Puck on his stick, Jimmy O'Bannon clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to break down ice and try to score. Up 4-0 at this point in the game, now wasn't the time to attack. It was the time to keep the puck out of the Canucks zone, not give them a chance to score and let them think they had any opportunity to storm back.
He looked to the other side of the rink and spotted another player in a white jersey with gold and black trim and a huge "B" in the center. Milan Lucic. O'Bannon fired the puck toward the young left winger, making sure to keep it just a few inches out of his reach. Lucic made a half-hearted effort to get it. O'Bannon smiled as the puck banged off the boards and skidded deep into Vancouver's zone.
Just like he planned it. With Lucic in the area, the linesmen couldn't call icing. Play would continue, and precious time would continue to wind down.
He angled himself toward the Bruins' bench and stepped through the opening. Five new players poured onto the ice, including one wearing the number 28. Mark Recchi. Only fitting he should be on the last shift. The guy had been in the NHL since O'Bannon was in kindergarten. Recchi had said he'd retire if the Bruins won the Stanley Cup.
"ONE MINUTE," the PA announcer's voice echoed throughout Vancouver's Rogers Arena. "ONE MINUTE REMAINING IN THE PERIOD."
O'Bannon gripped the edge of the divider in front of him and bounced on his skateblades. His eyes darted back and forth between the ice and the clock on the scoreboard overhead, mentally urging the seconds to go by faster.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. This is really happening. His heart raced. Excitement flared inside him like the brightest supernova. This was really happening! The Bruins, the team he'd grown up rooting for, the team he now played for, was about to win the Stanley Cup. A thirty-nine year drought between championships was about to end. They could put to rest the indignity of blowing a three games to none lead to the Philadelphia Flyers in last year's Eastern Conference semi-finals.
He gazed across the arena, to the section where his family and many of his closest friends sat. His throat tightened as he thought of all the adventures, all the tragedy and angst they had suffered during and after the Second War against Lord Voldemort. Had things turned out differently, he might not be in Vancouver tonight on the verge of winning a Stanley Cup.
Hell, he might not even be breathing.
O'Bannon looked up at the clock again. Thirty seconds remaining. To his surprise, he wanted time to slow down, wanted to savor every single moment.
Thank you, God. Could he ever truly put into words how much he appreciated life? He made a career of playing a sport he'd loved since he was a child. He was married to the most beautiful, most wonderful witch in the world, who was a few months away from making him a father. He had a loving family, and great friends in America and Britain whom he also considered family.
And he'd come so close to pissing it all away.
"We're gonna do it, man!" One of his teammates, Michael Ryder, grabbed O'Bannon by the shoulders and shook him. "We're gonna do it!"
"Hell yeah, man!" He slapped Ryder on the "B" in the center of his jersey.
O'Bannon bounced even more as the clock ticked down to 20 . . . 19 . . . 18. He glanced on either side of him. Several other Bruins also bounced in anticipation. Claude Julien just stood with his arms folded on his chest, though O'Bannon swore a small smile creased the head coach's lips.
10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .
Guys were banging on the divider and shouting, O'Bannon included.
7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . .
"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" O'Bannon pumped his fist, wanting to explode. My God, this wasn't a dream any more. It was really going to happen.
5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1.
O'Bannon didn't even hear the final horn. The entire Bruins bench roared in triumph.
Thoughts were a blur. He honestly had no thoughts. Just emotion. Pure, unfiltered emotion. Like someone took Christmas, the day he learned he was a wizard, the day he proposed to Mireet and the day she announced she was pregnant and rolled them into one.
They had just won the Stanley Cup. They had honest-to-God won the Stanley Cup.
O'Bannon screamed as he and the rest of the players jumped onto the ice. Helmets and gloves flew into the air, his among them.
"YEAAAAAH! WOOOOO!" He threw his arms over his head as they all skated toward the Bruins net, and their goalie Tim Thomas.
