Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work.

9. Arrows

Sylvie Potter cried as she Floo'd her parents to discuss the end of her Quidditch career in Wigtown. Her dad came through and hugged her. Her mother joined her a moment later and hugged her as well. It wasn't the end, they said. Plenty of players don't stick with their first team. Her agent would get her another gig.

Her parents took her out to dinner and they watched as Appleby fell to Holyhead to finish fifth in the season. The Arrows started hot but had faltered down the stretch. A late surge gave them a shot at third and qualification for the European cup, but it wasn't to be.

When she got home she packed up about half of her Wigtown apartment, for no real reason other than it gave her something to do. She met with her agent a few times over the upcoming days as league play wound down.

There was an odd sense of finality in it. Her agent told her Parker's reports hadn't gone on idle ears. Sylvie frowned. Sure, Melanie Durand gave her a ringing endorsement. But that had more bearing in the French leagues.

That was fine, Sylvie said. If that was the best offer she could get, she'd think about it. Her agent looked surprised as she said it but went to work.

And there was no news for nearly a month. Sylvie kept renting her apartment in Wigtown and found the entire situation to be rather odd. It got even worse as the weeks dragged on and her agent never contacted her with any sort of update.

She marked the date that most teams began their preseason camps on her calendar and got twitchy as the date approached with no real offers. She called her agent repeatedly but received the same answers.

Finally, one morning her agent invited her to her office. She had six total offers for her. Three of them were in North America. They were the most money, but two of them were only for a season. And Sylvie didn't want to move to Canada or the United States.

Two of them were in France. But both were with second tier teams. Although one of them had a fairly good shot at being promoted to the first league if their play continued. And Sylvie figured she could greatly enhance their odds. She frowned down at them and her agent nodded.

"There's one more," the woman said. "But it's not a full offer yet."

"Why not?" Sylvie asked.

"The manager wants to sit down and talk with you first," her agent responded.

"When?" Sylvie asked.

"They'll meet you whenever. I arranged this afternoon if you like," the woman said.

"Where?" Sylvie asked.

"Appleby," Her agent responded. Sylvie blinked.

"But they have Anderson," Sylvie said, surprised. Anderson had been in contention for awards last season after their hot start.

"And it sounds like they're going to sell him for quite the profit. They're looking at other options and your name came up. I know you're not on the best terms with Button, but their preliminary offer is more than fair," her agent said.

"I'll go," Sylvie responded. "It's the only offer in England?"

"Yes. And the only offer from a first-tier team," her agent responded.

"I'll be there," she said.

And so she found herself walking into the Appleby Arrows stadium. She wore a conservative navy dress, short matching heels, and had her hair done up in a bun. She had a black saddle bag thrown over her shoulder. She'd dressed to make an impression. But, as the gate guard stopped her to wait for a member of Arrow staff, she wondered if it would do more to play up to her reputation.

She'd been called lazy and vain, more interested in photo shoots and handbags than snitches. Of course, she thought idly, only one coach ever said that in public. But he'd been the coach that most professionals saw around her the most. So if anyone knew, it had to be him.

Still, it made her think that maybe she should have dressed more casually. Maybe she shouldn't have spent so much time on looking pretty for the lunch meeting. Maybe a Quidditch manager didn't care what color eye shadow she wore that day.

But a young man met her at the gate. And he paused to stare at her for a moment as the gate guard snickered.

"Uhm Miss Potter?" he asked as if he didn't already know.

"Yes. I'm here for…" she started.

"Yes of course," he said, seeming surprised he was talking to her. "Please come with me." Sylvie nodded and followed the man through the stadium. They walked past both locker rooms and to an elevator. The man pressed a button and it opened immediately. He held the door open for her and she stepped in, moving as far to one side as she could. The man followed her in and hit another button.

Moments later they stepped off the elevator. Sylvie peered out at the floor to ceiling windows that looked down at the hoops as the man led her toward a series of offices. A pretty secretary greeted her and the man left. The secretary led her to the largest office in the area and knocked on the door frame.

"Your one o'clock is here," she said. Sylvie checked her watch and saw she was still five minutes early, so that was at least a positive.

"Ah, Miss Potter," the man said, standing from his desk and walking toward the door as the secretary returned to her desk. He was a large, burly, bearded man in his late fifties and he was honestly fairly intimidating as he offered his hand to Sylvie. "Alan Hodge. Nice to meet you."

"You too," Sylvie said, taking his hand cautiously as he shook hers and then gestured to the seat across from his desk as he returned to his own chair.

"Can I get you anything? Water, soda, wine?" he asked. Sylvie raised her brows but shook her head.

"No, I'm alright," she said. She peered around the office. Appleby Arrows memorabilia decorated most of it. Except one small photo in the corner behind the desk. Her father smiled at her in the photograph. He was standing in the middle of a much younger looking Alan Hodge and Titus Button. All three wore English National Team jerseys. She smiled at it and turned her gaze back to the manager of the Appleby Arrows.

"A French woman refusing wine? Should I send for one of the physicians?" Hodge teased.

"What?" Sylvie asked.

"Sorry. A bad joke," Hodge responded.

"Oh," Sylvie said.

"Anyway," the man said, his smile faltering, "Thank you for coming to meet with us. We tend to have a more personal approach here. Some teams will be fine with offering contracts to players they don't speak to. I can't quite do that myself."

"Thanks for having me," Sylvie said. "I was honestly rather surprised when my agent told me you were interested. I thought you were quite happy with Anderson."

"We are," Hodge said.

"Oh," Sylvie said.

"That isn't to say there isn't room for improvement," Hodge said.

"I was looking for a starting position," Sylvie said, her voice quieter than she anticipated. Hodge raised his eyebrows and peered at her.

"And were you offered many of those?" he asked.

"A few," Sylvie lied.

"I see," Hodge said. "Well, there have been quite a few doubts about your commitment to professional Quidditch. Of course, I think some of it is blown out of proportion."

