"Any idea why she's called the meeting?"

"What's this all about, then?"

"Ugh, I hope this isn't about the three-a-day practices she wants to do."

"What if we're getting a pay raise?!"

The voices of the other women rose and fell around Ginny. It was not terribly unusual to be called to an unscheduled team meeting. Their last game was three days ago, though, and their next practice was not until tomorrow. The timing was off enough that there was a small knot in her stomach and a vague disquiet in her thoughts. Her instincts scraped along her nerves.

"I think I know what this is about."

The team captain gave her a hard stare. "How in Merlin's name would you know?" There was a brittle edge to her tone. Grizenda Abernathy had fought Ginny's placement on the Harpies. It was a group effort between captain, manager, and owner to select players for the team, and before Ginny'd even had a chance to try out, Grizenda had come to her where she waited in the stands for her turn in order to tell her she ought to go home.

Ginny hadn't listened to her, and her relationship with the captain had had an undercurrent of contention ever since.

"I wonder if it's anything to do with what's happening in America," said Ginny, troubled, and already regretting saying a word.

Grizenda's eyebrows rose, and she bobbled a look of disbelief at their other teammates, smirking. "What d'you mean, America? They aren't in our league!"

"My brother says MACUSA's been closing its borders," said Ginny coolly. It wasn't ever on the front pages of the Daily Prophet, rather it was an increasingly common aside in the articles themselves: "the president of MACUSA was unavailable for comment"; "magical goods imported from MACUSA are increasing in price"; and others. It wasn't quite worrisome, not yet...

"Oh, did you hear about this from the Minister of Magic himself?" Grizenda's brown eyes widened as she affected a shocked look.

"No, I just said it was my brother. He works in the Department of International Relations, and his girlfriend's in the Department of Magical Transportation," said Ginny. MACUSA was pulling increasingly away from the international scene; whether it was due to the pox or to the increasing surveillance efforts by their Muggles, Percy didn't know. But he spoke of it almost endlessly the other night. But Ginny had learned a while ago that Grizenda didn't interpret anything Ginny being anything more than bragging about her connections. "There's speculation that it's some sort of pox."

Grizenda rolled her eyes. "Oh, no, not a scary pox!"

Ginny bit her tongue.

"Well, we'll—"

The doors to the room slammed open and Gwenog Jones – tall and square-jawed – stormed in. "Listen up, we haven't got much time, I've still got my regular meeting with Magical Games and Sports." The Harpies had been seeking funds for repairing their stadium for months. "There've been a few changes to the League."

Murmurs from the other witches filled the air. Ginny clasped her hands in her lap. "What do you mean, a few changes to the League?" she asked, suspicious. The League was like many organizations that had been around for a long time: change was generally sneered at. If it happened, it was accompanied by the sound of a clanking chains and groans.

Gwenog's gaze flicked to her. "Just a few changes," she said smoothly, brushing her hands down her robes. "The rule most pertinent to you is that the Harpies will no longer be able to provide your dorms—"

"What?!"

"You must be joking!"

"They can't just—"

A loud bang issued out of Gwenog's wand. Her lips trembled and her cheeks were flushed. The brightness in her eyes was not tears, it was temper, Ginny knew. "Shut up," she ordered. The two beaters took a moment to settle, but they finally did. "You lot have been complaining about living in the dorms"—her voice got higher, mocking—"'It's so small, and so-and-so doesn't wash enough, and why can't I have my boyfriend here?'" She pointed at the keeper. "And when you sneak your boyfriend in against the rules, everyone complains."

It was true that the fact the Harpies all had to live together was one of the most unpopular aspects of being part of the legendary, all-female team. It was uncomfortable, living and working with these witches, some of whom Ginny would not seek out for companionship. She glanced at Grizenda, who was red in the face. One of whom she'd Apparate away if she saw her coming down the lane. Grizenda, who was the only one to have her own private little room, was the worst of the complainers.

"How dare they?" she said now in disbelief. She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder. "They're casting us out of our homes?"

Ginny lifted her eyes, taking in the dark green décor of the room, trying not to smile at Grizenda's dramatics.

"No one is casting anyone out of anywhere," said Gwenog, who now stood toe to toe with her team captain. "All of you will receive a stipend for rent, and a generous bonus now to offset any expenses." Several bags of gold appeared and floated to each of them. Ginny grabbed hers and stuffed it in her robes. It was a generous purse, but it couldn't offset the unease she felt. "The purpose of this is – just in case the any… illnesses happen in Britain, we aren't all living like snargaluffs with each other and get everyone sick."

