Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit
Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work.
10. Witch Weekly
There wasn't a post-match party or anything of note. It was a good win, against a team that was consistently in the run for the league title and managed to qualify for every international competition. But it was still just the first of what would need to be many wins to get to where they wanted to go, so the excitement was muted.
Still, they all knew it was a good win. And one they could hopefully build on. And one that would hopefully put them in the conversation of the elite teams on the British Isles. Boyle and Hodge spoke briefly after the match but, in the end, they all just filtered out to their homes after it was over.
It was odd to Sylvie. Wigtown tended to celebrate wins more. But Wigtown also won less than Appleby did. Part of her, she suspected the part that ignored the parties in her last year of Wigtown, longed for that now. But another smaller part of her whispered that she just wanted to be the Queen bee again. And that she was longing for more attention. She didn't like to be a cog in the whole. She liked being on the pedestal the cog held up. That analogy made sense in her head.
Either way, she found herself gushing to Kreacher as he made her a midnight snack of cheese and bread. The elf listened without comment until she finished and then added that she should work on finding a boyfriend that would listen to her.
She made him blush, at least as much as an elf could, with a comment that she already had one, and that it was exactly what he was for. When he made a disgusted sound she pouted and did her best to summon fake tears asking why he wouldn't sleep with her. The elf threw a chunk of bread at her and walked off toward his nest.
She felt a little bad about it but he seemed fine by the morning and so she didn't apologize. Although she wondered if Kreacher would even fully understand an apology. The elf did get back at her a couple of days later by letting Quintus in before their morning run, knowing full well she'd taken to eating breakfast in her pajamas, which often consisted of her underwear and a camisole. She squealed when she entered the kitchen in it with the beater sitting at the breakfast nook.
In her imagination he leered at her while she sprinted back to her bedroom to actually dress. But in reality, he blushed and looked away, giving her as much privacy as could be managed in that situation.
Their morning runs continued into the season. Sylvie quickly found herself keeping up with him during those runs. And feeling a lot better in general when it came to workouts and practices. Even her coaches noticed the difference.
Melanie Durand, the French National Coach, showed up at a couple of practices and spent most of her time talking to Hodge. Although her presence was enough to earn Sylvie some gentle teasing from the rest of the Arrows. But the top French Seeker had seemed to be on the decline, and his reservist retired after their team won the last European Cup. Sylvie still figured she was rather low on the totem pole, but did her best to fly as well as she could while Durand was present.
A few English representatives also showed up to scout during some of their practices. They focused entirely on Quintus during the practices, which in turn allowed Sylvie to turn the teasing back on him.
She didn't think much of it when they asked how committed she was to the French. Sylvie rolled her eyes at them, figuring it was nothing more than general teasing. But she responded with as amiable of commentary as she could, doing her best to not burn any bridges. She figured having options could hurt and she didn't want to screw herself out of playing for either team with some dumb offhanded comment.
Through it all, though, the Arrows struggled. They lost their next two matches. Sylvie started both. In the second match she was just beaten. Adam Wright, the mid-twenties seeker for the Tornadoes put on a clinic that day. And when it was over he had the snitch and she was half a broom behind him, cursing herself for losing.
But Wright was talented. He was the reigning league most valuable player and won the Bowman Wright Award for the best seeker in the league in the last two consecutive years. She wondered, idly after the match, if he was related to the man who made the first Snitch. But figured Wright was too common of a name.
The third match she blew. She spent too much time joining the Arrows Chasers in the offensive zone. Something that Hodge wanted to do because of Puddlemere's vaunted defensive ability. But she ended up focusing too much on being an auxiliary Chaser that she didn't even notice that the Puddlemere Seeker had seen the snitch until he'd caught it.
Hodge chewed her out for it. The Princess part of her wanted to snap at him that it had been his idea for her to focus so much on chasing in that match. But the adult part of her knew the manager was right. She'd failed at her ultimate goal of the match. And she had no one to blame for it but herself.
Her father, she knew, never blamed the game plan when someone beat him. He put the losses squarely on his own shoulders. But he'd been used to burdens like that, and Sylvie wasn't. And she really didn't know how to react when Hodge told her Grey would start the next match.
But she cheered him on, putting on the bravest, brightest facade she could when he caught the snitch against Chudley. In her mind she knew beating Chudley wasn't an accomplishment. But she also wished someone at Wigtown would have thought getting her some action against the weaker teams during her rookie year. That, she knew immediately when she saw Grey's beaming face in the locker room, would have done wonders for her confidence.
The matches continued to bleed on as the holidays approached. Sylvie started three for every one Grey did. But, Hodge did keep putting the young rookie in. And he kept performing. By the beginning of December he was a perfect four for four with four wins in his games. Sylvie's record was a much less impressive seven and five.