"TIM-AAAAAAAAAY! TIM-AAAAAAAAY!" He leapt on the goalie. So did all the other Bruins. Bodies pressed against every side of O'Bannon. Shouts of utter joy bombarded his ears. He added his own yells, not caring that his throat started to burn.
We won the Cup! We won the friggin' Cup! "OH MY GOD, WE WON THE CUP!" Two hands rubbed his hair. He had no idea who the hands belonged to, nor did he care. He turned to someone - it was Tomas Kaberle – and hugged him.
The white, black and gold mob began to break up and turn to the opposite end of the ring. The dour-faced, blue-clad Vancouver Canucks saluted the crowd before skating off, many with their heads down. It was then O'Bannon realized how quiet the arena had become. A smattering of cheers and applause could be heard from the Bruin supporters in attendance, mainly family and friends of the players.
He shifted his focus to the opposite end of the ice as big 6'9 Zdeno Chara, the Bruins captain, slapped him on the shoulder – almost dislocating it. Merlin's beard, the guy was stronger than a giant – and beamed at him. O'Bannon turned around and would have slapped Chara on the shoulder, if he could reach it. Instead he smacked the enormous Slovakian on the chest.
A red carpet stretched onto the ice from the rink exit. Standing there with a mike in his hand was NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman. O'Bannon found it hard to hear the man as many of the Canuck faithful rained boos down on him. Or maybe they were booing the Bruins for winning the Cup, or their own team for losing, or just booing purely out of frustration. Whatever! He'd lived his entire life as a frustrated Bruins fan, never seeing his team win the Cup . . . until now. And he was actually part of the team.
Oh my God. I'm part of a Stanley Cup team!
Bettman announced the winner of the Conn Smythe Trophy for the most valuable player of the playoffs. No surprise, it went to Tim Thomas. Who deserved it more? The guy pitched two shutouts in the Finals. No way would they have The Cup without Timmy.
Thomas skated over and took the trophy, which looked like a Mexican-style pyramid dotted with maple leaves. O'Bannon pumped his fist and cried out in joy. "Yeah, Tim-aaaaaay!" His teammates also cheered for their MVP goalie.
Then came the moment they'd all been waiting for. O'Bannon held his breath. Tingles went through his body. He felt surrounded by the awe and anticipation generated by his fellow Bruins around him.
Two dark-suited men with white gloves walked down the red carpet. They carried . . . it. The Stanley Cup, with its gleaming silver bowl atop five round bands. The original, a decorative punch bowl from England, bought by Lord Stanley of Prescott, Governor General of Canada, for 48 US dollars, was first awarded to the Montreal Hockey Club in 1893. It stood 35 inches tall and weighed 34-and-a-half pounds.
If anything in the world could surpass its sheer beauty, it was his wife, Mireet.
Several of his teammates whooped it up as they skated over to The Cup. O'Bannon didn't. He couldn't. His wide eyes locked on The Cup, mesmerized by this oldest, most honored, most grand trophy in all of sports. His entire body quivered as he neared it.
We won it. We won it.
He wanted to rush over and touch it. Touch it, hell. He wanted to hug it and kiss it. He could do that now. Being part of the winning team, by tradition he had every right to touch the Stanley Cup.
Oh my God. I can really touch it.
But he didn't. He would have to wait his turn. As is tradition, the team captain held it first. Chara snatched The Cup and shook it over his head, screaming like a maniac. O'Bannon and the others cheered him on.
Next Chara passed it to Mark Recchi. Deservedly so. What a way to end a brilliant 22-year career, hoisting The Cup, the third time he'd done it.
Recchi passed it on to Thomas, who skated it around the Rogers Arena. O'Bannon watched him, bursting with anticipation, wanting to raise that gorgeous cup. When would it be his turn? When?
"Jimmy!" Thomas skated over to him. "Gotta give the Boston boy a turn."
O'Bannon couldn't reach out for it. He stood frozen, staring at the MVP netminder. Him? He got to hold The Cup next? There were other guys who deserved it more. Guys like Kaberle, who'd been in the NHL 13 years without ever getting a sniff of The Cup.
