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BeWitched, Body and Soul	By : SiriusWriter Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 5198 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not make any money from this fanfic. I do not own Harry Potter or any part of this world, nor do I own any part of "Pride and Prejudice." Anything you recognize belongs either to Jane Austen or JKR.

Chapter List
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A/N: The end of this chapter deviates from the plot of "Pride and Prejudice," but it just sort of happened organically, and I feel like it fits really well. Enjoy lovelies!

Ginny was already exhausted by the time the weekend finally came round, but unfortunately her schedule permitted no time for rest. Aside from holding Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts that afternoon, she also had a veritable mountain of homework. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a woman called Professor Rosings; she had been an Auror for the last fourteen years, and was both an interesting professor and extremely knowledgeable in the subject matter. She did, however, want to make it clear her class was not to be taken lightly, for she had assigned them three and a half feet of parchment on nonverbal defensive strategy over the weekend. ‘Ah well, at least she’s competent.’ Ginny thought, looking over her essay’s conclusion. The September sunlight filtered through the Gryffindor tower windows, making sparks of dust dance in its delicate beams.

She had just decided to take a stroll along the lake with her Charms reading before she had to head down to the Quidditch pitch when Hermione fell into the armchair next to her, laden with perhaps two dozen tomes of what appeared to be wizarding legal code.

“I’ve been at it since six this morning,” said the Head Girl, rubbing her eyes. “The only thing I’ve found that was even somewhat similar was a law passed during the 16^th century requiring all couples to have at least three children to boost the falling population after the persecutions of the Early Modern period. Which, of course, is utter bullocks anyways; requiring magical couples to conceive can’t help increase the population as it creates a baby boom that can’t be supported and leads to a higher mortality rate and an even lower population.” She sighed, flipping through one of the musty, leather-bound charters. Ginny had never seen Hermione look so utterly defeated; she supposed she had started thinking there was nothing Hermione couldn’t magic her way out of.

“Where does that leave you then?” Ginny asked, breaking Hermione from her glum trance.

“Well, I’m going to tell Mum and Dad when I’m home for Christmas and see how they feel about all this. I talked to Professor McGonagall, and she assured me that if I were to gain citizenship in another country she would write me her highest recommendation for a job at a foreign Ministry. She even said there was a chance I could be my new country’s ambassador for Britain so I could still live here, but… I don’t know Ginny, there are so many uncertainties! And I don’t feel like I can abandon the Order, and Harry, and everything we’ve fought so hard for for the past seven years…” For the second time that week Hermione’s brown doe eyes shimmered with tears, but she brushed them aside impatiently. “I feel so utterly helpless in all of this and I hate it. And now I’m going to be matched up with some troll by this Nuppington woman and watch everyone else get paired off all happily ever after!” Hermione’s voice was thick with derision, but Ginny caught the note of strangled melancholy as well.

“Why don’t you come watch Quidditch try outs?” Suggested Ginny, unsure of what else to say. “It might at least take your mind off things for a while.”

“Quidditch…?” Hermione asked from a daze, still flipping through the thick volumes on the table.

“Come on, even you can’t say no to watching a bunch of second years making fools of themselves.” At last Hermione allowed herself a smile, and after retrieving her scarf and cloak agreed to accompany Ginny down to the pitch. Ron met up with them just outside of the Great Hall, wearing his Quidditch robes and a look of horror and nausea.

The stands were dotted with spectators when they arrived, most of them fellow Gryffindors come to cheer on their friends going out for the team. Hermione took a seat next to Luna, who rather looked as though she had wandered into the stadium on a whim. Ginny noted as she pulled her thick hair back into a ponytail that there were also a surprising number of Slytherins in the stands; she eyed them fiercely, determined not to let their presence interfere with her first day as captain.