Their final match before a two-week holiday break was home against Wigtown. Sylvie's former team was in the bottom third of the league. She arrived at the pitch expecting Grey to get the nod, as she'd started three in a row at that point to mixed results. But '18' was penciled into the lineup card in the seventh spot so she went about her pregame routine. Part way through it, though, she decided she felt oddly tense. So she did more stretches than normal.
But that didn't seem to help. She wandered to the trainer's office and got a massage. But that wasn't helping by the time Quintus came in to get his shoulder worked on. The trainer said she'd get to him in a moment but Sylvie slipped away from her.
"I'm fine," Sylvie said. "Work on him."
"You sure, you're still incredibly tense," the trainer said.
"Positive," Sylvie sighed. "I think it's just nerves."
"Worried about Chambers?" Quintus laughed.
"I guess," Sylvie said.
"You're better than her," Quintus said.
"We both know how much that matters on any given day," Sylvie said as the trainer started to work on Quintus's shoulder. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing. Just hit a Bludger weird and it's bothering me a bit. I'll be fine to play. And I'll be a hundred percent by the time we're back from break."
"Well that's good," Sylvie said. She slipped from the room as the trainer went about her job. She sat in her locker and tapped her foot until it was time to pull on her pads and uniform.
Her nerves fell away when she walked to the pitch with Linton and Dawes. Dawes was starting in place of Mills that evening. They took to the air together and then the match began.
Sylvie, it turned out, had nothing to fear from Amelia Chambers. She attacked her at the start of the match, knocking her former teammate off balance, and controlled the match from there.
When she finally caught the snitch she sensed more relief from Chambers than anything else. She watched her former teammate retreat to the visitor's locker room as Boyle congratulated her on the snitch catch.
She flew around the pitch twice before flying toward the locker room. The team elves had put up a Christmas Tree a few days past and garlands around everyone's locker. When she walked back in most of the players were exchanging gifts. Sylvie distributed hers to the teammates. It was mostly expensive French wine. But there were a few other things as well. She got Boyle a collectable figurine he needed for a collection he had. Sylvie didn't really understand it but the Captain hugged her incredibly tightly when he opened it.
She got Linton a dress they'd both gushed over at a store a couple of months earlier. The Chaser got her a plunged black babydoll that made her blush in front of the team with a note that she should try to have a bit more fun outside of the stadium.
She got Grey a fancy watch, because her father said every young man should have a nice watch when they come of age and Grey didn't. He looked a little gob smacked when he opened it and thanked her with a blush. Although she suspected that blush might have been because Rachel was still teasing her about trying on the lingerie in the locker room.
Nazar, who didn't drink, and really didn't talk much with his teammates outside of quidditch, was the hardest one to shop for. She'd commissioned a magical portrait of him and his young son. The Chaser had teared up when he'd opened it and thanked her, so she figured it was a win.
Their little party wound down after about an hour. Sylvie left with Quintus, Grey and Linton. They were going to stop at a restaurant for a couple of more drinks and some food and were walking through the stadium toward the Floo exit.
James Parker was there, talking with a few members of the media. Sylvie shifted away from him, sliding to the other side of Quintus and doing her best to become small and invisible.
"There's been some rumbling already about how overmatched Chambers looked tonight," one of the reporters started without noticing the Arrows walking behind him. "Still think that you made the right decision at seeker?"
"We still believe in our reasons for not retaining Miss Potter's services. There were reasons she was not our starter," Parker said. Quintus snorted as they walked by. The reporters turned and looked at the Arrows.
"Something amusing?" the same reporter asked Quintus as the color drained from Parker's face.
"I'd just like to know what those reasons were," Quintus said with a smile. The reporters looked back at Parker.
"Q," Sylvie frowned. "Let's go."
"Miss Potter was too difficult to coach and constantly contrarian. She believed she could skate by on her name and not on any effort," Parker responded.
"Was that before or after she wouldn't fuck you?" Quintus said. Again, the remaining reporters turned to look at him.
"Excuse me, I would never," Parker said.
"Uh-huh," Quintus said. "And I'm sure you'd never threaten to blackmail her with some bullshit story about her father, either."
"Q," Sylvie said again. "Don't."
"How dare you," Parker snapped. "I could tell you stories about your father."
"That I'm sure I've heard before. And I'm sure are far less interesting than what I could tell them about you. Who do you think stunned you, jackass?" Quintus said.
"We should leave," Sylvie said.
"Boy," Parker started.
"What? Going to threaten me with stories about how Harry Potter hurt you when you were having an affair with his girlfriend? What do you think Harry Potter would do to you if he found out you cornered his daughter in the shower? More importantly, do you think the public would side with you?" Quintus asked.
"Q, please, enough," Sylvie said.
