"Do you have everything you need?" asked Dominique's mother as she spooned her a second helping of porridge at breakfast. She seemed extra concerned about her needing to eat a large breakfast today. "Your Portkey leaves in an hour, so you will need to leave soon."

"Mum, I'm gone a week," Dominique said, pushing a blueberry down into her porridge with her spoon. "You're only half as concerned whether I've packed properly when I leave for school."

"You have laundry at school," her mother said. "And it's a different environment. This…" She trailed off. Dominique had a suspicion her mother had heard some of the stories surrounding the Trials, though perhaps not quite to their full extent. She seemed more bothered by the sheer amount of grown adults that Dominique would be interacting with, but knew that this was also now her life. She wasn't a small child anymore. In a year's time, she was finishing school and going out into the real world—something Victoire was demonstrating this very minute in the adjacent room.

"I think I've got most of the big boxes are downstairs," Victoire said, walking into the kitchen in a bouncy sort of way. She slid up to the table next to Dominique and began helping herself to fruit. "Now the hard work begins."

Victoire had been packing for this move all summer. She and her best friend, Whit, were getting a place in Diagon Alley not far from where Ted lived. It hadn't been much of a secret that Victoire had hoped to move in with Ted, though her parents had asked her to slow down a bit. They'd even offered to pay for some of the rent and expenses if she at least moved off on her own first. It wasn't that they liked Ted—they did like him—they simply knew he worked long hours and often overnights at the hospital, and they had hoped Victoire would have a more stable sort of flatmate on her first venture into the real world. It had worked itself out that for the first year, Victoire wouldn't live with Ted. She'd just spend all of her time there.

Her mother hummed distractedly as she busied herself by charming several hand towels to wipe the counters. She didn't like to talk about Victoire moving out and often changed the subject. It came as no surprise when she suddenly asked, "And Dominique, Jack is coming here this morning?"

"Doubtful," Dominique said in between bites.

"What do you mean?" she asked, sounding alarmed. "Is Jack not going now? Did something change?"

She gulped hard. She had momentarily forgot that her mother seemed calmed by the fact that Jack was going to be at the Trials with her, as if having a friend there would make things easier for some reason. Or perhaps she felt he'd be some sort of protector—a bizarre thought considering Dominique could handle herself and her mother knew that. But she ultimately let her mother think that because it made things easier.

"No, I mean, he is. I just don't know if he'll be here this morning. He had a late night."

"Louis as well, it seems," her mother said, not hiding her annoyance at Louis—yet again—staying out all night.

Louis, her precious baby boy. Her mother never claimed to have favorites, but there was something about the way she talked about Louis. He could never do wrong—even when he did. It helped that on paper, he was perfect. Perfect student, perfect looking, perfectly charming, perfectly well-mannered. But he was also seventeen now and perfectly into having a good time with his friends. He was also perfectly into spending all his free time with his girlfriend. It was something their mother was still reconciling and learning to live with.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't see Jack until—"

A sudden knock on the door made her catch herself. Both Victoire and her mother made similar expressions, as if to say, "maybe not."

"It's not possible…" She stood and exited the kitchen, heading straight for the front door. With a quick snatch at the knob, she pulled it open.

"Morning!" said a chipper little brunette with a friendly grin and a cup of coffee in her hand. It wasn't Jack, but instead Victoire's best friend and new flatmate, Jane Whitters—or as they called her, Whit.

"Morning," Dominique said, stepping aside to let her enter. At the same time, Victoire had entered the room after presumably hearing the familiar voice from the kitchen. She looked surprised.

"I wasn't expecting you until lunchtime."

"I was up early and had nothing else to do," Whit said, waving politely at their mother. "I thought maybe you needed some last minute help packing."

Victoire shook her head, but motioned for her to follow her into the kitchen as she mentioned something about being finished and needing to wait for her father to get things started. Dominique turned away and absently began shutting the door behind her when something caught it and gave it a push back.