Turning her back on the specks of silver and emerald, Ginny surveyed the group that had clustered near the players’ entrance. Much of last year’s team had turned up again, and to be frank she guessed that most if not all of them would be retaining their positions (though she had her doubts about Jimmy Peakes). She had not yet decided if she would play as Seeker or Chaser; though she certainly preferred the latter, she was not sure she would find someone whose skills would come close to Harry’s.

Ignoring the twinge in her stomach, she blew her whistle and asked them to assemble by position; no one besides Ron had come out for Keeper, so with the colour finally back in his face he flew to the other end of the pitch to assist with the Chaser try outs. Ginny blew her whistle again and kicked hard against the soggy grass, reveling in the brisk air and the early autumn sunshine. She broke the potential Chasers into pairs and flew with each of them, eliminating the first two groups easily. Dean and Demelza were in the third, and much to her surprise the three of them worked well together, picking up on one another’s signals and passes effortlessly. The third group was Megan, her roommate, and a boy in her year called Stephen Cornfoot who was generally amiable; Cornfoot’s grip, however, proved less steadfast than his character and unfortunately Ginny had to dismiss him from consideration, but she asked him to stick around for Beater try outs as he had a strong build (and she had a feeling the girls watching the stands wouldn’t mind his sticking around a bit longer, too). Megan was brilliant though, her long limbs and lean muscles allowing her to fly and pass the Quaffle with dexterity and skill. The Beaters were harder to sort out; Cornfoot proved equal with Peakes in accuracy, but his strength gave him advantage over the younger boy, and Ginny awkwardly informed Peakes he would be playing on reserve this year.

When she blew her whistle for Seeker try outs, however, her heart sank as she realized no one was going to step forward. “I can give it a go if you want, Ginny,” Megan offered, seeing her friend’s crestfallen expression. Before she could reply, however, a cold drawl sounded from behind her.

“Are you done, Weaslette? You’ve run over your time.” Ginny felt as though she had been submerged in an icy pool, and fought the scarlet anger that rose to her cheeks as she turned and saw Draco Malfoy, clad in his own captain’s robes, waiting with a crowd of Slytherins on the edge of the field. Ron flew down and landed next to her looking eager for a fight, and Hermione rushed down from the stands.

“I’ve booked the pitch for the next hour, Malfoy. McGonagall gave me permission to train directly after try outs.” Ginny replied, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice and forcing herself to meet his slate grey eyes.

“I was informed in no uncertain terms that it would be free at noon,” Malfoy replied coolly, eyeing her newly assembled team. “I’d hate for Gryffindor to be accused of getting an unfair advantage.” His voice was hard and mocking, no longer the grating whine it had been a few years ago. The Slytherins in the stands had descended as well and were offering their own jeers to Malfoy’s threat. “Who do you think you are anyways, you bloodtraitor whore?” Pansy Parkinson shrieked, but she quickly ducked behind Malfoy when Ginny pinned her with a glare that spoke of curses most unpleasant. Ron started forward, but Hermione grabbed his jersey, whispering frantically that they mustn’t rise to the taunts.

“Ah, well, we all know that Slytherin would be no where if they played by the rules anyhow,” Ginny said, her words laced with loathing, “besides, I suppose you lot need the practice more than we do. I’d work on that weak defense, Malfoy.” She began to walk off the pitch when a strong, pale hand caught her upper arm.

Malfoy turned her to face him, his stormy eyes flashing. “Watch yourself, Weaslette, I’ve cleared my name and expect the proper respect even from someone as classless as you.”

“You’d better start earning it, then. I expect civility, even from someone as despicably cowardly as you.” She spat back, tearing away from him and storming towards the locker room. Hermione and Ron followed, she still trying to restrain him from pummeling Malfoy into the turf. “He’s not worth it, Ron,” Hermione said, “and he’s right, the Ministry cleared him of all charges now that he and his mother are helping the Order, so we really don’t have a reason not to at least attempt to be decent towards him, even if that’s a courtesy he fails to return. Besides, you’re too good to even acknowledge his insults, let alone rise to them anymore.” Her tone was softer as she caught his light blue gaze, and he finally let out a frustrated breath before allowing her to lead him with the other players towards the locker room.