Finally, O'Bannon reached out, forcing his hands not to shake, and took hold of the Stanley Cup.
I'm touching the Stanley Cup. I'm actually touching the Stanley Cup!
He barely felt the beaming Thomas slap him on the stomach as he skated off with The Cup. He looked up at it, not feeling any of its weight.
I'm holding the Stanley Cup. He shivered, thinking of all the players before him that had held this very trophy. Legends like Mario Lemieux and Wayne Gretzky and Guy Lafleur and, of course, Bobby Orr. Now he, Jimmy O'Bannon, would actually have a link to all those players, forever.
He, too, was a Stanley Cup Champion.
"YEEEAAAAAAAAAH!" O'Bannon raised The Cup as high as he could over his head and skated around the rink. Selfishness and unselfishness dueled inside him. He wanted to let the rest of his teammates share in this most exhilarating of feelings, yet he wanted to keep the Stanley Cup for himself and skate around the ice with it all night long.
Smiling wide, he looked around the arena until he caught sight of a group of people. His parents, his in-laws, Artimus Rand, Rosa Infante, Jared and Tasanee Diaz, with their young daughter Ratana. The Weasley Clan also made it over, minus Ginny, who was back in Britain with hers and Harry Potter's newborn child, James.
And of course, Mireet, clapping enthusiastically, and smiling as she unleashed tears.
"I love you!" O'Bannon doubted she could hear him as he shook The Cup in her direction.
He lowered the Stanley Cup and gave it a long kiss before handing it over to Kaberle.
"Here, man. Thirteen years. You earned this."
"Thank you, Jimmy," Kaberle said as O'Bannon slapped him on the side. The veteran defenseman skated away, shouting something in his native Czech as he raised the Cup.
The procession continued until every Bruin carried the Stanley Cup. Then the entire team crowded together, with The Cup in front of them, and raised their index fingers as dozens of cameras snapped their pictures. Reporters mobbed the ice. O'Bannon was surprised so many of them asked him for an interview. Then again, he'd been born in Boston, grown up rooting for the Bruins, and now helped them win a Stanley Cup. Even he knew no reporter worth his or her salt would pass up an angle like that.
The celebration moved into the visitors' locker room, where clear plastic sheets draped the lockers and any other exposed equipment. While normally it would be champagne drenching players and coaches and everyone else in here, his teammates knew about O'Bannon's past bout of alcoholism, though not the reasons behind it. He couldn't let them know that without revealing the existence of the Wizarding World. So instead, it was sparkling apple cider they celebrated with.
His teammates sprayed it and dumped it on each other. It stung the hell out of O'Bannon's eyes. Not that he cared. After a handful of pre-season games, 82 regular season games that kicked off with a season opener in the Czech Republic versus the Phoenix Coyotes, and 25 post-season games, tonight was the night to cut loose and celebrate.
Someone cranked up a stereo that blared the Dropkick Murphys' song "Time To Go," their salute to the Boston Bruins.
"Yeah!" O'Bannon jumped on a bench, a half-full bottle of cider in his hand, and sang along.
"Go, go, black and gold! Old-time hockey, bar the door! Clear the track, it's all-out war! Light the lamp, throw a hit, BLACK AND GOLD NEVER QUIT!" He shook the bottle, spilling some of its contents on Zdeno Chara's head. The hulking team captain laughed, raised his arms and cheered.
O'Bannon led several of his teammates in a couple of rounds of "Time To Go!" No one would ever offer them a record contract. Hell, the wastes of skin that got on American Idol would probably sound better than he and his teammates. So what? They were ecstatic, they were champions, and if they wanted to sing, they bloody well would!
The locker room celebration ended sooner than O'Bannon wanted. But there were others he wanted to share this night with. People he'd been to hell and back with.
After showering and changing, he waded his way through the family and friends of other Bruins players crowding the corridor, many of them shaking his hand or hugging him or kissing his cheek.
"Jimmy! Jimmy!" a French-accented voice called out to him.
