She snorts, inches from his face, and unflexes her hands, stretching her fingers a moment before she crosses her arms. And remains decidedly in his space, staring him down. Assessing.
"You were going to let it drop me on my arse, weren't you."
It's almost more of a statement than a question, and she's already sure she knows the answer. She's not exactly looking for a reason to punch him, but he's different and she has to prod at it. While they might never have been close enough to be friends, something had shifted over the years just enough to give her entirely too many questions.
But for now she's deeply annoyed, embarrassed, and altogether unsure why the bloody hell she'd gone to find him in the first place. Oh, that's right. Apparently there was a bit of a wager going around. And for Old Time's Sake she'd come to warn him.
"I might not have," he points out, wondering if he should be this amused that she isn't backing down. He can vividly remember another time he'd had an angry Gryffindor in his face like this, he'd been punched straight in the nose, and hit his head, and possibly acquired a concussion. He has little doubt Ginny would enjoy doing the same.
"They go high enough that I have plenty of time to cast an Arresto Momentum if I need to." And there's a smile, as innocent as he can manage, which isn't really very much, considering. "Wouldn't want someone getting hurt."
She's much more likely to try a Bat Bogey Hex on him and see if it's just as delightful as it used to be. Better that than to bruise her hand on his face. Maybe another time.
Her answering smile is about as innocent as his and she cocks her head to the side a moment, amused in spite of herself.
"You have hidden depths, Malfoy," she decides, and then without consulting any kind of time-telling device whatsoever, in fact her eyes never leaving his, "Would you look at the time, I reckon I should find my children after all. Be seeing you, Professor." And with barely a wink she turns in a swish and sashays away with purpose anew.
--------------------------
It's a couple of uneventful weeks later, and Ginny's Flying Practice classes with the first years are going about as well as expected. Which is to say, hilariously, if not well at all. This particular class seems much more keen on beating each other with the brooms than actually mounting them, and she's feeling less and less guilty about letting them. It's entertaining if not particularly helpful, and she's just managed to call them back to order by promising them a demonstration, when as luck would have it, an even better idea comes striding by in a hurry.
"Professor Malfoy," she calls out, just barely able to hold back the smirk that threatens to curve her lips into more than her perfected, professional smile. "A moment of your time?" she turns back to her class, conspiratorially, and just loud enough she knows he can hear her, "Professor Malfoy played Seeker for Slytherin house, back in the day," she tells them all with a wink, and though they might be ickle firsties, they all turn nearly as one to gaze upon him with new eyes. Wicked, demanding eyes, a couple gasps, and Ginny's grin is nothing but innocent joy, and not entirely a lie.
"Think you can help me show them how it's done? This lot seems to need another take on it."
As the days go by and revenge does not descend upon him, Draco slowly uncoils from a state of constant readiness and starts to grow used to the idea of a Weasley teaching in proximity to him. It's made easier by how delighted Scorpius is to have his best friend's mother teaching at Hogwarts as well as his dad. More than once, he's looked up at his son's bursting into his office to babble a story about 'Professor Al's Mum' and then disappearing just as quickly, and going back to grading with an affectionate smile on his face.
Never in a million years had he believed his son's best friend would be Albus Potter. He isn't even certain stranger things have happened. But he's glad it has happened.
As it turns out, he'd let his guard down far too easily, and he can hear the ring of triumph in Ginny's voice as she flags him down. He casts about a little desperately for a suitable excuse, but for once, he's come up entirely empty: his afternoon is open, he hasn't got a stack of essays to review, and there's no reason for him not to swing by her class to assist. "Of course I'd be delighted, Professor Weasley," he says, looking forbiddingly over the class, some of which snaps to attention. "Back in the day, is it?" he murmurs for her to hear as he folds his arms and waits.
Her laugh is quiet, personal, and she elbows him gently in the ribs, the move concealed from her class by their robes.
"You owe me, old man," she murmurs right back, eyeing her class but doing nothing to discourage their growing curiosity at the conversation happening before them, seen but unheard.
Her own engraved broom is in her hand already, though it hovers nearby of its own accord whether she asks it to or not. She's not about to offer it to him, as it may or may not possess any number of enchantments to prevent tampering. The habit has served her well through the years.
Instead, she reaches out with a silent, wandless command, and a nearby "vintage" Firebolt (one of her visual Incentives for her class) flies into her outstretched hand. She passes it over to Draco with very little ceremony.
"I promise it's perfectly safe," she informs him, honestly. Though she'd be only mildly offended if he didn't believe her. "You'll forgive me if I don't release a proper Snitch, we really don't need history repeating itself," she continues with a fond grin, shaking her head before turning back to her class.
"Professor Malfoy, out of the kindness of his heart, has agreed to show you lot a few of the basics," she addresses them, and even to her surprise, they're mostly silent and actually paying attention. She really should have abused her coworkers sooner. And then she turns to Draco with a small, sweeping gesture, eyebrows raised as if to say take it away.
"Brooms down until I tell you otherwise," she adds before he can get started, though, mounting her own broom and hovering there, ready to assist, if necessary. Or if the mood strikes her.
