Something Lost

by sweasley

Dominique Weasley's seventh-year at Hogwarts has been nothing that she's expected so far, and she's only halfway through. Her relationships are being tested; not all may survive. As she nears ever closer to being finished with school for good, one thing is for sure: the only constant is change. (Part 3/4)

27. Epilogue

3 years later

Twenty more minutes.

Dominique had twenty minutes until her Portkey to France left. She still had to finish organizing the British National Quidditch team's "intent to participate" documentation or else loads of people were going to be pissed off. Without these documents in hand–and delivered that afternoon to the Ministère des Affaires Magiques Sport Department–the British National team could possibly be disqualified from participating in the Quidditch World Cup preliminaries in France the following month.

While the team most likely wouldn't be disqualified due to a paperwork error, if this wasn't done correctly the first time, it was going to take loads of extra work for her boss to fix things–which meant loads of extra work for her. With the actual World Cup in Kenya less than three months away, there was already way too much work to be done. She couldn't afford any extra work on her plate.

"Your Portkey leaves in nineteen minutes," said her coworker, a bloke over a decade older than her by the name of Trey. "This needs to be done."

"You think?" she snapped back, throwing him a look. The two of them usually got on well enough, but the World Cup season had put everyone on edge lately. They weren't even hosting any of the preliminaries this time, but yet it was still a hectic environment. She could only imagine what it would be like once the teams actually got in.

"Is the Irish team's stuff in order?"

"That's Kimber's job," Dominique said, speed reading over the last several pages. It was the sole reason she'd been given the job of double checking the documents to make sure everything was in order. She read faster than anyone else in their office.

"I'm going to ask her," Trey said anxiously, standing up from his desk which sat directly across from Dominique's. They were all in the same semi-large room; despite Kimber being on the opposite end, he could have easily shouted across to get her attention. Instead he chose to walk the twenty feet.

Dominique was on the last page, and everything looked in order. Every signature was in place. The roster had been set and confirmed; the coaches chosen. By the looks of things, the British team was ready for France.

"Done!" she shouted out, now placing the last sheet of documentation inside of the protective folder she'd use to transport it to France.

"Mine's ready as well," she heard Kimber call over, just as Trey returned to his own desk with the Irish team's folder in hand.

When he handed it to Dominique, he said, "So, we're good?"

"We are," she said as she began charming the folders and all of the other important documents that she may need to fit into her bag.

"You're sure?" Trey asked? "Every piece of parchment is accounted for? If we end up buggering this up and I have to spend weekends here—"

"I'm sure," Dominique said, throwing him a pointed look. "I swear. And Kimber never misses a detail, so I'm sure hers is perfect."

"It always is," Kimber called over. "How much time do you have?"

"Fifteen minutes," Dominique said, slowing a little once she realized she had some time and didn't have to rush. The Department of Transportation was just one floor above them, so it would only take her a few minutes to reach her Portkey. If she took the stairs and didn't wait for the lift, she'd be there even faster.

Trey collapsed into his chair, looking frazzled. "I can't help getting anxious about World Cup stuff. I've still barely recovered from hosting it a few years ago. You know, I didn't sleep for two months?"

"No one did," Kimber offered, just as another woman, Angela, who also worked in their space, looked up from her desk.

"Be thankful we only just hosted," Angela said. "We probably won't get it back for decades. I'm personally hoping not for a century."

Dominique was actually a little sorry she didn't know the insanity of hosting a World Cup, seeing as it seemed to be a common thread around here. It was as if the rest of her coworkers were trading war stories and she was privy to any of them. But she knew it was easier for her to say that seeing as she hadn't had to deal with any of it.

She'd been with the Department of Magical Games and Sports for about two and half years now. She'd been hired in October after she'd graduated, and she'd applied on a whim seeing as her N.E.W.T. scores had been near perfect across the board and she'd actually heard through Quidditch friends that they were looking for people.

She applied on her own, not calling in a favor from a famous uncle or well-connected aunt, though she'd be lying if she assumed her famous last name hadn't probably gotten herself bumped to the top of the pile. But even if that were true, she'd felt she'd earned the job on her own. At least she told herself that.

Her wealth of Quidditch knowledge was already impressive, and it had only grown now that her brain seemed to recall almost every article and statistic and broom regulation she ever came across. Combined with her N.E.W.T. score, she never once felt that her hire had been a favor to someone else. She'd already gotten three promotions since being here; the most recent having come at the start of the new year.

She was now working directly under one of the department's international Quidditch liaisons–her boss, a woman called Alicia Spinnet–whose region was France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Greece. She–along with Trey, Kimber, and Angela–were frequently dealing with any and all international Quidditch matters that dealt with those countries. Dominique tended to get almost every French assignment since Spinnet liked that she could not only speak French fluently without a spell, but also read it–which there currently wasn't an entirely accurate spell for.

It meant that she was almost always travelling; on any given week, she could easily be spending as much time in France as she was in England. She was the one who ran important documents, accompanied her boss to important meetings–or represented her when she couldn't be present–and attended the frequent French Quidditch matches. As it were, she was about to give up on British Quidditch entirely and switch over to French. She barely had time to enjoy anything outside of the French market anyway.

With just over ten minutes to go, she reached under her desk and pulled out a small duffle bag, checking it's contents quickly to make sure she had everything. Some clothes, overnight toiletries, her night potion–everything she'd need to spend the night in Paris.

"What's that for, then?" asked Trey, who seemed to be calmed down now. "Are you planning on hanging around Paris? You only have to drop the folders and go. You shouldn't have to stay."

"I made plans to stay," she said. "Remember, I'm going to the big exhibition match?"

"She only talked about it for weeks, Trey," Kimber said. "Where have you been?"

He gestured to his desk, "Up to my elbows in bloody paperwork." He looked back at Dominique. "And I didn't know you even cared about Paris Q.C. I actually thought you called them overrated."

"They are," she muttered, closing up her bag. "I'm not going to watch them."

"Then why…? Weren't you saying last week how all you wanted was a weekend home?" he asked, laughing at her. "That you're never at home. That you may as well live in France." He made a face. "You finally get the chance and you're still spending it in France?"

She smirked at him. "I still want nothing more than a weekend at home, but in this case, I made plans." She shrugged. "I'm meeting up with someone."

"Oh, is it a boy?" Kimber said with a funny smile, having stood from her desk to charm a nearby pot of coffee to fill her mug,

Angela "Oooh'ed" rather eagerly, always keen for a bit of gossip of that nature. Trey, however, let his eyes glaze over–as he often did when that sort of topic came up.

"I should have known," he said as he also stood, though he was grabbing parchment and looked to be headed off somewhere. "Just make sure those folders get into the right hands before you're off with whomever the new guy of the month is."

Dominique threw him a look. "It hasn't been like that in ages. And there weren't that many guys."

There'd been maybe three—over the course of a year and a half—she would have even considered worthy of remembering. That wasn't to say there weren't a few more she'd gone out with, but they never amounted to much.

It was true that prior to her most recent promotion, she'd certainly been living it up. Going out, dating around, enjoying herself, and honestly, having some meaningless sex. It had been mindless and fun, but it had all come to a rather screeching halt once at the start of the year once she took on her new position. She simply did not have the time to do anything more than work, travel, and sleep.

Dominique shook her head and muttered, "You all are well aware I haven't had any time for anything new lately. I'm in more of a relationship with the three of you than anyone I actually want to shag."

Trey laughed and said, "Welcome to the club" as he walked off, but Angela was still looking rather eagerly at her. "So, why the overnight bag if it's not about a boy?"

"Oh, it is," Dominique said matter-of-factly.

"You just said you haven't had time…?"

"And I haven't," Dominique countered. "But that changes tonight because it's been–" She put on a dramatic face, "sooooo long. At least six months since I've had sex." She paused to think about it. "Maybe seven? Either way, it's been ages and that ends tonight."

"Good for you," Kimber offered, raising her coffee mug up to her as if offering her a toast. "Hope you come back with a good story. I've missed your stories since you went and got boring like the rest of us."

Dominique chuckled. "I wasn't aware my sex life and random awful date stories were that much of a draw."

"I always lived vicariously through them." Angela offered. "Much more exciting than my evenings spent with my cats. Though, I decided last weekend to have a wedding for Mr. Buttons and Daisy, and it was such a wonderful affair. I've got photographs."

