."

Hermione nudged him. When he glanced down at her, she murmured, "We haven’t visited them in a while."

"Oh." He looked back at his mum. "All right, we’ll come over after I have a nap. Thanks for inviting us."

"You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?" Molly was glowing with excitement.

Ron grinned. "You know I never turn down the offer of a free meal, especially one you cooked."

Molly beamed at him, then turned to Harry. "Will you join us?"

He grinned. "Sure, thanks."

"Harry, brilliant game!" George enthused. "Except for that premature catch, of course."

"Could’ve happened to anybody, mate," Fred added. "Too bad Ronnikins let those goals through."

Ron turned to his brothers, his face already red with anger. "I’d like to see you stop a goal with four broken ribs and internal bleeding!" he hissed, leaning toward the twins so his mother wouldn’t hear how badly he’d been injured.

Fred frowned. "Are you all right now?" he murmured.

Ron kept his voice low, answering only after glancing at his mum to be certain she was still occupied talking to Harry. "Yeah, the medi-wizard healed my ribs and stopped the bleeding. The potion’s just for residual pain and to make certain everything finishes mending quickly."

Seeing their mother looking at them oddly, George raised his eyebrows and held his hands up in mock surrender. "Fine! Fine! Have it your way! I just think you should use that handy Shield Charm Harry taught us in D.A. so you won’t get hit like that again."

Ron gaped at his brother. "That’s not a bad idea!"

"It’s not legal," Harry reminded him.

Ron deflated instantly. "Oh. Yeah. Damn."

By now, they had reached the door out of the stadium. Harry and Ron were surprised to see a gaggle of fans waiting for autographs despite the team’s loss. They passed out cards and patiently signed whatever people handed them.

After a few minutes, Harry glanced over at Ron and saw that he was standing oddly, favouring the side where the Bludger had hit him. Harry decided they’d spent enough time with the fans for one day.

Harry handed back the last card he’d signed and gave an apologetic smile to those he was about to disappoint. "Sorry, you lot, I’ve got writer’s cramp. See you at the next game! Thanks for coming!"

* * * * *

Harry and Ron sometimes spent their lunch hour wandering through the Muggle part of London. They enjoyed exploring the city, and Ron got a particular kick out of browsing the shops. They’d already picked out some things for Christmas and Arthur’s birthday, as well, in their wanderings.

The two young men were coming out of a shop on Piccadilly Circus when a tall man with long silvery-blond hair down over his shoulders and a long black coat passed them. Harry gasped and pulled his wand.

Ron shoved Harry’s arm down before he could cast a spell and pushed Harry into the wall, banging his head. "What do you think you’re doing? Lucius Malfoy’s dead!"

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it of the vision that had flashed into his mind, blocking out the real scene around him: Lucius in the Department of Mysteries battling Harry and his friends for the prophecy. "Dead?"

"Yes!" Ron leaned closer and continued speaking in a whisper. "You killed him outside the Shrieking Shack, remember?"

Harry finally relaxed and shoved his wand back into his pocket. "Oh. Yeah." He looked up at Ron. "Thanks, mate. If you hadn’t been here—"

Ron shrugged. "No problem."

They both looked toward the man with the long blond hair, who was now waiting to cross the street. They could see his face now. It wasn’t anything like the aristocratic, arrogant Malfoy. This man was barely out of his teens and still covered with spots.

Harry tried to smile. "If I’d seen his face first—"

Ron snorted. "Yeah, there’s no mistaking him for a Malfoy."

Harry knew Ron sometimes had these flashes as well, but Ron’s were rare and very brief. He never lost touch with reality the way Harry sometimes did. Harry took a deep breath and clapped his friend on his back. "Lunch is on me. I owe you."

A broad grin crossed Ron’s face. "You’re on!"

* * * * *

Some weeks later, Harry was walking down the hall at Hogwarts, going back to his quarters after teaching a flying class. He grinned and lifted his hand to wave when he saw Ginny at the opposite end of the corridor. His heart sank when he saw a very Molly Weasley-like expression of fury on Ginny’s face as she stormed toward him.

"What’s wrong?" he said when she neared him.

"This!" She shook something under his nose that looked like a bundle of thick, glossy papers fastened together. "I can’t believe you did this! It isn’t like you!"

