Chapter 7
I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
- Margaret Atwood [Variations on the Word Sleep]
Rose accepted the glass of champagne from a house elf as she and Sam walked out onto the Quidditch field. There were already plenty of witches and wizards mulling around and several seemed to already be quite drunk. Rose tried to walk in a way that kept her strappy red pumps from sinking heel first into the ground. She was immediately regretting her choice of footwear. The shoes served to accentuate her already long legs and went well with the short slinky black dress she'd picked out for the occasion, but she'd forgotten that they wouldn't be walking around on pavement. She just hoped she didn't leave too many obvious holes in the field for tomorrow's match.
"It's enormous," Sam gawked, staring around at the stadium in wonder. Rose knew what she meant, the professional Quidditch field was almost twice as large as the one they were used to playing on at Hogwarts and the seats towered around them hundreds of feet into the darkening sky.
"I thought you've been helping set this up for the last two months," Rose commented, sipping the champagne.
"This is my first time getting to see it from the inside," Sam explained. "Can you imagine getting to play on a field this size?"
"It would be incredible," Rose grinned at her friend.
"Are the two of you Quidditch players?"
Rose nearly dropped her drink when she saw who had spoken to them. Looking particularly dashing in his shamrock green Quidditch robes, was Troy, one of the chasers for Ireland. He gave them an easy smile, his blue eyes sparkling at them from his lightly freckled face.
"Recent Hogwarts graduates," Rose explained quickly while Sam gaped at the man. "Sam here played beater for Hufflepuff, and I was a chaser for Slytherin."
"Ah yes, playing for my house team was what got me started with Quidditch. I'm Cillian by the way, great to meet you both," he said, grinning at Sam who had managed by now to close her mouth and smile back. He shook hands with her before turning back to Rose.
"I didn't catch your name, Miss…"
"Rose, my name is Rose," she said quickly while his large warm hand encased her own. She could feel the telltale callouses on his hands from years of gripping a broomstick and catching and throwing a Quaffle.
"Rose, might I just say that you have the loveliest red hair I have ever seen," he complimented her with a grin, flicking his own strawberry blonde hair out of his eyes. With a start she realized that his clear blue eyes were the exact same shade as Remus Lupin's and her heart fluttered traitorously in her chest at the thought.
"Thank you," she replied, tucking a strand of her long red hair behind her ear.
"Troy," a voice called from farther down the field, and Cillian looked up and waved at two women in similar shamrock green robes.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, and Rose did not miss the way his eyes flicked over her body before he stepped past them.
"Merlin's beard, that's Mullet and Moran," Sam said quietly, staring past the other women Troy was walking over to. The three together made up the most successful group of chasers on any professional Quidditch team for more than a decade.
"Getting acquainted with our stars, I see," a man in yellow and black Quidditch robes walked up to the pair of them and gave them a boyish grin.
"Hello, Mr. Bagman," Sam greeted amiably, and Rose's eyes skimmed over Sam's boss curiously. Once a beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, he still gave off the impression of a powerfully built man even beneath a few extra pounds of belly fat he'd put on since his retirement from Quidditch.
"This is my friend Rose Malf—er, Rose Dolohov. Rose this is Ludo Bagman, Head of Magical Games and Sports," Sam introduced, stumbling over her change in last name.
"Thank you so much for having me," Rose said, letting Ludo pump her hand up and down in a jovial greeting.
"The more the merrier," he replied. "You're Lucius Malfoy's girl, right?"
"That's me, sir."
"Please, please, call me Ludo," he said, brushing away the formality. "You'll be in the top box with me tomorrow, then. I'm commentating."
"I can't wait," she said sincerely, and he gave her another grin before walking off to socialize with others.
"I'm so jealous that you get to be in the top box," Sam said with a bit of a pout, and Rose shrugged, finishing the rest of her champagne.
"Do you think the Bulgarian team is here since Ireland is," Rose asked, scanning the field.
"I hope so," Sam replied. "I wonder if we'll run into Krum."
The evening wore on while the pair mingled and drank. Though they caught sight of the Bulgarian beaters Volkof and Vulchanov, it didn't seem as though Krum had attended the pre-game celebration. They spent most of the night socializing with Sam's workplace acquaintances and by a quarter past ten the majority of the attendees were quite drunk. Rose was making her way to a water cooler that had been set up to the side of the stadium. She'd been spacing out her drinks between cups of water and only the warm buzz at the base of her skull indicated how much alcohol she'd ingested.
"Fuck," Rose cursed, when the heel of her pump sank deep into the stadium grass once more. She was getting sick of walking around on her toes all night. Giving her leg an aggressive yank, her foot came free of the ground a bit too suddenly, and she stumbled forward, throwing out her arms to try to regain her balance.