"Like what?" Sylvie asked.

"The photo shoots, for example, are a moot point. If someone is willing to pay you to pose in your underwear and you're willing to do it, then by all means just don't be late for team events. And plenty of young flyers have supplemented their income off the back of clothing companies," Hodge said. Sylvie blushed but nodded, feeling oddly scolded by it even though she was sure that wasn't Hodge's intention.

"They do pay well," Sylvie said, looking away from the older man in embarrassment. There was a time, she thought, when the fact that most wizards had seen her in her underwear wouldn't have bothered her. But that time was gone.

"But other things concern me," Hodge said. "There's claims you missed a few practices after starts. Which brings up questions about your commitment to the team."

"One practice," Sylvie said. Her gaze turned out the windows of Hodge's office. She could see herself on the pitch, celebrating her first professional snitch catch. "After playing here, actually."

"And why was that?" Hodge asked.

"I was sick," Sylvie said. She kept peering out over the pitch rather than looking at the manager. Hodge was quiet for a moment. Sylvie's gaze shifted downward. In her mind she could see through the ground and into the visitor's locker room, and then into the showers.

It wasn't as bad as when she returned for matches after the fact. But the memories still lingered. She needed to forget about it, she knew. But she couldn't fathom how to do that.

"And your previous seeker coach doesn't speak highly of your work ethic," Hodge said.

"So, I've heard," Sylvie responded.

"No comment on that?" Hodge said.

"What can I say?" Sylvie asked. "The other coaches in Wigtown never seemed to express that same sentiment."

"It wasn't their place to do so," Hodge responded. "And they didn't rise to your defense."

"No," Sylvie said. She still refused to look at Hodge. In her mind that was likely hurting her case. But she couldn't bring herself to look up. "They didn't."

"And most of the league could see you could fly circles around Chambers. But she kept starting most matches. Even when you performed. There's typically a reason for that," Hodge said. And in that instant something inside Sylvie broke. Of course there was a reason for that, she thought…

"He was fucking her," Sylvie spat, the words leaving her lips the same time they shot through her internal narrative. She regretted them immediately. Hodge was silent for a moment as he looked at her.

"Excuse me?" he asked. Sylvie kept her eyes on the hoops out the window. She didn't want to see his reactions. It sounded like an excuse; she knew. But it was the truth.

"Parker and Chambers," Sylvie said. "They were a couple."

"Who knew that?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sylvie said. "It seemed petty for me to ask or to say anything. So I didn't."

"For years?" Hodge asked.

"Yes," Sylvie said.

"I see," Hodge said.

"You believe me?" Sylvie asked. She turned her head to look at him, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"I'm left with two options," Hodge shrugged. "Both provide valid reasons as to why one player was starting over another. One comes from the daughter of one of the most honest people I ever flew with. The other is about a man with a reputation for liking young women more than he should."

"Oh," Sylvie said. She sniffled. "I thought. I thought."

"What?" Hodge asked.

"I assumed no one would believe me. That it would seem petulant and complaining. That I'd just get laughed at and told I was being stupid," Sylvie said.

"Still, without proof," Hodge said. "His comments have bearing…are you okay Miss Potter?"

"Fine," Sylvie sniffled again. She could feel the tears on her face but she imagined that if she ignored them Hodge would too.

"You're crying," Hodge said. Sylvie reached up to brush the tears from her face, looking down as she did.

"It's nothing," Sylvie said.

"Miss Potter, honesty is crucial in our business," Hodge said. Sylvie frowned more and sniffled again. She didn't want to say anything. She didn't want it to be an issue. But it was the only team in England that was moderately interested in her. She took a deep breath and turned her gaze back to Hodge.

"He cornered me in the shower once," she said. "And implied that if I wanted to replace Chambers on the pitch, I should replace Chambers in other ways as well."

"He didn't," Hodge said.

"He did," Sylvie affirmed. She sniffed again, drying her eyes.

"Again, it's your word against his," Hodge said.

"No, it isn't," Sylvie said.

"Oh?" Hodge asked.

"One of your beaters witnessed it. He…heard me scream and investigated. He stunned Parker before he could touch me," Sylvie admitted. Saying it made her feel like a failure. She didn't know why, but putting it in the air made it worse. But this time she looked straight at Hodge, as if challenging him to challenge her.

"Quintus," Hodge said.

"Yes," Sylvie said.

"And why didn't you tell anyone?" Hodge asked.

"I didn't think it would help," Sylvie said. "And he implied that he had dirt on my father that he would make public."

"I see," Hodge said. "And to make it worse it happened here, then?"

"After my first start," Sylvie confirmed.

"You should report it," Hodge said.

"Two years later? When I'm looking for a job?" Sylvie scoffed. "That would still reflect poorly on me."

"Well, I'll be honest. We're getting offers for Anderson that are hard to refuse. I was discussing it with Roberts and, after last season, giving up on a proven seeker seemed to be unwise," Hodge said.

"But?" Sylvie asked.

"Well, Button overheard us. And he was rather staunch that if we're getting rid of Anderson, we could improve our roster with a very simple addition," Hodge said.

"Me," Sylvie frowned.

"You," Hodge agreed.

"I see," Sylvie said.

"And I'll be honest. I flew with both of your fathers. And I've never quite experienced magic like that on a Quidditch pitch. Titus Button and Harry Potter were on a different level. And I can't expect to replicate that with just the names. Quintus isn't his father. He's faster, but softer. He can't play in the offensive zone as well as Titus could. But he's just as cerebral. He understands the game just as well.

"And you are certainly not your father. I don't see his defiance in you. His first instinct was to smack the opponent in the face. I don't see that fight. There's a passivity to you that he didn't have. But you fly like him. You feint like him. And you're better with the Quaffle than he ever was. There will likely never be another Harry Potter. But if you work as hard as he did," Hodge let his voice trail off.

