Harry Potter was waiting inside the team entrance as the England team transport arrived at the stadium. The team filed off the coach led by the captain, Billy Barrington. They went to sign a few autographs for the fans behind the barred gates. The fourth player in line was Harry’s wife, Ginny. She joined him after signing several cards, pieces of parchment and photo’s. “Hi babe.” 
“Hello you, how are you, nervous?”
“No, Harry, not nervous, I’m absolutely bricking it.” She hefted her bag on her shoulder. “I’ve got
twenty spare pairs of knickers in here. Just in case.”
“You’ll be fine once the game starts, don’t worry.” She glanced over her shoulder as Woody Carpenter called out,
“See you in the showers, Potter, don’t be late.”
“OK Woody, I’ll finally be able to see what you’ve got that you’re so proud of. I brought a magnifying glass today.” Carpenter flipped her the biggest finger. She returned the gesture but used her little finger. “Nah, it’s more like this.” she said. Harry laughed. He admired the easy banter that this team could enjoy. He had no worries about Ginny. 

When she was selected to fly for England, she was nervous about training with the guys. They already had something of a reputation as a close knit group and she was going to gatecrash the party. She got some advice from a girl’s best friend, her Mum. She told her that there were three ways to deal with blokey banter. Let it get to you, and it will break you. Ignore it, and you’ll never fit in. Give as good as you get. Harry knew only too well that she would always give as good as she got. He put his arms around her and they kissed. 
“Good luck today, Ginevra, give ‘em hell.” He always used her full name on match days, it had
become a sporting superstition of theirs. They hugged again.
“Do my best, Harry.” The gruff, impatient voice of the manager intervened, 
“Put him down, Potter, for at least the next ten days you’re arse is mine. Get it inside and get changed. Piss off, Mr. Potter; I don’t need you messing up my seekers’ head at this stage.”

Ginny Potter sped through the air high above the Milan Quidditch Stadium. The match had been going for nearly three hours and it had been a brutal affair with both teams, England and Turkey, indulging in some very dubious tactics. On the Quidditch field Ginny was no angel, she had already received a caution. She was pissed off by the warning, which had not been for foul play but for mouthing off at the American referee. All she had done was to call him a ‘gay colonial wanker who wouldn’t send off his tosser of a Turkish boyfriend’. That wasn’t so bad was it? Unless, of course, it was true. She knew that another infringement would result in her being sent off. That would mean that she would miss the next match. The fact that England were leading Turkey by 150 to 130, and the next match was the Quidditch World Cup Final in Rome, concentrated her mind wonderfully. 

Her Quidditch career had been meteoric and had seen her star in the Holyhead Harpies title winning seasons for the previous four years. Her international debut had begun even quicker, flying for England less that a year after being signed by Holyhead. Now it was posters of her that adorned the walls of youngster’s bedrooms. Today Ginny was playing Seeker. She felt good, her Firebolt humming beneath her, was flying like a thoroughbred. Today was also her fourth wedding anniversary and victory would be another layer of icing on the cake. 

Then suddenly there it was, low down near the centre spot. The Golden Snitch. She pulled the Firebolt into a tight diving turn. No time for subtlety now she just had to go flat out. The Snitch flew erratically, but Ginny matched its every move. She stretched out her left arm toward the little golden ball, and as her fingers closed on it the Turkish seeker smashed into her right side. As her left hand caught the Snitch her right arm shattered. She started to fall until the match official on the ground hit her with a Cushioning Charm and lowered her gently to the turf. Through the intense pain she raised her left arm with the Snitch in her hand. The English fans went nuts. England would play the hosts Italy in the Final. 

The Healers from St. Mungo’s, attached to the England team for the tournament, rushed to her side and quickly transported her to the treatment room. Waiting outside the room, Harry Potter watched as his wife was rushed past him. He just had time to grasp her good hand as she passed. “You’ll be OK. Well done, you were brilliant.” then the doors swung closed.

The senior Healer examined Ginny’s arm, as one of his assistants took care of relieving the pain. Yet a third one was checking her general condition He stood at the top of the table and laid his hands on her forehead then moved to her feet and checked her legs before laying his hands briefly on her abdomen. Ginny noticed when he called his senior away for a brief conversation. Both healers glanced at her from time to time. They resumed their tasks, with the Healer in charge mending four breaks in Ginny’s arm. She would be sore for some days. ‘The final is seven days away; I’ll be ready for that.’ she thought. 

Half an hour later they allowed Harry to visit his wife. She was still lying on the treatment table; Harry saw she had tears in her eyes.     
“What’s up love, are you still in pain? Shall I call the Healer back?”
“I can’t play in the final Harry. The Healers won’t let me.”
“Why not, they fixed your arm didn’t they? You’ll be ready by next Friday.”
“It’s not my arm, Harry. It’s some rule about only one person allowed on a broom.”
“Sorry, Ginny, I don’t understand.” More tears flowed. This time with a huge smile.
“I’m pregnant, Harry,” she said excitedly, “we’re going to have a baby!” A moments stunned silence, then Harry screamed louder than all the English fans put together.