Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work.

6. Moscato

She held the Quidditch tryouts as soon as she was able to do so. They only needed to replace the Keeper and one Beater but it took the better part of the day. She was pretty sure every single Slytherin showed up. And maybe a few Hufflepuffs. In fact, their best Keeper tryout had been a Hufflepuff. Sylvie thought she might had been able to get away with it. But it seemed like a lot of effort.

Her friend and year mate Emma, who had never spoken about Quidditch before, turned out to be a rather exceptional beater. She wondered if it would seem like favoritism, but anyone with eyes could see she had an incredible tryout. She also wondered why Emma never brought it up.

Keeper was less so, aside from the Puff who Sylvie figured was doing it more to get the attention of his house team, which was conveniently not holding a tryout that year despite poor Keeper play from the year before, than of any hope of making her team. The best prospect ended up being a second year, Evan Ross, who was a little scrawny for a Keeper. But he'd saved closed to seventy percent of the shots he'd faced and had good natural positioning.

He'd blushed furiously as she'd congratulated him on making the team. She showed them to the locker room and gave them the practice schedule and their new uniforms. Sylvie changed out of hers, drawing a surprised glance from both Emma and Evan, but none of the other veterans paid her any notice.

Their first match came quickly. Their defense was a little bit suspect as the match continued. But their chaser line completely outmatched the Hufflepuffs and Sylvie caught the snitch. The entire match took under an hour and was a complete victory for Slytherin.

Two weeks later Gryffindor decimated Ravenclaw in a very similar way. And that was when Quidditch got interesting for Sylvie.

Representatives from just about every team in Britain and Ireland came to watch Quintus play. This wasn't uncommon. They often scouted the older years. In fact, many of them were invited to offseason camps. A few French teams had invited Sylvie in the last couple of years but she didn't really want to play for a French team so she held out hope for an English team.

She didn't get an invite, but there were all sorts of complicated rules she hadn't bothered learning about how many non-English youths they could invite and the entire thing bored her to try to learn all of the specifics.

But those same representatives that came to watch Quintus play had also decided to invite her to perform a series of drills and other skill demonstrations. Again, this wasn't abnormal. Depending on the crop of seventh years at Hogwarts they often did similar things.

But there were only a couple of players they were that interested in. Quintus was the jewel of the set. But a seventh-year chaser in Ravenclaw was also highly touted. As was one of Hufflepuff's beaters, although he was considered a vastly inferior prospect to Quintus. Sylvie thought they were both fairly equal, skill wise, and that Quintus was getting by mostly on his surname.

Still, the surprising thing had been that they'd invited her to attend those workouts as well. Someone somewhere must have figured it was too good of an opportunity to showcase a Potter and a Button at the same time. She'd been the only sixth year in the last decade to join in on those festivities.

She'd gushed about it in a letter to Anna. Her girlfriend hadn't responded to that letter yet. Really, her letters were growing few and far between. But Sylvie figured that she was just busy. And they'd planned a Hogsmeade date anyway, so she had that to look forward to.

She'd dolled herself up for the first workout. In hindsight that had been a mistake. But her mother's words about always looking her best rang through her head. Even if it drew some annoying comments from the Quidditch scouts there. Of course, the only female scout in attendance was the only one not to make a snide comment about it.

They paired her with Button. Which, of course they did. And they ran them through a series of quick reaction drills the likes of which Sylvie hadn't ever attempted before. She almost fell off her broom while attempting some of the turns.

She felt slow and clumsy while flying through the course they'd set up. And she thought for sure that she was going to be last. But once she made it through, she realized only she and Quintus had made it through on their first attempt. And she'd done it faster than he had.

They kept making them do similar drills. Often testing their ability to maneuver and handle on a broom. By the end of the first hour Sylvie was already exhausted, panting as she took a quick breather while Quintus talked to a scout floating near him in an Appleby Arrows' polo.

After a quick breather they ran another series of drills. This time they handed her a Quaffle and made her maneuver around Quintus while he had both Bludgers available to him. He got a few solid hits on her, but she made it past him more often than not. Which she enjoyed tremendously. But she was quickly too exhausted to taunt him properly.

They drilled them for three hours in total. By the time the first session ended and Sylvie landed on the ground she wobbled with exhaustion. Quintus landed next to her as the scouts all landed as well.

They gave them basic platitudes and told them they'd be back in a few weeks to see how they improved now that they knew what would be expected to have a chance in a professional environment before they left.

Sylvie debated taking a private shower in the locker room, but the more she thought about it the more she thought the Prefect's baths sounded nicer, given how her body was really starting to remind her of some of the Bludger hits. So, she started walking back to the castle. She started off alone, figuring the boys would walk back together.

But it was only a few steps until her quiet walk back to the castle was interrupted by the literal worst possible thing.

"That was something," Quintus said as she fell into step with her. A thousand barbs rose to her tongue but she was too tired to voice them. So instead she came up with something far more eloquent.

"Uh-huh," she intoned while nodding her head.

"I've never even thought of some of those drills," Quintus said.

"Me either," she said absently. Her thoughts were far more focused on planning her outfit for her upcoming date than they were on anything else.

"That was fun though," Quintus continued, his tone far too jovial for her tastes.

"I guess," she said.

