Chapter Two

The sun was bright and the skies fair with a soft breeze carrying the smell of the briny ocean throughout Falmouth. It was a perfect day for the Falcons' semifinal match against the Cannons. The stadium was already abuzz with the anticipation of the coming game. The tension between the rival fans was palpable as they waited for the release of the snitch and the drop of the quaffle to begin the game that would determine which team would get to compete for the league's title.

In a pair of short, denim cutoffs, mirrored aviators, and a tight, white t-shirt that had a dark grey falcon stretched across her chest, Hermione trudged up the stairs alongside Viktor to their team's section and platform. She was in a lose lose situation with the afternoon's game, knowing that if the Cannons lost Ron would be unbearable for weeks to come. Worse yet was if they won. His gloating would know no end as he rubbed it in that his team had bested hers. She only hoped that regardless of the match's outcome he wouldn't return to icing her out.

The lunch following hers and Theo's graduation had been a disaster. After Ron had made another dismissive comment about her field of work and the nominal salary he assumed she would be making, she had erupted in a fit of indignation and had hurled the truth about which team she had signed with at him. Things had been frosty between them for several days while he licked his wounds over the perceived betrayal about her working for the Falcons. And just when he had finally begun to cool off and had shown up at her flat to apologize, the Wizarding Wireless began broadcasting the press conference from the kitchen about Viktor's move to the league, particularly to Falmouth. That had set them right back on the course of fighting and yelling at each other. Things finally ended when Ron stormed out of the flat and slammed the door behind him, to once again give her the silent treatment. Then the cherry on the shite sundae had been placed when Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet, and even Quaffle Times had all begun speculating if old flames would begin to rekindle in light of her and Viktor Krum working together. That had all been over the last week and a half and she was sure she couldn't take much more of his pendulum like mood swings.

Pushing it out of her head, Hermione thanked Viktor as he held open the glass door to the family box that hung over the team's platform and locker room. In spite of the tumultuous turn her relationship had taken because of her work, she was excited to finally meet the rest of the players she would be caring for come the new season. Even though she still had ten weeks till training camp commenced, and with it the official start of her job, she was eager to begin working. Not even two weeks had gone by since she completed the program and already she had begun to go a bit stir crazy from the lack of having something productive to do. This was the most idle she had been since before the war and she had quickly grown bored of it. If she was lucky, she would be able to talk the retiring healer into allowing her to take home copies of the players' medical histories. Being able to create new care plans for the players and familiarize herself with their needs would keep her busy during the off season. It would have the added bonus of putting her well ahead of the game for when July finally rolled around.

Swiftly sidestepping a group of children who were chasing each other, Hermione and Viktor crossed the space to an out of the way door. While he waved his wand over the wards so they could pass through, she took in the space around her, noting the openly curious glances that kept darting her way. Realizing her sunglasses were still on, she quickly removed them from her face and stretched them over the top of her head. Meeting the looks of the witches she assumed were the girlfriends and wives of the players, she smiled brightly and offered them a sunny hello. Some of the women who were dressed more casually returned her smile with a warm one of their own. However the ones who dressed as though they were off to tea with the Minister narrowed their eyes at her in visible calculation.

"Well they seem friendly," she sarcastically observed under her breath as she walked through the open door ahead of Viktor.

He snorted a laugh as he followed behind her and in his gravely, accented voice identified, "Quidditch Bunnies and Broom Chasers. Nice to know some things are the same no matter what league you play in."

Descending the closed-in, rounded staircase, she said with a faux chiding, "Don't make me tell Luna on you Viktor. She may seem a little drifty but I've seen her in battle. She is ruthless and will set wrackspurts on you if she finds out you're socializing with the Broom Bunnies."

"Quidditch Bunnies and Broom Chasers," he laughingly corrected.

"Ugh whatever," Hermione dismissed with a wave of her hand. "What's their deal? The others seemed nice enough."

"You're dressed like a player's wife but have no ring. They see you as competition."

"For what?"

He gave her a pointed look as he waited for her to connect the dots in her head.

"Oh come on, I work for the team. They can't seriously think I'm going to what, move in on their hunting territory? Besides, I have a boyfriend. My own quidditch player in fact."