"Hey, hold on," came Jack's voice from the other said. She recognized it immediately and pulled the door back. There he stood, looking as fresh as a daisy. His face barely had a trace of a drunken night on it; his eyes looked well rested and there wasn't a single one of his dark blonde hairs out of place. He was even smiling. "Morning."

"You're here."

"'Course I am," he said, now looking confused as he shifted the broom he was holding from one hand to the other. "Should I not be?"

"You looked dead last night," she said, side stepping the door to allow him to enter. "I genuinely didn't think you'd make it this morning. Did you sleep at Flynn's?"

"I did, but I'd already planned on that, so I had all of my things with me," he said, setting his backpack down on the ground and his broom against the wall.

"That still doesn't explain why you're not in a shit state this morning." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Last I saw you were face down in the garden."

"Flynn's dad helped me out. He keeps some Pepper-Up Potion in the house. Sobers you right up and kills a hangover like—" He snapped his fingers. "Flynn reminded me to take some last night, and I woke up feeling fine."

"Did Louis take any?"

"I don't know. He went home with Sarah. I don't think so."

"Of course," she said under her breath as she mentally scolded Sarah for giving in to her brother so easily. At the same time, her mother had curiously entered the room, presumably to see who she was talking to. The second she laid eyes on Jack, she smiled.

"Hello, Jack," she said, though in her slight French accent it sounded far more like Jaques.

"Hi, Fleur," he said politely, returning her smile. Dominique's parents loved Jack and they always had. They'd been amused by his Muggleborn ways and questions when he'd first started appearing around their house back in the early years, and they enjoyed the balance he seemed to bring into Louis's life now that they were older. Louis was the outgoing one; naturally cool; the person that people wanted to know and be with. Jack had always been the reserved one, more quiet, always observing. He had been "Louis' friend" for many years, but that changed in the last year or so. He'd come out of his shell, and once people got to know him, he was a talker. He was genuinely a nice person, and as far as most people at school were concerned, these days he was nearly as popular as Louis was. Getting Quidditch captain had cemented that for him.

"I'm so happy to see you made it," her mother said, now turning her smile onto her daughter. "Dominique had said you may not, so I was worried."

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to worry about me," Jack said in a tone that her mother loved to hear. Dominique couldn't even fake that tone if she tried, but everyone else seemed good at it—Jack, Sarah, Louis, Victoire. They could turn it on like a faucet. She wasn't sure where she missed learning that little trick.

"Did Louis come back with you?"

Dominique shot Jack a look, but he didn't take his eyes off her mother. Without missing a beat, he said, "No, he was still asleep. Knowing him he'll have a lie in until about noon."

Her mother's smile twisted into an expression that Dominique knew was anything but curious. She was annoyed and trying not to show it. To her credit, she quickly forced it off of her face and returned to smiling. "Did you want something to eat before you go? I have some porridge or some fruit."

"Mum, we really should be going," Dominique said, glancing back at Jack. "I'll get my bag. It's in the kitchen. My broom's out front."

He nodded and gave her mother a shrug. "I would have loved to since I missed breakfast, but Nic's right. We really do need to get going."

"Some toast, then," her mother said in a final sort of way, quickly turning into the kitchen. "You cannot leave without something in your stomach."

"Mum."

But she was already gone. Dominique shook her head, but knew there was nothing she could say to get her mother off her current mission. It was better to just let her take the two minutes to make the toast than argue. She shrugged at Jack, who did the same before mumbling, "I could definitely eat some toast."

"I'd have thought Flynn's dad would have provided you a four course spread this morning," she said, smirking at her own joke and she entered the kitchen. "He'll keep you sober, but not fed. Some good he is."

"Well, I did have to leave early. Maybe they had it planned for…" His voice had slowly tapered off before disappearing entirely. When Dominique glanced back at him to see what the problem was, she noticed that his body language suddenly seem off—awkward even. It took her a moment, but like a Bludger to the skull, she suddenly realized what she'd just walked him into.

