Chapter 12
Complexity #12: Don't air your dirty laundry.
I've been to the Wasps stadium a number of times before, but nothing ever really quite prepares me for the shock of just how big it is. If I thought the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was large, it's absolutely nothing compared to this monstrosity.
And even with it being as large as it is, the game today is still sold out. Arrows vs. Wasps is still one of the biggest Quidditch rivalries in the English League, and this game has always been an exceptionally popular one.
But the perks of having their starting Beater for a friend is that we've gotten box seats to every one of them.
"Come on, we're this way," James says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and leading me in the direction of our box.
We must look like such a strange pair, with James in his Arrows jersey - the non-autographed one, as he still protects the autographed one with his life - and me in a Wasps one with Dom's name emblazoned across the back.
Ironically, it does occasionally feel like we are on opposite teams lately.
We haven't fought again like last weekend, but there's definitely something different in the air between us. While everything between us once felt as natural as breathing, there have definitely been times where our conversation has felt forced - like we're tip-toeing around what happened or trying to pretend it didn't.
It feels wrong, but I don't know how to address it either.
So instead I let him lead me up to our box, which is in a different spot than normal, but gives us a better view of the Arrows Keeper - which is undoubtedly what James will pay the most attention to in this match, anyways.
We're the first people in the box, although I know Molly's meant to be joining us as well. Amelie was supposed to come as well, but ended up tied up in some sort of fiasco at Mungo's.
The box comes equipped with a mini-bar, so James immediately grabs two alcoholic butterbeers and pops the lid off both of them.
He holds one out to me. "Don't worry, I'm taking it slow today."
It's those little comments that I don't really know what to do with. There's something in his tone that I can't quite pick out, but it feels off.
I settle for, "That's good," before grabbing my drink from him and heading to our seats.
By the time we're seated, they're announcing the players' names as they fly out onto the field. James cheers when Huxley flies out onto the field, but cheers with equal enthusiasm when Dom's name is called as well.
Team loyalty may run deep, but family loyalty runs deeper amongst the Potter/Weasley clan.
We're close enough to the gameplay itself that we don't have to use Omnioculars to watch - which is good, because those give me a headache - and as a result, I can see clearly as Dom and Rajhi do their strange pre-game handshake. I've never understood it much, but it's apparently a tradition of theirs that started not long after she decked him in the face on their first day.
Which is a separate story altogether, really.
One of the Wasps Chasers gets the Quaffle first, driving it down towards the goalposts. I watch the game close enough, but most of my attention is directed towards Dom.
James' hand comes to rest on my leg, and I start distractedly tracing the outline of his fingers against my thigh.
"Sorry, I know we're late." I recognize the voice as Molly's, but take slight pause at 'we,' because I wasn't aware she was bringing anyone.
"You haven't missed much," I say. "The Arrows have scored once, but not much else interesting has happened."
"Other than an absolutely brilliant save by Huxley," James adds, still watching his favourite Keeper ardently.
"No one cares about Keeper stats but you, James," Molly says with a laugh, sitting down next to me.
I look over to see her, still holding hands with the pretty blonde I'd come to know as Zara from all of Molly's conversations about her.
The girl smiles brightly. "Hi, Abby, right? I'm Zara, Molly's girlfriend."
Well, that happened fast. They only just went on their first date last week, so it's a bit surprising that they've moved to officially dating so quickly.
But Molly looks the happiest I've seen her in awhile, so I don't question it much.
"It's so nice to meet you," I reply, returning her smile with one of my own. "This is my fiancé, James."
At the mention of his name, James tears his eyes from Huxley's flying figure to give Zara a one-handed wave. "Pleasure."
"There's drinks at the bar in the back, by the way," I add, holding up my own bottle as an example.
"Oh perfect," Molly says, and both her and Zara get up to go check out the selection.
As soon as it's just the two of us, James looks over at me, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Girlfriend?, he mouths silently. That happened fast?
I just shrug in response, because I've got no greater intel on this situation than he does.