First mumbling something under his breath that she didn't catch, Viktor spoke more clearly saying, "All they see is a new, pretty witch, on the arm of a new player who is getting to go down into the locker room. A place where only wives or witches we plan to marry are allowed. Like it or not you are perceived as their competition. Maybe even more so because of your job. You are in a wizard dominated field of healing after all. Pay them no mind though. Players rarely ever marry Bunnies. The door will probably have revolved to a new crop come next season."

Bumping his hip with her own, Hermione teased, "You sure are knowledgeable in all things Bunny."

Giving her an exasperated look, he bumped her back with enough force to unsteady her as he reminded her, "In case you've forgotten, I have been a professional player for nearly ten years."

"I'm not hearing a denial about you ever having had a Broom Bunny of your own," she sing-songed, turning around to bump the locker room door open with her bum.

"Broom Chaser and Quidditch Bunny. And I dated you, didn't I?" He teased, earning him a swat on his chest. As she turned around he added in warning, "Penis," before slapping a massive hand over her eyes in time to shield her vision from one of the players sauntering out from the showers with his towel draped over his shoulders instead of around his waist. "Witch in the room!" Viktor boomed.

Hermione burst into laughter at the string of swears that echoed around the room and the sounds of fumbling as the players scurried to make themselves decent.

Pushing Viktor's hand away, she announced, "As you were," before making her way down the aisle of lockers with her eyes straight ahead. "None of you have anything I haven't seen before or won't see at some point during next season," she assured them.

Crossing paths with a half dressed player, she thought, Except maybe you.

Normally used to finding herself on the shorter end of the height spectrum and unsurprised by it anymore, Hermione was taken aback by his tall presence. Tracking her eyes over his rippled stomach and broad chest, she instantly estimated him to be closing in on, if not surpassing, two meters. Her gaze drifted over the ink of his tattoo, the design stretching over his right pectoral and around his shoulder before coming down to just above his elbow. She recognized it to be muggle-made by its lack of movement over his skin, the revelation piquing her curiosity. Drawing her eyes further up, she took in his defined jaw, full lips, surprisingly straight nose given his profession, and luminescent peridot eyes. His short, messy arrangement of brown hair that was already beginning to bleach from the increasingly longer days, rounded out his appearance.

"Sorry about them, Granger. This lot has no home training," he said, with a deep, caressing voice that banished any doubt from her mind that he was the most attractive wizard she had ever seen and she had lived with Theodore Nott for the last three years.

"I'm the one that's encroaching on your pregame territory," she said, paying no mind to the rowdy behavior she knew they no doubt got up to before and after games. "However you do have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am but I don't know who you are."

Something about him tickled the back of her mind. Looking him over again, she tried to envision him as shorter and possibly scrawny or maybe with a healthy layer of baby fat but still she couldn't place him. He wasn't that much older than her so she knew she had to have known him, or at the very least of him, from school but she couldn't place any of the pubescent house players with the man before her.

"Of course I know who you are. You're the new team healer," he replied with a mischievous smile that told her he knew more about her than just her relationship to the team. "I just hope you know what you signed on for because we're going to keep you rather busy."

"I'm going to figure it out," she warned, matching his teasing glint.

"Doesn't count if you read it off my back," he said, coming around her so they changed places.

Turning around to face him as she started walking backwards, scrunching up her face against her growing smile, Hermione replied, "You just keep your front to me and I'll figure it out. And I'll do it without cheating."

As she turned back around to continue following Viktor out to the platform, he called out, "Don't worry, I know you didn't cheat your way here. You got in on pure talent."

Coming up short, she whirled back around and gave his smirking face a third examination. Picturing his jaw more rounded, his nose horribly off center, and his beautifully white, straight teeth as a mess of overcrowding, who he was clicked into place.

"Marcus Flint," she triumphantly identified while silently thinking, Sweet Godric, how is it fair that he grew into that?

"You look good, Granger," he complemented, turning away and down a bank of lockers.

She momentarily lost herself as she watched his tight bum walk away and absently thought, Merlin, I can't decide if he looks better going or coming.

"Wrackspurts may fly in if you don't close your mouth," Viktor teased from beside her, pushing the bottom of her jaw closed.