"Alright there, Miss Rose?" Cillian asked, catching her by the arm, his other hand going to her hip. Rose found herself looking up into his blue eyes with both her hands pressed against his broad chest. He grinned at her while her face colored slightly.
"I was hoping we'd run into each other again… perhaps not quite so literally, but I'll take what I can get," he teased. He made no move to release her, and she felt his hand at her hip sink a bit lower. Her wedding ring was clearly visible on the hand she had laid against his chest, and Cillian clearly didn't care. Unsure how she felt about this, Rose carefully disentangled herself from him and stepped out of reach.
"I'm so sorry; it's these damn shoes," she said, hoping he didn't think she was drunk.
"Feel free to lean on me if you need to," he held out an arm for her. "You were headed for the water cooler, right? I was on my way there myself. Have to stay hydrated for tomorrow."
Hesitantly, Rose took his offered arm, letting him lead her over to the water and hand her a cup.
"So… you're a chaser too," he said, and Rose raised her eyebrows at this conversation starter.
"I was, for three years. Nowhere near as good as you, of course."
"I've had a few more years of practice on you," he replied good-naturedly.
"A few," she agreed with a smile. Cillian's easy-going attitude and handsome face made it hard to dislike him even if he was a bit handsy.
"What kind of broom did you ride?"
"A Nimbus 2001," she answered.
"That's pretty good for a school broom," he said in surprise. "Ever been on a firebolt?"
"Is that the line you use on all the girls," she joked, and he laughed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
"Well… none of them have ever called me out on it before," he grinned at her, his eyes sparkling. Rose looked him over, taking in his narrow hips, broad shoulders, muscular arms, and strong jawline in a glance. 'What the hell,' she thought, throwing caution to the wind. Setting down her water glass, she flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and smiled at him.
"Alright, Mr. Troy. Go on and show me your firebolt," she told him suggestively, and his grin widened.
A few minutes later, with the pair at the opposite end of the field from the other partygoers, Rose had to admit that this wasn't exactly what she had in mind. The pair were standing over the firebolt, Troy's arms wrapped around her tightly, her back pressed firmly against his chest. Straddling the broom had made her short dress ride high up her thighs and other than worrying that she'd soon be flashing her panties to whomever happened to look up, she was also worried about falling off.
"Ready," he asked into her ear, and Rose nodded nervously, clutching the broom handle tightly. This didn't seem like a very practical way to ride a broom—which was probably the point.
Troy kicked off the ground gently, and they rose high into the stadium air—much too high for anyone to see her underwear. She began to relax at the familiar feeling of being on a broomstick. She had missed it.
"Are you hanging on," he asked. Rose gripped the handle tighter and squeezed her thighs together.
"Yep," she answered, and as soon as the syllable was out of her mouth, they had shot forward at the speed of a bullet. Rose couldn't help the small shriek of surprise that escaped her lips at the sudden acceleration. The speed of the firebolt was like nothing she'd experienced before. The whole broomstick trembled with power. Her crotch, which was almost directly on the wood itself, separated only by a thin layer of lacy underwear, was rubbing across the broom with each turn they made. Normally, Rose would be able to brace herself using the metal stirrups, but Troy's feet were currently using them. All she could do was let her legs dangle and squeeze them tightly together around the handle which only pressed her intimate places more firmly against the wood. With a growing sense of arousal, Rose understood exactly why Cillian Troy liked to give women a ride on his firebolt.
"How do you like it," he asked, slowing to a hover hundreds of feet in the air. He leaned back and released his hold on the broomstick, letting his hands slide back to her bare thighs, thumbs gently stroking the skin he found there. Rose wondered if he could feel the heat radiating from that part of her body.
"It's fantastic," she said honestly, looking around the stadium and down at the tiny dots on the ground that signified people.
"Did you want to try flying her?"
"Really?" She glanced back at him, and he grinned broadly and nodded. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body flush against his own, her butt now nestled against his crotch.
"Ready when you are," he said huskily into her ear.
Rose took off like a shot, and she grinned a bit when his arms tightened around her to keep him from sliding off the back of the broom. He was clearly used to flying with women who didn't know their way around a broomstick. It took less than a minute for him to abandon holding onto her and return his hands to the handle of the broom so that he could maintain his seat. Rose flew the broom through a series of rapid spirals and loop de loops, laughing joyously as she did so. She really had missed flying. When she eventually slowed to a stop, she could hear Troy chuckling appreciatively in her ear.
"I think this is the first time I've flown with an actual Quidditch player," he said.
"I can tell," she grinned proudly.
