The Hollyhead Harpies' practice grounds weren't as secluded as they used to be. From the moment Ginny stepped onto the field, she could sense the eyes on her, distant but ever-present. The jagged cliffs of the Welsh coastline that had once seemed like impenetrable fortresses now felt exposed, almost vulnerable. It wasn't just the occasional burst of wind carrying faint cheers from some die-hard fans sneaking a glimpse of their favorite team through binoculars. It was something deeper—an undercurrent of anxiety that had burrowed into her chest, gripping tight.

Ginny had always loved this place. The field felt alive, buzzing with history, steeped in the victories of generations of witches before her. But today, it felt different, like the shadows themselves were closing in. A cold sweat clung to her skin under her green robes.

As she adjusted the leather bracers on her wrists, pulling them tighter than necessary, Ginny let her eyes wander to the far side of the pitch where Katie Bell was warming up. Katie was flying in quick, clean loops, her broom cutting through the air with the kind of precision that came from years of practice and countless games. There was something effortless about Katie's flight, the way her muscles coiled and uncoiled with the grace of a seasoned Chaser. Ginny envied that.

Katie had graduated from Hogwarts two years before Ginny. She had always been older, wiser—less haunted, maybe. Ginny had stayed behind after the war to finish her last year at school, a decision she never regretted, but one that left her feeling slightly behind, as if she were always two steps too slow, always catching up.

It didn't help that the nightmares hadn't stopped. Some nights she would wake drenched in sweat, her heart pounding, the screams of the final battle still ringing in her ears. She had grown used to it, she supposed, in the way you grow used to a dull ache that never fully goes away. You learn to live around it, to keep moving because standing still makes you too much of a target.

That's what the pitch was for her—a chance to keep moving, to focus on something tangible, something she could control. Quidditch was about action, about speed and skill. There wasn't time for fear or second-guessing. Not when you were flying at top speed with a Bludger hurtling toward your head.

Katie glanced her way, catching her eye for just a moment before giving a small nod. A nod that said, "Ready for another day?" or maybe "Try not to break my ribs this time." Ginny couldn't be sure.

She returned the nod with a smirk, hiding the turbulence that churned beneath her skin. It wasn't Katie's fault. Ginny had a reputation for being a little too rough on the pitch. Her tackles were sharp, her dives reckless. She pushed herself harder than anyone else on the team, sometimes to the point of recklessness.

She had heard the whispers, even from her teammates. "Doesn't know when to let up," one of them had said after she'd taken a particularly nasty dive during their last scrimmage. She'd laughed it off at the time, but it lingered, gnawing at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch.

Flying was the only time Ginny felt free from the ghosts that still haunted her. But on the ground, with her feet in the dirt and her heart still beating too fast, she wasn't sure how to shake them off.

The other players were already mounting their brooms, ready for the first drill of the day, but Ginny lingered at the edge of the field for a moment longer, her fingers tracing the handle of her Firebolt. The wood was smooth under her touch, worn in just the right places, a familiar comfort. She closed her eyes, inhaling the salty air that rolled in from the sea, and let the roar of the waves fill her ears.

The nightmares would come again tonight, she knew they would. But here, for now, on this field, they couldn't touch her.

She kicked off from the ground, the Firebolt responding instantly to her command. The wind rushed past her face as she soared upward, higher and higher until the pitch below became a blur of green and gold. This was where she belonged, in the sky, where nothing could catch her.

Katie was already halfway across the field, weaving between the enchanted goalposts with fluid precision. Ginny narrowed her eyes, leaning forward on her broom, her body moving in perfect sync with the Firebolt as she closed the distance between them.

Quidditch had always been a game of speed and reflexes, but to Ginny, it was more than that. It was instinct, a raw and unfiltered connection between mind and muscle. She didn't think about her moves before making them; she just acted. Maybe that was why she hit so hard, pushed so far—because she wasn't trying to outplay anyone else. She was trying to outrun herself.

As Ginny pulled up alongside Katie, she noticed the other woman's calm, controlled expression. Katie wasn't rattled, not by the pressure of the game or the intensity of the drills. She had always been like that—composed, steady, even when the world was falling apart around them.

Ginny admired that about her. She envied it, even.

"You're late," Katie called over the rush of wind, her voice carrying easily across the open space.

"Saving my strength for when it counts," Ginny shot back with a grin. Her bravado was second nature, a shield to hide the cracks beneath.

Katie laughed, but it was a knowing laugh, the kind that said she could see through the act. "Better make sure you don't burn out before the first match."

Ginny's grip tightened on her broom as she veered away, her heart racing faster than the Firebolt beneath her. There was a fine line between pushing yourself to your limit and pushing too far, and Ginny had never been great at knowing when to stop. It was why her Seeker dives were legendary but also why she had more bruises than anyone else on the team.

But stopping wasn't an option—not now, not ever.

Ginny's eyes flicked toward the enchanted scoreboard hanging over the pitch, already counting down the minutes until the scrimmage began. Today's practice wasn't just practice; it was a trial. Ginny had spent the better part of the year clawing her way into the starting lineup for the Harpies, and today's performance could cement her spot—or rip it away from her. She wasn't about to let that happen.