“Right,” Ginny said, still irritated but secretly pleased at the sight of Ron cradling a pink faced Hermione’s waist. “Well, I don’t want this to delay us. I’m going to arrange two weeknight practices and one for weekends based on everyone’s schedules. Thankfully we won’t have to deal with those prats for a while; we’re playing Ravenclaw first, which means we’ll be focusing on conditioning for the first few weeks of training. Ravenclaw may not be a terribly offensive team, but they know how to take advantages of weaknesses, so let’s work those out early on, yeah?” She said, giving her team what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’ll want you three,” she gestured to Megan, Dean, and Demelza, “working with one another outside of normal practice time; you’ve got to understand each other in and out, and that goes for Cornfoot and Cootes as well.” She dismissed them, hoping the traces of disappointment that lingered in her stomach did not mar her face.

Dean held back after the others trickled out of the locker room; Ginny eyed him warily but did not object as he began walking with her towards the school.

“You know you should be Chaser, Gin.” He said at last, catching her glance as they walked across the muddy grounds, “you saw how well we worked with Demelza—we know exactly how to play off one another, we’d be unstoppable.” He stopped under a large maple tree and folded his arms, staring evenly at her.

“Yeah, well I can’t exactly pull a Seeker out of thin air,” she said, exasperated. What was he trying to prove, anyways?

“Let Megan have a go at it, she’s got long arms, she might be good.” Dean continued, but Ginny was only half listening; her gaze had strayed back to the pitch, where a large figure (she presumed that oaf, Crabbe) had crashed into the stands. She allowed herself a smirk before realizing that Dean was waiting for her to reply.

“It’s fine, Dean. Megan’s got shite vision long-distance anyways, and really, I didn’t expect anyone to volunteer to fill Harry’s shoes.” She did not miss the brief tension in his jaw before he replied, “Fair enough, it’s your call, captain.” He gave a joking salute, resuming his easygoing sensibility. They began walking again, and journeyed through the musty castle halls in silence.

“Hey, how’s about when you’re not drilling our arses into shape on the field we grab a drink in Hogsmeade or something?” Dean asked when they reached the corridor before the Common Room, trying to sound offhand.

“Hang on, did you just ask me out?” Ginny said, stopping where she stood and fixing him with a penetrating, incredulous stare. She had thought they were both happy when things had ended; they had fought so much near the end, and had actually begun to intentionally annoy one another. Ginny might not have had a sterling repertoire when it came to love but she knew that that relationship had been unhealthy.

“I don’t know, Gin,” Dean said, pressing his palms into his eyes, “everything’s been so sodding bizarre since this bloody marriage thing; my mum’s completely freaked out, she said I should just refuse to go through with it.”

Ginny bit her lip, knowing Dean’s mother was a Muggle and probably didn’t understand how impossible it would be for her son to abandon the wizarding world. “I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. I mean, I don’t know. I just feel like, well, we dated for eight months, and it wasn’t all happy but it was pretty alright. And we’re more mature now, and I think we have a lot in common…” he trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of his jersey.

“Are you saying… are you asking me to marry you?” Ginny said slowly, barely believing her own words. She felt struck dumb, unable to react, though she thought she heard faint screams of protest somewhere in the back of her brain.

“No! Well, I just mean, maybe we could try it out again, you know?” He said, his dark brown eyes swimming with doubt. “I mean, I still care about you, Gin. And we’re still friends. Maybe we should give it another go.” Dean took a step towards her and pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, before stumbling back again. She stared at him numbly, rooted where she stood. “Just, think about it, okay?” He mumbled, before turning around and climbing through the portrait hole.

Ginny did not know if she stood paralyzed for seconds or hours, but eventually three words sprung from her mouth and rang down the stone hallway, echoing back at her: “What the hell?”
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BeWitched, Body and Soul