"I'm one year older than you, and we graduated together," he mutters testily, but accepts the broom she shoves at him, giving it a quick once-over despite her assurances and finding it perfectly acceptable, to his mild surprise. Perhaps she really does want his help in instructing her students. What a strange thought.
He rolls his eyes as he takes a few steps away and mounts his broom. "I'd forfeit over spending the night lying on the Quidditch pitch again," he says dismissively, and kicks off to hover about fifteen feet up, pressing the broom handle between his knees and locking his ankles to free up both his hands. It's fairly basic, and not very maneuverable, but it looks impressive.
"Right. First off, if you mess about, your broom will mess you about, so don't do it." He directs a stare at a pair of students, naturally Gryffindors, who are messing about trying to press the twigs of their broomsticks into each other's faces. It takes a moment, but they stop. Good enough. "Second, each broom is a little different, but they'll still respond quite quickly to whatever movements you're making. Err on the side of caution." To emphasize the point, he shifts his weight just enough to spin the broom in midair without needing his hands. "Lean left to go left, right to go right, obviously. Forward to accelerate, lean back to stop. Everything else is just a matter of reflexes."
He looks down at Ginny, arms folded. "If you're not releasing an actual Snitch, what am I doing up here?" he asks with a little smirk.
She grins warmly in contrast to his dismissal, glad they're on the same page once again, even if they clearly have differing emotions regarding nostalgia.
She's nodding along with his improvised lesson, much the same as she's been telling the little bastards all along, and his direct question seems to pull her out a reverie. Her grin is a little too wicked for her audience, but she manages to reign it in enough to say, "Providing valuable, informative entertainment," before summoning a sealed chest of Quidditch paraphernalia from one of the sheds nearby.
There's no ceremony to opening it, but everything remains in its place, for now.
"Alright, you lot remember about all of these, yeah? Bludgers, Quaffle, and Snitch?" she scans the faces, majority of them nodding eagerly, a few more vocal about their understanding. "Think you're up for a match?" Even more vocal affirmations, though a couple look a bit worried.
"Professor Malfoy and I will captain, and play Seeker," she tells them. "And so there's no nonsense, we're mixing the houses, so don't get any ideas," she tells them, enjoying a little too much the air of scandal this announcement has declared. And not for any desire to prevent house rivalry, mostly it would just keep them a little more likely to pay attention and hopefully play just a little less dirty. It's a lost cause, but maybe it'll be entertaining in the end.
"I can't promise the Snitch will care about our time limit, so everyone mount up and follow me to the pitch." The Quidditch pitch where a lower, slightly more safety-conscious set of goals has been erected, just for practice such as this. The full-size exist if the danger proves to be a non-issue.
"You six," she points out four Slytherins and two Gryffindors, "Are with me. You lot," she motions to six more, four Gryffindors and two Slytherins. "With Professor Malfoy. And you," she motions to the remaining few. "Stand at the ready to swap in."
She rubs her hands together, balancing on her broom much as Draco is, clearly vibrating with the excitement of it all.
"Any questions?" she'll at least let them try to sort out what positions they'd like to play of the remaining, and then the game shall begin. With maybe only one Bludger in play to start.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"You were going to let it drop me on my arse, weren't you."
It's almost more of a statement than a question, and she's already sure she knows the answer. She's not exactly looking for a reason to punch him, but he's different and she has to prod at it. While they might never have been close enough to be friends, something had shifted over the years just enough to give her entirely too many questions.
But for now she's deeply annoyed, embarrassed, and altogether unsure why the bloody hell she'd gone to find him in the first place. Oh, that's right. Apparently there was a bit of a wager going around. And for Old Time's Sake she'd come to warn him.
Fat chance of that, now.
no subject
"They go high enough that I have plenty of time to cast an Arresto Momentum if I need to." And there's a smile, as innocent as he can manage, which isn't really very much, considering. "Wouldn't want someone getting hurt."
no subject
Her answering smile is about as innocent as his and she cocks her head to the side a moment, amused in spite of herself.
"You have hidden depths, Malfoy," she decides, and then without consulting any kind of time-telling device whatsoever, in fact her eyes never leaving his, "Would you look at the time, I reckon I should find my children after all. Be seeing you, Professor." And with barely a wink she turns in a swish and sashays away with purpose anew.
--------------------------
It's a couple of uneventful weeks later, and Ginny's Flying Practice classes with the first years are going about as well as expected. Which is to say, hilariously, if not well at all. This particular class seems much more keen on beating each other with the brooms than actually mounting them, and she's feeling less and less guilty about letting them. It's entertaining if not particularly helpful, and she's just managed to call them back to order by promising them a demonstration, when as luck would have it, an even better idea comes striding by in a hurry.
