HP fusion AU, set in Fantastic Beasts verse. Sort of. You'll see. Not compliant with JKR's US canon.
Written for SQ Supernova 2, originally posted on ao3.
"Once upon a time, long long ago —"
"It wasn't that long ago, Mom," Henry interrupts.
"Alright, alright," Regina says in mock-surrender. "Once upon a time, not so long ago, our country was host to the greatest show known to wizarding kind: the Quidditch World Cup. Your abuelo and I, of course, were very excited. We were going to watch as many games as possible."
"When will we host the World Cup again?"
"In another twelve years or so, if things go according to plan. Now, do you want to hear the story or not?"
Regina doesn't expect to be able to attend any of the games in person. Leopold makes a show of attending every World Cup, as though it's sufficient to mask his absolute incompetence at the helm of one of America's best-performing Quidditch teams (THE MOST EXCITING TEAM THIS SIDE OF THE ATLANTIC, if you ask the US Quidditch Weekly).
The very thought of being associated with that, of showing up by his side like a pathetic, simpering trophy wife, along with that spoilt brat of his while they fawn over the little family unit and splash images of manufactured happiness all over the papers — it's enough for her to wish to sink into the ground and disappear forever.
In another life, Regina had dreamed of playing Quidditch: of being a star, and earning enough laurels for her mother to be proud of her.
Mother, of course, had other plans.
Now she keeps a careful distance from Leopold and his posturing, preferring to make herself invisible. Once the financial scandals break, Leopold White will be finished. And Regina will watch him crash and burn, and she'll laugh and laugh and laugh.
His illness is like an unexpected gift. Perhaps it is fate itself, smiling upon Regina for once. Perhaps it's all the drinking, who can tell? Regina is not about to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth.
She takes great pleasure in informing Snow that she will, in fact, be traveling with Daddy as her companion, relishing the way her face falls. She had no doubt imagined some sort of a grand tour of the country — the magnificent debutante with Regina as her obedient nanny.
"Your father could use your company at a time like this," Regina says, placing a hand on her shoulder, watching the way her eyes brighten. "I'll do my best to be his representative."
"Yes, of course," Snow agrees, too dull to see through Regina's demure expression. Or perhaps she just can't imagine anyone hating her saint of a father, least of all Regina.
It's a whirlwind after that, city after city and stadium after stadium, absolute madness and joy of the sort she hasn't experienced since her school days. The US National Quidditch Team is in fine form, and that is the icing on top of this already unforgettable world cup. Regina soaks it all in, the passion and hope, the joy in her father's eyes every time an underdog shows unexpected class, or when an established master of the sport lives up to expectations.
The breakout star of the tournament is the rookie US Seeker, one Emma Swan.
Swan was the surprise selection, someone almost no one knew. She emerged out of nowhere and won everyone's hearts, and after watching her play against Nigeria in the opening game of the tournament, Regina can understand why.
Swan flies like no one else, as though she was born for this. She performs the trickiest moves with the grace of the bird whose name she bears. There is, above all, an infectious joy to her game — which, despite the occasional tendency to show off for the gallery, is impossible to not be charmed by.
Regina is an unabashed fan.
"Wait, so you watched her play all the games?" Henry says, awestruck. He hasn't looked at her like this in a long time, and Regina revels in every second of it.
"That's right," she tells him, preening. "I did."
"But did you see her catch the Snitch in the semis?"
"Of course I did," Regina says. "I've never seen anything like it."
"But we still lost," Henry says, his face falling.
"We did, yes."
"That sucks," Henry says, burrowing deeper into her arms.
Regina breathes in his sweet, little boy scent, relishing the softness of his too-long hair against her skin and says, "Do you know what your abuelo used to say?" She hasn't spoken about Daddy to him in a while — hasn't spoken about Daddy at all, in fact. "He used to say that in sports, one team wins, and the other team loses. And sometimes, the team that loses is your team, and that sucks a lot. But you have to learn your lessons from it and persevere. Do you understand that?"