"Ohhh right," she said, glancing at the table where Victoire and Whit sat—the latter of whom now displaying body language almost identical to Jack's. She turned back to him. "Did I forget to mention…?" She gestured in the general direction of the table without outright pointing at Whit.

"You're as subtle as a slap to the face, Nic," Victoire muttered.

Jack's expression didn't change, but it didn't have to. Dominique could see the discomfort in his eyes. Jack and Whit had dated in the past—for about a year. They'd had a quite a relationship and seemed sweet together—until they didn't. It had been right around the time Dominique and Henry had started hooking up that Jack and Whit were calling things off, so the details she knew were a bit hazy. She did know that the break up had been acrimonious, which was strange considering they were both such nice, laid-back people.

Originally, they had come to a mutual agreement that they just weren't working out, but it wasn't until later on that everything got bitter. Mostly because—months after the fact—Jack snogged a girl that Whit had suspected him of having feelings for back when they were together. That one act seemed to reaffirm to Whit that she'd been right all along, whereas Jack thought she was mental for getting on his case well after their break up. It had been nothing but snark and dirty looks ever since.

"Did you want anything on your toast?" her mother asked, seemingly oblivious to the elephant in the room.

'No, I'm fine," Jack said with a pinched smile. "In fact, Nic…" He gave her a look. A hard look. "We should really get going."

"Just one more minute," her mother said, waving her hand as if to say it would be quick. "You need to eat. Who knows when they'll feed you."

"They're not going to starve us, Mum."

Jack took a deep breath and let his eyes travel to the ceiling, as if doing his best to look anywhere but at the table. Whit had taken to looking out the window, and if the air wasn't so thick with awkward tension, it would have actually been fairly funny to see how deliberate the two of them were trying to actively ignore the other.

"So, I heard Louis and you had quite the night," Victoire said to Jack, attempting to cut the air. Despite being Whit's best friend, she'd always been cool with Jack—even after their split. She didn't have a choice really, considering he practically lived in their home and was still a constant feature here. They usually did a good job of planning around when Whit or Jack would be here to avoid run-ins, but as today showed it didn't always work out. "I take it he didn't come back with you?"

"It's before noon, so no," Jack said, his tone clipped but polite. "You know your brother."

"Little bugger was supposed to help me move today," she said, standing from the table to walk to the sink. Whit stood as well, as if ready to exit the second Victoire did. She hesitated moving, seeing as Jack was blocking the exit she clearly wanted to take.

"It'll be such a quiet week around here with only Louis," her mother said, right as the toast popped up. It was almost as if Dominique could feel—just with the simple act of toast popping—the tension in the room dissolved. "That is, if he is around. With Victoire leaving, and Dominique at camp—"

"Oh, is your camp thing this week?" Whit asked, directing her question solely onto Dominique and making sure the entire room knew this. She wasn't good at subtly either, apparently.

"Yeah, the Quidditch Trials," she said, watching as he mother charmed the toast to butter itself. "Starts today. That's where we're headed."

"How...fun," Whit mumbled, her sarcasm not lost. Whit had never liked Quidditch and had only ever tried to show an interest in it during her time with Jack. These days, it was as if she used Quidditch as a metaphor for their relationship—frequently referring to it with disdain and annoyance whenever the topic was brought up.

"Should be," Dominique said as her mother finally finished with the toast.

"Is that where Durrin went as well?" Whit asked, addressing Victoire. When she nodded, Whit also absently nodded. "The last I saw him, I was telling him how that much Quidditch would be my nightmare."

Jack made a breathy sort of noise, almost as if he was stifling a laugh, but said nothing. Whit apparently hadn't caught it since she had no reaction.

"I don't even remember the last time I saw a match."

"I could wager a guess," Dominique said, smirking at Jack. He returned it with a cold stare as her mother handed him toast. He said a quick thank you before giving Dominique a "can we go now?" look, already turning to leave.

"Dominique," said her mother, looking her up and down. "Please make good choices."

"I always do."

