It started with a simple question.

You’d asked Ginny if she could show you a few of her favorite moves — not because you didn’t know them, but because, well… it was Ginny.

She smirked when you met her on the pitch.

—“Alright, superstar,” she said, tossing you a Quaffle. “Let’s see what you’ve got before I waste my time.”

From the start, she was all fire and precision — flying circles around you, calling out instructions, teasing every missed shot with a smug grin.

—“You call that a Bludger dodge? I’ve seen first-years do better,” she said, swooping by just close enough for her fingers to brush your shoulder.

Then she flew up beside you, closer than before, her hair wild in the wind.

—“Alright,” she said, her voice a little lower, “watch this one carefully.”

She dipped, spun, and passed the Quaffle behind her back — a flawless Porskoff Ploy. You clapped, impressed. She landed beside you, cheeks flushed and breathing hard.

—“You try,” she challenged.

You gave it your best. It wasn’t perfect — not even close. But she grinned anyway and took a step toward you.

—“Not bad,” she said softly. “You’re learning fast.”

There was a pause. Then, with that signature smirk of hers, she added:

—“Keep up, and maybe I’ll show you my secret move... but only if you can catch me.”

And just like that, she kicked off the ground again, daring you to follow — heart racing, broom rising, and smile wide.