"No," Quintus said. "I'm sorry but I've known Sylvie Potter for most of my life. And I've played Quidditch against her for most of that time as well. Saying she doesn't put in the work is comical. And I've seen her change from a fun, smiling young woman into someone afraid of her shadow or of being alone with a man. And I know exactly when that change happened. And why."
"Miss Potter?" One of the reporters asked. Sylvie felt herself flush. She felt Linton and Grey shift around her. She wondered if they were consciously protecting her or if it was just a coincidence. She wanted to refute what Quintus said, to make it all go away. But she knew that would cause more problems for Quintus than anything. And that in the end it would vindicate Parker.
"I don't want it to be a story," Sylvie said. Her voice hitched as she spoke and she did everything in her power to fight back the tears that were coming.
"Miss Potter…?" Another reporter asked.
"Quintus is telling the truth," she said. She took a deep breath and admitted. "After my first start in in Wigtown, Parker cornered me in the shower and told me that if I slept with him I would continue to be the starter."
"And you didn't tell anyone?" the first reporter asked, looking rather skeptical.
"I already had a reputation as a prima donna," Sylvie said. "I didn't think it was worth it. I didn't want it to be a story."
"This is all bullshit," Parker said. "I never touched her."
"Only because Quintus stunned you first," Sylvie said.
"Why was Quintus even there you were on different teams," one reporter asked.
"I was leaving the stadium and ran into her parents who asked me if I could go see what was taking her so long after the match. I went to get the clubhouse attendant but as I walked by, I heard a scream so I went to investigate," Quintus said. "I'll gladly submit a memory."
"I'd prefer it to just go away," Sylvie said. She took a deep breath and slipped from her teammates.
"See, she knows there's nothing there," Parker sneered. Sylvie turned back to look at him. She felt anger rise in her, an anger she likely should have let go of nearly two years ago. Her vision blurred red as she peered at him. She knew what her father would do. She knew what her father did.
But her father could do that. Her father was stronger than she would ever be. And he was male and a hero. He could attack someone and they'd listen to his reasons. If she did it, she was just being petty and bitchy and emotional. Tears formed in in the corner of her eyes as she tried to quell the rage.
Her gaze shifted between the three reporters there. The two that had asked questions wrote for the Prophet and the local Appleby Review. Sylvie knew them well enough in her experience as a Quidditch player. But the third one was different.
Ruth Gould was perhaps five years her senior. She vaguely remembered her as a Hufflepuff prefect from her early years at school. She worked for Witch Weekly, covering sports for the magazine. Which, granted, was usually more human interest pieces about the athletes than actual sports coverage. Sylvie dug into her handbag for a note pad and a pen. She turned the pages on the small pad, past the doodles of Quidditch plays she did in her free time, and wrote down her address. She tore it out and levitated it to the reporter.
"Come see me tomorrow morning," Sylvie said as Ruth plucked the paper out of the air before the other two reporters could get a good look at it. "Bring a Pensieve. You'll get your story then."
"Okay," Gould said. Sylvie turned and walked toward the exit, not wanting to spare another look at Parker or her teammates. She didn't want the world to know what happened. But part of her knew it would be for the best. Her teammates followed her passed the Floo and out of the stadium. She wrapped her coat tighter around her and muttered a warming charm.
"If you'll excuse me," she said, wondering if she imagined her voice cracking. "I think I'm going to go home rather than to a restaurant."
"Sylvie," Grey said. He opened his mouth but more words didn't come, and then he was interrupted.
"I'll walk you," Quintus said.
"I am perfectly capable of doing some things myself, Quintus," she snapped.
"V," he started.
"Shut up," she said. "That was….That was….Just shut up. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to have to talk about it. Leave me alone," and she spun away from the players.
"Sylvie," Quintus said again, but she ignored him and stormed off. She heard them take a few steps to follow but then abruptly stop.
"Don't," Rachel Linton said. "You'll only make it worse."
"But I was only trying to help," Quintus said.
"Well you did pretty much the opposite of that," Linton said.
"But," Quintus said.
"Let her go," Linton said. She took a deep breath. "Q, you might have had good intentions. But you also may have permanently shattered any trust she had in you. She might never-" but Sylvie got too far away to eavesdrop on them any longer. And she didn't want to.
She stormed into her house not too long after. She triple-checked that all the doors were locked, and all her charms were active, feeling oddly insecure about everything on the now dark evening. She then threw herself onto her bed and willed sleep to come.
It didn't. About a half hour later Kreacher opened her bedroom door with a trey of chicken stew. One of her favorites on a cold night, even if her French friends would have held their noses at it. She stared at him, unmoving on the bed, knowing her expression was blank. He stared back and then turned to leave the room.
Five minutes later he opened the door again. This time he carried a large tub of Onyx's peanut butter ice cream and two spoons. He lugged it over to her bed and crawled up onto it. It took him a minute to peel off the lid and offer her a spoon. She ignored it. He hit her on the head with the spoon.
