Written for QLFC, Season 6, Finals- Round 3 (?)

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Seeker

Prompt: F.R.I.E.N.D.S: I'll Be There For You — The Rembrandts

Words: 2184

AN: This story is not canon/epilogue compliant in pretty much any shape, form, or fashion. But given that I didn't want to work within canon constraints, I decided to ignore it all. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Bring It On Home

Hermione threw the flashing yellow memo back down on her desk with a scowl. Early morning meetings with her boss, Mr. Branstone, were never a good thing. Everyone knew that was department-speak for "clear out your desk". She had known her "werewolves are people, too" crusade wasn't going to go over well at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but she hadn't expected this. Fired. Hermione couldn't really grasp the concept. Was it that she was a Muggle-born? Was is it that she was a witch? Or was it simply that the wizarding world was still too backward to accept change? She fought back the tears as she realized that this was likely the end of her career at the Ministry. She'd never considered a life doing anything other than working here and fighting to make a difference for the marginalized. Shaking herself, she conjured a cardboard box and magically packed her office; there was no point in staying any longer than necessary. She'd just have to go somewhere she knew she was wanted.

Ron tossed the last of his paperwork onto the secretary's desk before Apparating back to his flat. Merlin, he hated his new partner! Harry's move to a desk job hadn't been surprising - "gotta keep The-Wizard-Who-Won safe!" Kingsley had explained. It still sucked going from working with the person he trusted most to someone he barely knew. Even worse, his new partner was Lancaster. So what if the guy had been an auror for the past 15 years? There was a reason his career had stalled at Auror instead ascending to a squadron leader or Senior Auror - no one wanted to work with the prick! Now he had a giant chip on his shoulder about being paired with one of the war heroes, and Lancaster was determined to prove he was just a good as Ron, even if it killed them both. To top it all off, he refused to do any of the paperwork! Ron grabbed a butterbeer from the cooling box, cracked it open, and took a deep swig. He sighed as the carbonation burned his throat, burned like the words he forced down every time Lancaster opened his mouth. Ron was beyond ready to go back to being around people he actually liked.

Luna dropped her bags by the front door and headed straight for the kitchen. The food in Peru was delicious, but all the spices were foreign and hard for her British palate to get accustomed to. As she prepared herself a proper cup of tea and a plate of biscuits, she pondered her most recent expedition. Patagonia was supposed to be it! She'd dedicated half a decade to hunting the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, following every lead, every hint of a sighting that cropped up on her radar. When Rolf Scamander had told her that some of the locals were describing a rare, mysterious creature that sounded just like a Snorkack, she just knew she was going to find it this time. She'd saved for ages just to afford the International Apparition permit, not to mention all the supplies for a two week trip to Peru. Then there had been the planning, the time off work, the leaving her friends and family. And it was all for nothing. She knew her father was going to be so disappointed - he'd been planning to break the news on the front page of the Quibbler's next edition, finally vindicated after decades of mockery. She dreaded telling him that both their dreams had been dashed again. Luna drained her cup and stretched - at least she knew she had friends who would never be disappointed in her.

Harry gingerly placed his glasses on the coffee table and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a pain. He shook out the copy of the Daily Prophet in his lap and stared at the moving photograph. He hadn't really loved Daphne, but it still hurt to see her flashing that enormous engagement ring about like it was a trophy. Malfoy's smug grin didn't help either. The Prophet was sure to owl him for a statement tomorrow; it was big news for The-Boy-Who-Lived's former flame to move on so quickly. Harry flopped back into his comfy chair. He didn't care that Daphne was engaged; he didn't care that his other two exes were in their own blissfully happy relationships. He just kept wondering when it was going to be his turn. Was it too much to ask, after all he had been through, that fate would help him find someone to love him for who he was? Not as a wizard with billions of galleons in his vault, not as the Wizard-Who-Won, not even as a hot-shot young Auror on his way to the top. Just as Harry Potter, the man who hated cooked carrots and always forgot to turn the kettle off. He called Dobby for a fire-whiskey - might was well get a head start.

Ginny slammed her broom down on the locker room bench. Half a meter. She'd been an arm's length from catching the Snitch when that little upstart Seeker from the Wanderers - Ryan? Ronan? Rory? Something vaguely Irish - had snatched it from above. She couldn't even bring herself to be angry at the man for beating her. It had been a brilliant catch, a complete vertical dive that had seen him land with a hard thud but an enormous grin. But Ginny was angry that it made her look like a fool for failing to block him and nearly falling off her own broom as he plowed by her. She'd only lost the snitch a dozen times in her career, and a quarter of those had happened this season. Had the other Seekers gotten that much better? Or was she just losing her touch? She carded her fingers through her sweaty hair. If she didn't step up her game, and quickly, she'd find herself riding the bench instead of their rookie. With a frustrated sigh, Ginny headed for the showers - no use in following that train of thought without a little liquid help.