I start watching the game just in time to see Dom and Rajhi hit Bludgers at the same time, completely derailing the Arrows Seeker from his path. I'm still no Quidditch expert, but I do know that was an excellent play.
"Atta girl Dom!" I say out loud, even though being in a box means no one can actually hear us cheer anyways.
"Those two really are incredible together," James agrees.
The game ends at a score of 240-150 - as great as Huxley's Keeping skills were, the Wasps Seeker was much more on top of his game today than the Arrows' was.
At least, that's James' assessment of the game, and I've accepted that his take on a game is likely much more accurate than mine is. Even if he is always biased towards paying too much attention to the Keepers.
After the stadium starts to clear out, we all head towards the one hole-in-the-wall bar that Dom and Rajhi love so much - in fairness, their favouritism towards it is probably at least somewhat informed by the fact that it doesn't usually fill up with fans quite as fast as anything along the main road here does after a game.
The four of us grab a table at the back - and six shots of firewhisky - and wait for the two guests of honour to show up.
And not even five minutes later, they both do, Rajhi laughing at something while Dom reaches shoves him in the arm good-naturedly.
"Six shots just for me?" Rajhi says when he gets to the table. "Damn, you shouldn't have."
"Oh please," Dom replies, rolling her eyes. "You'd have to have played way better to have earned six shots."
"That joint move on Orlov was worth at least three shots," he retorts, sliding into the booth next to Molly, while Dom joins me on the other side.
"And, hm, let me think, who came up with that one?" Dom asks, still oblivious to anyone's presence but Rajhi's, apparently. "Oh right, me. And I say everyone gets one each - you know, the way these were obviously meant to be distributed."
"Have it your way then," Rajhi says, smirking a little at her.
I share a look with Molly - I've been telling her about my thoughts on Rajhi and Dom for ages now, but she hasn't seen the two of them together as much as I have. I think she definitely gets my point now, though.
"Now that we've gotten that sorted," Dom continues, divvying out the shot glasses, "bottoms up?"
And so we all quickly down our shots, and I feel the familiar rush of warmth zip through my veins.
"Oh!" Dom says, as soon as she puts her glass down. "You must be Zara, right?"
"The one and only," she replies. "You two played brilliantly today, by the way."
"Thank you," Dom says, smiling.
"We always do," Rajhi adds, because the boy is incapable of taking a compliment modestly. "So how do you know Molly?"
"I'm her girlfriend," Zara answers, resting her hand on top of Molly's atop the table.
And Dom lacks the filter that I had, because her immediate response is, "Well shit, that happened fast."
Zara shrugs. "I'm a big believer in committing all the way or not at all. Hanging around in limbo for a few weeks before 'defining the relationship' isn't my thing, really."
I'd already taken a liking to Zara for a multitude of reasons - most of them involving how happy Molly looks - but that comment kind of solidifies it for me. Molly needs someone who doesn't string her along or mess around like Davies did at the start of that relationship, and Zara seems perfect for that.
I also realize that I'm most definitely a little hypocritical for admiring that, given just how long James and I actually did hang around in limbo for before actually getting together.
"I'll buy this round of drinks," Dom volunteers suddenly. "Any preferences?"
She takes everyone's orders, and all but drags my by the elbow to go with her to order them.
"Fuck, that was quick," Dom says, as soon as we're out of earshot.
"Yeah," I reply, "but Molly seems happy about it, so - "
"Oh no, I'm not saying it's a bad thing at all!" Dom says, laughing. "Merlin knows Molly needs someone to give her a good shove in the right direction every once in a while, but damn. At this rate, with Freddy and Caroline most likely heading the way that they are, I'm about to be the only single one left."
I open my mouth to say something that I know she won't like, but she interrupts me before I get there. "I know what you're going to say, and my answer from December stands. I'm not into him like that, and neither is he."
I know Dom well enough to know that arguing that is a moot point, even if I do think he's flirting with her. I suppose she knows him better, anyways, but I've honestly never seen him act like he does with her around anyone else.
