Millie Bickerstaff, at first glance, didn't look like someone who rose to the highest echelons of medical professionals in Wizarding Britain. Her dress looked like something ripped off an eighteenth century schoolmarm. She was taller than Megan, but not by very much, slim and energetic, her coffee-coloured skin smooth and unwrinkled. The gray streaks threading through her dreadlocks, though, acknowledged her decades of experience.
"Six days a week, then?"
Megan nodded. "I'm really excited for the opportunity to learn from you, and I'm already months behind where a normal apprentice would be."
Millie sipped her tea. "Well, you're hardly the typical trainee. How many hours will 'mornings and afternoons' be?"
"I was thinking seven in the morning until three in the afternoon." She'd be able to make it to Grimmauld just after Teddy's nap that way.
"With lunch at the typical hour?"
"I'd planned to work straight through." It was only eight hours!
The healer frowned, but the expression disappeared quickly. "I hardly think a half hour to have a meal will make much of a difference," though she quickly added, "But it's your decision, of course."
"What if we started earlier? Say, 6:30?"
Millie didn't look enthused at that proposal, but nonetheless replied, "Very well. I'll see you tomorrow?"
Tomorrow? "You, er, wanted to begin right away?"
"Is that a problem?"
The championship was only four days away! Then again, she'd already arranged to spend Sundays away from St. Mungo's, so if Harry needed her after the game it would hardly be an imposition. "No problem at all. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"I look forward to working with you, Miss Jones. Good day."
"Yes ma'am, thank you!"
Megan shook her hand, and made to stand up from the table they occupied in the hospital cantina when they were interrupted by a familiar face. "Madam Bickerstaff! It's so wonderful to see you again. You were in my instructor rotation for three months before you retired."
Millie stared at Patricia for a moment, obviously searching her memory. "Yes, of course. It was a dark time, and I'm pleased to see you persevered, Healer…"
"Stimpson," Patricia helpfully supplied. "Well, it's great to see you back. I hope you'll find time to share some of your experience with the rest of the staff."
"Perhaps. However, my purpose in returning to St. Mungo's is Miss Jones' instruction. If you'll excuse me."
Patricia didn't seem bothered by Millie's dismissal, waiting for her to leave before taking the seat she just vacated. "Bickerstaff hasn't changed much. The apprentices in my class used to joke that she 'put the chill in the children's ward'."
"Really?" She seemed pleasant, if somewhat abrupt to Megan. "I thought you liked her?"
"I do. She's phenomenal. Rumour had it she was competing for the director's position before it was awarded to Madam Fulbright. She's an amazing healer."
"Can you tell me more about what it was like during your training? Like, the schedule?"
"Why do you want to know? You've got this separate arrangement."
"Tricia…"
"Alright, alright. But you're buying me lunch."
"Okay, deal." While Patricia grabbed a sandwich and a bag of crisps, Megan thought over her initial meeting with Madam Bickerstaff. The woman was- well, she wasn't what Megan imagined a healer specialising in pediatrics would be.
She sounded a lot nicer in her letter.
Not that it mattered, not really, she thought as she reached into her purse for a few Sickles to pay for her friend's meal. Everything was finally working out exactly how it should.
Megan rolled off of him, brushing away the hair that clung to her sweaty face. "That was- mm, Harry- I have to-" he insistently kissed her with increasing strength while she mumbled against his lips. "Gotta go."
"Why?" he murmured, hand sliding up her waist to cup her breast. "Just stay the night."
That idea was sounding better by the second. "I can't."
"You didn't stay last night, either. Is everything alright?"
It hadn't been a coincidence. Megan was forced, after the awkward shame of her afternoon at Longbottom Manor, to admit she'd been letting her 'boundaries' around this… association with Harry to lapse as of late. She'd resolved to do a better job at keeping her head from floating into the clouds in the future - although, naturally, that resolution stopped well short of ending their physical encounters. If anything, the sex had only gotten better since her first time. "Of course! It's just, I've got to work in the morning. My first day!"
"Right." His hand trailed away, coming to rest on her hip instead. "I don't think you need to worry so much, though."