The whistle blew, sharp and commanding, pulling her back into the moment. Coach Pembroke stood at the center of the pitch, her arms crossed as she surveyed the team. A stern woman with a no-nonsense attitude, Pembroke had been the Harpies' coach for nearly a decade, and she had no patience for weakness or excuses. Ginny respected her for that, but it also meant there was no room for mistakes.

The players gathered in a loose circle around the coach, the tension in the air palpable. Everyone was on edge, knowing that the next hour would define their season. Ginny hovered just outside the circle, her gaze fixed on Katie, who stood at the front of the group, looking as calm as ever.

But something shifted when Katie met Ginny's eyes. There was a flicker, a brief moment of something unspoken passing between them. Ginny couldn't quite place it, but it tugged at her chest, making her feel simultaneously exposed and

and vulnerable. It was the same feeling she'd had the night before, alone in her small flat, staring up at the ceiling and trying to silence the echoes of distant screams that always seemed louder in the dark. She had shaken it off then, just like she would shake it off now.

Pembroke's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Alright, ladies. Today's scrimmage is your last chance to prove you're ready for next week's opener. I'm not interested in excuses. I'm not interested in 'almosts.' You either show me you're ready for this season, or you're not on the roster. End of story."

Ginny's stomach clenched. She had worked her arse off to get this far. She wasn't about to let it slip away now.

"As always," Pembroke continued, her voice sharp and unyielding, "we start with endurance drills. Full-speed laps around the pitch. Twenty-five circuits, no breaks." She cast a steely glance over the team, her eyes narrowing. "And if any of you are dragging your feet by the end, you'll be running double."

Ginny's muscles tightened in anticipation. This was nothing new. The Harpies were known for their grueling training regimen, and Pembroke made sure they lived up to that reputation. But today, the weight of expectations felt heavier. Ginny could feel it in her bones—the need to prove herself, to show she belonged.

She kicked off the ground before Pembroke even finished speaking, the Firebolt leaping forward like a shot. The wind tore at her hair, the world blurring around her as she pushed herself harder than ever. The other players followed suit, Katie close behind, her broom weaving through the air with practiced ease.

For the first few laps, Ginny kept her focus on the horizon, her body falling into the familiar rhythm of flight. The roar of the wind in her ears drowned out everything else—her worries, her nightmares, the pressure. Up here, none of it could touch her. Up here, it was just her and the sky.

But as the laps wore on, the burn in her muscles started to creep in, a dull ache spreading through her arms and legs. She gritted her teeth, pushing it aside. Pain didn't matter. Fatigue didn't matter. What mattered was the goal, the next lap, the next dive. Always moving forward, always pushing harder.

Katie flew up beside her, her movements smooth and controlled, her breathing even. Ginny couldn't help but glance over, her competitive streak flaring. She could see the ease in Katie's posture, the years of experience that gave her an edge. But there was something else there, too. Katie's focus was sharp, but her jaw was set tighter than usual, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

Ginny wondered if Katie felt the same pressure she did. Katie had been with the Harpies longer, sure, but that didn't mean she was invincible. Everyone was fighting for their place, even veterans.

As they rounded the final lap, Pembroke's whistle echoed across the pitch, signaling the end of the drill. Ginny skidded to a stop midair, her chest heaving as she hovered above the field. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she refused to let it show. She couldn't afford to look weak—not now, not ever.

Katie landed gracefully beside her, barely out of breath. Ginny cast her a sideways glance, her pride prickling. How could she still be so calm? It didn't seem fair.

"Still got some fire left in you, Weasley?" Katie asked, her voice teasing but laced with something Ginny couldn't quite place.

Ginny smirked, masking the exhaustion that was creeping up her spine. "Always," she shot back, though her legs felt like lead.

Katie gave a soft laugh, but it wasn't the kind of carefree laugh Ginny was used to hearing from her. There was an edge to it, a strain that mirrored the tension Ginny had been feeling since they'd arrived at practice that morning.

The rest of the team gathered around Pembroke, their faces a mix of determination and exhaustion. Ginny could see it in their eyes—they were all feeling it. The weight of the upcoming season, the pressure to perform, the need to be perfect. But none of them would say it aloud. That wasn't the Harpies' way. You showed your strength, or you were gone.

"Next up," Pembroke announced, her tone giving no room for protest, "Seeker and Chaser drills. Bell, Weasley—you're up. The rest of you, pair off and practice your formations."

Ginny's heart leapt in her chest, a jolt of excitement mingling with nerves. This was her chance to show Pembroke she had what it took to lead the team as Seeker. Katie gave her a small nod, and Ginny could feel the weight of their unspoken history hanging between them.

They had fought together at the Battle of Hogwarts, side by side in the final hours of the war. Katie had been there, a solid presence in the chaos, while Ginny had felt like she was barely holding it together. Maybe that was why Ginny pushed so hard now—because she still felt like she had something to prove, not just to herself, but to everyone who had been there that day.