"Ohhhh," said their seeker. She was tiny, blonde, and smart. "Ginny was just saying she thought it had to do with some sort of pox. Both of my grandparents died of dragon pox."

Gwenog tipped her lips up in a smile. "Ginny was right. The Department of Magical Games and Sports has nothing to do with this, by the way, in case you were wondering. These are standards the IQA is forcing on us." The International Quidditch Association had far more authority over the Harpies than Britain's magical government did, Ginny knew. "If we want a chance to play in the World Cup, we have to follow certain rules, which are now a few shades stricter."

"I don't understand why we have to change everything just because a couple of Americans are sick," said Grizenda, whose face was now a splotchy, red color. "Their Quidditch teams are rarely ever any good, they just play that relentlessly stupid Quodpot of theirs…"

"Two days ago, an entire team was placed in the Hesperides Hospital because they'd all come down ill," said Gwenog, biting off her words. "The IQA is enforcing more rules so even if it makes the leap across the Atlantic – no saying it will, of course, for now it's mostly in the western states – it won't happen again that all the Quidditch players go down at once. And that's all we've got out of them… MACUSA has locked all of this down, so I don't know anything more than that, but the IQA has ways of getting information out of a sphynx."

"Only old people and little ones die of the pox," said Grizenda. But she subsided and sat. "It's not like we'd die if we got sick, we're young and healthy."

An image of Hermione flashed in Ginny's mind's eye. Hermione, who was young, but was not healthy in any way. A thought struck her. "The entire Quidditch team?" Ginny asked, leaning forward. "At the same time?"

A shadow crossed Gwenog's face. "I don't know the details. Frankly, the IQA was lucky to get that much out of MACUSA, but yes. It also happens they had a dormitory living situation as well. Now, don't worry, witches," she said, glancing around the room, "I'm certain that once this pox runs its course – all of you are too young to remember the dragon pox roaring through our community the last time. I barely remember it myself and I was ten. But these things happen, and they pass."

It doesn't help that that illness occurred during Voldemort's initial rise to power, thought Ginny. The beaters were in their thirties, they ought to remember. But Voldemort had been far scarier than the pox. His shadow lay over everything that happened during those years.

"My grandparents died from the pox, too," Ginny said, exchanging a glance with the Seeker.

"Mine too," said Gwenog, tone brisk. "It was a bad pox, that one. And I'm sure they had rules, too. The IQA is just handing us ours instead of the Ministry of Magic. And the IQA decides which teams are official. And you know what that means: the World Cup includes only players who play for an official team."

The muttering subsided.

For the next hour, Gwenog went over the rules, which boiled down to three simple things: avoid international travel if possible, avoid St. Mungo's, and avoid large crowds of people. What wasn't simple was that everyone had at least three different questions as to what 'large crowds of people' entailed. Was a pub a crowd? Was a Weird Sisters concert? Ginny herself pointed out that Quidditch games in and of themselves were – hopefully – attended by large crowds of people.

"I don't have all the answers," Gwenog said finally, exasperated. "Send the rest of your questions by owl to the IQA, I don't care. I've got to meet with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I haven't the time to hold your hands the rest of the day, you seven are grown witches. Pull up your knickers."

She swept out of the room, then, leaving them to stare after her.

"This is all bullshit," announced Grizenda. "Complete bullshit." Irate color still stained her cheeks. "I don't care what the IQA says, I'm not eating my tickets to go to the Mystical Aubergine festival. All of my favorite bands are there."

"Better wear a disguise," warned the keeper. "We don't want the IQA—"

"I know what we don't want the IQA to do," snapped Grizenda.

Ginny stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"To go pack up my things," said Ginny. There was only so much more she could take of Grizenda's grating tone. While she didn't necessarily think that the Mystical Aubergine festival would be a danger, precisely, she was tired of Grizenda's tone. If there was one good thing about all of these new rules, it was that she would no longer have to hear Grizenda's voice every day of her life. "I'm going to pack and head back home, I guess."

Home. Home to the Burrow. Trading one set of roommates with her parents, who were nearly as strict as the IQA's new rules.

But for all of that, including the unease she felt at these strict measures, the moment her teammates could no longer see her, Ginny allowed herself a grin. There was one very large bright spot in all this: Harry. The frustration at never getting enough time with him kept perking its head up at odd moments, plaguing her thoughts and dreams. But now it had turned a bit giddy. With her schedule less rigid and her curfew nonexistent, she could pull him away from the rest of the Weasley clan and talk.

And maybe, if she were lucky, they could do a bit more than talk.

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