Shaking the inappropriate appreciation for a wizard who wasn't her boyfriend from her head, Hermione said, "Don't be ridiculous, Luna says they fly in through your ears to muddle up your brain, not your mouth. As her boyfriend you should know this."

Pushing out of the locker room doors, she was once again enveloped in the anxious energy of the stadium. While she had never been what anyone would call a die hard fan of the sport, she had always appreciated the contagious excitement of professional matches. Even more so the breathtaking skill and heart stopping maneuvers the players engaged in. They all worked together in a beautifully choreographed pattern that made her admire their athleticism. She would probably never understand the obsession that was quidditch but she fully understood the dedication and the drive each of the players possessed to have made it to a caliber of this level within the sport.

Placing her sunglasses back on her face as she walked out onto the open platform, Hermione greeted Hamilton Mueller, the owner of the team, alongside Viktor. The three of them took a small section of seats behind the players' benches and fell into an easy conversation about their individual plans for the off season. With some good natured ribbing about her divided interest in who won, they quickly passed the remaining time and before she knew it, the locker room doors were banging open with a thunderous clap.

Twenty-one of the impossibly large, brutish looking men who made up the reserve team flooded from the locker room. All traces of their rowdy, care-free ways from earlier were gone as they presented the formidable facades that the Falmouth Falcons were known for. Each of them banged the handle end of their brooms into the stone floors of the platform, the war-like sound echoing throughout the stadium. One by one, the third, second, and first reserve players each took their assigned spots on the bench, a final thunder clap of their brooms ringing out. For a brief moment the sound of the ocean waves could be heard within the stadium before a chorus of boos and vulgar shouts broke out from the visiting team's section.

Leaning into Viktor's side, Hermione commented, "They really are quite nasty aren't they?"

"Don't let them fool you," he answered gruffly. "Falmouth fans give as good as they get where the Cannons are concerned."

Like an answer to a siren's call, the locker room slammed open once again to reveal the starting line up formed into an inverted V. At the point was the team's seeker who was retiring from the game at the end of the season for a lucrative announcing job with the Wizarding Wireless. Directly flanking him on his left and closest to where Hermione sat was Marcus Flint. Had she seen him like this in the locker room she wouldn't have been in such disbelief at finding out who he was. His teasing and playful demeanor was wiped clean and in its place a man who anyone could believe would snatch a beater's bat from a player's hand to take out a rival player. She of course had seen the pre-match spectacle the Cannons put on to shake up their opponents and rally their fans but if she was to give an honest appraisal in the face of seeing the Falcons', she would be forced to call Ron's team comical at best. They were truly intimidating and worthy of their fierce reputation.

Hermione hadn't even realized how transfixed she had become on the players, or rather Marcus, until he turned his head a fraction to his left to look at her. As they slashed their brooms from left to right and got ready to fly through and off the platform, his full lips quirked up into half a smile at her, a wink accompanying the look. The cheek he flashed her in the face of needing to look powerful and wrathful, had her smiling and shaking her head at his antics.

Mouthing, "Good luck," as he faced forward again, she was unprepared for the whoosh of the team's brooms as they flew down the wide aisle and onto the pitch. Startled by the sharp gust of wind, she yelped and grabbed onto a laugh in Viktor's arm, Mr. Mueller patting her knee as he too laughed at her sudden start.

"Having you join our family is going to be like a breath of fresh air," he chuckled, rising to his feet. "Come on, the best view is at the edge of the platform," he said, holding his hand out to her.

Shakily taking the grandfatherly wizard's hand, Hermione yanked Viktor along with her, needing his hulking frame for support. As she approached the edge, her legs began to wobble like jelly. In addition to her lack of passion for the game, her near nonexistent skill with a broom and very existent fear of heights further confused people about her chosen profession. However she figured if she could survive the war and not crack under Bellatrix Lestrange's torture, she could conquer a tiny, irrational thing like a fear heights. Even if being so close to a free fall had her stomach matching the swooping dives the Falcons were doing for their cheering fans.

"I still wonder how you came to decide on sports healing for your specialty," Mr. Mueller commented affectionately, as he helped her onto the bench at the corner of the platform. "Especially because Healer Asclepius said had you stayed with Accident and Emergency that you would be running the department within ten years. However I'm not one to look a gift Abraxan in the mouth. Saint Mungo's loss will no doubt be the Falcons' gain."