"Ouch," she complained. But she took the spoon from him before she got assaulted again and sat up. She wondered where he'd managed to get the ice cream. But it was her absolute favorite so she dug in. The elf ate a spoonful for every five or six she ate. It didn't take them very long to finish the entire container.
She fell asleep after. She vaguely remembered the elf tucking her into bed but she thought there was an equal chance she imagined it.
The morning felt like it came too soon. And, in a sense, it did. She woke up before her alarm would usually pry her out of bed. She felt oddly nervous when she woke up. And she remembered why after not too long.
She groaned at the thought and pulled herself out of bed and into the shower. She put on a nice dress and styled her hair, knowing her appearance would likely make it into the Witch Weekly article. She told Kreacher to prepare an ample amount of avocado toast and a pot of tea while she waited.
Ruth Gould showed up precisely at nine in the morning. Sylvie greeted her at the door and showed her into the kitchen where Kreacher had set up the food and tea. The reporter hauled an old Pensieve with her and placed it on the counter.
They chatted about nothing in particular for about fifteen minutes while sipping tea before Gould cut to the chase. Sylvie showed her the memory and then answered any of her questions.
Gould was very professional. She told her she was going to push to get the story in the next issue, which meant she had to finish it before that evening. She also confessed to facing a similar problem, although on a much smaller scale, with an editor at her job before Witch Weekly. They ate all the toast, and drank all of the tea.
At some point, Kreacher came in with lunch and Sylvie peered at the clock and was shocked to find that it was after noon. Gould decided they should go over her early career at Wigtown again and they were getting to the first start when the elf walked back in. Sylvie decided she didn't want to face it sober and had him bring a bottle of white wine as well.
It was another two hours of questions to wrap up the story. Sylvie thought Gould spent a surprisingly little amount of time on Parker. She asked to see the memory, sure, but that was about all of Parker they dealt with. She'd asked to see other memories as well, moments of triumph from both Hogwarts and the league. As well as others, like a tour of her childhood home, and some behind the scenes memories of the modeling she'd done. And Sylvie figured the woman wasn't only going to write an article about Parker but rather one about her as a whole.
In the end, Gould thanked her and went on her way. Sylvie found herself feeling rather odd as the woman left. She remembered how her father always hated reporters. Except for one, Robert Graves. Whatever it was, Harry had always liked Graves. She'd never bothered to ask about it.
When she started in the league, she'd never really given a thought to it. She didn't have the same negative reaction to most reporters. But, if she was honest, she didn't have the same negative reaction to most people that were interested in her. But there was something different about Gould. Maybe it was the half a bottle of wine talking but Sylvie thought she liked the woman.
She tried to spend the rest of the day being lazy. But she felt oddly light after a day of confession. She decided on some yoga and then an afternoon jog. She returned home shortly after sunset and did more yoga, doing her best to ignore Kreacher's commentary that humans shouldn't bend that way as she held one of the poses.
She went to bed after dinner, instructing the elf to wake her if an issue of the magazine showed up. At the very least she wanted to read it before anyone else, just so she could know what she'd have to say about it in public.
Kreacher woke her just after six, holding a copy of the magazine with her face on the cover. She recognized the sultry smile and her bare shoulders from one of the lingerie shoots she'd done. But the magazine only used the headshot from it for the cover.
Witch Weekly was emblazoned at the top, floating above her head as the photo almost made it look like she was reading the text across from her. "Potter: Princess of the Pitch" was the chosen tagline. She frowned at that, wondering if that nickname would now make a resurgence.
The other highlighted stories were seven ways to woo your Hogwarts crush. And ten beauty tips every young witch should know. Sylvie thought four and eight of them were pointless, respectively. But they did distract her from reading the article about her for a good fifteen minutes.
The article itself, she had to admit, wasn't bad. Gould had taken great care with it and Sylvie thought she sensed an almost adoration in the writing as Gould described a young girl chasing her dreams through Hogwarts. There were photographs of her flying in Slytherin robes and a photo of her arm in arm with Anna Chase. There were quotes from most of her old teammates, but Anna was quoted the most. Sylvie felt a small pang in her chest as she read the kind words her first lover said about her.
Although the quotes did give her pause. There was far too much Anna Chase and Lydia Cole in the article for it to have been a spur of the moment decision on Gould's part. She wondered how long it had been planned without her knowing.
After describing her Championship match in great detail it moved onto her professional prospects with more quotes from Lydia and Anna about how they knew she was destined for greatness.
But greatness, Gould commented, would be delayed. And it started on her day to day at Wigtown. She'd gathered an impressive number of quotes from quite a few people in the league about Sylvie's potential.
And Gould described the monotony of day-after-day of not playing. But, she'd commented, at least one entity had noticed her. Gould described her various photoshoots with Gladrags and the sales boost they'd given to both of the product lines she'd marketed. She even included numbers that Sylvie found rather surprising. She made a mental note to ask for more money if they approached her about another shoot.