"From what the seventh years told me last year, they tend to keep the same groupings for all of their drills. I think they sort of have their expectations. They had us doing harder things than the other two," Quintus said.

"Oh joy," Sylvie said, completely unfocused on his words. Although an alarm did go off in her head at the thought of being forced to spend more time with Quintus Button.

"You do realize how great of an opportunity this is, right?" Quintus said.

"Of course," Sylvie responded.

"You just don't seem that excited," Quintus said. Sylvie shrugged her shoulders. They were almost to the entrance of the castle and she figured she only had to deal with him for a few more minutes before she could sneak off for a nice warm bath.

"I'm tired," she said, hoping it would get him to stop talking. It worked for a few steps, but before she could escape he spoke again.

"I'm going to practice a bit more by myself on Monday night, if you want to join me," he said. It came out too quickly and not in his normal cadence. It was enough to make her pause and look at him.

He was actually blushing. Quintus Button was blushing. And he looked nervous. What did he think asking her to practice Quidditch was the equivalent of a date? Not like it mattered, the answer to either would be a resounding no. She raised her brows and shook her head.

"I'm busy Monday," she said, she ducked off toward the baths but Quintus yelled after her anyway.

"Well if you change your mind," he said. She just waved him off without looking back as she continued toward the Prefect's bathroom, hoping it was unoccupied and that she'd be able to soak in silence for a few hours.

Anna was late for their date. Sylvie tried her best not to be worried, but it was very unlike Anna to not be punctual. She waited at The Three Broomsticks as they'd planned, feeling odd as her friends kept inviting her to go and do things and she refused.

She tried to seem happy when Anna finally showed, two hours after the time they'd agreed on. She'd been apologetic but distant for their entire lunch. The original plan had been for her to book a room for the night at The Three Broomsticks, but after lunch Anna had said she'd needed to get back to London sooner as work was busy and she was working her way up.

Sylvie frowned. She didn't want to make a big deal about it, but she'd been looking forward to the weekend for the better part of two weeks. And now that it wasn't going to happen she found herself upset.

But she felt childish for bringing it up. Granted she wasn't a child. That particular legality vanished shortly after she returned to school, the benefit of her September birthday. But she still felt like she was so far removed from the real aspect of Anna's life that she couldn't relate. Two years seemed like an eternity.

She kept her mouth shut and Anna rushed off shortly after lunch with little more than a hug and a kiss. Sylvie walked back to Hogwarts, rather than taking the carriages, and quickly disappeared into her dorm.

She stripped out of her fancy blue dress and matching silk undergarments and changed quickly into pajamas and threw herself onto her bed. She felt utterly rejected. Which she thought was stupid. So what if her girlfriend had been busy? Life happens. She knew she shouldn't harp on that.

But she couldn't help it. She felt awful about it. And she couldn't think of anyone to complain to who would listen to her and provide anything that she thought would be considered good advice.

So instead she spent the rest of Saturday in bed. And most of Sunday. She emerged mostly only for a late lunch and then to finish her weekend assignments. She put very little effort into them and assumed she'd be lucky to get acceptable on most of them. But her mind was elsewhere.

Even Emma couldn't convince her to head off to the pitch to practice a bit in their free time, as no team had it booked on Sunday evening. Evan and Lydia joined her instead while Sylvie sulked for the rest of the day and through her classes on Monday.

It wasn't until after dinner that she realized all her housemates were already sick of her. So rather than stay in the common room she pinned her prefect's badge on her uniform and went out for a walk, intending mostly to brood.

She found her way to the Quidditch stadium and saw Quintus flying through an obstacle course of some type. It looked very similar to what the pro scouts had set up. She frowned up at him, part of her wanting to be anywhere else. But part of her wanting an outlet for her annoyance. She ducked into the Slytherin locker room to change and grab her broom.

"I thought you'd come," Quintus said as she flew up to join him.

"I didn't," Sylvie said. She flew through the obstacles he'd set up, not having much of an issue with how he'd arranged them. She could see a few of them looked like he'd flown into them already, knocking them off their intended axis. He tried to chase her, giving her a few seconds lead. And he did a fairy admirable job until the last turn when his weight pulled him too far and he impacted through the floating pads that blocked his way.

"Too quick on that one," she said as she floated near the hoops as he fixed the course.

"If I weighed ninety pounds I could make that turn at speed too," he scoffed.

"I weigh way more than ninety pounds," Sylvie laughed.

"Still lighter than me," he countered.

"Eat less," Sylvie shrugged. Quintus decided to change the subject rather than trade barbs.

"My dad said a good test is to do the course with someone going from each direction while trying to pass a Quaffle back and forth," Quintus said. "Want to try that?"

"Fine," Sylvie said, nodding toward the other end of the course, knowing full well that she wasn't going to fly to the other end to get started.

"You okay?" Quintus asked, he narrowed his brows as he looked at her.

"Fine, why?" Sylvie responded.

"You just look like something is bothering you," Quintus said.

"Nothing is. Let's give this a shot," she said. Part of her just knew if she had him start flying, he'd stop asking questions. And if he stopped asking questions, she'd stop thinking about Anna.