His heart fluttered when he saw a tall, athletic-looking woman with smooth features and long blonde hair waving to him. He smiled wide as he maneuvered past a few people.
"We did it!" He raised his arms over his head. "We did it!"
Mireet O'Bannon rushed over to him and threw her arms around him.
"I'm so proud of you." She smashed her lips into his. O'Bannon couldn't remember the last time Mireet kissed him so hard.
Hoots and whistles rose from the large group of people in front of him. When his and Mireet's lips separated, he rested his cheek on her hair and saw George Weasley and Jared Diaz grinning and pumping their fists. Rosa Infante stared at him with both hands over her heart.
He walked over to them, hand-in-hand with Mireet. His teary-eyed mother was the first to wrap him up in a crushing hug.
"Jimmy." She kissed his cheek. "I'm so proud of you. I love you."
"I love you too, Mom."
His father hugged him next. He could have sworn he saw moisture in Dad's eyes. Seriously? He'd be damned if he could ever remember him crying.
He went through the hug procession. Jared jumped on him and nuggied him.
"Holy freakin' crap, man! You freakin' did it! All these years you've been talking about the Stanley Cup and you finally won it!"
"I know, man. I'd say it was awesome, but that doesn't do it justice."
"Good job, Jimmy." Artimus hugged him next. "I really wish Jenna could have been here, but I'm sure she was watching the game on TV."
O'Bannon nodded. Artimus' Muggle wife was currently at home, about two weeks away from giving birth to their third child.
Rosa approached him next, tear stains on her cheek.
"Oh damn, look who's crying." O'Bannon chuckled.
Rosa slapped him on the upper arm, then hugged him. "I can damn well cry after you did something this big. Congratulations, Jimmy. I know how much you wanted this."
"Hang on." Rosa's mother, Adelaide Infante, held up an old-fashioned camera with a large flashbulb, no doubt charmed to look like a Muggle one. "Let me get a picture of the four best friends from Salem."
O'Bannon, Jared, Rosa and Artimus stood together, arms around each other. He felt a lump grow in his throat, and had to fight to keep his jaw from trembling. His mind shot him back a decade into the past. Fighting Death Eaters in Ovenderburg. Their adventures in England and the Appalachian Mountains during The Second Big War. The Battle of Helghorst Island. Their emotional turmoil after the war.
He felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He owed each and every one of them his life several times over.
That Cup belongs to all of you as much as it does to me.
Mrs. Infante snapped the picture. Then George Weasley and Katie Bell – Tillenfare now – bounded over to him.
"Jimmy Boy!" George hugged him from behind. "Your team won the Stanley Cup . . . even with you on it!" The tall redhead burst out laughing.
"Sod off, you wanker." O'Bannon elbowed him in the gut.
"Ignore this git." Katie hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Congratulations, Jimmy. I don't think I was this excited all those times Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup."
"Yeah, it was pretty exciting," said George's younger brother, Ron, his bushy-haired wife Hermione at his side. "Still, that Stanley Cup. I mean . . ."
"What, dude?" O'Bannon scrunched his face.
"Well, I mean, it's just, you know, a big cup. It doesn't do anything. It's rather plain-looking."
Had he not been in such a good mood, O'Bannon probably would have reamed out Ron for disparaging the Holy Grail of hockey.
Hermione, bless her, smacked Ron on the shoulder, hard.
"Ow! Hermione! What the bloody hell?"
"It's a Muggle trophy, Ron. It's not going to glow or float or produce a tower of colored flames. And it means something to Jimmy, so keep comments like that to yourself."
Ron frowned and rubbed his shoulder. Several people laughed, including O'Bannon.
"So you guys wanna head back to the hotel and celebrate?" O'Bannon asked.
"Unfortunately we're trapped in here for a while," Dad told him.
"What do you mean?"
O'Bannon's mother-in-law, Simone Miradeaux, huffed and shook her head. "Some of the Muggles in this city are showing their frustration over their team's loss by wrecking buildings and vehicles and setting things on fire. Disgraceful."