How could she explain what this meant to her? Harry - quite justifiably - was completely in the dark about her struggles during their school years. For someone like her, an opportunity like this was once-in-a-lifetime. "I can't disappoint Madam Bickerstaff. This means a lot to me and I'm going to give it my all."
"Okay. You're right, best foot forward! Let me get dressed and I'll apparate you home." Harry pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "Have I told you today I'm really proud of you?"
"Not in the last hour," Megan grinned, rolling back onto her shoulders to pull up her knickers. They quickly dressed, and he ferried her to her apartment shortly after. With a last, lingering kiss in her entryway, he was gone.
Without Harry there to distract her, she was beset by nerves at what was to come the next morning. Patricia's explanation of how healer training normally worked only made her all the more aware of what a privilege it was to have a master healer solely dedicated to her instruction.
It was no wonder Madam Bickerstaff seemed dissatisfied at her suggested schedule. For normal apprentices, a twelve-hour day, six days a week was the standard. No one had set instructors; instead, they rotated between the hospital's eight departments throughout the week for four hours, each, at a time.
From what Patricia said, it was a grueling endurance contest, forcing trainees to grapple with diverse ailments, illnesses, and injuries. Seventy hour weeks for eight months, with the schedule only easing for an apprentice's final two months spent focused on their area of specialty. Compared to the normal program, Megan's training may as well have been plodding along at a snail's pace.
'You're getting ahead of yourself' she internally chided. Maybe having a dedicated instructor would allow her to advance quicker than the regular trainees.
Maybe this would be - for the first time in her life - the moment when Megan Jones excelled.
"Good morning. I'm Healer Bickerstaff, and this is my apprentice. I understand you've had some discomfort in your throat?"
"That's correct," the middle-aged man said, his voice quiet and strained. Malcolm Tinsdale was paunchy, with thick curly hair that was more grey than brown, owner of an owl-order catalog business. "Hurts to swallow, and I can barely turn my head."
"Let's see if we can't figure out the problem. Jones, a standard diagnostic charm, if you would."
Suppressing the swell of excitement at treating her first actual patient, Megan stepped forward and verbally incanted the requisite charm, taking great care to make her wand movements tight and precise. The information her spell returned pointed towards a particular ailment, albeit an unlikely one. "Do you have any children, Mr. Tinsdale?"
"No, never married."
Megan's eyebrows crinkled in thought, then with slow, careful movements raised her wand to his neck and enunciated a more localized detection charm, one she frequently used when employed with Harpies. No muscular damage, like she thought.
"Well? What's your diagnosis, Jones?" Madam Bickerstaff looked cross for some reason, her question delivered in a terse voice.
"It appears to be Mumblemumps, but the likelihood of him contracting it without-"
"Have you spent any time with relatives lately?" she interrupted, and Tinsdale nodded, his answer thick and muted.
"M'brother and his family visited from America. Staying for the holidays."
"I'm afraid you've picked up a bug from them, but the good news is you'll be fully recovered in time to enjoy the Yule celebrations. Until then, you'll need to stay here. We'll give you something to reduce the swelling, which should ease the tenderness around your neck."
"Oh, I could cast a numbing charm-"
"Miss Jones, if you'll follow me, please?" Millie returned the chart to its place at the foot of Mr. Tinsdale's bed, escorting her out of the room into the corridor. "What is the matter with you?"
Megan's shoulders tensed. "Was I- did I overstep my bounds there? I'm sorry, it just seemed more expedient to use a charm while we were right there…"
"It's not that. We'll prescribe Mr. Tinsdale a potion and one of the interns will drop it off. I understand you were in sports medicine, but proper healing does not rely so heavily on wandwork. You need to remember you're no longer in a locker room."
"Yes ma'am."
"Healers sometimes see dozens of patients in a day. Using spells so freely with low-priority patients means you may exhaust yourself and be unable to render the necessary assistance if a high-priority case does arrive."
That actually made a lot of sense. "I understand. I'm sorry."
"That's not what you should be apologising for. Why are you using verbal incantations?"
She froze. "Er- I, uh, I wanted to make sure I got it right."
