"Pass me the sugar, Harry," Ron asked politely. He receive the pot and proceeded to dump half the contents into his tea. Neville took it next and spun about a teaspoon of the white crystals into his own cup. Fred and George plopped into two of the kitchen chairs, a wireless in Fred's grasp and two bottles of stout in the other. George put the wireless on the kitchen table and turned it on, spinning the dial until the familiar trumpeting sung through out the kitchen: Monday Night Quidditch was about to begin.
"Damnit, George! Turn that down!" Ginny hissed from the kitchen-dining room door. Both Ginny and Hermione had planted themselves in front of it, attempting in vain to listen to the raucous conversation going on in the parlor. Charlie strolled in and pulled a stool to the table, unstopping his own bottle of beer with a cheerful, expectant look on his face. Neville clapped him on the back at the site of Charlie's pale blue shirt and the floating, glittering arrow that looked to be piercing his skull with a huge smile on his face.
Arthur had arrived home about 20 minutes ago, quickly followed by Professors Snape and Dumbledore. What had started as a calmly discussed topic had elevated to yelling, mostly Molly at Severus for being pointedly unhelpful and even towards Dumbledore for his strange temerity in regards to speaking with any Institute authorities on the matter. Arthur was trying to play mediator, but after a time, even Snape was getting annoyed at what seemed to be a particularly avoidant Dumbledore. But the last thing they had heard on the subject was several minutes ago (Dumbledore trying to reassure all parties that Percy and Esme would be well protected), when Hermione and Ginny could only assume that one of the adults had but a privacy spell on the room.
Good evening witches and wizards, and welcome to another edition of Monday Night Quidditch here at the beautiful greens of Arrows Colosseum in North Lincolnshire where Appleby looks to topple Scotland's Pride of Portree on this frost evening. As always, I'm Sloane Peterson here with my co-host Nigel Frye-Harpsburg: Nigel, how are things shaking out right now?"
"Well, Sloane, the Arrows had been on a tear through the Premier League the last three weeks, dismantling Wimbourne, Kenmare, and this season's little team-that-could, the Caerphilly Catapults, which as you may remember took down defending champion Montrose earlier this season in a stunning, 2 day, 1450-1310 win. The Arrows have mainly Roderick Clemens to thank: he was moved to the beater position at the beginning of this year when Abigael Van Austerling took a sabbatical to give birth to her triplets, and alongside Lionel Taylor, the two of them have been cleaning house, giving seeker Masamichi Oshima room to work. Oshima, formerly of the Toyohashi Tengu, recently had this to say on the differences between the Japanese League and this one:"
"...Perhaps the greatest obstacle I've had to overcome is the temperature change: the cold wind makes it hard to keep your muscles warm while you hunt out the snitch. There is only so much wool you can wear before you feel as heavy as a sheep, and I need to be quick on my broom, so I find myself making many more attempts to fake a snitch spotting if only to keep myself warm."
"But the Arrows are going to have to beat out young Pride Keeper Melissa Wingo, the Wonder from Down Under, who has a blocking percentage of .783, highest in the league. Solid defense against all three poles, she risks life and limb for a save, as seen particularly against the Falcons when she dived off of her broomstick to save what would have been the game winning point. I don't think a crunch like that had been heard for quite some time, Sloane. Six broken ribs! However, in a pre-game interview with our own Keith Gould, she said..."
"...But that will have to wait until the post game show, Nigel, because the referee has come out for the start of the game. Away team Pride of Portree kick off into the air- Clemens, Taylor, McGinty, Farnsworth, Arnold, Connor-Hartley and Oshima take their positions as the home crowd gives a warm welcome to their Arrows- Gammonds, Reynolds, Ravich, Scott, Berman, Wingo and Hall. Players take their positions as Garamond Korrick drops the trunk in them at the halfway mark... and we're underway!"
The kitchen door swung open from the hall. "Charlie, keep an eye on everyone. We'll be back in a few hours," Molly said sharply, not bothering to get a response before stomping back down the hallway. As the door swung back and forth from the force Mrs. Weasley had exerted, they could hear her shout up the stairs for Percy. Surprisingly, all they heard subsequently was the patter of a pair of feet coming down the stairs, but not the shrill screams of Mrs. Black's portrait.
As the front door slammed, Percy walked glumly into the kitchen and sat down at the table, snatching Charlie's beer out of his hands and nearly emptying it. "What are we listening to?" he said dryly, handing the beer back to Charlie and walking over to the cupboard and pulling out one of his own, hitting it with a cooling charm and shooting the cork off. He took a long gulp and looked at the twins.