"I've had a few claim they played, but all of them panicked when we got in the air and really got going."
"Thanks for taking me up," she said. "I haven't been on a broomstick in months."
"Anytime love," he said, taking back control of the broom and flying them in lazy circles towards the ground. Rose was almost surprised by exactly how light-hearted she felt at the moment. It was certainly the happiest she'd been since Remus had left. She'd spent the last couple months with her head buried in work so she could avoid dealing with her feelings of loss and heartache and hadn't really realized exactly how miserable she was. Seeing Remus again earlier that day hadn't helped matters.
When they touched down on the grass, she didn't resist when Troy took her hand and pulled her towards the changing rooms. Light filtered into the room from the stadium and dimly lit the empty room. He pulled her into a shadow around a row of lockers, and she wasn't at all surprised when his lips crashed down on hers. His hands slid around her waist and down across her backside. She let her hands run up his strong arms and tangle in his short blonde hair, moaning into his mouth while their tongues tangled together. In that moment she didn't care that she was one of many women who had found themselves pressed up against a locker by Cillian Troy. She hadn't had sex in months, wasn't likely to in the foreseeable future, was horny beyond belief, and at this point almost anyone would do. They broke apart briefly and in the half darkness she could almost imagine that it was a different man staring at her with those piercingly blue eyes.
His hands groped for her breasts, quickly pulling her dress down far enough to free them. He planted kisses along her collarbone while he fondled her. She could feel his hands running down to the hem of her dress, and he pulled it up, wrapping one of her legs around his hip as he half lifted, half pressed her against the cold metal of the lockers. They were kissing again, and he was fumbling with his pants, and suddenly he had pushed the crotch of her panties aside and slid into her with a loud moan. Rose gasped into his mouth at the sudden intrusion, her toes curling in a haze of pleasure. The arm around her waist pulled her higher, the toes of her left foot barely touching the floor anymore. His pace was frantic as he thrust into her, bouncing her up and down along his length.
"Remus," she whispered into the semidarkness as her pleasure built towards its peak. If Troy heard the name she'd moaned, he didn't give any signs of caring.
"Cillian," a female voice called inquiringly from the entrance to the changing room. "You in here?"
Rose squirmed in surprise at the unexpected interruption, but Troy wrapped his arm more tightly around her waist and did not stop thrusting into her. If the woman took even a few steps into the room, she would be able to see them. Rose oscillated between panic and pleasure, biting down on her lip to keep from crying out.
"What… do you want… Moran," he called back vaguely, the huskiness of his voice unmistakable. Silence fell for a moment, and Rose was certain that his fellow chaser could hear the wet slap of their bodies each time he buried himself into her.
"When you're done with whatever tart you've dragged in here, Bagman wants a photo," she said flatly—obviously annoyed at what she'd walked in on.
"Got… it…" he grunted, but Moran had already gone. Dropping his head to the crook of her neck, Troy let out a loud groan, his body shuddering while he emptied himself inside of her. Sliding out of her, he slowly lowered her the couple of inches to the ground. The pair stood there panting for a moment before he stepped back and began fixing his robes.
"Thanks for a good time Rose," he said with a wink and a grin, kissing her on her cheek and moving quickly out of the locker room.
Rose stood there for a long moment, unsure exactly how to feel. This was her first encounter with casual sex and though she wasn't feeling used, she didn't feel particularly satisfied either. Moran's sudden intrusion had distracted her enough to keep her from finishing and she was now extremely hot and bothered. Tentatively, she let her fingers trail down to her crotch, and she rubbed them in quick circles, finished herself off to thoughts of being pressed between Remus' body and his desk. Panting quietly in the empty room, Rose pointed her wand at herself and said 'Tergeo.' Now clean, she adjusted her dress to cover her body and ran her fingers carefully through her hair. She had the good sense to look around and make sure no one was watching before walking out of the changing room.
"Where have you been," Sam asked when she rejoined their group.
"Just getting water, was chatting with some people I ran into," Rose answered evasively. The whole encounter with Troy had taken less than forty-five minutes. She looked over to where he and his teammates were crowded around Ludo Bagman, posing for a picture. Glancing up, he caught her eye, winked, and returned to what he was doing.
"More champagne, Miss?" a house elf squeaked up at her.
"Please," she accepted the glass gratefully. Shifting uncomfortably in her damp underwear, the elation from her ride on the broomstick had long faded. Despite the recent pleasure and intimacy with another person, she still felt somehow empty and unsatisfied with no arms to lay in or chest to snuggle against. Throwing back her champagne, she tried not to think about what it meant that, even after these months, not even sex with a famous Quidditch player had the power to take her mind off of Remus Lupin.