"Stop it. Nonverbal only, from here on. Your patients need to be confident the care their healer suggests is the most sound option, medically. It's hard to take seriously someone that hasn't mastered silent casting."
When was the last time she cast silently? Hogwarts? A cold sweat broke out under the mauve-coloured apprentice robes Megan received that morning. "Okay. It won't happen again."
"Good. Let's continue our rounds."
They made their way through the rest of the Magical Bugs ward, seeing another six patients. On the first one after Mr. Tinsdale, Megan miscast the diagnostic charm. She wanted to crawl into a hole at the look on Millie's face, and for the remainder of their rounds, the master healer did all the spellcasting herself.
After they finished on the second floor, Millie escorted her down to the ground level. Walking into the Alchemy Room, where all the hospital's potions were brewed, was an uncomfortable experience. Sweltering from the lit flames beneath twenty copper cauldrons, the air was thick with potion fumes.
"Since you don't have much experience with brewing, we'll be spending two hours each day here to make sure your skills are where they should be."
There was nothing 'cold' about her sweat now. Megan ran the back of her hand over her forehead, then pushed her bangs back behind her ears. "What should I start with?"
"Are you familiar with the blood-replenishing potion?"
That was one of the first ones she'd covered in her recent home-study. "Yes, I am, but it's been awhile since I've brewed it."
"Excellent! I've arranged these two cauldrons for our use. You may begin."
Pulling the ingredients out of the storage cabinets, Megan arranged her workspace the way her textbooks instructed. She tested the edge of her paring knife, laid out the ingredients and began.
Millie was totally unlike Professors Snape and Slughorn; she was quiet, occasionally peering into Megan's cauldrons and offering a time-saving tip, but otherwise simply observing from the edges of the room.
"Why haven't you cast a Bubble-Head Charm?" she asked, when Megan began stirring her potions.
"The extra layer of protection can, in rare cases, obscure the brewer's vision." She recited the line directly from her textbooks and Millie gave a brief nod, accepting her reasoning.
In reality, Megan simply didn't believe she was capable of silently casting a spell that advanced.
After she let the potion cool for the requisite amount of time, Megan poured the deep red liquid into a large bottle, passing it to her trainer for inspection.
"A good showing for your first day," was all she said. "Let's break for lunch, and meet at the children's ward in a half hour."
She found Patricia in the cantina, grateful that their break synced up today of all days. "Hey, can I sit with you?"
Some of the other healers at the table raised their eyebrows when they saw the colour of her robes, but Patricia quickly made space for her. "This is Megan, an old friend. She's Bickerstaff's new project."
The stares she received after that comment switched from disdain to fascination. "Is that so?" asked a tall, dark-skinned man. "Aldritch Ballard, nice to meet you. None of us could believe that old battle-axe actually came out of retirement, and for a trainee, at that! You must have some deep connections."
"I had some strong recommendations, that might be what did it," Megan said, shrugging. "I'd never met Healer Bickerstaff before she made the offer."
Her reply must have satisfied them, because other than a few more curious looks, the healers went back to their conversation while Megan silently ate. They all sounded so knowledgeable, so professional; in a year, would she sound like that?
Yes, she would. Madam Fulbright and Bickerstaff thought so, or they wouldn't have given her this opportunity! All it would take was hard work. Megan promised herself she'd try twice as hard for the rest of the day.
The healers all finished before her, cleaning up the remains of their meals and taking their trays to the refuse bin. Patricia lingered behind, leaning down to speak quietly into Megan's ear. "Thought I'd give you a word of warning. You're not too popular with this year's batch of apprentices." Her old Housemate's eyes flicked towards a group in mauve-coloured robes, two tables up from where they sat.
"Why not?" Megan hadn't even met any of them!
"Special treatment. They don't think it's fair you get an instructor all to yourself, and don't have to pull the same hours."
"Oh." She couldn't really rebut that accusation. "You- that's not what you think, is it?"
Patricia hesitated for a second before saying, "Of course not! If anyone deserves a break, it's you. You're the most qualified trainee to enter the apprenticeship program in ages!" But her initial pause told Megan everything she needed to know about her friend's actual opinion. "I get why they're frustrated, but you're not who they should direct that towards. Keep your chin up!"