But then it started on her second year at Wigtown. She opened it with a quote from Melanie Durand about how she was sure it would be time for the young French seeker to show her stuff professionally. But despite it all, despite reports of how good she was in practice, despite quotes from her teammates in Wigtown that she consistently seemed to outperform Chambers, she continued to sit on the bench.
Until, as Gould put it, she got an education on the seedier history of Quidditch. Gould reflected briefly on a few other scandals in Quidditch. A male coach for the Harpies nearly fifty years previously grooming team members, affairs that destroyed team chemistry, and nefarious reasons why some owners sold some players.
Gould then went on to describe her first start in detail. And then the events after in detail as well. She admitted to verifying the events with Quintus Button, in addition to viewing the memories with Sylvie herself. And after, Gould wrote, Sylvie clearly understand what she'd need to do to start again. And what she wouldn't do. Even with his threats of blackmail about her father.
So, once Chambers recovered from her mysterious illness, which Gould implied had something to do with Parker as well, she resumed the starting duties and the Wigtown Wanderers continued to flounder. And Sylvie spent the next year and a half becoming slowly irrelevant. Which, Gould commented, in Quidditch was usually a death sentence.
But Sylvie spurred on. Not allowing one old pervert to derail her career. She described the months that followed the incident, how Sylvie participated in fewer and fewer team activities and tried to always make sure she wasn't alone with Parker. And how it made her feel ostracized. And how she worried that her reputation for liking attention would make it seem like she was trying to get it rather than having any decent complaint.
But, this story, at least for the moment, had a happy ending. Alan Hodge and the Appleby Arrows gave her a chance based on the potential they saw. And so far, half a season in, she was paying dividends.
The article ended with quotes from Boyle, Grey and Linton about her play and her worth as a teammate. Boyle made the ending comment, expressing his disbelief that any team would have let her go.
All-in-all, Sylvie knew it was a good article. But it still left a sour taste in her mouth. She told Kreacher that she didn't want to be bothered for the rest of the day. No matter who came. She left him a note stating that everything Gould published pertaining to her and Parker was fact, and told Kreacher to distribute it to anyone who asked for a comment before she curled back into bed.
A commotion woke her a few hours later. She heard yelling pulled herself out of bed, dragging one of the blankets with her, throwing it around her shoulders like a cloak.
"Mistress does not wish to be disturbed," she heard Kreacher say, some fear evident in his voice as he spoke.
"I don't give a damn, Kreacher," her father yelled. "Where is she?"
"Harry," her mother chided.
"Mistress is in her room," Kreacher said. She could hear his tone easily enough. He wasn't disobeying his master, but he wasn't disturbing his mistress either.
"Fine, I'll go see her," Harry said.
"Kreacher can't," the elf started.
"Kreacher can't what," her father threatened as Sylvie opened the door.
"Don't yell at Kreacher he's just doing what I told him to," Sylvie said. Kreacher was indeed holding one of her notes up toward her father as she stepped up behind him. She ruffled his head. Kreacher stepped away from her hand as if he found it annoying.
"Does mistress desire breakfast?" Kreacher asked.
"Toast and juice would be delightful," she said. Kreacher nodded and disappeared. She looked back up at her parents and frowned.
"Are you alright?" Gabrielle asked, a frown appearing on her face as she examined her daughter in her pajamas and a blanket.
"I'm fine," Sylvie said.
"Sylvie," her mom started.
"I'm fine," Sylvie said again.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked. Sylvie shrugged her shoulders and looked away.
"Your father can get them to retract the story," Gabrielle started.
"Why would he do that?" Sylvie frowned, feeling like that was the exact wrong response to have to it. "It's all true. It should be out there."
"But why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked.
"What would you have done?" Sylvie frowned. "What could you have done?"
"I would have made sure Parker never attempted to touch my daughter again," Harry said.
"By what, killing him?" Sylvie asked.
"Probably," Harry admitted.
"Because that's a brilliant decision," Sylvie frowned.
"He has it coming," Gabrielle shrugged. Sylvie hadn't expected that type of a response from her mother.
"I should do it now," Harry said.
"No," Sylvie frowned. "I'm fine. It sucked. Nothing ended up happening. It's over. I'm better."
"Sylvie," her mother said again. She stepped forward and hugged her. After a moment her father joined her as well.
"Breakfast is ready," Kreacher said but he was merely summoned into the hug by Sylvie. The elf sputtered and tried to get away but wound up pressed between Gabrielle and Sylvie for a few moments before giving up.
"I still wish you would have told us," Harry said.
"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," Sylvie frowned. "I had a reputation you know."
"We know," Gabrielle laughed. "You have had it since you were four."