"Pride at Arrows, the game just started up. Never fancied you for a pint, Percy. Figured you'd be more the Cabernet Sauvignon type," Fred teased, nudging George. Percy gave Fred a pointed look. "Cabernet Sauvignon? Can you even spell that?" Percy shot back haughtily, taking a sip of his beer. Charlie stole Percy's beer from him and took a sip, giving him a swat on the back of the head. "Shut up, you lot, we're missing the match!"
"Farnsworth to Arnold; he's at the halfway mark; challenged by Ravich; beautiful reverse pass to Arlene McGinty as she shimmies under Berman; McGinty to Arnold; Arnold to McGinty; nice dodge from Reynold's bludger shot; McGinty to Arnold; Arnold to... Berman slices down in front of Farnsworth, taking the quaffle and launching it down the pitch to Scott; he's all alone; Scott coming down the left side; Taylor and Clemens load up for a Dopplebeater Defense- look at that bludger go!; Scott rolls to the left, pulling the broomstick with him; he's flying upside down as moves across the pitch!; here comes Carson Arnold- he's accelerating with some speed but he's not going to get there in time!; Scott swings upright as he corkscrews skyward; Connor-Hartley dives; GOAL!!!! Stuart Scott in the top right ring for 10!"
"Percy, where is Esme?" Ginny asked sweetly. Percy wasn't keenly attentive to the game: Neville and Charlie had shot up from their chairs when the Arrows scored and were cheering raucously, and he had barely noticed. Percy sighed.
"Sleeping. I hope," Percy replied, taking another sip of his beer. Hermione looked at him strangely before the look turning to anger. "You didn't let her drink that entire enormous jug of Firewhiskey, did you?" Hermione inquired. Percy's focus changed from Ginny to Hermione and he gave her a cold glance before refocusing back on his bottle of beer.
"Believe me when I say she needed it," Percy said harshly, draining his beer and Accio-ing another towards him. He ripped the cap off and didn't bother with the cooling charm. Ginny got up to check on her, but Percy's hand around her wrist stopped her. "Don't. She'll be fine once she gets a bit of kip; she just needs some time to process everything. I turned most of the jug into apple juice when she wasn't looking anyway," Percy whispered for Neville and Charlie's benefit.
"The snitch has yet to be seen by either Seekers, both Oshima and the rookie Hall are lurking high above the pitch; OH! Gammonds has taken a bludger to the head from Taylor– he's spiraling downwards as Arden Farnsworth takes a shot at Wingo; who easily deflects the quaffle to Scott with her tail twigs; Gammonds bounces harmlessly on the ground, mediwizards are checking him out as Arrows manager Al Jaffe sends out recent acquisition from the Tornados Linda Cohen; Cohen does not hesitate to get in the fray, launching a fireball shot that nearly removes the back end off of Lionel Taylor's broomstick- that'll sure get his attention; AND HERE WE GO!; OSHIMA AND HALL HAVE SPOTTED THE SNITCH; THE VETERAN OSHIMA BRAKES RIGHT AND SETS OFF TOWARDS PORTREE'S GOAL, HALL TAKES THE HIGH ROAD; THE SNITCH DIVES STRAIGHT DOWN; OSHIMA IS AHEAD BUT BOY, CAN HALL REALLY FLY!; THEY PULL NECK AND NECK AS THE SNITCH ZOOMS HORIZONTAL, SKIMMING THE GRASS TOWARDS THE ARROWS GOALPOSTS; OH! THE BLUDGER SLAMS INTO OSHIMA; OSHIMA CRASHES INTO HALL AND THE TWO HIT THE DIRT; meanwhile, our score has increased to 60-40, Portree..."
Neville practically collapsed in his seat with disappointment while Charlie banged the counter top. "Bloody Taylor, that man's a menace," Charlie grumbled and Neville nodded.
The door swung open, freezing with a crash against the wall and remaining open until several seconds later, Esme stormed into the room. She walked directly up to Percy and slammed the empty jug of Ogden's on the table in front of him. That got the attention of the room, especially Percy's, who turned around in his chair. "Do that again, and you and me are going to have words," Esme spat out venomously at Percy before marching past the table. She threw her previously-visited cabinet open and plucked a large bottle of Vetreskaya Icevodka from within. She stole another large glass from a nearby cupboard and stormed out. The room was dead silent as the kitchen-hallway door swung closed behind Esme, and the sound of all the eyes panning from the door to Percy was as audible as the creak of the kitchen door.