Her mother's expression showed she didn't seem to agree with that, but she didn't follow up with anymore suggestions as she turned to walk Jack out. Dominique glanced back at her sister and Whit, the latter of whom was exhaling deeply and throwing Victoire a look similar to the one Jack had just exchanged with her. She heard Victoire whisper, "You weren't supposed to be here until noon." Her voice returned to normal as she rounded on Dominique, adding, "Have fun at the Trials. Don't be dumb."

"Words to live by," Dominique said.

Her mother was standing by the open door, which Jack had already let himself out of. She looked to be bidding him goodbye as Dominique gathered her bag and broom. Her mother had turned to watch her, clearly waiting for a hug.

"Be safe," her mother said, embracing her. "I love you. Your father loves you. When you get back, remember, we're turning right around and going to France to visit everyone, so you'll be very busy. Good choices."

"I know," Dominique said, remembering how hectic the last few weeks of her summer were proving to be.

"We'll see you in a week. In one piece, correct?"

"I don't think you could handle two pieces of me." She smiled. "And I love you, too."

She stepped out the door, where she saw Jack standing ten feet away, finishing up his toast. She turned back to her mother and said, "Make good choices," which made her smile, and trekked out after Jack.

"Fanks for dat," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"At least you got toast out of it," she said, before adding, "You ready?"

He nodded before Apparating on the spot. Dominique followed suit only to reappear in Hogsmeade, just outside the Three Broomsticks Pub, seconds later. Jack was already looking up and down the scantily filled street, as if searching for something. There weren't many people out and about at this time in the morning.

Dominique shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. "Why do people even take the train once we can Apparate? Seems like a waste of time. Maybe I'll do that this year. Just skip the train. You know?"

Jack hummed, but he was clearly still annoyed as he started walking away from the center of town in the opposite direction.

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I forgot she was there."

"You forgot she was in your kitchen?"

"My mind is elsewhere this morning," she said, trailing one step behind him. "Wait, is this the way we have to go?" When he didn't answer and continued walking, she added, "But, yes, I did forget. I wouldn't have sent you in there without warning had I thought about."

"I was sort of hoping now that she'd left school I wouldn't have to run into her anymore," he muttered. Despite seemingly having a lot to say on the subject, he rarely talked about Whit except to reaffirm the fact that he didn't do anything wrong and if she couldn't see that, it wasn't his fault. For the longest time, Dominique had thought it was strange that he didn't just slag her off and let her have it—but that was before she knew what it felt like to be on the broken side of a relationship. Now that she did know, she understood. She and Jack both held those cards close to their chests.

"Once Vic moves out, you really shouldn't have to," she said.

Jack finally slowed to allow her to catch up. "Before that party earlier this summer, we'd actually reached a point where we were cool again. I wouldn't say friends, but we could stand in the same room together."

"Yeah, but you snogged Kenley, you wally. Of all the girls…"

"Why did it matter?! We weren't together!"

"Yes, I understand that," Dominique said, knowing full well he'd never cheated on Whit. The truth was, while Kenley—their Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team—was a flirt, that's all she really was—all talk. Dominique had been around the Quidditch practices that Whit was so convinced were the scene of the affair, and she had never seen any evidence to back up the claims. Plus, she trusted Jack's word. He'd never been a liar.

"It was months after the fact. Months," he repeated. "I wasn't thinking about my ex. Why am I supposed to stop doing things because she's cooked up some ideas in her head?"

"You don't," she said, "but perhaps if you want to avoid the drama—"

"Yeah, sorry, but not going to let her dictate what I can and cannot do," he muttered, stopping to point up ahead to the end of the street where two waiting figures stood. This was the quiet end of Hogsmeade, a place where the shops were more specialized and less likely to attract random foot traffic. It would be a rare sight to see people standing around unless they were waiting for something particular. "I think that's Mike and Ellibit. That must be the spot."

"Yeah, it's them," she said, quickening her pace as Jack kept up. Once they closed the gap between themselves and the people at the end of the street, her suspicions were confirmed as the two Hufflepuffs turned and acknowledged them.