Kimber's eyes went wide as she threw Dominique a look. "This is why I need you to bring me back stories."

"Mr. Button's looked quite dapper in his dress robes," Angela was saying, now pulling photographs out of her purse. "Dominique, do you want to see before you go?"

She was already backing up toward the door, pointing to the wall clock that hung above the various Quidditch posters that were scattered around the room. "Another time. Must catch my Portkey. See you all Monday!"

"I hate you," Kimber said in a sing-song sort of tone, glaring at her as Angela shoved photographs onto her desk. "I'll go ahead and stay here with Mr. Buttons while you're off in Paris having sex."

Dominique threw her a cheeky smile and a thumbs up as she exited out into the corridor, where other members of the department were passing by and walking from office to office. There was a lot of action in the Gobstones corner today seeing as the British Championships were the following month. Dominique had to push herself against the wall to avoid a gaggle of them passing with boxes and boxes of...well, she wasn't sure. She tended to avoid the Gobstones crew.

"Weasley," called a voice, and just down the corridor a man called Barnes was attempting to flag her over. She fought the urge to roll her eyes since–while not her boss–he was on the same level as her boss; he seemed to think that meant he could boss around the entire Quidditch department instead of just his team. "When are the Trials this year?"

"August," she offered, doing a poor job hiding her sarcasm. They were always in August.

"No, shit," he said. "What are the dates?"

"I'm not on the Trials anymore," she said, gesturing to one of the offices down the hall as she started walking away toward the stairs. "Ask Randall or Maureen. I need to go–"

She'd stopped when her boss suddenly exited from a nearby office and looked at her. She seemed confused, checking her watch before looking back at her. "Shouldn't you be catching a Portkey?"

"That is exactly where I'm headed," she said, nodding as she picked up her pace and began heading toward the stairs. She could hear Spinnet call after her, "It's imperative those documents get there by five!"

"I know!" Dominique called behind her, pushing open the door to the stairwell and now scrambling up a level to the sixth floor. Luckily for her, the designated area to pick up Ministry Portkeys wasn't far from the stairs. She still had six minutes left once she checked the clock.

The Department of Transportation was far neater and more orderly than the department she'd just come from; it also seemed far more strict and less relaxed than the Sports Department. Everyone's robes were required to even look rather perfect and presentable, which was actually probably more of a Ministry norm than not. It was her department that were the laid-back, carefree rebels.

She walked past her Uncle Percy's office, and had the door not been shut, she would have stopped to at least have said hello. Given the amount of time she spent on this floor and traveling by Portkey in general, she and her uncle actually developed a rather chatty sort of back and forth these days. They certainly talked more now than they ever had when she was growing up, and while he was still fairly boring, he had his moments. Staying on his good side was crucial since she seemed to always be cutting it rather close with these Portkeys.

"Hey, Miles," she said, rushing up to a large reception type desk that seperated the rest of the office from the designated area where Ministry officials picked up their Portkeys. There were currently ten to fifteen other wizards and witches waiting around for their own.

"Hey, Nicki," said Miles, smiling instantly at her as he always did. Miles was a good friend to have, seeing as he and he alone entirely controlled the timing of these Portkeys. If you were a prat, he could easily make sure you missed it. She'd learned early to be nice. Throwing in a bit of flirting here and there didn't hurt.

"I see you're headed to France...again," he said, checking his list and handing her a sign-in sheet. "What's that? The eighth time this month?"

"At least," she said, signing her name to the sheet. "Probably should move there already."

"Don't do that. Then who am I going to look forward to seeing?"

Their standard back and forth. She smiled at him. "I would miss seeing that face of yours all the time. Guess I'll have to stay put."

He laughed a little and certainly blushed a touch, but he told her Portkey left in just under four minutes and to take a spot over in the third queue where two other wizards were waiting to presumably head to Paris as well.

Thankfully, her Portkey took her straight to a bottom floor reception area of the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France. It meant very little travel time to her intended destination; she knew the drill well enough, having been coming here roughly ten times a month since starting this particular job. She walked out into their large, very open Atrium area, across the perfectly shiny white marble floor, and into the lift–which she took to the fourth floor.

It was there that she was greeted–by name–by Elise, the receptionist of their Sports and Games Department, who waved her by as if she was supposed to be there. She walked down the winding corridor, past many of the busy workers–most of whom dressed better than their counterparts back in her office–before stopping straight in front of the Commissioner of the French Quidditch Preliminaries' office. His name was Alex, she'd actually known and been friendly with him for years. He also had been recently promoted to his position. He, however, was in over his head considering the work load.

His assistant, who Dominique didn't recognize, rambled off quickly in French that he was busy sorting through the various countries' intent submissions. When Dominique held up the British and Irish teams, his assistant sighed. She clearly knew this was going to cause more work, but she took them and forced a smile.

Alex had looked up then, catching her eye. He smiled brightly for a moment, as if happy to see a familiar face, but that was before he saw what his assistant was holding. He then mumbled a quick, "Pour commencer, va te faire foutre!"

He'd told her to fuck right off, which caused Dominique to shrug and smile, even if his assistant pulled a quick face. She quickly apologized and again repeated how it's a stressful day, though Dominique didn't care. She'd told him that a time or two over the years, and took little offense to it. In fact, she threw him a thumbs up and told him she was happy to have made the deadline just in time.

She turned to leave, seeing that it was nearly five and she needed to get to the city's outer limits. She popped into the nearest bathroom and took the opportunity to change out of her work robes and into something far more casual and appropriate for a Quidditch match.

As she glanced down, it had been ages since she'd had a proper reason for this green and blue combination, but it instantly flooded her senses with lovely memories. She smiled as she checked herself in the mirror, immediately pulling her hair down out of its ponytail and combing it out until it looked straight and presentable. She even set about fixing her makeup, which she still didn't wear much of, but she'd certainly gotten the hang of the basics in the last few years. She was keen to look really nice. She wanted everything to be perfect.

Twenty minutes later, after stopping to greet several of the other faces she knew around the French Quidditch Department–and after having to defend her choice of blue and green over the clearly favored red and white that so many others were wearing that day–she Apparated to the outside of the city, finding herself immediately faced with an enormous looking stadium. Everywhere she looked, witches and wizards were excitedly gearing up for the match that evening. People were drinking, laughing, cheering, and–just as with the Ministry–everyone she could see seemed to be in red and white. She was clearly in the minority.

Large red and white banners hung from the tops of the stadium, all with pictures of each starter of Paris Q.C.–the home team– zooming in and out and all around. She passed a group of clearly very drunk men singing the team's song with their arms wrapped around each other, and ended up flipping one of them off when he jeered at her as she passed.

She'd gone to a box office window, where a plump looking witch immediately told her the match was sold out—just told the people who'd been in the queue before her. She was well aware. This exhibition match between Paris and Munich had sold out in minutes she'd been told. They were even talking about it back home with the hopes that the British and Irish League could host a similar exhibition match with their top team–which, unfortunately, still was Puddlemere.

Luckily, she had a ticket waiting for her. As soon as she'd picked it up from the witch, she noticed it was a fantastic seat. Centre Front. People would kill for this seat. She technically would have preferred a higher, cheaper, less coveted seat given that she still preferred to be up high where the Seekers were, but she wasn't about to complain.

She entered the stadium through one of the many entrances. It was still a bit early, but she was keen to catch some of the pre-match warmups. While it was true that she was always at some sort of Quidditch event, she didn't get to enjoy it as much as her job would lead people to believe. Work Quidditch was so different from leisure Quidditch, and she could count on two fingers the amount of leisure Quidditch she'd gotten to enjoy this year. Times like this, it was almost as if she was a kid again. The sounds of the brooms zooming by, the smell of the grass, the sights of the fans. It was a feeling that would always make her inexplicably happy.

She looked around, trying to get her bearings. She'd been to this stadium loads of times and already knew exactly where she wanted to go first. A few people from the French Quidditch and Sport Department would be here, and she was especially keen to find a very particular one who could hopefully pull a few strings for her. She just needed to make her way to the V.I.P. area first.

The security wizard guarding the area recognized her from one of her other visits and smiled at her, which was very fortunate and would make this entire process that much easier. A few charming smiles, some flirty gestures, a couple of well-meaning questions about how he was doing, a name drop or two-he was already stepping aside to let her enter. She promised him she would only be a few minutes.