"Thanks, Tricia."
Her optimism flagging, Megan finished her meal alone. First days were rough for everyone, right?
She'd barely stepped free of the fireplace before Teddy grabbed her hand, excitedly tugging at her. "Daddy doesn't know where the park is! I wanted to go play, but he said he couldn't find it!"
Megan set her bag down on the coffee table, the weight landing with a dull thud. She'd packed several books Madam Bickerstaff recommended she read. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'll make sure I tell him how to get there."
"Why weren't you here? You should'a been here!"
Harry appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking harried. Obviously, Teddy had been a handful today. "We really missed you," he said, obviously relieved at her arrival. "It was a rough day."
"So I see," she said primly, taking Teddy by the hand and walking him towards the bathroom. "If your dad's making dinner, that means it's time to wash up."
"No! I want to play!"
Feet aching from walking around the hospital all day, hands hurting from dicing ingredients, Megan was physically and mentally exhausted from her first day. If ever there was a time she wished for Teddy to be quiet and calm, it was now.
"Teddy, no," she ordered in as firm a voice as she could muster. "It's time to wash up, and then you can tell me all about your day while we eat." She shot a questioning look at Harry to gauge when dinner would be done, and he nodded.
The ensuing tantrum was mercifully short, and had the added side effect of Teddy's appearance transforming back to that of his godfather's. Three year olds could be so fickle, she thought with a grin while making certain he was secure in his high chair.
Harry emerged from the kitchen with their meal, and if anyone later asked, Megan honestly wouldn't have been able to say what she was eating. Why was she so worn out? She'd spent years at Holyhead using far more magic than she'd done today!
She fielded his questions about her first day, but her wan responses to his enthusiasm eventually muted their conversation. While Harry and Kreacher tackled the dishes, Megan escorted Teddy upstairs for his bath.
After the fourth time he splashed her, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He was only acting his age, reacting to a change in the fragile routine they'd established after his grandmother's death. So she patiently corrected his actions and briskly finished bath time.
Since it was still early, they whiled away the next few hours playing with his toys, reading books, and listening to the Wireless. By the time Teddy was tucked in, Megan was considering crawling in next to him. Once they were outside his room, though, Harry slid an arm around her waist and pressed a feather-light kiss against the base of her jaw. Megan shuddered in response, feeling a shiver of excitement race down her spine.
"Do you want me to take you home again?" His fingers pressed into her shoulder blades, firmly but not roughly working at her muscles.
It felt divine. "Mm… keep doing that."
She leaned more of her weight onto him and one of his arms dropped to wrap around her waist. "Let's get you off your feet and I'll keep going. I heard from a brilliant medical professional once that backrubs can help you relax." Her face heated up at his words, and the memory of that first night on his sofa warmed other parts of her body, too.
"I don't know…" Tonight was supposed to be spent practicing silent casting. Teddy was asleep, she was technically 'off', so she needed to get home and make sure she was capable of casting the diagnostic charm silently, backwards, forwards, and in her sleep if necessary! "I've got a lot of work to do before I can call it a night."
"I'll be quick."
The hand on her back drifted up her body, his light touch raising all the hairs on her neck. Megan let out a breathy sigh as Harry began massaging her scalp. Did he realise how he affected her? "That feels so good," she mumbled.
Harry lowered his head to plant a kiss in her hair, and she could feel the smile on his lips. "C'mon."
It was a short walk to his room, and Megan flounced onto the bed. "Okay, Potter, show me your stuff."
He began by rubbing her shoulders, but that only lasted perhaps a minute before he was unbuttoning her blouse. "I'm sure the fabric's a bother," was his offhand comment, and she smothered a laugh when he undid the clasp on her bra right after removing her top.
Harry's touch was soft, but his hands were rough, and- and oh so masculine. His feather-light strokes left trails of desire burning in their path. Her weariness receded, replaced by an altogether different sort of ache. "That's nice," she purred as he moved steadily down her back.