"Professor Malfoy," she calls out, just barely able to hold back the smirk that threatens to curve her lips into more than her perfected, professional smile. "A moment of your time?" she turns back to her class, conspiratorially, and just loud enough she knows he can hear her, "Professor Malfoy played Seeker for Slytherin house, back in the day," she tells them all with a wink, and though they might be ickle firsties, they all turn nearly as one to gaze upon him with new eyes. Wicked, demanding eyes, a couple gasps, and Ginny's grin is nothing but innocent joy, and not entirely a lie.
"Think you can help me show them how it's done? This lot seems to need another take on it."
no subject
Never in a million years had he believed his son's best friend would be Albus Potter. He isn't even certain stranger things have happened. But he's glad it has happened.
As it turns out, he'd let his guard down far too easily, and he can hear the ring of triumph in Ginny's voice as she flags him down. He casts about a little desperately for a suitable excuse, but for once, he's come up entirely empty: his afternoon is open, he hasn't got a stack of essays to review, and there's no reason for him not to swing by her class to assist. "Of course I'd be delighted, Professor Weasley," he says, looking forbiddingly over the class, some of which snaps to attention. "Back in the day, is it?" he murmurs for her to hear as he folds his arms and waits.
no subject
"You owe me, old man," she murmurs right back, eyeing her class but doing nothing to discourage their growing curiosity at the conversation happening before them, seen but unheard.
Her own engraved broom is in her hand already, though it hovers nearby of its own accord whether she asks it to or not. She's not about to offer it to him, as it may or may not possess any number of enchantments to prevent tampering. The habit has served her well through the years.
Instead, she reaches out with a silent, wandless command, and a nearby "vintage" Firebolt (one of her visual Incentives for her class) flies into her outstretched hand. She passes it over to Draco with very little ceremony.
"I promise it's perfectly safe," she informs him, honestly. Though she'd be only mildly offended if he didn't believe her. "You'll forgive me if I don't release a proper Snitch, we really don't need history repeating itself," she continues with a fond grin, shaking her head before turning back to her class.
"Professor Malfoy, out of the kindness of his heart, has agreed to show you lot a few of the basics," she addresses them, and even to her surprise, they're mostly silent and actually paying attention. She really should have abused her coworkers sooner. And then she turns to Draco with a small, sweeping gesture, eyebrows raised as if to say take it away.
"Brooms down until I tell you otherwise," she adds before he can get started, though, mounting her own broom and hovering there, ready to assist, if necessary. Or if the mood strikes her.
no subject
He rolls his eyes as he takes a few steps away and mounts his broom. "I'd forfeit over spending the night lying on the Quidditch pitch again," he says dismissively, and kicks off to hover about fifteen feet up, pressing the broom handle between his knees and locking his ankles to free up both his hands. It's fairly basic, and not very maneuverable, but it looks impressive.
"Right. First off, if you mess about, your broom will mess you about, so don't do it." He directs a stare at a pair of students, naturally Gryffindors, who are messing about trying to press the twigs of their broomsticks into each other's faces. It takes a moment, but they stop. Good enough. "Second, each broom is a little different, but they'll still respond quite quickly to whatever movements you're making. Err on the side of caution." To emphasize the point, he shifts his weight just enough to spin the broom in midair without needing his hands. "Lean left to go left, right to go right, obviously. Forward to accelerate, lean back to stop. Everything else is just a matter of reflexes."
He looks down at Ginny, arms folded. "If you're not releasing an actual Snitch, what am I doing up here?" he asks with a little smirk.
no subject
She's nodding along with his improvised lesson, much the same as she's been telling the little bastards all along, and his direct question seems to pull her out a reverie. Her grin is a little too wicked for her audience, but she manages to reign it in enough to say, "Providing valuable, informative entertainment," before summoning a sealed chest of Quidditch paraphernalia from one of the sheds nearby.
There's no ceremony to opening it, but everything remains in its place, for now.
"Alright, you lot remember about all of these, yeah? Bludgers, Quaffle, and Snitch?" she scans the faces, majority of them nodding eagerly, a few more vocal about their understanding. "Think you're up for a match?" Even more vocal affirmations, though a couple look a bit worried.
"Professor Malfoy and I will captain, and play Seeker," she tells them. "And so there's no nonsense, we're mixing the houses, so don't get any ideas," she tells them, enjoying a little too much the air of scandal this announcement has declared. And not for any desire to prevent house rivalry, mostly it would just keep them a little more likely to pay attention and hopefully play just a little less dirty. It's a lost cause, but maybe it'll be entertaining in the end.
"I can't promise the Snitch will care about our time limit, so everyone mount up and follow me to the pitch." The Quidditch pitch where a lower, slightly more safety-conscious set of goals has been erected, just for practice such as this. The full-size exist if the danger proves to be a non-issue.
"You six," she points out four Slytherins and two Gryffindors, "Are with me. You lot," she motions to six more, four Gryffindors and two Slytherins. "With Professor Malfoy. And you," she motions to the remaining few. "Stand at the ready to swap in."
She rubs her hands together, balancing on her broom much as Draco is, clearly vibrating with the excitement of it all.
"Any questions?" she'll at least let them try to sort out what positions they'd like to play of the remaining, and then the game shall begin. With maybe only one Bludger in play to start.