"Gee thanks," Sylvie laughed.
"You are welcome," Gabrielle said.
"But you really are okay?" Harry asked as they moved into her kitchen. Sylvie picked up some toast and nodded.
"Mmhmm," she said.
"Well it at least explains why you seemed do depressed at dinner afterwards. I knew we should have pressed more," Gabrielle said, glaring at Harry.
"Name one time when pressing Sylvie actually worked," Harry sighed.
"After Clara ruined my handbag," Gabrielle countered.
"Name two times," Harry sighed.
"When she had pixie dust?" Gabrielle said.
"You told her?" Sylvie frowned.
"Of course I did," Harry said.
"Did you think he would not?" Gabrielle asked.
"I don't know," Sylvie said. "I hoped he wouldn't."
"He worries about it more than I did. It is the muggle in him. Although after those photos from that party you attended with Miss Chase were a bit much. How much did you pay to keep those out of the papers?" Gabrielle asked.
"There were photos from that?" Gabrielle gasped.
"Not a lot," Harry said. "Topless photos of a drug-addled underage witches aren't great things for a magazine to print. It was the ones where she was prancing around the window of a bedroom at the Three Broomsticks that I had to pay for."
"What?" Sylvie gasped.
"Oh yes," Gabrielle said. "That was the one."
"I'm a terrible daughter," Sylvie frowned.
"Mistress is the best Potter," Kreacher said. Gabrielle glared at him. Harry chuckled.
"No, Sylvie. You aren't. A bit wild, sure. But not terrible," Harry said.
"I can't believe there were photos," she frowned.
"There's always photos," Harry said. "I'd have thought you'd know that by now."
"I guess," she said.
"And you have mellowed out quite a bit. I think this small house in Appleby and Kreacher have been good for you. Although I suspect we now know the root cause for it," Gabrielle frowned.
"Yes," Sylvie frowned. Her parents stayed for breakfast but the conversation shifted away from James Parker. Instead they talked about how Leo was doing in school, and how Chloe was shaping up to be even worse than her. They left shortly before midday, after getting assurance from Sylvie that she wouldn't cower inside all day. She agreed and went right back to bed as soon as they left.
She kept herself a recluse for the next few days. She responded briefly to some media inquires and some team officials but that was about it. But then Boyle came over one day, insisting on taking her out to lunch. He did it with every team member during the winter break, or so he claimed.
They dined at a small café in Appleby. Sylvie felt oddly nervous being out in public for the first time since the article. James Parker, she found out, had been fired that morning, after Chambers admitted that he'd done the same with her.
It was odd for Sylvie, as she read the snippets of the article sent to her. Chambers admitted to being frightened of the younger, prettier girl with her massive talent. And she saw how Parker looked at her. And she knew what he wanted and what it would take. And she was so afraid of losing her job that it seemed like the best option.
Sylvie never thought what it had meant to the other girl. She'd never assumed that their situations were similar. She immediately regretted not talking to the older woman about it. But she had no idea what she would have said. And even if the woman would have believed her or how she would have reacted. Would she have assumed it was some sort of a threat? Sylvie had no idea. But all she knew was that thinking about it made it worse in her mind. She'd tried to pen some type of a note to Chambers, but no words came.
Boyle didn't bring up the article. Instead he talked of Arrows Quidditch and how the first third of their season had progressed. Sylvie enjoyed the conversation. They were interrupted four or five times by girls wanting Sylvie to sign their copies of Witch Weekly. They talked of how they admired her and how brave she was, and how she was their favorite and Sylvie couldn't help but blush as they gushed about her.
Boyle didn't comment while they were eating. He returned their conversation to upcoming matches and strategies as soon as the fans left. But as he walked her back to her home he peered at her.
"They're right, you know," he said.
"What?" she wasn't sure where he was steering the conversation at first.
"What you did took a lot of courage. It was very brave. They could have a worse hero," Boyle said. But then they were at her door. And before she could even think to thank him he Apparated away.
Linton showed up later that evening and dragged her out dancing. Her regular company had bailed on her, or so she claimed. And partying in London with a Potter seemed like too good of an opportunity to miss.
Sylvie rolled her eyes but did travel to a club with Linton. They danced most of the night away. Sylvie enjoyed it. She remembered how much she liked being the center of attention as she as Linton danced. And then even more so as other men and women joined in. It wasn't very long before she felt like the queen of the party and she relished every minute of it. As a whole, it made her feel far more like herself than she had in, well, years. Even if she wasn't quite sure why it had that effect on her.
The next morning she received another offer from Gladrags. Part of her assumed it was because the numbers in Gould's article must have been correct and the executives at the clothing company knew it. They wanted an exclusive agreement this time for three separate shoots. Sylvie agreed with the stipulation that she could veto anything they tried to get her to wear. They'd agreed instantly and she wondered if she should have negotiated for more.