"I have never had an issue with working," Sylvie said. "No matter what Parker says."

"Well, we may just find out. Come, let me give you the tour and we can discuss your possible future here more," Hodge said.

"Okay," Sylvie nodded as they both stood.

The tour of the team facilities took about an hour. A lot of it was very similar to Wigtown. Some of it was newer, some of it wasn't. She'd seen all of it before, excluding the home locker room. Which was far more spacious than the visitor's one.

It was set up much like most she'd ever been in. It was a large circular room with wooden cubbies ringing around it. She noticed that the players who left things in their locker room weren't organized by position as they were in Wigtown. Anderson's '7' hung on the middle left of the room, with Quintus Button's '81' hung in a locker next to it. It was fairly odd for a seeker and a beater to have lockers next to each other but Sylvie wondered how much positioning in the locker room mattered.

Appleby didn't use the standard numbering system either. She'd always found it a bit odd that Quintus wore 81 rather than his father's 18. But he'd commented on it in an interview before. Both he and his father admired Irish legend Finbar Quigley, who'd always worn 81. And Titus had picked his number purely by inverting Quigley's when they'd wound up on the same team. So Quintus thought, in a way, he was honoring both of them.

In her mind Anderson's seven changed to the seventeen of Potter in the locker. But then she remembered that seventeen belonged to Daniel Armstrong. One of the legends of Appleby from the early nineteen hundreds.

She'd always thought she'd take her father's number, if given the opportunity. Of course, the traditional seven worked in a sense as well. She hadn't minded the fourteen in Wigtown, except for the fact that it reminded her of Wigtown. Of course, she thought with a wry smile, she could tweak her father by picking eighteen. Or perhaps the twenty-one that Sophie Button wore for most of her career.

But then it occurred to her that she hadn't been offered a contract yet. And while the tour was nice. At best it was the due diligence of good hospitality. She chatted with Hodge about nothing in particular until they stopped outside the Floo. He thanked her for coming and then she found herself without a team and back in Wigtown.

Her agent seemed rather annoyed that she'd left Appleby without a deal but she didn't know what to say to that. She was quiet through the next set of meetings until she meekly suggested she look over the contract of the lower tier French teams who were interested.

There was one positive aspect to it, she thought. She'd be closer to Melanie Durand and the French National Team. Maybe if she made great strides she'd have a shot of cracking that roster with more exposure. Still, it looked like her options were Laval or Istres. And she always did like the south of France.

Her agent told her to sleep on it, so she went home. She did a lot of pacing when she got home. It took her a good twenty minutes to realize she had a Floo message. It was from Quintus and he asked that she call him as soon as she was able. It took her another twenty minutes to work up the courage to call him. But he didn't answer and she didn't bother leaving a message.

Part of her wondered what she'd even say to him. But that question didn't have to be answered. Instead she went to bed. She didn't notice that her fire raged as soon as she left the room. And she assumed she imagined his voice saying her name from the living room.

She woke in the morning and crawled out of bed. She didn't bother showering, despite being able to see her mother's disgusted face clear as day as she moved to the kitchen. But she had no plans to get dressed or go outside so worrying about if her hair was clean seemed excessive.

She peered down at the two contracts on her table. She'd read them both a few times the night before but still couldn't bring herself to sign either one of them. Somehow it felt too much like admitting to a failure. And Sylvie wasn't about to do that. She paced around the kitchen and then settled at the pantry. The box of Cheery Owls was a very unappealing breakfast. And the banana on the counter, the last of her fruit bowl, was a wholly unappealing shade of brown.

"Kreacher?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes Mistress?" the elf asked, appearing behind her. She turned and looked at the small creature. He looked more tired than she remembered, but otherwise the same. She'd summoned him a couple of times a year, always a little surprised that he showed. The elf looked disdainfully around her small flat, his eyes resting on clothing she had littered around and the empty bottles of wine on the counter.

"Would you make me an omelet?" she asked quietly. Kreacher looked toward her refrigerator then back at her.

"Mistress has no eggs," Kreacher said.

"I have monthly evidence that suggests otherwise," Sylvie scoffed. The elf stared at her and she had the distinct feeling that he either didn't understand, or care, for reproductive humor. Or that that she wasn't nearly as funny as she thought.

"Mistress also has nothing to put in it," Kreacher said.

"Fine," Sylvie sighed. She found some slippers and pulled them on. "I'll go to the store."

The elf didn't comment as she left. She walked to the grocer, drawing a few stares as she was only mostly dressed as she entered and the morning was cooler than she'd anticipated. The cool air did feel nice though, invigorating in a way. She intended to grab eggs, some cheese an onion and a pepper and be on her way, but being in the store filled her with an odd sense of purpose.

So, she did far more grocery shopping. She spent a few minutes chatting with a few of the locals who recognized her. Most of them appeared to be judging her on her appearance, but she shrugged it off. She noticed a few of the staff, mostly teen boys stocking the shelves, watched her when she walked by. She amused herself by walking up to one and making a show of bending forward to pick up a package of crisps. She saw his eyes flash right to her chest. She smirked at him and he flushed crimson instantly and rushed off to a different aisle.

She found herself in far better spirits a half hour later when she returned home. She barely had time to be annoyed that Kreacher had cleaned her entire flat in that time. And didn't even comment as he magically took the groceries from her and sorted them. He left the omelet fixings on the counter and turned to look up at Sylvie.

"Mistress should learn how to make eggs," Kreacher said.

"But that's what I have you for," Sylvie said.

"Kreacher is not sworn to mistress," Kreacher said. "And mistress will learn how to make eggs."

"But," Sylvie argued.

"Mistress will crack three eggs into a bowl and whisk," Kreacher said as a bowl appeared before her, along with a whisk. Sylvie frowned and cracked one of the eggs on the bowl, part of the shell fell in with the egg. She reached for it with her hand but Kreacher vanished it with a disgusted look and made her do it again.