"Okay," Quintus said. He flew down to the grass to grab a Quaffle and then back up to the other side of the course. He counted down from five and they both went on one. She caught the first Quaffle and rifled it back to him quickly, he bobbled it and they both fell out of the course as he went to fetch it. She hovered by the start and they repeated it again. This time she dropped the Quaffle on the third throw. In fairness to her it was a bad pass and she had to stretch out the opposite way she'd been turning to grab it. But it had bounced off her fingers, pushing one painfully out of position as it did.

She cursed at the pain and fixed it with her wand before flying down to pick up the Quaffle. She threw it across the pitch to him as she lined up once more. On the third attempt they made it five passes before failing. Then six. Then seven. Then nine. Then six. It took the better part of an hour before they completed the course while passing the Quaffle. It took twenty total throws to do it.

They took a two-minute break, mostly so Quintus could turn on the stadium lights and then they lined up and tried it again, switching the sides they started on. On the first attempt she dropped the first pass. No real excuse, she just dropped it. She flew down to grab it and line up once more.

After a few minutes the lights drew a crowd. No one joined them in the air but quite a few students started to fill into the stands. She thought she heard some playful banter on whether or not they'd succeed and who would drop it.

It took them fewer attempts to acclimate to the course in reverse. After they completed it two successive times some of the crowd grew braver. A seventh year Ravenclaw joined them in the air and spent time adjusting the course to make it more difficult.

That continued for the better part of the next two hours. By the time Clara McMillian came out to yell at them that it was almost after hours and that the professors would be coming and docking points shortly if they didn't make their way in. Most of the students immediately disappeared. Sylvie and Quintus took the floating course down and returned the Quaffle.

Sylvie landed next to Clara as Quintus finished with the last bits of the obstacle course. She felt exhausted from the hours of intensive flying. Clara smiled at her.

"Hey Sylvie," she said jovially.

"Hey Clara," Sylvie responded.

"Quintus is really thrilled you're doing this with him," she said. "He says you're the only other flyer worth flying with."

"Nice of him," Sylvie said.

"And you two looked like you were having fun," Clara said.

"It was exhausting," Sylvie said. "I'm already fantasizing about my bed."

"I bet," Clara said as Quintus landed next to them.

"No one has the pitch booked on Thursday. Want to do this again?" he asked. Sylvie was mildly pleased that he looked as tired as she felt. But she shook her head.

"I have too much stuff due Friday," she said, knowing she had essays in both Potions and Transfiguration that she hadn't started yet. And she was sure more homework would pile onto that.

"Oh. How about Monday again?" he asked. Sylvie nodded.

"I think I can make Monday work." Sylvie said. She surprised herself by agreeing to it. In her mind this had been a one-off thing. But it was also better practice than she'd done with her team or by herself in a very long time. She was smart enough to know that. And her father had told her to not turn down chances to practice with skilled players. You could always learn something.

"Great," Quintus said with a smile. He put his arm around Clara who made a face at him.

"Gross," she said. "You stink."

"Sorry," Quintus said, taking his arm off of his girlfriend.

"We both do, I'm sure," Sylvie said. "I think I'm going to abuse my Prefect privileges and take a nice long shower in the locker room before going back to the common room."

"That sounds like a great idea," Quintus said.

"Except you aren't a prefect and can't be caught out after hours," Clara responded, rolling her eyes.

"You could always join me and escort me back," Quintus said. Clara flushed crimson and Sylvie decided she didn't want to listen to their flirting. She turned toward the Slytherin locker room.

"You two have fun," she said as brightly as she could manage before walking away. Both Gryffindors continued to flirt rather than acknowledging that she'd left.

She and Quintus continued to practice like that at least once a week. It wasn't long before others tried to join them. They'd tried to be exclusive about it. But there wasn't a whole lot they could do to prevent others from coming out.

Thankfully, Lydia and a seventh year Gryffindor named Ryan, led a group of the older Hogwarts players in a sort of open practice that seemed to go on around Quintus and Sylvie. They were distracted only occasionally by the others in attendance.

The Pro scouts continued to visit every couple of weeks too. Some came by sooner when they heard rumors of Quintus and Sylvie practicing together. They seemed to put more stock in Quintus during it. They could often be heard talking about his commitment to Quidditch when they attended.

But on the days they hosted practice it quickly shifted to focus on the two of them. They didn't have them run drills together as they did on their own time, but instead made them focus on running drills against each other.

Sylvie wasn't a very big fan of these drills. Largely because Quintus wasn't an idiot and realized very quickly that he had eighty pounds on her and often his best form of defense was to attempt to fly straight into her.

And he succeeded far more often than she'd have liked. Part of her expected the professionals to chastise him for it. But she quickly learned that they weren't going to do that. In fact, if anything they encouraged him to do it more. But as a result, she got quite good at dodging him at the last minute. And he got quite creative at ways of knocking her off of her path.

The scouts also yelled at her quite often when she was unable to stop Quintus. But flying into him didn't often have the effect that she'd hoped. And he seemed to learn quite quickly that flying through her worked far better. But she continued to attempt defense anyway. She got more tactical with it after some coaching from the scouts. But she still felt inferior to him whenever they did those drills.

Still, her year quickly became about cramming her homework as quickly as she could while trying to focus on Quidditch. She doubted any of the professors would admit to it, but she felt like they eased up on her grades. Either that or having less time had somehow caused her to focus more and maintain them.