The holidays with her family were fairly normal. No one asked for more information about the article. Although Leo groaned when she mentioned that she'd be doing more fashion shoots. But he wouldn't give info when pressed on it. Chloe, on the other hand, seemed utterly thrilled by it. And indicated that she was going to be a model when she grew up. Or an actress. Or a singer. Or all three.
Sylvie ruffled her hair and wished her luck. Chloe said she wouldn't need luck. She would do it for sure. The family laughed and the night continued in one long holiday party.
When she got home she made sure to give Kreacher his gift. A polished silver watch that had been hers when she was a child. She'd magicked enough of the links away that it would fit him and he hugged her after she gave it to him, saying he would treasure it like old master's locket.
Grey was the last of her teammates to visit. He came blushing one evening carrying a covered dish. His mother's fishcakes, he said, blushing more. Homemade, obviously. He stuttered out that his mother wanted to do something nice for her and figured a home cooked meal could do the trick. He blushed again, like he wasn't telling the whole truth, but Sylvie didn't pay it any attention.
He frowned when he saw Kreacher eye the pan disdainfully, not knowing she had an elf. But she shrugged it off and carried it into the kitchen and proceeded to warm them up as Grey followed her.
She opened a bottle of wine, and with some help from a glaring Kreacher, steamed some vegetables and rice to go with. The ate together at her small kitchen table. She asked him about his last few years at Hogwarts and his friends and anything else that came about. It took him a few minutes to start talking. But, eventually, he did. She kept him talking through the meal and somehow it led to watching a movie on her couch.
After the second bottle of wine he fell asleep, his head resting on her shoulder. She slipped away from him and rested his head on the pillows before summoning a blanket and covering him.
Kreacher followed her into her bedroom to tell her that he might have been a little on the young side, but he revered her and had even tried to cook for her to cheer her up. Albeit poorly. He'd do the job admirably, if she'd just bed him.
Sylvie rolled her eyes at the elf and shooed him out of her room as she changed into pajamas and went to bed. She locked her door after Kreacher left. Not really fearing anything from Grey but figuring it was better safe than sorry. She half suspected the elf would teleport him into her bed just to prove a point.
Grey had blushed rather adorably in the morning when she woke him. She offered him breakfast before using a trip to town as an excuse to get him out of her house. The boy didn't seem to notice as they left together.
Grey seemed to want to stay with her for longer. But she got rid of him easily enough, as he was still a young and naïve boy. Part of her hoped he wouldn't get the wrong idea. Part of her thought she shouldn't have let him crash on her couch. But there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it now.
Either way, the holiday wound down and she found herself looking forward to practices. Even if she didn't really want to deal with Quintus, whom she hadn't seen since their last match. She found herself quite nervous on the morning of her return to practice. She ate her normal practice day breakfast of toast, avocado and some berries with some juice before her eyes glanced at the clock.
It was a few minutes later than she would normally leave. But there had been no unwanted morning intruder chiding her into a morning run. She gave him another fifteen before heading to the stadium, half wondering if he was sick.
But he wasn't. He was sitting at his locker, chatting with Boyle. Sylvie glared at him but he said nothing. She was tempted to say something, but Hodge noticed she entered and called her into his office.
"Yes?" she asked as she stepped in. He gestured for her to close the door and she did.
"I know some team officials got into contact with you over the break but I left you alone," Hodge said.
"You did," Sylvie responded. Hodge stared at her for a moment. She felt herself feeling small in her boots as the coach stared. But, eventually, he spoke.
"You good?" he asked. Sylvie nodded.
"I'm fine," she said.
"If you need anything, Sylvie, let me know," he said. "Day off, help, anything."
"I will," Sylvie said.
"Okay. Well, we're prepping for Kenmare today. They've been playing more defensively in the last few weeks. I want you to play up more but only join the Chasers at opportunistic moments," Hodge said.
"Okay," Sylvie nodded her understanding.
"Great. Well, we'll get to positioning around the Chasers during drills today. But again, Miss Potter, if you need a day of you need a day off. Your position on this team is not in jeopardy. Just let us know," Hodge said.
"I will," Sylvie said. "But I just want to play."
"I know," Hodge said. "You take after your father with that."
"Thank you," Sylvie blushed.
"Go suit up," Hodge said. Sylvie nodded and left his office. She remembered that she wanted to snark at Quintus, but he was already on the pitch by the time she left Hodge's office. So she changed and joined them. But at the request of the Chaser coach she warmed up with the Chasers and Keepers rather than with the Beaters.
And quickly everything fell back into routine. The oddest bit to her was that Quintus seemed to keep his distance. And Grey seemed to be a little more interested in where she was at all times. Which was a little annoying but they started bouncing ideas off of each other fairly readily, and tips about positioning and pathing quickly became common.