Upon exiting the corridor that opened up into the massive pitch, she let herself take in the sights of thousands of seats and the brightly lit pitch. The sun was disappearing behind the walls of the stadium now, casting a comfortable purple and orange glow over the sky. It was rather picturesque; a perfect night for Quidditch.

She immediately glanced around and saw the woman she'd been seeking sitting amongst a small group of posh looking wizards and witches, all of whom were drinking cocktails and laughing happily. It was exactly what she'd anticipated finding, and smirked at how predictable it all was. This was Quidditch for some people.

The woman in question was now standing, though she hadn't noticed Dominique yet. Marion, as she was called, held the almost identical position to Dominique in their respective Ministries, though she also happened to be dating the son of the owner of Paris Q.C.–hence the VIP treatment.

She and Marion had often ended up at all of the same events and conferences together, and they'd become good friends over the last six months. She was fun and well-to-do, and would constantly take her out when Dominique did stay in Paris. She was always introducing her to random, rich French men in the hopes of piquing her interest, but Dominique couldn't be bothered for more than a night or two. The two even looked very similar with their long blonde hair and fair features; on occasion people would ask them if they were twins. Marion always found it funny, but Dominique never quite felt comfortable when the topic of twins came up.

"Marion!" Dominique called out, putting on her smile as she approached her and her group of friends.

Marion looked up, shocked–but instantly pleased–to see her. She went to meet her halfway, though it wasn't until she drew nearer that Dominique realized she didn't seem entirely pleased with her choice of green and blue attire.

"What ze fuck are you wearing?" she asked, still greeting her with kisses on both cheeks. She was, naturally, in red and white.

"I think it's obvious," Dominique said with a smile. "Nothing against your lot, but I'm a Munich fan."

"Since when?"

"Few years now."

"'Ad I know zat, I would 'ave gotten you tickets," she said, her friendly smile returning. "Would not 'ave let you sit wiz us," she joked, "but I would 'ave found you somezing…"

"I'm doing alright," Dominique said with her own friendly smile. "May not have your amazing view, but I managed a Centre Front seat on the other end. I was only stopping by because I knew you'd be up here."

Marion threw her a curious look. "Centre front? Wow." She grinned at her. "I almost want to ask who you 'ad to fuck to get zat."

"Nobody, yet. But if all goes to plan..." She smiled at her, noting that she immediately looked intrigued. "It's not as scandalous as it sounds...For once." She looked around. "But since I have you, I was wondering if perhaps you or maybe…" She glanced over at Marion's boyfriend, "Jean happened to, perhaps, have an access pass that would get me down onto the pitch?"

Marion's eyebrow rose a little skeptically. "Why do you want access to ze pitch?"

"Because I'm hoping to surprise someone."

Marion continued to grin and she gestured up into the air, where the Paris team was currently finishing up their warm up. "Which one iz he?"

Dominique gestured to her outfit. "Do you really think I'd be wearing this if it was one of them?"

"Munich?" she asked, sound surprised. "Ze last Quidditch player I remember you tangled up with was zat Keeper from Toulouse…"

Dominique immediately stuck out her tongue. "Ug, stop. Don't...Piece of shit. I pretend he never happened." She looked back at her. "No, this one you've never met. I've mentioned him, though. The Beater? Wanted me to move to Germany?"

It was as if a wave of realization washed over her, "Right. Ze one you dated for years? Love of your life? He's ze one–"

"He is the one," Dominique said matter-of-factly, cutting her off there very purposely.

"Right," Marion said, still smiling at her. "I did not know you two still talked."

That was understandable. Marion and she had only been friendly for the last six months, and Dominique hadn't seen Jack in nine months...and one week, two days. It was easily the longest they'd ever gone without seeing each other since meeting back when they were eleven. His schedule was the only one busier than hers, and their powers combined, it left for essentially no time to see each other.

Their relationship was...complicated. They'd dated for two years, even after he'd moved to Germany to start his Quidditch career. He'd been pursued by several teams after his invitation year at Quidditch Trials, but none of the teams had offered him a deal as good as Munich had. He would start; his contract was worth a very decent amount of money; they would even provide housing. It was a dream offer.

Despite all of her previous reservations, Dominique had encouraged him to go. It was a single year contract, and if it didn't work, he would be able to move on. She'd even gone and spent several weeks with him in Germany before she'd started her job at the Ministry, but she knew very quickly that living there permanently wasn't something she could do. Jack was constantly at the pitch; she was often on her own, in a place where she knew no one and wasn't familiar with her surroundings. She missed home and her friends, but she loved Jack. Ultimately, they decided that when she started working, they would have to go long-distance.

And it worked for awhile. Jack was always so busy traveling and playing that it allowed her time to focus on starting her own career. She'd Portkey over to watch matches when she could and see him when he was free; he'd come home in the off-season, which became her favorite time of year. It was hard, but they made it work.

Until they didn't. Her job became more demanding with each promotion; he was next to impossible to get a hold of during the long Quidditch seasons. Portkeying over to a match every other week became every other month. They never saw each other.

It caused resentment and petty arguments that neither was trying as hard as they should be. He wanted her to move to Germany; she didn't. She wanted him to not re-sign with Munich when his contract was up; he wouldn't commit to a choice one way or another, which wasn't a good sign.

When his contract renewal did come up, it was even a better deal than before. His team was doing well in the standings, having made it to the German Championship that year, and she already knew he wanted to take it. She knew he liked it there, liked his team, liked his coaches, liked the city. He'd even started learning the language. She knew she could have given him an ultimatum: use his free agency to find something closer to home and save their relationship, or stay in Germany and lose it; but she never outright said it. She didn't have to. They both knew it.

A few months after he's re-signed, they'd both mutually decided to take a break. They still loved each other, but the distance was killing them. With her not moving and him now committed for another two years, it seemed the writing was on the wall. It had been the hardest decision she'd ever had to make and she knew it wasn't easy for him either. She'd cried about it for what felt like a month.

And while she'd gone a bit wild attempting to fill the void he'd left in her with random boys she never cared about one way or the other, she still did drop everything she was doing when he returned. Their breakup had been hard, but cordial; when he'd come home in the off season, they would spend weeks together as if everything was as it always was. She'd actually dumped a nice enough guy she'd been casually dating once when she knew Jack was going to be home–and she never felt guilty about it. He was still the person she wanted to be with most. She just couldn't have him all the time.

This time, though, it had been nine months. Her new position had forced her to miss that last week he was home due to a huge pre-World Cup conference in Spain that her entire office had been forced to attend. She kept writing and telling him she would like to make it to one of his matches–especially since his team was now the number one team in Germany–but every time she tried, something came up.

It was beginning to feel impossible, until she finally had a bit of luck when Paris Q.C.–the best French Quidditch team–decided to host an exhibition match against Munich for bragging rights. Dominique was going to attend if she had to curse people to get there, but tickets had sold out before she'd even gotten to try to get any. She had already been prepared to use every resource she had; ask Marion to help her, but before she could, she'd gotten an owl from Jack. He'd set aside a ticket for her. He knew how much time she spent in France. She had no excuse and better come. He really missed her.

"I'm sure Jean can obviously work somezing out to get you down on the ze pitch," she said, turning on her heels to walk back to where Jean was still happily chatting with his friends; shouting and carrying on in a way only these showy, rich boys knew how to do.. Dominique wanted to walk over and say hello–she'd always gotten on well with him–but the fact remained she was currently dressed to actively root against the team he would likely own one day. It made things a touch awkward.

Luckily, she was rather good at charming sports banter these days. After entirely too much gentle ribbing for her "poor choices" in teams, followed by a clear attempt by one of Jean's friends to hit on her despite Marion clearly explaining to the group of them how Dominique was specifically here to see one of the players, Jean did easily come through with an All Access Pass that she could use. For good measure, he even gave his friend shit for thinking he stood a shot with her when she clearly had a Quidditch player waiting for her.

"Sorry about, Rapahel," Marion said as she handed her the pass. "He zinks money buys him a personality." She gave her arm a quick squeeze. "Well, I would invite you out wiz us tonight, but it seems you have plans." She smiled. "Hopefully, some private plans."

"If by private you mean naked," she said, putting on a playful smile. "Here's hoping." She held up the pass. "But thank you again for this."

She shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal; she was now glancing out to the pitch. "All right. Now which one iz he?"

Dominique looked out as well. The Munich team had arrived to warm up at that very moment. None were in uniform yet–they were in more casual blue and green warm-ups robes–and they all seemed to be doing their own stretching routines or jogging around a bit to loosen up. They didn't even have their brooms on them, seeing as some sort of equipment manager was off to the side organizing everything and getting it all ready.

With their staff and coaches, there were probably twenty people out there now moving around and getting familiar with the conditions. Even with all of the people, it took Dominique no time at all to spot Jack. He was stretching his back and talking to someone who looked to be a coach of some kind.

She involuntarily smiled. He'd cut his hair since she'd last seen him; it was far shorter than usual and didn't have the extra inch or two she was used to running her fingers through. Otherwise, he looked the same. Still in great shape. Still walking about with the anxious pre-match energy about him. Still as handsome as she remembered.

She pointed. "The one standing next to the benches. He's just been handed his bat."

Marion was nodding to say she saw him. "Seems cute." She shot her a funny smile. "But when are yours ever not?"

At the same moment, Jean had shouted over to also ask Dominique to identify which one was hers now that Munich was out there. When Marion answered for her and pointed Jack out, they'd started laughing at their friend who'd been hitting on her earlier. Dominique could just make out one of them taunting Raphael about how he stood no chance against a professional Beater, and how Quidditch players pulled the best looking girls.

"You better get down there and see if you can say 'ello," Marion said, reaching out to fix a stray piece of Dominique hair.

"I want to go and see him," Dominique said. "But the Quidditch fan in me is wondering if I shouldn't distract him."

Marion grinned rather mischievously. "I zink you should definitely distract him."

"Of course you would," Dominique said, rolling her eyes. "You want Paris to win."

She smiled in a very, 'guilty as charged' sort of way as she turned to rejoin her friends. "Your choice. You did come all zis way for him. A quick 'ello won't hurt. But you're welcome to stay here until ze match starts. Jean ordered food!"

As nice a food did sound, Dominique wasn't particularly interested in hanging out with the uber rich, French kids' club. Marion and Jean were good people, but the rest were annoying and pompous. For her, Quidditch wasn't fancy food in a VIP section, it was the cheap seats up in the air and some tasty, but terrible, snacks. It was Jack on his broom, which she'd now watched once he'd taken off on and was flying around the stadium.

She thanked her friend once more before telling them she would see them soon, and while she still hadn't decided whether she should be selfish and go distract Jack because she desperately wanted to see him, she still chose to use her pass to get down on the pitch level to walk around and explore.

She watched Jack and his partner knock around Bludgers while shouting signs back and forth at each other. The Chasers were flying dizzying loops around everyone as they lobbed Quaffle after Quaffle from one person to the next. She watched the Keeper act like a bloody brick wall, letting nothing pass him. She watched the Seeker fly high up into the air, only to plummet back down into an impressive dive and nearly miss the ground. He'd done it by design, and it had been impressive. While she'd obviously come for Jack, there was still something about the Seeker position that always drew her attention straight toward it. She couldn't help it.

She didn't get on a broom much these days, though it was still one of her favorite activities to do in her downtime. Her flying still wasn't anything impressive, but she'd gotten herself to a point where she could at least participate in pick up games with her family members and friends. She'd actually volunteered to be the Keeper when they played, mostly because it required the least amount of flying, and she'd gotten fairly decent at it as long as she was playing people who also weren't particularly skilled at Quidditch. If she were up against someone like her cousins James or Rosie, however, she got pummeled.

After coming across a man selling programs, she bought one and began flipping through the glossy pages that were heavily featuring Paris Q.C. Everyone was looking fierce and determined in each photograph as they zoomed around their pages; their stats and biographies featured on the side. Dominique flipped to the back, having gone a few pages too far, but immediately stopping on a page featuring Jean and his family, all smiling widely in the photograph as a blurb about their charity efforts ran next to them.

She finally found the Munich section, which also had photographs of each player, though they seemed to be more of the standard headshot variety and not the fancy full page, color tributes. She found Jack's immediately, smiling at his serious looking photo–with his hair a touch longer and more what she was accustomed to. His name, his stats, even where he was from were next to his face; she read it at least four times before she glanced back up at the sky to watch him crack a Bludger across the pitch.

She killed another half an hour exploring before she eventually meandered down toward the Munich end of the stadium. It was there that she found herself behind a small barrier that had been setup to separate equipment and personnel from reaching the pitch. It also kept back fans, who–if they were lucky or wealthy enough to get passes down here–were allowed to line up against it to hopefully greet and speak to the players as they came and went from the changing rooms.

When the Munich team landed after their warm up and were preparing to go back to the changing rooms, the fans had started clamouring and shouting for the attention of the players. They were waving programs and Quaffles, Quidditch cards and notebooks at them in the hopes someone would stop and sign something.

Dominique used to know the whole team, but there had been changes since she and Jack had split, so she wasn't familiar with everyone. A newer female Chaser had walked over to sign autographs, followed by their Keeper, a big bloke called Elias. Each signed a couple before walking off, only to be followed by their Seeker, a man called Werner who had always been Jack's closest friend in Germany. Dominique had almost wanted to call out and say hello, but she resisted. He would recognize her, but what was there to say? Hi? Good to see you? Enjoy your match?

The other two Chasers walked straight by in conversation, despite the calls from fans to please stop. Jack had been one of the last ones to land, and he and his Beating partner–who was new to the team this season, but familiar to Dominique–were chatting as they walked off,

Louis Richter, or Tree Trunks as she still referred to him, had been an invitation Beater out of Durmstrang the year she and Jack had first attended the Trials. He was an absolutely stellar Beater, and had broken Beating records left and right in his first few seasons. Munich had paid a fortune to acquire him this season and it had paid off. They'd gone from being a top team to being the top team in Germany. It was much of the reason they were undefeated and here today playing Paris Q.C. Munich was being touted at the unbeatable team at the moment, and everyone wanted a chance to prove them wrong.

Dominique had no idea where Jack's head was in all of this, considering he was now essentially living in the shadow of a Beating phenom, but from everything Dominique could tell, they had a good rapport. Commentary always said they worked flawlessly together and were a great team, with Richter knocking everything down and Jack doing all the clean up. But she also knew Jack was better than that. She wasn't sure how keen he was to be in that position.

But he was smiling now as he and Richter, who was even larger than Dominique remembered him being four years ago, approached the group of waiting fans. Seeing Jack so close now made her heart skip; she instantly smiled when she saw him laugh about something. She really would have thought after all these years, she would get over that swooping feeling she got in her stomach when she realized how cute he was–but she never did. It was always there.

There were many calls for Richter to please sign something, but with nothing more than a polite wave, he walked right past. Jack, she knew, could go either way. He may easily follow Richter or he could stop and sign a few programs. She decided she was going to let him make her choice for her. If he stopped, she'd try–and she would really have to try given all the people–to say hello. If he kept walking, she would wait to find him after the match.

A little girl waving a program seemed to have gotten his attention, and with a lazy smile, he walked over and took it and started signing it. That prompted about twenty other people to shove their things in his face and he actually signed quite a few of them. Dominique noticed a little boy, about six, standing near the end and barely clearing the barrier with how small he was. He was waving a program rather desperately, hoping for anyone to stop. She had to wonder where his parents were, but she took a deep breath and decided to try and kill two birds with one stone.

"Bonjour," she said to the boy, who looked quickly at her. She offered to help him get it signed, telling him she knew a few tricks. The little boy looked skeptical, but she held up a finger as if to say, "watch this."

Jack looked as if he was finishing up–she knew that polite, brush off expression–so it was now or never. She was hoping her voice alone would stop him, but she knew if that failed, speaking English–in a sea full of French and German–would at least get her a glance.

"Hey, Jack, can I have your autograph?" she yelled, leaning herself across the barrier.

She'd been right about the English because it got her a polite smile and a quick glance. He clearly hadn't recognized her based on her voice alone, but the glance turned immediately into being pleasantly surprised; the polite smile suddenly became a hundred percent more genuine. He'd practically thrust someone's program back at them before coming down toward her.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd be down here?" he asked, sounding rather shocked and smiling from ear to ear as he approached.