She wrote to Anna nearly weekly but was lucky to receive a response more than every couple of weeks. Anna ignored her when she mentioned Quidditch. So instead she droned on about the only other thing in her life, her classes. Which she thought had to have been insanely boring to someone who'd already graduated. Again, she felt childish by only being able to talk about a game that no longer seemed to amuse her friend, or classes her friend had already passed.

So, she tried to fill the pages with questions about her life and what she was doing, and how things were at the store or with her family. But it always seemed stiff to her. And Anna's responses barely answered them anyway.

They'd made another attempt to meet in Hogsmeade near the winter holidays. It was going to be a good excuse to do some Christmas shopping and the like. Anna seemed distant the entire time. It felt like pulling teeth to get her to answer any questions or try to start a conversation.

Anna had booked a room at The Three Broomsticks that time. But when they retired to bed everything seemed more clinical than passionate. After they lay next to each other and Sylvie pretended to sleep as she spent most of the night wondering just what she'd done to make everything seem so stale.

The holidays came quickly and Sylvie fled back home to Bordeaux, hoping that made her feel better. And to an extent it did. Playing with Leo and Chloe amused her more than it normally would. Leo was growing more and more excited with attending school. But he had decided on Beauxbatons rather than Hogwarts.

She took Chloe up on her broom, enjoying the giggling screaming of her baby sister as they flew around the yard. She knew her mother would give her a lecture on how many feints she did while holding onto Chloe. But she wasn't going to drop her sister. That much she was sure of.

Either way she enjoyed the holidays. Her parents didn't press her much on what was going on at school, but judging from the fact that they had her favorite foods nearly nightly she suspected they could at least tell something was bothering her.

Instead her father talked to her about Quidditch and things to do to impress pro scouts. Although he did lament not being able to fly for them himself in school as he'd missed his seventh year. Sylvie asked if she could skip hers too, and was laughed at by both of her parents.

Still, her mood only darkened when she received one measly letter from Anna over the holidays. It was filled with empty platitudes. But she ended it with a hope that they could get together soon.

Sylvie wasn't sure how to take it. Anna hadn't seemed to put that much effort into meeting so far. But she wrote back almost immediately, as she always did, and hoped for the best. She hadn't heard anything by the time she returned to Hogwarts.

Both Gryffindor and Slytherin won their second matches easily. Sylvie could have caught the snitch in Slytherin's in under a half hour. But she let her chasers build up more of a lead just in case it came down to points. Gryffindor did the same. Their aggregate was close enough that it would take a very one-sided affair in the final match of the season to warrant one of them winning on points.

She and Quintus both started to act a bit frostier around each other on their weekly practice sessions. Sylvie liked to think it was only because of the Quidditch. But as the weeks went on with no communication from Anna, she felt her annoyance at that bleed into almost all of her daily actions. Soon, the only thing that put a smile on her face was Quidditch.

And, if she was honest, she had more fun at the more intensive practices with Quintus than she did at the ones she held for her own team. That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy both. There was a different sort of pleasure for being in charge as there was for being worked to the bone. Either way, the moments on her broom where the only moments when she thought of something other than Anna.

Annoyingly, Quintus seemed the same. Whenever she saw him at meals, or in the halls, or anywhere during the day he looked as distracted as she felt. She heard arguments that they both spent too much time playing Quidditch. But Sylvie didn't see why that was anyone's business but their own. Although she thought she did hear Clara McMillian voice that opinion at least once.

The year trudged on. Sylvie woke early on the morning of the final match with Gryffindor. She ignored the empty feeling in her stomach, finding it odd as she hadn't gotten Quidditch nerves in the last few years, regardless of situation. But she couldn't shake it as she showered and dressed.

She let the team sleep until nine. But then her nerves grew too much and she took advantage of the fact that she was female to move into each dorm room and woke up each of her teammates. She used the excuse of wanting to have a team breakfast before the match.

A half hour later they walked to the great hall together. The Slytherin students who were already there gave them a wide berth as they sat at the table. Sylvie peered across the hall to the Gryffindor table. Quintus wasn't there but a few of his teammates were.

She nibbled at a piece of toast as the mail owls swooped in. She watched them, eyes looking for Anna's or her parents' but not really expecting anything from either. She was fairly surprised when Anna's dived down and dropped a letter on her plate before flying off.

She grabbed it excitedly and tore open the envelope. Her heart sank when she saw the few sentences that were there. She didn't even think she needed to read them to know what they said. Still, the shortness of it was merciful. Long distance was too hard. And she'd met someone. And she hoped Sylvie would be happy but they both knew they weren't long term.

Sylvie tucked the letter back into the envelope and stared off into space as a feeling of emptiness spread through her. She felt hollow, her heart hardening against the tears. She didn't want to cry in front of her team. She didn't want to cry about Anna at all. Part of her had known it was coming. She sniffled once but then was saved.

"I think I could use a warm up today," Lydia said, her eyes focusing on her captain. "I think I'll head down early."

"That sounds great," Emma said, standing and joining Lydia. Sylvie nodded. She was afraid speaking for fear that the words would break in her throat. She joined her teammates on the pitch as they did little more than toss the Quaffle back and forth between the three of them. They continued doing that until spectators started to filter toward the stands.