Now she did think she was better than he was. Something she wasn't quite sure she could have said honestly at the beginning of the season. But now she started to notice areas of his game where she was clearly better. And their drills together started to reflect that.
But, what gave her pause, was that he felt like he was an eternity younger than her. And she thought he was much further along than she had been out of Hogwarts. But she didn't remember the work she did out of Hogwarts well enough to reflect on it.
Sylvie wasn't sure what to expect for their first match back in Kenmare. But, once she took to the pitch, the crowd wasn't any different than normal. She thought she heard a few taunts of a less than appropriate variety but if there were any, they were quickly drowned out.
And she won the marathon of a match. It took nearly five and a half hours, but in the end she caught the snitch. There wasn't much fanfare after. Sylvie, like the rest of the Arrows, wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed.
They lost their next match. Which was disappointing as they'd been heavily favored against Potree. The Potree seeker had managed a last minute foul on Sylvie that took her off of her broom and out of the play. But, in doing so, he'd managed to hook his foot around the snitch and kicked it straight to himself. It was a fluke, accidental play. But it was a hundred and fifty points and a victory for Potree.
Sylvie lost her cool a bit after the match and insisted on taking the final penalty shot despite it being irrelevant. It amused some of the Arrow's faithful, and Linton, who tossed her the Quaffle and told her to go for it. She faked out the Pride's Keeper and scored easily, despite letting far too much anger into the throw and it nearly sailing high over the left hoop.
Back in the locker room she stormed around, letting off steam while jabbing at a plate of food her Seeker coach made up for her from the post-match spread. She knew she shouldn't have let it bother her that much. But something about the out-of-control nature of it rubbed her the wrong way.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to know who Hodge directed his post-match comments of making sure they kept their cool on the pitch too. But he didn't mention it to her again. She was fairly surprised to see the articles about it in the paper the next morning. Her tantrum was referred to as a demonstration of how much she cared about Arrows Quidditch, and not a petulant child not getting her way.
She thought the cheers might have been louder than normal when she was announced for the next match, a home affair against Wimbourne. They won easily, taking sole possession of third place in the standings at the time.
And then their fourth match approached. It would mark the first time Sylvie Potter returned to Wigtown. The Wanderers had continued their skid, the chaos of firing a coach mid-season not helping their performance. And again, the Arrows were large favorites. Sylvie felt like a pariah even just entering the stadium again. The atmosphere felt far tenser than it should have. She felt, for lack of a better description, backed into a corner just by being there.
Sylvie expected that Grey would get this nod. Hodge's track record seemed to be she started three and then Grey got a match. So far that had lined up with their weakest opponents and very few people felt Wigtown was a threat. But the lineup card was blank when she got to the stadium.
Hodge approached her as soon as she entered.
"I don't want to take any chances with this one, Miss Potter. Are you good?" he asked.
"Always," Sylvie said. Hodge nodded and penciled the '18' into the seventh spot on the card and posted it. Grey looked disappointed but Sylvie ignored it as she ran through Wigtown's roster in her head once more and braced herself for the onslaught that would surely come from the Wigtown fans.
She didn't fly for the warmup. Instead opting for the trainer to do some last-minute work on her lower back, where the Potree seeker had smashed his knee two weeks previously. It had been magically healed, of course. But there often seemed to be a mental component to the injuries that she felt better after they were worked on. Even if she knew it was entirely placebo.
When she walked to the pitch with the rest of the team for the start of match she fully expected a chorus of boos to greet the announcement of her name. But, the boos didn't come. Instead, as she flew out onto the pitch, there was a cheer almost as if they were the home team.
She spun her broom around the pitch and took it in, shocked at what she saw. There seemed to be far more women in attendance that evening than seemed normal. And most of them were standing and clapping for her. Sylvie brushed tears from her face and gave a weak wave to the crowd as the official flew into position. But then she saw the Quaffle rise up and she turned all of her attention onto the game of Quidditch.
The game started out slower than their last meeting. The Arrows, Sylvie included, felt a bit lethargic. And Wigtown went up by forty before Appleby managed their first goal. The Arrows tied it up quickly, but then fell back down by thirty and Sylvie had a feeling it wouldn't be a game won by the Chasers.
And she was right. Ninety minutes later it culminated in a swerving chase to the snitch. She ended the match with the golden ball in her hand as a dejected looking Chambers shot past her. Sylvie spun around and saw the opposing seeker land on the pitch. She tossed the snitch into the crowd and landed next to her.
Chambers looked tired. Worn out form the media circus no doubt. She'd flown well, and been flying better since the removal of Parker. Sylvie opened her mouth but no words came.
In the end, they didn't say anything. They didn't need to. Chambers stepped toward Sylvie and hugged her. And the photo of the two women, barely illuminated by the lights from the pitch as they embraced would be in most of the magical papers the next day.