"Hey, handsome," she said, smiling entirely too much as well as he leaned across the barrier to hug her, picking her up every so slightly. He smelled like sweat and Quidditch and...him. She didn't want to let go. She knew she had to, though; she also knew that was all she was getting at the moment since they were currently in front of thirty or so onlookers–not counting everyone who was sitting in the stands. She instead said, "Long time."

"Far too long. I didn't think I'd get to see you until later," he said, running a hand through what hair he hadn't cut off. From beside her, several other people were still attempting to get him to sign something. It suddenly reminded her about her little friend.

"Full of surprises," she said, now holding up the little boy's program. "I know you're busy, but how about that autograph?" She gestured toward the boy. "It's for my friend here. I used him as an excuse to talk to you, so I at least owe him that."

Jack took the program, but looked at her rather oddly. "You never need an excuse to talk to me." He smiled at the boy, who seemed happy to finally have someone stop. Jack scribbled down his name and handed it back, which caused the little boy to mumble out a timid sounding, "Merci," before he ran off.

"I didn't get a 'merci," Dominique muttered, throwing Jack a funny smirk. "I did all the work."

He didn't comment on that. He was just smiling at her.

She smiled back, attempting to ignore all the people shouting beside her for Jack's attention. Despite the fact that the stadium was now starting to fill up with thousands of people, for at least a brief second, she wanted to pretend it was just the two of them. "We're still on for after?"

"Yes, absolutely." he said. "It might be a bit mad around here after trying to connect, but I told you where I was staying?"

She nodded, noticing an official type from his team was now headed over directly toward him. "I can meet you there. I'll wait at the bar." She gave him a playful shove. "Now go win this. I'll buy you dinner if you do."

"Sounds fair," he said, as the official came up behind him and tapped on his shoulder, telling him and the fans that he needed to go. He pulled an apologetic face–like a child being pulled away by their mother as he stepped back off the barrier.

"Don't fuck it up," she called after him.

He laughed and mouthed "Don't fuck it up" back to her, before he was now ushered away. He threw a quick smile and wave at the fans who were still trying, rather relentlessly, to get autographs.

With that Dominique checked the time. The match would be starting soon and she should probably be getting to her seat. She glanced around the giant stadium, which was now beginning to fill up from top to bottom full of spectators. It didn't happen often anymore, but for a brief moment, she had the same thought she'd had since she was a small girl. How amazing it would be to play professional Quidditch in front of all of these people.

---

The mood around the stadium was fairly somber after the match, seeing as Munich had beaten Paris Q.C. in a bigger blowout than even Dominique could have anticipated. Something had happened to Paris' Keeper; she'd fallen apart and had just begun to get hammered. When it had come down to the Snitch catch, Munich didn't even need to catch, though they did with an impressive dive catch. The match was over after two hours and twenty minutes.

Jack had played well, but it was hard to outshine Richter, who Dominique was starting to wonder if he was the best Beater she'd ever seen. She was also fairly certain Jack had hurt himself about three quarters of the way into the match when he'd connected with a Bludger and it took a bad bounce, connecting hard with his right hand. It couldn't have been too bad since he'd kept playing, but she'd noticed he'd kept gripping it when he had the chance.

She'd left the stadium quickly, seeing as she wasn't in the mood to listen to the angry drunks talking about how the match had been unfair and complain away their evenings. She'd Apparated back toward central Paris, where she entered into a small, concealed wizarding district that reminded her very much of Diagon Alley. It was full of shops and cafes, with people meandering around—many of whom had also clearly come from the match given the outfits and the general attitudes. Some were looking to lament, but most were looking to find a pub to salvage the rest of their night.

There was a hotel, called the Magique, also owned by Jean's family, that was located directly at the end of the busy boulevard. Dominique entered and headed straight to the bar area, smiling at the bartender as she ordered a glass of Firewhiskey, neat. The bartender seemed surprised, but went to pour her drink. She was used to that look. They all tended to expect someone like her to order a glass of Chardonnay.

She'd taken to flipping through her program once more, reading the stats and articles. She'd only made it halfway through her drink and four pages in before some older looking bloke, who looked older than her father, commented on how he couldn't believe she was drinking whiskey before throwing some terrible pick-up line at her.

She sighed. Instead of telling him to fuck off, she instead decided to play the English tourist game with him. Why not? She had time to kill. The key was not to smile. If she smiled, they felt they were making headway.

"Sorry. I don't speak French."

He was pointing at her drink and making gestures to signify how he'd like to buy her one, but she continued to play dumb–even ramping it up a bit. "That is my drink, yes. Well spotted. And that's a stool. That's a glass. That's a napkin."

He was getting frustrated by the language barrier. All the while, she understood everything he was saying–how he couldn't believe she didn't get what he was trying to say; was she an idiot? She just continued to stare blankly at him.

He muttered something about annoying English people, but threw her a polite smile, as if to say he gave up, before draining his drink and leaving the glass on the bartop. He walked away after that, and Dominique rolled her eyes before returning to her program. From nearby, the bartender mentioned how he thought her French was pretty good before. She threw him a lazy smile as she flipped the page, ordered another drink, and commented–all in perfect French–on how it should be since she'd been speaking it since she was small.

She'd managed to get halfway through the program–and rebuffed two more men who seemed to find a girl alone at the bar as some sort of prize to be won–before yet another person took the seat beside her. She sighed heavily and didn't even look up. "I don't speak French."

"Yes, you do," said Jack and he reached across her and picked up her drink.

She smirked at him, watching as he sipped it and set it back down. "Help yourself."

"I thought you stopped drinking Firewhiskey?" he said as he turned and sat with his entire body facing her.

"For maybe a minute," she said. "But I never considered it a thing."

"You'd switched over to vodka and wine for a while there," Jack said as the bartender appeared. He pointed at Dominique's, as if to indicate he wanted the same thing, though turned to her and said, "You know my French is rubbish."

She confirmed to the bartender that Jack would like that same thing, which made him nod and go off to fetch it. When he'd returned with the drink, he quipped about how she wasn't afraid to show off her French in front of this one.

"Yeah, I think I'll keep this one," she said, more for Jack's benefit than the bartender. They exchanged smiles, which they were having a hard time not doing.

"How you been, Nic?

"Busy," she offered. "So, bloody busy. You have no idea."

"I haven't seen you in months. We've never gone months. I have some idea."

"I know," she said, sipping off her drink. "I feel as if I've lived a lifetime since we last talked. How are things with you?"

He launched into how busy he'd also been, but it quickly segued into talk about the match that night and him recapping parts of it. She chimed in her opinion on some things she'd seen, and asked if he'd actually injured his hand or if she was seeing things. He'd apparently broken four fingers, though it was fixed up by a medic after the match. He seemed amazed she'd noticed since he'd thought he'd done a good job playing through the pain.

As he spoke, she wanted to reach out and touch him. Put a hand on his thigh or do any of her usual flirty gestures, but she knew she couldn't until she knew for sure the answer to a question that neither of them ever came straight out and asked. It was honestly something that kept it up at night when she thought about it; she genuinely feared for the day when she asked him this and his answer was anything other than, "No."

"So," she said, draining her second drink in order to give herself the courage to finish this sentence. She braced herself. "Are you...seeing anyone?"

He sipped off his drink and it was the longest four seconds of her life. When he looked back at her, he shook his head. "No."

She visibly exhaled, letting it be known that she'd been holding her breath until he answered that. It made him laugh before he put his arm on the back of her chair, making them feel rather close. "Please don't let this be the part where you tell me you are."

She looked him in the eye as she shook her head, Now that everything was out in the open, she was free to shamelessly flirt her face off. She chose to reach up and play a bit with his new, shorter hair–happily noting that it was still just as soft. "I honestly don't think I could be around you if I was seeing someone. I always get pulled right back in."

She was watching herself play with hair but she could feel his eyes watching her face. In a low voice, he said, "I've missed you."

She lowered her hand to meet his eyes. "I've missed you, too."

She leaned forward then and kissed him softly on the lips. It was quick and barely lingered, but it was something she always found herself doing every time they reconnected to test the waters. Even if they were both single and all the signals and signs were there, she knew it was this small gesture that set the tone for the rest of their night together. She always wanted him to know straight away that she wanted him from the jump. She didn't want it to be a question.

"So," she said, backing off a bit now that she'd laid some groundwork. She reached over and took a sip of his drink since hers was gone. "What's the plan tonight?"