Megan reached around, unzipping her skirt despite his progress stalling around her shoulder blades, lifting her hips expectantly for him to tug her skirt - and knickers - off of her. Judging by the several heartbeats that passed before he did so, Harry wasn't sure what to make of her boldness.
She sat up in his bed, reaching for his clothes, but he clasped her hands in his own. "But you said, before-"
"Shhh," she interrupted with a lingering kiss, pulling his hand down past her belly. "I've got some tension that needs working out."
Megan let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding as she led Teddy into the private box. The dull clamour of the sold-out stadium melted away, Harry's luxury suite filtering out most of the chaotic background roar of the crowd.
On their left was a wet bar manned by a witch wearing Puddlemere colours, plates of hors d'oeuvres crowding her limited workspace, mixing a drink for the Longbottoms. Directly in front of them was a massive window wall complete with a clear glass door leading to a viewing balcony, where a small group of people she didn't recognise stood, watching the two teams run through warmup drills. Sets of omniculars were stacked neatly on a balcony table. The left side of the suite was a lounge space, plush leather armchairs and loveseats, a coffee table, and a Wireless set tuned to the game's announcers.
In one of those chairs sat Hermione Granger, a book surreptitiously open on her lap while she nodded along to her boyfriend's words. Megan quickly looked away, trying instead to meet Hannah's eyes, but it was too late. Hermione had already risen from her seat and was making her way towards them.
"My-Knee!" Teddy, at least, was pleased to see her.
"Hey there! It's great to see you again. Want to come sit with us?" Hermione's eyes shot up from the little boy's face to Megan's. "We saved you both a seat."
"Sure," she agreed easily, "Let me get Teddy something to eat and we'll stop by."
"Oh, no need for that. Ron's got enough to share with half the stadium."
"Um…" Megan looked around desperately, but Neville and Hannah had joined the others outside on the balcony. "Great. Lead the way."
Ron Weasley - much like Harry, now that she thought about it - had grown into his features, but his goofy grin was still boyish as he patted the empty spot on his loveseat. "Teddy, my man! Finally, someone to talk quidditch with. Hermione's so bad at pretending to listen she can't even nod in the right places!"
Teddy climbed into the offered spot, immediately devouring the plate of sugary sweets Ron set in front of him. Other than a tight nod in Megan's direction, he ignored her.
"Don't mind him," Hermione said softly. "He's upset at the situation, not at you."
Megan watched Ron tuck a napkin into Teddy's collar before the two of them ferociously attacked the assembled hors d'oeuvres. "What situation? You mean me taking care of Teddy?"
"No," Hermione said, her voice low to keep from being overheard. "I mean you and Harry being together."
When she attempted to sputter out a denial, the brunette shot her a look. "We've known Harry longer than anyone, you think we don't see it?"
"Harry said he didn't tell anyone…" Megan muttered weakly.
"He didn't have to. The things he's been doing said it all." 'What things?' "I know the last time we talked I wasn't very polite. I'd like to apologise for that."
"It's fine." She kept her eyes glued to Teddy while Ron stood up to grab him some juice and a beer for himself.
"No, it's really not. After the war, everything seemed to fall into place. Ron and I, Harry and Ginny; one big Weasley family, together forever. Our kids would grow up together, attend Hogwarts together. It's hard to let that go."
The wistful note in Hermione's voice softened Megan. That did sound rather marvelous. "Harry doesn't want children."
She didn't turn to see the other woman's expression, feeling a touch of anxiety as Ron handed off the juice to Teddy and led him out to the balcony. Were there safety charms in place? Maybe she ought to go out with them, just to be certain… "I should really keep an eye on Teddy."
"Right, of course, I won't keep you. Just- don't take anything Ron says personally, please. He's furious about what happened."
Furious at what, exactly? Megan losing her career, not knowing how she'd be able to survive on her own? At her and Harry enjoying each other only after Ron's sister left him?
She took a deep breath, giving Hermione a nod and a mumbled "sure" before walking away. This was Ron's sister they were talking about, of course he'd take her version of events at face value. And it hardly mattered whether Harry's friends approved of what they were doing together, not anymore than Megan's friends' opinions mattered. It was just a fling, after all.
