Chapter 15 – A Game Of Two Halves

Chapter 15 – A Game OF Two Halves

Conversation now flowed as easily as the wine in the plush, cosy press box at the top of the Quidditch pitch. The tension broke after the pair began again from scratch, and once the awkward moments had been put behind them, they were actually getting on very well indeed. Ginny found Alfric's humour to be incredibly dry and caustic, and he made her laugh out loud several times, much to his astonishment. She decided that there was something very familiar about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Whatever it was, his wicked sense of humour was endearing, and Snape, in turn, was finding Ginny to be an alluring witch who could give as good as she got in terms of witty repartee.

The game of Quidditch started in earnest after a breathtaking display of fireworks, the climax of which saw the flags of both England and France shimmering in the sky in colourful flames. Snape could not help but be impressed at the magical show, and he felt the rush of excitement as the crowd swelled and cheered when the players from both teams descended onto the pitch.

As the commentator boomed the players' introductions around the stadium, Ginny fished for her bright pink Quick-Quotes Quill and a piece of parchment, sucking on the nib hurriedly before setting it down on the table. The quill hovered over the paper and began scrawling away as Ginny began reeling off the names of the players. Snape looked curiously at the quill, his face impassive.

'I only use it as a form of shorthand,' Ginny told him, sensing disapproval in the air. 'The quill records key moments of the game, and I then draft my report from the notes.'

Snape smirked at Ginny's hurried justification. 'I do not doubt your journalistic integrity.'

Ginny's eyes twinkled in response. 'You better not.'

Their eyes locked for a tantalising moment until the high-pitched squeal of the referee's whistle signalled the start of the game.

France got off to a fantastic start. Their Chasers rocketed around the pitch, causing Ginny to groan with dismay as they scored goal after goal within the first ten minutes. Snape watched in amusement when at one point she stood up and ran her fingers through her hair whilst cursing the Beaters for not doing their jobs properly. He found plenty of opportunities to swig discreetly from his hipflask full of Polyjuice potion, such was Ginny's immersion in the match.

England eventually gained possession and fought back with a volley of goals, leading Ginny to bounce up and down in her seat. As Ginny was sitting close to Snape, their thighs brushed briefly. Snape was shocked at the flash of arousal her proximity caused. Once again, he scolded himself inwardly for responding in such a way, but he couldn't deny that the feeling was very pleasant indeed. Through their brief physical contact, he could sense the magic in her, almost feel it. Being around Muggles felt different; somehow they lacked in presence, but he'd never realised it before. It was only now, in the close company of a witch, that he noticed magical people held a different kind of aura. And he was also starting to realise that he missed the feeling of being surrounded by magic.

Shrugging off these thoughts as whimsy, Snape decided instead to focus on the game in hand. And what a game it was turning in to! One of France's Beaters unwittingly committed Snitchnip at around fifteen minutes into the game, giving England a penalty which, skilfully-taken, increased their lead. France's Chasers, obviously frustrated by having their initial success overshadowed, were then consecutively pulled up for Cobbing and Blatching within the space of five minutes, giving England yet more penalties and pushing them even further ahead.

Just as France had regained possession of the Quaffle and scored a retaliatory goal, a surge of excitement rose throughout the crowd as England's Seeker hurtled off in pursuit of the Snitch, pulling into a steep dive. By now, Ginny and Snape were on their feet, craning to get a better look at what was going on, the roar of the England fans almost deafening. The commentator's voice was at fever pitch as every pair of eyes locked on to the Seeker, who swooped sickeningly fast downwards and then, moments later, skidded and rose back up in the air, his hand held aloft in triumph. He'd done it! He'd caught the Snitch!

The crowd exploded with roars of triumph, and horns sounded as every single England supporter jumped up and cheered. The stadium was awash with waving flags and banners. More fireworks whistled and banged in celebration, illuminating the sky in the white and red of England's national flag. Ginny, delirious with joy, yelled with delight and threw her arms around the neck of an unsuspecting Snape, pulling him into a tight hug.

Snape froze at first; he was unused to physical contact. But the warmth of Ginny's body against him and the sweet smell of her hair touched his senses like summer rain. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, marvelling at the way the soft material of her robes hugged the contours of her figure and how she seemed to fit into his embrace like a hand in glove.

Ginny, too, was instantly aware of the feelings that Afric's proximity stirred in her. He was irresistibly manly; his broad shoulders felt deliciously firm under her hands, and his scent was intoxicatingly masculine. She detected sandalwood and something herby and earthy, almost musky. And she was suddenly conscious of her breath catching in her throat and her heart starting to race as she pulled back a little bit, looking deep into Alfric's eyes.

Snape quickly adopted an inscrutable mask, but his eyes held her gaze, pinning her with their intensity. Ginny's eyes flicked to his barely open mouth, which looked as succulent as any fruit and ripe for the taking. And without realising what she was doing, she leant forwards slightly, closing the gap between them. Their breaths entwined for a few heady seconds, in anticipation of what was to follow. And time seemed to stand still fleetingly before Ginny seized her chance, reaching up and placing a slow, soft kiss on his lips.