"Whatever you want to do," he offered, still looking rather wrapped up in the moment. "If you want to go out, there's a club where a lot of the team went."

She shook her head, feeling suddenly flooded with the desire to be alone with him. Even something as innocent as her hand on his arm was doing things to her. It had been ages since she'd been with someone, and even longer since she'd been with him. The fact that she wouldn't have to do any explaining or guiding through what she wanted or liked was already exciting enough. "I'm looking for less people, not more. Less clothes, too."

He threw her a look that was a mixture of amusement and complete compliance. Without objection, he was reaching into his pockets for money to pay the tab. "I did say whatever you wanted to do."

"Turns out, that's you."

The bartender had returned after Jack had flagged him down, but all Jack managed to say was, "Yeah, I don't know how much this is," before throwing more than enough money down. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. "You can just take it."

It had been rather hard to keep their hands off of each other in the lift up to his room, and they'd barely made it through the door before they were pulling off each other's clothes and tripping over themselves to get into bed. Even just kissing him felt like it could get her off, though it didn't. She did ultimately require a few more parts of him working in and around her own to get the job done.

They did it twice, nearly back to back, before finally deciding to give themselves a proper break since Jack claimed that he needed to eat something. The obvious joke was made that they could work on that if they went a third round; while he readily agreed, he also said he needed actual food considering he'd burned an immeasurable amount of energy over the last few hours.

"I don't know what burns off more," Jack said as he lay beside her in bed. "You or Quidditch."

"Probably Quidditch right now," she said, turning over to face him. "I'm rusty."

"There was nothing rusty about that," he said, reaching up to rub his face in a dazed sort of way. She noticed then–for the first time since getting him undressed–that his entire right arm was covered by a tattoo sleeve. It wasn't a surprise–he'd been working on that sleeve for ages–but the last she'd seen it was only half complete.

She grabbed his arm to examine it. "You actually finished it."

"Yeah, about a month ago," he said, letting her explore the different parts. showing her a very detailed collection of art that had obviously been done by someone very skilled. He'd been putting it together piece by piece since they'd graduated, but his first had still been that he'd gotten on his bicep back when they were teenagers. Now, it was surrounded by all sorts of other things–Quidditch references, a lion, and an Irish flag. She's gotten up close and personal views at all of them over the years–all but the new parts.

"Looks really great," she offered, glancing back at him. "I know how much you wanted that finished. Any plans for more?"

He pulled his arm back to examine it himself, now rubbing it absently. "I only ever wanted the sleeve, so I think I'm set. But who knows If I'll change my mind." He smirked at her and glanced down at his chest. "I changed my mind once."

She grinned. Jack had one other tattoo, and it was a small Snitch to the left of his sternum. The only reason he'd gone off his arm for that one was because–as he put it to the artist who'd done it for him–he wanted it as close to his heart as he could get it.

She'd also gotten one that day after he'd gotten his, and it had all been rather impulsive. Hers was a Beater's bat hitting a Bludger on the side of her ribcage. They'd done it just before she'd gone back to England after he'd moved to Germany to draw some sort of connection to each other. She remembered it hurt something awful; Jack had said his was the most painful of any the ones he'd received thus far, but she felt it was rather fitting. They put up with a lot to keep themselves connected. Her tattoo and their relationship had its highs and lows, but they'd ultimately been left with something beautiful. It summed them up rather nicely.

"Do people ever ask why you got a Snitch when you're a Beater?"

"Rarely," he said. "You'd have to get fairly close to me with my shirt off to notice. But if someone does, I tell them the story."

She made a face. "You tell them the story? You're telling me if you've gone and picked up some girl and brought her back to your place, and she asks you about it, you tell her the truth?"

Without missing a beat, Jack shrugged and said, "What girl?"

Her eyebrow rose and her expression called complete bullshit on that. They stared at each other, with her face doubtful and him now attempting to smile rather innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

She smirked and shook her head before pulling herself up to sit. "Absolute rubbish. But I can appreciate the answer."

He laughed a little as he also pulled himself up and slid to the side of the bed. She enjoyed the view for a moment–he was really in terrific shape–before he retrieved his boxers and pulled them on. He glanced around as if looking for something. "We can get food brought here. We don't even have to leave. We should do that."

He truly had one track mind when he was hungry. "You really must be starving."

"Just goes to show how much you mean to me that I didn't make us stop and eat first because I'm bloody famished. I'm not even kidding. My stomach is eating itself right now."

"Then get food," she laughed, watching as he found a menu for food and exclaimed rather happily when it featured an enchantment to read in multiple languages. He sat on the edge of the bed to look it over, and she took the opportunity to move forward, hug him from behind, and let her chin rest on his shoulder while she also read over the menu he was holding. "You did win, which means I owe you dinner."

He shook his head. "The team will pay for it. Get whatever you want." He turned to look at her and added, "I'll just have to take a rain check on you buying me dinner the next time I can convince you to come see me," before he gave her a rather playful kiss on the cheek.

It was such a strange feeling to be so completely enamored and in love with someone–someone who felt the same way–but there was always an end in sight. This was how they'd been functioning since they split up; it's what made moving on to someone new impossible because nothing could measure up to this.

This was all she wanted all of the time; he was the only person who could make her feel this way. Moments like this, she was ready to quit her job and move to Germany to be with him–no questions asked. But she had to remember that, while the feelings were always real, the perfectness of the situation was fleeting. They could be perfect for a day or two; they always were. It was when real life–their schedules, their jobs, their lives–set in that the problems came back. As long as they were living the lives they were currently living, this couldn't work.

Still, as she sat there with her arm around him, feeling the warmth coming off his back and the smell that was intrinsically him–she couldn't help but think how sacrificing the rest of it would be worth it.

Jack had filled out the card and essentially ordered almost everything. It only took about ten minutes in between when he tapped it with his wand and sent it flying under the crack under the door to reach the kitchens and when everything showed up. She'd put on a dressing gown to eat since, while she was pretty content to do a lot of things naked, eating was not one of those things.

"How's the family?" Dominique asked as they sat at the table near the window. Their view outside was of the busy street area below, where it was clear some people were still out celebrating their night after the Quidditch match.

"Good last I spoke to them," he offered, setting in on a second plate of food after having finished the first. "Mostly the same. My brother's band is touring Canada."

She made a face as if to hear that was a nice surprise, though Jack quickly added, "But don't ask me the last time I saw them perform." He seemed to think about it. "I think we were still together. I think you were with me at that show."

"I haven't seen them in ages, so that means it's been way too long," she said, picking a chip and chewing on the edge.

"How about your family? How are your folks?"

She shrugged. "Same as always. Though, my dad's been working in Egypt a lot this year helping to specialty train curse breakers, so he and my mum have been spending time over there. Part of me still thinks my dad is keen to move there." She popped her chip into her mouth. "Wouldn't surprise me if he's tried to put it in my mum's head, but she doesn't want to leave home in case Lou–"

She stopped. Even if it was Jack, who knew everything and she'd told everything to, it still–three years later–was never easy to bring up this topic.

"...in case Louis ever decides to turn up," she finished.

Jack's body language stiffened slightly. Louis was always a touchy subject since no one had really heard from him since the day he left Hogwarts roughly three years ago. Victoire had gotten an anonymous owl about three months after he'd left with just the words, "I'm fine" written on it in handwriting that very much looked like Louis', but no one could be certain. Then again, who else would send her an owl like that? And Dominique had to ask, why her? Why had she been the one he'd messaged?

But since, nothing. Everything there was to talk about him had been spoken; they were only rehashing the old feelings and stories at this point. She'd had the conversations with Jack, her parents, her sister, and Healer Cane. She rarely even brought up that she had a brother anymore, though when it did pop up, she rarely gave details to people. As far as those people knew, she simply had a brother who lived far away that she never saw. She left it at that.

No one even knew if he were alive or dead now, though she always suspected–just as she always had–that he was still very much alive. She had the same sixth sense she always had when she'd considered that question–she simply just knew he was. Either way, his selfishness at disappearing without a trace had changed all of them in some way.

Her mother had seemed broken for that first year; she'd actually started going to speak to a Healer that Healer Cane had suggested to her–one that dealt with loss and grief–and Dominique truly believed that had been one of the few reasons she was functioning as well as she was these days. While she still had moments where it was obvious how much it all still bothered her, on the whole, she was doing well enough.

