Molly missed actually playing the game. Playing in front of a crowd, hearing the cheers and feeling the adrenaline of the game were some of the best times of her life. She missed the junior league when she'd been the star Keeper for her team, and she even missed her student days at Hogwarts and playing Keeper for Gryffindor. As much as she loved the Harpies, she was growing dissatisfied with her spot on the roster. Stepping up to the major leagues was starting to feel a lot like stepping down.

 There wasn't much to do to prepare for the small party beyond setting out bottles and glasses. Her house was in its usual state of spotlessly perfect organization, right down to her liquors. She hid the colour-coding on the lids by replacing them with pour spouts, though.

No point everyone knowing her private neuroses just yet, after all.

 Fitz glanced at the game schedule and saw with horror that their first game was against Montrose. His old team. He wasn't ready to see them yet. His team didn't respect him as a coach. Hell, he didn't respect himself as a coach either. And they sure as hell weren't ready to take on the Magpies, one of the top teams in the league.

 Preece and Gittins had attempted to ignore Fitz and spent the morning targeting the Chasers repeatedly before their coach, his face brick-red, had flown at them and shouted for ten minutes. It was difficult to ignore him when he was five inches from their faces and screaming.

She was looking over at the team with a raised eyebrow. A few of them had gone back to the retreat to sleep, but everyone remaining was standing around Deimos, almost falling over with laughter. He was on the floor, rolling about like an overturned turtle and laughing his head off.

“Why me?” Fitz muttered. 

 “You lifted him into a wheelbarrow,” Weasley repeated, staring at him.

“No one else was sober enough to do it.”

Weasley shook his head. “You lifted him. Are you a wizard or not? Why didn't you use a Hover Charm?”

“You've got it bad,” her sister said sympathetically. “You even think he's proper fit when he's shouting at everyone?”

“Oh, shut up.” 

"Here," said Hilarion, thrusting Flora at her. "Hold the baby."

Molly took her automatically, and Flora gurgled at her. She was chewing on one chubby little fist, drool running freely onto her pink embroidered dress. Molly smiled at her niece without thinking, and hugged her close.

"See, holding the baby always works," said Hilarion, looking relieved that Molly was no longer crying hysterically. 

Rakes set his jaw, giving Fitz a challenging look, and spread his arms wide. “Gonna do something about it? Or are you too busted up to throw a punch?”

Fitz hauled back and hit him right in the face.

He was in the middle of shouting at Sid for dropping the Quaffle when the commentator's words filtered through his brain.

“... but hang on, everyone, I think – yes, I think Portree has the Snitch! What a sneaky capture by Seeker Evander Jinks, I didn't see a thing-”

Fitz looked around, trying to find Jinks on the pitch, and then realized he could hear someone singing the Chariots of Fire theme. 

“I was worried about playing Montrose both times, and I wasn't even on the pitch,” Fitz told her. “I think it's normal. The others probably just kept it to themselves.”

“Duff liked going back to Falmouth and playing his old team,” she pointed out.

“Duff is not normal.” 

They all knew. They all knew, and no one seemed to care. They were more impressed that he’d apologized than that he’d slept with the team captain.

He realized he’d started grinning, and a moment later he was laughing at all of them. 

“He should be more relaxed than this,” quipped Sid when Fitz took a breath between rants. “Clearly you have honeymooned incorrectly.”

“Bugger off, Sid,” Fitz said.