Percy threw the door open to Esme's bedroom, taking giant steps towards her leaning form. He hovered over her; Esme had her knees curled to her chest, her back leaning against the foot of her bed. The bottle of Icevodka stood in front of the point of her feet while she cradled a half-empty glass in her left hand. "You are seriously delusional if you think this is going to help," Percy snapped, picking up the bottle by the neck and putting it on the bed table.
"Nothing is going to help at this point, or did we not attend the same therapy session?" Esme replied glacially, taking a languid sip of her vodka. Percy rolled his eyes and retook his spot, towering over the sitting form of Esme. Esme shook her head. "Just go away, Percy."
"This isn't good for you, Esme," Percy sighed, crouching down in front of Esme. He pulled the glass from her fingertips, catching her hand, then beginning to trace circles over the back with his thumb. "Do you... do you want to talk about it?" Percy asked hesitantly. Esme snatched the glass back angrily and stood up.
"I am tired of talking. I am tired of being questioned. I am tired of being constantly reminded that someone wants me dead, I am tired of thinking about the past, I'm tired of dreaming about it, I am tired! I am tired, Percy! And it's all the time and no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try: if it's dancing with you, or making potions for Ron, or chatting with Ginny, it doesn't matter because it's always hanging over me and I can't..."
Esme was now leaning heavily against the bookcase adjacent to the bed, tears streaming down her face. "The moment I'm safe at the Institute, my Dad's going to go back to bring the Order's bitch... I know it. And he's going to die because he'd rather die than sit still and be useless and I'm not going to have anyone to come back to because every other member of my family would give their right testicle to offer me up as a present to the Dark Lord. Everything is falling apart... I can't keep feeling like this, I can't! So it's either I make every attempt to drink myself into unconsciousness or I stick my hand into the fireplace because anything has to be better than this," Esme finished, her voice and body trembling as one hand held onto the bookcase for stability and once clutched her glass for dear life. Her glasses bobbed on her face as she temporarily released the bookshelf to wipe her eyes.
Percy was at a complete loss and made no attempts to hide it. He hadn't moved from his crouch during Esme's tirade, but he did now. Percy stood up slowly and walked back to the bed table, picking up the bottle of Icevodka. Topped off Esme's glass. Proceeded to polish off a quarter of the bottle before taking his next breath. He took Esme by the hand and pulled her down to the ground. Esme's knees snapped to her chin and Percy wrapped an arm around her still-trembling shoulder.
"When I woke up, after Di died. Completely collapsed. Of course, I wasn't nearly as articulate as you just were," Percy said matter-of-factly, taking another belt from the bottle and starting to feel the warmth of the alcohol-induced buzz. Esme sipped her glass, staring someplace into the distance. Percy turned to look at Esme. "It was a lot of me frozen on the couch, crying incessantly. Very embarrassing, really," Percy added, his eyes trained for any reaction. Nothing- not even a flutter of an eyelid. Percy frowned, pulling Esme into his shoulder.
"Well, you always were a bit of a crybaby."
Percy leaned back, looking down his nose at Esme. Her eyes were still trained some where far off, but a smile, barely perceptible, had settled on her face. "I don't believe you. I'm sitting here, trying to be comforting, emasculating myself to make you feel better and that's all you have to say? That I'm a crybaby," Percy replied, shocked.
And then was even more shocked to find Esme lips upon his own. And remained there. For several seconds.
"And thank you," Esme said softly with that same small smile. Those dark green eyes magnified, looking up at him with gratitude and vulnerability. In all of his life, Percy had never wanted to take off his glasses and really see anyone for who they really were as much as he wanted to see Esme right now.
Gryffindor. Chivalry. Fuck.
Percy lowered the arm around Esme's shoulders to the back of them and slid his other arm gently under her knees, lifting her up and carrying her towards her bed. He set her down carefully and removed the glass from her hands, resting it on the bed table. A large quilt was folded across the foot of the bed, and Percy quickly shook out the folds over Esme's languid form. He peeled back the covers off of her face and found Esme already deep in the throes of slumber.
He sat down on the bed next to her, brushing the lank curls from her forehead and smiling a bit at the dark roots peeking across the crown of her forehead. Percy pulled Esme's spectacles from her eyes and folded them gently onto the bed table before standing and gathering up the bottle of icevodka and her cup. Percy placed a tender kiss on the top of her forehead before exiting the room, shutting the door quietly.
Authors Notes: I think this might have been my favorite chapter to write so far. I don't think I've ever actually seen professional quidditch commentary written out by a writer who wasn't JKR (if you have, I'd LOVE to read it), and since my closet dream is to be a sports broadcaster, I thought I'd try to write some. My greatest wishes and appreciation to the incomparable DB, Miss Piratess and Schizo13.