Her father had put on a better act than her mother, but it was clear a part of him was incomplete and lost. He became more of a workaholic, and Dominique wished he'd have gone to talk to someone as her mother had, but he always resisted. He was apparently handling it his own way. He and Louis were very clearly cut from the same cloth.

As for her, she'd mourned her brother as if he was dead, because she'd realized before he even disappeared that the person she'd always known was gone. It had taken her years of talking with Healer Cane–which she still did, though not as frequently as she had in those early days–to come to grips with the fact that Louis made his choice and she couldn't blame herself. She had to live her life and follow her path. As much as she'd invested her path being intertwined with Louis' for the rest of their lives, that wasn't her reality. He was off on his own and she had to do the same. She had to stop giving him the power to control her feelings and moods, even from hundreds–or perhaps thousands–of miles away.

But she still thought about him every single day; often several times a day. The Ministry was filled with so many people who reminded her of him in one way or another. There was even a person in the Transportation department that sounded exactly like him. Every time she heard a Nymph Chasers song, every time she ate a Pepper Imp, every time she found a good book, she thought of him. Every time she met a guy with a nice smile who oozed charm and always seemed to know the right thing to say, she would be quickly turned off. It was the fastest way for her to be immediately uninterested given how much it reminded her of him.

Jack cleared his throat. "I started having this dream about him over the last few months."

Dominique looked across the table at him. She couldn't relate, having spent most of her life never dreaming and now, these days, having any sort of nighttime vision stamped out by the potions she took. Still, she found herself rather jealous. "Oh, yeah?"

"I have this recurring dream that he'll pop up one day at a match of mine," he said, seemingly finally having had enough to eat as he put his fork down. "It's after a win, and then I look up and he's just standing there smiling at me. It's as if nothing ever changed between us." He looked away. "Then I wake up."

Jack didn't speak to it much, and she assumed it was because he felt he could never compare his loss of a best friend to her loss of her twin brother. But Louis' disappearance had affected all of them so deeply. She smiled a little weakly at him, but then found herself looking out the window–down at the pedestrians walking all up and down the boulevard. She wanted to change the subject.

"Vic's moving to Australia next month."

Jack stared at her, looking rather shocked. "Seriously?"

"She is. For two years. Got a great opportunity to study some ruddy old runes that were recently discovered. She's impossibly excited." She made a face. "My parents and Ted, less so."

"Wait, what is Ted doing?"

She laughed a little as she glanced out of the window. "Apparently proposing. Go figure. She's moving away and that's when–after a hundred years of them dating–he's decided to finally do it."

Jack looked confused, his expression begging her to elaborate. "So, he's going with her?"

She shook her head, knowing she needed to clarify. "Eventually, but he can't at the moment. Not right away. He's obviously got his research and everything at home, but I know he's looking into it. He's planning on it."

"Good for them."

She nodded absently. "Yeah. He can't pick up as quickly, but the whole thing has made him want to officially take the next step. I know a part of him still feels they're really young, but it's not as if they're not going to do it. I could have told them they'd end up married when they were ten."

Jack laughed. "I was sort of wondering what they were waiting for. They're just delaying the inevitable."

"I think it's because they know they eventually will; they feel they can take their time. But I told both of them that–speaking from experience–the distance can be so hard."

Jack's eyebrows quickly jumped up; his expression saying that was definitely true.

"And I told Ted that at least when he proposes, they could ride that excitement until he could make arrangements to join her over there. It would make the separation easier."

Jack seemed to find something amusing in what she said, and was making a funny kind of face. "So, are you saying I should have…?"

She immediately shook her head rather rapidly, realizing. "Oh, Merlin, no. We were what? Nineteen? No. We weren't ready for that." She laughed. "I love you, but...I'm not ready for that."

Jack stared at her rather blankly. One again she realized what she'd said seconds after she'd said it. They weren't supposed to say the "L" word anymore since they weren't together. Not that it necessarily stopped them–it came up on occasion during sex in the heat of the moment when things felt so amazing and they were on the brink and saying 'I love you' was the only way to encapsulate it–but this wasn't the moment. This was real time; normal time. When they used the word love, it made all of this so much harder to deal with. Even if they both knew and felt it, they weren't supposed to say it.

She closed her eyes and sighed. This is what happened when she let herself get too comfortable around him. Her guard dropped off and went so far down, it may as well have been tumbling the several stories to the ground below them. "I…" She stammered. "It just came out. I…"

"I love you, too.".

As good as it felt to hear, and it absolutely did, all she could do was rub her face and say, "We're not supposed to–"

"We feel what we feel," he said as he stood up, still staring at her. "How we feel has never been the issue."

"Right, the bloody distance is the issue–"

He was nodding slowly, looking rather distracted. "What if I tried to come back home?"

She stared at him. "Back home as in...home, home?"

He continued to nod. "It's something I've started thinking about." He suddenly walked over the edge of the bed and sat down facing her. "This is between you and me. I didn't even know if I should say anything because I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up, but...I'm considering it."

"But…?" She found herself blinking and confused. "You're on the number one bloody team in Germany. You love it there. They love you there. I saw..."

"I do…" he began to say, though he quickly switched to, "I did. I don't know, things have changed. Ever since Richter came on–and this is nothing against him. I think he's a fucking beast, but…" He sighed and looked away. "I'm not living up to my potential with him. He's a one man Beating machine. I need a partner, not to be someone sidekick. I'm better than that."

She knew it; she knew him entirely too well. She took the opportunity to stand from the table and sit beside him on the bed. She wanted a crystal clear understanding of what he was saying.

"My contract's up in a few months when the season's over," he said, glancing over at her. "I was talking to my agent, and he thinks Munich will probably come back with a strong offer to keep me because Richter and I get along–and he doesn't get along with a lot of people. But he also thinks I can use my status as leverage with other teams if I really wanted to break away and find something else. I told him to focus on back home."

She gawked at him. Despite the fact that it was all just talk and hopes, she could barely contain herself. Jack was good enough to get on all of the British and Irish teams without question, but she wasn't sure they would offer him the same kind of money Munich was. Only a few teams in the league could do that–teams like Puddlemere. Were they looking for Beaters?

"But what if Munich's deal is too good to turn down?"

"There's always a chance of that," he said. "But as I said, I'm not looking to be a sidekick. I'm not getting any better with Richter there. Not to mention–" He leaned in and kissed her quite suddenly, taking her off-guard. When he pulled back, he did so ever so slightly, leaving his forehead pressed against hers. "I've got serious incentive to move back home. I want to be with you. And if I come home, I want to make this work."

"I can't believe you're seriously considering this," she said. "Last time we had this talk, you were so insistent on staying."

"I want more now," he said as he kissed her again. "I'm not stupid enough to know that I've gotten really lucky the last year and a half and you haven't moved on. If I keep pushing it, you're going to find someone else."

"I don't want someone else," she said as they kissed again. "You know you're the only person I've wanted since I was seventeen. That hasn't changed."

He managed to pull his mouth away briefly, though she was already working her way down his neck while he was undoing the tie on her dressing robe. "I can't play Quidditch forever, but there's a chance you and I could make it that long."

---

Dominique always hated how her time with Jack managed to take her to the highest of highs to the lowest of lows all within a relatively close amount of time. As they woke late the following morning and packed up what little there was to pack, Jack's eleven o'clock Portkey back to Germany was already looming entirely too close. She hated this part.

"Sarah wanted me to ask you if you could get her tickets to a match," she said, as they exited the lift and found themselves in the large marble lobby of the hotel. "She's and the boyfriend are planning a trip around to a few countries this summer, and she said she'd put Germany on the itinerary if you had time for her."

"Of course I have time for her," he said, waving to someone he seemed to know. "I can make time for Sarah. And tell her I'll get her tickets to whatever match she wants. I'd love to see her."

Dominique smiled. "I'll let her know. Cillian–that's the bloke she's seeing–he's into Quidditch, so he'd be keen. He knows a lot about international Quidditch, so he and I have some pretty intense chats about it. He's looking to see a few matches on their trip."

"Have her owl me when she'll be there," he said. "I'll work it out."