They landed and went to the locker room. Sylvie sat at her locker and stared aimlessly at her broom. She plucked at a few out of place twigs but did no more maintenance than that as a coldness started to spread through her.

It wasn't until Lydia hit her on the shoulder and teased her about not changing that she realized she was still in her school clothing. She looked around the rest of the locker room and realized that everyone else had already changed into their green and silver robes. She flushed and grabbed her robes from her locker and quickly shuffled off to the women's showers to change.

She drew a few odd looks when she returned. She was still putting her hair back into a ponytail as she stepped out of the showers. She tossed her clothing back into her locker and nodded to the team.

She did her best to give a speech. She thought she said something about how they'd played very well this year and she was proud to call them her teammates, no matter what the outcome of the match was that day. She thought she told them they were prepared. And that they could win. But it all blurred.

And then she was on the pitch. She lagged behind until she remembered she had to shake Quintus's hand before the match could begin. She walked through her teammates and approached the Gryffindor captain.

Something struck her as she looked at him. He looked remarkably like she felt. His eyes seemed out of focus and he looked off toward the stands rather than at her. At least until they were told to shake hands. Then he looked at her. And they shook. And then they moved into position.

Sylvie found herself wondering why she cared at all about a game at that moment. Really, all she wanted to do was call for Onyx, despite knowing that the elf wouldn't come to Hogwarts, and have him bring her a bowl of peanut butter ice cream that she could gorge herself on until she fell asleep.

Except those thoughts faded when the whistle blew. Everything suddenly shifted in focus and she darted through the Gryffindor chasers as Lydia sped toward the hoops, Quaffle in hand. She spun around as Quintus lined up a Bludger shot and knocked into him mid turn, allowing Lydia to weave through unopposed and open up the scoring.

Quintus wacked the Bludger at her instead, mostly out of spite. She led it toward her own beaters, who relayed it into the Gryffindor attack, and then continued on her merry way. The air blowing past her face felt reinvigorating as she flew around the pitch.

She played a passive game. It irritated her, but she knew all that mattered on that day was the snitch catch. She had to let her chasers sink or swim by themselves. If they sank too far she might have to get involved. But to start she knew the most important thing in the match was the stupid winged golden ball. And, like every other time she got onto a broom, she was going to do everything in her power to catch the damn thing.

But she couldn't bring herself to focus only on the snitch. Titus Button's words rang in her head as she thought that. It wasn't in her breeding. Her father didn't want to be passive. He wanted to attack and to win. If he wasn't doing something, he felt like he was wasting that time. And now she understood that feeling.

While she kept herself far enough away from the chasers that they didn't pass her the Quaffle, she still stayed near them on the attack and on defense. She added another body both times. Another variable the Gryffindor's had to account for. Another thing to think on or focus on.

She kept herself busy that way. The Gryffindor beaters expressed their annoyance at this by sending Bludgers her way every time they could. But they could only pull her away from the play so much. And the more they focused on her, the easier time her chasers had. They started to pull away. And Sylvie got the sense that they were the better team. At least until the Gryffindor beaters changed their strategy. The crowd gasped as they saw the change in strategy play out.

They shifted all six flyers into the offensive zone and focused entirely on the Quaffle. And, while it gave the Slytherin beaters free range with the Bludgers. There were just too many targets to focus on.

And Slytherin's young keeper quickly became overmatched. It wasn't his fault. There wasn't much he could do against six attackers at once. It annoyed her that she'd never thought to try the tactic. It had been first attempted during World Cup play almost two decades ago when her own father, Felicity Hillard and Titus Button used it against the Bulgarians. They'd called it the Barker Gambit, after the manager of England at the time.

Sylvie cursed to herself as she darted in front of a Quaffle thrown by the utterly insufferable Quintus Button. She caught it and hurled it as far as she could down the pitch, hoping that Lydia would pick up on the tactic and chase after it.

She didn't have time to see how the play worked out as she rolled away from a Bludger forced her way. Gryffindor's all-out offense kept them on their back feet though. Lydia was smart enough to keep the Quaffle away from them for as long as she could but it got harder and harder to get it out of their own zone as Gryffindor forced them onto their back foot.

Sylvie noticed Evan looked frustrated beyond belief. She yelled some platitudes at him as she focused on defending the Slytherin hoops as well. Sylvie was many things on a broom, but she was not a Keeper. She fell for two fakes in a row before her preferred method of defense turned into trying to fly into the chasers.

Even when they did manage to get the Quaffle out of the zone, the Gryffindor team fell back in near perfect unison. The Slytherins could stall, but only for so long. They would add goals when they could, but it seemed like for every one they scored, Gryffindor scored three.

Sylvie felt her frustration rise. She knew she had to keep a cool head. She knew she had to let the game play out. But she also knew she had to win. She couldn't let Quintus win. She had one game left to make sure her concussed proclamation would stay true. But more, she wanted to win. She wanted desperately to hold the Quidditch Cup up above her head. Winning, she thought, would surely quell the depressed feelings she had the last few weeks.

She knew the scouts and the Quidditch world would be floored by Quintus using the Barker Gambit in a Hogwarts game, and it actually working. But again, the words of a professional player rang through her head.

She'd watched all of the footage of when England had used the same moves. She'd studied how her father played. She'd studied everything about him. And it was his best friend that had the definitive sound bite about it.