That was the question still on everyone's mind even nine months after finalizing her specialty. One that only Theo knew the whole answer to having witnessed the unraveling of her plans first hand.

"I just hope I live up to everything you are expecting of me and that you will find me worthy of the generous salary and benefits package you offered," she smoothly deflected.

Finally after the three starting chasers made her grip the edge of her seat as they took unnecessary risks to show off their skills, the two teams circled the referee ready to begin the match. The head referee who was mounted in the center of the circle gave an echoing sigh as the two teams refused to shake hands. After she gave a brief run through of what was at stake with the afternoon's match and a pointed look at Marcus and one of the beaters as she reminded them all to play a clean game, the snitch was released and the quaffle dropped with the Falcons taking instant possession.

Time flew by as the game progressed. Both sides were giving the match their all, neither team allowing the other to creep too far ahead in the accumulation of points. Before she knew it, the first hour of the game was coming to a close, with everyone flying back to their platforms for the scheduled fifteen minute break that was needed for the Wizarding Wireless.

Taking the opportunity presented, Hemrione gingerly got up from her seat and asked the current healer if he minded her shadowing. With a grunt that reeked of sour alcohol, he shoved a kit into her hands and instructed her to follow him.

"Tend to Fowler's shoulder," he slurred, lumbering off to one of the chasers whose fingers were bent at an unnatural angle.

He's lit brighter than George's fireworks, she thought with unease as she headed over to Fowler.

Helping him remove his padding and jersey, her gaze kept flickering to the work the other healer was doing. Not trusting him in the state he was in, she decided that once she had reset Fowler's shoulder, she would come behind and covertly check the work on the other player's hand.

Running her wand over the dislocated shoulder she pulled up a brief image of the joint to verify that none of the muscles or tendons had torn. Scrutinizing the unrepaired wear she found on the ligaments, she made a mental note to run a full health diagnostic on each of the players, her ire rising at the lack of care their current healer was showing them.

Coming behind the massive player, Hermione began to manipulate his body into position. Once she had him in the proper place, she stepped onto the bench taking care to gently place one foot between his legs.

"This is going to hurt," she warned.

Before he could even say anything in response, she forced his arm back into socket with a muggle technique.

"Son of a fucking bitch!" Fowler swore, hissing his breath in and out. "You're a witch, why would you do it like that?" He demanded.

Stepping down from the bench, she began casting the healing spells to knit everything back together. Once she was done, she handed him a mild pain potion and began to rub and massage the tissue around his shoulder.

Rotating his arm up and back to stretch out the now stiff muscles, she answered, "When it comes to healing, not everything is better with magic. Some injuries the body needs at least some of the time it would take a muggle to properly heal. You already have excessive ligament damage from hastily reset joints and improper care management." Looking down the bench as the sloshed healer sloppily finished up with the hand he was working on, she added, "Through no fault of your own, I'm sure." Patting his arm she followed up with, "Wait five minutes and then you'll be good to redress. Also, be prepared to undergo a full examination come July. June, if I can get Mr. Mueller to agree to letting me start early."

Checking the ticking time that hung in the center of the pitch, Hermione scurried over to the injured chasers and grabbed his hand without ceremony. Waving off his protests, she removed both his gloves and held his hands up to her eyes for examination. Feeling out every joint and testing the flexibility of them she huffed in agitation.

"Your fingers are much too stiff," she muttered. "I don't have the time to properly fix it now but if you dislocate or break another let me heal it and after this match I'm going to properly mend the fine bones in your hands and wrists. That fucking lush has given you early arthritis," she swore.

Only half listening to the player as he sputtered at her quick assessment, she summoned her purse and removed a balm she had packed for just in case. Slathering his hands in the eucalyptus compound, she re-gloved him and determined him fit enough to continue playing.

Looking at a wind blown and sweaty Marcus, she asked, "Are you good? Do you need me to check anything?"

"Do you have any plans for after the game?" He asked instead of answering.

Candidly she replied, "That depends on how this match turns out."

"Either way, I would like to take you out to dinner after this. Especially if it turns out for the worse."