Ellibit Collins and Michael Ellison were seventh-year members of the Hufflepuff team—one of their Chasers and their Keeper, respectively. Ellibit had been playing since her fourth year while Michael had made the team in his fifth. They were average out on the pitch, but there was nothing particularly memorable or remarkable about their skills. They'd both been passed over for captain in favor of a then fifth-year who was really the only skilled player on their team. Hufflepuff hadn't put together a great team in years. They were due, but Dominique knew that this wasn't the year they were going to do it. The other three teams were too strong.

The two were also a couple and had been for two or three years now—Dominique didn't keep track; she just knew it had been awhile. Rumor had it that Ellibit had been offered the captainship last year but refused it on account of not wanting to upset Michael. Another rumor said Michael had gotten it but turned it down because he felt it wouldn't have been fair to Ellibit who'd been on the team longer. There was even another floating around that they'd got skipped entirely because the Professor Fletchly—the Defense Against the Arts professor and Head of Hufflepuff—didn't think they'd be able to lead effectively since they were so attached to each other. Dominique didn't really believe any of them, and suspected that the fifth-year was probably just a much better choice than either of them.

"Hi!" said Ellibit brightly as they approached, spilling some of her hot drink onto the floor in the process. "Wondered when someone else would get here."

"We got here really early," Michael said, looking less excited than his girlfriend.

"I thought we were running behind," said Jack, walking over to shake Michael's hand in a casual manner the way boys tended to. He greeted Ellibit with a quick hug before turning back to Dominique, who just lazily waved at everyone. She wasn't a social hugger and no one expected her to be. While Michael and Ellibit generally didn't bother her like the majority of her Quidditch peers did, she still wasn't friends with these people the way Jack was. One of the many apparent reasons he'd been made captain of their team over her.

"So, we're waiting for the Slytherins and Ravenclaws," Ellibit said with a bouncy energy about her. Dominique immediately wondered how many cups of coffee she'd had.

"My money's on Slytherin being here last minute," Michael said.

"Maybe the Ravenclaws will oversleep and skip the whole thing," Dominique offered, making her tone purposely sound optimistic. "That'd be nice."

All three of them grinned. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's rivalry was no secret. Henry has been a Ravenclaw, and their drama aside, Ravenclaw had been the team that stopped Gryffindor from getting into the finals last year—a particularly bitter moment for Dominique considering Henry had been their captain. Given her hot-head and mouth, her history with Ravenclaw was not pleasant—particularly with their Seeker—Henry's best mate, Griffin Giggleswick.

"I'd have thought you guys were getting along better now since you and Davies were together," Ellibit said.

"Were together," Dominique said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Past tense."

"Oh, shit," Michael said. "That's…" He faltered, "well, that's something."

An awkward silence fell over the group, which Dominique actually didn't much mind. She'd have rather stood there in silence than make small talk with people she really didn't feel much like talking to. It never played out that way though; someone always had to fill the silence with random, bullshit chit-chat.

"I can't be the only one who thinks Ravenclaws going to be weaker this year," Ellibit said to no one in particular. "I mean, they lost Brighton and Davies, which are two thirds of their Chasers. And they're left with Baileymoore, who was always their weakest link."

"Yeah, but they've still got the best Keeper in the school in Madden," Jack said, catching Michael's eye as he said it. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean..."

He shrugged, clearly not offended. "She a phenom. I wish I had her stoppage numbers."

The Quidditch lover in Dominique wanted to point out that they also still had Giggleswick, who was actually the only Seeker in the school who she found to be a challenge, but praising Giggleswick out loud would be something she'd never do. At the thought of this, the sound of popping made her and the others turn to look down the street. It was as if they'd been summoned like the demons she suspected they were. Ansel Bailymoore and Griffin Giggleswick, both of whom were now making their way toward them. She turned away, not wanting them to think for a second that she was giving them any more of her attention than she had to.