Snape's mind screamed for him to pull away, to turn on his heel and run, but his body was reacting to Ginny's kiss like a light-starved plant feeling the first rays of sun and, after a heartbeat, responding with a warm kiss of his own felt like the most natural thing in the world. The roar of the crowd was soon overshadowed by the rush of blood in his ears, and his pulse felt pounding and powerful as Ginny pushed herself even closer against him.

Ginny was now totally caught in the moment; gone were her worries about her failing marriage, gone were the everyday concerns regarding her role as mother and home-maker. And gone too were all thoughts of the Quidditch report she had to prepare tonight; the Quick-Quotes Quills still scribbled furiously in the background as she lost herself in the embrace. Alfric's kisses were hot, and she felt small and feminine in his arms. Ginny was struck by just how different he felt physically, not that she'd had much experience with men in order to compare; after all, Harry was the only man she'd ever slept with. She and Dean Thomas had only ever kissed, and although she had explored heavy petting with Michael Corner, she'd saved herself purely for Harry. And whereas the first kiss with Harry had been tender and full of longing, this kiss was explosive. The attraction she felt to Alfric was almost magnetic, and by now she couldn't stop herself even if she tried.

Snape could feel his body responding to Ginny as her hands explored his neck and shoulders, running across his chest as their clinch became evermore passionate. He buried one hand in her thick red hair, the other pulling her closer as he claimed her sweet kisses. He could barely remember the last time he'd had intimate relations with a woman, and although his previous encounters had always been furtive and intense, they were certainly nowhere near as highly-charged as this. He thought briefly of the number of years he'd fantasised about taking another redhead in such an embrace, but he was surprised to find that this image no longer held any allure. Lily was long gone and none of that mattered anymore; what did matter, however, was the way this beautiful redhead was managing to expertly stir his senses with her delicious kisses, her tongue fluttering occasionally over his lips, making him growl involuntarily.

Ginny's hands were just about the slide over his stomach and venture further south when a familiar voice brought her sharply back to reality.

'Mummy?'

James' excited voice echoed up the stairs that led to the press box, and Ginny felt as if she'd been doused with water, letting go of Alfric as if burned. The sound of footsteps rang in her ears, growing ever closer.

'Don't run, James! You might slip,' said a male voice, following after her son.

Oh Merlin, here comes Harry! Ginny looked fearfully at Alfric, her feelings suddenly in turmoil. Even though guilt threatened to wash over her, her nerve endings were aflame with desire. She had no idea whether she could look her husband and son in the eyes right now. She wanted to tell Alfric to leave, but at the same time her body still yearned for him.

The rapidly approaching footfalls sealed Snape's decision. There was no way he would stay to be confronted by Harry Potter, especially not with the evidence of his arousal still clear to see. He had to get out of there. He turned on the spot to Disapparate, but just as he did so, Ginny reached out for his arm. She wanted to tell him to wait, but she was too late; before she knew what was happening, she was ripped forcefully off her feet into Side-Along Apparition. The familiar spinning sensation, coupled with fear that she could be Splinched from this accidental journey, made nausea churn violently in her stomach. Gripping tightly to his arm, she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping against hope that wherever she was going, she would arrive in one piece.

Meanwhile, back at the stadium, a confused Harry and a disappointed James entered the press box, only to find it empty. Puzzled, Harry looked around, taking in the scene before him. The only traces of previous inhabitation were two half-empty glasses of wine and Ginny's Quick-Quotes Quill, scratching away at the parchment on the table.

James, of course, started to question his father about where his mummy had gone. Harry managed to soothe him and told him to help himself to a sausage-roll from the many plates of food still uneaten, distracting James long enough for Harry to examine the evidence before him. Whispering an incantation, he halted the Quick-Quotes Quill, which flopped gracelessly onto the table, before picking up the parchment and beginning to read.

...the crowd full of expectation on this crisp winter evening, and surely most people's Galleons are on the favourites, England, to win...

Harry scanned down to the bottom of the page impatiently, unprepared for the shock of what he was about to discover.

...an unbelievable Snitch capture by the English Seeker. The crowd here are awash in white and red, and the cheers are almost deafening as England fans are on their feet in jubilation. But some are celebrating in a slightly more unconventional way.

The Daily Prophet's beautiful Quidditch correspondent, Ginevra Potter, is showing her excitement by passionately kissing her former Potions professor, Severus Snape. And judging by the response, Snape is just as enamoured with his younger belle, responding in kind with electric kisses of his own...

Harry stared open-mouthed at the parchment, his blood turning to ice. The Quick-Quotes Quill had spared no detail in the illicit embrace, even detailing up to the point that Harry and James had made their entrance.

Harry just could not take it all in. The Quill must be faulty, he reasoned. Ginny would never cheat on him... would she? And as for Snape... Surely this was a case of mistaken identity? Harry had seen Severus Snape die in front of his own eyes during the Battle of Hogwarts over a decade ago. Snape was dead.

Wasn't he?

Author's note: Thanks as ever to my wonderful beta, Agnus Castus, who brings my writing alive and is a wonderful sounding board for all my plot ideas.