With a rueful smile, she said, "I'm afraid that won't be possible."

Marcus stood up from the bench as the warning whistle echoed around the stadium and folded his hands over the hilt of his broom.

Resting his chin atop his knuckles, his bright eyes came to be on level with her as he asked, "Why not? Are the tabloids actually reporting the truth and you and Krum have rekindled your childhood romance?"

"Hardly," she laughed.

Before she could tell him that she was unavailable, just not because of Krum, the whistle summoning the players back to the pitch sounded.

"Put a pin in this, Granger," he instructed, walking backward to the edge of the platform. "I want to continue this at the next break."

"Marcus, look out!" She shouted in response but not fast enough to keep him from falling off the edge.

Rushing forward with her wand ready, her heart and stomach fell to her bum as she saw him fly back up, securely mounted on his broom. Clutching her chest, she sucked in all the oxygen that had left her a split second earlier.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" She chastised, making him laugh as he flew to the center of the pitch.

"Agree to dinner and we'll have a deal!" He called over his shoulder.

Rolling her eyes at his antics in dismissal, she searched the disembarking Cannons for Ron. Finding him flying past Marcus on his way to the goal posts, she gave him an excited wave and beaming smile only for him to return it with a heavy scowl and a face that was turning puce. Not entirely sure what had gotten his wand in a knot this time, she turned around and resumed her seat between a chatting Viktor and Mr. Mueller.

Once game play had resumed, it was clear that the Cannons' tactics had changed drastically. With each strike at a bludger and kick and shove towards a player, Hermione found herself inching closer and closer to the edge of her seat. Even without a mastery of the game she could see they had begun targeting one player in particular, that player being Marcus Flint.

"What the hell are they doing?" She asked aloud not expecting an answer.

"I don't think Ronald is fond of other wizards taking notice of you," Viktor supplied.

"Don't be ridiculous," she brushed off only to watch in horror as Ron kicked Marcus back from the goal posts.

The force of the hit thankfully wasn't enough to knock him off his broom, merely tilt him off course for a moment, a standard defense move that keepers often utilized. However, it set him right in the path of hurtling bludgers, both of them on a crash course for Marcus's dominant side.

"Oh my God!" Hermione yelled, jumping up as they slammed into him.

Even though the outraged roar of the crowd was deafening, she was sure she could hear the sick sound of his bones shattering and embedding themselves into his muscles. The force of both aggressively charmed balls knocked him off his broom and sent him hurtling towards the ground.

Screaming out the charms to slow his ascent and cushion the grass of the pitch, Hermione grabbed Viktor and a broom from one of the reserve players. Shoving it into his hands, she got on behind him without a second thought and squeezed her arms around him as he sent them in a nosedive towards Marcus leaving the drunk and stumbling healer behind.

Jumping off the broom the moment Viktor straightened them out, she sprinted to where Marcus was drifting to the ground. Conjuring a stretcher, she secured him to it and sliced his pads and jersey from his body to assess the damage. Yanking the shredded garment from him, she confirmed that his injury was exactly as she had feared. Shards of his ribs stuck out of his flesh at sickening angles while others were so ruptured that parts of his chest and torso collapsed in on him. Quickly she cast a charm over him to magically help his lungs work and put him into an enchanted sleep while she began running diagnostics to see where she needed to start.

Seeing the other healer heading for them, she put herself between him and Marcus and growled, "Stay away from him! In your state, you'll end his career!"

"His career is already over," he snapped, trying to shove her aside only for Viktor and Fowler to yank the man back from her.

"I won't let you come near him," she reiterated, her arms spread out to block as much of Marcus as she could. Looking at Mr. Mueller she beseeched, "He's not fit to heal anyone right now nor is he qualified to do anything of this magnitude. This is why you hired me. I can heal him and rehabilitate him in time for the next season. Let me do this."

"It's going to be a World Cup season, Hermione. Are you sure you can do this? No one has come back from this sort of injury. Most can barely even play a backyard game after this. It's an impossible task," Mr. Mueller said.

"I helped Harry Potter succeed in defeating Voldemort," she replied confidently. "If I was able to manage that with hardly any direction, I can get Marcus Flint back on his broom come July."