Opening the balcony door, she immediately winced at the sight of Teddy standing on the railing, holding up the expensive omniculars to his face while Ron securely held his waist with both hands.
"-and they use them to hit these big iron balls at other players. The other team will try and stop your godfather from catching the golden snitch, and the ones on his team will try and stop the Harpies' chasers."
"Neat!"
"It really is," Ron confirmed. "Did you know Harry set a record this season? He caught the snitch faster, over all the games, than any other seeker since the British and Irish League formed. So the Harpies are going to try really hard to stop him."
"Ballycastle tried the same thing, and it didn't work for them," the dark-skinned man from the Longbottom wedding said, moving over to join the commentary.
"Maybe, but that was the longest game of Harry's career. If the Bats had a better chaser squad, they might have pulled it out. I can't see Puddlemere locking down the Harpies the same way. Puddlemere's counting on him to get the snitch, fast."
Their discussion was more quidditch talk than she was interested in hearing. "Teddy, are you alright out here?"
"Yep!" he replied without looking away from the pitch.
"Okay, well I'm going to go back inside for a minute, but I'll be back shortly if you need me."
"Jones, hold on. Dean, mind helping Teddy grab me another set of omniculars?" The other man nodded, taking hold of Teddy's hand and meandering back towards the others.
"Yes?" she asked warily, bracing herself for an angry tirade.
"My mum wanted me to invite you to the after-party at the Burrow."
Her eyebrows raised. "I'm really only here to watch Teddy…"
"Ginny won't be there, if that's what you're thinking. She made other plans. And the offer's genuine; Mum would've made it herself, but she didn't want the press making something out of her coming to Harry's box during the game, so her and my dad are over in the Harpies' suite."
"Why aren't you there?"
"Me and my sister are on the outs, right now," he admitted, as the referee blew his whistle and the players took to the sky. "Ginny's always been proud, justifiably so, but this year… I don't know. Maybe being a star quidditch player went to her head. She's changed."
Megan didn't know what to say, so she stayed quiet. "She's been a terror. I've never seen her like this. She rages at everyone over the smallest thing, she's out all hours of the night. It feels like she's falling apart. When she and Harry split up-"
"I didn't have anything to do with that."
Ron paused at her interruption, eyes locked on the players zooming around the pitch. "This isn't the way it was supposed to happen. I just hope, when she comes to her senses, he'll give her a chance to explain herself."
Dread wormed its way through her gut at his earnest words, but Teddy and Dean returned and effectively ended their conversation.
Was Harry waiting for Ginny to come back to him? If Megan's suspicions about the rookie's relationship with her aunt were correct, it wouldn't be long before Ginny was available again. Gwenog's interest was quick to wane and never lingered.
She didn't think Harry would push her out the door if he and Ginny reconciled, at least, not as it related to her employment. No, he was too kind, too generous; he actually cared about Megan's goals and aspirations, as evidenced by his support for her training at St. Mungo's. No matter whether Ginny came back into the picture, she trusted Harry to not end their professional association, at least until she'd found something else.
Ron was giving Teddy a steady play-by-play commentary of the match, leaving Megan stuck inside her head with no way of distracting herself. Images of Ginny and Harry, together, played out on a relentless, nauseating loop. She imagined coming back from her training, occupying Teddy while they made love upstairs. Making dinner and listening to Teddy tell Ginny all about his day, instead of Megan. The two of them talking quidditch, listening to the Wireless on the same sofa Megan and Harry sat on.
'What's the problem?' she asked herself. It wasn't as though Megan was dating him. She'd been the one to firmly set the boundaries between them in place. They wanted different things out of life, and pursuing those would inevitably drag her and Harry apart. She'd gotten exactly what she wanted from Harry, more even! If things worked out with Ginny in his future and they were happy, then Megan would be happy for them.
But for once, her logic didn't provide any assurance. Maybe… maybe it was time to admit she enjoyed the quiet moments with Harry as much as she did the world-shaking orgasms. That he made her feel good about herself, not just made her feel good. That he defied her expectations of how professional athletes acted, and she didn't need quite so many boundaries between them.