Ansel Baileymoore was a mediocre Quidditch player, but he was exceptionally clever and got top marks. A prefect and rule follower, he was probably second in school only to Louis. While the announcement for Head Boy hadn't been made yet, Dominique knew that any other year and against any other person, Ansel would likely have it in the bag. But, this year he was up against Louis Weasley with his near perfect marks, who'd already sat four N.E.W.T exams as a sixth-year, and whom everyone loved—peers and professors alike. Ansel might be the only person still delusional enough to think the Head Boy title may be his. He didn't really associate with the other Quidditch boys much—Henry had often called him boring and lame—so Dominique didn't dislike him for her usual reasons; but he did resent Louis and often talked shit about him to anyone who would listen. That was why she didn't like him.

Then there was Griffin Giggleswick, her biggest rival in Quidditch—in life. They'd both been playing the same position for the same amount of years; they had out-caught Snitches and entirely ruined matches for the other at least twice a season since their third years. They'd called each other every scathing name in existence both on and off the pitch; they'd both gotten detention in classes for letting their Quidditch angst spill into the classroom. Beating him specifically brought her more joy than any other player she knew. The last few months have been especially strange since—while he was never nice—he'd clearly held back insulting her much of the time due to she and Henry being together. But those days were over now.

"'Lo," said Giggleswick in an obligatory sort of way, just as Baileymoore nodded politely. "We're not last, then?"

"Still waiting on the Slytherin P.I.C.s," Ellibit said.

"Told you they'd be last," Michael said, his eyes now scanning the clear morning sky.

Giggleswick looked at Dominique for a moment, but his expression was unreadable before he turned and followed Baileymoore off and away from the group. Perhaps it was too early for words between the two of them now, but they were due. Dominique could hear the pair talking, but she was probably being paranoid to assume it was about her. Then again, she may be naive to assume it wasn't.

The silence was back again, but so was Ellibit's bouncy, anxious nature. She couldn't have let this go on for much longer. Dominique could practically see the gears in her head turning as she searched for a topic.

"It's a bit funny how each house not only has two people participating this year," she finally said, "but other than those two—" she gestured to the Ravenclaws who were talking amongst themselves— "everyone else is pretty much part of an Old Married."

Dominique stared at her. That wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. What was she on about? Jack was already looking at her, as if readying himself for her to correct this gross misuse of Quidditch terminology. He knew her well, because she could not let this slide.

"You and Mike—or me and Jack, for that matter—cannot be an Old Married. Or a P.I.C. Only the Slytherin girls."

An Old Married was a slang Quidditch term for teammates that worked so well together, it was as if they were an old married couple. It—along with P.I.C.s— which stood for Partners in Chasing and everyone pronounced like the word pick—were almost exclusively designated for pairs of Chasers who used each other to function as one unit. Old Marrieds could also be used between Beaters who managed to work effortlessly as a team, but Seekers and Keepers worked solo. It did not cross over to different positions and, thus, did not apply to any of them.

"Not technically," Ellibit said, "but in my opinion, it can mean a more generalized partnership."

"But that's not…" Dominique began, noticing Jack was already motioning for her to let it go. Perhaps he didn't know her as well as he thought because she did not just let things go.

"It's evolved as a term," Ellibit continued. "Mike and I work so well out there together—"

"How do you figure?" Dominique asked. "He's a Keeper and you're a Chaser. You don't even have anything to do with each other."

"You have your definition and I have mine."

"You can't just make up definitions," said Dominique, but now Ellibit had stepped away to apparently address the Ravenclaws.

"Hey, Griffin and Ansel, would you consider me and Mike an Old Married?"

Jack took the opportunity to step closer to Dominique. "Bit early to be starting shit, isn't it?"

"You know bloody well that's not what those words mean."

"Let her have it."

"No. Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's spreading false information. That's why."

"Don't you have to be Chasers to be an Old Married?" asked Giggleswick, sounding rather bored. "Well, I suppose Beaters, too. But he's a Keeper and you're a Chaser, so...no."

