Since I haven't been able to find any clear information on when professional Quidditch teams play, for the sake of this story, the season runs from October to the middle of May, with the championship games at the end of May.


September 1st, 2022

"See you tomorrow, team," Coach Bellevue said, his gaze sweeping over the fourteen people standing there. Seven of them - including Freddie Weasley - were the starters, and the other seven were reserves, kept on hold in case one of the starters was unable to play in a particular game. Freddie felt proud of himself; he was only twenty-one, and he was one of the starting players on a professional Quidditch team. Admittedly, that team was the Chudley Cannons, but still. Everyone had to start somewhere - and besides, the Cannons didn't suck as much as they used to. "Dismissed," Bellevue continued, and the team dispersed, walking across the pitch to the locker rooms.

Freddie chanced a look back at his coach. Martin Bellevue was shorter than he was, with a burly physique and tanned skin from years of being out in the sun. He was around forty, with a blunt manner; he didn't hesitate to tell his team when they were playing terrible, although he didn't hesitate to praise them, either. Freddie liked him. Bellevue was a good coach, and who knew - maybe, with Bellevue's coaching ability, he could lead the team to success.

He was too busy musing on the possibilities of actually doing well this season that he bumped right into somebody. "Sorry," he said automatically, looking to see who it was. The girl standing there looked annoyed. She was probably his age, maybe a year younger, with black hair.

"You need to watch where you're going." She had a slight accent that Freddie couldn't place. Shaking her head, she turned to walk off, but Freddie called out after her.

"Who are you? I've never seen you before."

She turned back around to face him, still looking rather annoyed. It came as a surprise to Freddie, who was used to the popularity with women that being a professional Quidditch player brought him. He had a different girlfriend every month, it seemed, and he had a reputation with the team for flirting with anybody who had boobs. "Isabel Krovsky, if you must know."

"Freddie Weasley." Freddie stuck out his hand to shake; reluctantly, Isabel took it and gave him a quick handshake, looking almost as though she wanted to wipe her hand on her trousers afterward. "I'm the Cannons' Keeper. Are you a player, too?"

"No. I'm Coach Bellevue's assistant. He wanted somebody to help with all the mundane things that need to be done, like scheduling." She shrugged. "It pays, and I need the money."

Freddie nodded, although he wasn't really used to 'needing the money'. The Weasleys were reasonably well-off now, and none of Freddie's generation had ever needed secondhand books or hand-me-down clothes. Being a professional Quidditch player - even one on a team like the Cannons - provided Freddie with a more-than-steady source of income, as well, and he had the freedom and the money to do whatever he wanted. "Well, see you around, Izzy," he said, and her face darkened.

"It's Isabel," she corrected, before marching over to Coach Bellevue. Freddie stared after her for a moment; he couldn't recall the last time that he had seen somebody who seemed to be annoyed at his general existence. Either that, or she had been angry about the fact that he had bumped into her - but really, that was a minor thing. He wasn't used to people disliking him - it hadn't happened in a really long time, since he had been popular even at Hogwarts, before he had become a professional athlete.

He shook his head and walked over to the locker room, quickly showering before changing back into his regular clothes. Gathering up his things, he said his goodbyes to his teammates and left, promptly Disapparating.

He landed on the edge of the front steps to his house, nearly falling off. Freddie regained his balance, glad nobody was there to see him, and entered his home, dumping his things by the front door. That was a major perk to living alone; there was nobody to tell him to put his things away, and Freddie was young enough to appreciate that a lot. Of course, Rachel was coming over tonight, and she would probably tell him his house was a mess, but he didn't care too much. He was beginning to grow apart from Rachel, anyway.

Rachel Thewlitt was his current girlfriend. She was a year older than him, which sometimes prompted her to act like she knew more and was more mature than Freddie was. Both of those things were true, but she did overdo it, and it got on his nerves. As he checked out that day's Prophet, he wondered to himself if he was ready to break up with her. They had been dating for five weeks - a long time for Freddie - and he didn't think it could last much longer. Rachel was a great kisser, but even Freddie knew that there had to be a bit more to a relationship than physical chemistry.

Rachel came over precisely at six-thirty, the time that she had said. She seemed distracted, though; she kept fidgeting with a strand of her hair, and she wouldn't keep eye contact with Freddie. It was odd enough that when she went to use the loo, Freddie checked the protective spells that Aunt Hermione and Uncle Harry had set up around his house, but everything was in order, and when Rachel sat back down, Freddie discovered why she had been acting so strangely.

"Freddie..." Rachel said slowly, "this isn't working."

"You mean us?" He gestured to the two of them, as though his words weren't clear enough.