She nodded as if to say she'd do that, glancing around at the people passing by on their way in and out. A few Munich staff members were up and about, all of them either nodding, waving, or acknowledging Jack in some way. Tourists and locals alike were popping in and out of the lobby and through the cafe. She caught sight of a girl with pink streaks in her hair sitting at a table very close to the entrance of the restaurant, sipping on coffee. She was sitting with another person, but her attention was entirely on her and Jack standing there.

Dominique looked away. It was all rather strange. Despite growing up around famous people who were often stared at, she personally would never get used to the attention. It always made her feel uncomfortable.

"You alright?" Jack asked.

She nodded. "There's a girl over there, staring. I know she's probably a fan, but it's never not weird."

Jack turned to look, though shrugged it off as the usual sort of thing. "I can't say I'll ever get used to it, but I have learned to not pay attention as much." He looked at his watch, his face falling rather sadly. "I've got a couple of minutes before I have to catch my Portkey."

She frowned. This was always the worst part. He'd be completely tied up the rest of the season, and the way Munich played, into the postseason; she'd be lucky if she saw him again before then. But his contract would be up soon and he was actually contemplating coming home. This time next year, he could very well be back in Britain, and who knew what that meant for them.

"Thank you for coming out," he said, smiling at her. "I had the best night that I've had in ages."

"I told you you'd like it if you let me try that position."

He smirked. "I didn't mean that….Though I did really like that. But no, I obviously meant–"

"I know what you meant," she said with a smile, just as someone suddenly entered the bubble of personal space around them. It caused them both to turn and look, only to see the girl with pink in her hair from before attempting to get their attention rather eagerly. She'd stepped directly up to them, saying something in rapid French that Dominique couldn't barely make out. The girl's brother followed Jack's career? He must have been a fan, but that was all she managed before her friend–some bearded bloke with a hood pulled up on his jacket–started pulling her away. He seemed embarrassed for her overzealous nature and was matching her straight out.

Dominique and Jack exchanged quick looks, with her muttering, "What the fuck?"

Jack shrugged, only looking partly annoyed. He said something about it being mostly normal now and that wasn't even half as bad as some of the fans could get. He shook it off quickly and returned to goodbye mode. "Can we not go nine months without seeing each other?"

"We can certainly try," she offered. "On the condition you promise me to look harder into–"

Even though she had lowered her voice, he was already silently urging her to not say the words. There were a lot of Munich personnel around, even some of the other players were turning up, so she understood. He already knew exactly what she'd wanted to say.

"I will do what I can," he said as one of those staff members approached to give him a pat on the back and said something to him in German. When Jack responded to him–in very decent sounding German, as far as she could tell–she'd only then realized how well he spoke it. He'd come a long way.

"I have to go," he said sadly.

She nodded. "Right. I'll see you when I see you."

"See you when I see you," he repeated, kissing her quickly. She tried to hold onto that moment for as long as possible, but it was over far sooner than she'd liked it to have been. Before she knew it, Jack was giving her hand a quick squeeze and stepping away.

There were a few last smiles and a quick wave before he disappeared around a corner with a collection of other people, all off to catch a Portkey back to Germany. She sighed and looked around the lobby. Back to real life once again. Her mini-holiday had come screeching to a halt, just like that.

She'd wandered around the street outside, had a cup of coffee and window shopped a bit before she caught her Portkey back to England later in the day. Upon returning to her flat, she found it empty and deserted. Sarah, her flatmate, was probably off with her boyfriend–as she usually was. Dominique didn't usually mind having the place to herself, but at the moment, she was actually in the mood for some company. She would have to settle on Sarah's cat, Darcy, who was lurking across the room and glancing casually over in Dominique's direction.

She took to cleaning, organizing, taking a nap, going for a walk–all the things she usually didn't have time to do. On Sunday, the following day, she'd gotten a jump on some of her upcoming work and listened to Holyhead's Quidditch match as they destroyed a still abysmal Chudley. She'd been contemplating going to visit her parents that afternoon, since it had been two weeks, but she'd instead picked up a book she'd been meaning to read and charmed it to hover over her head so that she could lay comfortably on the couch without holding it. She'd gotten about three chapters in when the front door of her place opened.

"Hello," Sarah said in a sing-song way as she entered their flat. She was carrying two bottles of wine, which was generally how she entered their place on any given day. "How was Paris?"

Dominique used her wand to shut her book and let it float down to the sofa. She sat up with a bright smile. "Fantastic."

"How's Jack?" she asked as she headed straight toward her room, disappearing inside as her voice carried, "I can already tell given your glow and that shit-eating grin that you fucked his brains out, so…" She reappeared and held up one of the bottles as if toasting to her. "Cheers to that."

Dominique made a gesture as if to acknowledge that was not untrue, but did nothing more than continue to grin. "I was long overdue."

"It had been awhile for you," she agreed. "Did you even bother trying to exchange any words before trying to ride him, or…?"

"There were a few words. A couple of hellos, at the very least."

Sarah laughed before she headed for the kitchen. "Did you ask him about those tickets that I'd–?"

"Yes," she called back, noticing an owl now appearing out on the window sill and tapping its beak on the glass to get her attention. "He said to owl him and he'll take care of it. Oh, and wait until I tell you what he's been thinking about doing."

"Alright, hold on. I want to hear all about it, but I'm getting wine first. You want some?"

"Sure," she called back as she walked over to the window to let the owl in, watching as it quickly extended it's leg out so that she could take the letter it was carrying. She untied it and the owl fluttered around the open window for a moment before it just as quickly flew away.

"You want the red of the white?" Sarah called from the kitchen.

"Whatever." She was unfolding the folded parchment and noticing the script on the letter was immediately very familiar. It wasn't Jack's untidy, usually smudged handwriting, but the moment her eyes fully recognized who it belonged to, her body started to feel rather numb.

Hey Nic,

It's been a long time. Hope you're doing well. I am. Finally. It's been awhile since I've felt as I could say that.

Let me start by saying I don't really know what to say to you, but the time has come that I want to say something. I've spent the last few years running and hiding and seeing and living, and I've decided to start slowing down. I'm with someone–someone amazing who makes me want to be better–so I've decided to start doing that. She's convinced me to put my life in order, so I've started to. She's the one telling me to right the wrongs of my past, and because of that, I'm feeling happier and more clear headed than I have in years.

I've hurt a lot of people and I need to start apologizing. Whether you even care or want to hear me out, I don't know. But I hope you will. I hope you'll give me a chance to explain myself and tell you just how sorry I am.

Not to sound creepy, but I had the chance the other day when I saw you. You and Jack. You were at the Magique. I'd come looking for Jack, knowing his team was staying there after their match with Paris and hoping to run into him. I'd mentally prepared to see him and hadn't expected you. I wasn't ready to talk to you–not yet. What could I have said? I barely knew what to say to Jack. When you were both there, I lost my nerve.

You may remember my girlfriend coming up to you–she's got pink in her hair that's hard to miss. She was trying to force the situation and not let me walk away without speaking to you. She knew how hard it was to even get me down there that morning, but I honestly couldn't bring myself to do it. I realized I don't want it to be a surprise and to take you off guard, I'd like to plan to see you. It's why I'm writing you this letter.

You have every right to ignore this. I've ignored plenty of yours over the years. But I'm hoping you won't. I'm hoping for a lot of things these days. Maybe the next time you're in Paris, we can talk. I'm around.

Love,

Louis

Dominique tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry there was nothing to actually swallow. She read the letter twice, feeling as if she could cry and scream at the exact same time. This was Louis; Louis was contacting her. Louis had...seen her? He'd been in the same room as her and he hadn't said anything? Where had he been? Why hadn't he spoken to her? What was happening?

"I chose white," Sarah said, reentering the room with two full glasses. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Dominique's face. "What's wrong?"

Dominique said nothing. She couldn't. All she could was slowly hold out the letter for Sarah to take–which she did after she'd set the glasses down and cross the room toward her. It had taken her less than five seconds of glancing it over before she audibly gasped.

"Is that Louis' handwriting?"

Dominique nodded, letting a meek sounding voice escape her. "He's back from the dead."

---

A/N: The End.

To everyone who took the time to read this, thank you. Truly, thank you. It came to be because, for over ten years, people consistently contacted me to ask if I was ever planning on doing anything else; that just kept the idea alive in my head. Goes to show that ask and you sometimes very well may receive. :) I've written a longer note in my a/n section, so check that out if you're interested in anything else I have to say. :) Thanks again.