He insulted her technique while whisking, then made her chop vegetables, then butter and season the pan, then stir the eggs, then mix and roll. She was a little bit surprised at the sheer amount of butter that he made her put into it.

When she finished, he had her put it on a plate and found some orange juice to serve it to her with. She cut a chunk of it off and put it on a smaller plate and placed it in front of the other stool at the dining bar.

"Eat with me?" she asked. Kreacher raised his brows at her but climbed into the high-backed stool and picked up the spare fork. He eyed the eggs carefully but took a bite.

"Mistress is a quick learner," he said.

"Mistress had a good teacher," she teased. She reached out and rubbed his head, earning herself a glare.

"Mistress is too kind," Kreacher said. They ate in silence. She was rather surprised that she'd managed to make something that tasted good. Almost as surprised as she was at Kreacher making her do it rather than doing it himself. But it made her feel like she'd accomplished something, and she felt a lot better than when she'd woken up an hour or so ago because of it.

"Can I ask you something, Kreacher?" she asked. The elf turned his gaze to her and nodded. Sylvie pressed her lips together and looked at him for a few moments. It had bothered her for a while, years in fact. And she wondered if she even really wanted the answer.

"Why do you come when I call but Ruby and Onyx don't?" Sylvie asked. "Is it because they're technically sworn to my mother? And you my father? Or what?"

"Kreacher is sworn to obey commands of Master's heir. It is in Kreacher's oaths," he said as if it was the obvious answer. And it made sense, as the other elves were likely employed under different, mainly 'don't spoil the children' contracts.

"Well sure, but you've found ways around that before. Come now, tell me the truth," Sylvie said.

"Is that an order, mistress?" Kreacher asked. He finished his omelet and cleaned up both of the plates.

"Well, no," Sylvie sighed and pouted. "I was just curious."

"Kreacher always thought Mistress had the proper attitude and decorum," Kreacher said.

"I'm a stuck up, pouty, bitch," Sylvie frowned. Kreacher shrugged his shoulders, but nodded. Sylvie sighed. "I'm not sure that is a ringing endorsement."

"Mistress will do well continuing the family line," Kreacher said with a slight smirk. She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if that comment was payback for earlier.

"Gross," Sylvie said.

"Mistress also got a message while she was shopping from her agent," Kreacher said.

"Probably just wants to know if I made a decision yet," Sylvie sighed.

"She said it was urgent," Kreacher said.

"I'll call her back," Sylvie said.

"Does mistress require Kreacher stays?" the elf asked.

"No, that's alright. Thank you, though, for everything," Sylvie said. Kreacher nodded at her and vanished as she moved over to the Floo, ringing into her agent's office.

"Sylvie!" her agent exclaimed. "Did you sign either of those contracts yesterday?"

"No," Sylvie said.

"Good, don't. Appleby called this morning. They've offered a very fair deal," Her agent said.

"They told me they were very happy with Anderson. Honestly, I think I'd rather play in France. Even if it's with a lower team," Sylvie said.

"Chudley bought Anderson this morning," her agent said. "The news should break this afternoon."

"Oh," Sylvie said.

"So, assuming you don't hurt yourself in the next month, you can be starting matches for the Appleby Arrows. And they've offered three times what Laval offered," her agent said.

"Oh," Sylvie said again.

"I thought you'd be more excited," her agent said.

"I'm excited," Sylvie said. "Tell them I'll sign it."

"Great. I should have the final deals on it in a day or so and I'll get it over to you as soon as I do. I think you'll be a great fit there," her agent said.

"Can't be worse than Wigtown," Sylvie said and ended the call. She stared at her fire for a few moments and then threw another handful of powder into the fire.

"Hey Sylvie, how are you?" Her mother answered.

"I'm fine," she said and after a pause added. "I'm moving to Appleby."

"Appleby?" her mother looked surprised. But after a moment she smiled brightly. "Congratulations!"

"An Arrow?" she heard her father's voice in the background.

"Yes," her mother said.

"Awesome!" Harry said.

"They're selling Anderson," Sylvie said. "I should start."

"Great news!" Harry said from the background.

"That's wonderful, love," her mother added.

"It won't be official for a few days. But would you guys mind helping me find a place to live in Appleby this weekend?" Sylvie asked.

"Of course not," Gabrielle said. "We will meet you Saturday morning?"

"Perfect," Sylvie said. "Thanks again."

"Of course," Gabrielle said. She congratulated her daughter once more before they spent a few minutes talking, mostly about what Chloe and Leo were up to before Sylvie ended the call. It was different to the first time she'd signed a deal. She was still excited, but the euphoria wasn't there. Maybe it would come when she physically signed the deal. But now she felt more apprehension than anything else.

But, she thought, she simply had more advanced worries. With Wigtown she assumed everything would work out. Now she was worried about fitting in with the other players, with interrupting existing relationships, with team chemistry, with not being as good as she thought. But those worries could wait, she thought. Dwelling on them wouldn't help her at all.

It took three days, but it did happen. There wasn't any fanfare, there was only a small press release and an article or two in the papers. Most sports writers said she was an overreaction and an overpay.

She received much more positive calls from other players in the league, including a nice chat with Rebecca Everly. And a few positive words from Quintus and a few other Arrows.

She found a flat without her parents help. But they toured it together. It was bigger than her home in Wigtown. She signed the lease and started the process of moving her stuff over. It was about halfway through that she noticed her father looked rather pensive.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, fine," he said. Sylvie narrowed her eyes and decided to get cheeky.

"I've been a pretty good daughter, right?" she said. Harry snorted.

"Really?" he laughed. She crossed her arms and pouted.

"Really," she frowned as cutely as she could manage.

"Fine. Yes. You're a wonderful daughter," Harry said, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smile.

"Well, for twenty-one years of not prying. What's going on?" she asked.

"It's nothing," Harry said.