She fidgeted with her hair again. "Yeah. Us. Freddie, you're a great bloke, but you're too young. You need to grow up a little." Her eyes darted to the pile of Quidditch things near the door, just as he expected. "I know you flirt with other girls, and so much of your time is taken up with Quidditch, as well. There's a lot of reasons, you know?" She sighed. "I hope we can still be friends." Her words didn't sound sincere, however, and Freddie recognized it. He had said it to girls in the past, and a few girls had said it to him. He had been in enough relationships to recognize insincerity, and also to know that friendships with exes didn't really work very well, most of the time.

"Yeah, of course," he said, equally insincere.

"I've got to go," Rachel said, and left, barely ten minutes after she had arrived. Freddie leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. What was he supposed to do all night, then? It was the school year now, so there was no chance of seeing most of his cousins; they were at Hogwarts. It would have been great to go out with James, who was now of-age, and could therefore buy Firewhiskey with him and try to pick up girls. But no, James was at Hogwarts now, and there was no way that he would sneak out and get drunk on the night before his first official day of seventh year. James was wild, but not that wild.

He considered Victoire and Teddy, but they were wrapped up in married life, and they probably wouldn't want a third wheel, anyway. Freddie did have lots of friends, but none of them were as close as the people he had grown up with, not to mention the fact that Freddie's friends were also pretty busy most of the time. His brain shifted to Dominique - the chances of Dominique being busy were slim to none. Dominique did not have a social life, and even she probably would be home by now. She had a boyfriend, but it seemed to Freddie that the two of them never really did anything exciting together. He could get together with Dom, then - she was probably the only person he knew who was free.

Freddie stepped out of his house and Disapparated again. Dominique had a flat, which meant that he couldn't reach her place by Floo; he had to Apparate into the alley beside her flat building, and pray that it was deserted. Thankfully it was this time, and he let himself into the building with no problems. He knocked on her door, and was rewarded with it opening a crack. He could see a sliver of Dominique's face, and she said, "Prove you're Freddie."

"Dom," Freddie said, "would a freaking Circle member knock?"

Dominique rolled her eyes. "Yes," she said, "you're definitely Freddie." She opened the door all the way and let him in, closing and locking it behind him. "What did you do this time?" she asked. "Please tell me you didn't murder somebody. I don't fancy having to go against the Ministry to help you."

Freddie adapted a wounded expression. "Why do you think so lowly of me?"

Dominique sighed. "Because last time you showed up at my house, you were so drunk that you couldn't stand up straight. The time before that, you thought you had gotten your girlfriend pregnant. The time before -"

"I get it." Freddie held up a hand. "But no, I didn't do anything. Rachel broke up with me, though, and now I don't have anything to do tonight."

"You don't have to do something every single night, you know. Plenty of people stay at home and read a book. When's the last time you read something - something other than the Prophet or Quidditch Weekly?"

"Is there even a magazine called Quidditch Weekly?" Freddie asked curiously, and Dominique looked up at the ceiling. "Because I'd like to get a subscription, I think."

Dominique shrugged. "As if I would know something about Quidditch, Freddie. Anyway, why did Rachel break up with you? You two were dating for five weeks. I know that's a long time for you."

"She said I was 'young'." Freddie made air quotes around the word. "She's barely a year older than me. Whatever, though - I saw this girl today. Isabel Krovsky - you know her?"

"No," Dominique said. "As though I know everybody."

"Well, you know everything, so knowing everybody isn't too far off," Freddie quipped. "She was really hot, though. And she didn't seem to like me very much."

"Now I want to meet this girl," Dominique said, crossing her legs primly. Freddie looked around the living room. It was a stark contrast to his own messy rooms. Dominique's flat was perfectly-kept and impeccably neat, with not a single thing that was out-of-place. He wondered why she actually bothered to keep it so perfect, since she was living alone, with nobody who would really criticize her if she was messy. He didn't get the point at all - although he didn't get the point of many things that Dominique did, including getting all Os on her OWLs and NEWTs. "Who is she, anyway? Is she a new player?"

"She's my coach's assistant," Freddie replied. "Apparently she handles all the boring things. And hey, maybe if you meet her, you could tell her about how awesome I am. Would you do that for me, Dom?"

"No," Dominique said. "I'm not interfering in your love life. You seem to be doing just fine on your own, thank you very much." She stood up. "I have pasta on the stove. Did you eat supper?"

"I'll take a big plate, please," Freddie answered. Dominique muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Of course', and disappeared into the kitchen. Freddie could hear the clank of dishes, and barely two minutes later, she returned, levitating two plates. One of them was heaped much higher than the other. For a little while, they ate in silence, and then Freddie said, "So, you wouldn't help me by talking to Isabel Krovsky?"