"I'm just complaining about you guys all being in relationships for fun, anyways," she adds, leaning up against the bar. "I'm not looking to date anyone seriously until I'm in a good position with the National Team - you know how that shit is, you get into a serious relationship and suddenly there's all sorts of rumours that you're gonna get knocked up and it's going to ruin your Quidditch career."
"Which is absurd," I add. "Didn't Ginny play some of her best Quidditch in that year after Al was born?"
"She did, but until you get a decent number of women on the selection committee who aren't blinded by fucking archaic ideas, I'm stuck playing by their shitty rules," she replies. "Which I don't mind, really - I know you and James are perfectly happy and you want to do whole marriage thing right now, but I'm honestly content enjoying the single life for the time being."
I have to stop myself from audibly scoffing at 'perfectly happy,' because that so isn't the case right now. But instead of bringing that up - because now certainly isn't the time, what with Dom talking about the much bigger issue of the sexism of the Quidditch industry - I just nod. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters."
"I am," she says, grinning. "Not to mention - and I don't want to jinx this, but I'm telling you anyways - Reynolds seems to think there's a decent chance of Rajhi and I getting invited to join the National reserves after this season."
"Dom, that's incredible," I say, pulling her into a hug, even though we're standing against a bar and the bartender is quite clearly headed our way to take our orders. "The both of you?"
When I pull back, she nods. "Reynolds seems to think that they'll probably want both of us - something about our playing dynamic being particularly unique. Well, that, and the fact that Rajhi sucks at listening to pretty much anybody else."
If James were here, he'd most definitely make some suggestive comment at that, but I bite my tongue.
"Hi Gregory!" Dom says suddenly, getting the attention of the bartender, before listing off our orders.
I briefly wonder what it says about us that we know the bar staff by name at so many places across England.
He ends up telling us all about some weird thing his daughter did this past week while he makes our drinks. And once we've paid for the round and left him a nice tip, we haul our collection of drinks back to the table with us.
When we rejoin the table, Zara's somehow gotten on the topic of her art business.
"It's nothing much," she says, accepting her cocktail graciously. "It's just some little things I do for fun, and occasionally people buy them."
"They're gorgeous," Molly amends. "She's got a small one on her desk that's all these bright flowers, and it's absolutely stunning."
"Thanks," Zara says, looking at Molly with a sweet smile on her face.
The honeymoon phase is really something, and it looks like Molly's got it bad.
A few rounds go by as we take turns buying, and we find ourselves all pleasantly buzzed. James' hand is resting on my leg, moving further and further up as more drinks go by.
"So how's all the wedding shit going?" Rajhi asks eventually. "I still haven't gotten that exclusive invite I've been promised."
"We're working on it," I promise. "It's been… a busy few weeks, is all."
"Yeah," James says, laughing sharply. "All Abby does these days is work - I hardly see her anymore."
He says it in a joking manner, but something about it most definitely rubs me the wrong way. I feel myself flush, and James' hand on my thigh suddenly feels so much more like burden than a comfort.
Rajhi, for his part, doesn't seem to pick up on the tension - neither does anyone else, really. "Oh yeah, you're still working that big mass murder thing, aren't you?"
"Yeah," I answer. "Although let's not talk about that now, I've got entirely too much alcohol in my system to think about work."
Not to mention James would probably get all sorts of huffy if I dared to start discussing Auror things at a casual get-together.
Rajhi laughs. "Fair enough."
The conversation turns towards some other topic that I only halfway pay attention to, and I use the change in focus to subtly shove James' hand off my leg. I see him turn to look at me out of the corner of my eye, but I pretend to be engrossed in whatever Dom's saying instead of acknowledging him.
But inside, I'm secretly fuming, and trying to put together all the reasons why James' clearly underhanded remark stung as much as it did.
The evening wears on, and Molly's hiding yawns behind her hand by the time we finally decide to call it a night.