"Dad," Sylvie whined.

"It's, I mean it's not a big deal. We just stopped at Grimmauld Place before meeting you and, well, I think Kreacher is losing it," Harry said.

"What?" Sylvie frowned. Unless the elf told him, she didn't think Harry was even aware that she summoned him every now and again.

"He just seemed lost. And tired," Harry said. "I'm wondering if I should take him to Bordeaux but I feel like Onyx and Ruby wouldn't like it, they think he should have given up years ago, and Kreacher would hate it. I don't think he's been out of Grimmauld Place consistently for nearly thirty years."

"And we're not there much," Gabrielle added. "I can't imagine being alone so often is good for him."

"Probably not," Harry admitted.

"I can take him," Sylvie said. Harry raised his brows and looked at her.

"I don't know that that's a very good idea," Harry said. "Kreacher can be…difficult."

"Oh, I'm sure I can handle him," Sylvie said. "And we'll at least have eyes on him."

"I'm sure you could," Harry said. "But it's Kreacher. I doubt he'll agree to leave the house."

"Well if you tell him he has to he'll do it and hate it. But don't do it like that," Sylvie frowned. She almost summoned him but figured it would be better to let her father do it. "Call for him. I'll ask him."

"I don't know," Harry said.

"It's worth a shot," Gabrielle said. "He looked awful."

"Summon him," Sylvie said. Harry knew better than to disobey two of the main women in his life.

"Kreacher," he said. The elf appeared instantly. Again, Sylvie thought he looked tired. But this time he looked a bit dazed as he looked around the new apartment. He immediately snapped his fingers and a packed box of kitchen utensils started sorting themselves.

"Yes master?" he said.

"Sylvie wants to ask you something," Harry said. He nodded toward his daughter. She knelt next to him and gave the elf the largest puppy-dog eyes she could.

"Yes Mistress?" Kreacher asked.

"I was thinking, Kreacher," she started as innocently as she could. "That I really want to be able to focus on my new career here in Appleby. And I could really use some help around the flat. And with good healthy meals. And I'd really love it if you could help me out."

"Kreacher is bound to Grimmauld Place," Kreacher said, but his eyes wavered as he stared at her. Sylvie gave him her best practiced pout.

"And you can still go there. I wouldn't dream of asking you to not. But I could really use your help. It would be so amazing to have you around. Please, Kreacher?" Sylvie begged.

"Kreacher…thinks he can make that work," the elf said. Sylvie lunged at him and hugged him tightly her.

"Oh my God you are the best!" she said. The elf stiffened in her arms but after a moment hugged her back with some hesitancy. After a few moments he managed to slip from her.

"Kreacher will go unpack mistress's clothing," the elf said as he walked down the hallway toward the main bedroom. Sylvie stood and smirked at her father.

"See, easy," Sylvie said. Her mother chuckled and shook her head.

"I do not think I taught you that," Gabrielle said.

"Remind me to never buy you anything you ask for again," her father said.

"Well you shouldn't have to," Sylvie smirked. "Should we go get lunch?"

"Yes," Gabrielle said.

"Promise you'll look out for him?" Harry said, peering after the elf.

"Of course," Sylvie said.

When Sylvie returned home that evening she found Kreacher had prepared what could best be described as a nest in the closet that housed the mechanicals. She thought it was slightly odd that he apparently decided to steal one of her pillows, but figured the less said about it the better.

She passed a few days in Appleby without much issue. She spent most of the time walking around the city, growing acquainted with it and the people. The ones that spoke to her were all very nice. A few of the local men flirted quite heavily with her, but she did her best to ignore it.

The few days after she signed were filled with press. She did a couple of quick plugs for Cleansweep, which ended up being her exposure to the newest iteration of the Cleansweep Arrow broom she would now fly in league competition. She picked her uniform number and prepared for the season to begin.

And then it was finally time to report to her first practice in Appleby. She arrived early once again. The gate guard didn't bother stopping her. But she also arrived at the same time as Alan Hodge, who looked like he'd been out for a morning run. The two of them walked into the Arrows' stadium together.

She stepped into locker room and saw that a few players were milling about. She saw Quintus was already in uniform, looking over the new broom. She peered at the locker next to his and saw her own gear had replaced that of Anderson's. The eighteen beneath her surname looked unusual after looking at a fourteen for so long, but it worked.

She moved over toward her new locker and started thumbing through her uniforms and pads. She tossed the shoulder bag she'd brought with her into the top of it. The contents were the assorted odds and ends she knew she'd need over the course of a Quidditch season. Mostly mundane objects like deodorant, hair ties, and a couple of changes of clothing just in case.

Sylvie noticed a stack of neatly folded clothing at the bottom of her locker. There were about ten pairs of Appleby Arrows athletic shorts, pants, tank tops, and long and short sleeved shirts. She debated making a wry comment along the lines of being surprised that there wasn't branded underwear. But that seemed a little out of place for the newbie.

"You must be Sylvie," a man said from behind her. She turned and saw a man dressed in an amazing amount of beige.

"I am," she said. She saw Quintus turned to look at her as well.

"Jonathan Boyle," he said offering his hand. She nodded and took it. She recognized him, of course, years of playing against him and reading scouting reports would do there. But there was still something to be said about a formal introduction. And the Team Captain and Quintus's beater partner seemed to understand that.

"A pleasure," she said, giving him the brightest smile she could manage. Boyle gave her an optimistic grin and looked around the locker room.

"I believe you know Quintus," he said.

"We've met," Sylvie said. Boyle chuckled.

"Of course you have," he said, peering between the two of them. "Shall I introduce you to the rest of the team?"

"Please," Sylvie said. And then Boyle led her around the locker room. She met the Keeper, Eric Jones, a late-thirties veteran of nearly twenty seasons and a stalwart fixture in the hoops for the Arrows for the last ten.