Neville slammed his bedroom door shut, nearly cracking the ancient wood. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to tune out his gran's shrieking from two floors below. Damn Amplifying Charm. He was so tired of her complaining about his "stagnation" - he wasn't married, he wasn't ready to take over as Head of the family, he wasn't everything she was expecting of him. With a huff, Neville threw himself onto his mattress. Why couldn't she understand that he was perfectly happy with where he was in life? Before she'd started going off on him, he'd been trying to tell her about Professor Sprout and how she kept hinting that he should take over for her someday. Professorship at Hogwarts was a prestigious position! Not to mention he had a fledgling nursery that did decent business and was probably going to expand to mail-order in the next few years. He had a great career outlook, a growing business, and a great group of friends who always had his back. What more did she want from him? He glanced at the clock and leapt up from the bed, ignoring his gran's insistent yelling. He had his own life to live, and, if he didn't hurry, he was going to be late.

They trickled into the Leaky Cauldron one by one, taking up residence in the back corner booth as they did every Saturday night. Some weeks there were only two or three present, the others pulled away by work, family, or just life in general. But on nights like tonight, everyone would be there. All was right with the world.

"Neville!" Harry cried, slapping his last friend to arrive on the back. "How are those underwater cactuses working out for you? I figured that late freeze last week would give you trouble."

"Surprisingly they loved it! I think they needed just a little more rest before getting ready to grow again," Neville replied. "I figure they'll go for nearly 150 Galleons once they're ready to propagate at the end of the summer."

Hermione smiled. "That's great, Nev! That nursery of yours is going to be a big hit. There was a rumor going around the Ministry that you were going to get the knew Potions supply contract for the DMLE."

"You'll have to keep an ear to the ground for me, Hermione," Neville grinned. "That way I know who to sweet talk at the next post-War function."

"I wouldn't count on that," Hermione groused.

"What she's saying is she got fired," Ron said through a mouthful of chips. "Old Branstone didn't like her 'overly progressive ideas'. Damned old school supremacist."

Ginny perked up. "I know you were hoping for a job with the Ministry, but you might look into working with Fred and George. They've developed a ton of products for the DOM, and-"

"And maybe they could help you get back into the Ministry that way," Luna finished.

Hermione nodded, almost visibly chewing on the idea. "Honestly that sounds more promising than anything I can come up with. And worst case scenario, I know it will challenge my mind and let me work with people I like. Thanks, you guys!"

"Glad someone will be able to work with their friends again," Ron grumbled.

"I was going to ask how it was going with Lancaster, but I think I have my answer." Harry winced. "Sorry, mate. You know I wouldn't have left you if I'd had any kind of choice."

The rest of them shared a curious glance, so Ron launched into a rundown of their latest mission in which Lancaster had petrified Ron instead of the enemy and then proceeded to nearly crush him under a pile of debris with a poorly aimed Reducto. And of course, the man still got away. It sounded more like a slapstick comedy skit than actual police work, and the rest of the friends couldn't keep from laughing along with Ron's misfortune.

"That man is hazardous to your health," Ginny remarked, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Neville, you might need to find a way to put this guy out of commision."

"I do know of a few plants with some interesting properties," he mused.

Before anyone else could join in, a flashbulb sparked from across the dingy room. They all looked over, and Harry groaned at the eager young journalist scribbling away on his parchment. The-Boy-Who-Lived shot Old Tom a look, and the young man was eagerly ushered out of the pub, his notes reduced to ashes.

"Daphne?" Luna asked. Harry nodded forlornly.

"Don't worry, they'll quit talking about that when my butt is riding a bench instead of a broom in a few matches," Ginny grumbled.

Ron sighed. "So you've missed a few Snitches. They're not gonna bench you, Gin. You're still one of, if not the best Seeker in the league. And that's coming from a life-long Cannons fan."

"Yeah, you're just in a rough patch," Hermione assured her. "Muggles call it a slump. You'll get through it and back to your old self in no time."

Ginny snorted. "If you say so. But I'm tired of talking about my dying career and all of this terrible news. Luna, tell us all about your trip to Peru!"

"It was lovely," Luna sighed, "but it was all in vain. There wasn't a single sign of a Crumple Horned Snorkack."

Everyone else avoided her gaze; they loved their friend, but they still didn't believe in half the creatures she talked about.

"Daddy will be so disappointed in me…" Luna murmured.

Neville patted her arm. "He might be disappointed for you, but I doubt he'd ever be disappointed in you. I know we aren't." The four others nodded their agreement.

"Thanks, Nev," she whispered.

Harry cleared his throat, trying to push through the slight awkwardness in the air. "So, Nev, tell us more about this offer from Professor Sprout. Sounds like a pretty good deal."

Neville brightened and began gushing about his conversations with Professor Sprout, and thus the group moved onto happier subjects.

The night passed far too quickly, filled with hugs, commiseration, and plenty of laughs. But that's how it always went. Even when life was hard, being together was as easy as breathing, and there wasn't a greater support system to be found anywhere on earth. This booth, these people, this feeling - whether they admitted it or not, this was each person's favorite place to be. It was warm. It was safe. It was home.