"I'll see you for lunch on Wednesday?" Molly asks, as we hug goodbye.
"Wouldn't miss it," I answer.
"And we're making plans to go shopping for that Ministry gala at some point, right?" Dom adds, as soon as I turn to her.
Merlin, I don't remember when my schedule got quite so busy. "Of course."
I give Rajhi a friendly hug, and discover that Zara's a hugger by nature when she unexpectedly pulls me in for one as well, even though I'd only met her a few hours prior.
Then James takes my hand, and I feel the familiar sensation of Apparition as we travel from outside a bar in Wimbourne to our own living room in a matter of seconds.
And the moment we're back home, the comment that's been on the tip of my tongue for hours finally comes out. "Honestly, James, was that comment really necessary?"
He looks at me, a bit confused. Clearly, his words didn't have the same impact on him as they did on me. "What?"
"The whole 'I never see Abby anymore because she's always working' thing."
"I don't - "
I cut him off - I've got so much more to say. "Have you learned absolutely nothing in the past few weeks? Or hell, over the last three years? Everything we say or do gets twisted into some artificial drama and plastered on a newspaper for the whole world to see - I mean, Merlin, all I did was have lunch with a coworker, and it got turned into a cheating scandal! Do you know how quickly someone who might've overheard you will take that to Witch Weekly and turn it into some story about how our relationship is falling apart?"
The irony that said story would be closer to the truth than anything else they've published doesn't escape me.
"That's fucking absurd, Abby," he replies, not at all attempting to hide the annoyance in his tone.
And with that comment, the careful peace we'd built up over the past week comes crumbling down.
"Is it, though?" I say, hands on my hips.
For as much as he might want to be right on this one, he knows I've got a point. "I just - I - fuck, I'm not going to censor myself every time I step out the goddamn front door just to avoid some shitty gossip column that will most definitely happen anyways. That's a fucked up way to live."
I roll my eyes at that. "Says the same boy who literally refused to date all throughout Hogwarts for fear of what the Prophet might say."
"And I've lost my patience for that since then," he retorts.
"Alright, so we don't actively try to avoid another scandal, that's fine," I snap. "Even then, if you've got an issue with me, say it to my fucking face instead of making some snappy remark about it to all of our friends."
He looks taken aback for a moment, but recovers quick enough. "Fine then," he says, crossing his arms and looking at me reproachfully. "I think you work too much, and it's affecting your ability to spend time with people you care about - including me."
"I spend plenty of time with you!" I argue. "We literally live together, James."
"You didn't spend much time with me last weekend," he replies bitterly, looking away from me.
"I apologised for that," I respond. "I thought we were both over that already."
"It's more than just that," he replies, his tone almost tired now.
I, on the other hand, am anything but tired. "I don't know what else you want from me," I tell him. "We've literally been out all weekend."
"Yeah, but that's with other people. Think about it, Abby, when was the last time we went on a proper date, just the two of us? Because I'm pretty sure it's when we got engaged, which was, what, almost three months ago?"
And yeah, I suppose he's got a point there, but it's not like I can do much about it, and I don't know why he can't just understand that. "I'm doing my job, James," I say icily. "And if you recall correctly, I'm also in the middle of planning our wedding, so it's not exactly like I've got a ton of free time floating around. It's not like you're helping me much with that either."
He throws his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated now. "I'm not, because you said you didn't want my help! I'd do shit if you needed me to, but you're so goddamn controlling about everything being perfect that I'd probably fuck it up somehow!"
I can only gape at him for a moment. "Controlling?" I repeat. "You really think I'm controlling? Meanwhile, you're over here telling me I need to stop working too much - and somehow that's okay."
"I'm not telling you that you need to stop working so much, I'm trying to point out that it's going to fuck up the other parts of your life if all you think about all the time is your damn job." He gestures to the set of books on defensive magic sitting on the coffee table. "I mean, don't tell me you aren't planning on spending your entire day tomorrow wrapped up in 'research' or some shit like that."