"Great, now I have to agree with Giggleswick," Dominique mumbled to Jack.

"Everyone's so literal," Ellibit said, rolling her eyes and walking back over toward Michael to presumably sulk. "I've heard people use it to mean two people who work well together."

"Words have meaning," Dominique said as a popping sound indicated that there were more arrivals nearby. She glanced down to see two characteristically female figures walking in their direction.

Michael let out a clearly aggravated sigh. "Who fucking cares? Let's drop it."

"I'm not the one going around asking people to back me up," Dominique said, feeling suddenly challenged. If he wanted it dropped so badly, why not turn that tone onto his girlfriend?

"Nic," Jack said quietly. "Forget it. Don't let it..."

"You're incapable of not having the last word," Ellibit said rather boldly, her arms crossed over her chest. Dominique was a little surprised. There was a time not so long ago that she could make Ellibit cower with just a look.

Giggleswick laughed from somewhere behind them. It was a deliberate laugh that Dominique knew she was meant to hear. She turned around and glared at him. And so, it began.

"Shit, here we go," Jack muttered, taking multiple steps in the opposite direction as a means of escape.

"Something funny?" she asked.

"Just you," Giggleswick said, as casually as if he was talking about the weather. "She's right, you know. Always have to take things too far."

"No one asked you," she said. "No one ever asks you anything."

Out of the corner of her eye, Dominique could see the Slytherin girls slowing their pace as they approached. They seemed to sense something was happening and were now unsure how to proceed. One of them said, "Looks as if we missed something."

"Or we've missed nothing if it's only these two and their usual shit," said the other girl. "It's not even nine o'clock."

"Do you enjoy being impossible?" Giggleswick asked her. "Is there anyone here who you haven't had a problem with?"

The group was silent again, although this time it wasn't that pleasant kind of silence Dominique craved. She wasn't entirely surprised considering she had actually had some sort of issue with every one of them at some point. To be fair, with the exception of Giggleswick, it was all Quidditch related and mostly forgotten about after the match. She supposed Jack was an exception to that too, but they were friends and he was the only one there she actually cared about. They were bound to butt heads over years of being friends.

It was Jack who broke the silence this time. "The same could be said of you, Giggles. You've started shit with everyone here. And what happens out on the pitch should stay out there."

Giggleswick laughed again. "You should tell her that. She can't leave anything anywhere because she's petty. Shit, didn't she not speak to you for weeks after you made captain? Definition of petty."

Dominique wanted to say it had been longer than that—closer to months, actually—but she didn't since that would prove his point. And yes, she had been upset Jack had gotten captain over her; it had devastated her, actually. And yes, she had blamed him for a long time and barely spoke to him except for when absolutely necessary. These things were all true. But she'd come around and gotten over it. That had been ages ago.

"How about you don't worry about my business?" Jack said, now sounding annoyed.

"Just fuck off, Giggleswick," Dominique said, stepping toward him, her wand hand twitching with an anxious anticipation. "You want to come at me, but you're as bad, if not worse. You're a shit starter and an arsehole. Plain and simple."

He didn't flinch. "And you wonder why Henry chucked you."

For reasons unknown to Dominique, she froze as if she'd been petrified. Her chest felt like someone had kicked it as hard as they could. She was naturally a fighter, a reactor, ready with a comment or a curse. But for the first time in her life, she had nothing. Every thought had slipped out of her head and every ounce of energy had drained out of her muscles. She couldn't do anything but blink as anger and emotion swelled inside her.

Someone muttered, "That's not cool," but it was quickly drowned out by Jack, who practically shouted, "Seriously!? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Calm down," said someone else who Dominique couldn't place; all the voices other than Jack's blended together now. In front of her, a strange and almost slow-motion scene played out. Jack had stepped forward while Giggleswick had turned away. At the same time, a tall, dark, willowy girl appeared and filled the empty space between, her hands up as if to stop anyone from crossing some invisible line she'd created. She was the one speaking. "Our Portkey leaves in four minutes, so everyone stop."