The memory of the battle clawed at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it aside. She couldn't afford to dwell on it, not here, not now. This was Quidditch. This was her life now.

Katie mounted her broom, her face unreadable, and Ginny followed suit, her pulse quickening. The drill was simple—Katie would act as the Chaser, and Ginny would practice intercepting the Quaffle, honing her reflexes for catching the Snitch in real games.

But as they lifted off the ground, Ginny felt that familiar rush of adrenaline flood her veins. The sky opened up above her, the wind biting at her cheeks, and for the first time that day, she felt free.

Katie darted forward, her body low on her broom, moving with the kind of agility Ginny had always admired. But Ginny was faster. She had always been faster. With a sharp turn, she closed the gap between them, her eyes locked on the Quaffle in Katie's hand. The world narrowed to just the two of them, everything else falling away as they soared higher and higher into the sky.

Katie glanced back, her eyes meeting Ginny's for just a moment. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—respect, maybe, or recognition. But before Ginny could think too much about it, Katie accelerated, her broom cutting through the air like a knife.

Ginny's muscles tensed as she prepared to make her move. This was her element, her world. The nightmares couldn't touch her here, not when she was chasing the thrill of the game.

just as Katie banked hard to the right, the Quaffle slipping through Ginny's fingertips by a fraction of an inch. The air whipped past her face as she corrected her course, her frustration boiling beneath the surface. Katie was quick, no doubt about that. But Ginny had something Katie didn't—a fierce determination, a refusal to lose.

Katie arced back around, preparing for another pass, and Ginny gritted her teeth, leaning lower on her broom. The Firebolt responded instantly, surging forward with a burst of speed that had her closing the distance between them in seconds. She wouldn't let this one get away.

Katie zigzagged across the pitch, but Ginny anticipated the move. She cut in front of her, her broom skimming the edge of the Quaffle's trajectory, and for a brief moment, Ginny felt the weight of the leather ball in her palm. It was hers.

But Katie wasn't done. She twisted in midair, her shoulder grazing Ginny's as she reclaimed the Quaffle with the kind of dexterity only a veteran Chaser could pull off. Ginny's heart raced as she struggled to keep pace, her frustration mounting with each failed attempt to intercept.

Katie was good. Too good. But that didn't mean Ginny was backing down.

They flew together, locked in a high-speed dance, the tension between them palpable. Every time Ginny thought she had the upper hand, Katie would pull another move out of her arsenal, leaving Ginny one step behind. It was maddening. But it was also exhilarating.

On the next pass, Ginny pressed harder, her jaw set in determination as she closed in on Katie again. She could feel the sweat dripping down her back, the strain in her muscles as they flew faster than they had all practice. The sun was high overhead now, casting sharp shadows across the pitch, but Ginny's focus was razor-sharp. She was going to catch that Quaffle if it killed her.

Katie veered left, but this time Ginny was ready. She dove low, her broom inches from the ground, and then shot up like a bullet, cutting Katie off with precision. The Quaffle was within reach—just a little further—

Ginny's fingers closed around it.

For a split second, she felt the rush of victory, the triumph of having outmaneuvered Katie Bell. But in the same heartbeat, something else stirred. The wind, the pressure, the sound of Katie's broom behind her—it all blurred together, and Ginny's mind flashed with an image, unbidden and sharp.

The castle walls. The dark sky. Screams echoing through the stone corridors.

Her breath hitched, the familiar coldness creeping into her bones, the chill of fear that had no place here, no place in the sky. But it was there, anyway. The memory of Hogwarts during the final battle, the screams, the flash of green light—it surged up like a wave, crashing into her without warning.

And in that moment, her grip faltered.

Katie seized the opportunity, swooping in with the same unerring precision she'd shown all practice. Ginny barely registered it, her mind still trapped in the shadow of the past. By the time she snapped back to reality, Katie was holding the Quaffle, her broom hovering a few meters away, her expression unreadable.

"Almost had me there," Katie said, her voice carrying over the distance between them, light but careful.

Ginny blinked, forcing herself to focus. She hadn't even realized how fast her heart was pounding, how shallow her breathing had become. She gritted her teeth, angry with herself for letting her guard down, for letting the past creep in when she needed to be present, sharp.

She gave a tight nod, but couldn't muster a smile. "Yeah. Almost."

Katie hovered there for a moment longer, her brow furrowed ever so slightly. It was subtle, but Ginny caught it. Katie wasn't just seeing a teammate right now. She was seeing something else—something Ginny didn't want her to see.

But before Ginny could say anything, Pembroke's voice cut through the air again, sharp and commanding as ever. "Good enough, Bell. Weasley, you're dragging. Pick it up for the next drill."

Ginny's jaw clenched. She hated that word. Dragging. She wasn't dragging, she was fighting. Fighting the memories that clawed at the back of her mind, fighting the need to be faster, better, stronger. Always fighting.

Katie tossed the Quaffle lightly in her hand, glancing back at Ginny. "You alright?" she asked, her voice low enough that the rest of the team couldn't hear.