And then the Chaser trio of Rachel Linton, Ben Mills, and Abdul Nazar were next. Linton had been four years ahead of her and in Ravenclaw. She was blonde and had a very serious expression at all times. She did soften a little bit as Sylvie introduced herself, making a comment that the team needed more women. Sylvie peered around and realized that there was only one other female player there, a reservist Chaser named Helen Dawes.

Mills chatted with her and Boyle for a few minutes. He was the same age as Linton but had matriculated in America, spending his first seasons with Bakersfield before Appleby showed interest.

Nazar was a couple of years older than the other two Chasers and centered the line. It would be their third year together and they'd shown improved chemistry and scoring ability each of the last three.

There was only one other new addition. Matthew Grey, a Seeker fresh out of Hogwarts. Sylvie remembered him as the Hufflepuff seeker that beat her all those years ago. He looked amazingly young, she thought. Or perhaps she was just getting old. But he wore a determined expression.

She spent a few minutes chatting with Linton, whose locker was next to hers, opposite of Quintus's. She saw Linton had forgone a full practice uniform and instead changed into the sky-blue shorts and shirt that were left in her locker. A quick glance at most of the Arrows revealed this to be the case. Sylvie copied them in dress. Although she opted for the pants rather than the shorts.

Hodge came and gathered them up not long after that and they proceeded to the pitch. The first practice was little more than tossing a Quaffle around and getting used to the broom. Hodge only kept them on the pitch for about an hour or so before bringing them back in for some strategy discussion and general team meetings.

Sylvie mostly kept to herself, but found Grey often wound up near her. As did Quintus. And wherever Quintus went, Boyle went. So, staying by herself quickly turned into being in the middle of everyone.

It surprised her that she didn't mind. But she'd spent the last year and a half in Wigtown trying to avoid any unwanted attention. Now she found that she was enjoying it again. Hodge even went as far as asking for her opinion on a few plays where the Seeker could pinch up to help the Chasers and she was happy to give it.

After the meetings he dismissed them. Boyle invited everyone over to his home for a beginning of year party. It was fairly tame, by party standards, but the food was fantastic and she enjoyed herself.

When she got home she sat with Kreacher for a couple of hours and chatted, mostly about her day, to the elf. Kreacher was a surprisingly good listener. Or at least good at appearing like he was listening. Still, he didn't make any attempt to leave when she was talking.

Practices continued, quickly turning into something rather similar to what she was accustomed to at Wigtown. The first real problem came from Grey. She did the first drills at about seventy-five percent, enough to comfortably beat Chambers. But Grey smoked her. He was a much better flier than she remembered. She felt suddenly overmatched.

But she didn't give up. By the end of the next practice it felt more even. But to her dismay, it stayed mostly even. In fact, there were quite a few drills that she felt he was just better than her at.

She cursed herself for phoning in her final year at Wigtown. She felt slower than she remembered. Her reactions seemed off. Her mind raced ahead of her body and then grew annoyed as soon as it didn't catch up. It was an annoying cycle. And, by the end of practice, she was always very winded. For the first time in her life she realized she was out of shape.

That was fixable, though. Although when she harped on Kreacher about her diet the elf had quipped that her hips and chest were too small and no good Pureblood male would be interested if she didn't put on a few pounds.

Sylvie made the childish mistake of snapping back that she was more than capable of getting any male wrapped around her finger without all that much effort. Which just led to an argument about why she didn't bring boys home and that she should really get married and produce the next generation of the Black family.

When she stated her surname was Potter, Kreacher just stared at her as if she was speaking in French. And she realized then how fruitless the argument was. Part of her thought the elf was doing it just to get her goat. Another part of her thought he was being completely serious. She wasn't sure which was more annoying.

At least until the next morning. When Quintus Button met her at her door. It may not have been an option the night before. But that was far and away more annoying.

"Hey V," he said as she stepped outside. Like her, he was wearing Arrows athletic clothing.

"Yes Q?" she asked, stretching her legs out and doing her best to not notice Quintus's eyes lingering on them.

"I saw you've been running to the stadium before practice. Was wondering if you'd like some company," Quintus said. Sylvie frowned at him. It was innocent enough. And a little conversation didn't hurt. And it wasn't like he'd slow her down.

"Fine," she said. And they jogged to the stadium. It was misting down rain on them as they ran and neither player said anything.

"Let's take a lap around the stadium," Quintus said as they arrived.

"Ugh, we're here," she said, she was breathing far harder than he was.

"I seem to remember you having a much easier time keeping up with me," Quintus said. "Yet you're winded already?"

"I'm fine," Sylvie panted and started to move around the stadium. They did two laps before Sylvie collapsed on a bench. Quintus was winded, but in far better shape.

"You were way fitter at Hogwarts," he said.

"Shut up Q," she said. He smiled at her and summoned two bottles of water from the stadium and offered one to her. She took a few small sips from it before continuing to glare at him.

"Well you were," he said.

"Don't want to hear it," Sylvie scoffed. It took her a few minutes to regain her composure and pull herself to her feet. Quintus, thankfully, didn't make any more comments. But he didn't leave her alone, either. At least until they got into the locker room and Boyle approached him.

While they were talking Sylvie slipped away into the trainer's office, collapsing into the chair as the head trainer for the Arrows peered up from the paper at her.

"You look awful," she said, peering back at the paper.

"Thanks," Sylvie scoffed.

"Overdo it this morning?" the trainer asked.

"I think so. I shouldn't have tried to race Quintus on the morning run," Sylvie frowned.

"Alright, well let's get to it," the trainer said and rose to her feet. She took Sylvie into a smaller room and they did a daily combination of stretching and yoga in peace.

Hodge ran them through a rather intense practice shortly after and Sylvie found herself exhausted and sore. But a massage from the trainer rectified that in a hurry. She zoned out during it, trying to run through scouting reports on their first opponent, Montrose, in her head. But her mind thought more of Everly than anyone else on the Magpies.