Maybe it was time to ask Harry what he wanted, and to listen if he'd tell her.
"Wow! Look!"
"I know, he's really showboating, isn't he? What's he doing, just sitting there like that?"
Megan was pulled out of her thoughts by their comments, looking over the railing while Ron tried to explain the term 'showboating' to Teddy. There was Harry, sandwiched between Holyhead's beaters, hovering in mid-air while they volleyed one of the bludgers at him.
She approached the railing, eyes drawn to his acrobatic movements. Harry ducked, rolled, juked and jived, all while floating between the two beaters. Megan could see Gwenog's face, her expression a mask of concentration, the thwack! of her bat striking the bludger over and over.
What was he doing?
They all got their answer a moment later when Whittington, the other Holyhead beater, sent the bludger flying at Harry's back. He accelerated sharply, darting directly at Gwenog, seemingly intent on a collision. At the last moment, Harry dipped his broom towards the ground and leapt off it, sailing over Gwenog while his broom continued beneath her.
The bludger, though, wasn't quite so maneuverable, slamming into Gwenog's kneecap so hard she dropped her beater's bat and gripped the shaft of her broomstick with both hands. Harry's graceful swan dive ended with a perfect landing on his own broom, zooming away to resume his search for the snitch.
Ron joined the roar of the crowd while Gwenog floated down to the pitch to get patched up. "Thought for sure he'd get a blatching call! That was some move. He's definitely playing to win!"
The match stretched on for another hour and a half. Ron's earlier prediction proved prescient, as Puddlemere's chasers struggled to keep the score within reach. The snitch had shown itself only a single time, but Holyhead's seeker managed to divert Harry with a foul.
Megan was fading, fast. The stress from the week, having to work at St. Mungo's that morning and then get Teddy to the stadium combined to leave her feeling sluggish and exhausted. She'd joined Hermione inside for a bit, but sitting in the warm luxury suite had her nodding off almost immediately. Sleep wasn't in the cards, not while she was working, so she'd returned to the balcony, feigning interest in the match while Teddy took a seat on her lap.
When excited cheers rang out, she sat up a little straighter. Could it finally be over?
"They've spotted the snitch!" Dean called out.
Megan fumbled for a pair of omniculars, zooming in on the chaotic scramble among the sweaty, tired players. There was Harry, supremely focused, eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he flew at a breakneck speed through the center of the pitch. A glint of gold was barely visible near the grass, but all six chasers were between it and the two seekers.
It happened so fast. An expertly hit bludger by one of Puddlemere's beaters struck the Holyhead seeker's shoulder. Harry weaved through the assembled traffic, his path nearly clear. Megan looked away to see the scoreboard - a catch would give Puddlemere the win by twenty points. He'd done it!
A shocked gasp rippled through the stadium and she jerked her eyes back to action. A heavy body check against a Holyhead chaser, just as Harry was executing a textbook sloth-grip roll sent her colliding into him, dislodging him just as he was re-seating himself on his broom. Harry tumbled off while his broom spiraled away.
Her fingers squeezed the omniculars so hard they hurt, tracking his fall. Through their narrow lens, though, a gauntleted hand reached out, tightening around Harry's wrist and halting his descent with a violent jerk.
Ginny Weasley, hovering a bare twenty feet off the ground, holding onto Harry.
Her face was drawn in an agonised grimace, quickly shifting so he could take hold of her other arm. Harry looked up at his rescuer, and the two of them shared a grin. The crowd went wild.
Even over the cheers, the sound of a bat striking a bludger was audible. From Megan's perspective, focused on Harry, it came out of nowhere. A whistling hunk of solid metal propelled so fast it was a blur, a perfect shot directly to his head.
Megan saw his face cave in, the impact so strong it knocked Ginny off her broom and they both fell to the ground below.
"Daddy?" Teddy sniffled, then started to sob.
Harry wasn't moving.
"Daddy?!" he was crying now, pulling away from Megan to try and get to the railing.
Harry wasn't moving.