"Always the same thing, year after year," said the other girl who had stepped forward to join the first. She was the polar opposite of her friend with her fair hair, pale skin, and short stature. "Weasley and Giggleswick fight, then everyone else gets caught up in their drama. Repeat again and again."

"And here comes the commentary of Erin and Zara," Giggleswick muttered, "who can't ever just mind their own fucking business."

Zahara Zabini, Zara for short, and Erin Tanner, the Slytherin Chasers. They were both the best in the school at their positions, and true P.I.C.s —actual Old Marrieds— and also the best of friends. Erin scored more than any other Chaser last season, while Zara came in a very close second. Zara was more than well aware of her talents, and wasn't modest about the fact that she was a stellar Quidditch player as well as a good student. She was beautiful and had a natural grace about her that people were always enchanted by. She was practically the queen of Slytherin these days, which suited her just fine. Erin on the other hand, while fantastic on the pitch, was rather average in most other ways. She did have a sharp tongue that Dominique had gone up against a time or two, but they mostly left each other alone. Unlike Dominique, she didn't hold grudges—she simply told someone off and moved on.

"How can we not?" Erin snapped back. "You two always make your shit everyone's business."

"Erin, stop," said Zara, throwing her friend a silencing stare. "Everyone, stop. You can all kill each other when we get to the training facility. Once I don't have to share a Portkey with any of you."

"Speaking of which," Erin asked, "who has the bloody thing, anyway?"

Everyone seemed to be looking at the next person, waiting for someone to volunteer information as to where their Portkey was. No one spoke up.

"Seriously?" she continued. "You've all been standing around here bitching and moaning, but none of you bothered to find out how we're supposed to get where we're going?"

"We all got the same information you did," said Jack, sounding like he was at the end of his rope. "If you don't know, why do you think we should?"

"Well, aren't you also in a delightful mood," Erin said, giving him a once over. "Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?"

Dominique physically bit her tongue to keep herself from flying off the handle. She'd done enough talking for one morning and had nothing else to say to these people. Beside her, Jack sunk down into a squatting position as he began rubbing his eyes. She had seen him do it on the pitch when he was especially frustrated. "This fucking morning…"

"Language, Mr. Ians," said a new voice that took everyone by surprise. Heads and gazes shot in the direction of where a woman with long dark hair and wearing a long, dark cloak—despite it being a rather warm August morning—stood smiling at the group of them. It was Professor Fletchly. How she had arrived undetected was anyone's guess.

She stepped forward, her smile distant. "Need I remind all of you that you will be representing Hogwarts as guests for the next week? I would hate if any of you decided not to put your best forward."

"Sorry, Professor," Jack said, standing back up and straighten out.

She turned her smile on him before letting it travel around the group. She seemed to be mentally tallying each of them. "Seems as though everyone is here." There was a murmur of "Yes" and "Yes, Professor," which seemed to appease Fletchly. She held out a box she'd been holding—a shoebox by the looks of it—and handed it to Dominique, who happened to be standing closest to her. "Excellent. Glad to see you're all on time. As I was saying, you are all student guests at the Trials, so we expect you all to be on your best behavior. Once you arrive," she checked her watch, "which will be in the next minute, you will be greeted by a liason from the Department of Sport. He or she will have any answers to any questions you may have." She stopped and looked around the group. "I suggest you all gather your things and take hold of the box right now."

Without hesitation, Dominique held the box out with one hand and clutched her broom with the other. In what would normally be considered completely invading one's personal space, everyone crowded around her and attempted to get a finger or a hand on the box. Someone's broom handle was nearly poking her in the eye while someone else's backpack slammed hard against her arm. She could not have asked for a worse group of people to be sharing such a tight space with.

"Ten seconds," came Fletchly's voice. "Everyone hold on or you will be left behind."

"Someone needs to make a choice to start showering in the mornings," said Erin, though there was no time for anyone to react, for in the next second they were pulled by an invisible force out of Hogsmeade and to the unknown location of the Trials.