Boyle was waiting for her when the massage was over. The team was throwing a birthday party for Grey, he said. And he would appreciate it if she at least made an appearance. Sylvie balked at it. She hadn't gone to any team events in her final year in Wigtown. But as she went to make an excuse she realized how that made her sound like a terrible teammate. And there was no reason to not mingle with her new teammates. She got the name of the bar where they were celebrating from Boyle and went home to change.

She didn't think she dolled herself up that much. She'd picked out a breezy purple sundress and some matching flats and put on a little makeup. But she must have looked good because Kreacher asked if mistress had a date. She scoffed at him and said it was just a small team party. And, to her surprise, the elf seemed disappointed.

Calling it a party was a bit of a disservice anyway. The Arrows took over a local bar. The staff knew Boyle and Linton well and they were left mostly alone by the locals. Although a few of them did buy Grey drinks.

The young Seeker was in the bag by early evening. But the drink gave him courage and a few hours into the party he stumbled over to where Sylvie was chatting with Linton and Dawes and asked if she would dance with him.

Her instincts said no, but Linton spoke first, saying of course she would, and Sylvie found herself being forced into Grey's clumsy arms. He stepped on her feet and his hand on her waist was way too low. But his face lit up when she was near him and she humored him for a few minutes. There wasn't any music playing but it was still easy to pretend.

But after a few moments of that Grey turned green and looked rather queasy. Sylvie slipped away from him when he was distracted by Boyle bringing him another drink. But as she slipped away she turned directly into Quintus and found herself dragged back to the dance floor.

All-in-all she was the most popular partner that evening and barely found herself with time off her feet. It was fun, though, and she enjoyed being out and being a coquette. Even if it did end up with her going home alone. Although she figured that was for the best. Or at least that was what she told herself as she crawled into bed while Kreacher insisted she drink a bottle of water.

He left her a hangover cure the following morning. She only had a slight headache but she appreciated it. Again, Quintus was waiting for her, as would become a morning habit. And again they ran to and around the stadium. And so she settled into a routine. The Arrows, as a whole, were a lot more personable than the Wanderers had been.

It almost didn't even bother her that Hodge started to have Grey line up with the starters at least as often as she did. She kept pressing, knowing that her spot wasn't guaranteed. But she desperately wanted it. She found herself practicing for longer, and harder, than she ever had. Which wound up with fairly often trips to the team trainer and an annoyed house elf when she got home, who insisted she was running herself ragged.

And maybe she was. She went to bed earlier, and often woke up still tired. And slept late on her days off. But she was never late. And she kept improving. Even she could tell that.

And then it finally happened. Two days before their first match with Montrose Hodge informed her that she would be starting. Grey looked disappointed but she didn't care. A huge feeling of relief spread through her as she got the news. She Floo called her parents as soon as she got home and they congratulated her, telling her they'd be there for sure.

She got a surprising amount of ticket requests when the news became public. Most notably from Anna Chase and Lydia Cole. She hadn't really spoken to either woman since Hogwarts but she made sure to leave them a pair each when she arranged her family's tickets as well.

Kreacher made her an annoyingly large breakfast the morning of the match. Perhaps more annoying was the fact that she ate most of it. She went to the stadium early and went through the optional warmups. Although she didn't go full speed during them.

After she spent some time in the video room, going over the reports on the Magpies one final time before moving back into the locker room to pull on the light blue uniform of the Appleby Arrows. She spent a few moments braiding her hair back away from her eyes. Ignoring Rachel's comment about how she should just cut it off to avoid that problem. And then ignoring Q's comment on how that would be a waste.

She went out with the chasers for the shoot-around, mostly because she didn't want to sit in the locker room and none of the coaches seemed to care if she went or stayed. So she went. She didn't take many shots, mostly playing fetch behind the hoops and relaying the Quaffles to Chasers. But she took a few runs on the hoops, getting more by Jones than she expected.

Hodge whistled them back into the locker room about twenty minutes before the match was scheduled to start. Sylvie sat in her locker as he gave a speech about how they were prepared and how they were set to have one of the best seasons in Arrow's history. Their minimum goal, he said, should be to qualify for the European Cup.

And then they went to the pitch as a team, being introduced one at a time. Sylvie circled around the pitch as the stadium announcer yelled her name. She didn't receive as loud of a cheer as either Button or Boyle, but it was still more than she'd expected. She went through the standard brief warmups with her teammates before peering at the countdown clock for the game to start.

She killed three of the remaining five minutes by floating over toward the friends and family section and saying hello to her parents. She smiled briefly at Lydia Cole, who sat next to a man at least ten years her senior with a very dour expression. Anna Chase was a few seats over, chatting with a petite black-haired woman. Sylvie nodded at them when Anna waved and flew over toward Quintus.

In Wigtown, Parker preferred the Seeker to start more forward, up with the chasers, usually directly underneath the draw. Hodge preferred them to start further back, flying high up almost centered between the Beaters and the Keeper. Both strategies had their merits. Hodge's gave her a much better view of the pitch. But Parker's made it easier to get involved in the opening play, when it was least likely the Snitch would show itself.

Sylvie watched the Quaffle fly. Mills won the draw and got the Quaffle to Nazar as the Arrows chasers sped off into the Magpies' zone. Sylvie floated closer to the center of the pitch, dodging around a Bludger as one of her Beaters attempted to scatter the defending Chasers.

She fist-pumped as Linton scored the first goal of the season for the Arrows as the Chasers fell back on defense. Sylvie joined them, but kept herself mostly out of the play as she kept her eye on the Magpies Seeker.

The Magpies rushed up the pitch, Sylvie shot through their rush, but was rather ineffective in stopping it. She cut around her own Beaters and hovered near the far left hoop, knowing that Montrose tended to focus on the right two on their rushes. Her presence wouldn't do much to deter them, but it would give Jones some peace of mind.