O'Bannon groaned. This wasn't the first time people had rioted after their team lost a championship, or won it. Even Boston had experienced such behavior more than once. He prayed the celebration going on in his hometown was much more orderly than other ones in the past.
"The police told everyone not to leave the arena until everything's settled down," Mom said.
Rosa snorted. "I could end it right now with a few waves of my wand."
"You know you can't do that, Rosa," said her mother, who also happened to be Director of the US Aurors Bureau. "The Muggle authorities will have to solve this themselves."
"I know, Mom." Rosa rolled her eyes.
"Since we have some time, come, Jimmy." Mireet took him by the hand and dragged him off down the corridor.
"Oh yeah!" Jared hollered. "Go, Jimmy!"
George whistled loudly. "Now the real celebration begins!"
Both young men howled with laughter and high-fived each other.
"Will you two idiots grow up?" Rosa glared at them, as did Tasanee, Hermione and George's mother.
Jimmy smiled and shook his head, letting Mireet lead him through the corridors. His heart hammered. He could only wonder, or rather fantasize, about what his wife had in mind.
They found a supply room, which Mireet opened with her wand. In they went, surrounded by T-shirt launchers, inflatable sumo suits, shovels and other items.
"Okay." He waggled his eyebrows. "This is kin-"
Mireet kissed him hard and deep. She hugged him tight and buried her face in his shoulder.
And cried.
"Hey, hey. C'mon, hon. Be happy."
"I am happy," she spoke through her sobs. "I just remember . . . remember those years after the war, how you had to fight, still fight, get overcome all that. I'm so proud of you. I love you so much."
Tears welled up in his eyes. He kissed Mireet on the side of the head. "I love you, too. If it hadn't been for you, I . . . there's no way this night would be happening."
He closed his eyes, thinking back to those two years following the end of the war. Two of the darkest years of his life. Two years marked by grieving for dead friends, of post-traumatic stress disorder, of alcoholism. Had it not been for Mireet, and for all his friends and family, he would not have raised the Stanley Cup over his head tonight. He'd probably still be bouncing from one minor league team to another. If he were lucky. Most likely, he would be boozing it up every day and slowly destroying his life.
But that didn't happen, thanks to the witch he held in his arms.
He hugged her tighter. "You saved me, Mireet."
She sniffled. "You saved yourself. Ultimately, you were the one who decided to fight and defeat your demons."
O'Bannon smiled at her. He supposed she was right. It would have been so easy to say no, to keep turning to the bottle for the illusion of comfort.
But he didn't. He proved he didn't need alcohol to get him through the each day.
It also didn't hurt to have family and friends around to give him support, and when he needed it, a kick in the ass.
Now they could celebrate one of the greatest days of his life with him.
His throat tightened. A hole formed in his chest.
Not all his friends were here to enjoy this.
Fred Weasley should have been in the stands cheering him on.
So should Tonks.
So should Liana Diaz, and Hector Rand, and Rana Rollingsworth and Gregory Lancemore.
O'Bannon lifted his eyes to the ceiling, imagining the sky outside the Rogers Arena. A shaky smile formed on his face.
They were here. They were looking down on him. They did share in his triumph.
I did it, guys. I did it.
He imagined Fred's voice in his head. "So stop getting all teary-eyed. You won the bloody Stanley Cup. Now go party, you stupid git!"
"Fred's right . . . for once." Now he heard Tonks' voice. "Now have some fun before I hex you and give you a pig's face with a never-ending stream of bogeys spilling out your nose."
He chuckled.
"What?" Mireet looked at him curiously.
He grinned and shook his head. "Nothing."
O'Bannon kissed her and held her tight against his body. He closed his eyes, burying that dark period of his life. Right now, it was time to not think about what he could have lost, but what he had.
What he had was a great life. He was a professional hockey player. A Stanley Cup champion. A wizard. A leader in Wizarding/Muggle relations and Muggle-born rights. He was surrounded by a loving family and great friends. He was an expectant father.
And he was married to the most incredible witch in the world.
What more could any man want?
THE END