Titus Button had the famous quip about it. His voice managing to carry the smirk that was obviously on his face, when they asked how anyone could possibly counter the gambit. Titus, drenched in alcohol and standing next to the World Cup had smiled at the reporter and smirked. It was an easy counter, he'd said. You just had to have Harry Potter on your end.

Well, Slytherin didn't have Harry Potter. What they had was shorter, lighter, softer and had the wrong colored eyes. But it was the closest they were ever going to get. Sylvie grit her teeth and spun her broom around into the oncoming Gryffindor rush. She speared through two of the chasers and did her best to knock Quintus off his broom. He turned to try to launch a Bludger back at her but she'd already spun around and sliced through the Gryffindors once more.

She flew as fast as she could, cutting back and forth as much as she could. She caught some of her own players out as she did, but that was a price she would just have to pay. Her entire plan was purely to disrupt as much as possible.

She could hear the crowd reacting as she diced around as much as possible, trying to be everywhere at once, drawing the attention from every player on the pitch. It was far more intense than any obstacle course she'd attempted. She hoped the scouts were in the stands watching before any coherent thought left her.

There was no premeditation in her movements. She flew on instinct, she let the thrill of it guide her. And she did everything she could.

Sylvie couldn't see the scoreboard, but she heard fewer cheers and assumed her plan was working. But she was already growing winded as she fought against the forces in the air as her broom turned at almost inhuman angles.

And then it happened. She knew it would eventually. She knew she'd mess up or they'd get lucky or some combination of the two. She felt a searing impact against her side as the Bludger nailed her almost full on. She rolled with it, trying to lessen the pain.

She spun upside down, rolling and taking a moment to steady herself, momentarily wondering if she was going to hit the stands as the force of the iron ball pushed her off course. Her world spun around and then, as soon as it appeared, the pain vanished with a flash of gold.

She saw it above her. Or below her, her perspective was wrong. Then she remembered she was still floating upside down. But her instincts took over and she dived, inverted, toward the golden ball. She rolled around another Bludger as she tried to correct herself as the snitch rose to meet her. It darted away from her at the last minute and she rose up to meet it. The Gryffindor seeker tailed her. But he'd noticed it too late. He'd been too busy on the attack with the other Gryffindors.

Harry Potter, he was not. Her father had snatched the snitch from practically under Krum's nose, to end one of the most lopsided World Cup finals of all time. And Sylvie was not going to be Viktor Krum.

The snitch darted toward the Gryffindor hoops. The Gryffindor keeper saw it coming and did his best to attempt to block it, but it feinted around him toward the middle hoop as he committed to the far left one. It shot around the hoop and launched back toward the oncoming Gryffindor seeker. Sylvie looped her right arm out and used it to propel herself around the hoop. She felt something pull in her shoulder as she did but pressed onward. She shot straight at her younger counterpart. Fully prepared to bowl straight into him if that was what it took. But she saw it twitch upward and she committed to rise after it before he did.

She knew immediately that the mistake cost him. He fell two lengths behind her and she was the faster flyer. She reached out with her right hand, but her side ached from the Bludger and from using the arm. She moved her right hand firmly around her broom and reached out with her left. It was her less steady hand, but in that moment, it didn't matter. With an almost mundane lunge she closed her left hand around the golden ball, continuing to rise with her hand held upward as she accomplished a goal she'd longed for since her third year. She'd won the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin.

Her team swarmed her, hugged her, kissed her. She yelped as they did, yelling them to lay off her now aching shoulder and side, but they didn't listen as Professor Vector confirmed the catch and declared Slytherin the winners.

Sylvie landed near the middle of the pitch, still swarmed by her teammates as Professor McGonagall brought out the house cup. Quintus landed next to her, his expression unreadable as he offered a brief congratulation before he flew away with his team.

Professor McGonagall congratulated her and Slytherin as she handed over the house cup. Sylvie held it up high until her right arm gave out and then Lydia and Charles grabbed it. McGonagall caught her wince and laughed.

"Hospital wing for the Syltherin team I suspect. Let's get Miss Potter fixed before you celebrate," the headmistress said. Sylvie insisted she was fine but her team dragged her off to Madame Pomfrey.

It only took a quick scan and a couple of quick spells to fix her strained shoulder. Pomfrey gave her some dittany for the bruising that would undoubtedly come from the Bludger hit and told her to apply it when she changed out of her uniform. Sylvie pocketed it but forgot about it by the time she was escorted back to the Slytherin common room.

The team were conquering heroes when they arrived. Sylvie and Emma went off to their dormitory to change. She didn't doll herself up this time, finding herself exhausted from the match. She decided on a tank top and her snitch pajama pants, finding them fitting for the occasion. And then she and Emma returned to the party.

Again, like the last Quidditch party she'd attended, there was dancing and drinking and even some of that purple dust her father warned her about. She didn't snort any of it, like some of the seventh years did, but she couldn't be sure what wound up on any of the food or in any of the drinks.

She opened the dancing with Evan. The young Keeper stared adoringly up at her as she spun him around and played the part of the boy far better than he could. But he didn't seem to mind in the least. Toward the end of the dance, though, Sylvie's elation faded away.

She didn't want to be dancing with the little Keeper. There was a different Keeper she wanted to be with. But that Keeper no longer wanted to be with her. She tried to not let her expression change as everyone in her house congratulated her on the win. She tried to be happy and personable to everyone who spoke to her. And she tried to drink away her feelings. Nothing she tried was very successful.

At some point she managed to sneak out of the common room. It had been easier than she'd expected. She hadn't even had to make any excuses. She'd just gotten up and left. And she'd taken a cheap bottle of Moscato with her.

She wandered aimlessly around the dark castle. She knew she'd be in trouble if she was caught wandering around the castle at night with a bottle of wine. She didn't think the 'of age' argument would work in her favor as she was still a student. But either way she figured the best solution would be to just not get caught.

Of course, she figured any other prefects would give her a pass, as she too was a prefect. It was the staff she had to worry about.

And then she turned toward the staircase, intending to walk up another flight, figuring that the higher up she was the less likely she was to run into anyone else. After all, who wanted to patrol that high up? Too many staircases to walk up. She sipped the wine straight from the bottle and then saw him.

Quintus Button was sitting on a stone bench, staring up at one of the paintings on the wall. The painting in question was currently blank and Sylvie didn't remember well enough to know what was supposed to be in it. She turned, fully intending to run away, but he looked up and saw her.

"You kept your promise," he said with a weak smile. She blinked at him, almost surprised he remembered that. He, like her, was dressed in what she took to be pajamas. In his case a Ballycastle Bats t-shirt and flannel pants.

"I did," she said.

"You were pretty awesome today," he said. He looked away from her and back toward the painting. She stepped closer to him, wondering if she was missing something about the blank canvas.

"Thanks," she said. And then she realized the cordial thing to do was to say something nice about him too, so she added, "So were you."

"Not awesome enough," he smiled.

"I dunno," she said. "The Barker Gambit was pretty nifty. I did not see that one coming. I'm not sure how you kept that a secret."

"Me either," Quintus said. "It almost worked, too."

"Almost," Sylvie agreed.

"Are you willing to share that?" he asked, nodding toward the bottle. She frowned but stepped closer to him and offered it to him. To her surprise he conjured a glass and filled it for himself before handing her back the bottle. He swirled the glass with a faux expertise and sipped it, making a face as he did.

"It's not very good," she said. Taking another drink straight from the bottle.

"No. It is not," he said. He took another sip and then turned his attention back to her. "Shouldn't you be partying?"

"I got bored and decided on a walk," Sylvie said.

"Sure you did," Quintus said.

"I did," Sylvie said. "And shouldn't you be like conning Clara into making you feel better after the devastating loss in your final Hogwarts Quidditch match?" Sylvie teased. She hadn't ever commented on their relationship before. Quintus took another sip of his wine and shook his head.

"Thanks for reminding me of that," he said.

"I'd think you'd like being reminded of that," she said. She took another swig of wine and then saw his glass was nearly empty. She didn't want to but the good host in her refilled his glass.

"Losing at Quidditch?" he asked. "No, I'd rather not be."

"I was talking about doing things with Clara," Sylvie said.

"Oh," Quintus said. He looked like he wanted to say more but decided to drink instead. Sylvie couldn't resist the temptation to harp on something he obviously didn't want to talk about.

"I'd have thought brooding and looking dour and pouty would have made her want to cheer you up," she teased again.

"We're not…we don't," Quintus said. Sylvie raised her brows at him and then had a sudden realization.

"Oh my God, Q, you're a virgin!" she blurted out. Quintus glared his affirmation at her.

"She always wanted to wait," Quintus said.

"For what?" Sylvie asked.

"I don't fucking know," Quintus said. He finished his glass of wine and stood. He looked like he was about to leave, but Sylvie took one more swig and poured the rest of the bottle into his glass. He picked it up and stared at her.

"Well, have you talked to her about it?" Sylvie asked.

"Too often, apparently," Quintus said. "She told me to shut up and leave her alone."

"Oh? When was this?" Sylvie asked.

"A couple days ago. Pretty sure we're through," he said.

"Sucks for you," she said.

"Yes. It does," Quintus responded tersely. He finished off the remaining half glass of wine in one large gulp. "But you're not really one to talk, V. You've never even had a boyfriend."

"That's a poor way of asking, Q," she teased. "Anyway. I don't think you could keep up with me. I'm not the virgin here."

"Sure you're not," Quintus laughed.

"I'm not," Sylvie said.

"Who slept with you and kept their mouth shut? Or is it your boyfriend back in Bordeaux that no one will ever see," Quintus took his turn to tease her. She scowled at him.

"I slept with Anna. Multiple times," Sylvie said.

"That doesn't count," Quintus responded, a blush rising to his cheeks.

"Sure it doesn't," Sylvie scoffed. "Such a boy thing to say."

"It's hardly the same," Quintus said.

"From what I've gathered from some of my dormmates what we did was far more orgasmic than what they did with their boyfriends," Sylvie said. Quintus watched her, the blush rising even more on his face.

"You like girls then?" he asked.

"I like a lot of things," Sylvie shrugged.

"But not boys?" he countered.

"I like some boys," Sylvie said. "But don't get your hopes up, Q. As I said, you couldn't handle me."