But her presence did seem to surprise them as one of the Chasers fumbled a pass and the Quaffle fell almost directly to her. The two other Magpie Chasers swarmed her and her only option was to throw the Quaffle straight toward Quintus and hope for the best as she dived to avoid a collision. She rocketed back up in time to see him hit the Quaffle with his bat, launching it down the pitch. Linton and Nazar sped after it.

She spun around on her broom to keep track of her opposite and heard the cheer as her Chasers must have converted the opportunity. She half wondered if she'd get credited for an assist on it or if they'd give it to Quintus, despite the fact that he never technically touched the Quaffle.

But she knew she had more important things to worry about, like the actual damn match. So, she pushed those thoughts from her head and continued to fly. Hodge wanted her to spend most of this match in their defensive zone. And she obeyed that command for the most part.

She ventured out of it here or there, but only when it seemed like she might join the Chasers on the offensive rush. But she would feint that and fall back quickly. It caught Montrose off guard the first couple of times, but after that the Chasers mostly ignored her. So, she eventually stopped doing it.

Hodge hadn't given her any indication that this was going to be a constant strategy of theirs. But Montrose was one of the highest scoring teams in the league, with a supremely talented Chaser line. She assumed Hodge felt that she would provide more benefit being another defensive body than an offensive one.

Although, given that their two-goal lead evaporated almost immediately, she wondered if she really had any effect on that. Six unanswered goals from Montrose made her feel pretty useless in the defensive end. Jones barking at her about her positioning didn't help either. She did her best not to screen him as Montrose came forward on the attack once more.

This time Sylvie chose to feint rather than try to play defense. She flew straight at Everly; the red-headed Chaser tried to throw the Quaffle around her but she managed to bat it away, in the general direction of Linton, as she drove toward the ground. The Magpies Seeker followed her. But realized it was a feint early and pulled out of it at nearly the same time Sylvie did.

Appleby's Chasers stormed back with a couple of quick goals of their own. They seemed to have more success when they would slow the pace of play. They would spend a few passes setting up the shot and then two would fall back on defense as the remaining Chaser took whatever they had. They made very little effort at getting offensive rebounds but they were scoring on most of their shots. It was, perhaps, not the soundest offensive strategy Sylvie had ever heard of. But it was keeping the game close enough.

The snitch showed itself twice. But manage to escape both Seekers both times. Sylvie thought she'd lost it on the first attempt, but then it dodged around the Montrose Seeker and vanished into the lights.

The second time she thought she had it. But it sped through the oncoming Chasers and, after she flipped around a Bludger directed at Linton, it was nowhere to be seen. She immediately looked for her opposite and saw that he was as lost as she was and flew back toward the defensive zone.

The third time it appeared, though, felt different. She saw it glinting across the pitch from her as the Magpie Chasers raced toward her. She cursed and resisted the urge to bail straight for it.

Her eyes flashed toward the Magpies Seeker. He was hovering near the snitch, but moving in the wrong direction as he followed his Chasers. Like her, he didn't do much to add to the rush besides adding an extra body.

Sylvie twitched away from the hoops, having to resist the urge to shoot toward the snitch as her eyes flashed back toward it. The Magpies Seeker would see her move and he'd be able to spin and fly in the right direction well ahead of her. She had to wait. She had to try to play defense.

The Magpie Chasers flashed into their zone, relaying the Quaffle back and forth. She followed it as well as she could while keeping her eyes on the snitch.

"Left left left!" she heard Jones yell from behind her as the Chasers drifted that way. She took it as her cue and listed left toward them. She put up almost no resistance, throwing her arms out toward the Quaffle but moving between the Magpies Chasers.

She heard them score, Jones cursing was enough to give it away. She also thought for sure that her coaches would rag on her for the effort there. But the Magpies kept moving toward the hoops, celebrating and getting ready to fall back onto defense as they celebrated the goal. Sylvie waited until she was behind the Magpies Seeker before she forced her broom forward as quickly as it could go.

Linton seemed to understand what she was doing and sped off with her, falling into position behind her and doing her best to put a body between her Seeker and the Montrose one.

The snitch waited until she was about ten feet away to try to evade her. And thankfully, it moved away from her rather than challenging her, allowing her to keep the Magpies Seeker behind her. She guarded what would be his inside line toward it as she followed the golden ball up toward the Montrose hoops.

She dodged as Linton yelled and shot past her, drawing a Bludger away but leaving her flank open. She sensed the other Bludger coming before she caught it in the corner of her eyes, but she knew she'd have to absorb it or give Montrose a clean shot at the snitch. She braced as she flew. But, a moment later, Boyle shot past and got enough of the Bludger to ease her mind.

And then, moments later, she saw the wings of the snitch shutter slightly as it prepared to change direction. And then it did, reversing mid turn. But by that point she'd already pulled herself to the left and the golden ball flew directly into her stomach. She smothered it in her arms, squeezing it tightly to her body until it stopped struggling. Once it did she shifted so she could grab it in her hand as she sped off toward the official.

He blew his whistle as she approached and flew toward her to confirm it and end the match. She saw Appleby's number on the scoreboard flash to eighty points higher than Montrose's and cheered.

Quintus was the first one to fly into her. Although not with nearly the force that his father used to hit hers with after matches. He slowed as he approached and clasped her on the back in a brief hug as the rest of the team joined him. She broke from them. Somehow in there her hair came half undone anyway and she loosened the rest of it.

She flew around the pitch, banking close to the stands as the Appleby faithful cheered for her. She tucked the snitch in her pocket, figuring that she should keep her first catch with the new team.

After her laps she floated up by her parents. Everly flew over to her and congratulated her before flying off to the visitor's locker room.

"Congratulations," her father said to her as she hopped into the stands to hug him and her mother. Which drew more cheers from the crowd. Eventually, after wrestling her broom back from Chloe, she returned to the locker room as well, enjoying the high of victory and the start of her new life as an Appleby Arrow.