Dominique swallowed a bite of pasta. "No, I wouldn't. If you're really desperate to get with every girl you meet, well, don't be a jerk. If she doesn't respond to your flirting, don't flirt with her. Women hate it when blokes push too much. There's a difference between perseverance and being an annoying stalker. Just be friends with her first. Then she might be willing to turn it into more than that." She carried her half-finished plate into the kitchen; Dominique was never a big eater, despite her tall frame. Freddie heard the water running, and a few moments later, Dominique came back.

"Did you seriously just wash the dishes right now?"

"I'm not going to leave them all night," she said. "And anyway, pay attention to what I said. Just be friendly. You're reasonably likable - at least, you were popular at school, before you became rich and famous."

"Technically," Freddie said, "all the Weasley-Potters are rich and famous."

"Fine, then. You were popular at school, before you became even richer and more famous than you were before." The corner of her mouth quirked up in a slightly bitter smile. "It's kind of amusing. Out of you, Victoire, Teddy, and I, you were always the slacker, you know? Always late to classes, always turning your work in late and barely making Acceptables on your OWLs and NEWTs. And now, we're all out of school, and you've got the best job out of all of us - you have your own house that's big enough for a family of six, and enough money to support yourself for fifteen years even if you lost your job tomorrow. Meanwhile, Vic's looking for work, Teddy's an Auror - which is a decent profession, but not the most high-paying thing in the world - and I'm a glorified paid intern."

Freddie hesitated a moment. "Dom, er, if you ever need help -"

"I'm not taking donations." Dom's voice was fierce, a sharp contrast to her usual calm, collected demeanor. "I'm not a charity case, Freddie, and definitely not to you." She covered her mouth the second after she said the words. "I'm sorry."

"Definitely not to me?" Freddie mimicked her tone. "What's that supposed to mean? Because I didn't get straight Os on my OWLs and NEWTs? Because I'm not a Ravenclaw whose brains rival Aunt Hermione's? I'm curious, Dominique. What did you mean by that?" He rose to his feet, and Dominique followed, almost matching his height. He was taller than her, but only by a little, and her posture was much more impeccable than his.

"I didn't mean it," Dominique said, her teeth clenched. She took a few deep breaths, counting to ten in a whisper that Freddie barely could hear, and then she repeated her apology. "I'm sorry. You know - you know I don't like having help." Her voice was quieter as she spoke the words; Freddie knew that she hated admitting she was wrong just as much as she hated asking for or needing help. "Please don't be angry." She looked younger, almost, and Freddie was reminded that she was almost a whole year younger than him, only just turning twenty-one in a couple weeks. It was difficult to stay angry with her; it was difficult for him to stay angry at any of his family members. Freddie had an almost Hufflepuff-like loyalty towards them, especially Dominique and Victoire, since he was closest to them.

Freddie took a deep breath as well. "I'm not angry." He sat back down, and Dominique followed his lead a second later. He finished his supper, and Dominique repeated her earlier process of returning the dish to the kitchen and washing it then and there. He was tempted to offer his help, but he knew Dominique would refuse it anyway; she had her own way of doing things, and she tended to correct people who did them differently. She preferred to do her own thing, anyway, and he had long since grown used to it. He had never met anyone other than Dominique who actually didn't mind cleaning or organizing things, but he had known her for so long - his whole life, practically - that she was normal to him.

When Dominique had finished, she once again came back to the living room, and for a little while they chatted companionably, the argument - if one could even call it that - forgotten. Freddie told her about the Cannons, although he couldn't talk for too long about Quidditch; it was the one topic that Dominique did not know a lot about, and she didn't particularly care for sport, either. She tried to show interest for Freddie's sake, however, and he - likewise - nodded politely as she discussed her own problems at work. She didn't mention her boyfriend, Patrick, but Freddie wasn't surprised at that, either. Dominique wasn't the type of person to talk about her romantic life very often; she wasn't as open as Freddie was about things like that, or as in-love as Victoire and Teddy were.

At nine o'clock, Dominique politely kicked Freddie out, saying that she was going to wind down before going to bed, and Freddie hugged her and left, returning to the alley beside her flat building and Disapparating. His house was exactly as he left it, and he browsed through the Prophet a little more before retiring to bed himself. It was early, but he didn't feel like trying to find which of his friends was up for doing something.

He laid awake for a little while, unable to go to sleep. Part of it was presumably because of the early hour, but his mind also kept replaying the earlier events of the day. Rachel breaking up with him. Beautiful Isabel Krovsky, who seemed to dislike him on sight. Dominique's advice. Quidditch practice. Everything melded together in his mind, and eventually, he dropped off into a peaceful sleep.