That assumption is correct, but I don't necessarily think that somehow means I'm 'working too much' - not when I've already spent the whole weekend doing non-work-related things.
"I'm doing my best," I shoot back venomously. "I've got a lot going on right now, and I would've thought you'd be at least a little bit supportive instead of somehow making it my fault."
"How is it not your fault?" he replies, taking a step in my direction. "You're the one in control of your own schedule, you're the one who's gotten so obsessed with overachieving in every aspect of your life that you're forgetting how to actually enjoy it - and then you go and get pissed about some tiny little comment I make because it doesn't fit in with that perfect fantasy! Merlin, Abby, sometimes it feels like you're turning back into your 17-year-old self."
Honestly, he might as well have just aimed a Stinging Hex at me for how much that one bites.
"I'm nothing like I was back then," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "Wanting you to tell me what's wrong instead of casually bitching about it to our friends does not make me that person again."
Somehow, we've shifted throughout this argument, and we're so close that we're almost touching now.
"And a fat fucking lot of good that one did me, because you've clearly got absolutely no fucking intention of actually listening to me, or - "
His soon-to-be rant is cut off abruptly by the fact that I've pulled his lips down to meet my own. I'm absolutely sick of the sound of his voice, and I can think of a whole host of better things his mouth could be doing instead.
I'm fully aware that this makes me no better than him in our last argument - refusing to talk things down and shutting him up in an entirely different manner - but I just… I can't do this right now. I can't continue to have this argument when we're both still tipsy and the harsh words are coming out entirely too quickly - redirecting things is so much better, and this is the best way I know how.
James seems to pick up on that (or maybe he's just as annoyed at the sound of my voice as I am at his), and things go much the same way they did the last time - except this time, we actually make it to our bed.
I'm back on top this time, back in control - I find myself thinking that at least this is one situation where he certainly won't ever complain about me being controlling, if the intensity with which his hands are gripping my thighs and the way he says my name when he comes are anything to go by.
But there's no chance to be bitter about his comments for much longer, not when he decides to remind me of yet another use for his tongue that's far superior to talking - reminding me of it again and again with his forearm pressing my hips into the mattress until I'm grasping at the sheets with both hands and gasping out his name.
In this little bubble of ours, the only thing that matters is this exact moment - there's no room for thinking about the steps that got us here when James practically has me seeing stars.
When I'm finally able to think straight again, part of me almost expects James to leave like he did last time - although I have no idea where he'd go at this hour - but instead he just moves back up the bed, dropping a kiss on my forehead before laying down next to me and closing his eyes, like he's just going to fall asleep right there. It's the same thing he's done so many times before; it's almost as if there was no argument preceding this.
Yet somehow, even with James right next to me and his hand still resting on my waist, I still feel just as empty and alone this time around.
When James' breathing eventually slows, I get up. Even if I wanted to just fall asleep right there, I don't think I could. I'm still filled with such a strange and incongruent rush of emotions - and the peacefulness needed for sleep is most definitely not among them. And so I go to the bathroom, I make a cup of tea, I pace the living room floor as I try to calm the chaos in my mind.
I'm just not sure when our once-so-incredible relationship turned into this.
I don't recall making a conscious decision to start writing random flashes of smut in this story. I'm as surprised by it as you are.
Sneak peek of chapter 13…
"Am I turning back into my old self?" I ask, entirely out of the blue.
It's been something I haven't been able to get out of my head for the past few days.
Amelie cocks her head at me. "What do you mean?"
"Like, the person I was before I became friends with you lot," I explain. "Before seventh year."
There's a moment of silence, and I suddenly regret asking.
"As someone who was friends with you both then and now, I can fully confirm that you are not turning into that person again," Caroline says after a moment. "Where the hell would you have gotten that idea?"
I shrug. "Oh, I don't know," I lie.
"Trust me," Amelie adds, "if you'd gone back to being a self-absorbed, rude bitch, one of us would definitely have called you out on that by now."