Megan had to- she had to get down there, and- and…
"Easy little guy, Harry's fine. That was nothing, he takes hits like that all the time!" Ron's voice was calm, assuring, but the way his jaw clenched and lines appeared around his eyes belied his words. "Let's go see Hermione, okay?"
Her body seemed to be ahead of her mind, because it felt like Megan blinked and she was out of the luxury suite and running through the interior of the stadium. The corridors were empty; unsurprising, given few fans would pull themselves away from the match at a time like this. She sprinted, as fast as she could, lungs on fire and legs aching, wishing she could simply apparate to his side.
Finally, finally she made it to the ground level. Through the security wizards, she could see three healers over Harry, still prone on the ground. Just beyond him, her throwing arm hanging limply at her side, Ginny was drinking potions, looking anxiously at her ex.
"Miss! You can't go on the pitch!"
"Let me through!"
"Team personnel only beyond this point, you can't enter!"
"I have to see him, he's- Harry's my…" Megan trailed off. What could she say? That she was his godson's nanny? Tears of frustration welled up, her helplessness only compounded when the League healers helped Harry sit up.
His jaw hung limply, obviously broken, and all the teeth on the right side of his face were cracked or missing. His glasses had been repaired and replaced on his face, looking comically pristine perched on his broken features. The healers were having a hard time getting him to swallow the potions at first, eventually tilting his head back and pouring them directly down his throat.
"Weasley! Get back in the air!" Gwenog hovered momentarily above them. "No timeouts in the championship game, get on your fucking broom!"
Ginny looked between Harry and Gwenog, at her broom then back at Harry. He raised a trembling hand, giving a thumbs up and the crowd cheered so loudly Megan could feel the volume.
One of the healers put a broom in Harry's hands.
"No… no! You can't let him, he can't-"
"Miss, if you don't stand back, we'll have to detain you for trespassing," the exasperated security wizard said, but Megan couldn't tear her eyes away from Harry, seeing him drunkenly try to straddle the broom, so concussed he got on the wrong end.
The healers quickly righted him, and he rose into the air, shaky and unstable, like a First Year during flying lessons. Harry made it five feet before he rolled off the broom and tumbled back to the ground.
"Weasley! You stupid bitch, get up here!" Gwenog's call came from further away this time, but still Ginny didn't leave, hurrying over and speaking in hushed tones to the healers, gesturing at Harry who was haltingly trying to rise to his feet.
More potions, and this time a rush of steam exuded from all of Harry's pores. 'Jitter Juice. They gave him fucking Jitter Juice!' He stood straight, adjusted his glasses, showing no signs of the injury, and with a nod both he and Ginny mounted their brooms and launched into the air.
She was almost glad she couldn't see the action from her vantage point. Megan couldn't bear to see him, doped up on potions, flying around with a traumatic head injury. What if… what if Harry didn't make it? What if - just like her father - his brain was bleeding right now?
"Let me through, you have to stop him, he's-"
"Incarcerous!" Thick conjured ropes wound themselves around her, and Megan tumbled to the soft grass below, security wizards surrounding her.
It was too much. Megan felt like she couldn't breathe, like no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get any air into her lungs. Distantly, she heard the play-by-play announcer's excited calls, the enthusiasm of the crowd, but she couldn't process it. All she could think about was Harry, potioned to the gills, up in the air killing himself for their entertainment.
As security carted her away, though, she made out the final call over the loudspeakers.
"Potter has the snitch, but it's too late! The Holyhead Harpies are your new champions!"
A/N: God I hate quidditch. So glad that's over. Hopefully the story will be easier for me to write now that I don't need a thesaurus for twenty words similar to 'floated' :D
Hope everyone's doing well. I've had this idea that's been bouncing around for a week or so, about how I write much better episodically than I do 'in whole'; as in, it's a lot easier for me to write when I get feedback on every chapter rather than writing a whole story in one go. To that end, I'm considering asking a few of my regular reviewers here to read my original stuff, chapter-by-chapter and give me some feedback. Idk. We'll see. I'd like to have a finished manuscript to send to a publisher in the next few months.
Something to think about, I guess.
Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles