Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work.

7. Stains

Sylvie woke before him. It took her a moment to remember just who she was in bed with. She was on her side and the little spoon. Her hair was matted to her skin and she was rather sore. When she stirred, Quintus's arm tightened around her waist. But his breathing didn't change as he slept on.

She was a little surprised she didn't have a headache after all of the cheap wine. But, as a whole, she felt good. She yawned and laid in bed, a small smile on her face as she ran through the night before in her mind. She found his awe at all of it to be the most amusing bit of the memory.

At least until it occurred to her that she'd had sex, and even worse, unprotected sex with Quintus Button. Gross, her subconscious whispered to herself. You hate him. He's a prick. And he's not that cute. Why would you do that?

Shut up, she argued with herself. He's fine. A bit annoying, sure. But he's in great shape and looks better than any of the boys in her year. And it's not like you're going to make a habit of this. You both just needed to feel good. And it worked. Boy did it work. If he was awake right now you'd climb onto his lap…Enough of that, Sylvie. And he was a lot better than the boys the other Slytherin girls talked about. The ones who climbed on top of you and then ten seconds later rolled off of you and fell asleep.

Before she could rebut herself she traced her hand down Quintus's arm. As gently as she could manage, she lifted his arm off her and slid out of bed. He rolled over toward where she'd just vacated and muttered something into the pillow. Whatever words he muttered sounded suspiciously like 'Clara.'

She wondered if that should have bothered her. Part of her thought it should. But another part of her thought that part of her was stupid. And a third part of her thought she was spending far too much time lost in her own thoughts when she should be finding her damn panties and getting ready to go have an embarrassing talk with Professor Farley about a potion she needed to take.

The third part of her won, mostly. But the second part had the final say on the matter. She didn't really care much about what Quintus thought when he was conscious and she certainly wasn't going to dwell on what he muttered while he was asleep.

She found her underwear, pajama pants and tank top and redressed herself. She didn't bother checking the mirror, not wanting to see how much of a mess she looked. She gave Quintus one last look. He was face down in the pillow, one arm thrown out across the part of the bed she'd vacated. She left the room with the hope that Professor Farley was available.

Her Head of House was awake and in her office. She chastised Sylvie for walking around the school barely dressed and after Sylvie stammered why she was interrupting the Professor's Sunday morning, she'd simply conjured a cauldron and handed Sylvie a list of ingredients to get from her classroom, told her to get dressed, and she started to boil water.

Sylvie took the hint, walked down to the potions classroom and back to her dormitory before she went to gather up the ingredients. When she'd returned to Professor Farley's office she was a bit surprised when the professor handed her a sheet of instructions.

Sylvie peered down at them. The potion itself wasn't that complicated. She started to cut the roots in the first step. Professor Farley watched over her shoulder. The Professor corrected her a couple of times, and added a pinch more of a few things when the color looked off, but Sylvie did most of the work on the potion.

Professor Farley took it off of the heat and gathered up a pamphlet and made Sylvie read the entire thing. It was mind-numbing, talking about choices and the like. But had clear instructions for a variety of contraceptive potions. So, she figured she should hang onto it.

Once the potion was cool the professor poured it into a goblet. It was frothy, oddly thick and very pink. It reminded her of curdled strawberry milk. Professor Farley made her drink it in front of her, insisting that she finish the entire goblet. Thankfully, it wasn't horrible. Chloe's adventures in cooking had led to far worse things winding up in her mouth.

She thanked the Professor before she left. The words felt oddly stiff on her tongue but it didn't matter. Part of her wondered if Professor Farley would write to her parents about the incident. She hoped not. But if she did, she could at least use the excuse that she was being responsible.

The common room was still a mess from the party when she returned to it. There were quite a few students sleeping on some of the furniture. The seventh-year prefects were attempting to clean up what they could. Sylvie snuck away from them and to her dormitory before she could be asked to help and spent the rest of the morning asleep.

She avoided Quintus the next few days. Once or twice she saw him looking at her in the hall or at a meal and she made sure to get away from there before he could get any ideas. After all, ideas were the absolute worst thing a Button could have. She even skipped their Monday training session.

She felt bad about it. Which annoyed her. But the worst part was she wasn't sure if she felt bad because she wasn't flying, or because she wasn't going to be alone with him. The part of her that still missed Anna, and that loved being the center of attention, wanted to drag him somewhere private and use him to feel good again. But the part of her that made better decisions knew that was a stupid idea.

By the following Friday she'd quelled any of those urges. She thought she'd be able to practice again on Monday, if he was even there after she no-showed him. She figured he would be. He loved Quidditch and it was an excuse to be on a broom.

She found herself looking forward to it as she walked into the Great Hall with a few of her housemates that morning. She was daydreaming about flying and hardly paying attention to her surroundings.

"You bitch!" she heard someone yell. Her eyes scanned the Hall, eager to see what drama was about to unfold. She barely noticed that Clara McMillan was rushing straight toward her. She blinked as the Gryffindor Prefect charged right up to her.

"You cunt!" the girl yelled once more. And then she pulled her arm back and slapped Sylvie as hard as she could across the face. Sylvie felt the other girl's nails cut her cheek as the sound of the blow echoed through the great hall. Sylvie brought her head back up to face the girl, fully intending to make a snide comment of some sort when suddenly Clara's hand impacted on her face again.

"You stay away from him! You stupid whore!" Clara yelled again. Tears were welling in her eyes.

"Clara," Syvlie started, bringing her own hand up to rub her cheek.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! He's my boyfriend. Mine! You don't just get to fuck him because you're bored. You stupid slut! I hate you! You…you self-centered bitch!" Clara screamed. A few of Sylvie's friends started to surround them as Clara brought her hand up to slap her once more. But the Head Boy, a Ravenclaw, grabbed her hand in the air.

"You made your point," he said calmly.

"Well you weren't doing it. Seemed like someone should," Sylvie muttered under her breath. Clara shrieked and fought against the Ravenclaw. But this time her attack didn't come by way of anything physical. Instead an unseen force hit Sylvie in the stomach.

She fell to her knees as she felt everything rise up inside of her. She gagged on bile and iron as she fought to swallow it back down. A searing pain shot through her throat as she fought against the magic. Tears welled in her own eyes.

And then she couldn't fight it anymore. She threw up all over the floor in front of her. A thick stream of red, bloody bile erupting from her. It wracked through her; her whole body shook. It started from her mouth, but continued out her nose as well. And it didn't stop. She gagged against it, trying desperately to breathe but so much was going out that nothing could come in.

She felt the tears on her face as her lungs constricted. She fell onto her side, landing in some of the splash as she choked out more of it.

"There's your stupid slutty Princess," Clara said with a vitriol no student could ever remember her using. "Helpless in her own vomit. A great look for her."

"Enough," the head boy snapped. But he had no idea what to do. The commotion had drawn a crowd. He turned and called for a Professor as Sylvie convulsed on the cold stone floor.

Sylvie spent the rest of the morning in the infirmary. It took the nurse a surprisingly long time to stabilize her. And every ten minutes or so after the spell she'd start vomiting again. It wasn't until midday that Pomfrey summoned the other sixth year Syltherin prefect and told him to spend the day with her.

The boy seemed fairly annoyed at the assignment. But it got him out of classes for the remainder of the day and he didn't talk much to her. Her housemates mostly ignored her after, although she made next to no effort to talk to them either. Emma at least sat with her while she worked on her homework, and snuck her some food back for dinner, although, despite how many times she brushed her teeth, she could still taste the vomit in her mouth.

Clara McMillian earned a detention for her outburst. But it was still a victory for her. Word quickly spread through the students that weren't there and Sylvie spent the next week enduring all sorts of taunts.

Pretty much every time she entered a room someone commented on the smell of vomit or some variation of asking if anyone felt sick or threw up lately. She barbed back for the first day or to but it didn't stop any of it.

She would have also bet that every Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw student called her 'The Pukecess' at some point. It wasn't very creative. But it stung every time they said it. Quintus never seemed to be in the same room as her from that point, either. And he no showed their next Monday practice session and didn't say a word to her when the scouts made them fly together for their last session.

The seventh year Syltherin girls also took to muttering about her anytime she was nearby. Their favorite comments seemed to do with soiling herself, impurity, or all sorts of other snide remarks of that nature. Again, Sylvie barbed back with thinly veiled comments about what she knew they got up to, but none of that seemed to matter as they hadn't fucked Quintus Button.

And the boys were just as bad. It seemed every male in the school, fourth year and up, came up to her and asked what she was doing later, or if she'd like to go somewhere with them, or how she was, or how they were better than Quintus.

It grew incredibly frustrating. Most of them, after she turned them down, made rather snide comments to her about it. And then wouldn't come near her for a week or so. Eventually, the only two people that would be seen with her were Evan and Lydia. She spent more time in empty bathrooms than she cared to admit.

But she was a Potter and she knew her father had dealt with worse, although she had trouble imagining how as the final month of her sixth year quickly turned into her worst year at school. But, thankfully, it ended.

Sylvie didn't think she hugged her parents any harder than normal when she got home. And she mostly kept the sniffles at bay. But they both looked at her strangely and asked if she was okay. Fine, she told them, just happy to be home.

She spent most of the summer teaching Leo his first spells, much to her mother's chagrin. She thought Leo learned a lot quicker than her, but figured that had to be her imagination. Her father didn't care much if she was helping him perform underage magic. And Leo, always the stickler for the rules, didn't flaunt any of his newfound knowledge.

Of course, it often led to Chloe crying because despite her best mimicry she wasn't able to perform any of the spells yet. Sylvie assured her that she was simply too young. And that at her age she couldn't do any magic either. But she wound up getting a lecture from her mother about spurring her sister on regardless.

She didn't invite anyone over that summer, and she made no vacation trips to England, despite her parents badgering her about spending time with her friends. She ignored them, knowing they had the best intentions but figuring it was easier to ignore them.

And then Quintus Button signed with the Appleby Arrows. She was happy for him. But she wasn't overly thrilled with the fact that she had to go to the party. She tried to get out of it but her mother told her she was being petulant and to go change.

So, she did. Into jeans and a Ballycastle t-shirt. And was immediately told by her mother that she was looking to make an impression at a party, not hang out on the couch. Her mother then made her change into a white, tight fitting oriental style dress with a floral print on the side. Her mother complimented her and gave her an old white Louis Vuitton clutch to go with it.

She had to grudgingly admit that she looked good in it. But she didn't want to look good in anything while she'd see Quintus. She didn't want to see Quintus.

The party was at the Button's house, a large home a bit outside of London. They took the Floo straight to it. Sophie Button met them in the living room and escorted them out back where the party had already started.

Titus and Quintus stood on the far end. Titus wore an Appleby Arrow's jersey and hat, had a bottle of beer in hand, and was laughing at something Quintus said. Quintus wore a button up shirt and jeans and looked very put together, if a bit flustered at being the center of attention.

Sylvie bit her lip as he saw her enter. He smiled at her, and for a moment, she thought things might be okay. But then Clara McMillan stepped up to his side, glass of wine in one hand, and slid her arm around his. His attention immediately turned to her. She wondered if he noticed the icy glare Clara gave her.

Sylvie slipped away from her parents and followed Chloe to where some other kids were playing. It was mostly younger Gryffindor students; most of Quintus's house was present. She spent most of the party hanging out with the smaller children that were there. She did her best to be unnoticed. It was an odd feeling for her.

But she made one crucial mistake. She offered to go and get some juice for a few of the kids who complained about being thirsty. When she approached the refreshments she almost ran straight into Titus. He greeted her jovially and grabbed her, dragging her off toward Quintus.

They needed a picture, he claimed, of the four of them. Two generations of English Quidditch stars was too much to pass up.

She was pressed next to Quintus, her father on her other side, as photos were snapped. She put on her best fake smile and hoped that it would end soon. That it would just be a mild diversion.

But she saw Clara glare at her for the entirety of it. The blonde girl grabbed two fresh glasses of red wine form the refreshment table and came over to join them.

"Quintus, honey, I brought you another glass of..oops!" Clara said as she fake stumbled toward them. Her arms flew up and the contents of both glasses flew at Sylvie. She raised her arms to try to block it, but the clutch and her dress were immediately drenched.

"Eek!" she squealed as she tried to get her wand out of the purse.

"I'm so sorry!" Clara said and drew her wand. "Let me help you with that!" She was casting the spell before Sylvie could say anything. She used an instant drying charm. One that would remove the wetness immediately. But one that Sylvie knew also wouldn't remove the stain, but rather magically imbue it into the garments.

"I…I," Syvie started, tears welling in her eyes. She started to run off. She felt magic around her ankle and she tripped right near the refreshments. She almost landed on an elf refilling a juice bowl but she managed to avoid it. She spun around on instinct and slashed her wand at Clara before she could think about what she did.

But a white flash of light prevented the spell from hitting the other girl.

"Sylvie!" her father scolded her, his voice stern. "Go home and change. Come back when you're ready to behave."

"But dad," Sylvie started.

"Now," Harry ordered. Sylvie flinched away from his words. Her mother was at her side in moments. Her hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her back inside, toward the fireplace.

She found herself back in their Bordeaux home just a few moments later. Tears were welling in her eyes and she stormed off to her bedroom mostly because she had no idea where else to go.

She glared at herself in the mirror as she wiped the tears from her face. Clara had managed to stain pretty much the entirety of her front. She stripped out of it and moved to her closet to find something similar to change in.

Anger welled in her for a moment. She found a thin, almost sheer black dress that had been a gift from her aunt. It was borderline indecent, but would certainly make an impression. If Clara wanted to be a bitch she could show her exactly how much prettier she was. She could make it so Quintus looked at nothing but her for the rest of the night.

But after thumbing through her dresses she changed her mind. The anger fading away almost as quickly as it came, replaced with the same lonely sadness from minutes before. She found an old pink t-shirt and some pajama pants and changed.

Once finished she threw herself onto her bed, face first in the pillow. She hadn't even wanted to go to the stupid party. And now both her parents were mad at her. Even when she was there, she was perfectly content with making sure Chloe, Leo and the other gremlins didn't wind up causing trouble.

But no, she had to get dragged into some photo. They had to shove her right up against Quintus and order her to smile and look pretty so that Clara grew annoyed. And then blame her for everything. She punched her pillow and screamed into it. Rolling around on her bed.

She rolled over her mother's clutch. She'd never been quite as interested in handbags as her mother, but she knew it was vintage. The wine had completely covered half of it, the stain spreading over the printed logos on it. She frowned at it and fumbled around for her wand.

She could fix it. She knew she could fix it. She had to be able to fix it or her mother would be absolutely furious at her. She started casting spells on it, knowing that one of them would work. That one of them had to work.

None of them worked.

She threw the bag and her wand across her bedroom with a frustrated yell and a burst of magic. She hadn't meant to shatter her mirror but at that point she didn't care. She buried her face back into her pillow and let the tears come.

Later, there was a soft knock on her door. It woke her, but she hoped that by not acknowledging that it would go away. The knocking grew louder instead. And then her door opened slightly. There was a pause before the door fully opened.

Sylvie tried to sneakily open one eye. She saw her father lean over and pick up her wand. He waved it at her broken mirror and the shards of glass repaired themselves. He put the wand on her dresser and picked up the clutch as well. His eyes shot to her bed and to her, she slammed her eye shut and hoped he hadn't noticed anything. He paused before he spoke.

"Sylvie," he said. "I think we need to talk."

"What?" she said, knowing faking being asleep was futile.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, sitting up and resting back against her pillows.

"Sylvie," Harry sighed.

"Nothing is wrong," she said.

"I didn't ask what was wrong," Harry countered. "I asked what was going on."

"Nothing," Sylvie said. Her father peered down at her. He was quiet for a moment until Sylvie's stomach rumbled. Then he sighed.

"Have you eaten since lunch?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Sure you are. Come on. Don't make me carry you," Harry said. Sylvie frowned but figured the threat was serious. She pulled herself out of bed and followed him out of her room.

Her father led her to the kitchen. She was moderately surprised that the clock on the range indicated it was nearly one in the morning. She brushed her hair out of her face and sat on one of the bar stools at the breakfast nook. She thought for sure he was going to summon one of the elves, but instead he started rummaging through the fridge.

She watched as he pulled out eggs, butter, and a block of cheese. He gathered up some bread from nearby and an avocado. It only took him a few minutes to make two rather delicious looking fried egg sandwiches. He cut them in half and put all four slices on a large plate with some diced pears. He turned back to the fridge and took out a bottle of apple juice. He filled two glasses and placed one in front of her before joining her at the breakfast nook.

He picked up one of the slices and ate about a third of it in one bite. She picked up a slice and took a much daintier bite.

"Thanks," she said. He nodded and waited until she finished the full slice and had a piece of pear to continue to press her.

"So, what's going on?" he asked.

"It's nothing. It's fine," she said.

"You know, Sylvie, I don't think I've been a bad dad," Harry sighed.

"What?" Sylvie blinked in surprise.

"Lord knows I didn't have much positive to base it on. Your mother will tell you I was a mess with worry the entire time she was pregnant. I think she wanted to hex me the whole damn time. Mostly, I tried to do the exact opposite of what I experienced. I spoiled you far too much. Everyone tells me that. But I also wanted you to be independent. I didn't want to pry too much. I didn't want to enforce my will, or make you do anything," Harry said.

"You're great, Dad," Sylvie frowned.

"Well, that's good. So then, Sylvie, to make up for almost eighteen years of not being a helicopter parent…you're going to tell me what the fuck is going on," Harry said.

"I don't know what you want to hear," Sylvie admitted.

"My best two friends are Ernie McMillian and Titus Button," Harry admitted. "And I just spent an evening with both of them while our three kids got into a rather large row. You were always friendly with Clara. And Quintus. Tonight, you immediately sequestered yourself. I know for a fact that you don't enjoy watching Chloe and Leo," Harry said. "And Ernie and Titus seemed to know what was going on. And I have a pretty good idea…but."

"What happened with Quintus and Clara after…." Sylvie said. She didn't want to say 'after I tried to hex her' but no other words came to mind. Her anger at it the entire situation rising in her again. She quelled it by starting on the other half of her sandwich.

"Quintus said something I didn't catch and dragged Clara off. He came back to the party about fifteen minutes later. She came back about a half hour later and looked like she'd been crying. It was rather stilted after that," Harry said. "But I did manage to have a very brief conversation with her."

"Great, so she'll blame me for that too. On top of ruining the party," Sylvie said.

"I don't think the party was ruined," Harry responded. "But what else is she blaming you for."

"Well, nothing, I guess," Sylvie started.

"Sylvie," Harry responded sternly. Sylvie pressed her lips together and her father seemed to be able to tell that she wasn't so much withholding information at the moment as she was pondering how to word it. He gave her a moment.

"Quintus and I…did something stupid together last spring when he and Clara were broken up for a week or so," Sylvie said. "She has been…rather cold…to me since then."

"How stupid?" Harry asked.

"There was alcohol, a Potter, and a Button involved," Sylvie said. She tried to say it jokingly but it came out depressed.

"Ah," Harry said.

"Were you at least safe?" Gabrielle Potter asked from the doorway. She walked into the kitchen and gestured to the remaining egg sandwich slice on the counter. Her husband nodded at her and she picked it up and started to eat it.

"Of course," Sylvie said, blushing. She blushed more when she realized what she admitted to. Her parents were quiet for a moment.

"Next time you're going to be an idiot can you maybe not do it in a way that jeopardizes my relationship with my friends?" Harry sighed. She didn't think he meant for his words to hurt. But they did. Her mother glared at her father after he spoke and he quickly apologized.

"You are young," Gabrielle said. "We all do stupid things when we are young."

"I didn't," Harry said.

"You let a Dark Lord kill you," Gabrielle countered. Harry opened his mouth to refute that but Sylvie started to giggle and hearing it made his face light up so instead he just smiled.

"Okay, well, that was one thing," Harry conceded. It took her a moment to compose herself.

"I'm sorry," Sylvie said. "I….I mean they were broken up. And I didn't think he'd tell her. And…I'm sorry."

"It is alright," Gabrielle said.

"Well that makes more sense then," Harry said. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What?" Sylvie asked.

"You should apologize to her. When you get the chance," Gabrielle said.

"I guess," she said.

"You should," Harry said.

"Okay," Sylvie said, looking away from her parents. She had no real intention of apologizing to Clara. And she was sure they both knew that. But she didn't want to keep talking about it and knew agreeing would be the best way to get out of it. And she was right, as moments later her parents decided to retire for the evening.

A few days later her Hogwarts letter came for her seventh year. It wasn't until her mother woke her that morning with word that the letter had come and a question if she wanted to shop that day or if she had plans to meet her friends, that another odd thought occurred to her.

She was likely a candidate for Head Girl. She hadn't quite realized that when she'd been made a prefect it put her on a short list for the Head Girl position. Well, she did, but she never thought about getting it. And now, it occurred to her, that she had at least a one in four chance.

Her grades were good and she didn't often lose points for Slytherin. She thought Professor Farley liked her. She thought other students liked her. She went to gather up the letter, half expecting the badge to be in it.

It wasn't. She frowned as she peered through the upcoming book list and the general supplies she would need. Her mother asked her what was wrong and she told her, which earned her a hug and a comment that her parents were both proud of her being a prefect and that being Head Girl made no difference to them.

Her mom took her shopping in Paris to make her feel better, and to replace her white dress and clutch. All-in-all, it turned into a pretty good day, Sylvie thought. And they managed to find all of her school supplies there as well.

And then it was time to return to Hogwarts. She put on her uniform, pinning the prefect's badge to her top and her parents took her to King's Cross and she waited with them until some of her friends showed up. Emma and Lydia were there, teasing Evan as they moved toward the train.

She joined them and the group started talking Quidditch immediately. A few minutes later the train whistle blew to indicate they should all board. Lydia took Sylvie's trunk and said they'd save a spot in the compartment for her for after her prefect rounds.

When she entered the prefect's carriage, ready for the first meeting of the year. She looked toward the far end of it and saw Clara McMillian with the shining Head Girl badge on her robes.

"Hello Sylvie," Clara smiled at her as she entered. Sylvie stiffened but did her best to smile back.

"Hello Clara. Congratulations on being Head Girl," Sylvie said, trying to sound more excited than she felt.

"Thank you," Clara said. She levitated a sheet of paper over to her. Sylvie plucked it out of the air. It was a familiar time table they filled out every year to determine who would have what rounds. "If you wouldn't mind getting to that right away. Alan and I would like this to go quickly this year."

"On it," Sylvie said, reaching for a quill and wondering if it would be the quill, the paper, or the ink that hexed her. She saw Alan Morris, a seventh year Ravenclaw with a Head Boy badge handing out similar papers to the new fifth year prefects. She wondered if it would be rude to go get one from him instead.

But none of the objects hexed her. And she managed to work her way through the sheet quickly, as it was the third time she'd done it. She handed it to Alan when she'd finished and took a seat among the other Slytherin prefects.

The rest of the meeting went as normal as could be expected. She was not assigned to train duty and joined her friends about twenty minutes later for the rest of the ride to Hogwarts. She found Alan as the train arrived and helped to escort the First Years to the castle.

After the feast Alan found her as she was telling the new fifth year prefects to escort the new Slytherin first years to the common room. He handed her a stack of papers, the yearly assignments for all of the Slytherin prefects. She distributed them once she got to the common room and frowned down at hers.

Normally the seventh years had the lightest loads when it came to patrols and responsibilities. But she'd been given patrols four nights a week, including doubles on Friday and Saturday. The schedule was written in Clara's hand. She made a face at it. She could complain about it to Professor Farley, she was sure. But the Professor would tell her to work it out among themselves.

At the very least she figured she'd have to beg for some help with her patrols after Quidditch matches. But she wasn't going to give Clara the satisfaction of knowing she was annoyed.

She found most of her seventh year proceeded that way. Every time a prefect was needed for, well, anything, it was Sylvie Potter who was volunteered. She bore it with a smile.

Quidditch proceeded well. They had Gryffindor in the first match, and without Quintus it was a slaughter. They won by nearly five hundred points and there was a great deal of talk of how no one would be able to challenge Slytherin that year.

The private sessions with scouts continued that year, a few other seventh years joining her. She felt she was far better at all the drills than they were, even if she seemed a little out of practice.

By Christmas, shortly after it was strongly suggested that she stay at Hogwarts for the Holidays to look out for the others who wouldn't be going home, Alan told Clara to give it a rest. And, from there, she had essentially no contact with Clara. Sylvie didn't mind.

She lied to her parents when they asked if she'd made up with Clara. She doubted they would ever be friends again. If she could get away with not speaking to her she was okay with that.

Their only close match that season ended up being Hufflepuff. But they'd won, and with that victory won consecutive Quidditch Cups. She'd felt more a part of that celebration. Even if she did get chastised for skipping her rounds that evening. Because of course Clara checked. But Professor Farley had shrugged it off, as there was a whole month left in the school year.

And with that her time at Hogwarts ran down. The year felt oddly empty, oddly unimportant to her. Toward the end of the school year she started to receive letters from Quidditch teams. Most of them went through the agency that represented her father. But a few of them made their way to her.

Sadly, none of them came from Ballycastle. Which didn't surprise her that much, as their current Seeker wasn't that old and had been trained by Harry Potter. But so had she. And she'd have loved to wear the same uniform he wore.

In the end it came down to two credible offers, the middle-aged woman she'd taken on as her agent told her. Caerphilly and Wigtown were the standouts. Both had lackluster seeker play and she'd hoped she'd be able to work her way into starting immediately. Her father thought Caerphilly would be the better fit.

But she'd been more impressed with the facilities and staff in Wigtown. And so, shortly before the first of July, she signed an entry level contract with the Wigtown Wanderers. There was a whole local press event about it. She was beaming as she signed the contract with a flourish.

Her family held a party in Bordeaux and she was the star of the show. She invited everyone she could think of and had far too much fun for her own good. Her father didn't comment on her hangover the next morning when the whole family went apartment shopping in Wigtown.

Sylvie didn't see why she couldn't just stay in their London home and commute but her father scoffed at her and told her it was time she had a place of her own. And given her new source of income, it shouldn't be that hard to find her something suitable.

And it wasn't. They found a nice apartment for her a few miles from the stadium in a fairly hip portion of Wigtown. Well, Sylvie thought, as hip as Wigtown got. Paris, it was not. But it was close enough that she could run to the stadium if she felt like a nice morning warmup. She liked the location.

Moving in was fairly painless. Her father pulled some strings and had it quickly connected to the Floo in their London home and they transferred everything over quickly. And then there were hugs and kisses and she found herself alone. It was a strange feeling. She'd never really been left alone before. It was oddly quiet.

She went out, mostly just to walk around the town and stopped at a restaurant for dinner. Eating alone also felt strange but the waiter flirted with her, so that was nice.

It was oddly hard to sleep in her empty apartment. She wasn't sure if it was from an onset of loneliness, or fear, or excitement for the fact that the next morning would begin the rest of her life.