"I guess," Henry says, still dejected about a game lost long before he was born.
Her father would have been happy to meet a grandson so invested in the sport, Regina knows it, regardless of whether or not he was actually able to play it.
They follow the US team from group stage to the quarters, and then, finally, inexplicably, to the semi-finals. Against Japan, no less — three time world champions and tournament heavyweights.
It's the best the US team — still a novice in world Quidditch — has ever performed in almost a hundred years. It's a run no one expected, least of all Regina.
The run comes to an end, as all fairy tales must. The top-ranked Japanese team is clinical in its demolition of its opponents, but Emma Swan remains the talk of the town, thanks to her absolutely improbable capture of the Snitch. It earns her a standing ovation, and later, a felicitation from the Japanese Emperor's special envoy.
It earns her the approval of Regina's father, who says, "She knew we were never going to catch up," a proud smile on his face. "She wanted to end the match on her own terms."
And Regina, for all that she hates the disappointment of crushing defeat, gets this. After all, hasn't her entire life been one long attempt to just end things on her own terms?
This is the part she doesn't tell Henry:
The absolute rush of watching Emma Swan soar, her hair a golden halo. The way her face grows warm every time Daddy mentions Emma Swan in innocuous, everyday conversation. The outrageous amount she pays for the special world cup edition of the Emma Swan Quidditch card. The number of times Swan pops into her mind unbidden, and the unsteady beat of Regina's traitorous heart.
It wouldn't be a world cup if Regina didn't end up with yet another sporting infatuation, she supposes.
It's embarrassing, but that does not stop her from tracking Swan down in the team hotel. She brandishes Leopold's American Quidditch Association card like a weapon and blazes past the bemused security wizards without stopping to offer an explanation. Just an autograph, that's all she wants. Regina is certainly not so juvenile as to abuse her husband's position in the Quidditch fraternity just so that she can gaze upon Emma Swan in flesh and blood.
Swan is a morose figure in one corner of the swanky hotel bar, downing Firewhisky with single-minded attention. The bartender keeps a fierce eye on anyone attempting to invade her privacy, but Regina is more than equipped for the intervention, slipping a wad of cash in her general direction as she hops onto the bar stool next to Swan.
Up close, Emma Swan is nothing like the larger-than-life figure Regina has come to know. She's… young. Younger than Regina, definitely.
Regina takes a deep breath and says, "Can I have an autograph?"
Swan looks up from her drink, and — Yes. Up close, Emma Swan is nothing like the larger-than-life figure Regina has come to know. Her eyes are very green as she looks Regina up and down, her lips curling into an appreciative smile. "Only if I can buy you a drink first," Swan says. Regina feels herself flush, despite her best intentions otherwise.
They drink in silence, Swan back to slumping over her glass like she didn't just offer to buy Regina alcohol for no reason at all. "You played well," Regina says eventually, when the silence begins to get to her.
That gets her a reaction, because Swan turns to glare at her. "We still lost," she says, and slams a fist on the bar table. "I hate losing."
"I don't know of anyone who enjoys it, to be perfectly honest," Regina says, her voice even. She takes another sip of her drink.
Swan looks at her, skeptical. "No hope speech? Nothing about how we won hearts, even if we didn't win?"
"No," Regina says with a shrug.
"I like you," Swan tells her. There is no reason why Regina's face should grow warm at the frank appraisal, no reason at all.
"Another?" Swan says when Regina places her empty glass down with a clink. "It's on me." She sounds hopeful, as though she's actually looking forward to spending time with Regina. She's also, of course, inebriated.
It's tempting to give in, to listen to the quickening beat of her heart and let the evening take its course. Whatever it might be.
"I should get going" is what Regina says instead, regret weighing down her words. She places the Quidditch card and a quill in front of Swan.
"Right," Swan says, her face falling. "So should I, I guess. I should sleep."
She signs the card with a flourish. Their fingers brush as she hands the card over to Regina.
"Always a pleasure to be in the company of such a beautiful woman," Swan says with a roguish wink.