"That sounds like a challenge," he said, he took a step toward her. She instinctively took one back, knowing it put her closer to the wall. She felt a warmth rising in her as he spoke, a spark urging her to keep up the challenge, as it were. And she realized that despite mentioning Anna, she hadn't felt that empty pang in her chest while they talked.

Instead something in her told her to act. That this could help. That this could be payback. But that seemed dirty and low. She wasn't sure how she liked the feel of that.

"It isn't," she said.

"But I think I could keep up with you just fine. You're winded far before me every time we practice," he said, stepping toward her once more. She backed up against the wall and raised her brows at him.

"It is so not the same," Sylvie said. "You'd have no chance."

"I think I'd do just fine," he countered, and then he was just inches from her.

"Prove it," she teased. And then his body was on hers and his lips were against hers. He pressed her into the castle wall as he kissed her. She wrapped her legs around him, squeezing him as her mouth melded against his. He tasted like cheap wine and his lips were rougher than Anna's had ever been. But the warmth of him against her felt every bit as intoxicating as the wine.

He may not have ever slept with Clara but he'd certainly kissed her. He knew exactly how to kiss her. He kept his lips on hers until she was breathless, then he shifted them to her neck, nipping at her skin as he kissed her there. She let out an involuntary gasp, finding herself annoyed when his lips curved into a smirk against her neck as he did.

She squirmed against him but he pressed her hard into the wall. Something in her screamed that she loved when he did that, so she squirmed more hoping he would do it again. She started to ache. She felt empty as her arms wrapped around him, her nails raking down his back.

His own hands slid to her hips. And then he ruined it by pressing them hard against her body and sliding them up, right over the bruise from the Bludger hit.

"Ouch!" she yelped. And he jumped away from her.

"Sorry, sorry!" he apologized quickly. She pulled her tank top up slightly and saw the purple and green bruise forming on her body.

"I forgot the damn dittany," she frowned. She glared at him as if it was his fault. Which, in a roundabout way she guessed it was.

"I think I have some back in the common room," Quintus said. Sylvie rolled her eyes and looked down the hallway. The ballerina trolls were not even fifteen paces away. She smirked at him. Part of her told her this was an incredibly stupid idea. But another part of her said that it would feel great and she deserved it and that she needed to get over Anna anyway. And frankly, there were worse options.

"I know somewhere closer," she said. She walked slowly over toward the tapestry of the trolls, making a conscious effort to place one leg in front of the other and sway her hips as she moved. She knew exactly where it drew his eyes and he joined her just as the door appeared.

She disappeared into the room. This time it wasn't a clone of her bedroom. It reminded her more of the luxury hotels her family stayed in when on vacation. She ducked into the bathroom and found a cream-based version of dittany designed for bruises and stepped back out into the foyer. She threw it at him. He caught it and looked down at it.

She pulled her tank top over her head and threw that at him as well as she stood there in the least sexy plain white bra she owned. She caught a glimpse of the bruise spreading in the mirror as she moved toward the bed.

"You caused this, you fix it," she said, tossing herself down on the pillows and gesturing to her side. She watched him swallow hard and then move over to the bed. He opened the cannister of healing balm and spread some on his fingers before, very hesitantly, applying it. The coolness of it felt amazing and the bruise started to fade as soon as the cream worked into her skin. He rubbed at it for five minutes or so before it was gone.

"There," he said, peering at her. He was still flushed with embarrassment and what she could only assume was arousal as he stared at her. His eyes focused on hers and he whispered, a sort of cute uncertainty in his voice. "May I kiss you again?"

"You may," she giggled. She shouldn't have found that as cute as she did. But there was something about it that suddenly felt attractive to her. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted her. As he should, she was gorgeous. And he didn't think he deserved her. Which he didn't, because he was a Button. But Sylvie liked feeling wanted and she made sure to moan into his mouth as he kissed her, hoping to spur him on.

They kissed for what felt like an eternity. His weight wound up on her and her arms wrapped around him as they kissed. She caressed his shoulders and back and whispered to him whenever he stopped. Which was never for very long. She lifted her hips up against him and felt him press back down against her. It was intoxicating. But she didn't want to give him the pleasure of knowing he wound her up. She wanted to be in control of it all. She couldn't tell him her body wanted his. Then he would win. And he couldn't win.

His arms slid around her, holding her up against him as his hands fumbled with the clasp on her bra. It took him a few minutes to unhook it. Long enough that she couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever managed the same feat with Clara or if hers would be the first pair of breasts he'd see in the flesh. She wondered if they'd be disappointing to him, she was thinner and smaller than Clara. But he distracted her by tracing his hand around her, catching most of the strap as he pulled it away from her body.

"Can I?" he whispered.

"Mmhmm," Sylvie nodded as he kissed her again. He lifted the bra from her and looked down at her chest in awe. It was her turn to flush with embarrassment as he reached out and cupped her breasts. His awe quickly quelled any insecurity she could have had. And moments later his lips replaced his hands.

And then, just as she wanted more, just as she was about to crack and push his head down further, his lips came back to hers, and his weight rested on her. He whispered after he finished kissing her.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered. She slid her hands up into his hair and tugged on it.

"Asking is just proving you can't handle me," she growled. He stared into her eyes and then nodded before his lips met hers once more. He did not ask any further questions that evening.