I don't own Harry Potter!
Yona's POV:
Cinderella never had to take off her damn dress, or show a little skin to claim the Prince. Her shoe maybe—which should have been used to knock the bloke upside the head, in my opinion—but Cinderella remained classy at the ball.
Right now, I could not decide whether my boss fit the evil stepmother role or a demented casting of the fairy godmother.
It was all rather appalling.
Madam Patil merely giggled into her palm and said, "The best impact calls for intel, Yon darling. One must look the part to step up to such a task."
Inspecting the short dress the woman neatly deposited into my lap, I resisted a laugh. My mother, who was the uptight and traditional sort, would be inspired to a swooning fit and faint. No respectable lady wore trousers, let alone a scandalous attire such as this after all.
Opening my mouth to politely reject the ideals of job prostitution, Madam Patil held up a hand and stopped me. "Kindness is the best sort of quality," she commented, a grin twitched at the corner of her mouth, and a hand slid a ticket towards me. "Box seat next to Freddie Weasley. Very difficult to acquire."
Scary bitch.
I shot her a quick look of dismay. "Does it have to be me?" I muttered, darkly. Madam Patil schemed as much as she breathed.
Fairy godmother. Stepmother. Fairy godmother. Step mother. The hand on the metronome swung in indecision.
"Of course, Yon darling. Someone has to fish Weasley out of the closet, or so gossip breeds." The vindictive grin on her face churned my stomach. "And that Prince needs drawn, so work you're magic."
Regardless of indecision, my boss was demented.
...
Setting: Montrose Magpies Stadium Entrance
Time: 3 Hours Later
"Miss, you appear quite lost."
To my surprise, a cloaked figure approached me from a shadowed side entrance. An unwanted blush spread across my cheeks as I realized he was far too close to not notice my attire.
Surrendering my open palms, I admitted, "You caught me. First time with box seats, sadly. And I'm directionally challenged."
Fuckin hell, I sounded like a damsel in distress. Somebody shoot me with Obliviate.
The man nodded politely, pushing back his hood to reveal a face that mirrored the Savior of the Wizarding World in youth. Immediately my brain processed that I was facing Albus Potter.
Those penetrating emerald eyes raked over my attire, paused briefly on the ID badge that identified me as part of the press, and then settled on my face. Albus spoke in disbelief, "You're Yona?"
I raised my eyebrows at him. "Y—yes. I am. Why do you ask? I don't believe we've been personally acquainted."
"My brother speaks highly and discreetly about you," Albus said honestly, tone heavily monotonous. We hadn't been two minutes into the conversation and he appeared to be borderline narcoleptic. "Didn't know you worked the Potter Prince circuit, though." He nodded at my ID badge, which Madam Patil had sealed with the Potter Prince crest—a tasteful yet modest studded golden crown. "Mum's reaction to that will be enjoyable."
That assessment was fairly predictable. I'd envisioned Ginny Potter catapulting me out of the highest window on numerous occasions.
"Err," I tried intelligently and sighed. "Right. Best hopes on that being avoided, ya? Sooo about the box seats—should I ask someone else for assistance?"
After looking at my ticket, Albus cringed before releasing a chuckle. "Come with me," he said, failing to resist the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.
"Whaaa?" Albus didn't bother answering me and grabbed my wrist so that I trailed behind him. Without warning, the black haired sod jumped us into Apparition and my stomach lurched and screamed.
Once we landed, my legs crumbled underneath me. How long had it been since I experienced Disapparate and Apparate? Years passed since discovering that Mikasa had an aversion to it.
Albus ignored my whining and knocked on the door behind us. "Jem Jem isn't ready for locker room yet," a voice responded from within. Why was Freddie...?
"Don't really care about the prat's incessant game day preparations. Is he decent, Freddie?" Albus leaned against the door as he inquired, tapping the toe of his shoe against the wood.
There was a rumble from within and Albus managed to leap backwards before the door opened, revealing an indignant James dressed in uniform Montrose Magpies quidditch robes. "What is it, Al—? Whaaa?!" His tone significantly changed from peeved to stunned when he noticed me idled behind his brother.
Albus smirked, tossing a careless hand in my direction. "Look what I found searching for box seats beside Freddie."
I glared at Albus, feeling foolishly aware of my scant attire yet refusing to allude discomfort. Instead I clicked my heels together and squared my shoulders, a last ditch effort at confidence.
"Yona," James breathed with a beautiful grin that lifted my heart until it felt feather-light. The embarrassment momentarily slipped away. "You look ra—"
"Why the hell do you look like a strumpet?!" Freddie demanded, frantically pulling me into the room. "Honestly, don't you know that James' parents come to these things?"
Next to me, James' entire body stiffened. Swallowing down the returned embarrassment, I growled, "Oh shut it, I didn't have a choice wearing this so I really don't want to hear it. Besides I can wear whatever I want."
Freddie started to argue but James held up a hand, body now relaxed again, and gestured towards me. "She looks fine, Freddie. Don't be a jerk." He turned back to me with a smile and added, "If you get cold though... use this." Reaching behind him, James handed me a black and white jumper etched with the Montrose Magpies crest.
The fabric felt warm and soft. My first instinct was to bury my face into it and inhale—as though it was a nostalgic momento to relieve stress. Resisting that urge, I hugged it to my chest and bowed my head appreciatively. "Thank you," my voice soft—almost weak and unrecognizable. "Though your cousin is atrociously poor mannered." In an air of snooty decorum that prided my mother, my nose lifted in the air and I tried to appear haughty.
Instead of being affronted, James choked out a laugh. "Ah, I must confess that I find it distressing for family to be lowered to disagreeable. Unfortunately, I'm also unable to argue with your sentiments. Perhaps I'll rectify this dark mark by inquiring about your health, or the little sprite that recently wrecked my specs?"
The past weekend, Mikasa had somehow stowed James' specs in her room in order to "improve them." The result was as calamitous as expected: The pair of spectacles covered in glitter, permanent glue, and charmed butterflies that resembled eyelashes.
And of course no spell worked to fix the mess my gleeful daughter made after she proudly presented her artwork. Honestly, I should have experienced a premonition based on how dead quiet Mikasa played in her room at the time.
"Oh, very well," I folded my arms and feigned disgust. "Since you insisted on bringing that up." I paused, remembering to give James Mikasa's formal apology. "I'm apparently partial to disagreeable relations as well, so here is my lovable daughter's token of apology." I handed him the folded up parchment.
James feigned an expression of affronted dignity but it crumbled into a wide grin as he examined the parchment. "Have you looked at this, princess?"
I wearily shook my head, regret dripping into my veins. What had my troublesome girl done now? "Why?"
"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but she's offering you up for trade." The gravity of his expression was trampled by the gleam of amusement in his hazel eyes. "A date to be exact. To appease any slighted feelings for my ruined specs."
I reached for the parchment, visibly paling. "She didn't," I denied the very thought yet groaned when I read the musings of my daughter confidently written in red crayon.
"She did," James answered baldly, "and might I speculate that Mikasa will make a fine businesswoman?" He tried very hard to remain solemn, but failed miserably, his expression dissolving rapidly into laughter. The man looked like he was just delivered a basket of kittens.
"Maybe if I were cattle," I grumbled, tempted to smile. "I should be more concerned about my five-year-old potentially trafficking me."
"Not very sporting, I'm afraid." He reached out to caress and rustle the top of my head affectionately, ruffling hair into a disarray. Great, now I probably looked like someone that romped around between the sheets. "But you'd be in good hands. I assure you of that. You have nothing to fear from me."
My cheeks blushed hotly.
"Barf," Freddie interrupted our growingly intimate exchange.
Freddie and Albus looked sickened by our banter. "What have you done to him?" Albus asked in disbelief before turning to Freddie, who ruefully remarked that James was a goner.
James threw his gloves at them, "Shut it, you bloody wankers!"
"Language Jem Jem," Freddie protested in a suitably prim voice, "Were we not taught to be polite? What would your parents say?"
James noticeable stiffened and fell silent, casting a glare at Freddie.
Curiosity brimmed within me, and I recalled his similar reaction at the mention of his parents. "Are you actually nervous your parents are coming?"
It was the first time I saw a troubled, almost panicked expression on his face. The squeeze on my heart politely informed me of the land mine I had stepped on.
A knock sounded on the door, delivering the worst possible case of bad timing. "James? It's mum," a light feminine voice called from the other side of the door. "Can we come in?"
Everyone in the room eyed me, but Freddie took it upon himself to shove me and him into the nearby closet. A quick cast of Muffliato and we were concealed.
"Excuse me," James murmured and bowed his head politely before opening the door for his parents.
"It feels like ages since we've all managed to come together for one of your matches," Ginny confessed wearily, and tucked strands of ginger hair behind her ear. "I apologize for our short notice of arrival. But we cannot wait to see you play."
Harry clapped his son on the shoulder, squeezing lightly and smiled. "We look forward to your performance, James." It was as if his father was referring to a music recital, or a benign form of entertainment.
I had assumed having famous parents was tough, but damn. It was cringeworthy, almost suffocating to watch. All the while, James was fraying—slowly wearing down like pressured violin strings.
"I will do my best to not disappoint your expectations. Please enjoy," James bowed his head politely with a smile. In the pit of my stomach, a knot of tension coiled at the exchange. That was not his genuine smile—it was a gentleman's—and it damn near broke my heart.
"He's so formal and polite with his parents," I acknowledged quietly to Freddie under my breath.
Freddie exhaled and nodded, "Yes, and that evidence has always been damning. He's their first, after all."
After exchanging brief farewells, James' parents departed with Albus. Meanwhile, after coming out of the closet, Freddie showed me to our seats.
Oh the irony.
Later across the distance of field, James' eyes found mine and I waved cheerfully—perhaps too enthusiastically because he sent me a strange look before laughing. He turned and made his way to the locker room, waving his arm like a fool.
There...I hoped some of that sadness in his expression would fade.
"Our family's legacy is striking," Freddie commented, calling for my attention. The goofy grin on his face was contagious. "But I have to admit it, Yona. I think you're very good for Jem Jem."
Folding my hands behind my head and leaned back into the seat, I rolled my eyes. "Please. You're just trying to butter me up to lay my best friend."
"I don't need you for that," Freddie replied sticking out his tongue, yet the bravado didn't stop the light blush.
I playfully slapped his shoulder with a small laugh and he gave a small smile in return. His face now beet red. "My my, Freddie don't say such lewd things if your face cannot take the heat."
Freddie actually laughed, with evident satisfaction. "It's true," he answered.
I waved a dismissive hand, unmoved by his declaration. "Ya ya" I added and dug into my bag for my camera. "If you don't mind, I have work to do so, please, refrain from pointless chatter or I'll be hounded by my boss later." I snapped at few shots of the field, bending to capture an upward angle of the sky.
What kind of storyboard could I design out of this day?
Freddie raised an eyebrow at my formal tone and awkward posturing for the awe inspiring photography.
Once the match started, Freddie began to comment on my various body contortions for capturing angled shots. "Alright, I've got to ask. What the hell is your job? You haven't attempted to pry a single answer from me, and I'm gathering your boss wants you to."
Cheering as James made another successful goal, I snapped another picture before replying to Freddie. "Gathering coconuts is what it sounds like," I said, sarcastically. Ridiculous.
Ruffling the back of his hair while sending me a dumbfounded look, Freddie asked, "You're job is to gather coconuts?"
I stared at Quidditch pitch and considered, "It might as well be" and after a bit of resignation added, "But actually, Madam Patil is questioning which team you bat for."
"Team I bat for?" It was like I stabbed him with a needle. "Like Quidditch?"
I vaguely wondered if he was playing dumb or blissfully ignorant. "Homosexuality," my voice pressed casually for clarification on an already known subject. "Or bisexuality, if that sort of thing fits your fancy."
"Alright!" Freddie shot up to his feet like folded up ironing board and glanced above us. "Ahh butterbeer is being served," his tone a tad high-pitched than normal. "Want anything from the trolley?"
"Just water would be appreciated," I assured him and handed him coins for purchase.
When Freddie brought over a bottle of water, I offered an appreciative smile but barely looked at the way he was watching me, how his eyes tried to glean some sort of emotion, any sort of reaction from my face or intentions. In the end, through flushed cheeks, Freddie grumbled, "You already know. Why ask me?"
I raised my eyebrows and frowned, "Work is work, and I don't tell Madam Patil everything. Char is important to me and Mikasa. I only ask that you don't play with him. He's like family."
Freddie carelessly twisted off the bottle cap of the Butterbeer, sloshing some onto the ground. "I could say the same for you. Be good to James. He is family."
"Didn't you say I was already?"
Finally meeting my eyes, Freddie swallowed deeply and gave a pained smiled. "I hoped that to be the case. Jem Jem, unfortunately, has bad luck."
As he finished the statement, James scored another flawless goal. The Potter Prince was on fire.
Bad luck, huh?
Freddie intuitively read my expression. "When people merely glance at James at face value, they fail to notice...limitations." He paused considering his choice of words. As if acknowledging a serious blunder, Freddie flicked my ID badge and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "That crown is going to come at a cost in the presence of Aunt Ginny.
Suddenly chilled by the atmosphere, I shrugged on James' jumper fully comprehending how much dread came with Freddie's comment.
...
The final score favored the Montrose Magpies overwhelmingly. Their many outstanding players reflected the sheer talent that made the Magpies the most successful team in the history of the British and Irish League.
And The Potter Prince was largely responsible for that extended victory. I had expected dangerous fireworks, players prepared for inebriation, or at least excitement. It's too bad that prided congratulations fell on deaf ears.
For James that is...because he looked like someone snapped his broom in half and turned him into a Muggle.
Freddie's face was severe, masked in a forced calm. "What did your mom talk to you about after match?"
I watched as his posture stiffened, burying his face in his hands. "She admired my skills developing so quickly, and insisted on my participation in a charity event—playing beside her in a tourney—that will take place in a month."
