The Game That Played Them

England versus Argentina

"Team you're playing against?"

"Argentina."

"Your best bet?"

"The Feint."

"Good. Now remember, you are not the team captain of England, so you can concentrate solely on catching the Snitch. Don't feel like the game is riding on your shoulders."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, Hermione. One would think you were sending Harry off to war."

Hermione sent a swift glare in her husband's direction, who was currently playing with their daughter in the cradle. "You remember how Dobby enchanted that Bludger in our second year, you can't be too careful."

"Mione," Harry whined. "This is the World Cup-"

"Shut up, Harry."

"Yes, ma'am."

Harry withered under the pitiful look that Ron gave him as his best friend fretted over his uniform and snacks. He turned towards the fireplace of the Ministry designated hotel room they were seated in. Any moment now, the Floo call would take him away to his beloved Quidditch Pitch...

"But Mione's right," Ron cut through his thoughts. "This is the first time you're playing in the World Cup, and their Seeker is also someone extremely skilled, despite being new to the team themselves. I don't know who they are, but you best be prepared for any Feints from their side too."

Hermione nodded, her forehead a tense bunch of lines. "It is quite unfair that the Argentinian team's Seeker got subbed out at the last moment," she grumbled. "I checked out a bit of their newspapers; the new Seeker's identity is closely guarded."

"No doubt to protect them from people like you," Harry chuckled. "But they are still a Seeker. It all comes down to whether I catch the Snitch first or they do."

"But look out for Feints!" Ron reminded him again.

"Will do, mate," Harry showed a thumbs-up before the fireplace went green and the team manager stepped out to call Harry away. Harry kissed his niece's tiny forehead one last time before following the lady.

****

Harry emerged into a temporary Floo fireplace set up outside a tent. He marvelled at how Hermione had, six months ago, aided in inventing Floo connections via temporary bonfires set up in remote places. It had heavily aided the Aurors in escape and evacuation in the instance of getting all reliable fireplaces captured. Experts had estimated a near eight hundred and fifty lives saved due to this.

"This way, please," the team manager (no I didn't give her a name) gestured to the inside of the tent in front of them. Bending to step inside, he found himself facing his full team: the Chasers headed by Angelina Johnson, who was flanked by Ginevra Weasley and Captain Malcolm Preece; the renowned Beater cousins Olivia and Isabella Barnsdale; and Keeper William Colebrooke. Harry's heart tightened just a little bit at seeing his ex there, but he chose to ignore the feeling.

The game, he kept telling himself. Focus on the game.

As he was getting his routine pre-match health check-up by the Mediwitch-in-charge, Ginny strode powerfully towards him. "Hey." She mumbled. Yet looking him straight in the eye.

Harry gulped. They had gone without contact for two years after he had dumped her right after their first Quidditch match against each other as beginner Seekers in The League. In fact, it had been a mutual dumping, thanks to the catalyst that Ginny's screeching on the pitch had provided. Harry still didn't know how she had sensed it, but she had caught the Snitch, and immediately flown towards him to literally knock him off his broom with a solid punch.

"You weren't giving it your all!" she had screamed at him. "What the fuck happened? Answer me!"

Harry had only looked away. How she had realised that he could not, could never play against her while dating her was beyond him. They had just agreed that day that it would never work out between them.

And then, for the next two years, they had not met each other at all. Until the last month, for training for the World Cup.

"Hey," he responded. Ginny narrowed her eyes. "I know our dating life was barely three months, but you better not space out during the match. I need to, no, I have to win this. I am trusting you just this once."

With that bold declaration, she turned her back to him and stomped out to the waiting area.

Harry exhaled, only mildly sensing the discomfort of the Mediwitch who was attending to him. "All good?" he asked her.

She relaxed. "Yes," she replied. "You managed to keep your muscles in good shape. You won't be needing any potion midway through the game, but I recommend keeping your Muggle potion handy for the timeout."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean the glucose solution? Sure."

The Mediwitch's nose wrinkled. "Yes, that," she said curtly. Harry didn't say any more. He figured that while Wizarding Law had made Muggle products more easily accessible for Wizard-kind, the majority of the population simply wasn't ready to accept that their non-magical counterparts were capable of a few things better than them.

When she allowed him to go to the waiting area, his mind wandered to the strategies and techniques the team had practiced for this day.

He wondered what the new Seeker was like. Most probably Argentinian like the rest of their team; it was hard for an outsider to gain their trust. What would their gender be? What would they play like? Would they, like him, depend heavily on the Wronski Feint? Or would they have new tricks up their sleeve?

"Ow."

"Oh!" Harry noted that he had bumped into the muscled arm of Olivia the Beater. No matter how many times he tried to say her name independently, he always wound up on calling the younger cousin 'Olivia the Beater'. Maybe it was her reputation.

"Watch it, Potter," she grinned roguishly at him. "People would think that you're... up to something."

"Ugh," Harry rolled his eyes. "Knock off the Snape impersonation, Ollie. I had enough of him at school."

"Fine, fine," she laughed and held her hands up in mock surrender. "What's got you so wound up? Warm-up begins in a few minutes."

Harry's shoulder slumped slightly. He took a shaky breath. "This feeling of nerves never gets old, does it?" he asked. "No matter how many matches you play. One would think that defeating a Dark Lord and going pro at Quidditch should make my nerves steel by now, but all they are are spaghetti."

"And the news of the Seeker replacement is freaking you out, aye?" Isabella joined him on the other side, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Harry nodded. "It's just... Isa, no information on my opponent scares me. It takes me back to the War. Dumbledore had left me with a fake locket and irritating riddles and a huge task of killing someone. I can't do that again."

"Sweetie-pie," Olivia pinched his cheek, "There's no Voldemort here. It's just a game of Quidditch. No one is dying."

Isabella simultaneously plunged her fist into his hair, agonising him and forcing his knees to buckle. "You worry too much! Are you the captain, or is Preece?"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, you're right," he admitted. He didn't have to take the lead all over again. It was okay for him to follow and just stick to his job: catching the Snitch. Just like Hermione had said.

Just then, the horn bellowed. Malcolm Preece stood up. "Let's go, team!" he yelled.

The whole England team stepped out from the protective covers of the tent into the brilliantly illuminated stadium outside.