Harry was completely flummoxed. "What did I do?"

She dropped her bag with a resounding thud and opened the bundle, revealing a calendar designed very much like those used by Muggles. Harry had a mental flash of the ones Aunt Petunia favoured, with a different flower photo for each month, and the ones Aunt Marge used, with pictures of bulldogs wearing top hats, monocles and other attire, posed like people going to the opera or driving fancy cars. Then he saw the cover of the calendar in Ginny’s hand. There was Harry in all his shirtless glory, his jeans so tight they left little to the imagination, his hair blowing in the wind from one of Trent’s instruments. Harry realized with a start that the stern look on his face resembled the haughty, disapproving look often affected by professional models. But he’d been trying to hold his temper when that look crossed his face. He remembered it clearly.

He raised his eyes to Ginny’s face and sighed. "It’s the team calendar. I told you about it. If you don’t like it, don’t use it."

"It isn’t the team calendar. That’s this one," she said, kicking her bag over. Another calendar slid out of the bag, this one with the team posed together under the London Lions scoreboard. "This one’s just you, Harry."

He gasped. "You’re kidding."

"Do I look like I’m kidding?"

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and rested his hand on her shoulder, hoping the gesture would calm her. "Why are you so angry?"

"You don’t like fangirls, remember? What do you think is going to happen when they see this? It’s already happening! Some of the girls saw this calendar when I got it in the post at breakfast today. You should’ve heard them. It was positively disgusting."

"Why are you angry with me?"

"I’m not! I’m just so frustrated! No matter what you do, somebody twists it to make life more difficult for you!"

Harry took the calendar from her and began flipping through it. He remembered every pose. Trent truly was a genius with a camera. The pictures were beautifully framed, lit and shot. Some people would probably consider them artistic. Harry noticed his scars showed clearly, but they weren’t glaringly obvious the way he thought they might be.

"And the worst thing is," Ginny continued now, "it’s beautiful. I’d love to hang it in my room, but―"

He looked up at her. "But what?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as the anger left her. "I don’t know, Harry. It just feels like trouble brewing, you know? I can almost smell it coming."

"I expect they’ve done this for everyone," Harry said, hoping he was right. "They’re doing everything they can to publicize the team, to let the public get to know us―"

Ginny laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "Yeah, after seeing these pictures, people are going to know you in ways only I should know you!"

Harry chuckled as he pulled her into his arms. "No one else will ever know me the way you do." He kissed the top of her head and breathed in the scent of her. Could he ever get enough of this woman? "It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in ‘warrior princess’ mode. You’re scary when you’re like this!"

She leaned back against his arms and looked up at him. "I’m not there to protect you all the time, Harry. I worry about you."

"No fangirl is going to give me any trouble. When they try to, I remind them I’m very happily engaged and will be married to the love of my life soon. That usually shuts them up."

A worried frown crossed her face. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Always."

* * * * *

When Harry arrived home that evening, he found Hermione poring over Ron’s calendar. Ron’s scars, which showed as bright red streaks on his fair skin, had been expertly painted out in the photos.

"He looks good, doesn’t he?" Hermione said wistfully.

"Yeah, he does," Harry agreed. He looked at her more closely. "Are you crying?"

She rubbed her face impatiently. "No. Not really." She sniffled. "Well, maybe a bit." She looked up at him, her eyes dark and sad. "It just reminds me of how he was before . . . well, you know."

Harry nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. Back when Ron’s leg was whole and he wasn’t scarred like Harry.

His thoughts must have been plain on his face. Hermione gasped. "I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean―"

He waved his hand dismissively. "No problem. The photographer did a nice job on Ron’s pictures. Do you like the calendar?"

"It’s lovely. They did one of you, too, didn’t they?"

He nodded.

"Has Ginny seen it?"

"Oh, yeah. She was livid." He went on to tell her about Ginny’s reaction to half-naked pictures of her fiancé being spread all over the Wizarding World.

"She has a point," Hermione said, glancing down at the picture of Ron in her hands. "I suppose the fangirls aren’t as aggressive with Ron because he’s married." She looked up at him, her eyebrows drawn together in a worried frown. "But it’s more likely because he isn’t you. You may have a problem, Harry."

He snorted, trying to downplay the discomfort this whole situation gave him. "It wouldn’t be the first time."