We had gathered at James' apartment and I'd missed an interaction with his mother when I left to change. It also was a supervised visit day for Mikasa at Luna's house, so I didn't get the chance to grill my daughter on trying to offer me up for a date either. Tora was enough for my daughter to deal with, after all, and I prayed he wouldn't cause anymore disappointment in her life.
So much disappointment being strewn around.
"Not good...no good," James muttered, staring numbly at the bandage one his left hand. He'd not emerged from the win unscathed. It was clear that something was wrong. "I need to be better than this."
"That will heal. And it's just a tourney, Jem Jem," Freddie joked and nudged James' shoulder. "What'd you tell her?"
James squeezed his hands together, tension escalating in a clasp of fingers. "I declined. And apologized that I'm not at the level yet to play beside her."
Grim faced, Freddie said, "James..."
"You dummy," I accused, waving my finger at James. "Anyone with eyes could see that you're talented. You were scouted as a second year for crying out loud. We saw you play today!"
"It wasn't good enough," he spat at the floor. "I managed to take a bludger to the hand, once again. I'm not good enough!"
Staring at James, it was clear to see that my world was completely different from his. He is in a world so distant and far away from mine.
"James..?" My tone was uneasy, betraying any attempt at soothing him.
James' light chuckle turned into a laugh, a sarcastic one. A chink in the armor. "I've always been this way but I've learned to keep it hidden behind a wall. But you want to know what is going on, right? Hmm, let's see... Huu, I don't get control of my life a lot of the time. I'm messed up and filthy."
The violin strings he'd been sawing at finally snapped.
James' POV:
"I—I...don't," I panted and released a painful exhale.
Something twisted violently in me and I stopped, blindly grasping at my chest. It hurt to breathe and my heart was beating way too fast.
"Shite James. Where is it?" Freddie shook my wavering attention—a blur in my peripheral vision.
Through slightly glazed eyes, I captured the concerned look on Yona's face. Two pools of gray stunned into silence. That picture was briefly clicked into my mind before I pitched forwards, and Yona quickly caught and eased me to the floor. "James! What is it?"
Glancing over to Freddie I wheezed out, "Bottom drawer" and tried to catch my breath but it was painful to take a deep breath. The loud sound of Freddie rummaging filled the room.
Shaken, I realized how long it had been since I last experienced an asthma attack. Fuckin hell, it was fourteen years ago.
Freddie paled. "Here. Your inhaler," he choked, swallowing down his own panic and pushing the inhaler eagerly into my hand.
After giving it a quick shake, I took a breath through it, and another through trembling fingers. Eyes pinched closed, I held it as long as I could then desperately panted for breath. The minutes that flew by felt like hours.
Finally, I started to breathe normal, despite my embarrassment. Glancing over at Yona, I sighed, "Sorry about that."
Yona patted my head lightly, smoothing the disheveled, ebony locks with gentleness. Then, her movements froze, and she smacked me upside the head. "Idiot." It was quiet for a little then she spoke up again. "Don't ever apologize for something like this, James." The worry written in her eyes was evident.
A veil of melancholy overwhelmed me, and I held my injured hand to examine it. "I've broke this hand more times than I can count. Despite the wonders of magic, each time it infuriates and frightens me. A horror, bore straight into my heart."
Yona's gray eyes harbored no judgment.
"There's always a little voice in my head that says, 'I'll make it so you can never play again.' Often I've wondered if that's what I want—a method of escape. To quit Quidditch. It's disgusting—the cowardice and flaws within me."
Yona stared at me, an indescribable expression in her eyes. "I see. Well, I'm afraid I cannot aide your misery." Shock colored my face, as dread settled into my stomach, and I watched her parted lips continue. "I like that part about you. The flaws that make you 'filthy;' was it? Well when you're sordid and wounded, I cannot help but care about you."
"Wha—? Why would you?" I lowered my eyes to stare at my hands.
"If you think of people as filthy and inferior because of flaws and doubts than I'm also a disgusting mess. So much so that cleansing me is impossible."
I stared at her, taken back. "No—"
"You're human, James. Regardless of parentage or expectations, we all bleed the same. Some are just more wounded than others," she said, voice firm and unyielding. Placing a hand gently on my shoulder, she squeezed the taut muscle lightly and smiled. "Give yourself a break."
My eyes flickered away from hers, contemplating my situation with Quidditch. To myself mostly, I whispered, "Who do I play for anymore?"
"Yourself," Yona's voice brimmed with conviction. "Don't let anyone else tell you how to live your life, James. It's got to be for yourself."
"Thank you Yona," I said honestly, grasping her wrist as she climbed to her feet. "Seriously."
Flashing a bright smile, Yona spoke as soft as a hum, "Anytime."
